#or if I have to start with heavy weights or what

[ilovemitsuya]

sylus x reader (fluffy,angsty?)

summary: “During a mission, I sustained serious injuries and was hospitalized. Though Sylus couldn’t visit me, he sent Mephisto in his place. When I was discharged, I wasn’t expecting him to be outside.”

“I’m not going to lie to you two.” Jenna said, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against her desk. “This mission isn’t like the others we’ve done. That facility is more unstable than we initially thought. The few teams we’ve sent to investigate before found nothing at all.”

Crossing my arms as I studied Captain Jenna’s face.

“So why send just the two of us, then?” I asked.

“Why not a full squad if it’s that dangerous?”

“Because we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. A bigger team could draw too much attention.“

“And if we find something… unexpected?” Tara asked.

“You report back immediately.” Jenna said, her tone firm. “Don’t try to take on anything alone if it’s beyond your capabilities. This isn’t about being heroes.”

There was a beat of silence before Jenna pushed off her desk and took a step closer to me and Tara. “But you’re not going in blind. We’ll have a team on standby if things get too hot. You need to trust your instincts and watch each other’s backs.”

Glancing at Tara, she gave me a reassuring nod.

Tara and I turned to leave, but Jenna’s voice stopped us just before we reached the door. “And remember.” she called out, “If things start to go sideways, you get out. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at her.

With that, Tara and I exited the office, both of us knowing that we were walking into something dangerous. But we had our orders.

———————————————————————

The facility loomed over us, the metal creaking with the weight of its own decay. Tara and I moved cautiously through the halls, weapons at the ready, our footsteps echoing against the cracked concrete.

Dust hung in the air like a fog, making each breath feel heavy. We’d been searching for signs of Wanderers for hours, but aside from a few ominous claw marks on the walls, there was nothing.

Tara walked a few paces ahead, her sharp eyes sweeping the darkened corners as she scanned for any signs of movement.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“The readings are coming from this sector.” I confirmed. “It’s like there’s a cluster of energy sources in the storage area up ahead. Something’s definitely drawing them here.”

Tara nodded and pushed forward, keeping a steady pace as we approached the large metal door that led to the storage room. She placed a hand on the door’s surface, glancing back at me. “On three?” she whispered.

I tightened my grip on my gun and gave her a quick nod. “On three.”

“One… two… three!”

Tara shoved the door open, and we moved inside in a swift, coordinated motion. The room was just as the rest of the facility, old crates and equipment lay scattered across the floor, and the walls were covered in peeling paint.

I took a step forward, my eyes sweeping the room for any signs of movement. But then, there was a flicker of motion in the shadows, too quick to pinpoint at first.

I turned to Tara, but she had already seen it. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her weapon in the direction of the disturbance.

“Stay sharp.” she said, voice tense. “I think we’ve got company.”

I reacted on instinct, surging forward to intercept it with a gunshot.

It swiped at me with one of its jagged claws, forcing me to block the strike with my forearm. Pain shot through my body as its claws tore through my sleeve and left deep gashes across my skin.

Before we could even do anything, the wanderer let out a loud roar and smashed its claws against the support beams around us. A low rumble vibrated through the building, and the ground beneath us trembled. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and a series of cracks split the concrete walls, spreading out in every direction.

“Get out of here, now!” Tara shouted, sprinting for the exit.

I turned to follow her, but the ground heaved under my feet, and a section of the ceiling gave way with a deafening crash. I stumbled and fell, barely managing to roll out of the way as a massive metal beam slammed down where I’d been standing. The room shuddered violently, and the walls seemed to cave inward.

“Tara!” I called out, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of collapsing debris. I saw her struggling to keep her footing near the exit, but then another tremor hit, and a cascade of rubble came crashing down, forcing us apart.

I fought to keep moving, dodging falling beams and lunging over shifting pieces of debris. But it was no use. The floor buckled beneath me, and I felt myself falling through the collapsing structure.

The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, and pain exploded through my side as I hit the ground hard. I tried to move, but my legs were pinned beneath a heavy chunk of concrete, and the darkness quickly closed in around me.

The last thing I saw before everything faded was the shattered remnants of the facility above, crumbling like a house of cards. Then, there was nothing.

———————————————————————

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing I became aware of as I drifted back to consciousness.

The world came back in hazy fragments, a faint antiseptic smell, the dull ache radiating through my entire body, the blinding white light overhead. I blinked slowly, the ceiling tiles came into focus. I was in a hospital room, covered in bandages, and every muscle felt like it had been dragged through hell.

A groan escaped my lips as I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The movement must have caught someone’s attention because I heard a chair scrape back and then footsteps rushing closer.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” It was Tara’s voice, low and familiar, filled with a relief I hadn’t heard from her often. She came into view, her face creased with worry. Her eyes softened when she saw I was awake, and she let out a breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for a long time. “You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

I managed to lift my head just enough to give her a weary look. “Like I got hit by a train.” I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. “What happened to me?”

“You were inside when the building collapsed.” she explained, pulling a chair closer and sitting down beside me. “By the time we got a rescue team in there, you were unconscious and pinned under the debris.” Tara’s voice wavered slightly, and she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to show how much the whole thing had shaken her.

“You’ve been out for a while.” Her tone was a little lighter now, a hint of humor breaking through. “Can’t believe you’d scare me like that. Do you know how annoying it was waiting around here?”

A faint chuckle escaped me, though it quickly turned into a wince.

“I should let the doctors know you’re awake. They’ll want to check you over.”

I gave a slow nod, already feeling exhaustion pulling at me again, but I didn’t want her to worry. “Go ahead.” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell silent again, and I found myself staring at the ceiling, fighting the familiar feeling of emptiness that came whenever I was alone. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.

I wished Sylus were here. There was no way he could just walk into a hospital like any normal person.

I was about to close my eyes again when I heard a soft tapping on the window. My eyes snapped open, and my heart skipped a beat as I turned toward the sound. There, perched on the narrow ledge just outside the window, was a black crow. Mephisto.

I struggled to sit up, limping a little as I reached out to unlock the window. It slid open with a creak, and Mephisto hopped inside, a small bundle of wildflowers clutched in his beak. They were ragged and windblown, a little wilted from the journey, but I could tell they’d been picked carefully.

I took the flowers gently from Mephisto’s beak, my hands trembling slightly. There was a small note tied around the stems with a piece of dark string. I untied it and read the familiar handwriting: “Since I can’t be there. Take care of yourself. – S.”

Sylus couldn’t come to see me himself, but he’d sent Mephisto instead. His way of saying he was there, still watching over me.

“Thank you.” I whispered

Mephisto tilted its head and gave a soft caw, as if acknowledging my words. Then, it took off out the window again.

I sank back against the pillows, holding the flowers close. It wasn’t the same as having Sylus here in person, but it was enough to know he was thinking of me.

———————————————————————

As I lay in the hospital bed, I reached for my phone on the side table and unlocked the screen. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed out a message to Sylus.

I hit send and waited, my heart beating a little faster than it should. The minutes dragged on, and I started to wonder if he'd even seen my message. But then, my device buzzed with his reply.

Typical Sylus.

The response came almost instantly, as though he'd been expecting my question.

I glanced back at the window, half expecting to see the crow still there. It made sense. Mephisto had always kept an eye on me, by Sylus’s command.

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as I read his words.

There was a long pause before his next message arrived.

It was the closest thing to comfort I would get from him, even if he couldn't be here with me.

———————————————————————

The final paperwork was a blur, the nurse’s instructions fading in and out as I focused on keeping steady. I was bandaged up and aching from head to toe, but at least I was getting out of the hospital. They’d wanted to keep me a few days longer, but I’d insisted on leaving.

As soon as they handed me my things, I slipped into my jacket and headed outside.

When I pushed through the front doors, a figure was leaning casually against the side of the building, half hidden in the shadow cast by the streetlamp. Sylus. He looked up when he saw me.

“Sylus…” I said, managing a small smile as I walked over, but his expression was tense as he straightened up, his eyes quickly scanning over my injuries.

“You’re stubborn for a hunter.” he muttered, his tone flat, though I could tell by the way his eyes lingered on my face and my bandaged arm that he was probably worried.

“The hell are you doing out here so soon? You could barely stand a few hours ago.”

“They were going to keep me trapped in there another week,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. “I couldn’t just stay there doing nothing.”

He gave me a sharp look, he slipped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me firmly to his car parked a few feet away.

“You’re barely out, and here you are, thinking you’re ready to run around already.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Since when do you drive anything other than that death trap of yours?"

"Since I figured you might not be up for riding around on a motorcycle after getting half crushed under a building."

He helped me into the passenger seat, taking extra care to ensure I was settled in before closing the door. He didn’t say anything as he walked around and got in himself, but the silence felt heavy, like he was holding back from saying a thousand things.

We drove through the streets in silence until we reached the edge of the city. I realized where we were going the moment we turned onto a narrow road.

“Your place?” I asked, glancing over at him.

He kept his gaze on the road. “You’re not going home alone in that condition. Not happening.”

I knew better than to argue, so I just nodded.

When we finally arrived, he was already at my side, opening the car door before I could even move. I tried to slide out on my own, but he offered his hand, steady and warm, and before I could argue, he was lifting me out of the seat.

I groaned, shaking my head. “Sylus, I can walk. You don’t need to—”

“Too late, sweetie.” he smirked, his arms sliding under my legs as he pulled me up, holding me effortlessly in a bridal carry. “Just sit back and let me do this.”

I sighed, trying to hide the warmth creeping up my face. “I’m tough, you know.”

“I know you are.” He glanced down, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he carried me toward the door. “But you’re hurt, and besides,” he added, leaning closer, his voice softening, “sometimes, you need someone to take care of you.”

Inside, he led me to his room and gestured for me to sit on the bed. “Wait here. And don’t try moving around.”

I managed a small, sarcastic smile. “What, you think I’m going to run off?”

His gaze darkened. “You have a habit of being reckless.”

Before I could respond, he was already disappearing into the other room, returning moments later with a small first aid kit and a glass of water. He knelt beside me, unwrapping some of the bandages on my arm with practiced precision.

“I already saw the doctors for this.” I said, watching him closely. He ignored me, dabbing disinfectant on a fresh cut and glancing up with a glint of warning in his eyes.

“Clearly, they didn’t do a good enough job if you’re in this condition.” he replied, his tone clipped.

I sighed, not bothering to respond. Instead, I watched his hands move, careful but efficient, his expression focused as he replaced the bandages. He was so quiet, so steady, so… unlike his usual self. His eyes kept flicking up to meet mine, only for a second, before going back to my injuries.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I murmured, not sure if I was talking to him or to myself.

He paused, his hands stilling for a moment, before he looked up, his expression unreadable. “And if I don’t, who will?”

I watched him as he worked, watching how he gently wrapped fresh gauze around my arm, tightening it carefully.

His fingers lingered over the bandage, as if making sure it wasn't too tight.

"Is this too tight?" he murmured, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

"No... it's fine." I whispered, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. My words were barely a breath, and I wasn't sure if he heard me, but he continued anyway, his focus unbreakable.

"You can tell me if it hurts." he said softly, his gaze locking onto mine.

"It doesn't hurt." I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. But the truth was, all I can think about is how his fingers felt against my skin.

“You could have been killed.” he suddenly said, the faintest tremor in his voice. “And you didn’t think to tell me, or anyone, what you were dealing with out there?”

I looked down, feeling that familiar pang of guilt again.

“Tell me next time before you go off on one of these suicide missions.” he snapped, his jaw tight. “Or better yet, stay out of places where buildings collapse on you.”

“I don’t get to pick and choose which missions are dangerous.” I replied.

“And I’m supposed to sit back and just watch you throw yourself into the line of fire?” His voice was low, but I could hear the worry simmering beneath it.

He was silent for a moment, his expression hardening as he reached over to brush a strand of hair from my face.

“And next time, you’re telling me about this kind of mission. I don’t care if you think it’s nothing.”

My expression softened as I looked up at him

“I’m okay now.” I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod.

“Try to rest here. I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” he said, guiding her down gently. “I’m guessing you don’t want to stay in those all night.”

I took the bundle of soft, comfortable clothes he offered.

“Thank you, Sylus.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, running his fingers lightly through my hair, guiding me to lie back against the bed.

“Enough fighting it, sweetie.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You need to rest.”

I started to protest, but he pressed a finger gently to my lips, shaking his head. “No arguments,” he said softly. “Just close your eyes.”

He pulled a blanket over me, his hands lingering as he tucked it around my shoulders, and as my breathing slowed, I felt his fingers brush my cheek, tracing gentle patterns along my skin. The last thing I saw was him watching me, his expression filled with something I couldn’t quite place, a mix of worry, relief, and maybe… something else, something deeper.

“Sleep.” he whispered, his voice a barely audible murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

———————————————————————

The soft rise and fall of her breathing filled the room. Sylus sat beside her, one leg folded over the other, his arms crossed as he watched her sleep. In the dim light, she looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the worry that had been etched into her face earlier. He’d seen her like this before years ago.

He could still remember that night, when she’d slipped through his fingers.

He reached out almost instinctively, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She didn’t stir, but his touch softened, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against his fingertips.

Unable to bear it, he slipped his arms around her, drawing her close, careful not to wake her. She was warm, her head resting against his chest, her body relaxed in his embrace. He pressed his cheek against her hair, letting himself take in her scent, the steady beat of her heart.

“You don’t get to do this to me again.” he whispered, his voice rough, barely audible even to himself. “Not this time. I won’t lose you. Not again.”

if you made it this far thank you sm for reading! I appreciate you feel free to request ♡

[aritsukemo]

There goes my baaaabyyyy | Multiple Characters

Characters: Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru, and Sae Itoshi

Summary: After seeing an abundance of tiktoks about the Usher trend, you decide to try it out on your unsuspecting boyfriend after a while of not seeing him

Warnings: This is the author's attempt at being funny so crack ahead. I apologize in advance.

