#now i'm off to be sad and sluggish for the rest of the day

[the-winter-spider]

Say Don't Go | Part Nine

Bucky x reader au

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: None, boring chapter

A/N: Im not gonna lie, I've been struggling with this story but soooooo many of yall keep asking when I'm gonna update so I just decided to sit down and lay it all out and write the rest of the fic, so here we gooo.

Im not really vibing with this fic anymore, its hard ughhh

Masterpost

--------

The fallout from that night lingered like a storm cloud over Bucky’s head. His bruised knuckles ached every time he clenched his fists, but that pain was nothing compared to the weight in his chest. Nothing compared to the feeling of walking onto campus and not seeing you waiting at your usual spot outside the library, earbuds in, lost in whatever song had caught your attention that day.

You weren’t avoiding him. No, avoiding meant there was still something to salvage. You were done with him. And that realization sat heavy in his bones.

The first day back, Bucky barely made it through practice. His head wasn’t in it, his movements sluggish, off-tempo. Coach chewed him out in front of everyone, demanding to know what the hell was wrong with him, but Bucky barely processed it. He wasn’t the only one who noticed, either.

“Yo, what is up with you?” Sam asked, tossing a towel over his shoulder as they walked out of the locker room after practice.

“Nothing,” Bucky muttered, keeping his gaze ahead, scanning the crowd in the hallway like an idiot. Like he was expecting to see you there.

Sam let out a low whistle. “Man, you’re really gonna sit here and act like I don’t know exactly what this is about? You’re looking for her.”

Bucky stiffened, but didn’t deny it.

“You fucked up,” Sam continued, like he was narrating Bucky’s entire downfall in real time. “You really fucked up and now you’re moody as shit, walking around campus like a ghost. It’s pathetic.”

Bucky finally turned his head, glaring. “Are you gonna help or just talk shit?”

“Hey, I would help,” Sam said with a smirk. “But I don’t think she wants help from me or you.”

That stung more than it should have. Because Sam was right, he usually was and he felt it, really felt it when he finally caught sight of you in the dining hall later that day.

You were sitting at a table in the corner, away from the noise, curled into yourself as you read. You weren’t alone, though. Your roommate, Wanda, was there, sitting across from you, flipping through a textbook. Wanda glanced up shooter daggers at Bucky, and if looks could kill, well he’d be dead.

Bucky’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

He didn’t even realize he’d been staring until Sam nudged him hard in the ribs. “Don’t be an idiot,” Sam warned. “Don’t go over there and make shit worse.”

Bucky scoffed. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

“Whatever,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. He tore his eyes away from you, because seeing you wasn’t something he could deal with right now.

"Look man, everything will work out how its suppose to." Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get food before you do something stupid.”

Bucky let Sam pull him away, but even as he stood in line for food, even as his teammates laughed and talked around him, all he could think about was you.

How he’d lost you before he even really had you, and you were the first thing he ever truly wanted.

---

The campus felt different or maybe you felt different.

You used to love walking through the courtyard in the morning, headphones in, drowning out the world with your favorite playlist. Now, every step felt heavier, like you were dragging the weight of last week behind you. The whispers, the stares, they weren’t imagined. You felt them. You could hear them. It felt different then when you lost your sister, you turn out the looks of pity, of sadness, of guilt but this was different, you had never felt anything like this before.

“That’s her.”

“Did you hear what happened?”

“Can’t believe Bucky would stoop that low.”

“Bet he didn’t even enjoy himself.”

You kept your head down, gripping the straps of your backpack until your fingers ached. You weren’t naïve. You knew how things worked here. How gossip spread like wildfire, how people loved to take a tragedy and turn it into entertainment.

You just never thought you’d be the subject of it.

Wanda was waiting for you outside your first lecture hall. She was leaning against the wall, scrolling through her phone, but as soon as she saw you, her face softened with something that looked a lot like pity.

“Don’t,” you muttered before she could even say anything. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Wanda sighed but nodded, falling into step beside you as you entered the lecture hall. “Alright. No talking. But just so you know, if anyone tries to pull some Mean Girls shit, I will make them cry.”

Despite everything, a tiny smirk tugged at your lips. “I believe you.”

The first class dragged, your mind constantly drifting, your knee bouncing beneath the desk. You felt his absence. Bucky wasn’t in this class with you, but for so long, he’d been the thing that pulled you out of your head when you got too lost in your own thoughts. His dumb jokes, his teasing comments, the way he’d pass you stupid doodles on ripped piece sitting of paper.

And now?

Now you had nothing but empty silence and the lingering ache in your chest.

After class, Wanda stuck by your side. Steve was waiting outside the hall, leaning against the railing, watching the crowd. When his eyes landed on you, he straightened immediately, something unreadable flickering across his face.

He looked guilty.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh… I was gonna text you, but I figured I’d just wait here. Thought maybe we could grab something to eat?”

You hesitated. A week ago, that offer wouldn’t have even required thought. But now? After the things he said?

You exhaled sharply through your nose, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Look, I know you’re upset.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Upset?” The word tasted wrong on your tongue. Upset didn’t begin to cover it.

Steve sighed, stepping closer. “I just wanna talk, alright? I didn’t mean for things to go the way they did.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of Steve, your best friend, how he had stood across from you and spewed hurtful words right in your face after defending you, he acted like your pain wasn’t real. Like it didn’t matter.

You tightened your grip on the strap of your backpack. “I don’t wanna talk. I just wanna be left alone.”

Steve huffed, frustrated now. “How am I supposed to apologize if you won’t even listen?”

You flinched, the sharpness in his voice cutting deeper than you expected. “Apologizing isn’t just about saying sorry, Steve.” Your voice wavered, but you held your ground. “It’s about meaning it. And you? You didn’t give a damn about how I felt when it actually mattered.”

Something in his expression faltered.

Wanda shifted beside you, arms crossed, her presence like a shield. She hadn’t spoken, but you knew she would step in if Steve pushed too hard.

Steve let out a long breath, looking away for a second like he was trying to find the right words. When he looked back, his blue eyes were softer. “I was just trying to stick up for you.”

Your throat burned. “Stick up for me?” You let out a humorless laugh. “After everything you said? Yeah, well, I guess that worked out great for you, huh?”

Steve winced. “That’s not fair.”

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “None of this is fair, Steve. But I’m the one who has to live with it.”

His shoulders dropped slightly, but you didn’t wait for a response. You pushed past him, the weight of the conversation settling deep in your chest.

Wanda fell into step beside you, quiet for a few beats before finally saying, “I’d call that a well-earned fuck you.”

You huffed out a breath, not quite a laugh. “I could’ve said worse.”

“Yeah,” Wanda smirked. “But I think you got the point across. So, the café? I could use a cup of something with an espresso shot.”

“Oh god, not the espresso shot,” you groaned, laughing despite yourself.

Wanda looped her arm through yours, dramatically clutching her chest. “Excuse me, I need caffeine to survive. One shot of espresso is the bare minimum. You, my dear, clearly lack appreciation for the finer things in life.”

You rolled your eyes, her warmth grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. The conversation, the teasing..it almost felt normal. Almost.

Then you felt that sensation of being watched.

It slithered up your spine, settling heavy between your shoulder blades. Your laughter faded as instinct kicked in, your eyes scanning the crowd and then you saw him.

Bucky.

He was near the entrance of the dining hall, surrounded by his teammates, but he wasn’t engaged. Not even close. His body was there, but his attention, his entire focus was on you.

Your stomach twisted painfully.

He looked the same but different somehow. His hair was damp from practice, curling at the ends in a way that once would’ve made you smile. His hoodie was loose, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable and his face….his face was unreadable except for the weight behind his eyes.

Regret. Thick, suffocating, undeniable regret.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve. Maybe before, that look would’ve unraveled you. Maybe before, you would’ve been tempted to take even the smallest step toward him, to offer him some kind of solace.

But regret wasn’t enough. Not after everything, you couldn't let it be enough.

You forced yourself to tear your gaze away, to keep walking, even as the heaviness of his stare followed you, searing into your back like a brand.

Wanda didn’t say anything at first. She didn’t have to. She just squeezed your arm, her silent way of letting you know she saw it too.

After a few steps, she exhaled, shaking her head. “God, he looks miserable.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes straight ahead. “Good.”

Wanda glanced at you, expression unreadable for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Good.”

But as you reached the café doors, pushing inside, the lingering burn of Bucky’s stare refused to fade.

---

By the time you made it back to your dorm, the weight of the day had settled deep into your bones.

The moment you shut the door behind you, the silence hit. Not just quiet, silence. The kind that felt alive, pressing in on all sides, wrapping around your throat like a vice.

You dropped your bag onto the floor, toeing off your shoes with little care. Wanda had gone out with some friends, promising she’d be back later, but you hadn’t wanted to go. You told her you were tired, that you just needed to breathe for a second.

You lied.

The truth was, you didn’t want to be around people. You didn’t want to pretend you were okay, or like today hadn’t drained every last ounce of energy out of you, even though today had probably been one of the easier days this week. 

You felt exhausted. Not the kind that sleep could fix, but the kind that settled in your soul and made you wonder if you’d ever really be able to shake it.

You sat down on your bed, staring blankly at the wall.

It was happening again.

That sinking, crushing feeling, like the ground beneath you was cracking, shifting, like soon there would be nothing left to stand on.

It wasn’t just about Bucky. It wasn’t just about Steve.

It was about everything.

You thought you had people. You thought you had friends. You thought, for once in your life, you weren’t completely alone.

And yet… here you were.

Alone in your room.

Alone with your thoughts.

Alone.

Your chest tightened, breath hitching as you curled in on yourself. You dug your fingers into your arms, trying to ground yourself, trying to pull yourself out of it, but it wasn’t working.

And now, on top of all that?  You have lost your best friend. Steve, who had always been in your corner, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get past the look on his face in the locker room hallway that night, like you had betrayed him. 

Maybe you had. Maybe you should have just pretended like nothing happened because even though he said hurtful things to you, he did defend you to Bucky right? Maybe you were selfish. Maybe you were the problem. Because this wasn’t new, was it?

You’d lost people before.

You lost her.

Your sister.

The thought alone made your stomach churn, shame curling around your ribs like barbed wire. It had been years, and yet, the grief still clung to you like a second skin. You could still hear her voice sometimes, still see the way she used to look at you, like you were someone worth protecting.

But she was gone and you were still here.

Still losing people.

Maybe that was just who you were. Maybe no matter how hard you tried, you weren’t meant to have people.

Maybe you were meant to be alone.

The thought sent a sharp, splintering ache through your chest, and before you could stop it, before you could even think to fight it, you broke.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just silent. A few shaky breaths, a few hot tears slipping down your face as you curled into yourself, pressing your forehead against your knees.

No one was here to see it anyway.

No one ever was.

---

The next day was like moving through concrete.

You barely slept, still burdened with the weight of last night that was weighing upon you like an object on your chest. You could not even count how many hours you stayed curled up there on your bed, rehashing every mistaken move, all your failures, each biting critique you'd gotten from you. When morning broke, your body felt leaden, eyes dry but aching from gazing at the ceiling for all those hours of mental thinking within your head.

Wanda was still out. She had most likely spent the night at a friend's, and you were kind of glad. You didn't know you could pretend to be okay, not on a day like this.

You stalled over dressing, not because you cared, but because you didn't. Every action was reflex, getting dressed, combing your hair, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

Outside, campus was a cacophony. Too much.

The moment you stepped outside, you sensed it all over again. The staring. The muffled whispers of gossip. The not-so-veiled looks thrown in your direction before folks turned back to their friends with a chuckle as if your existence was another fleeting news item.

You sped up.

You weren't naive, you understood what they were talking about. Bucky. Steve. You. The whole bloody mess. It was such a car crash. Folks just couldn't resist stopping, looking, gawking.

By the time you got to your first class, your stomach was twisting up with anxiety. You wished you could just sit down, get caught up in the crowd, be incognito. But as soon as you walked into the lecture hall, your body tensed up.

Bucky was already there and he wasn't alone.

Tiffany.

She was leaning against his desk, twirling a curl of hair around her finger, her mouth pursed up in that fake, sugary smile. You knew that smile. You'd seen it a thousand times. 

And Bucky? He wasn't looking at her, not really, but he wasn't shooing her away, either. It shouldn't have stung. It shouldn't have. But it did.

Something hot and embarrassing twisted in your stomach, a knot rising up into your throat. Not because you wanted more with him than what he had given you. Not because you wished things could ever be so again.

But because it was just one more reminder that even though it had felt like everything was different, the rest of the world continued to go on as if none of that even happened.

As if you didn't even happen. You turned around and departed. You did not have anywhere to go. You simply walked. Through the courtyard, by the library, down the stairs that led nowhere in particular. You simply had to catch your breath.

The universe actually had it out for you today.

You were just trying to make it through the gory day. You'd swallowed the lump in your throat, concealed the lump in your chest, and kept moving, as if you didn't notice Bucky's stare still burning into your flesh. But Tiffany had plans.

She approached you on the library steps, that characteristic smirk twisting on her lips.

"Aww, fleeing again?" she cooed. "You really need to make this less easy."

You clenched your teeth, eyes fixed forward. You were not going to do this. Not today. But she wasn't done.

"Too bad about that photo, don't you think?" she said, mock sympathy dripping from her voice. "You were so pitiful. Practically like you didn't even realize someone was watching."

Your stomach roiled.

You had tried not to look at the picture when it first went around campus. But even if you had, you couldn't shake the sting of it. The naked embarrassment of being so exposed.

Tiffany edged closer, speaking in a lower tone like she was letting you in on some big secret.

"Strange thing is, I told Bucky precisely who took it." She tilted her head. "And you know what's so pathetic? He didn't even have the decency to inform you."

Your breath caught in your throat.

Tiffany's grin widened. "Guess he really doesn't care about you at all, huh? Probably just some fun little game, ‘sleep with Cap’s best friend’”.

Something in your chest split open.

You weren't sure what hurt you worse, that she'd taken the dumb picture to begin with, or that Bucky'd known. That he'd known and never even bothered to think of telling you about it.

Maybe that was the final proof you needed.

You didn't actually have anyone.

"Oh, look at the crybaby," Tiffany pouted mockingly. "Poor girl. Who are you gonna run to now? Stevie? Bucky?" She gave a hard, cruel laugh. "Oh, right, nobody wants you."

Your nails creased your palms. You weren't an angry person. You weren't. But God, you wanted to erase that smug expression from her face. Before you could even imagine what to say, the crack of impact split the air.

Tiffany yelped, retreating onto the ground.

Your eyes widened. In front of you, shaking out her fist, stood Natasha fucking Romanoff.

"Huh," Nat said, wiggling her fingers. "That kinda hurt."

You blinked, frozen. "Did you just—"

"Yeah." She didn't look even remotely sorry. She looked annoyed that Tiffany was still on the ground, blinking up at her in shock. "She talks too much."

Your lips opened, then shut. You were so stunned you couldn't even process it. Natasha turned to face you, eyes scanning your face, her voice softer now. "You okay?"

You hesitated. You weren't okay. Not even remotely.

Nat didn't even hesitate for an answer. She simply hooked her arm through yours and steered you off like she hadn't just punched a girl in the face.

"C'mon," she said. "Let's go."

She didn’t say much at first. Just walked you down the sidewalk, her grip steady and warm on your arm, guiding you away from the pulsing music and drunken noise of the party. It wasn’t until the street was quiet, the only sound of your breathing and the faint click of Natasha’s boots, that she finally spoke.

“I’m not gonna lie,” she muttered, glancing over at you, “been wanting to do that for a while.”

You let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline finally giving way to exhaustion. “I didn’t think you actually would.”

Natasha shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

That made your lips twitch. It wasn’t a smile, not really, but it was close. “I think I did.”

You walked in silence for a bit, your thoughts spinning. The cold air nipped at your cheeks, grounding you after everything that had just happened. Finally, you spoke.

“I feel stupid,” you admitted. “Letting it all get to me like that.”

Natasha gave you a look. “You were humiliated, lied to, abandoned. That’s not ‘getting to you,’ that’s being human.”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “I just thought I had people, you know? Bucky, Steve… and then it all just… blew up.”

She stopped walking, gently pulling you to a bench near the sidewalk. You both sat, the dim orange glow of the streetlights painting her face in warm light.

“They hurt you,” she said simply. “And I’m not gonna make excuses for them. What Bucky did, what he didn’t do and what Steve said? That shit sticks.”

You looked down at your hands, rubbing your palms together. “I still don’t know if I can forgive them. Even now.”

“You don’t have to forgive them,” she said quietly. “Not until you’re ready and not for their sake, for yours.”

You swallowed hard. “Steve was like my brother and Bucky… I don’t even know what he was. I thought we had something. Then it was gone before I could even understand what it was.”

Natasha’s expression softened. “What do you want now?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I want to feel like myself again. Like I can trust someone without waiting for the moment they decide I’m not worth it.”

She nodded, leaning back on the bench, eyes on the stars above. “You’ll get there. I see the way Bucky looks at you. It’s not just guilt. And Steve? He’s… Steve’s dealing with his own shit. Doesn’t mean he was right. Doesn’t mean you have to make space for him again if it still hurts.”

You rested your head on her shoulder, the warmth of her presence seeping into your bones.

“Thanks for punching her.”

Natasha smirked. “Anytime.”

---

Steve’s apartment was dark when Natasha knocked.

Not unusual. Lately, he hadn’t bothered turning on more than one lamp at a time. Just enough light to function. Everything else, the clutter, the half-eaten takeout boxes, the clothes draped over the back of a chair was left untouched. Natasha barely waited before letting herself in.

She found him on the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, knees bent, elbows resting on them like the weight of everything he was carrying might crush him if he didn’t hold himself together.

She tossed her keys onto the counter. “We need to talk.”

Steve didn’t even look up. “Is she okay?”

Natasha nodded. “Yeah she’s okay but...”

His jaw tensed. “What happened?”

Natasha crossed the room and leaned against the wall near the TV. “Tiffany ran her mouth. Again went after her. Said some things she should’ve never said. I handled it.”

Steve blinked slowly. “Handled it?”

Nat shrugged. “Put it this way, Tiffany won’t be smiling for a while.”

Steve gave a humorless huff of breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Good.”

A beat passed.

“She didn’t deserve that,” Steve said, voice low. “None of it.”

“No,” Natasha agreed. “She didn’t.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and honest.

“She’s not talking to me,” Steve finally said, barely above a whisper. “Not really. Not since… the rink. And I don’t blame her.”

Natasha’s expression softened. “Give it time. It’ll work out.”

“I know,” Steve said. “It’s just… hard.”

He leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face.

“We’ve been attached at the hip since we were kids. She’s more than my best friend. She’s my person. The one constant I’ve had through everything. When I lost my mom, when things were shit at school, when I got hurt… she was always there. And I was supposed to be that for her.”

“You still can be,” Natasha said gently. “But she’s hurt, Steve. You said some things—”

“I know,” he cut in, the guilt written all over his face. “I said the exact thing I swore I never would. I used her pain against her. That night, I just, I lost it. I was so angry. At Bucky, at myself… and I took it out on her. That’s on me.”

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, the shame etched into every word. “And she trusted me. She’s been through so much, Nat. With her sister, her dad, the photo… I promised her I’d never leave, never make her feel like she had no one. And that’s exactly what I did.”

Natasha crossed the room and sat down beside him. “You’re allowed to mess up, Steve. You’re human. What matters is what you do now.”

“I miss her,” he admitted, his voice cracking just a little. “I miss just… knowing she was okay. I miss her texts. Her dumb playlists. The way she always knew when something was wrong before I even did.”

Natasha leaned her head against the back of the couch. “You’ll get there. You two? You’ve got history. Real history. She just needs space right now. To heal, to trust again.”

Steve stared at the ceiling for a long moment before finally nodding. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Nat smirked faintly. “I usually am.”

He smiled for the first time in what felt like days. “Thanks for checking in. And for… you know. Handling Tiffany.”

“Anytime,” Natasha said, standing. “You focus on cleaning up your side of the mess. I think Bucky’s actually trying on his end.”

Steve’s smile faltered, but he nodded. “Good. That’s good. I just want her to be okay. Even if it’s not with me in the picture the way it used to be.”

Natasha paused at the door. “I think she wants you there. She’s just not ready yet.”

[strangesthirdeye]

UNTIL THE LAST BREATH { ARTHUR MORGAN X FEM! READER}

Summary: It's not a normal cough Warning: MORE ARTHUR MORGAN YIPPY. High angst, TB, comfort. Arthur is scared, sad, last moment, coughing blood, what if? chapter 5 spoilers, arguments, friends to lover? Denial, acceptance.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Dammit. I told you you didn't have to come" Arthur grumbled as he took you to Saint Denis on his horse.

You weakly chuckled but then you coughed hard making your throat hurt. Breathing was getting harder, your forehead was wet with sweat and your very hot body temperature made Arthur even more concerned. To make a long story short, you two were supposed to meet Sadie at the Saloon in Saint Denis. Arthur urged you not to go with him as you looked quite unwell with a persistent cough making it difficult for you to breathe nor did your body temperature rise. He insisted that you need to rest but you with your stubbornness did not agree.

Stating that it's just a normal fever and claiming that you'll get better in a few days. End up, when you arrived in Saint Denis, you suddenly felt that the cough this time was quite bad making you cough non-stop and dizzy until you fell off your horse. Poor horsey was quite panicked with your sudden condition. Arthur then decided to take you to the clinic not far from there after he noticed that your cough was producing blood plus you looked like you were about to pass out.

Arthur was getting more and more worried as you seemed to be almost losing consciousness with how sluggish your words and movements were. He kept carrying you to the clinic which was only 1 block away. People kept looking at you both and yet Arthur ignored them as his first priority was you.

"Come on, we're getting close. Don't you dare pass out on me" Arthur commanded firmly as he pushed the clinic door wide letting himself and you in.

You kept on coughing non-stop plus trying to catch your breath which was hard to take. You felt like you were drowning and this scared you. Your vision was getting blurry and yet you were aware of what was happening. This is not a normal cough. You hate this. You hate being like this. You hate being weak and unable to do anything. Poor Arthur has to be carried to the clinic. If you take his suggestion this thing won't happen.

"Oh my" exclaimed the nurse at the counter as she got up and rang a bell.

"We need a doctor now" Arthur demanded urgently as you coughed into your palm.

You pulled your hand away from your mouth and a sense of dread began to creep. Blood soaking your palm just like animal blood after you skinned it.

'not again' you thought.

As soon as Arthur said that, a doctor with glasses, gray hair and a beard came and opened the door to his office. He looked at the two of you with an unreadable face and yet Arthur could feel that the doctor seemed to know what was really going on.

"come on you two. Bring her inside" The Doctor said as he held the door, letting Arthur take you into the treatment room.

"we need help.. She-"

"sit her down, will you" The Doctor said as he prepared the items on the iron trolley.

Arthur without any words sat you down gently. You had stopped coughing but you were having trouble breathing. Arthur could hear your ragged breathing. Your face was pale so was the sweat on your forehead that was soaking you. You looked at Arthur through your half lidded eyes. Arthur stood close to your side, taking your hand to assure you that everything would be okay.

"Now look, I don’t mean anything, but… you got money? I mean before I start treating you ’cause I got a family." The Doctor said as he looked at Arthur before turning his gaze on you.

You sighed heavily as you reached into your coat pocket to take out the money but then Arthur handed his own money to the Doctor. You looked at him in disbelief.

"yeah, i understand.Here, will that do you?" Arthur handed 50$ to the doctor which the doctor took and put in his pocket.

The doctor nodded. "sure thanks" he then took the iron chair and brought it to your side and sat down. "Now, what’s wrong? I mean, what appear to be the symptoms?"

You grunted weakly. "I thought you knew what the symptom was when you saw me coughing"

Arthur rubbed the back of your hand trying to calm you down. The doctor sighed.

"I may be called a doctor but that doesn't mean I know what symptoms you have besides coughing. Now, is there any blood or mucus coming out when you cough?" The doctor looked at you seriously.

"Blood. Sometimes" you muttered. Eyes avoiding looking at Arthur.

Arthur frowned. He didn't know you were coughing up blood all this time. It seems you were trying to hide it from him. Now it all makes sense. From where you seem to be eating less, how light your weight is when he picks you up, how skinny you are getting plus the way you seem to be weak and not moving much. You often sit down to take a breath to the point that you cry out to him with how hard it is for you to breathe. When he holds you, he can feel how warm you become. At first he thought it was just a normal fever as you used to have a fever and it got better in a few days but now that it has been weeks. And you seem to be getting worse.

Oh, how he wished he had noticed that sooner. He could have found a cure to cure you. And now it was too late.

The doctor could only exhale heavily and reach for the stethoscope. "Okay now, here… breathe. Again." the doctor put the stethoscope to your chest.

You drew in and exhaled your breath. The doctor narrowed his eyes. After checking your breathing. The doctor placed the stethoscope on the iron table beside him before reaching for the wooden stick.

"Let me see your tongue. Now say ahh." the doctor put the wooden stick into your mouth as soon as you opened your mouth.

Arthur kept on rubbing the back of your hand as a sign to let you know that he was still with you. The doctor removed the wooden stick from your mouth and threw it into the trash can. He sighed heavily before he stands up and walked toward the sink to washed his hands.

Arthur looked at the doctor with concern while you averted your gaze from the doctor. Too scared to know what was happening.

"What is it?" Arthur asked on your behalf.

The doctor looked at you sympathetically. "It's not good news." he said simply.

"Well we guessed that. She's been sick for weeks" Arthur put his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing your shoulder.

The doctor sighed heavily. Eyes showing sympathy. "she's got Tuberculosis. I'm really sorry for your wife, son, it's a hell of a thing."

Upon hearing that, everything around you fell silent. A ringing sounded in your ears making it a bit loud making your head hurt. Your ragged breathing became faster and noisier. Arthur's hand that was rubbing yours stopped. You couldn't see Arthur's face that held an expression of disbelief. Eyes wide and jaw slightly dropped. You didn't correct what the Doctor said about him mistaking you for Arthur's wife, instead you just focused on what happened to you.

You blinked, shaking your head just once, a hollow laugh escaping you. "No... that's not right."

The doctor only offered you with a sympathetic face. "unfortunately it's true, Ma'am."

Arthur interjected still in disbelief. "Well what do you mean?"

"she's really sick, she... It's a progressive disease. Well the best thing is rest and... getting somewhere warm and dry, and taking it easy. Now, is that possible?" The doctor suggested.

You shook your head, a dry chuckle following. "sure, I can just pack my things and move to Mexico, always wanted to go to Mexico. No… it's not possible." you coughed, instantly your hand covered your mouth.

Arthur shifting weight from foot to foot as he rubs your back. Trying to ease your cough.

"Well… like I said, I… I'm really sorry." The doctor said, reassuringly. "just get plenty of rest and eat high-protein foods, will you?" the Doctor added.

You fell silent. Arthur nodded in understanding. Taking noted at what the Doctor said. He needs to take care of you even if you refuse it. Your days are numbered. He has to take care of you until the end of your days. As soon as Arthur thought so, he stopped. Why? He never expressed his feelings to you now that your time is running out. He was too late. All these chasing cats and mice that you two did have come to an end.

"yeah, alright" you muttered, lips pressed into a thin line. You started to stand up but the doctor put his hand on your arm to prevent you from standing up.

"Now w-wait, wait… let me get you a little bit more… boost today." he reached for the syringe on the table with something in it. He then stabbed the syringe into your arm.

You winced. Arthur kept on looking at you. He was silent throughout the process only opening his mouth when necessary.

" alright.. that's all I have." The doctor got up and discarded the used syringe onto the iron table. "You can come to me for another boost. That's all I can do for now"

You nodded and stood up with Arthur's help. Arthur held you shoulders. You sighed. The effect of that drug started kicking in.

The clinic door was opened by Arthur, you both stepped outside. Arthur still held you as he led you to your horse and he who was hitched in front of the clinic. Winehouse, you horse neighed upon seeing your condition. Arthur let go off your shoulder as you moved to the side of your horse.

You patted Winehouse gently. "hey there, girl." you stroked her body. "i'm sorry for making you distressed."

Arthur just looked at you without saying anything. He didn't know what to say. His mind went blank. His tongue was numb. Everything turned out worse than he thought. Not only did you contract a disease that had no cure, you knew that your days were numbered.

"come on, let's get you home" Arthur said as he mounted his horse.

You looked at him confused. Eyes narrowed at him. "What about Sadie? Weren't we supposed to met her?"

"No, I need to get you home" Arthur exclaimed, looking away.

Your lips twitched. Eyebrows furrowed. "No"

"what do you mean no?" Arthur looked at you with frustration.

"i said no. Just because I'm sick doesn't mean I can't go with you" You hold your ground.

"You need rest, woman. Look at you! You can't stand straight let alone to let you come with us" Arthur snapped.

"Is that it? You're saying I can't handle this? I've been handling it before I was diagnosed now you want me to just sit there doing nothing? Why do I want to waste the time I have doing nothing?!" You bursted.

Arthur shook his head as he sighed deeply. He then dismounted and walked closer to you. He towered over you as he looked down at you. You glared at him.

"You didn't even tell me you were coughing up blood nor did you come to tell me you were sick from the start. Now you're going to risk your life with this mission? Is that it? Risking your life when you know you're going to di-" Arthur stopped. He turned his gaze elsewhere. His jaw tensed.

You softened your face. Seeing him like that makes you feel guilty. He just wants to help you but you make it difficult. You then took his hand. Arthur's breath hitched at the sudden gesture. If only the situation now wasn't serious he would have just taken you away and just be close to you. If only the time was long.

"Arthur, I know my time is getting short but please, let me be with you until my last breath. This whole thing about Dutch and the gang it just.. Things aren't the same as they used to be. We're running out of time. To the point where we're all not sure what's going to happen to us later." You paused. "let me be with you until my last breath"

Arthur looked at you with his mouth slightly open. He lost his words. His eyes started to get glossy with tears. He sighed heavily.

"Knowing that you don't have much time... i-" Arthur sighed deeply. " Damn you, woman. I can't.. I can't let you risk yourself. But I can't stop you, can't I?" Arthur looked at your eyes. "I know it's a bit late to say this but.. You mean the world to me" Arthur expressed his whole heart to you.

You huffed a breath with a genuine smile. "and I you, Arthur Morgan."

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Fever

A/n: You fall into a strange fever dream, burning from the temperature. You wake up next to her, burning again, but now a sense of shame.

Inspired by the song "hostage."

You open your eyes half-asleep time after time, and the first thing you see is the invigorating coolness of her eyes, where you want to dive in headfirst.

"I would love to drown in you," you babble in a fever delirium, and Billie smiles knowingly gently, laying you back down. You feel her firm hand on your back before plopping back down on the sheets. The bed seems to be getting endless.

"Don't strain yourself until I get you some tea," her hand touches your forehead and a silver snake of sadness runs in her eyes for a second. - "You're hot as hell again."

"Of course, I'm right next to you!" - God! You'll be so embarrassed when the mercury column slowly creeps downward, releasing you from the captivity of the fever, mark my word.

"Little fool," - a smile and a pleasant chuckle adorning the next precious verbal clarification. - "My little fool."

Billie goes off to get another mug of green tea, the amount of which makes you feel nauseous, as if you were standing on the deck of a seagoing ship with your hands resting miserably on the rail. A new wave of heat sweeps over you and makes you want to peel off your skin, to say nothing of your ill-fated home T-shirt. Covering your eyes is the worst idea imaginable. The ceiling or any other interior object you throw your tired gaze at, zooms in at an imaginary x4 zoom. This only makes your ship rock more, causing more misery. You hear the button of the electric kettle in the kitchen click and the spoon rattle against the walls of the full cup. God, not the green tea...

Eilish returns with the mug in hand, sets it on the wooden stand resting on the bedside table. You watch as the green surface of the herbal tea reaches almost the most ceramic edges and your appearance becomes deader than dead.