A/N: Idk what came over me today, but I decided to waste my time writing this anyways after getting inspired by this amazing slideshow on tiktok talking about how each Haikyuu character would react to you doing the Usher trend. This is also my first time writing for Sae ( and I also know virtually nothing about him as I've only seen season 1 of Blue Lock ) so I'm sorry if he's ooc. I just realllyyy wanted to add him as I've been thirsting over edits of him ( and Reo ) for the past day or so.

A sigh of relief escapes through the chapped lips of the soon-to-be world cup competitor Isagi Yoichi. After hard fought battles during the preliminaries and all the stress and trials that come with it, it was finally the time for Isagi to return to his safe haven. He was hesitant for a time as he was still riding the adrenaline rush and wanted to stay back and train with some of the others, but since Bachira was returning to Japan to visit his mom and celebrate with her, it reminded him that he also had someone to return home to; you.

And so, after the longest thirteen hour flight of his life, he was now walking, suitcase in hand, alongside his best friend as the two of them exited the baggage claim and was nearing the lounge where you were allegedly waiting for him.

It had been so long since he's seen you, touched you—held you.. He finds himself wondering, how much has changed? Has your laugh changed at all? Have you switched up your sense of style? Maybe your hair? Do you still taste like the honeyed, buttered pancakes you used to make him every morning? Is your smile still so wide that it creases your cheeks and makes them pudge out more? Do your eyes still gaze at him as if he was made out of gold like they used to?

As he dwells on his thoughts, the yearning for you seeps in more and more like oil filling up a tank. It's heavy and it's only when he's just about to succumb to the weight of it all that he realizes just how much he's truly missed you.

And it seems that he wasn't alone in this feeling.

As he stepped into the lounge, he's met with his first and only warning. A warning that came in the familiar tune of the audio of a certain tiktok you had sent him a week prior before you came sliding his way on your knees. Your voice raised to match the exact pitch of the audio as you sung the infamous lyrics until you came to an abrupt halt when you collided with his stomach, nearly knocking him over with the force you hit him with.

And the only thing he could fathom to do was to stare like a deer in headlights and say, "Uh...what in the world?!"

Bachira couldn't possibly hope to contain his laughter any longer after that.

After seconds of Bachira's wheezing and airless chuckles, it was only when he was beginning to grip his stomach from the pain of his amusement that Isagi finally realized what just happened. And when he did, his entire face flushed a cherry red.

"What- Why are you doing this right now of all time?" He asked, semi-shouting as he grabbed the upper part of your arms—which were wrapped around his waist.

"I missed you, baby~!" You said in a sing-songy voice. And, as you looked up at him with your eyes shining with the familiar gleam he knew just as that same trophy-awarding smile stretched across your face, he found himself faltering for a moment. His shoulders slumping as he began mumbling shyly..

"I- I.. I missed you too.. But please, get up! People are starting to give us weird looks.."

Three months. That's how long it's been since you've last seen him.

Well, that's technically not true. If you wanted to be less dramatic, you could admit that you saw your boyfriend just last week on tv doing his signature dribbling moves and if you wanted to really be frank, you had seen his gorgeous face up close just the other day when he facetimed you and informed you that he'll be home that following afternoon. You could also make it sound much less extreme by simply confessing that you had regularly spoke to Bachira throughout these three months via text and that he'd facetime you at least one a week.

But you didn't want to count any of that.

I mean, sure you got to see him, but you didn't really get to see him. You weren't able to kiss his cheek whenever they perked up and flushed pink. You couldn't run your fingers through his layered hair and watch the satisfying transition of his brown strands turn yellow between your fingertips. You weren't able to hold his chin and watch in awe and fondness as he laughed toothily like a baby kitten..

You haven't seen him, not in all his glory which, to you, was like not seeing him at all. That said, three months of that torture was unbearable.

But all of that pain was forgotten in a matter of seconds at the odd sound of drums playing in the distance.

You didn't have any time to react to—or rather, process—what was happening or prepare yourself before Bachira got a running start towards you and soon dropped to his knees, sliding the rest of the way up to you with the biggest smile on his face—all while Usher's voice boomed behind him from his back pocket.

You had no choice but to accept fate and allow the love of your life to crash into you and completely knock you to the ground.

As the biting cold of the airport's tiles crept up your skin and all the air was just about knocked from your lungs from unexpectedly hitting the flat surface, Bachira stared down at you from above, cheeks dusted pink which made him look like an excited little kid.

"Hey, babe! It's been so long!" He chirped before coming down to press all his weight onto you as he caged your torso with his arms, his face immediately nearing yours to press a big, wet kiss to your cheek.

If it had been any other situation that he had done this in, you'd probably be annoyed from the embarrassment of having basically half the airport staring at the two of you like you were a bunch of buffoons or, at the very least, the fact that his team was laughing up a storm in the background...but having been as starved of him as you were, all you could do was laugh while relishing in the feeling of his warmth consuming every part of your body as he leaned down again to plant a feverish kiss to your lips.

Feet tapped against the small tile floors of the elevator, thumping against the marble in a rhythm that embodied the very dread of its owner.

After months of dreading this day, Sae had, once again, stepped foot in Japan; a notion he refused to even utter aloud from just how much he despised it.

For a man with such negative opinions about his homeland, his reasons for coming back were quite frivolous in comparison. Though if asked, he lie and say that his passport expired—which wasn't wrong—but deep down he knew the real reason for his return; his partner who he was too prideful to call the love of his life.

It had took some time, and for a while, Sae was forced to come back here every other year or so in secret to visit them per their request, but at last, they had decided that so much time waiting for his semi-yearly visits were too much for their poor heart and that they were ready to take the next step and leave with him to Spain.

Sae had pushed the thought to the very back of his mind, but he was more than glad—overjoyed, even—when you told him of your decision over the phone as he himself was starting to grow restless without you by his side at times.

He had already went through the process of renewing his passport so all that was left was to pick you up and drive to the airport—well, get driven to the airport—where he could finally leave this horrendous country, this time with you snuggled up by his side.

But he should've known that you wouldn't have let things be so simple.

As the doors to the elevator opened and allowed him to, at last, step foot into your lavish home, the symphony of his demise began to rang throughout it and bounce of the walls. Sae paused, face contorting into one of visible perplexment before his eyes widened at the sight of you sliding on your knees towards him, mouth opened as you sang to the beat of the music blasting throughout your home.

Your performance was short, glorious, and came to an end when your face was buried into the smooth fabric of your boyfriend's clothing and you smoothly wrapped your arms around your boyfriend's waist.

And it was only a full minute after such an amazing performance that it finally dawned on him what you were doing. And to that, he simply sighs disappointedly.

"I've changed my mind. You're not going anywhere with me," He said, and despite the blunt tone he douses his words in, it does little to your dazzling smile as you knew full well his words held little weight to them. You find yourself playing into your own bullshit anyways, though, as you begun to whine out in a high pitch you just knew he couldn't stand.

"Aww, but why? All I did was greet my pookie--" "Finish that sentence and I will actually leave you in Japan for another ten years."

You promptly shut your mouth after that, much to Sae's relief.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[marvelfanfics1]

Sofia, Rafe and reader all cuddles up on the couch with readers new blanket 😫

"Sorry, a what?" Rafe asks, standing before the coffee table with his arms folded and not understanding why you're so excited over that new blanket that just arrived.

"A weighted blanket." Sofia answers, helping you unpack said blanket and smiling at your enthusiasm.

"Uh-huh, and the purpose of it is..."

"It helps people for various reasons, like to sleep, anxiety and what not. I thought our baby could use one." She explains, smoothing your hair from your face as you rip the big plastic package open, gasping at how soft the fabric of the blanket is.

"So, let me get this straight. You bought a heavy blanket to help her with her anxiety? If she wanted something to crush her she could simply ask one of us or am I wrong?" Rafe states gruffly.

He's clearly unhappy with the thought of something else helping or comforting you when you need it other than him...or Sofia.

"And what if she's alone at home?" Sofia reasons with him, even though those times are rare, they still happen and to know that you have something in reserve to keep you grounded makes her feel at ease.

He sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "A'ight, fine. Let's just watch this movie already." He huffs, planting himself on the sofa beside you, placing his arm on the backrest behind you.

You giggle and make sure all three of you are covered by the blanket, snuggling into Rafe's side but holding Sofia's hand in yours tightly.

Don't tell him, but Rafe actually starts to dissociate, not really focused on the movie that's playing as his eyelids begin to feel heavy and eventually falling shut.

Sofia lifts her head and smiles at the sight of the oh so scary and intimidating Rafe Cameron being relaxed by a weighted blanket that he first was wary of actually working.

She just knew that he needs that blanket just as much as you do, even if he would never admit that but his actions speak volumes.

Her suspicion gets even more confirmed when she sees that you have fallen asleep as well, one of your hands gripping onto Rafe's sweater.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

[save-our-life]

Amidst the destruction, there are still small moments of peace. 🕊️ My cat 🐱 reminds me that even in the darkest times, there’s always something to hold onto. 💫

A smile 🙂 hides the struggles we face daily in Gaza, but our strength remains. 💪

We continue to hope for a better future 🌱, even when the present feels so uncertain. 🌧️

Even in times of war ⚔️, we stay resilient. The weight of the world 🌍 is heavy, but we push forward, standing tall with hope in our hearts. ❤️

Life After the Destruction of My Home 🏚️💔

My life took an unimaginable turn when my home was bombed and reduced to ruins. 🏠💥 The place I once called home, where I shared countless memories with my family, is now nothing but rubble. 🧱

Walls that used to protect us have crumbled, and every corner of the house is filled with shattered dreams and broken belongings. 🖼️🪑💔

Now, I live in a tent, trying to make sense of the pieces of my life that are left. ⛺💔 The cold nights ❄️ and the hot days 🌞 make every moment in this tent a struggle.

There is no comfort, no privacy, and no sense of safety. 🥀 Every day, I wake up hoping for peace 🕊️, for a chance to rebuild, but right now, that hope seems distant.

This experience has taught me about the fragility of life. 💔 I never imagined that in a blink of an eye, everything I had could be taken away. 🌪️ Living in this tent ⛺ is a daily reminder of what was lost, and yet, it is also a reminder to keep moving forward, no matter how difficult the path may seem.

But amidst all the destruction, I remain hopeful. 🌱 Hopeful that one day, I will have a home again 🏠, where my family can live in peace 🕊️, free from fear and destruction. 🌈

Dear friends and supporters,

My life changed forever when my home was destroyed in the recent bombings. 💥🏚️

Everything I once had - my home, my belongings, and my sense of security - has been reduced to rubble. 🧱 Today, I live in a tent ⛺, trying to survive day by day in harsh conditions. 🌧️ With no permanent shelter, and limited resources, I face an uncertain future. 🌍

I am reaching out to you for help. 🤝 Any contribution, no matter how small, will bring me one step closer to rebuilding my life and finding a place where I can feel safe again. 🏠 Your generosity will provide me with the basics I need to survive and start over. 🙏

Please share my story and help me spread the word by sharing this link with your network. 📲 Together, we can turn this devastating situation into a chance to rebuild and restore hope. 🌱

Thank you for your kindness and support during these difficult times. ❤️

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@nesmamomen

[cutetteaa]

A lazy morning with Gojo

Gojo x reader - fluff ♡ warnings: none!

The cold breeze of the chilly November air drifted softly through your shared apartment. The light trickled in through the curtains, casting a soft glow into the room. You shifted around in your shared bed, almost getting up but before you even had a moment to register the sunlight hitting your face, a pair of warm arms pulled you in and tightened around you, pulling you back into bed.

“Mmm… five more minutes” Gojo mumbled, his voice muffled against the back of your neck.

“Gojo, it’s already 10am” you chuckled, wriggling to turn around in his arms, now facing him.

Satoru had messy hair and heavy eyelids as he blinked back at you, his crystal-blue eyes, gave you a look with a pouting expression like he was playfully annoyed at being woken up from an amazing nights rest. His hair was sticking up in every direction, one side smushed and flat from where his head laid all night on the pillow. There was a slight pout on his lips that made him look like a little kid who got old no to eating sweets before dinner, a rare sight for the strongest sorcerer. You couldn’t help but smile at his precious face.

“Oh, come on. 10am on a Sunday? We’re just getting started” he whined, snuggling closer to you. “The world can wait just a little longer for its protector.”

You rolled your eyes and giggled, but there was definitely no way you were leaving the bed just yet. Especially not with Satoru, who seemed determined to pull you back down each time you tried to get up. He wrapped himself around you, pulling the blanket higher and sighing contently.

After a moment, you gave in, settling against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat—a steady, comforting rhythm that somehow reminded you of all the things he was outside of your warm bed and loving grasp, a sorcerer who risked his life for his students, the safety of the world, and you. Satoru, your Satoru, was warm, soft, and surprisingly needy on this quiet morning.

“Y’know, you never let yourself just be lazy like this,” you teased, tracing lazy circles on his chest.

He smirked. “Not true. I’m lazy all the time. I just… pick my moments.”

“Sure, right,” you snorted, poking him lightly in the side, earning a playful yelp. “Your poor students probably have a different perspective.”

“Hey! my teaching style is very hands-off. Character-building,” he defended, looking smug.

The two of you dissolved into quiet laughter, the sound filling the small, now sunlit room. The tension of the past week, the weight of his responsibilities, all of it seemed to disappear in these moments.

As you laid there, your hand intertwined with his, he suddenly leaned over, pressing a soft kiss onto your forehead. His lips lingered there, just long enough for you to feel the affection that words sometimes failed to convey.

“I’m glad we have days like this,” he murmured.

You looked up, meeting his eyes—those endless, loving eyes that held so much more than what he often let others see.

“Me too, Satoru,” you replied softly, smiling and caressing his cheek, he nuzzled into it. “Even if they don’t happen nearly as often as I’d like.”

“Guess I’ll just have to keep you all to myself a little longer, then,” he said, his voice low and playful.

And with that, he pulled you into his arms again, ready to steal a few more moments, just the two of you, wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of a lazy Sunday morning together.