"I understand, my heart," Eilish's hand accurate strokes your face, and you only caress closer because her hand is so cool and just because it's her, Billie.

"I'm going to throw out all the green tea in our house."

Billie nods and assures you of her help as swornly as if you were two partners in crime dumping a corpse in the river.

"We'll have a Boston Tea Party together, you just get better."

She bends down to touch your lips with her own, but you immediately put your hand on her shoulder, resisting. The previously sluggish muscles are now as tense as possible. Eilish meets your categorical "no" again, which is the only stoic thought in your infernal delirium.

"I don't want you to get sick." - Eilish doesn't make any extra effort, but you're in no hurry to remove your hand from her shoulder either, just in case.

"Please." - An ingratiating, pitiful whisper crawls into your skull, mingling with the sickening heat. Reality slowly slips away from you again, and Billie leans a little closer to you, participating as your muscles loosen again. - "I've missed your lips so damn much these past three days, Y/n. I miss being in bed without you at night so much."

"No." - you catch her sad look overriding all prudence and something breaks inside. You hastily try to make things a little better. - "Not until the temperature breaks."

Eilish sighs, but tacitly agrees to your condition. It's not clear what prompted her to do this more - the string of interviews next week or just a deep moistening to your wishes. It seems to be all of the above together. The sadness from her eyes travels over her entire face, freezing her like a mask: the corners of her plump lips are lowered, and the inner corners of her straight eyebrows are raised upward and slightly drawn together. Your resolve cracks, and you soften your sentence a little.

"If..." - The line is suddenly torn by a fit of your dry cough as you reach for the pills on the nightstand. - "If you take some antivirals, I think you can lie next to me for a while."

Billie's face shines brighter than the many gold figurines on her living room shelf, which will soon run out of room. She immediately scrambles out of her seat on your bed and disappears into the gradual silence of the house, retreating to the bathroom. You wash down the bitter pills with green tea, drowning in the world's sorrow with each sip, and fall back tiredly. You cover your eyes and return from a state of half-awakeness, only when you feel something fall sharply to your left on the bed: Billie is back and the smile on her face simply cannot be erased by anything in the world, which greatly alleviates the bitterness of any colorful pills.

"Do you want me to put some vinyl record on in the background?"

You nod, a little suspended in your thoughts, while she's already going through a lot of records. The albums slap against each other amusingly as Billie flips them back, as if digging through a filing cabinet. Slap, slap.

"Any number from one to forty?" - her neat fingers freeze in anticipation of your answer.

"Seven." - You squint, and yellow and red flashes flash before your eyes, giving you some sort of foreboding feeling. Eilish hums and you look at her with interest, lifting yourself up and folding your legs into a lotus position on the bed. She raises her arm as proudly as if it were a flagpole, and her flag cloth is indeed yellow and red. The "Don't smile at me" vinyl. The hunch really worked.

"You love me so much that you only pick my songs?" - she purrs contentedly like a cat, deftly pulling out an iridescent, two-color CD. Yellow and red echo the gamut of the cover and the smell of lemon and strawberries suddenly hits your nose. Sometimes you feel like the more you live with Billie, the more you feel this artificial synesthesia clinging to you.

The glass lid swings back, reflecting the rays of the setting sun from the window, and the record lies flat in its proper place. Billie gently lowers the turntable claw, and with a click of the button the needle runs leisurely along the embossed tracks of the record, filling the room with the sounds of her own voice, but younger and not as strong as it is now. Eilish is slightly embarrassed, and it's so beautiful to you.

"I love you always." - you spread your arms out to the side, inviting her in. - "Come here."

Billie smiles, settles on the bed with you and practically agrees to your terms, but adjusts them slightly. While you are sick, she is your caring big spoon, no objections. You feel the warmth of her body against your back as she chops the rhythm of a playful "my boy" with her fingers, hear her soft soprano entwining your heart with a satin ribbon as she intimately sings "party favor" in your ear and endlessly kissing your entire face, except for your lips, of course, which you have vetoed. You're basically her little spoon most of the time, though she so pleasantly loses and relents when you masterfully take the reins of leadership into your own hands.

"Rest, my girl," she whispers affectionately, biting you on the lobe (revenge for the kissing ban), "I'll be right there."

And with the first chords of "ocean eyes", filled with her two-voice, you fall into slumber.

×××

"I wanna steal your soul," - the hems of Eilish's white robes sweep upward slightly as she dives predatorily toward you, kneeling down for eye contact. - "And hide you in my treasure chest."

The two of you are in some incomprehensible space, where dark emptiness and the cool ripples of water on the floor coexist peacefully. You are the water-chained prisoner kneeling on your knees, she is your personal devil. The loneliness shared by two and the coolness of the water. Nothing more.

Eilish's lips bend in a tempting smile, so devilishly seductive that you feel attraction mixed with fear of incomprehension as goosebumps run through your body. Strangely, you freeze under her gaze, filled with Edenic blueness, and she just stares at you silently, and you don't try to free your hands behind your back again. The water chains no longer rattle.

She bends down a little closer to you and touches your neck with her lips gently, almost weightlessly - she leaves her mark on you. It feels like your body is being hit by a high-voltage current, although you are physically fine.

"What do you want from me?" - you mutter softly, not taking your dumbfounded gaze away from her. It is still unclear where you are, whether this is reality or something else, but the coolness unobtrusively enveloping you is pleasantly soothing. As if you needed it.

"Let me crawl inside your veins, I'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain," - she rises to her feet, towering over you. Her words have a musical tune to them that draws you in even more. And indeed: one click and you feel the weight of the water collar around your neck. Another click, and then she lifts you up, yanking you by the chain of the collar that appeared out of nowhere. It doesn't hurt at all. - "It's not like me to be so mean."

You reach up to her face to make sure it's just a dream. Your fingertips twitch with excitement, but Eilish walks calmly toward your thought and actions, her cheek resting against your palm. Devils dance in her blue eyes. It is completely tangible. You yank your hand away, like accidentally fell under a stream of boiling water, reflexively examine your palm and only further nurture the seed of confusion in the depths of your soul. O'Connell is still smiling the same way.

"What is it...?"

"Gold on your fingertips," - she approaches you with a soft step, like a misty haze over water, - "fingertips against my cheek."

"Say, I'm asleep now, aren't I?"

Billie shrugs her shoulders in a childishly funny way, and it seems to you that she really sincerely does not know what to say. Her hand gently touches your shoulder while the other finally weakness the tangle of water chains, opening up to you a great variability in the distance. In the end, you decide to relax, despite the curiosities of the environment: You trust Billie even in your sleep. She does not utter a single word, just looks at you with some mysterious note in her eyes, and the answer to her dumb question already comes into your head, which you are in a hurry to denounce in words.

"I don't know what feels true," - your lips almost touch hers, so close together, - "But this feels right so stay a sec."

"Gold leaf across your lips," - the chain rattles, the free end touching the water surface, which is why circles began to form on the surface under you, driven by the white foam of the splash. Both her hands gently touch your face, without pressure, but you feel that you personally want to obey her completely. Through her beautiful raven-colored hair, falling over her face, you catch a glint of precious yellowish luster: gold is spilling on her cheek, which you recently touched, resembling a thin twig. Her eyes hungrily catch the glare, as if turning greenish. So mesmerizing. - "Kiss me until I can't speak..."

You feel the heat on your lips and wake up.

×××

The record has stopped playing, the room is completely silent, and Eilish is kissing your lips more unabashedly than ever before. After such a strange dream, you juxtapose reality so difficult that you pull away in consternation at only the third kiss. Billie laughs loudly, bringing you back into her arms. You frankly remind her of a chicken just out of its shell. Slightly disheveled and completely lost.

"You were mumbling in your sleep and I couldn't find a better way to wake you up." - her voice sounds so playful that you don't even need to turn around to see her confident-skanky face. - "Foreshadowing your concern - your forehead is absolutely not hot. The fever's gone down."

"Such a crazy dream..." - you snuggle into her shoulder, and she's only glad, pulling you closer to her.

"I don't know what feels true?" - you see her eyebrow raise ironically. The gears in your head wind up, returning to their usual healthy mode and you bounce on the bed again, nearly falling off it from the weight of understanding the situation.

You experienced her song "hostage" in your fever dream and even spoke lines from it out loud! Oh my god...

Billie realizes just in time to keep your still sluggish but recovering body from an incredibly "pleasant" encounter with the floor: her hand deftly grips your waist and pulls you back. She smiles just as she did in your dream and you're instantly pierced by the ubiquitous lightning bolt of deja vu.

"Will you tell me more about it? Maybe we can even do it again?"

In her humble (no) opinion, your face in color now resembles the most beautiful pink rose while your state of mind is completely withdrawn under the aegis of feeling embarrassed. And before you can open your mouth, choosing words to describe the dream, she kisses you. With a groan of long-awaited pleasure and absolutely no modesty.

[seaoflove07]

Cravings in the Dawn🌹

• A commission artwork by Lesyarei •

Oc x Canon.

Characters: Azusa Mukami & Christine Melendez. (Rose)

A commission Fan Fiction Written by @afi-writes @afi-mukami

Author Oc @yuriko-mukami

Fandom: Diabolik Lovers.

🔞⚠️⚠️ NSFW, Not for Minors! ⚠️⚠️🔞

Note: I can't bring myself to write my own smut. 😅 So I'm glad there are writers who do steamy commissions.

I did give the dialogue to the writer and the rest she poured her magic with her style.📝 🔥🔪🌹

The pinkish hue spreads through the sky just above the high trees, the first cue of the morning. Christine has been watching the dark sky for a while now, tossing and turning every now and then. Now light dangles into the room, caressing the rosy curtains and bedsheets with its sparkles. No way Christine can fall asleep this morning, not when every nerve in her body tickles. There is this deep yearning rising in her, pulsing through her veins, demanding attention.

The arms locked around Christine aren’t truly helping the situation. Especially not when Azusa nuzzles her locks in his slumber, his scent of fruity black tea with a hint of flowers sailing in as Christine draws breath.

Five days.

For five days without making love to the man who lays next to her. A sigh presses past Christine’s lips. Five days full of work for Karlheinz’s plans. Five days full of chores in the mansion. Five days hitting the bed in the brick of dawn and passing out from exhaustion.

Yet now, Christine is wide awake, feeling how neediness courses through her body. Such a wrong timing.

Azusa lets out a soft mumble while Christine’s gaze embraces him. He has worked so hard, deserving every ounce of rest he can get. Not wanting to disturb him, Christine sneaks from under his arms gradually. Another mumble, an arm tugging a pillow, hugging it instead. An adorable sight.

But adorable isn’t what Christine would need now. Not even the long bath earlier has shaken the throbbing need away. Slightly annoyed by her urges, Christine grabs a silk robe from the backrest of a chair and wraps it around her. Even though the fabric is light, its touch on her skin is enough to send shivers all over. Oh, she would need so much more. Drawing a breath, she pushes the longing aside and heads for the kitchen. Perhaps a glass of water can cool her down.

But this isn’t a lucky morning for Christine. Of course, the water couldn’t help her. Heading back, yet another sigh vibrates through Christine. She reaches for the doorknob, but it escapes her fingers just when she’s about to grab it. Lifting her gaze, she meets the eyes that bore through her full of worry and anxiousness.

A second passes, perhaps two. Cold fingers grip around Christine’s wrist, and Azusa hauls her into the room, slamming the door shut.

“Azu, what’s the matter?” The question jumps off Christine’s lips.

“When I woke up…” Darkness slithers into Azusa’s eyes and he only firms his hold. “...you weren’t there near me in the bed… Or rather… you weren’t around… in the room at all... I feared that you might… have abandoned me...and had left me... Just thinking about it… It got me feeling… very sad… and incredibly scared...”

“Azu…” Slowly, Christine pulls her wrist from Azusa’s fingers only to lean in and cup his icy cheeks. “I will never leave you because I love you.”

But Azusa’s gaze is like the one of a hurt animal. “Then why… did you leave the room… without telling me…!?” His usually sluggish tone of voice pitches higher.

Christine shifts in front of him. “You were still sleeping, and I didn't want to wake you up.” She allows a tiny sigh to leave her mouth again. “I couldn't sleep. So… I went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water.”

“Really…?” Confusion wafts over Azusa’s face. Yet it is soon twisted into suspiciousness. “Or you might be using that… as an excuse for me… to lower my guard...then use that opportunity… to run away and leave me…”

“Azusa stop!” Christine frowns, staring at her love. “You need to learn to trust me. I haven't given you any reason to think that I'll leave you for someone else.” So frustrating! Always this! Always! Why can’t Azusa see how much she loves him? Why can’t he trust that she will stay? Stomping her feet on the carpet, Christine gives the man a final glare. “I'm done talking to you, I'm going to bed now.”

“Wait!” Azusa’s voice is almost insinuating with desperation.

But Christine doesn’t mind. She has gotten enough of this. Turning her back, she refuses to answer. The bed is calling for her.

The next step is never taken.

“Don't you turn your back on me…! I’m not done talking to you yet...!” Azusa seizes Christine’s shoulders, his fingertips digging into her skin as he turns her around so fast, that her head is spinning for a moment. But only for a moment, for the reliant lips capture hers.

“Azusa, no…” Christine shoves Azusa’s chest, breaking the smooch and forcing a whine out of the Vampire. “I want you to trust me…”

For a while, nothing is being said. The couple stares at each other and the silence is thick between them.

Azusa shifts as if he is feeling physically uncomfortable. “It’s hard, Rose… especially when I know… that other men want you…”

His anxiety is kicking in, isn’t it? Christine locks her gaze with Azusa’s while she lets her robe slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. Lifting her hands, she tugs the straps of her nightgown until they run down her upper arms. With a sway of her hips, she allows the piece of garment to drop and pile around her ankles.

“Azu…” Without a hurry, Christine steps out of the nightgown and brings her hands on her curves. There is fire in her loins and desire in her belly. “...you have had my body many times. But…” She slithers her fingers under the waist of her lace pink thong. “...I want you to know.” She draws the lingerie down little by little revealing everything as the ache between her thighs grows more and more insistent. “I'm still yours. My heart and body will always be yours.”

As Azusa’s eyes caress her with lusting, invisible fingers, Christine steps closer. He is all she wants; all she can think of. “My body craves you… Azu…” She sinks into his eyes, and the wet heat flares in her. Lust burns in her brain and she can concentrate on nothing else. “Please… make love to me…”

Azusa swallows. “Rose…”

For a tiny while Azusa’s eyes settle on Christine’s breasts. Just a moment later, he lifts his hand and starts to unbutton his shirt. One by one, the fastenings drop open, baring his chest to Christine’s waiting gaze. He drops the piece of clothing on the floor, and with a swift movement, he scoops her up and carries her through the room, tossing her on the bed so hastily that her head sinks into the pillow. She doesn’t even have time to dampen her lips with her tongue before he is over her, showering kisses on her.

The smooches take over Christine’s senses as she sinks into bliss along with them. Trembles course through her as Azusa takes her lips with his own. So all-consuming. It’s impossible to resist the pull of passion that draws them both in. The kiss is hard, then soft and hard again, coming like waves to the shore, making her blood pulse in her veins with a scarlet web of desire.

Finally, Azusa breaks the kiss and tugs Christine’s bottom lip, scraping it with his peeking fangs. A metallic inkling of a taste wafts onto her tongue, a cue of her own blood. Azusa’s mouth moves down to Christine’s slender throat, his teeth finding the column of her neck and piercing it. The white pain strikes her mind, and she can’t hold back a whine that pushes past her lips.

“Sing more… for me, Rose…” Azusa traces Christine’s side while he focuses on sucking her blood. Releasing a moan, he licks over the bite mark and fishes the last drops of the delicious liquid of life before moving down.

When Azusa’s breath breezes over Christine’s skin, her nipples perk up from the mere thought of what is to come. A cry escapes her when his fangs thrust into the ample flesh of her mound. Drawing blood once more, Azusa caresses her other breast and toys with its hardened peak, gliding his thumb over the nub. Combined with the bite, the sensation hauls Christine into a mixture of sweet pain and luscious pleasure.

As if asking forgiveness, Azusa kisses the reddish bite, tracing the mound until he reaches the stout bud. Flicking over it, he forces a whine out of Christine. Grazing with his fangs, he sucks the nub into his mouth and whirls his tongue around it. Shivers run down Christine’s spine, and she squirms under her lover, wailing.

Releasing the bud, Azusa captures the other and gives it the same treatment. More laments of lust escape to the air while yearning ignites deep within Christine.

“Your voice… spurs me on…” Azusa breathes against the nipple. “Rose… let me hear… more…” He inches closer, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh of Christine’s breast. Squealing, she laces her fingers with his hair, presses his head closer, and arches her back to meet his lips and fangs again and again.

And that is only the start of their tingling tango of delight and desperation. Azusa’s fangs find all the sensitive spots of Christine’s, for he knows them well. The mouthwatering scrunch of her upper arm, the cushiony of her waist and belly, the bounciness of her thigh. With each bite, comes a mark of ownership, a sign of love and dedication like no other, painted with pain like proof of life. The perfection the couple only shares with one another and no one else, raw need meeting pure desire.

Heat uncurls in Christine’s abdomen, the urgent need that demands more. She thrills at the thought of Azusa moving inside her.

“Azu…” A quivering whisper. Christine craves more, her body flaring with fervor and mind hazing with urge old as time. This man, this love is all she needs. Meandering under him, she calls him to take what belongs rightfully to him, teases him with the promise of delight.

“Rose… your scent…” Azusa showers Christine’s stomach with thousands of smooches. “...it is… like a garden… My own… rose garden…”

Releasing his grasp, Azusa shoves his pajama pants down along with his underwear as if a cue that Christine’s carnal desire will no longer be denied. He kicks the clothes off the edge of the bed. “You are mine, Rose… I will not hand you over… to anyone…”

Azusa seizes Christine by her waist and flips her over. Her cheek meets the pillow, sinking into it as she wheezes. Just a moment later, Azusa’s fingers entangle with her hair while he buries his nose in it and breathes her in. As he kisses down her nape, his breath is ragged in her ears. He traces her skin, enlacing his fingers with her hair and tugging gently while keeping his other hand on her shoulder blade and scraping her neck.

The soft pecks of his lips on her spine are ever-so-gently. Yet, the possessive desperation lingers between the couple and paints every touch, every lungful of air.

Nuzzling Christine’s spine, Azusa presses another series of smooches on it and inhales deeply. “Your scent… Rose… It’s intoxicating…”

Christine loves to hear Azusa’s sweet words. He clenches his hand in her hair, his digits delving into it for a while before he slides his fingers down her back, cherishing every inch of her skin.

Soft moans of satisfaction sail out of Christine as Azusa holds her waist and caresses the small of her back with his mouth. She can’t help but sway her bottom for him, and he answers the cue, hauling is closer and covering the buttocks with kisses as well while palming the squeezy flesh over and over again.

The fangs puncture Christine’s buttock, forcing a lament out of her. Azusa can’t resist suckling even more of her sweet liquid of life. Her palm meets the headboard of the bed, fingers scratching it as Azusa moves south while his hand reaches the apex of her thighs; the tip of his finger dips in followed by a moist draining sound.

“Rose, you are… so wet… for me…” Azusa’s words vibrate against Christine’s skin just before his tongue glides to the valley between her thighs, savoring the sweet cavern. At the same time, he lets his digit sneak past her pearly gates, sinking in and retreating again. He works his fingers into her once more, igniting her. Her body vibrates in response, and she bites back a whimper.

Azusa’s swirling fingers spread Christine wide, spreading her wetness all over her rosy petals. Curling his digits, he provokes more muffled moans out of her, inflaming her veins with gratification. Kissing and licking, Azusa traces Christine’s swollen folds. She opens for him like a flower as he inches his fingers out only to slash his tongue inside, working her entrance, driving her wild. The sensation locks her in the prison of desires, moistness spreading on her thighs with each delicate flick while his digits reach her already throbbing nub of pleasures.

Christine’s breath comes in soft pants as Azusa’s fingers keep stroking her, sending her into shivers of ecstasy. Her clit cries out for him, her back arches and her fingers clench the blanket as if it is the only thing that keeps her in this realm while he drinks deep from her candied well of bliss. Again and again, bold swipes of his tongue send her spinning in the whirlpool of sacred sensations.

“You taste… so good, Rose…” Kissing her entrance, Azusa slides his tongue toward Christine’s buttocks, snaking its way between them and forcing yet another whimper past her lips. She tenses for the unfamiliar sensation as Azusa tests the new waters, a soggy lick probing the opening he hasn’t conquered yet.

Shivering, Christine squeezes the blanket. What is this? But the protest dies on her lips as Azusa keeps going, kissing and lapping with relish. Small drifts turn into tidal waves of delight, taking Christine beyond reason. Whimpering, she surrenders while Azusa’s tongue wins over her confusion and his thumb dances over her pulsing pearl.

“Every part of… you is mine…” The whisper vibrates against Christine’s buttock, and right after the wet tip of Azusa’s tongue gives her another thrill of rapture.

• Full Uncensored Artwork, Here •

Wailing, Christine grasps the blanket under her and instinctively tugs it into her mouth, stifling her voice. If anything, that drives Azusa further, and his tongue starts to tantalize and tease her whilst his stroking and petting on her glossy bud never stops. She writhes against his hand and the tongue that slips in, tormenting her ever-so-sweetly.

Almost losing herself to the pleasure, Christine shifts her hips adapting to Azusa’s moves. Rapture shoots through her at his touch and tortured moans squeeze from her mouth. If this doesn’t stop soon, she will come apart right here and now. Her moans break through, echoing through the room… and just then, Azusa’s fingers withdraw, and his tongue leaves a wet trail on her bottom.

“No! Azu, please! Don’t stop!” Christine’s cries of yearning cut the air.

“We should… cum together, Rose.”

As Christine wails and heaves, Azusa collects her into his arms, supporting her against his chest. She can’t help the trembles that dash through her muscles from both exhaustion and eagerness.

Nuzzling Christine’s nape, Azusa nibbles it with the peaks of his fangs only. His mouth tells her without words how loved she is. He grabs her chin, gently tilting her head to captivate her lips and lock her into a prison of smooches. The earth-shattering kisses sail into Christine’s heart, for they are not only because of lust but adornment as well. Like Cupid’s arrow into her chest, Azusa’s lips speak a language of their own in a long and leisurely manner.

I love you.

I need you.

I’ll never let go of you.

Spoken words aren’t needed. In silence, they flow from one another as an endless stream that binds them together.

While they kiss open-mouthed, Azusa grinds his erection against Christine’s backside. It slides across her folds, and she can feel how ready he is to take her, to show her to whom she belongs. Nudging her dampened petals, he briefly pauses at her pearly gates, then pushes them wide and shoves his length into her core. Heat meets coldness, creating an inferno spiced with an ice storm.

Azusa sighs with satisfaction as his hardness fills Christine, stripping away everything but her need for him. He places one hand on Christine’s hip, holding her there as he hits the deepest parts of her. For a moment, he breaks the kiss and bites her lower lip, drawing a drip of blood. The wound is sealed fast but the swollen sensation doesn’t leave Christine while the couple sinks into the dance of smooches and bounces. Her body molds against his, as she enjoys the coldness of his skin and the roughness of his thrusts.

“Rose…” Azusa’s breath whispers over Christine’s lips. He ravishes her body while kissing her over and over, pushing all else from her mind. His kiss is full of possessiveness, greedy for even more.

Christine groans into Azusa’s mouth while he claims hers again and again, his lips crushing against hers. They gasp, moan, and writhe while the sun rises above the trees and paints the room with a golden hue of rosy pink. To kiss Azusa like this forever would not be long enough.

• Full Uncensored Artwork, Here •

Christine cherishes the feel of his tongue rubbing hers and can’t help but suck it, enjoying the suction. He’s in her, filling her completely. Not just her body but her mind and soul as well.

Azusa’s hands are cool but demand more and more from Christine. Her breasts bounce with each thrust and the golden cross along with them, hitting her chest every time. He cups her mound, squeezing and caressing it. Gently at first, then rougher. His thumb rasps against her hardened nipple, and soon, he can’t resist the urge to roll and pinch the aching bud, forcing out wailing moans from Christine but only to muffle those with his smooches.

They pant in pleasure, lost in heat as they move together as one. Azusa presses harder into her, deeper, filling Christine up with his cock. Her pussy tightens around him as his length pierces her from behind over and over again. As she stretches and melds, clenching him, he releases a hungry moan into her mouth. His harsh, rough strokes rock her body while they merge, lips on lips.

“Rose… you are…” Azusa pants onto Christine’s lips. “...mine…”

Trapped between torment and ecstasy, Christine’s inner walls ripple against Azusa. He slows down but only to hasten his pace again. Pounding into her depths, he groans, almost growls into their kisses.

Christine’s whole body is on fire with bliss. Her toes curl and her back arches as the waves come, sizzling through every part of her. Azusa’s steely bouncing sends her toward the edge as he pulses in her, making gratification rocket along her veins. He clasps her hips with both hands, pulling her hard into his final thrust, and at the same moment, a soul-shattering orgasm robs Christine of her senses. Azusa’s jerking shaft gushes into her, and his growls of pleasure mingle with her laments. His body tenses as he pours his load deep into her, unleashing his love and melting in her heat.

As he wraps both arms around Christine, Azusa stays inside, letting her milk him while nuzzling her nape through her sweaty hair. “Rose… I love you… so much…”

- End -

Thank you for reading. 📖 🌹

• Artwork by Alluraalteal •

[spectrechosts]

Heaven Sent - Chapter 2

Everyone is so so sad that an angel came and yelled at them, it's giant cuddlepile time.

Full Series

A harem of near-500 succubi is actually more manageable than one might expect, all things considered.

Lilith can't be everywhere at once, but she doesn't need to be- all her darlings can sense her, feel her love for them whenever they want. They know she cares more for them than anything else in all of existence.

And they're all more than happy to share. She tries to get some good one-on-one time with one or two a day if she's not busy; but spending time with groups, sleeping in cuddly piles of her loves- it's not very difficult for anyone who wants to be close to her to do so.

Even when it is, she's not the sole object of their affections. Her girls are happy to fraternize amongst themselves most days, some might even love eachother more than they love her! It's wonderful. Everyone is happy, nobody feels left out or neglected, life in her palace is smooth and comfortable.

Most of the time.

Most of the time, Lilith doesn't fuck herself up wrestling an angel instead of waiting a couple minutes for Lucy to handle it.

Most of the time, she doesn't have to manage four hundred and eighty-four succubi who are all worried sick and want to see her and dote on her and cuddle her and be reassured by her, specifically, right now, or they're going to wallow in their misery.

And they are wallowing. She can feel it, the deep funk that has settled into her palace like a heavy fog. There's no fooling around, or cavorting, or even coquettishness. Nobody's gone out on a summon since the angel fell.

It simply will not do.

Days of recovery in the lava spas and dozens of gifted souls from her worried darlings have her feeling almost back to normal. She probably shouldn't push herself too hard, but- Well, surely just a little couldn't hurt.

She rises from her woefully empty bed and stalks silently to her door, opening it to reveal a gaggle of succubi trying very hard not to seem like they're snooping on her.

"Mistress! Um-"

"Were you sleeping in there Mistress? I had no idea-"

"MISTRESSSSSSSSS ARE YOU OKAY DO YOU NEED ANYTHING I LOVE YOU-"

She draws the last to speak into a hug, and the others join in hesitantly when they see she isn't wincing at being touched anymore.

"I'm okay, Qintora, thank you." She says, and the demoness squeezes her tighter and chokes back a sob. "Girls, spread the word: Mistress is starting to feel better, and wants to spend some time with all her darlings. Everyone should gather at the orgy chamber for cuddles tonight. Got it?"

The succubi nod eagerly and scamper off to pass along the invitation. Lilith stretches languidly, and sets off to prepare for the night. As long as she takes it slow, her body should be able to handle it.

~

Lilith lounges in a pile of cushions as her concubines filter into the orgy chamber, all looking excited but nervous.

Her tail snakes down out of the pile, coils on and on and on until it reaches another lounging place, connects to another Lilith resting atop it.

And another, and another, and another- she numbers almost fifty of herself in all, connected together by a web of tails interwoven across the chamber floor.

Grezayla looks predictably bewildered as she sees them, still too new to have seen her flaunt this particular show of shapeshifting prowess before.

Everyone else, however, recognizes that this is rather subdued.

When Lilith's at her best, when she's using the orgy chamber for its intended function, she can usually manage at least one of herself for each of her darlings to play with. Essentially mindless ones, granted- driven by pure primordial appetites to rut and claim and devour- but still. Her transformations feel sluggish, difficult. If she ever sees that angel again, she'll make sure it regrets it.

But now is not the time for grumbling about infernal vengeance. Her girls are joining her, piling in to be close with each of her bodies. She has to focus, make sure that she can be a proper, doting mistress; fifty times over, simultaneously. This is their night, and she's going to make sure that each of them comes out of it free of any more worries.

"Mistress, you're- How are you- There's so many of you?" Says Grezayla, as she cozies up to one of her.

"Thank fuck you're okay Mistress, I was so worried when I heard you fought the angel." Mumbles Tinixi, burying her face in another's shoulder.

"Mistress it was so scary, it made me think all these bad things about myself…" Sniffles Zrixira, curling herself around another's arm.

"A trifle, while I'm still resting. I'll show you just how many of me there can be, once I'm recovered." She says. "You can learn it too, it's just very difficult. We had five Azzies once, but they were all rather uncoordinated."

"I'm okay, Tini. Everyone is okay, thanks to you. My good girl…"

"Mistress, we all missed you so much!" Whines Jaentia, hugging one of her midsections tightly. "Never get hurt again, okay?"

"I know, Zrixi. Don't even think about what it made you think, it's nonsense."

"If any more angels show up we all agreed we're gonna beat their asses!" Says Vylona, pumping her fists resolutely.

"Do you need more souls, Mistress?" Asks Aezorim, eyes full of worry. "We can get more!"

"Ah- Vy- wait. Jaentia, darling, I'll try. Don't worry about me."

"Vylona do not under any circumstances do that. Call me and Lucy. Aezorim, I don't-"

"MISSSTREEEESSSSSSSSS-" Sobs Qintora, clinging to one of her heads.

"Aezorim, I don't need more souls, thank you, you've all been very kind. I'm feeling practically good as new." Lilith says, squinting and blinking rapidly to clear her heads.

"Mistress it tried to make me think I was wrong to come down here-"

"I was so scared when we couldn't find you after-"

"Dearests, I-" Lilith grunts, through gritted teeth. Her heads pound, trying to hold all these conversations at once.

"The angel said I was-"

"And we couldn't see you-"

"Are you sure you're-"

"Darlings!" She snaps with all her mouths, as several of her cradle her heads. "I… Just, slower, okay? I can't… We have all the time in the world to talk, just, please slower."

Dozens of her succubi begin bawling, worried that she's still hurt and they made it worse.

"No, dearests, oh no don't cry-" She coos as she tries to comfort them all.

~

Days pass in there, slowly working through everyone's worries until they're all relaxed and drift into sleep. Lilith feels better too, having done so. Not perfect, but close enough to it. Feeling that her darlings are calm and happy is good for her vile heart.

Lucy appears in the center of the chamber, wings gently carrying her over the mass of tails.

"Lilith."

"Lucy." Lilith says, gently shifting one of herself to sit up without disturbing her sleeping succubi. "What is it?"

"You seem well." Lucy says, peering over the room. "Will you all be returning to work now?"

"I think so."

"Good, good." She says, as if her mind is elsewhere. "I have something I'd like to put under your purview, if you're up for it."

"Of course." Lilith says, further extracting herself to stand with Lucy.

"The angel-"

"No." She immediately interrupts, and Lucy sighs.

"Hear me out-"

"No! Not a chance! Lucy, you saw what it did-"

"Lilith. I would not do this without cause." Lucy states flatly, and Lilith frowns but holds her tongue.