[the-raindeer-king]

There's music playing on the tv. It had started with something closer to what you usually listen to, but now it's playing classical music. You think it might be from The Nutcracker, but you can't be bothered to look.

You've got your head buried in the pillows, the blanket pulled over you, as you lay in bed. It's dark and cool, and it's good.

Everything's just been so shitty lately. Work is exhausting. Your family is being difficult. You've already had to cut off two friends for separate reasons. Disappearing into the woods and never being heard from sounds like a great plan right about now. But, for now, you'll take laying in bed with the blankets shielding you from the world.

You're so lost in thought that you don't hear Simon come into the room. You probably wouldn't have heard him regardless. He's unusually quiet for a man his size. Perk of the job.

The bed dips under his weight, as he lays down next to you. He doesn't say anything, just lays there with you, waiting for you to make the first move. A lesson he's learned the hard way.

Neither of you is entirely sure how long you both lay there, breathing quietly. Simon stares at the tv, watching the dancing fruit bounce along to the beat of the song. But he's really just waiting for you to let him under the blanket, into your cocoon of darkness.

His patience is quickly rewarded, when you squirm around on the bed, before throwing the blanket over him, snuggling into his side. While you're careful not to throw the blanket over his head, not wanting to trigger his own trauma, Simon doesn't care as much, pulling the fabric over himself so he's completely under with you.

"Sorry," you sniffle softly, and Simon's heart breaks at that.

He hates seeing you like this, but he understands that it's just how you process your own issues. He wraps an arm around you, gently rubbing your shoulder.

"'s fine, lovie," he grumbles. You were supposed to go out tonight, have drinks with his team, but you're clearly in no state to leave the house. "We'll stay home, order in," he offers.

You let out a breath that you didn't know you were holding, further snuggling into his side. Really, you don't know where you'd be without Simon. He's like a buoy in the turbulent ocean of your mind, offering a place for you to lay anchor and wait out the storm.

"I love you," your murmur softly, the weight of your appreciation heavy in those three words.

"Love you too, doll."

[nam-the-nacho]

Mit2uba's Trauma: An Analogy

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Tw: I will be discussing the abuse Mitsuba has suffered from his environment, nothing that isn't in the manga, but I want to give a heads up. Additionally, I'm fortunate to have not gone though any severe traumatic experience myself, and am instead using my general knowledge, meaning if anything is incorrect here, please point it out!

(Also manga spoilers obviously)

I'm not pretending this hasn't ever been discussed, however I have yet to see an analogy of the consequences of Mitsuba's creation and (practically nonexistent) upbringing.

I'm going to divide this post into sections, but they won't really be organized, maybe chapters is a better definition. This thing is l o n g, so without further ado:

1: Mitsuba being paralleled to a puppet:

This is done quite often, although not in the same ways. Besides the psychological aspects of being Tsukasa's "puppet", as in being forced to do as he says and overall being under his control, but there are physical correlations too.

Tsukasa referring to Mitsuba as a "Thing"

Mitsuba lets Tsukasa hold him. This is much more then a surface-level fact considering Mitsuba usually rejects contact/uses it as an excuse to blame others. This is easily explained by "Mitsuba is simply scared of Tsukasa, he can't tell him no", except Mitsuba doesn't look scared when being held, he just looks, expressionless.

More then that, he completely trusts Tsukasa with his body weight, leaning into his touch and allowing himself to be comforted by it. This obviously occasionally backfires horribly

While Mitsuba being punched is framed in a humorous manner, the implications and weight of it are very heavy. It's all fun and games until you remember this is how Mitsuba is being raised, and it's all he's ever known. If Mitsuba doesn't want to do what Tsukasa tells him too, he gets punched. If he talks back, he gets kicked out of the broadcasting room (we'll get back to this later). If he asks to be Tsukasa's friend, he gets fireworks shoved down his mouth.

And the results of this... well:

This one in particular is interesting to me:

"It's just Mitsuba being surprised because Kou suddenly raised his voice". But that's not what's being illustrated. Upon hearing "brace yourself" even from someone like Kou, who wasn't planning on actively trying to hurt Mitsuba, he literally stiffens, pales, and begins to tremble and sweat, dropping the piece of chalk he was holding (those things break way to easily, yk he was serious). It's not shock or surprise being drawn, it's just genuine fear.

This could very well be me overthinking, but Mitsuba falls in what is almost a doll-like manner, arms and legs completely stiff.

2: Social rejection and trivial treatment:

The Mitsuba chapter (ch. 40) was worse then I remembered.

Mitsuba runs away from the broadcasting room in search of a better, safer place to stay. Only to understand he has none.

What's worse is that these are the characters we see being far kinder to the rest of the cast. We see Yako, Hanako and weirdo super-natural teacher together in his living quarters, watching tv together, but when Mitsuba approaches them...

(Tsuchigomori eventually does stay with him, but his opinion of him doesn't really change.)

"This guy's a pain, I'm out of here"

Tsuchigomori doesn't know Mitsuba, the only time we see them meet was when Tsuchigomori refers to him as emergency rations (above), and when he answered Mitsuba who asked him a question (answer starting with "You seriously don't know?" (YES SIR HOW WOULD HE KNOW HE'S LIKE ONE MONTH OLD)).

He probably heard he's a prankster from Hanako, which is why he wants nothing to do with him.

The point is despite Mitsuba needing to run from the closest thing he considers a "home", not a single supernatural actually understands his situation. Hanako borderline hates him, Nene barley understands he's a different Mitsuba, and Kou tends to accidently frame it as Mitsuba's CHOICE to stay with Tsukasa in the broadcasting room.

This is sadly something that can happen in reality, children trying to escape their less-desirable homes can often find themselves, sickeningly, returning after not finding somewhere or someone to take them seriously.

The most deranged part of this is that as a result of nobody properly digesting that he needs help, Mitsuba himself frequently convinces himself that everything is normal.

The implication that every time Mitsuba fights with Tsukasa he needs to just fend for himself until enough time has passed for Tsukasa to forget is sad. He's an outcast between the wonders for replacing the old No.3, despite his only other choice being death, which they don't know.

Sakura is probably the closest thing Mitsuba has to family, being in a similar situation to him, but it's incorrect to say she truly deeply cares about him. She's fond of Mitsuba, but never goes out of her way to help him when Tsukasa hurts him, and seems to have put her personal safety and goals as a higher priority then him (this isn't Sakura slander, I love my queen).

Natsuhiko treats him like a pet more then a human, and sometimes hits on him, which is just gross. Despite this Mitsuba genuinely appreciates him and sees him as an older brother. It's cruel to see this one-sided ordeal.

We don't actually know Mitsuba's true opinion of Tsukasa. In an almost realistic manner, his opinion is constantly contradictory. Mitsuba is scared of Tsukasa, but at the same time he only feels 'safe' when he's around.

Also, contrary to Sousuke, Mitsuba is more scared of Tsukasa then thunder, which could either mean that Sousuke's phobia of thunder was memory-correlated, or that Mitsuba is SO scared of Tsukasa that thunder is nothing in comparison.

Mitsuba freezing after hearing Tsukasa's voice

vs:

We know Mitsuba is aware that Tsukasa is not treating him okay, but by the time we learn this (pp arc), Mitsuba has half convinced himself that Tsukasa is doing everything he's doing to help him, and that "nobody else can help him anyways". Genuinely Mitsuba is one of the most subtle-yet-obvious victims portrayed in media I've even seen.

3: Ok-yeah-that's-not-okay moments

Do I really need to add anything.

I will anyways. Mitsuba is a dramatic by nature, unrelated to any of the emotional damage he's suffered. The fact that Tsukasa can make him stop crying just by demanding it really shows how bad he messed up Mitsuba. The ability to stop crying on command out of fear..... somebody save him.

Stay away!

Can't add to many pictures because of the tumbler limitations, but in every one of these scenes Mitsuba totally freezes, only regaining control and suddenly snapping once someone (aka Kou) does anything intimidating to him.

Going in-depth about the similarities between Kou and Tsukasa is an entirely different ordeal, but in short summery:

There's a carefully built connection between Tsukasa and Kou, that deserves a post of it's own.

4: Symptoms of trauma:

Trust issues are heavily associated with a problematic childhood, so it's not very surprising that Mitsuba struggles to trust anyone besides Tsukasa, even if he doesn't want to.

Very commonly appearing alongside trauma, self destructive behaviors are a tragically common coping habit. I don't think I need to add any pictures for this one, as practically every other sentence Mitsuba says have some 'Just let me pass away' coding to it.

Lack of memories is a symptom that appears in very severe cases, and while it isn't completely accurate to Mitsuba it's an interesting addition considering Mitsuba has no memories.

5: Character design:

Mitsuba has lots of chains and locks in his wonder form, a lock on his neck (which has multiple interpretations), one preventing his heart from beating, which could be a clever metaphor for Mitsuba further constricting his humanity by "choosing" to become a wonder, but most interesting:

What looks to be the remains of a leg shackle.

Mitsuba in a box labeled as fragile.

6: This definitely isn't symbolism for an eating disorder:

"I'm always hungry, no matter how much I eat" -M

"You starved yourself from all this moping around, just because you didn't want to eat something different?" -K

Can we talk about how the fandom collectively just skipped over the huge reveal that Mitsuba STARVES HIMSELF. Because I feel like that really wasn't talked about. As if this guy doesn't have enough going on, he now has to deal with constant starvation, dehumanization at new never-seen-before-pace, and the loss of his will to exist in the first place.

He is both metaphorically and physically falling apart, constantly in physical pain. When he isn't in physical pain it's because he's experiencing gut-wrenching psychological torment as he can't stop eating live beings. I don't blame this guy.

The only person who knew of this was Tsukasa, until he "told" Kou. Told is in quotation marks because it was never really Mitsuba trusting Kou enough to open up about the hell he's enduring, as mentioned before Mitsuba doesn't exactly know how to trust. The fact was forced out of him due to a dire situation, but Kou could not have reacted in a worse way:

Pro tip: If your reaction to learning that your best buddy is suffering from a complicated relationship with food, is shoving said food into their mouth violently, you might need therapy just as much as they do.

Kou is still unaware that Mitsuba's diet contains living things too, but if we're being honest that doesn't really put Kou in the right here. Like, man, I know you're freaking out because your friend just asked you to end him, but please take out your anger on something that isn't him.

And don't act surprised when this is his reaction:

This is arguably the a result of post traumatic stress disorder. Mitsuba didn't just escape, he hid in the nearest corner, making himself as small as possible, hid his head and trembled. The reason I'm calling this out as PTSD is because the only other time he panicked like this was right after Tsukasa shoved the bird heart down his throat.

So for both situations it's:

Tsukasa force feeds Mitsuba -> Mitsuba loses control (starts attacking everything)

Kou force feeds Mitsuba -> Mitsuba bites Kou

And the results are the same. He reacted the same way because mentally it was the same situation to him, It doesn't matter what the intentions were, Kou triggered an event(s (considering he's eaten multiple supernatural and is absolutely repulsed by it)) that Mitsuba had no intention of revisiting.

Summery:

Mitsuba's trauma is often overshadowed by more obvious displays of mental scarring, like with the Yugi twins and Kou, and is often represented with irony or humor, including by the creators themselves.

Even without everything he's gone though, Mitsuba was always a hopeless character. He just existed one day. He doesn't have anything, anyone. He's never been told he's loved, he's never felt sunlight, he never got to play, he's never had anyone tuck him into bed, or read him a story. He was robbed of his childhood, and any connections besides the few who remember him for someone that he isn't.

He doesn't even know what snow is, yet he knows how blood tastes like

This entire post wasn't even scratching the tip of the iceberg in terms of how much grave emotional turmoil Mitsuba has faced. And will face. Yeah I don't know how well his trust issues will cope with Natsuhiko leaving him to die. If he lives.

The idea of this long rant was to point out that Mitsuba's trauma and mental struggles are just as, if not more, relevant then his physical ones. And they do affect him, and they do have consequences. And they will most certainly come back 20x worse later on in the plot. I would say to prepare mentally, but I know tbhk fans can handle just about anything.

Thank you for reading!

ヾ(≧▽≦*)

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[squeakadeeks]

Fabric highlights: Microsuede

I get a lot of questions about material choices, so I thought it would be cool to do little overviews of my favorite materials! (since to be honest, i pretty much just rotate between 3-4 fabric types haha)

Starting with microsuede, my all time favorite and most used material choice. Microsuede is a faux suede made from lots of tiny polyester microfibers split and combined together. its similar in feel to natural suede but distinctly different in its overall fabric drape. It can sometimes have stretch, but usually its a non-stretch fabric. (also not to be confused with microfiber!! mircofiber fabric is similar but its much softer, its the material that cleaning wipes for glasses/screens are used of.)

Some of the advantages of microsuede is its a thick, sturdy fabric. Personally I find it a very friendly fabric due to its thickness and body. Its a great choice if you want something to have some heft to it and structural support. It presses well and can hold folds like the dickens. Its both easy to work with and easy to make a garment that looks nice out of imo. It comes in all kinds of weights from apparel to upholstery. I've personally never used heavy duty, true upholstery weight microsuede so I cant speak much to that, I tend to use microsuedes intended for apparel.

Another great advantage of microsuede is it has an inherent, mottled texture. this is great for making simpler, color blocked designs still have visual interest.

It also takes to adhesives well due to the fuzzier texture, meaning the glues can grisp with more surface area (you just might have to press it in a bit, its still a poly fabric so its not the easiest thing to get hot glue to stick to but by god it can be done).

But microsuede is not a one-size-fits-all fabric. One, the stiffness it has can be a downside if you want a more flowy drape, it would rather fold and crease than flow. Two, its a pain to paint or use HTV on, the fuzzy texture is a downside here. Three, It can also show needle holes if you have to seam rip depending on what you used. You can use a universal needle on microsuede dependings on the weight (I usually do). But its still a thick fabric so be sure not to use too thin of a needle, i also have luck using medium pressure and a walking foot. but all the same ive lost many a needle to microsuede via snapping.