"It insists it hasn't fallen, that this is all a test."

"It can insist whatever the fuck it wants, you can sense it as well as I can."

"I can." She says, nodding. "It fell to your circle for a reason, Lilith. These things don't just happen, maybe you can-"

"We're the highest circle. Maybe it got stuck."

"Lilith." Says Lucy sternly, and she huffs. "I'm not telling you to be its best friend. But I know exactly how much it hurts to fall, and you know better than most. It needs someone to help it acclimatize, accept that it can be happy here. Just- try to figure out what it wants, okay?"

"…It had better fucking behave." Lilith grumbles.

"It will."

"I mean it."

"It will." Lucy insists. "Tell me when you're ready, I'll bring it by."

And with that she vanishes, and Lilith snuggles the body that had been speaking with her back into the loving embrace of the succubi surrounding it, clutches just a little tighter with all of her arms.

[lilacs-and-stone]

Reference of my TADC oc Nelli.

Her fancy costume isn't her main outfit cause I'm lazy and also she's supposed to look like a weird bargain bin toy. More info bellow.

Her chosen circus name is Nelli. As a human she worked making props for the local theater and hoped to be stage designer. She's outgoing and a little judgemental. This made her difficult to work with behind the stage back in her normal life.

★Ballerina, BJD doll, with multiple moods. ｡:･

★Doesn't actually know ballet but does walk on her tiptoes most of the time. ｡:･

★Head can rotate 360°, and with enough force it pops off. ｡:･

★Each mood spins on an unseen disk. She has to pull her rope to change it. ｡:･

★Her body is frozen while her moods are spinning. ｡:･

★ Her 2D mouth doesn't move but the entire face can move within the square opening. ｡:･

★A spin doesn't always change to an appropriate or relevant mood. ｡:･

★Some clothing elements change with the mood, the rest is monochrome. ｡:･

★Her moods don't exactly change her personality, it changes the way she expresses: Her vocabulary, voice pitch/tone, and movement. ｡:･

★A mood can get stuck for a few minutes or an entire "day". ｡:･

★Her moods don't obey normal probability. Some days a certain mood may not appear at all. ｡:･

★Caine can set her mood to exactly what he wants. ｡:･

★ Her digital life would be easier if she stayed in a happy mood but she always itches to switch due to boredom. ｡:･

★ Her pom poms reflect the current face. One is always looking forward. Moods: ｡:･

★Happy mood is a calm positivity. Very zen. Her movements are graceful. Dialogue text has little flowers.✿ ｡:･

★Adorable mood is Kawaii mode. She says everything in a higher pitch tone. Lots of movements. Dialogue text has hearts. ♡ ｡:･

★"Confused" mood makes her forgetful. Nearly every sentence is a question.❓ ｡:･

★Sad mood. A deeper tone of voice and slumped shoulders. More emotional and thoughtful. Not very vocal. ｡:･

★Neutral mood is a monotone voice and apathy. Her movements are stiff. Dialogue text has no end punctuation ｡:･

★Hungry mood is a little weird since she doesn't need to eat. It's a malicious mood. She describes things with adjectives you use for food. Has a raspy voice. ｡:･

★Sick makes her clumsier, anxious and more prone to vertigo. Happens mostly if she spins her mood wheel too fast or too often. ｡:･

★Grumpy. Very snappy. She directs her anger at npcs and inanimate objects. Usually. Dialogue text has ✷ ｡:･

★Lazy. Sluggish movement, her feet are flat on the floor. She does want to move though so she feels very trapped in this one. ｡:･

★Null_ … mood not found. Not shown here. This was supposed to be shown on a planned animatic of her corruption. But hyperfixation is dormant for now.

[grineerios]

Tennotober Day 24- "Beard"

The cephalon paused for a moment, his interest drawn by a set of statistics. With a mildly frustrated sigh, he hovered towards the exit of the non-functional liset.

"Op- Drifter, are you out here?"

A hunched figure sat by the cooking fire, still and silent. They didn't turn their head, even as Ordis approached.

"Drifter?" His voice took on a worried tone.

Callan stared deep into heart of the flames, not shifting his gaze or responding to the query. He looked sickly, with glassy eyes and an exhausted complexion. Red marks around his eyes, nose, and forehead told the story of the past few weeks.

"Your cortisol levels are hitting a new high. They should be coming down by now, not going up. Are you... feeling well?" Ordis made a vague gesture at the golden veil sitting on the stone ring that surrounded the fire, "It's been almost a week since you returned. Whatever effects the Veil inflicted on you should be wearing off- the Ostron you saved appears to be doing well."

"... I'm fine, Ordis." Callan's voice was barely more than a gravelly croak, "Just need to... keep going. You got any more leads on Narmer outposts? I can try to head out at dawn-"

"Operator!" The cephalon was clearly agitated, "Forget Narmer! When was the last time you had a good meal? Or tried to relax?! Or-"

Ordis paused. "... You haven't slept yet, have you?"

The silence was all the confirmation he needed.

"No wonder your cortisol levels are spiking! You know that will kill you, correct? Operator- you need rest!"

Callan exhaled, his gaze drifting to the veil, orange-yellow in the firelight.

"'s fine. I'm okay Ordis. I can keep going." His speech was sluggish and slurred, "I don't need you to tell me how to take care of myself."

"CLEARLY YOU-" the cephalon glitched, before lapsing into a brief moment of silence.

"Fine. I will return to my duties then." He spoke as if through gritted teeth. There was a tiny pang of sadness in his systems that he tried to shrug off as he left the stubborn drifter alone in the night.

[godkilller]

He slides a plate across the tile, until it rests against the bars. It's like pulling a finger through dust, the trail it leaves in debri and dirt. Does this place have rats, he wonders idly. nd the noise it had made.. Grating. It'd almost make him flinch. Upon the plate: persimmon cut into parts. He was not allowed to bring a knife down here, so he'd stood and cut the fruit right there at the gate, while the guards had watched. "I'm sure you don't know what day it is.." He murmurs, sitting back on his haunches and waiting to see if his gift will be accepted.

"Nonetheless.. Happy birthday.." [for prisoner verse !]

gin's birthday asks! open from sept. 9 - 16th.

HE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT DAY IT WAS, nor did Gin think it particularly mattered anymore -- he wasn't keeping track, his sentence was quite the lengthy one. But it was surprising nonetheless to see Izuru here, in the damp darkness of his cell's dim lighting. He recalled being warned about how sad this day made his previous lieutenant by the new captain of the Third, at least in a hazy memory of the brief meeting the year prior. So why was Izuru here, then, if his existence was such a pained thing? Better to forget about him, to move on, to let the traitorous Shinigami rot down here.

There were rats, and in his absent-minded boredom Gin had given them a few names by now, too. Silly ones. It kept his humor from dying off completely.

Gin didn't move at first, didn't acknowledge Izuru's presence whilst he kept to his far corner, slumped and coiled inwards to rest his chin upon a propped knee held close to his marred chest. An ankle braced with chains had enough slack to allow the prisoner to walk forward unhindered up until he reached the bars to his cage, but that was when the length of chains grew tense -- and he'd have to reach out to grasp at the tray placed down in offering. Gin remained where he was, glancing toward Izuru in the flickering lantern's light haloing behind him.

❝ What're you doin' down here? ❞ Offering ignored, for now, Gin turned his head properly to regard the other Shinigami, nearly enshrouded in darkness save for the glint of light dancing across dirtied strands of silver. A gleam, subtle, met the glint of azure of an opened eye. Gin shifted, moving to stand with a sluggishness that spoke of ache and weakness -- reiatsu smothered with seals and body neglected and underfed, he was slow to approach the bars with the jingling drag and scrape of metal chain links following his steps. His ankle was rubbed raw and bruised at the joint where the restraint remained fastened.

Gin dipped back down into a crouch, coming further into the light's touch and revealing a worsened appearance than before -- dark undereye circles akin to bruises against pale flesh given a sickly tinge, hair unkempt and with a portion dyed by dried blood by his left temple. The prisoner lowered himself fully into a seated position, cracking a weakened smile at the sliced up arrangement, fondness bittersweet.

❝ You shouldn't've. ❞ He let that brimming nostalgia fuel a more fitting smile to mask the hurt, grinning wider and finding it in him to keep that expression in place. His eyes slid away into hiding once more, head bowing down a touch.

His remaining hand reached out to slide between the bars, albeit barely able to go beyond the tray's position flush against them, to fetch a slice of persimmon prepared by Izuru. He brought it to his mouth -- and bit, the subsequent taste so sweet that Gin's body felt a rush of rejection from head to toe, gut churning. How potent that sensation, feeling sick to his stomach. But he ate regardless, each and every last slice, and he did not bother to even pretend to ask if Izuru wanted a piece, to indulge in that old back and forth of theirs, already knowing the answer would remain the same as it always did.

[alwerakoo]

Pigment (Chapter 6)

Rise of the TMNT Post season 2, farmhouse arc Chapter 6 of a longer fic; THIS IS PART OF A SERIES

Ao3

---

When Leo first wakes up – it takes him a moment to realize what's wrong.

The house is quiet, and there's an odd stillness around, something that comes with hot, humid air and the distant promise of a thunderstorm. It's a full moon, and the blue light from the window falls on his hand in faint sparkles.

Mikey's been using the bottom bunk as additional art storage for years, and Leo keeps waking up with glitter stuck to his fingers no matter what.

He hears soft breathing, a familiar presence in the room, and it's not until he slides his palm down to his chest that he sits up – fully awake.

He can feel both of his hearts, pressed close together.

One – slow and steady, sluggish with sleep.

The other – pressing between his ribs like a bullet.

He knows Donnie's heart like he knows the back of his own mind, and there's something to its rhythm now that leaves him a little breathless and dazed.

It was hard to tell sometimes, which hurt was his own, where the line separating them started – if it ever existed at all.

Most days, it didn't really matter either way.

He puts a hand to his chest, pushing the heel of his palm in a circle. He pushes himself to the edge of the bed, standing up and almost hitting his head on the top frame in the process.

He glances at the top bunk. Usagi's laid out on his mattress – obnoxiously orange sheets kicked to the side, one leg dangling off the edge of the frame, and a sleeping, green lizard carefully tucked away between his arms.

It's cute in a way that would've made him smile if there wasn't something vile and nervous, squeezing its way down his throat.

Mikey's curled up on his own bed in the other corner, limbs half-hidden in his shell.

Leo considers waking him up but then doesn't.

There are things Donnie needs when he gets like this – panicked and wrapped up in his own thoughts, and an audience isn't one of them.

He leaves the room; feet quiet on the wooden floors.

The hallway is still, silent like their bedroom, but there's faint light, falling through the thin curtain of the kitchen backdoor.

He lets the bedroom door fall shut behind him before crossing the room, legs stiff as if braced for impact.

It's a hot and stuffy night, in that way that always seems to predict a near storm but never does. The porch light is dim, shadowed by some cobwebs, and Leo makes sure to rattle the door handle, making his presence known.

“Hey,” he half-whispers.

Donnie's leaning against the railing, both elbows resting on the old wood, but then he flinches a little, both shoulders raised, turning around so quickly he almost trips over his own feet.

Leo would feel more guilty about that if there weren't any more pressing matters on his mind.

It's dark, even in the dim light, and it's not until he raises a hand, wiping at his face, that Leo realizes – Donnie's crying.

“Oh,” he says, rather inelegantly. Then: “Oh, fuck, man. The hell?”

It's an instinct.

It's pulling a hand away from a fire, it's covering ears at a loud voice, and it's squinting when looking up at the sun.

Leo steps closer, hands raised to close his fingers around Donnie's forearms. He looks him over, but he already knows this is not the kind of hurt the miles and piles of his medical textbooks will know how to fix.

“What's going on, what's wrong?”

Donnie shakes his head, seemingly more to focus than as an answer.

“I don't- It's fine.” He raises his hand, wiping his nose. It's the sort of careless and clumsy gesture he would normally wince and scoff at, and it makes Leo frown with worry.

“Dee,” Leo says.

He hesitates, only for a moment, before pulling at his arms, letting his brother melt into his hold.

Donnie wraps his arms around his shoulders, letting out a shaky breath.

“I'm- Fuck, I don't know what came over me, shit.”

He laughs a little at that last part, a small and sad thing.

It's so rare to see him like this, splintering from the inside out. Donnie's tough, in all the ways Leo always had to make up for with anger.

Tough and brave.

There's a violent need in Leo's chest; the part of him that would burn the world until his brother tells him he's not cold anymore.

“It's alright,” he says instead, one hand on Donnie's back.

“I can't stop thinking about it.”

“About what?”

But he can feel his fingers press against a wide scar, the edges rough and jagged, and he already knows the answer.

They don't say anything for a while, until their arms ache from a tight hold and Donnie's face dries in the warm air.

Finally, his brother pulls away, face turned to the stretches of trees and hills ahead. He says:

“Do you think... Would you miss me if I died?”

For a moment, Leo doesn't answer.

It's almost like he doesn't register the question itself – his mind ticking around it, trying to find anything else he could mean by it, because surely, that can't be right.

He doesn't speak until Donnie looks at him again, his face close to breaking.

“... What kind of a fucking question is that?!”

It's louder than he intended, something honestly bitter slipping into his tone.

It hurts in a strange sort of way, like getting accused of something you'd never do. Or being punched in the face.

“I don't know?!” Donnie raises his voice, his hands pressed close to his chest in a nervous gesture. “An honest one!”

“A stupid one,” Leo scoffs. “Of course I would, you fucking dickhead.”

“You don't sound like you would, asshole.”

It's a joke, probably, or a slight jab, the kind of banter that would leave Leo offended if it came from anyone else. But it makes him pause now, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

It feels wrong to even entertain a thought like that.

Leo's life is a tapestry – woven together in careful and tight strands of his family. It felt suffocating sometimes – keeping it all wrapped so tightly around his heart.

To love in the way he did – with everything he had.

Death was a distant thing that happened to everyone but his brothers, until it wasn't and it didn't, and the idea of losing even that one strand of himself felt like falling and never hitting the ground.

But he imagines it now.

Donnie turns away from him, elbows resting on the railing, looking far ahead.

He looks tired; dark circles under his eyes.

He'll go to sleep in the morning, if ever, curled up in his bedsheets like it might kill him to let his body breathe for even a second. He'll wake up groggy and ruffled, with a cup of coffee in his hand before he even leaves his bed, and he'll be annoying and impossible to deal with, like he always is on so little sleep.

Leo would miss all of it.

“... I'm nothing without you.”

It makes Donnie blink and turn to look at him, like he wasn't expecting a real answer after all.

Leo gives him a shrug.

There's a part of him that knows about life, about hurting and carrying on, and finding the light after months of darkness.

And there's a bigger, louder part of him that knows one heart is not enough to keep him alive.

“Oh, that's not true,” Donnie says.

He sounds dismissive in a forced kind of way, shoulder brushing against his cheek in embarrassment. There's a special sort of look he gets when he says something he doesn't fully agree with but doesn't want to admit otherwise out loud.

“You asked,” Leo tells him.

It's true, no matter what Donnie chooses to think of it.

He spent so much of his life orbiting around his brothers, he's not sure he'd ever be able to move again if something made him stop. He's lost without them, and he's too stubborn to learn new tricks.

A dog at a train station, waiting for the passenger that would never arrive.

He leans against the railing next to Donnie, following his gaze.

“Would you buy a bike with one wheel?” He tries again, less seriously.

Donnie's a bird sometimes, fidgety and ready to pull away at any unexpected movement.

His eyes are pure white, but Leo can feel him watching out of the corner of his eyes.

“Yes,” he says, voice flat and thin. “That's a unicycle.”

“You're so pretentious,” Leo says. “You know what I mean. What got you in this mood anyway?”

The question itself is vaguely alarming, in a way that would ring some alarms in Leo's mind if it were anyone but his brother. He knows him too well to dismiss the sheer love and desperation with which Donnie clings to life, and he's not the sort of man to give existential dread the time of day.

Donnie rubs his hands together, fingers tense.

“I don't know. I had a weird dream.”

“So you do know.”

Donnie blinks, pulling back the white eyelids, just so he can send him a more effective glare.

Leo smiles back.

Getting Donnie to open up was a delicate recipe that called for an even mix of honesty and teasing. For Leo, it always felt like muscle memory.

Donnie tenses, one claw pressing into the corner of his nail. He chews on the inside of his cheek, mind running faster than Leo would ever be able to catch up to.

“Mikey's been fighting with Dad,” he says, finally.

Leo's not entirely convinced this is what he wanted to say initially, but it's a start either way.

There's an odd tone to his voice and an even stranger expression on his face when Leo answers:

“Yeah. He told me.”

Even if he didn't, it was hard not to notice.

Mikey's anger was a loud thing, and it lingered on everything, like the smell of smoke to cigarettes.

“Oh, sure.” Donnie hums, looking away. “Did he tell you why?”

Leo opens his mouth, then closes it, rethinking.

“... In a way,” he compromises. “I'm sure he exaggerated some.”

Mikey had the annoying habit of being painfully observant, as well as a love for theatrics. It was always hard to tell with him.

“He stopped seeing his Doctor,” Donnie says, which is the part Leo fortunately didn't doubt.

“That's good tho, isn't it?” Leo leans a bit closer, shifting Donnie's side so their arms push together. “You know he hated that.”

“I know.” He says it in an awkward way, like he wants to bite his tongue halfway through. “But, like, isn't it-”

He pauses, mouth drawn into a thin line. He looks a lot like Raph when he frowns like this.

Leo sighs, raising his arm to rest his chin on his hand.

“It's fine, I'm not gonna tell him what you say.”

It's mostly a joke, and he almost jumps when Donnie's face twists, and he suddenly slams his hand on the railing.

“But he's being so weird, isn't he?!”

Leo blinks, taking a moment to make room for the sudden anger in Donnie's voice.

Donnie had a short temper like all of them, but it was rare to see it spark so earnestly, and it catches Leo a little off guard.

Mikey's well-being was something they all thought but never spoke about, and Leo supposes it's the kind of frustration that builds up easily and lingers like a bad smell.

“Oh, yeah,” he agrees, honestly. “He's going bat-shit.”

He never felt too confident to speak about Mikey's PTSD, or depression, or anxiety, or whatever other name he chooses to call it. He's not a therapist, and it's always hard to tell which parts of Mikey are the result of everything that went down in their lives and which are just him.

But there's something about his brother now, something that makes him distant, and cold, and off-putting, in a talking-to-a-wall kind of sense. He's anxious and jumpy, always on the edge, and it's been hard to imagine what's on his mind.

“Right?” Donnie grabs the railing, leaning back, like he wanted to throw himself on the floor but decides against it at the last minute. “I don't know if this is the best time for him to stop going.”

“Oh,” Leo says, rather unhelpfully.

Then he winces, and he can see the regret in Donnie's eyes before he manages to hide it.

“I know that's awful to say.” Donnie looks away, eyes narrowed.

“No,” Leo says quickly. Then: “Okay, maybe a little. Don't tell him that.”

“I'm not suicidal,” Donnie huffs.

His face looks tense, his body stiff with worry.

As annoying as this particular habit of his is – Leo supposes he can't really blame him for thinking this way. It's hard to look at Mikey and not think he's the last person who knows what's best for him.

He wonders if Mikey misunderstood him all those months ago.

He knows the relief that comes with letting anger out, but more and more often his younger brother seems to hold onto it afterwards, like he can't help but gather fuel for the next time.

Leo knows he'll never have enough.

It seems like something they should talk about. Something a sensible older brother would do.

It's a shame Leo's anything but sensible, and Mikey would bite through any leash he'd try to put on him.

“Honestly,” he says finally, voice careful. “I think all that shit would do him more harm anyway. Forcing him into anything certainly will.”

“So we just do nothing?” Donnie looks at him, eyes dark in the dim porch light. “Is that your great idea?”

Leo straightens, frowns.

“Are we fighting now?”

“No!” Donnie leans over, the railing digging into his stomach, face covered in his hands. “I just wish we'd do anything other than sit around for once.”

Leo feels his expression soften.

Helplessness doesn't look good on Donnie, and it aches in his chest to see him like this.

It's hard to watch any of his brothers hurt, to know there's a kind of wound he'll never be able to stitch up.

But there's a sort of wild desperation with which Donnie clings to the idea of 'fixing' Mikey, and Leo fears it might only tear them further apart.

He's not sure there's much fixing that can be done anyway.

He never knew his brother before all this, not really, and it's the only version of Mikey he ever needed to learn how to love.

Maybe it's different for Donnie.

“We're not doing nothing,” he says. “He just needs us here. That's all.”

And for the most part – he believes his own words.

Donnie frowns; runs his hands over his face.

“I know,” he says, like he doesn't.

“I just think-” Leo pauses for a moment. “He feels like y'all think there's something wrong with him.”

Donnie reaches out, grabbing Leo's arm to shake him a little.

“There is something wrong with him!”

“I know!” Leo shouts back, reaching to cover Donnie's palm with his. “You know what I meant!”

Donnie stills, breath quick and shallow. He squeezes his eyes shut, fingers trembling around Leo's arm.

“Maybe you're right.” He says, voice heavy. He pulls back, gaze down to the ground. Then: “He'll do what you say anyway.”

That makes Leo pause.

He frowns, brain ticking, trying to decipher the strange bitterness in his brother's voice. It's so unlike him it takes him a moment to fully place it, like the whole room shifted just a little to the right.

Finally, he asks:

“Are you jealous?”

It's an absurd question, and Leo knows it. Donnie must feel the same way, because he laughs, short and a little fake.

There's a strange sort of shadow that passes over Donnie every time he tries to lie, and it always makes him look equally stupid and pitiful.

“What?”

“That he listens to me and not you.”

Donnie's smile falls.

“Why would I be?” He says, but his voice sounds strange, like he wants Leo to give him answers just so he knows what to deny.

“I don't know.” Leo shrugs, resting his hands on his hips. “You tell me.”

They're silent for a moment.

There's something rotten and anxious building up right at the bottom of Leo's stomach, and he can feel it ache when Donnie finally speaks up:

“I just don't know- I don't know why he won't talk to me anymore.” He crosses his arms over his chest; shoulders hunched. He looks small in a way he never really does, and it makes Leo want to grab onto his hand and never let go. “He used to tell me everything.”

Leo's sure there's some truth in that.

Mikey's full of shit on the best of days, but sometimes, Leo fears the truth his brother wants to say is not always the one any of them want to hear.

“You sound like your dad,” he jokes. It doesn't really land. “He's just... He doesn't want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” Donnie sounds like he doesn't believe him.

“Or hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” He sounds like he believes that even less. “And he doesn't care about that when it comes to you?”

Leo doesn't know.

He doesn't really know if that's what Mikey thinks at all, actually.

He knows Mikey like he knows his own mind – in theory and a series of surprisingly accurate observations.

But it's what he used to think. Every time he let his tongue slip a little too far, every time there was that look on Donnie's face, like he didn't recognize him at all.

He feared the person he was, and the person Donnie believed him to be, were too different to ever meet in the middle. Sometimes, he still fears it hasn't happened yet.

Sometimes, he fears it never will.

“Have you seen me? Really, it's because you're a sweetheart,” he jokes.

Donnie blinks, then looks away, his snout scrunched up like it caused him real mental pain to hear that.

“Shut up.”

“No, really, you know our standards.” Leo leans forward, nudging Donnie's ankle with his foot. “You're just too nice.”

“I'm gonna bite your fingers off.”

There's something a bit lighter in his tone now, and it makes the pressure in Leo's chest lift, just a little.

“But seriously,” he adds. “He knows I'm... I get him, I guess.”

There's a pause after he says it, and it makes him want to immediately take the words back.

Donnie frowns, fingers pressed into his arms, gaze filled with something bitter.

“... And I don't.”

There's resignation in his tone, and it makes that irrational, wild part of Leo rise in anger.

“Don't be like that,” he says, harsher than he intended. “It's nothing to be proud of.”

It's true and it's honest, and it makes him want to hide away in his shell forever.

Donnie turns to him, and there's that look on his face – something uncharacteristically keen and perceptive. It makes him look a whole lot like Mikey.

“You're so-” He starts but then doesn't finish.

Leo wishes he would.

“You wanna head back?” He finally asks after a moment of silence.

Donnie nods, his expression a little hazy, lost in thought.

Sometimes, Leo thinks, reaching for Donnie's hand to lead him inside, he really doesn't understand his brothers at all.

Sometimes, he knows them all too well.

[enkisstories]

Ten days after the battle of Exegol, Rey and Ben for the first time bring out their inherited lightsabers again for a friendly sparring match.

Rey's friends aren't certain if it really is a good idea to let Ben handle a weapon again so soon, and so Poe, Finn and Rose keep blasters set to stun ready, BB-8 his electroshocker and Hux three wrenches that he has squirreled away from the workshop.

It would have been safer for Rey's idiot boyfriend, he thinks, had they let me have a blaster restricted to stun, too. With the wrenches I could kill Ren...

The realisation that it is the other five being disappointed what stops him from going through with offing Ren hits like a punch into the gut for the ex-General.

"Getting you now" Rey exclaims as she force-jumps towards her sparring partner. Ben can only utter some "Ey?"s and a "Whoa!" before he has to block. What he really wants to say is that they both have moved as if through honey so far, but suddenly Rey seemingly freed herself from the sluggishness and moves gracefully again. What has changed?

Oh, right! Of course. They're fighting with borrowed sabers, neither of them having a bonded kyber crystal at the moment. That limits them. The Force Jump to the contrary, unlike their fencing, doesn't depend on a crystal being present, it draws from Rey's ability to manipulate the Force.

Rose: "To think that there won't ever be new lightsabers because the source of kyber crystals was destroyed is painful."

Hux: "Uh-huh. Very sad indeed."

There is a slight upwards tilt of one corner of the man's mouth before Hux quickly turns his face away. He doesn't want to sneer at Rose, regardless of how little it had been noticeable.

Rose: "Waaaaait a sec! You may not believe in the Force having a will or in Jedi teachings, but you know very well how powerful kyber crystals are. You wouldn't have depleted Ilum's reserves without setting some aside or researching alternate sources!"

Hux: "There wasn't much left to salvage after the empire mined Ilum and we used up that rest."

Hux: "But I do have memorized a list of kyber ore deposits that look promising in regards to potentially containing lightsaber crystals. Your Jedi friends would profit immensely..."

Ben: "I'm not a Jedi anymore!"

Hux: "...from getting their personal crystals. So this is my offer: The list for my freedom and I get the TIE-Echelon back fully fueled up and provisioned."

Rose: "And what then? The First Order will never accept you back and you're way too proud to do mercenary work."

Hux: "As things stand, I'd be better off slaving away on a scrapyard than staying here."

Rose: "That's not fair! We treat you almost like one of our own!"

Hux: "Yes, that's exactly the problem. Another week and I might... think unwise thoughts."

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

SGFG Lyric Fic Title Masterlists

Broken Love in the First Degree (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine ot4, michael/calum, luke/ashton T, 29k

Summary: “It’s not me, Cal.”

The bottom drops out of Calum’s world at the tone of Michael’s voice. It is so… empty that it takes Calum a moment to understand what he has said and then another to process it. Calum blinks, his mind still sluggish from sleep. He mouths Michael’s words in the vain hope he might catch on to what Michael actually means.

Calum takes too long. Michael sighs. He hits pause on his game and finally—finally—gives Calum the attention he deserves. His eyes are sad. His bottom lip is a little wobbly. Calum is afraid Michael might cry, but Michael can’t cry. Not on Calum’s birthday.

“Look at your wrist.”

(In which Calum is Michael’s soulmate, but Michael isn’t Calum’s.)

Burst into Color, Returning to Life (ao3) - archersand michael/luke N/R, 11k

Summary: When the old house up the road was bought, Luke never expected to go inside. But a job’s a job and if it pays well to clean the big unused rooms Luke will do it. Even if Mr. Clifford, who makes no appearance and with his rules about how Luke isn’t supposed to ever interact with him, seems a little bizarre and eerie. But whatever, right? It’s just for now. And Luke can put in his headphones, keep his head down and just get paid.

desperation (my chest hurts) (ao3) - retromalum michael/calum G, 4k

Summary: Desperation. That’s all Michael can taste in this kiss. It’s written all over his mouth in his messy handwriting, it’s obvious in the way his tongue props at his own mouth. Kissing Calum after so long is like coming back home after a long day, except for the fact that he hasn’t seen him in over four years. And he’s all the same.

or

The one where Calum chooses football over music and leaves the rest of the boys on their own. They fall apart.

Guess I was Running from Something (I Was Running Back to You) (ao3) - TheseEmptySoundsAndEndlessStories luke/calum G, 5k

Summary: Usually it’s Calum who offers to walk home with Luke and the night Luke does it, Calum takes a chance.

hang up the telephone (and just be here with me) (ao3) - bellawritess luke/ashton T, 1k

Summary: The rain wakes Ashton at seven in the morning, but the phone buzzing on the bedside table is what rouses Luke.

i got a long-term plan (with short-term fixes) (ao3) - bellawritess Michael/Luke T, 4k

Summary: Michael comes into the bookstore one day with the weirdest request he’s made of Luke in the almost-year they’ve known each other.

“I need a hot boyfriend,” he announces. “You in?”

Luke frowns very slowly. “To help you find a hot boyfriend?”

“To be my hot boyfriend,” Michael says, like it’s obvious. “Temporarily.”

I wanna breathe you in like you’re vapor (ao3) - heart_is_gonna_flatline michael/luke N/R, 1k

Summary: Luke helps Michael with an asthma fit and Michael has a crush on him.

still running (back) to you (ao3) - jbhmalum ot4 T, 5k

Summary: “I don’t believe in soulmates,” Ashton says, crushing Luke’s heart until his next words restore it. “I still want to believe you three are mine.”

Mine. Luke mouths the word to himself, feeling a smile rise to his face. Ashton’s soulmates. Ashton’s, plain and simple. Luke wants them to be that.

or

3 times the boys are Luke’s muses, and 1 time he tells them

the blood in my veins is made of mistakes (ao3) - sarcasticbarnes michael/luke, calum/ashton T, 1k

Summary: Four months into the Meet You There tour, and Michael is suprised this hasn’t happened sooner.

Or, A security guard pushes Michael into the crowd during Meet You There, and a guy assualts him. Luke loses his shit.

We Are The Leaders Of The Not Coming Back (ao3) - orphan_account G, 1k

Summary: "I'm bored," Harry groaned as he belly flopped onto the couch Zayn happened to be trying to take a nap on. Zayn quickly shoved the curly haired boy off, mumbling something along the lines of "bug off, man". Feeling the rejection from one band mate, he decided to try the next, jumping onto Liam, who laid sprawled out on the bed.

Liam sighed, putting his phone to the side of him and looked at Harry. "I suppose that means you want me to do something about it". Harry nodded his head like a hyper puppy waiting for the ball to get thrown. "How about this. Why don't we walk around the city for a bit?"

With a New York State of Mind (I Wanna Take My Heart to the End of the World) (ao3) - Lxverxofmxne G, 1k

Summary: 4 strangers, same destination. One road trip, 14 hours max. — “This is going to sound really weird, but do you wanna road trip with me?”

The men stared at Luke weirdly. He shrugged before continuing.

you are my getaway (you are my favourite place) (ao3) - jbhmalum michael/calum T, 7k

Summary: “Okay, we’re taking a break,” Calum tells him one morning when Michael comes out of their nest of a bedroom only to flop onto the couch, burying his face in Calum’s lap.

“What?” Michael asks, voice slightly muffled. Calum’s joggers are soft, his thighs comfortable.

“We’re taking a break,” Calum repeats. His hand settles on top of Michael’s head, fingers threading through his hair. “I’m taking you out of the city, and we’re gonna do nothing but cuddle and have lazy sex and I’ll feed you so much food anyway that you won’t want to do anything else.”