Another thing is personally i find that due to its texture, it looks more homespun and rugged, as such I would hesitate to use it if i wanted a costume to look more regal or formal (i still used it on thistle though lol so its all about the particular use-case)

I source my microsuedes from Big Z primarily (like literally 90% of the time) but I also use fabric wholesale direct, and jo anns, who despite their markups does have some very nice quality suedes, i love their stretch suedes in particular.

I love microsuede. its probably my favorite fabric to use and I will even change my plans on a costume just to use it!

[obsessive-valentine]

5 stages of Grief (pt2)

Platonic Vampire Family + Fem!Reader

You attempt to come to terms with what you have become and youre new life with the Beaumont vampires, some more accepting than others. Part 2 of forever and always

You woke up amongst fine fabrics and soft pillows, it was like you were sinking into a cloud being hugged from all angles. Had you died in the night and now gifted an eternity on a cloud, you never thought so deeply about the afterlife. Was this heaven that so many speak of, or something different, maybe a waiting cloud as you wait in the in-between for your turn to move on.

Your eyes are heavy and your body is taking a lot longer to start up again. Your thoughts were slow, disjointed, as though your mind had been emptied and was slowly being pieced back together, you couldn't think of anything logical or of meaning.

But your body didn't ache and rattle like it had before. Devoid of the sting in your chest and weight of your limbs.

Only one thing remained—a dull, growing sting on your inner wrist.

As you came closer to reality, you could feel a presence beside you, a hand running through your hair, slow and deliberate. It felt so tender, you don't think you've felt such softness for some time. Between that and the sound of a fireplace crackling reaching your ears, you were almost soothed back asleep.

You clenched your hands into a fist and then relieved the pressure once again, slowly moved your toes and drew in a long breath before letting go of a sigh. All signs you are, in-fact, alive. You cracked your eyes open but you only saw blur and the minimal light is so hard on your eyes.

The hand running through your hair had stopped and now rested on the crown of your head. Then a sweet voice broke through the stillness of the room and traveled gently to your ear, almost a whisper "You're safe now, sweet girl. Don't strain, be slow" She encouraged.

You knew that voice "Lavinia?" you whispered twisting your head to the side to see for yourself if your assumption was right. "Yes, It's me. You're here with me" she said almost reassuring herself more than you. She sat beside the bed in a plain wooden chair, her face softening even more under your gaze, a hand still extended to rest on your head unable to part.

What you didn't know is the incomprehensible amount of relief she was experiencing- that her girl had woken up. There was the chance that she could still lose you, that a complication could have arouse.

As you slept, your body no longer needing to breathe, your skin pale and cold to the touch, Lavinia had begun to fear the worst. The night had felt endless, each hour creeping by as you lay there, motionless. No twitch of your fingers, no flutter of your eyelids.

"Where am I?" you questioned as you noticed more and more about this unfamiliar room as the blur coving your vision dissipated. The bed was a work of art in itself dark wood polished to shine -nothing like your flimsy wooden cot, the wallpaper a beautiful deep forest green with intricate patterns that extended all the way up the towering walls -your wallpaper was a cheap old and childish pattern.

The fireplace made from a beautiful stone with crackling logs, and candle holders that looked to be solid gold shone as they reflected the fire. The house is quiet, no one to be heard inside or out, only objects seemed to talk like the incredibly expensive-looking clock ticking away on the wall.

"This is my home, we're in your room" she added as specification but as calmly as she could, slow and trying to read your face "My room? This isn't my room" you stated matter-of-factly, your brows now sewn together in confusion.

"It will be a while until you can understand whats happening, but this is your home now" she tried again gently but regretted her approach once confusion was replaced with worry. You'd fully woken up now, dread beginning to bubble up in you. The memories of last night and trusting the strange man to cure you, that didn't help you solve what was happening currently though, it only deepened the confused creases on your brow.

You pushed up off the pillows causing Lavinia to draw back her hand, you sat up and shuffled back to get some distance- some breathing room "I know you're scared," she murmured softly, though she could feel her own unease building. "It’s confusing, but you’re safer here now. I can’t send you home… you’d be in danger." It's been a while since Lavinia had to deal with this sort of thing with something as fragile as you and the untouched human mind, and she was struggling to explain without making you even more frantic.

She only really spoke the straight truth (usually an appreciated trait amongst the family, but the truth could be hard and scary for a young being), and while she tried to do so gently with you, there is no easy way to do this. Her boys went through this exact experience, and she supposed it was inevitable.

“Danger?” Your voice was firmer now, as you sat up, your gaze unwavering. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand any of this… it’s my choice to go home if I want, isn’t it? Why am I even here?”

Lavinia took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking again, her hands folding calmly in her lap. “If it were safe, I would let you go back to your family,” she lied, There no way you're leaving her sight again. She held your gaze with a tempered but resolute calm expression “But things have changed in ways that even I couldn’t undo. And, to let you go back home -amongst humans. I'd be putting you in terrible danger, as you are not one of them anymore.”

your face went from one of fear and confusion to a deadpan stare "Not human?" you whispered in disbelief, not that you supposedly weren't human but the audacity of Lavinia thinking she'd gone mad. "Just tell me what's going on" you demanded with twisting dread and emotion once again taking control of you

The words sat heavy between you both, and you felt your stomach twist. Her expression softened as she continued, “You’re here because… last night, Soren and I did what we thought was necessary to save you. You’re no longer ill, but neither are you… quite the same as you were.” Soren? the man that came to you in the night promising you an escape to cheat death? he was apart of this too?

She sucked in a breath and sighed watching your steady stare, waiting for a clear explanation, there was no getting around this.

Lavinia reached for one of your hands, ignoring you trying to pull it back out of her grasp. She sat closer- on the edge of the bed and placed your fingers against her neck "What do you feel?" she questioned.

You've never been more confused "Just tell me what's happening" you demanded again she shook her head "I'm trying to. Tell me what you feel" she managed to keep her composed tone this whole time despite dreadfully waiting for your moment of realisation.

You tried to focus, what answer did she want? you sat there for a minute contemplating, you were feeling nothing? "Nothing, right?" Lavinia answered for you. You shrugged still not understanding.

"...not even a pulse?" she questioned watching you expectantly. "What" you questioned "Vampires don't have pulses little one" You're face dropped at the mention of such a monster.

The words sank in slowly, your hand still pressed against her neck as if you’d feel it any moment—a heartbeat, a sign of life—but there was nothing. The emptiness under your fingertips sent a chill through you.

Your voice wavered. “Vampire?”

Lavinia nodded, her expression a blend of sadness and conviction. “Yes. You’re here because Soren and I chose to save you… this way. It was the only way to stop the sickness from taking you. Making you a Vampire.”

You pulled your hand back, the realisation of what she had been implying crashing over you. Your hand raised to your own neck this time, you have to have a pulse. Vampires aren't real, everyone has told you to stop fearing those stupid stories. you couldn't feel anything, no beat.

"This makes no se-" you trailed off shaking your head. you threw off the blankets the still clung to your lower half and slid off the bed.

Your feet hit the cold floor, grounding you just enough to cling to one last shred of disbelief. This was a nightmare; it had to be. You ignored the weakness still lingering in your legs, gripping the bedpost for stability, but even that felt unfamiliar—the world too sharp, the air somehow thicker. You couldn’t let her words settle in, couldn’t even entertain the idea of what she was telling you.

“I’m going home,” you insisted, trying to steady yourself, your voice laced with desperation. “You’re crazy! You and that man—this whole place!”

Lavinia’s expression didn’t change; she just sat calmly, watching you, as if she'd expected this exact response. "I understand," she said gently, with the patience of someone who’d seen this scene unfold countless times before. "But where would you go, love? Do you even know where you are?” she tried to reason with you.

"I don't care- anywhere but here!" you attempted to push the door open but got stopped by Lavinia's hand around your wrist. She tried to continue to reason with logic, but you didn't let her before pulling your hand away and stumbling back. She let go, afraid of hurting you.

You ran through the door, ignoring Lavinia calling for you from behind. A large figure stood menacingly in the hallway seemingly ready to stop you, his eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the hall and you're sure you saw long shiny fangs when he playfully smiled at you as you halted just in front of him. His dark hair stark against his pale skin, you began to believe the monster, vampires, existed and you had to get away.

He reached for you as you slipped past him and ran down the hall, but he stopped himself when Lavinia scolded him "Leave her be Dorian. Let us handle her for now" You then heard the fast steps of her heels close behind you once again.

You continued through the grand house, finding the staircase and rushing down it. You were in such a rush and focused on getting to the front door that was so close to your reach you hadn't realised that Lavinia's footfalls had stopped at the stairs and others had snuck up behind you.

Hands grasped your shoulders and ripped you away from the door, before pulling you to turn around and look at him. The man that had started this all, hed stolen you away in the night, he had done all this.

"Get away from me you monster!" your hands beat against his chest as your legs worked to try and pull yourself free and away from him "What have you done to me?!" you continued to struggle.

Your cries echoed through the silent hall, but Soren’s expression remained unmoved. He watched your struggles with a deep, quiet disdain, as if you were no more than a child throwing a tantrum. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and chilling, edged with absolute authority.

“Enough.”

The single word stopped you cold, not just because of the harshness, but because of the power it held. You felt yourself shrink under his unwavering stare, a dark glint in his eye as he watched you wilt.

“This outburst,” he continued, his voice as sharp as a blade, “will not be tolerated. Do you understand me?” He didn’t wait for you to respond, his hands clamping tighter, nearly bruising as he spoke. “You are not a prisoner here, but neither are you a fool. This is your reality now; no other place will take you as you are now. And while you are under my roof you will learn to control yourself, or suffer the consequences of your childish defiance.”

At that, Lavinia descended the stairs, her face laced with worry as she approached carefully. Her hand lifted to touch Soren’s arm, a soft pressure as if to keep him from hardening further. “Soren,” she began, voice low and calm, “she’s just frightened… please, be gentle. She’s overwhelmed and acting out of panic.” Her eyes searched his face, an unspoken plea for restraint and mercy.

Soren’s gaze flicked to Lavinia, his jaw clenching. For a brief moment, the irritation in his eyes softened. But the stern lines of his face quickly returned as he looked back at you. With a slow exhale, he released his hold abruptly, the action so sudden that you stumbled backward, just managing to catch your balance. Instinctively, you retreated behind Lavinia, clutching the back of her dress and peeking around her to keep your eyes locked on Soren, wary of his every move.

He took a measured breath, his eyes studying you with a detached, calculating expression. “Take her upstairs,” he said to Lavinia in a voice that brooked no refusal. “She has exerted herself enough already. She’ll go back to her room and sleep—without any further dramatics. Yes?” His eyes bore into you with a steady command that made you feel rooted in place.

Words failed you under his harsh gaze, and you could only nod. The strength in his tone left no room for argument; all your earlier fight dissolved into a shaky obedience. You felt Lavinia’s warm hand on your back, gently guiding you to turn toward the stairs.

“Come now,” she whispered, her tone gentle and soothing. Her arm slipped around your shoulders, shielding you as much as guiding you, her warmth and closeness a sharp contrast to the cold, stony presence that lingered behind.

As she led you up the stairs, Soren’s gaze remained fixed on you both, his expression unreadable yet intense. You didn’t dare look back at him, even as the distance grew and you ascended away from his intimidating presence. You could still feel his eyes on you like a brand, marking this moment as the first time you’d dared to defy him—and the last time you might try.

In the quiet of the upstairs hallway, Lavinia paused, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “I know this is confusing, and I know you’re frightened,” she murmured, her gaze soft as she looked down at you. “But it’s important now that you trust me and let us help you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

You bit your lip, still shaken, the lingering memory of Soren’s grip on your arms reminding you of the intensity and strictness of this new life. Yet in Lavinia’s gentle, steady gaze, there was a promise of safety—a warmth that almost made you believe her.

She gave a small smile, almost apologetic. “Come, let’s go back to your room. I’ll stay with you as long as you like.” With a final reassuring glance, she led you down the hall, her hand warm and steady on your shoulder, guiding you into the unknown with patience and care.

Lavinia helped you back into the bed and lay multiple soft and weighted blankets over you, the pressure comforting. your head sunk into the pillows as your body weakened from the lack of adrenaline.

The room, quiet as Lavinia tucked the blankets tightly around you and pulled the chair back to the bedside that she must have pushed away when trying to keep up with you earlier.

"There has to be a way I can return home for a while. say goodbye," you spoke in a hushed, and defeated tone, you turned your head to look at Lavinia who now sat in the chair next to you, listening carefully.

"I wouldn't tell them, I'll keep our secret, I promise" You tried to convince her. She gave you a sad smile "You know I can't do that sweet girl" her hand returned to you head like it had been before, slowly and softly.

Your face crumpled as you swallowed back a sob, regret surfacing as you stared at the ceiling “If I was just left alone… if I just stayed home, I might’ve gotten better on my own... Maybe I didn’t need this… Maybe—maybe I wasn’t even that sick…”

Lavinia’s hands cupped your face, anchoring you. Her eyes searched yours with such gentle, unyielding honesty that you felt your resolve falter. “If you’d stayed where you were, my love… you wouldn’t have lived to see another day.”

The truth of her words washed over you, hitting you with the cold finality that left no more room to argue, no words left to bargain. You took in a ragged breath.

Lavinia bent down and took off her shoes, she stood to lay on top of the bed. She gently gathered you bundled in blankets into her arms and hushed you. A silent comfort, loyal to your side the whole night as you tried and failed to fight sleep.

Your old life had truly slipped away in a matter of hours, beyond all bargaining.

...

The days blurred together in a hazy, dim stillness. Lavinia was a constant, hardly ever straying far from your side. If she left, it was only for brief moments to bring you something.

Your body is quite sensitive and even began to ache at certain stimulants, Lavinia did her beast to ease you in any way she could think—warm cloths for your aches, a cup of tea laced with soothing herbs, or a soft book to occupy your mind as you healed.

Your orders were simple: remain in your room, rest, let the change complete itself without resistance. The windows were draped in thick, dark curtains, shielding you from even the gentlest daylight that now pricked painfully at your eyes.