Michael hasn’t been doing so well. Calum takes him on a little getaway.

[that-vicious-vixen-blog]

Airing my thoughts on 13 Reasons Why

What’s interesting is that I wasn’t passionately for or against the show until the last two episodes. I didn’t think it was good per se; character arcs were weak and not at all satisfying, plot points were left dangling, very few of the characters were likable...but we figured we’d finish it since we’d started it.

WARNING: this post will contain MASSIVE spoilers for the show 13 Reasons Why, as well as discussion of rape, mental illness, suicide, and all the other god-awful things that happen to these kids in this show. With that out in the open, click the cut for my bullet-point thoughts on the show.

1. These kids are deplorable. With the exception of Clay, Jessica, and MAYBE Sheri, I have a hard time feeling any sympathy for the myriad of monsters and bullies that were thrown at me. The harder I think about a character the more I dislike them, remembering issues they could have tackled or times they could have stood up for someone. And don’t pull that “they’re teenagers, they’re developing!” bullshit on me. If I had the opportunity to stop a rape I would have. I got a kid suspended from our high school for telling a girl he WANTED her to be raped. Marcus and Courtney were gross and more concerned with being the best than helping people in need. Justin, Alex, and Zach VERY ardently protected a rapist from being exposed. Am I supposed to feel bad for Tyler? He was a sexual predator. I don’t fucking pity him. 

And you keep waiting for someone to learn a lesson! You keep waiting for someone to change, to make the right decision, to step forward! And they don’t! Sure, they all start to come clean at the deposition, but that only seems to be out of fear of getting in worse trouble for getting busted. Alex FINALLY shows that one of them can feel remorse and he attempts suicide over it! Awesome message, show!!!

2. Wow. Clay is fucked up for life. ”Clay, you shouldn’t be on those tapes because you’re a good person but once when we were about to have sex I told you to stop and you didn’t push. You should have pushed!” Are. You. Kidding. Me. Like. Was I supposed to find him problematic because he’s a shy kid who didn’t always know what the fuck was going on? And now he’s being tormented through these tapes and by the kids at school, nasty little punks who don’t want to take any accountability. Also, remember how I mentioned dangling plot points? What the fuck happened to those hallucinations he was having? The poor got hit in the head MULTIPLE times, was clearly suffering a concussion, and they never touched on it again. I was in so much pain watching HIM in pain. And then his suffering was for nothing. Yes, he got Bryce’s confession, but we got no confirmation that the little bastard ever had charges pressed against him. 

“Am I the reason Hannah Baker killed herself?” “Yes.” NO. No Clay, you are not at fault for Hannah’s death. And it is wrong and disgusting that you never got to learn that in the show. You can’t love away someone’s mental illness, their hopelessness. And no one, not Hannah, not Tony, not you yourself, have any right to put her death on you.

3. What the fuck was that ending? So you’re giving us this bit of hope through Clay reaching out to Skye. He gives a big speech to the shitty guidance counselor about how we have to try better, to do more for each other, which I can totally get behind (though it’s not your fault Clay). And then we find out that Alex tried to kill himself and Tyler is planning on shooting up the school. WHAT THE FUUUUCK DUDE? You’ve completely taken away from whatever weak ass ending/lesson you were going for. Instead, you’ve shown that there’s no hope for any of these kids. Justin leaves town to go who the fuck knows where. Do you think he’s going to have any luck on his own? Alex is dying. More kids are going to die at Tyler’s hand (again Tyler you’re no fucking innocent you’re a predator). Jessica sure as hell ain’t going to be fine. Also, Clay’s relationship with his mother is a loose thread just hanging around for no reason. We see her finding out he had the tapes, and then nothing. Show’s done. 

4. Man, what were those parents? It’s like the show’s entire attitude towards parenting was, “Eh, they suck as guardians but they’re well meaning.” Each kid on that show had the exact same set of parents for chrissakes. 

5. Okay, let’s discuss the suicide and rape scenes. They were graphic. Incredibly graphic. During one of the rape scenes (there are two instances, one is shown multiple times) the camera was zoomed in on Hannah’s face and you could see her body rocking as Bryce thrust into her. For a while. During the suicide, we were treated to the image of Hannah actually cutting her wrists as she cried out in pain and struggled to finish the task. We saw her parents find her body in the bathtub, saw their breakdown (I got to watch my parents sit with my brother’s dead body. Kate Walsh deserves an Emmy. It hurt to watch). We saw it all. And it was filmed beautifully. And that makes me nauseous. 

6. Did we learn anything from this? I’ll level with you. I’ve been a victim of penetrative rape (not that non-penetrative isn’t just as traumatic). I’ve lost someone very close to me before either of us graduated high school. I’ve messaged my therapist at three in the morning because I wanted to hurt myself and I was scared and didn’t know what to do. I’ve fucking been there, again and again. And I came out okay. I was one of the lucky ones.

I felt no hope at the end of this show. I didn’t feel like anyone could walk out of it understanding mental illness, or victim’s rights, or rape culture, or anything that could save these kids from the bleak world they (we) live in. It didn’t tell kids how they could survive these social trip-mines unless you have a tape recorder and you don’t mind taking a beating to get someone’s confession. I walked out feeling sad, and broken, and tired, and hopeless. And that’s not something you can risk, with the type of people this show is going to attract. It makes me genuinely afraid for anyone who might go into this show not having a decent idea of what they’re getting into.

But hey, it’s the most Tweeted about show of 2017. Congratulations.

-

If you’re having thoughts of self-harm and suicide, please reach out.

If you’ve been the victim of sexual abuse, you have options and you have my support.

[katsukikitten]

Part one. Master list for plus one can be found here.

Just a nice fic I decided to write for fun. Please enjoy!

Asshole!

He was nothing but a huge, giant fucking ASSHOLE for the entire two years the two of you were dating and he decides NOW is a good time to break up with you?

Two days before your cousin's wedding and over TEXT MESSAGE?!

That fucking asshole.

He knew how you felt. Exactly how you felt about going alone to your cousin's wedding after your family begged to meet your boyfriend and teased you for "probably making him up." Which hell, he may as well have been made up considering how absent he was in the relationship. Using work as an excuse to come home late but forgetting to turn off his snap location when he showed up at the bar.

So you did what any rational woman in her upper twenties would do.

You drowned your sorrows in booze, tonight red wine as it was the only thing around, and you scrolled through your socials in hopes of distracting yourself from your suffering.

Alas the devil that is Instagram only amplified your sadness and irritation. Showing couple after couple, your friends on hikes kissing on the mountain top, kissing in the flickering light of candles at a fancy dinner or, worst yet, getting proposed to. The video showing her in hysterics screaming, "YES I DO I DO!"

And it feels terrible to feel this way. Especially about your friends, the people you love and want to support, still it stings. You hadn't told anyone about the breakup, you weren't even sure your friends even remembered that asshole's name.

A teardrop lands on your screen, magnifying all the magical lights of the led beneath the glad. You wipe away the tear and with that the feed refreshes. A new post has come in at the top, Res Riot's official account.

Kirishima stands with a fat white cat in his arms. He dwarfs the animal with his large stature that looks larger as he still has his Red Riot gear on. The caption reads something along the lines of "missed my precious baby."

Red wine is a dangerous thing as your body acts on its own. You go to his page to hit the little arrow to DM him. Typing out and backspacing your message as you struggle from the booze, you decide to say fuck it and use the voice memo feature. Before you know it your sniffling voice is playing back to you after you've hit send.

"My ex broke up with me before this stupid wedding. It's in two days and my family is going to roast me big time when I show up alone. They think I made that asshole up. I don't know why I'm even in your dms. Your account is probably run by some dick head who can't even capture your kindness. I guess I'm here cause my first thought seeing you on my timeline was Red Riot has always been my hero…"

Ugh totally fucking cringe.

There is no surprise as you see the three normally ominous dots pop up, probably his social media manager about to ask you to stop your "advances" as Kirishima is too busy to date and he'd hate to block you or some other bullshit.

But there it is a surprise to see a little bubble with the play button and some vertical lines in various heights. It takes your sluggish brain a moment to realize you've been sent a voice memo. Odd. Your thumb smashes the screen faster than you can think and a deep voice rumbles through the speakers of your phone.

"Actually I run my official and personal socials. And I'm sorry to hear about your ex doll. He sounds like a real ass. I'll be your hero, I'll go with you to the wedding."

Your heart stutters, no way, no way in HELL this was Red Riot. You had read about the horror stories before or pervy account managers taking advantage of women who so desperately wanted to talk to their hero.

Hell, it's happened to Dynamight plenty of times.

You swallow quickly but the bile rushes up your throat. Not just from the anxiety of a possible con but from drinking an entire bottle of wine with nothing on your stomach after months of sobriety. Quickly you stumble to the bathroom, abandoning your phone on your bed. You barely make it in time to praise the porcelain Gods before you fall onto your back. Looking up at the light in your cramped bathroom, the orb doubles and spins as you feel the Earth turning on its axis. You curl into your side using your bathmat as a pillow as you drift off into sleep, totally forgetting about the voice memo on your phone.

As you sleep peacefully on your memory foam bath rug, Kirishima settles into his nightly routine. One giant hand grabbing strands of long dark red hair into a towel while another sits snugly around his Adonis belt and the thick, black happy trail that follows up the center of his abs before spreading out onto his chest. He tosses the towel over the open door of the bathroom before sitting in his favorite armchair with phone in hand. Diamond, his beautiful white cat he rescued a few years ago, jumps onto the arm of the chair, purring loudly when Kirishima's free hand scratches her ears absentmindedly.

He chuckles to himself as he realizes exactly what he's done. Acting on a feeling instead of logic all because he heard a "damsel in distress." Starting off his rare vacation with spontaneity starting with an impromptu date with a stranger. He really isn't sure what you look like and it's obvious your handle doesn't have your real name in it, just PrincessPeach with some random numbers at the end. He takes the time to scroll through your profile. Seeing pictures of food, of many sunsets, a friend's dog that guest appears often, your own cat and plenty of strays.

It takes him a while before he sees a photo of you. His heart stutters in his chest as he looks you over. Laughing with a friend, soft lighting from strings over head that blur like little fireflies. Your smile is wide, half hidden by your hands as your eyes seem to smile with you. Sparkling as if they held stars.

For a moment Kirishima forgets how to breathe, it isn't until Diamond jumps down from the armchair does he inhale. He smiles softly to himself before he drops his towel, puts his phone on charge and promptly falls asleep in his bed.

Kirishima rises before the sun even has a chance to filter through his blinds. He sighs softly, getting up to a sitting position disturbing a fluffy white ball that lays beside him.

"Mmrow." Moon stone eyes blink slowly as they look at the mountainous man hogging the bed.

"I didn't mean to wake you sweet baby." He says softly, going to pet the soft white fur only for her to get up stretch and give him her butt before plopping back down.

"I know, mean ol' daddy woke you up too early again." He says softly, his hand falling onto her back before he rises from the bed. Fishing for his running shorts, socks, headphones and shoes. He makes his protein shake, leaning on the counter as he drinks it, looking at how you read, or better yet, listened to his message but still no reply. It was late and there was a small slurring of your words, he figures you've passed out. He just hopes you're okay.

His run goes as usual, up before anyone else unless they were the normal avid runner. Passing by the usual array of people. An old man holding onto his youth by jogging through his daily five mile morning run, Kirishima knows he runs another five in the evening while the sun is setting. He hopes he can embody some of this man's commitment when he is older. Then he passes a middle aged woman, who gives him the biggest smile as she pases, jogging backward to send him a wink before plowing ahead. Occasionally he'll see a running group or a few teens training to be heroes, they always ask if they can run his route. "It's long." He always warns in a kind, warm voice. They assure him they will be fine so far only one other person could handle his 12 mile morning run. A young woman in her second year of hero courses at UA. Since then Kirishima put in a word with his boss and so every time internships roll around she's in the office.

By the time Kirishima is rounding back towards his high rise apartment, the city begins to stir. Slowly waking as men and women in business suits rush towards the train, parents flinging open the doors or curtains fussing at their children who cling to an extra few minutes of sleep before school.

This was always his favorite part of the run, not because it was almost over, oh no it was because he had a chance to glimpse at everyday life. Of nine to fives, of school hours and after school hangs outs at snack bars or the library.

What most would call the mundane but Kirishima would never call it that. It's why he worked so hard to protect it.

Diamond greets his sweaty form at the door. Glaring angrily with her moon stone eyes. Tail swishing before she goes to the kitchen by her bowl. Waiting impatiently.

"I'm not late, sweet cheeks." He coos, and she glares, "I know I know. You're hungry now."

He opens the fridge, gets out the highest quality food there is and places it on her dish, sure to keep it all in the middle or she'll claim her bowl was empty. He added a splash of water too since the weather was starting to get hot.

He sucks down a water or two, demolishes a protein bar and then heads to the apartment gym.

A few hours roll by and without hearing from you yet his worry over your well being begins to cloud the forefront of his mind. He pauses his music, picks up his phone and talks out a voice memo.

A loud DING echoes from your room and around your skull as you rise with a throbbing headache.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself grabbing at your head as you shakily rise to your feet. Yanking the handle of the faucet to drink from the stream before looking at yourself in the mirror.

"Ugh." You grunt ignoring your swollen face and eyes, yanking the mirror door open to snatch at the bottle of aspirin. Swallowing THREE extra strength pills before slamming the door shut and turning off the faucet. You make your way towards your bedroom, more than ready to sleep the rest of your day away. Grabbing at your phone to charge it you see the push notification of an Instagram message from Red Riot.

The fucking Red Riot.

Internally you scream before it bubbles up your throat and escapes. You fumble to unlock your phone before looking that it's a voice memo.

Mortified you realize you sent one too. And first at that.

"Fuck MEEE!" You plop onto the bed. Nervous this second voice memo is probably about how you're a weirdo or something as you relive the memory of asking him to be your plus one.

Hesitantly your thumb hovers over the play button before you find the strength to press the cool glass. A soft thunderous voice plays out.

"Good morning sleepy head. I haven't heard from you yet, I hope you're okay. Be sure to drink some water and eat something greasy. Trust me, late nights with Denki and Bakugou taught me something. Since the wedding is tomorrow I'll need a picture of your dress for the color and style so I can match you Sweet pea. Contact me soon so I can know where to pick you up."

Did he… did he just call you SWEET PEA? Your heart pounds in your chest before it registers he's asked for your dress color and lowkey asked for your address. This couldn't be real. It sounded like Kirishima, his voice familiar from interviews you've watched but it very well could be a prank. Defeated you hit the small microphone and reply.

Kirishima hears a sharp DING in his headphones over his music as he finishes his set. He wipes the sweat from his face on his shirt giving the few people in the gym a lovely view of his sweaty and thick torso. One woman trips on the treadmill but it goes unnoticed by Kirishima. He pauses his music and hits play on the little memo. Your beautiful yet groggy voice comes in through his ear buds causing Kirishima to bite his lip. It causes such a flutter of butterflies in his stomach he has to listen a second time to actually hear what you said. Although he understand, he cannot help but feel hurt by your reply.

"How do I know you're not just some pervy guy using Kirishima's Godly looks to prey on unsuspecting people."

Your phone chirps at you from the bed stand and you growl reaching for it. You had hoped your message would have been clear. An unspoken of you know they're a fucking creep taking advantage of their PR job.

"What can I do to prove it to you, Sweet Pea?"

You hate how that cute nickname sends your heart into a somersault and your stomach in delightful knots. Still your doubt pulls a harsh tut from your lips before you reply.

Kirishima doesn't need his phone to alert him that you've messaged him, he's been looking at his screen for far to long without having to restart his set. He listens to your voice as if it were music.

"Fine, you wanna prove it to me so bad. Take a picture of yourself shirtless with the word 'Sweet pea' you love so much and send it to me. No photoshop I know what my favorite hero looks like!"

For over an hour you don't hear back and you figure you showed that perv.