Your ears were particularly sensitive, too, they seemed to ring for hours after your escape attempt. Luckily the house was quiet, and any small sound you did pick up was gentle and low: the soft whisper and footsteps in the halls, a faint clinking of silver in a nearby room, and, on rare occasions, music—a piano drifting down the hall or the gentle hum of strings.

But recently, you'd been allowed to roam the house, and Lavinia had noticed discomfort begin to settle and boredom rise in you. So it's become a bit of a habit to follow her on trips to the kitchen or library like her little shadow.

And on this particular day Lavinia had to go into town to pick up a few things for you, to sooth the ache of your shifting teeth that recently made it hard to even talk.

So instead you were greeted by Soren as evening fell. A gentle knock to the door was enough to stir you awake. Lavinia wasn't by your side and she never knocked, you were tucked in tightly and the smell of a fabric pocket of lavender placed on your pillow that Lavinia insisted would help you sleep.

You sat up a bit "Hello?" you called out to whoever stood on the other-side of the door. The handle turned and the door opened just enough for Soren to slip in, careful to not let too much light and stun you when you'd just woken.

"Lavinia will be away for a few hours, she needed to pick up some things from town but didnt have the heart to wake you to tell you." Soren explained as he walked over to your bedside table and pulled out a palm sized box from his pocket.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his tone flat but gentler than usual. You nodded, too busy watching as he took out a matchstick and struck it against the box. You rarely saw such a thing—matchsticks were expensive, and you were used to flint and steel. The smell of sulfur tickled your nose, and you grimaced as he lit the candle on your table, the soft glow now illuminating the room.

“Well?” He straightened and looked at you expectantly. You realized he wanted a verbal answer.

“I’m… okay," you replied, though your voice was uncertain. "Everything is just alot... its alot" you tried to explain but just sighed when you couldn't find the words to describe the physical and emotional overstimulation.

Soren nodded, a hint of understanding in his gaze. “I understand,” he said quietly. “Though it was long ago, I still remember how it felt.” He paused, glancing at the faint candlelight. “It will become your new normal soon enough.”

He turned to leave, adding as he reached the door, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Then, without another word, he slipped out, leaving you alone in the flickering glow.

...

It was that afternoon when you longed to get out of your room, youd left your bed and slipped on your house shoes that Lavinia had placed beside your bed for your nightly wanders. You'd gotten the impression they don't walk around bearfooted, far too sophisticated for that.

You rummaged curiously through the draws, and explored the room a bit closer now. Its fully furnished and some draws had items in them already. Lavinia used this room for any overspill she couldn't fit in her jewellery boxes or hang on the walls. So you came across alot of seemingly collectable things for the finer side of living.

The room itself felt like a small museum of elegant oddities, carefully curated items from a lifestyle you’d only read about. There were small touches of whimsy—a lace fan with fine embroidery, a silver compact mirror with a scene painted on the lid. As nice as it is, it just isn't your room, and you owned nothing in it. Feeling a displaced after rummaging through the room you decided to step out into the hall.

You wandered with careful steps, your fingers drug against the polished banister, eyes explored the pattern of the carpet below you and the intricate door nobs you passed. You found yourself looking out a window in a rather grand drawing room.

The garden is just as grand and beautiful, the hedges and flowers could be considered an art within themselves. The fountains flowing water into a pond could have belonged to a palace for all you know.

A voice broke the quiet behind you, sharp and cutting:

“You shouldn’t linger where you aren’t wanted,” Lucien’s low tone curled through the room, each word edged with contempt. You turned quickly, catching his cold gaze on you. Lavinia had told you about him but she didn't mention how mean he could be, 'anti-social' was the word she used. He sat poised in a grand leather chair in the corner, nearly hidden in shadow, a book open in his hands. You must have missed him when you’d first entered, his stillness as exacting as his words.

“Oh, I… I didn’t realise you were here. Sorry,” you said, your apology almost automatic. Lucien had the same icy air as his father—unpredictable and sharp-edged. And without Lavinia nearby, that feeling only intensified, leaving you feeling exposed.

He didn’t respond immediately, only closed his book with a measured snap that seemed almost a reprimand. He remained seated, but every detail of his posture suggested he was looking down on you all the same.

"You're more trouble than you're worth, some sickly poor kid off the street roaming our halls and using our stuff. How could you possibly benefit us, hm?" He challenged you.

Attempting to avoid confrontation you decided to slip away back to your room, but as your eyes looked towards your escape someone is already there blocking your way.

“No.” Soren’s interruption was swift, his tone final. “You are only disrespecting my wishes,” he continued, his gaze hardening. “This household is built on loyalty and trust. She is part of this family now. My decision isn’t up for debate.”

Lucien’s mouth opened as if to argue, but his words faltered under his father’s stare. He understood well enough: Soren’s decisions, once made, are law within these walls.

“She’s here because I believe it’s best for us—and for your mother,” Soren said, his voice carrying an undeniable weight. “I have accepted her as a daughter, and you will accept her as a sister. I don’t recall you making such a fuss when Dorian arrived.” His eyes narrowed, daring Lucien to continue his defiance.

"That was different, and you know it,” Lucien shot back, his voice low but brimming with frustration. “She’s… she’s just some random girl, a stranger who's disrupting the order here, making a ruckus.”

Soren’s gaze turned cold and cutting. “A stranger? She’s no more a stranger than you were once—and no less than I was, to my own maker. I suggest you remember that.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched, his retort dying on his lips. He could feel the finality in Soren’s tone, a hard line drawn that he knew better than to cross. After a long, silent moment, his shoulders slumped, and he rose to leave, giving Soren a single lingering look before turning toward the door.

As Lucien reached the doorway, Soren delivered his final words. “And I remember you making much more of a ruckus in those early days than she has. Perhaps a bit of empathy would do you good, Lucien.”

Lucien stiffened at the remark, his pride pricked, but he didn’t respond. With a barely-contained scowl, he left the room, the weight of Soren’s words hanging heavily in the air.

Lucien walked down the hall, a muffled laugh echoed from around the corner. Dorian was waiting, clearly having overheard the tail end of the exchange, and couldn’t resist the opportunity to needle his brother.

“Oh, shut it, Dorian.” Lucien snapped, his voice low and venomous as he stormed past, not even sparing his younger sibling a glance. The laughter trailed off down the hall, Dorian probably following his brother to poke more fun at him.

The room felt charged with the memory of his glare and the prickling intensity of the words exchanged. Soren remained silent for a moment, his gaze softening as he turned back to you. He moved with a certain gentleness that seemed unusual for him, crossing the room to stand beside you.

“I apologise for his behaviour,” Soren said quietly, his tone low but steady. “Lucien… he can be difficult. Change has never been easy for him.”

“You’re doing better than we’d expected,” he continued, his voice as steady as ever but touched with something warmer, he glanced away almost like it pained him “Just keep it up.” he gave your back a gentle but curt pat.

"Should he bother you again, you're to come straight to me. I will not tolerate such childishness." he demanded before leaving. A promise of protection.

His sons were carefully picked to continue his legacy. But you aren't here for that, you aren't his protégé, not someone he’s training. More of an indulgence for the family, a calmness and gentleness. He already is letting himself slip into a gentleness that only Lavina sees occasionally.

...

Lavinia returned and you hadn't told her about Lucien's insults just that you had bumped into him briefly, trying to save the family from any more drama that night.

"I've found some herbs that can numb that nasty toothache" Lavinia came into your room with a cup of steaming herbal tea. She gently gave it to you, her hands cradling yours for a moment to make sure you had a steady hold on the cup.

"Thank you" you couldn't wait to get rid of the constant ache in your jaw you quickly began sipping.

"I'm going down for dinner, I'll come and check on you later" her hand smoothing your hair and only leaving when you gave a nod of understanding.

You hated to imagine what she meant by dinner. If the stories are true, they are drinking people dry.

You'd begun to feel that familiar feeling of hunger yesterday, you hadn't eaten since that night you were changed which was days ago- but only now you've started to feel its effects. And have been dreading to ask about it.

The hunger grew slowly though, and it wasn't bad at the moment. You tried not to think about it.

...

You long finished your tea and the discomfort in your gums had settled. By candlelight you doodled in the leatherbound drawing book Lavinia had found for you, using pencils that Lavinia had carefully sharpened.

Until you heard your door creak open, you looked up expecting Lavinia to return. Instead the second son, Dorian, stepped inside and quietly stepped inside.

"Hi" He grinned stepping further into the room "Hello?" you responded in more of a question.

He chuckled softly at the apprehension in your voice "Don't worry, I'm not as crude as my brother. I don't intend to interrogate you" With that, he settled comfortably in Lavinia’s chair beside your bed.

"What are you drawing?" He asks casually, leaning in his elbows resting on his knees, trying to bridge the gap with some small talk. "Nothing interesting, just sketches... shouldn't you be at dinner?" you murmured, still guarded.

“Technically, yes" he admitted with a laugh, "but dinners finished, and they are having some boring conversations. And I thought I’d formally introduce myself.” His smile was warm "I'm Dorian, by the way. No longer the baby of the family, thanks to you," he added, a glint of humour in his eyes.

You relaxed just a little, feeling the genuine friendliness in his tone. There was a warmth about him, a sharp contrast to Lucien's harshness.

“Lucky me,” you replied dryly, but a small smile crept in.

Dorian noticed you at ease and leaned back, folding his arms in pride "You know, it took me a while to get used to this place too. It can be... intimidating. But you are doing great okay?"

The kindness in his voice, and his way of words is very much like Lavinia helped ease some tension from your shoulders.

“It’s… different,” you admitted, looking away, “but I guess I don’t have much choice now.”

Dorian nodded, understanding. “No, but that’s the thing about this family. Once you’re in, you’re in for good. Besides-” he added with a wink, “I could use an ally. Lucien can be... a handful and fathers a bit of a grump”

You laughed -more genuinely this time, as he grinned back at you.

Dorian fussed over you a bit, recounting his aches and discomforts from his turning and asking if you were okay. You assured him that Lavinia had been taking good care of you.

Curiosity got the best of you while talking about tooth pain "The fangs... Its like in the stories right?" You couldn't get to the point hoping he'd understand where you are coming from.

His face fell a bit, you think its the first time seeing him not smile "You're asking about blood, right?" he clarified. You nodded hesitantly "...Do I have to drink it? Do you kill people?" in a hushed wisper

“Yes, it’s like in the stories,” he began, voice low and gentle. “The fangs, the… need for blood. But it’s not as simple or as brutal as you might think. We don’t hurt anyone innocent.” He paused, giving you a reassuring glance. “But we do still need it, and some people are victims of that"

he chose his words carefully, watching your face for any signs of being overwhelmed "But never the innocent, we pick the ones who deserve less mercy." He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, the warmth grounding you "And yes -You will have to drink soon, but from cups for a while, you won't have to be a part of that process right away- or ever if that's how you choose to do it. I'll do all the messy work for you if you want"

Having Dorian’s explanation helped more than you’d expected. With the worst of your fears quieted, though still dreading the inevitable, you managed a small “Okay,” as much for yourself as for him.

Dorian’s eyes softened with understanding. “We’ll help you through it,” he promised, his hand squeezing yours a few more times, gentle and reassuring. “Try not to dwell on it too much. It’s just one step at a time.”

“Five hundred?!” you repeated, incredulous. He chuckled, brushing it off. “Oh, that’s a conversation for another time. I think you’ve had your fill of life-changing revelations today” he teased. “But on the bright side, I’ll never run out of stories for you—five centuries of bedtime tales at your disposal.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you shifted your sketchbook to sit between you, handing him a pencil. “Alright, another time then” you agreed, the tension in your chest easing. Side by side, you both began to draw, with him casting sidelong glances to mimic your strokes.

Growing up, your older brothers were always too busy to pay you much attention. But sitting here now, Dorian’s easy company made you wonder if he might just be the big brother you’d always wanted. You just hoped Lucian is a fraction as good at being a brother as Dorian is.

[gremlin-girly]

Kinktober Day 18

Title: Cheat Day

Pairing: Personal Trainer! Bucky x Curvy!female reader

Tags/warnings: SMUT, semi-public sex, shower sex (slippery), self-consciousness, mentions of cellulite/stretch marks, a smidge of fluff bc I can't resist, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it!!), pet names (doll, baby), praise

Summary: You are a newbie to a gym and one of the regulars takes a liking to you and offers to help you on your gym journey. However, you notice that he's a lot more hands on than other trainers at the gym

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: maybe it should more aptly be gym buddy Bucky but alas... I had plans - I promise!! I might have to get my big fics out tomorrow rip me

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Warm Up

You hate, hate, hate HATE working out.

You hate the gym. You hate the way you look like a lost puppy and don't know which machine to use. You hate that you get so out of breath on a tread mill. You hate how your arms wobble when you lift weights.

And you hate that damn Stairmaster.

The only thing you love is perhaps how your deliciously thick thighs can support the heavy weights on the legs press like it's nothing. That would probably be it.

You take one of the last treadmills available, setting your bottle and towel down before fiddling with your earbuds. You're not really paying attention to the guy next to you; you're too focused on trying to get through your warm up.

You start at a walk. You're hair swishing as you lift it to your crown to tie with a hairband. The guy beside you picks up his pace and your eyes flicker over to him. And oh God. What a guy. He's tall and muscular, clearly a regular unlike yourself who makes every excuse under the sun to avoid the gym, with a mop of dark hair that's bouncing to his movements. He's barely sweating at a pace that would have you panting.

You don't realise you've been staring until he smiles at you, sticking his tongue out playfully, before going back to running.

You are red faced and almost trip over your feet. You need to focus. You turn your music up and eventually break into a light jog. After thirty minutes your gym buddy wipes down the machine and disappears to another section of the gym, flashing you a smirk and a wave has you watch him go.

His T-shirt has the logo of the gym of its back and for a split second you're wondering if you should book a session, before scolding your horny brain.

Workout. Focus on working out.

Arms

The next time you come to the gym, it's dark out. You'd spent the day in work and although you just wanted to go home and eat dinner, maybe have a glass (or three) of wine, you had made a promise to yourself to go and now you were here.

It was so much more peaceful at night. The blaring music was off and there was hardly anyone about. Suddenly, you loved your idea of coming here. You had little reason to be self-conscious with so few people around.

Today was arms and you were busy trying to hype yourself up using the bench press. Arms were the worst, just after cardio and you dreaded having to do this. Suddenly the thought of three glasses of wine didn't seem so bad.

Adjusting the weights either side of the bar, you slip under it, getting comfortable against the hard leather seat. You reach up and grasp the bar, straightening your arms and pushing the bar out of it's rest. Your arms wobble slightly, your arms bracing against the weight and you hadn't even managed one rep. Perhaps you'd done the weight wrong.

"Whoa doll!" A voice calls out and you strain your neck trying to look for the approaching footsteps. It's the guy from the other day. "You're gonna hurt yourself doing it like that."

"I - Uh-" you grip the handles, unsure if he wants you to let go or not, but you're palms are starting to sweat. "Okay."

He grins down at you, placing large, rough hands over yours and gently lifting the handles back to stationery position.

"Thanks." You sigh, rubbing your sweaty palms on your workout leggings. You glance up at him again, only to find you're eye level with his crotch and go beet red.

Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts.

The guy doesn't seem to notice. "I'm Bucky. I'm one of the trainers here."

"Y/N." You try and offer a smile but you're too focused on not thinking that his crotch his just right there.

"I've seen you round here once or twice before, um..." Bucky rakes a hand through his long hair. "You're new right? Have you thought about getting a personal trainer?"

You recalled almost tripping in front of him a week or so ago and flush red. Was it that obvious you weren't a regular? Unhelpful, mean thoughts fluttered through your head and you fought to push them away.

"That obvious, huh?" You smile sheepishly, finally sitting up on the bench.

"Very obvious." Bucky nods, still smiling at you. "You hadn't put the locks on the plates, they could have slipped and injured that pretty face."

Your eyes widen; you hadn't noticed the locks and were grateful Bucky was there to save you from injury... even if he was being a flirt about it.

Even if it made your heart flutter.

"Well, thankfully I have a hero to step in." You tell him playfully. "And about the personal trainer... to be quite honest, I don't think I could afford one right now."

You give him an apologetic shrug but he only smirks in response. "Good thing I'll help you for free. Consider it a free trial."

You eyebrows shoot up. Having someone around to motivate you and show you the ropes would be ideal, and especially if it was someone as handsome as Bucky, it may motivate you to come to the gym more often.

"Only if you're sure." You say cautiously, eyeing him. "I don't want you to lose out on work because you're helping me."

Bucky shrugs. "Hey, helping you is more important. I can just text you what days and times I'll be at the gym - if you're here the same time, then we can do some sets together."

You can't say no to that. His eyes brighten when you agree and exchange numbers before he runs you through how to correctly use the bench press, encouraging you and praising you even though you're red faced and drenched in sweat by the end of your set. But you feel fantastic.

If this was how your sessions with Bucky would be, maybe you'd have to consider saving up for more sessions.

Legs

Whichever the Bucky you saw the night he convinced you to take some sessions with him, didn't exist after that night.

The next few sessions with Bucky he'd been nothing but a hard ass, making your brows furrow with displeasure each time he taunted you. It spurred you to complete reps sure, but that wasn't the point. Quite frankly, you missed him being a little bit nicer and you missed the praise that came with it.

"It's false advertising," You huff mid-squat, shooting Bucky a glare. The more time you'd spent with him, the more confident you'd become at back talking him (even though you'd still complete all your reps). "If I'd have known you were going to be a drill sergeant, I wouldn't have agreed to this."

Bucky chuckles, eyeing your form as he stands with his big arms folded, sipping his water bottle. "And yet you finish every rep like a good little soldier." He teases back.

You scoff in response but your cheeks still grow warm. "Whatever."

After squats it was the leg curl machine. You're on your front, your quads under the foam cushions of the machines trying to push the bar against the curve of your ass but it's too heavy. Bucky is stood, as always, with folded arms watching you intently.

"Bucky, it's too heavy." You huff, letting your legs relax. "I need to put the weight down."

"No, you're doing it wrong." He chuckles. "May I?" He approaches, hands splayed.

You shrug, looking over at him with your chin in your palms. "Be my guest."

You still jump when you feel his strong hands on your thighs, moving them slightly wider. Your heart leaps into your throat and you could swear his fingers linger. His fingers are hot even through your gym wear and you're suddenly bashful when your head is filled with thoughts of another type of exercise you could be doing with Bucky. Again.

His hands trail to your knees slowly, bending them a little more before giving your calves a playful squeeze.

"Try now." He says quietly and you obey. The curl is a lot easier now, and the bar smacks your ass making it wobble.

"Oh, wow, OK." You chuckle bashfully. "Yeah OK you were right."

You catch Bucky smirking triumphantly but his eyes aren't on you; they're shamelessly glued to your legs and ass, watching you perform your reps.

Heat pools to your core and you quickly glance away. You have to be imagining it.

You have to.

Cardio

It had been about two weeks since you last saw Bucky and since you last visited the gym. You'd had a cold and then were so busy at work you couldn't find the time to drop by. You'd dropped Bucky a text to say you'd be out of commission but never explained why - and he'd not asked.

Sighing, you dumped your towel and water bottle next to the treadmill and began to walk. You'd come to the gym tonight for an escape. You hadn't wanted to text Bucky just in case he'd already be asleep but you itched to reach out.

The gym was a ghost town. Only the whirr of your treadmill echoed around the open space. You tried not to think about how you wished you'd bumped into Bucky or remember how he'd looked at you.

Maybe he's like that with all newbies...

That thought made your chest twist uncomfortably. You picked up your earbuds and shoved them in your ears, picking up your pace to a light jog.

So much for easing yourself back into it.

After an hour, you decide to call it quits.

It's 11pm and you just want to be back in your bed, hidden under the covers, away from the world.

You're on your way to the showers when you bump into a familiar face emerging from the men's changing room.

"Y/N?" Bucky

"Hey." You pause as he approaches, taking in the sight of his large biceps under the rolled up sleeves of his tee. "How've you been?

"Good. Long time no see. I thought I lost you."

You can't help yourself from smiling. "Oh no, can't keep me away from this place." You say sarcastically, making Bucky grin over at you.

"Really? Even miss me?" He teases softly.

"I don't miss you being a hard ass, if that's what you mean." You quip and Bucky scoffs. "But I have missed you."

Both of your gazes meet and the tension you'd been feeling over the last few weeks increases a hundred fold.

"So..." Bucky says slowly, barely breathing as he looks at you, not knowing which path to tread. "What are we doing tonight?"

"I've just finished," you say a little disheartened. "I was about to hit the shower."

"Can I join you?"

You both stare at one another. Bucky’s brain was expecting you to say your plan for your next set... not that you were going to shower. Mortified, redness bolts to his cheeks as he attempts to back track.

"I - I mean," he shutters and then coughs awkwardly. Your face is equally red but your eyes glimmer with want. "I thought - Uh- you were going to-"

"Sure," you say thickly.

Bucky's brain short circuits again and you give him that bashful smile that makes his heart stammer.

The women's showers are empty and after two minutes Bucky sneaks in behind you. As soon as the door closes, his strong arms pull you towards him, cupping your face before putting his lips on yours.

"Missed you too," he huffs, pulling his shirt off as you both fumble blindly for a shower booth. Bucky tugs at your gym clothes desperately as he kisses you, urging you to undress.

Your mind swims. He missed you too. He's kissing you senseless and you're sure that given the chance he'd rip your clothes from your body.

You peel away your clothes, pausing only to give Bucky more needy kisses in between layers. Bucky follows suit, discarding his sneakers, shorts and boxers into the pile next to your feet.

You feel a wave of self-consciousness as you take in Bucky's body; all muscle, toned and hard and utter perfection. Your eyes drop to your body; soft, squishable, with silvery zebra stripes running over your hips.

You hear Bucky suck in a short breath and you glance up through your eyelashes, smiling a little nervously. His blue eyes are transfixed on you as he closes the space between you. His fingers twitch as he reaches for you, desperate to feel your skin under his hands, but not knowing where he wants to touch first.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his hands ghosting over your hips, drawing you flush against him. His hands tighten their grip on your hips and you you gasp softly, feeling the hard heat of his cock brush against your thighs. One hand cups your face again, and Bucky’s head dips to kiss you slowly. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip and you open your mouth wider, letting Bucky kiss you with far more passion and severance than you'd anticipated.

You're lost in the kiss for what seems like an age; your fingers running through his hair as his hands explore your body, tracing each and every curve, groping at your breasts, hips and ass. You moan into his mouth, mimicking his actions, running your hands over his pecks and down his abs to his cock against your thigh. Bucky pants a curse as you pump him a few times, nipping along his jaw.

"Bucky," You whisper. "The shower."

"Right," he huffs. He pulls the shower door open and gestures for you to step inside first, following closely behind and pressing the on switch.

You gasp when cold water hits your back and Bucky chuckles, arms encircling your waist and moving in to latch onto your neck under the spray of now luke-warm water. Your arms attach themselves around his neck, half-hoisted as you spread your legs to allow Bucky to slot between them. You bite back a loud gasp when Bucky's hand slides between your legs, running along your slit finding your sweet bundle of nerves and drawing quick, tight circles.

"Bucky," you whimper into his neck, your your breathing hitching and hitching like the tightness in your core; rushing upward so fast you feel lightheaded.

"Cum for me doll, be a good girl and cum for me," Bucky sucks at your neck, groping at your tits with his free hand. You lean your head against the shower wall as you feel pussy clenches around nothing. Your fingers grip at Bucky's wet hair, gasping his name as you hang at the precipice of your orgasm. Without warning, Bucky plunges two fingers into your sopping hole, curling them inside you. Your orgasm crashes over you and you cum over his fingers with a wracked half sob.

Bucky's fingers are withdrawn as quickly as they're inserted, leaving you hollow and looking at Bucky pleadingly. He grins at you pecking your lips with a hasty kiss.

"'M sorry, doll. I promise to take my time next time but I need you so bad."

He lifts you with ease, pushing your back against the cool wall, wrapping his arms under your thighs and spreading them open. Wisps of steam rise from behind him as your eyes lock, his cock brushing against your slick folds only once before he slowly lowers you down onto him.

"Oh - oh - oh!" You moan as he breaches inch by inch, each time your walls contract around him, adjusting to his size. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your thighs shake with pleasure and you're utterly at his mercy as he starts to fuck up into you.

"That's it, baby." Bucky praises, littering your face with kisses. "You feel amazing on my cock."

You moan his name and kiss his lips hungrily, pulling yourself closer to him as he brings you to ruin again. Your pussy's grip is like a vice, milking him as you press yourself flush against him glassy eyes meeting his and Bucky can't take it any longer.

Bucky pants curses rutting into you before pulling out entirely and cumming over your stomach and thighs with a short groan. His cock continues to twitch, his cum slowly being washed away by the water save for the white, thick line that connects to your thigh. Bucky slowly lowers you to your feet and you lean against him for support, relaxing in the post-orgasm bliss and the heat of the water.

"I've wanted to do that since the moment I laid on you," he confesses, tilting your head up to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

"So have I," You admit with a soft chuckle. "Kinda wish we could have done that instead of you making me do squats."

"But you're ass looked good." Bucky teases, chuckling when you glare at him.

"So you were checking me out!" You smack at his bicep playfully and that earns you one of his boyish smiles.

"So? Besides, more importantly," His hands grasp your hips tightly, forcing you to be still. "Today's a cheat day and I wanna take you out."

"Take me out? At 11pm? What's even open?" You smile up at him and he only shrugs.

"Okay, fine, twist my arm. Breakfast it is." He kisses you again, this time lingering a moment before smirking deviously at you. "But first let's get you cleaned up."

[ghostgirl-22]

Thinking about steamy makeout and foreplay between art and patrick and arts begging for patricks fingers inside him

Just imagining his wet lips, flushed face ... 🤤

Yummy yum yum! You’re a genius nonnie 🫠

—-

Patrick can hear the sounds of his brother’s wedding reception going strong from the backyard tent. It’s some yards from the boat house he’s tumbled into with Art.

The place is only lit up because of the fairy lights, his sisters doing, though Patrick never wants to think about who they’ve been in here with. But the way they reflect off the water and make everything glow, these images will likely haunt his memory forever.

He knows he’s gotta be back by the time they set off fireworks… but right now he’s got his best friend sitting in a little row boat and they’re kissing drunk and heavy petting. No, not petting, Art’s riding.

“No, ‘m not doing that,” Patrick whispers again. This is insane, enough to make him feel crazy.

Art’s lips are kiss swollen and wet, so fucking wet. He’s staring at Patrick with puppy dog eyes, pupils dilated, flushed from all the kissing and champagne. The weight of his body on Patrick’s lap, settled right on his cock. Every movement he makes bringing Patrick closer to the brink.

“Oh come on. Why not?” Art asks, he bites his lip grinning, “Have you never done it before?” His tone, his voice is setting Patrick’s teeth on edge. “Have I really found the thing you’ve never done before?” He teases.

“God, fuck off,” Patrick whispers.

Art pouts but only for a minute before he’s rocking his hips again, gently grinding. He’s so pretty, still dressed up in his waistcoat and dress slacks but Patrick knows he can feel it all. “Please,” he whispers taking hold of Patrick’s hand… he brings it to his lips and sucks Patrick’s ring and middle finger slowly into his pretty little mouth. Insane.

Patrick holds his breath. He’s crazy enough to slide his fingers back and forth, in and out, just to watch Art suck. Art’s keeping eye contact. He wants this bad.