But now you can't sleep so you nurse a water, door dash a "greasy" breakfast all before cranking your shower as high as it can go. Your phone dings and you try to ignore it. You really do but as the saying goes curiosity killed the cat. Opening the message you see a classic guy mirror selfie. Kirishima is clear as day in the photo, his large hand pointing to his bare, hairy chest where sweat pea is scrawled in his adorable handwriting. He winks at the camera as his kissable lips wear a dangerous, almost cocky eyes travel down his bulk following his happy trail that dives under a pair of black shorts, the best part of the view getting cut off by the vanity. At first you try to rationalize that this was fake but damning evidence was sitting on the vanity. A fluffy white cat in a diamond and ruby encrusted collar sits on the counter giving her owner an odd look.

His cat Diamond that everyone knows he loves and adores. Slick begins to collect between your thighs and especially so after you listen to the voice memo that comes through shortly after. His normally friendly and soft voice comes out a bit dark, husky as he says in a playfully annoyed tone.

"Now send me a picture of that dress, Sweet Pea."

[keity-devil]

I have this idea like, two days ago, and now it's here.

Context.

From @breathlessmorro beautiful SCP (Ninjago) Au.

--

After Nine Days After Suffocation

--

The first day after suffocation.

Morro was waiting, he didn't know what he was waiting... Oh, Kai. He still felt awful after that.. suffocation.. that he was forced to do to Nya. He didn't want that, but it happens. It was awful, he didn't think he was ever going to do that to anyone he cared about ever..

Half the day had passed and no sign from Kai. Morro's wind had become choppy, as had his form of air. An equally agitated smile had appeared on his face, a hurt one.

"It's okay. It's with Nya. It's okay.. H-he needs space. To calm down. Yes.. A day or two is fine. Mhm. I can resist.."

The day after suffocation.

Morro felt suffocated, smiling in pain. He flew slowly from one corner to the other, looking at the bars with sadness every time, after at his hands. Transparent.. wounded.. Criminal.

"..With these hands that possess power I made her unconscious.. I hurt her.." His voice broke at the end. "I'm really a monster."

The third day after suffocation.

"I'm sure he'll come tomorrow, I'm sure of that!" He was lying to himself. He knew deep inside, but he still hoped... a lot.

He could feel the soul that was still in him alive, breaking in two. It was painful how the person he cared about so much, loved him with all his heart, trusted him... to hate him, not to talk to him, not to want to look at him at all. It hurt terribly. He could feel a terrible pain in his heart, causing him to fall into a dark corner of the cell and lie there for the rest of the day.

The fourth day after suffocation.

He had not appeared.

Morro listened in horror to the silence around him, from the same place where he had fallen the day before.

'I lost him... he hates me..'

The wind had become cold, sharp, beginning to hurt him, making visible signs on the human side of him that could be seen a little in its incomplete form of wind.

'I deserve it... fully.'

He closed his eyes, letting the depressing, brutal wind in him to hurt him.

The fifth day after suffocation.

A sphere created of sadness, despair, hatred of oneself and other thoughts and feelings that Morro could not decipher, is created overnight in that cell filled with pain.

The wind became uncontrollable and brutal minute by minute. No one touched him or approached at all. They did not know what was happening to him if he had succeeded, but they were interested in his evolution, in the evolution of his inexplicable pain for them.

Surprisingly, Kai hadn't found out about this. He hadn't heard anything about it. If he had, he would have been with him already.

The sixth day after suffocation.

"It's ok.. it's ok! I knew this relationship will not stay.. It's OK!! It's ok..! It's ok..!"

If you went inside, you could feel yourself running out of oxygen. He was cold, sharp, brutal, full of sadness and other negative emotions in him. You could tell that his condition was slowly getting worse. A broken heart is the deadliest, it can kill you easily, slowly... but lethally.

The seventh day after suffocation.

The wind stopped a little. The sphere slowly evaporates overnight. Morro now possessed wounds on his skin, and others would soon accompany them.

The eighth day after suffocation.

The wind subsided, leaving a windless owner with no strength or hope in him. He stared blankly into the outside of the cell.

"Heh.." A small shattered smile appeared on his lips. "He hates me.. hehe.. he..."

However, some of him zealously refused. In his mind.. come as if by a miracle the desire to go to him the next day, at least to see him..

The ninth day after suffocation.

Morro had had enough, having the courage to escape containment. There had been gusts of wind. The gusts were sluggish. They were not fast and agile as usual, they were wounded and easy to catch.

Crossing the hallways to Nya's cell, there.. he had seen Kai with his sister. Morro felt himself suffocate again with fear, but he was also calm that Nya was better.

He approached her, slowly playing powerlessly with her hair.

Kai felt something strange suddenly enter the atmosphere of the cell. He look around for that. Nothing. When he returned, he could see how his sister's hair was lightly beaten by the wind.

He sighed.

He realized who was, it wasn't that hard. He was trying to remember/count how many days he hadn't spoken and seen Morro. Nine days.. nine days. There were many. What if Morro hadn't appeared now? Would he have continued to avoid him?

He sighed again.

"Morro, I know you're here. Come out. You don't have to hide." He said calmly.

The Soul of the Wind perishes for short seconds. It didn't matter how calm or gentle Kai's voice was, how he was.. he was scared. He become visible.

Kai looked at him for a while. Something was... off. But he didn't know what. He couldn't see what was it.

"Morro, I.. I'm sorry I didn't stop by your cell. I wanted to calm down.. I knew that my sister's suffocation was not intentional, it was forced.. but I felt like I was getting mad there."

'Because of me... It's my fault!'

"Angry that you were forced to do this and because Nya was in pain, not at you." He finishes, now looking at Morro's own scared and guilty eyes. "No... don't tell me you thought- Morro.. Oh no, no, no! I'm not angry at you, hey."

Morro could no longer control his emotions. No longer hearing the voice of his love, he wanted to cry there, to run, to disappear from the face of the earth. That's not because of his destabilized emotions.

The wounds were visible. Kai hadn't noticed them, he was too worried about Morro's emotional state. But Nya.. YES. She put her hand to her mouth in shock, she couldn't believe what she saw.

"Morro," Kai continued.. until he looked closely at Morro's appearance. "What.. what happened to you..?! Why- " He had taken his hands, still looking at the wounds. "You would... no.. you wouldn't do that. You wouldn't do that. Right? Morro, right? Right?!"

Morro looked down, nodding. Kai felt that he had made a huge mistake to stay away from his love for so long, especially after what happened...

"Nya.. can I.."

"Of course. Go." Nya understood what he wanted to say, and she agreed. He also wanted Morro to be emotionally well.

"Thanks."

He took his boyfriend from one place to another. Kai sat down, and Morro sat down next to him. He would usually put his head on the fiery shoulder and hold his hand. But now Morro was afraid to do it. What if it hurt him too? He would not forgive himself till his death.

Kai took Morro's hand in his, squeezing it slowly. "Hey, I love you. I'm not leaving you, I'm here.. with you."

Morro stared at him, feeling that pain in his heart again. He leaned over Kai, slowly tucking his head under his neck. The gusts of wind were just as weak.. but gentle.

"Everything's fine.. okay?"

Morro approves with a kiss, after.. they start to enjoy each other..

After Nine Days After Suffocation.

[mikkomacko]

Toothpaste smears at the corners of his mouth as he scrubs the brush over his teeth, the white foam getting dangerously close to dripping down his chin. Y/n eyes his reflection in her bathroom mirror, swiping a cotton ball of toner over the bridge of her nose. Last minute, Harry leans over the sink and spits, turning the faucet on to rinse his mouth and messy chin.

"One of these days you're going to drip toothpaste on your toes and I'm not going to help you clean it." She says, now reaching for her night serum. Harry scoffs, towel pressed to his face as he turns to face her. He drops the cloth on the counter, wiggling his butt onto the countertop.

"I've been brushing my teeth for over 20 years. Know what m'doing." He argues, eyebrows furrowing as he watches her rub the moisturizer into her skin. He does that often when they get ready for bed together, watching her skincare routine as if he were going to be rigorously tested on it later. But he never comments on it other than the occasional "that smells good" or "made ya all soft" when he presses a kiss to her cheek.

She's always wondered why he's so interested in it and apparently tonight is the night she gets some answers.

"Have ya always used all that stuff darling?"

Surprised, her eyebrows raise just the slightest bit, but she does her best to remain casual when she speaks. "Started having like a real routine a few years ago."

Harry hums, reaching for the dropper she'd previously held in her hand. He squints, reading over the label as she takes a chance to prod more. "Why bub?"

Innocently, he peers up at her through his eyelashes. "Don't know," he shrugs, "just never knew so much went into cleaning ya face. Thought some people just have good skin and others have bad."

He then reaches for her moisturizer, reading that bottle too. "There's no good or bad skin" she responds, "for some people acne is more manageable. For others it requires more time and probably money too. And some people just don't want to mess with their spots or marks. It's all normal."

Placing the products back on the counter, he gently reaches up to run his thumb over the pink bow on her headband. "So ya don't think I have bad skin?"

His tone is neutral, but a little too forced for him and she realizes why he examines her so closely when she takes care of her skin.

She lets her gaze meet his. "No Harry you don't have bad skin." She says earnestly. "You have very pretty skin. Look at how shiny your cheekbones always are." Harry smiles softly when she cups his face, running the pad of her thumb over his natural highlight.

"I've got a lot of spots though." He argues, reaching up to take her hand in his. Y/n shrugs, resting her hip against the counter. She can finish in a sec, right now she needs to talk to her extremely adorable boyfriend.

"You breakout because you workout everyday and you don't really have a routine Harry. But that doesn't make you gross or bad or anything. It's just normal."

He hums again, chewing on his bottom lip and dropping his gaze to their hands. He looks...upset. A little sad about her words. Y/n squeezes his fingers, drawing his attention back to her face.

"If you want to you can use my stuff tonight and if you like it we'll get you some too?"

Immediately his eyes light up, lips spreading into a smile. "You'd do that with me? Like show me how and everything?"

Y/n giggles, her heart wanting to burst with love for the man in front of her. "Of course I would. Can even use my other headband."

"The one with the bunny ears?"

She nods, amused by his eagerness. "Okay." He says, rising from the counter and releasing her hand to dig through the drawer for her white bunny headband. She gets him a clean towel while he slips the cotton over his head, pushing it up his forehead so the ears rest just in front of the frizzy bun on his head.

While Harry lathers her cleanser into his face, paying special attention to his forehead and hairline, y/n rolls her jade stone over her face before cleaning it for Harry. She can't help but giggle at the way his face crinkles and pouts as he focuses, his tongue poking out of his mouth.

"M'being thorough." He mumbles, not even glancing at her. Once his face has been rinsed and dried, she instructs him to sit back on the countertop. Harry does so, excitement buzzing from him as she stands between his thighs.

He's watching her intently when she reaches for the toner and serum he loves so much, and she takes a moment to button their mouths together. Sometimes it's difficult for her to imagine this man in a boxing ring, fighting simply because he loves it. Harry gently takes a hold of her waist, tilting his chin up so she can better apply it to his face.

"The toner cleans your face a bit more and gets off extra dirt and stuff that the wash didn't get." She explains, swiping the cotton ball over every inch of his face. He hums his acknowledgement, trying not to move when she drips serum onto his cheeks and forehead.

"This moisturizes. It's the stuff that smells real good too." Harry fights back a small smile, a sluggish blink dulling his eyes. They still brim with happiness, but he looks peaceful, enjoying the feeling of her fingers massaging his cheeks and jaw. She wipes her hands off, reaching for the little tube next.

"This is pimple cream. You just put it on where you actually have noticeable pimples but only a bit or it'll burn and itch." She says, squeezing some on her pointer finger. Then she dabs it to his face, remaining gentle.

"Wha's next?" He finally questions, his accent thicker with sleepiness. Y/n smiles, adjusting the crooked headband on his forehead.

"Moisturizer. Then roller."

Harry's head lulls back when she applied the moisturizer to his face, rubbing small circles into his soft skin. His whole body has melted into a cooked noodle-like state, a lazy smile on his lips. Before he can fall asleep on the counter, y/n gently rolls the stone up his neck and under his jaw. His eyes flutter shut, a satisfied purr rumbling his chest when she rolls it over his cheeks and under his eyes.

"Don't fall asleep on me baby," she murmurs gently, rolling over his cheeks and under his eyes. He hums, smiling peacefully at the feeling of the massager.

"Didn't know it felt so relaxing," he whispers "no wonder you're also so sleepy after this."

She finishes with the bridge of his nose, sealing the process with a kiss to his nose. "You're so handsome Harry," she says after she's put the roller away. He blinks his eyes open, cheeks squished when she cups his face. "Spots or no spots I've never seen another man as beautiful as you."

A blush rises to his dimpled cheeks. "Thank you darling, I like when you call me beautiful."

"Yeah?"

Bashfully, he nods. "Makes me feel....soft. Or gentle ya know?"

She looks over his face, heart softening at the bunny ears on his head and the sleepiness of his eyes, and she thinks about he spends his life doing violent things but he's really just a teddy bear at heart. All he needed was for someone to love that side of him as well.

"I'll always tell you that you're beautiful." She promises, giggling when he pecks a few kisses to her jaw.

"Beautiful, but manly right?"

Snickering, she nods. "The manliest bub."

[kotachii]

Beauty Sleep

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

Synopsis: You were staying up late cramming for an exam and Sanji catches you.

      You stared at your textbook trying to cram in the last bit for your exam tomorrow. The glow of your computer screen illuminated your eyes, with dark circles underneath. You downed another cup of coffee, and you're all out. Again. You got out of your seat, it was already way past midnight but you can't sleep just yet. You crept down the stairs, careful to not make it creak. You didn't want to wake Sanji up. He will be worried.

       You entered the dark kitchen, ready to make more coffee. As you pour the boiling water through the filter, you accidentally burnt yourself. By instinct, you let go of the entire pot of water. Smooth (Name). Hot water spilled onto the kitchen tile. You cursed at yourself for being so sluggish, so stupid. If anyone else was here, they would of known that it was because of your sleep deprivation, however, you mentally denied that possibility. You're stronger than this and you need to study.

       Feeling sad for yourself, you went to the counter to grab some papertowel. As you turned around to go back to the spill, you bumped into something---someone. Sanji stared at you with concern. You were scared that he would be mad at you. It was really late, he always woke up early to make you breakfast so he must be tired. And plus, he didn't like it when you stayed up late. A girl needs her beauty sleep he would tell you.

       Tears crept up to your eyes, you've always been an emotional one. Something about being so tired, having enough of studying, burning yourself, spilling water and now confronting Sanji made you want to cry.

       "Sanji, I'm sorry. I'll clean it up right away," you said while fumbling over your words.

Sanji's expression softened and he wiped the tears from your eyes.

       "(Name)-chan, you've worked hard. Go rest," he whispered to you.

       "I spilled water, I should go clean it. And I still need to study," you answered back.

       "Let me take care of the spill. And you should rest, you won't remember anything at this rate."

       "But--"

       "No but," Sanji interjected, "A lady needs her beauty sleep."

       And with that, Sanji walked you back to the bedroom and tucked you in to your side of the bed. He gave you a kiss on the forehead and whispered, "(Name)-chan, you should take better care of yourself."

       When you fell asleep, which didn't take a lot of time, Sanji retreated back to the kitchen. He cleaned up the mess, than he went to the office where he turned off the computer and closed the textbook. He made sure to leave an encouraging note in your pencil case to cheer you on for your exam.

       You woke up the next morning, feeling tired but more refreshed than the previous days. Sanji's side of the bed was empty...as usual. You went downstairs, still rubbing your eyes and when you walked into the dining room, you stared amazed. Sanji has prepared a feast for breakfast. It was only 6 in the morning so god knows how early Sanji woke up to make this.

       "(Name)-chwaaan! Goodmorning!", Sanji said from the kitchen upon seeing you.

       He brought out the last plate of an omelette and set it on the table. You couldn't help smiling at your energetic boyfriend. He was the best thing that ever happened to you. You ran up to him and gave him the most sincere hug and Sanji's eyes turned to hearts and he looked like he was about to get a nosebleed.

       "Thank you so much Sanji-kun for taking care of me!"