Patrick’s mouth goes dry. His heart thrums like a hammer against his chest, he’s taking ragged breaths and Art keeps going. Keeps going till he’s practically drooling on his fingers, slobbering all over them like it’s too much when Patrick knows he can take so… much… more. Patrick scissors them around watching him adjust to accommodate for it, listening to him hum and moan eagerly as his tongue moves every which way and spit starts to dripdrop from his too pink lips. Patrick pushes them further down his throat and he starts coughing, gagging, licking his lips again. Patrick’s throbbing so hard he thinks his cock might spontaneously combust.

Art just leans back smiling. “They should be wet enough, right? You can put them in me?”

“Art,” Patrick closes his eyes because he’s at the point where he can’t think and watch him at the same time. “If I put my fingers in you, I won’t… I won’t be able to…” he trails off and opens his eyes again. Art’s watching him. Looking just like his name.

He tilts his head, tongue on the tip of his teeth, hair in his eyes. “You really don’t want to finger fuck me?”

Patrick laughs, he has no choice, he just looks down at his lap, at Art’s thighs resting on his and chuckles because Jesus Christ. “No I don’t want to finger fuck you. I want to fuck you, fuck you.” He looks up at Art again and Art looks back, amused. Fucking brat. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“But… don’t you have to start somewhere?”

——

So sorry nonnie, I feel like you wanted submissive Art, but I still somehow gave him all the power. That’s my bad!! He just runs Patrick in my head.

[ollimus-prime]

sorry if it’s a little complicated, but maybe Megatron meeting Y/N again after so long, since having known them as D-16?

One Last Choice

A/N, not important: I don't think I got his personality right my b. If y'all have any tips or could point me towards some, I'd be forever thankful. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Major Character Death(Reader)

Words: 1750

Summary: A final meeting with an old friend.

You’ve been captured. At least, you think you have. Unfriendly servos were wrapped around your shoulders and hauling you across the floor with a fury you hadn’t seen in years. Although, that’s about the most you could gather from the situation. Your systems were completely out of whack. Up was down and down was up. Nothing made sense anymore. You could feel your arms bound behind your back, restricting your movement and disorienting you further. 

The only thing you could be sure of now was the pain. It radiated through your frame like the energon flowing in your lines. Your HUD was flooded with warnings, the never-ending assault of painful information suffocating you and swallowing you whole. You could barely hear, could barely see. Everything was coated in a thick static that had taken over your world. Muffled voices sounded above you as you were dragged to whatever pit you would be left to go offline. 

You try to count the steps for a moment, willing your aching processor to sputter back to life and erase the static from your every thought. It consumed you, drove out your very will and forced you to accept defeat. What were you even fighting for at this point? Your friends? Freedom?

The war had been going on for so long at this point, you weren’t sure you remembered. Optimus Prime—though you’ve never gotten used to calling him that—had tried so hard to keep everyone’s spirit alive. To keep the hope of winning strong.

You weren’t sure you’d say he’d failed, but you definitely weren’t hopeful now. No one was, not if they weren’t insane or a liar.

The impact of your face onto the ground surprised you more than you wanted to or were willing to admit. Pain floods your systems again, your vision going completely black for an awful moment. You hated to consider the option something as stupid as being dropped took you offline. You weren’t weak. You’ve proved it in the mines, on the battlefield, yet this little extra shove seemed to blow your circuits more than you liked.

The voices sound above you, muffled arguing hinting at the nature of your predicament. You grimace, letting your face fall fully against the ground. They were probably debating which one of them got to end you.

When rough hands grab at your helm, you try to fight back. Every movement felt like it’d kill you, sparks from your own fried circuitry burned your face. Then, with a painful tug at something lodged in your helm, the static lifted. You take a harsh vent as your mind clears. You felt alive again, no longer stuck in the hell that was your own mind.

You dare to lift your helm, hoping to face your captors and get in some insults before they blow your processor over the wall. Instead of the grunts you were expecting, you face the dark pedes of the mech that started it all.

“Leave us,” he orders, causing whatever soldiers who grabbed you to quickly flee the room. You wait a second, still stuck on your front with your neck painfully bent to be able to face his pedes. It would be humiliating if you were able to think properly. 

The silence stretches between you until it becomes so heavy you feel you can’t properly vent. The fans under your plating sputter and pop with each second you’re stuck on your stomach, the weight of your own frame causing you to slowly overheat. Megatron lets the silence permeate the room for a few more moments before he takes another step towards you.

Your designation rolls off his tongue so much easier than you expected it to. There was no bite to his words, no underlying bitterness or anger. You shift on the ground where you’re left, ignoring the sparks shooting from your injured shoulder plate. You stare at the monster before you, the mech you once proudly called a friend. 

His plating looked just as weary as your own, his optics dimmed and lacking anything but hatred and contempt. There was pain in his stance, a pain you felt deeply mirrored within your own frame. It was hard to see him like this, to see him as the one who killed Orion and caused him to become the Primus-chosen leader instead. You search his facial plating for any sign of the friend you once knew, the hot-tempered but easy-going miner who just wanted to get through the day with his friends.

It hurts to admit you can’t find him.

“Well,” he prompts, taking a small step towards you. The dark red of his optics burn starkly against his chrome plating, the room’s poor lighting not helping the menacing look. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I’m stuck,” you gripe, letting your forehelm touch the floor once more. You weren’t really stuck. Not truly. You weren’t being held down, and if you could gather the will power, you’d definitely be able to face him on your knees. The problem with that, however, is that you have no desire to make the effort. Whether you stood, knelt, or laid in front of him, the outcome would be the same. There was no part of you that expected to make it out of here with your helm attached to your shoulders.

“Really now,” Megatron chides, his pedes thudding against the ground as he circles you like a helpless animal. Every step makes your helm ache, the vibrations shaking your entire frame. “I always thought you were stronger than that. I’ve heard stories of your retaliation against my troops while you fight against our freedom.”

Megatron stops somewhere to the left of you, the tension growing thicker. You bristle slightly, sighing. His engine revs in anger as he regards you, examining your broken frame tossed upon his floor. “You betrayed me. You’ve betrayed Cybertron. You stood against me and chose to maintain Sentinel’s Primacy-”

“Sentinel’s dead,” you cut him off, irritated at his growing anger. “You fixed that problem. Let it go.”

“Let it go?!” He roars, grabbing the back of your frame and heaving you up. You grimace at the new pains shooting through your spinal struts, trying desperately to find leverage on the ground. “We toiled away in the mines our entire function because of him! He desecrated our bodies before we were even online! And yet you still turn to his beliefs and follow in the Primacy’s footsteps!”

Megatron stares into your face with white-hot fury, his teeth grinding against each other as he waits for you to respond. You can’t respond for a while, unsure what to say or what to do. You hesitate for too long, Megatron’s scowl growing as he throws you back onto the ground. You wheeze at the impact, optics flickering as you try to recalibrate your senses.

“You’re right,” you manage out, coughing up energon and spitting it out onto the floor. You grimace at the rancid taste, trying to clean your tongue on the roof of your mouth. He was right, in the important ways. Sentinel needed to be rid of. Sentinel’s rules needed to be changed. But that had happened, before the war between Megatron and Optimus really started. Megatron got rid of Sentinel, and Optimus got rid of his system. The only problem now was the hatred that had sprouted in the very sparks of the cybertronians.

“Excuse me?” Megatron laughs, walking closer to your limp frame. “Did my audials get miswired? Is the great major of the Autobot army agreeing with me?”

He kicks your arm, trying to get you to meet his optics. You stubbornly refuse, keeping them trained on the ceiling. “I’d never expected to see the day.”

You scoff at his words, leaning your helm back against the cool metal of the floor. “More ‘bots do than you’d expect. Your problem is how you went about it.”

“Right. Because getting the job done is such an issue.”

Megatron fumes above you, pacing next to your side again. You ignore him for the most part, beating down old feelings of warmth and safety he used to bring. He was a different bot now, and so were you. Nothing between you was there, made obvious by his clear disregard for you. You were a means to an end now, nothing but a tool to be used to further hurt Optimus and his fight for the wrong freedom.

“You know what I don’t understand?” Megatron starts again, scowling down at your hapless form. You don’t bother to respond before he starts again, his anger rising and voice growing heavier. He continues to pace, stomping around your head like it would fix all of his problems. “You say you agree with me on the fundamentals, yet you still side with the Prime. You side with the system that ground us down until we were broken and then still demanded more. Sentinel was a traitor and a liar who betrayed our kind. And you still follow his lead.”

“I follow Optimus’s lead, actually.”

The glare that comment earned you could have burnt straight through your frame, his face scrunched up and filled with more hostility than a single bot should be able to possess. His eyes glowed brighter in the dark, his face now leering over your own.

“Do not say that traitor’s name in front of me. He is the same as Sentinel. They’re all the same. True freedom won’t be accomplished until they and every single bot that dares share their ideals are dead.”

The sound of his cannon extending surprises you at first, the warm glow of death casting over your frame. You couldn’t find yourself to be scared as you stare down the barrel of the cannon. It was there, somewhere, but not enough to make you tremble nor react in any significant way. You knew this would happen eventually. Whether now or later down the line, you’d die in this petty war.

“Any last words, Autobot?” He snarls. You stare at him for a second before letting your helm fall back, refusing to show fear.

“Good-bye, D-16.”

He doesn’t wait long for you to speak before you can feel the blast burning through your chest, consuming your spark and your entire being with it. The aching pain from your frame halts, letting you be surrounded in a cold unfeeling. Your optics sputter for a moment more before shutting, letting you fall into the arms of Cybertron itself.

[vidavalor]

@tawnyontumblr I'm sure the scrappy Whickber Street residents will have some kind of role to play! And this is an example of how The Finale doesn't need to do any set up of new characters. We already have all we'll ever need in place.

@ao3cassandraic I was being more facetious than literal in the original post as I actually think "Go Team!" and helping Adam see what was coming at him is arguably the most important role on the tarmac in Tadfield but my point is that it takes a slew of characters to stop Armageddon with the supporting ones doing most of the heavy lifting when it comes to action, while Crowley & Aziraphale have less direct action but more symbolic weight to the actions that they do have.

I'm not sure that I agree with your idea that it was Crowley & Aziraphale who stopped a war between Heaven & Hell in S1. Beez and Gabriel aren't in charge of that war-- The Metatron and Satan were. It was a war that couldn't be had without Adam beginning it so it was really Adam who stopped the war by his refusal to start it, imho. It got delayed while they regrouped but it was mainly delayed because they had to figure out how it was supposed to go in the wake of Adam saying nah to Armageddon. We could maybe argue that Crowley & Aziraphale helping Adam against Satan helped Adam to see that he had the power to refuse? I tend to think that's a bit more Adam's innate personality, though. He didn't need them to be able to say that he has all the world that he wants.

In the bit you're talking about in your post, I think Crowley & Aziraphale basically find out from Gabriel & Beez that none of the four of them have any clue about The Ineffable Plan/Divine Plan/Great Plan. It's a shocking moment to Crowley and Aziraphale because, until this point, they had thought that Gabriel and Beez (or at least Gabriel) knew more than they did. I think that scene is more the start of the four main characters beginning to get closer to being on the same side than anything else. The war wasn't really stopped so much as delayed and Adam is responsible for that because Gabriel & Beez have to go back and figure out a new plan since the antichrist isn't playing ball. Crowley & Aziraphale indirectly helped Adam with Satan but I really think it's just Adam who stopped the war.

I think that "omg no one knows what The Ineffable Plan is" scene might also be likely to have a parallel scene coming back around pretty quickly because the fastest way for everyone to realize that The Metatron is a fraud is for them to collectively demand to speak to God. They're only going to think to to do this, though, once they've first asked Gabriel if he knows how to speak to God, thinking that The Supreme Archangel must, right? When Gabriel tells them he's never spoken to God and he doesn't know how to do so, they're all going to demand together that The Metatron go get God and, when he can't, rebel against him.

If you're talking S2, though? Crowley & Aziraphale could be said to have helped delay Armageddon: Round Two, though, because they are partially what inspires Gabriel and Beez to get together, which leads to Gabriel mutinying, which delayed Armageddon: Round Two long enough to bring us to the plot we're sitting in ahead of The Finale.

I find it really funny that people think that Crowley and Aziraphale have to personally stop Armageddon: Round Two in The Finale and have this really long and involved plot to do so. Armageddon: Round One was stopped in about eight minutes by a quartet of eleven year olds. Crowley and Aziraphale were also there, I suppose...

Crowley and Aziraphale's entire contribution was to roll in out of nowhere with four seconds to spare and be like "You, Antichrist Kid! Your bio-dad is literally The Devil and he's coming soon so think quick!" and then cheer Adam on. They both made it to Tadfield separately on a wing and a prayer at the last possible minute and their role was basically GO TEAM!!! while The Them actually saved the day. Newt did more to stop Armageddon: Round One than Crowley and Aziraphale did.

Yeah, that could be different in The Finale but I'd still wager that it's more likely that Crowley and Aziraphale are more the motivation that inspires the supporting characters to take more direct action than that they're the ones who take out Satan and The Metatron and save the world directly themselves. Their role is inspiring the other characters to see that a different world is possible and supporting them as they do. They've actually done a lot of that work already.

S2 seemed like it was setting up for this a bit. Uriel's refusal to kill Maggie and Nina and support of Gabriel in 2.06 indicates she's on our main characters' sides now. Jim + Team vs. Satan seems likely after the suggestion in S2 that Gabriel is the only one who Satan is afraid of, since they have equal power. And you know who I bet is going be the one who deals some extreme sanctions to The Metatron? Michael. I don't think she's going to take finding out that it's all been a sham very well. Plus? She is the duty officer. 😂

There's going to be plenty of time for Crowley and Aziraphale to reunite because the story really works out in spite of--and kind of because of-- the stuff they've fucked up, not because of the stuff they do particularly well. I think this will be true in The Finale, too:

[act-nat-ural]

Apologies

@ash0-0ley: Can you write for suna? Angst to fluff please (sorry for my bad english 🤡)

word count: 1013

Rintarou didn’t mean to yell at you, not really. He’d just been so on edge lately, putting in extra hours at practice and pushing himself to his limits as he prepared for the upcoming tournament. Every game felt like it was raising the stakes, and he wanted to be sure he didn’t let anyone down.

But all that stress, all that pressure—it had a way of bleeding out. And you, his favorite person, were unfortunately in his line of fire.

It was supposed to be a quick visit. You had swung by the gym after practice with a snack and a few words of encouragement, hoping to ease his stress. You saw the fatigue in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. Rintarou had always been calm and collected, but today, he seemed like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Hey, Rin,” you greeted him with a warm smile, holding out the small bag you’d brought. “I thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”

But instead of the soft smile you were used to, he barely even looked at you.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice slicing through you like a blade. “I don’t have time for this right now.”

His words hit you harder than they should have, and you flinched. You could feel your face heating up, embarrassment and hurt mixing in your chest. You wanted to say something, to tell him you were just trying to help, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The look on his face told you enough; he was frustrated, tired, and didn’t want you around.

So, you left. You told yourself it was fine, that he was just stressed and didn’t mean it. But as the days passed, doubt began to creep in. Maybe you were a distraction. Maybe he’d be better off without you around. The more you thought about it, the more you began to wonder if he even wanted you there at all.

So you started to avoid him. You stopped swinging by the gym, stopped texting him as much. When he called, you kept the conversations short. And when he asked if you wanted to meet up, you always had an excuse ready.

Rintarou noticed the change immediately, but he brushed it off at first, thinking you were just busy. But after a few days, it became impossible to ignore. He missed you, missed the comfort of having you around, and every time he saw your name on his phone, his chest ached with guilt. He knew he’d messed up, that he’d hurt you. But he didn’t realize how much until now, when you were slipping further and further away.

One night, after another long, grueling practice, he found himself standing outside your apartment. He had barely thought it through, too tired and too anxious to wait any longer. He raised his hand, hesitating for a moment, before knocking softly.

The sound startled you. It was late, and you hadn’t been expecting anyone. When you opened the door and saw Rintarou standing there, his eyes tired but determined, your heart clenched. You hadn’t seen him in days, and you realized just how much you’d missed him.

“Rin?” you asked, surprised.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his feet. “Hey. Can I…can I come in?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. The silence between you was heavy, and you didn’t know what to say, how to explain why you’d been avoiding him. But before you could even gather your thoughts, he spoke.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, but there was a rawness to it that caught you off guard. “I’m sorry for the way I snapped at you. I was stressed, but that’s no excuse. You didn’t deserve that.”

You felt your throat tighten, the hurt you’d been pushing down rising to the surface. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”

He shook his head, his gaze finally meeting yours. “No, it’s not okay. I pushed you away, and I shouldn’t have. I thought that if I focused everything on practice, if I shut out everything else, I’d be able to handle it. But…not having you around just made everything worse.”

You swallowed, feeling a mix of relief and lingering doubt. “I thought…I thought maybe you didn’t want me around anymore. That I was just making things harder for you.”

Rintarou’s eyes widened, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to yours. “No. You’re the one thing that makes all of this easier. I…I messed up, and I’m sorry. I need you with me, okay? I don’t want to do this alone.”

His words broke down the walls you’d been building around yourself, and you let out a shaky breath. “I missed you, Rin.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “I missed you too. So much.”

You stayed like that for a while, the tension between you melting away as he held you close. The familiar warmth of his embrace soothed the ache that had been sitting in your chest for days, and you felt the weight of your doubts and fears lifting.

After a few moments, he pulled back slightly, looking down at you with a soft smile. “I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll make time for you, no matter how busy things get. Just…don’t leave me, okay?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I won’t. But you have to let me help, too. You don’t have to do this all on your own.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling with a mixture of relief and affection. “Yeah. I think I could use that.”

You spent the rest of the night curled up together on the couch, talking quietly about everything and nothing at all. And in that moment, with Rin’s arms wrapped around you and his apologies whispered into your hair, you knew that whatever challenges came your way, you’d face them together.

note: can you tell i'm bad at angst lol

[cassielovesdeadwizards]

starchaser 💫

I have no idea what this is. I just started writing and this happened. Enjoy I guess lmao

James’ heart stopped. 

The air around him became stagnant, as if the whole world took a breath it didn’t want to release. 

As he watched the boy on the stage- 

Man. 

He was a man now. Not a boy. 

His heart grew heavy, as if breaking all over again. The freshly healed scar over the crack of his heart splitting open with a sickening snap, that he swore the whole theatre could hear. 

But they didn’t. They were none the wiser to his distress while sitting in the back, his eyes glued to the performer on the stage, watching as his hands moved as he talked. Even while performing he was animated. It was like he was incapable of keeping his hands still. James used to love that about him. 

No. He did love that about him. 

He thought he'd gotten over this. The way he could hear his heartbeat in his ears when he saw him, or the way the skin on his arms would itch with anxiety and his hands would find comfort in running through his hair like he was a teenager again. How his stomach would flip and his eyes would draw to him no matter what he did.

He thought he was over him.

But as Regulus Black took the stage, performing a sonnet of Shakespear that James didn't currently have the brainpower to remember, his beautiful face, and voice, and body, all bouncing off the walls and projecting straight into James' veins...he realised that he never really stopped loving him.

As corny as it sounds to admit to himself, James felt as if he was home. Not the physical type of home, not the type of homeliness that his parents manor in the country gave him, or his old dorm room at university, or his new apartment...the kind of home you feel with a person. the type of home he felt when Regulus would practice his performances for him on rainy autumn nights in his dorm, in just a pair of James' boxers and a t-shirt, the type of home he always felt holding his body against his, feeling how small he felt in his arms.

It's funny how wounds that take months to heal can open back up with a single glance.

He could feel when Regulus became aware of his presence. He felt the atmosphere change...the weight of the smaller man's words became heavier, as if they were getting harder and harder to say with each moment that passed.

When Regulus finished the sonnet, and the audience applauded, James only sat and stared. He stared until his eyes started to water and he realised that he needed to blink. And when the curtain fell, he stayed seated, watching the spot in the curtain where Regulus had stood, as if manifesting him back on stage. He stayed there until the whole theatre had emptied out.

"Sirius would kill you for being here."

The voice rang in his ears, and he didn't reply straight away, as if speaking would break some sort of spell, and this would all fade away into the back of his mind.

When he finally registered Regulus sitting about five seats up, he spoke.

"I know." He said, his voice sounding strained. Not in frustration, or anger, or even discomfort. James doesn't think he could ever feel discomfort in Regulus' company. The strain was more from the longing that plagued his every muscle, his every nerve.

"Then why are you here?" Regulus asks. It was true, that Regulus Black could be perceived as cold and ruthless, a sharp edge to his voice that could have only been created in the cold confines of the Black Family house. But James knew Regulus like he knew his own language, like he knew how to breathe. His coldness was a shield he used to protect his innocence, his naivety.

James could hear the hopefulness that laced his words, each syllable lined in a tiny bit of gold.

"If it's any consolation...I didn't know you were performing. A friend of mind recommended the show." He says, because if there was one thing you should know about James Fleamont Potter is that no matter how many lies he's told in his life, not a single one of them was to Regulus Arcturus Black. "But I'm glad you were."

The words left his mouth out of an old die-hard habit to always tell him the truth.

Regulus said nothing. Not for a while anyway. He just sat in his chair, looking out towards the stage he'd just owned. James didn't look at the stage. He was looking at the side of Regulus' face, at the empty spaces of skin where his love used to be, in marks of red and purple. He looked at the his nose, which he used to kiss and Regulus never used to admit to liking.

Regulus opened his mouth, as if to say something, and then closed it again. James wanted him to say whatever it was he was going to say. He wanted to hear and feel his words, he didn't car if they broke him in two or stitched him right back up, as long as they were directed at him.

"I was scared."

Whatever James had expected him to say, it certainly wasn't that.

"Of what?"

"Of being broken first."

James knew that that was supposed to make him angry. That Regulus had broken his heart in an attempt to beat him to the finish line, as if their relationship was doomed to fail.

But it didn't.

Instead he moved closer, to the seat right beside his estranged lover. He didn't touch him. Partly because he knew that if he did he'd never want to stop...but also because he didn't want to scare him off.

"I forgive you."

It was like all the tension in the room dropped, crashing to the floor and breaking the silence that had grown too uncomfortable to sit in any longer.

"What?"

"I said I forgive you."

"Yeah, I heard you. That's stupid, you didn't deserve-"

"Stop." James said, in an uncharacteristicly stern tone of voice, that even surprised him. So much so he waited a few seconds before speaking.

"You don't get to tell me what I do and don't deserve. What I did and didn't deserve. Do you really think that my love for you was that feeble that it would break and dissolve just because you left me? Just because you shattered me and left me completely inconsolable? Do you really think that your impression on me was that vague, as if I don't love you as easily as I breathe? Regulus, you could have quite literally stabbed me in the back, and I would've returned the knife to you with a smile on my face because I love you so irrevocably that not a single part of me hates you for what you did."

The words hang in the air, the weight of them laying heavy on Regulus' head as he processes them, letting them sink into every bone of his body.

See, what Regulus really wanted was for James to tell him exactly what to do. To look him in the eyes and say 'I want you back' and take him home and never let him leave. Regulus knows that he's damaged. That his nothing-to-be-desired childhood had left him with scars that even now refuse to heal. But if there's one thing he's certain of, it's that the day he broke up with James was the day he realised his self-destructive ways would never let him be happy.

James could sense his internal war, the battle field in his mind, he could see it playing behind his eyes.

James wasn't a stranger to taking a chance.

"Get your coat on. We're going home."

He says, standing up and pulling his own coat over his shoulders, buttoning it up.

Regulus sat and stared, as if his entire body was still computing the words that had come out of his mouth. So James sighed and gently took his forearms, pulling him out of his seat and zipping his coat up. He took him ice cold hand in his own warm one, interlacing their fingers together like a puzzle piece, and he walked him out of the theatre.

James took him home.

James. Took. Regulus. Home.

[xiouahh]

☆ numb ─ 06.　overwhelmed

" [full name]! What is this on your test paper?! " The voice cuts through the silence like a blade. It’s the same voice that used to murmur lullabies in the dark, to hold you close when nightmares lurked. But now, every note of it drips with a resentment that clings, cold and suffocating. " But, Mom! I did well, didn’t I? I got a high grade—only three wrong answers— " Your words crumble as her hand connects with your cheek, sharp and unforgiving. The sting spreads through your skin, a bitter reminder that nothing you do is ever enough. You’re good, but never good enough. " You're a disappointment to this family, " she hisses, each word like poison slipping into your veins. " Is a perfect score too much to ask? Is it so impossible to make us proud? " You dare not meet her eyes; the shame burns hotter than the pain in your cheek. " I gave you everything, " she whispers, her voice shaking. " And this is how you repay me? With mediocrity? " You stand there, silent and small, too afraid to cry, knowing the punishment for weakness is yet more scorn. Silence stretches, thick and heavy, until she finally sighs, a sound full of pity and contempt. " What would your father say, if he were here to see this? I’m just trying to make a good future for you. " She reaches out, fingers ghosting over the mark on your cheek, soft and almost loving. " I just want you to succeed, " she says, the smile on her lips brittle and unconvincing. " You’ll do that for me, won’t you? You’ll be the child I worked so hard for? " You nod, throat tight, the wordless answer she expects, even as something inside you shatters. Her smile fades, and her face twists into something dark and sorrowful. " This is my fault, isn’t it? I failed you. I’m a terrible mother. " Her voice is soft now, pulling you into a new kind of pain. You feel the weight of her regret, sharp and heavy, threatening to crush you. " No, Mom, don’t say that! " You reach out, clinging to her, desperate to make it better, to prove you’re worthy of the love she so rarely shows. " You’re not a bad mother—it’s my fault. I’m the one who’s sorry. " " I’ll do better on the next test! " You plead, voice trembling, desperate. " I’ll get the perfect score, I’ll study harder. It’s my fault for not being enough. " A sob rises from somewhere deep within, raw and helpless, as you force yourself to promise again and again. " I’ll be successful, Mom. I’ll make you proud. I swear. " .. .. You wake up with a start, realizing you must have dozed off while studying. The remnants of a memory linger in your mind—the one where you were the one comforting her. How ironic it is that the child comforts the parent instead of the other way around. You sigh, pressing a hand to your forehead as the familiar pressure of unfinished work settles on you again. You have to ace these exams. No—need to. You can’t let her down, not after everything. And your dad, too. You remember the promise you made before he passed, the one your mom made you tell him: that you’d make them both proud, no matter the cost. Glancing around, you notice the mess piling up in your room. It’s chaos. She’ll be furious if she comes home and sees it like this. But right now, the thought of fixing it, of handling any of it, is just too much. You can’t keep doing this. The pressure is suffocating. In a rush, you grab your phone and open Ayaka’s contact, desperate for some support.

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SYPNOSIS.　You had always been the independent, strong-willed person who didn't need anyone's help. Despite your best efforts, your trauma continues to plague you, making it difficult for you to trust and connect with others. That is, until you meet a young man who is everything you've wanted in a partner. Despite his aloof demeanor, he manages to break your emotional barriers and become a source of healing and support for you. As you learn to trust and open up to him, he becomes the healer of your heart, helping you heal from your trauma. AUTHOR.　Genuinely why is the last pic so blurry. I'VE BEEN TRYING TO FIX IT FOR THE PAST FEW MINUTES BUT IT WON'T COOPERATE?? But anyway.. Do people actually read author notes? I'm so curious, plz tell me. I will literally yap abt my whole day here. ++ I might redo the taglist since I noticed most people aren't getting tagged ! TAGLIST.　 @arlecchino-soon-main @skyoverkill1 @yo0ngleswag @scaraenthusiast1 @skyvella @lloovvv @ciellez @asukahiriko2 @trulyylee @lalalaloveallmydays @hearts4lizzzz @animeobsessed56 @exhaustedcommunist @meigalaxy @dragontammerz @heusalettle @iloveapplepie7 @vitanye @shyentsmissingink @jiminscarmex @vixialuvs @kunikissr @rishaling @liuaneee