#shaking screaming and crying while trying to draw a background

[aq2003]

(vaguely inspired by a scene in this fic)

[idioticsky]

Lost Boys Backstory: Marko

Word count: 669

Hello, lost boys fandom. Please accept my peace offering of what I think Marko's backstory could be.

Background: I imagine him living in Messina, Italy, and being about 17 by the time the earthquake of 1908 hit there, anyways onto the story

WARNING: Implications of children dying

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Marko lied there, trapped under what remained of the bakery by his home. His eyes stung from all the debris; his ears rang, muffling out all the screaming and crying from the tragedy around him. He tried to stand, to search for his family, only to look back and find his legs crushed and bleeding under the rubble.

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The day was like any other, Marko waking up to his sister in her little pink dress, tugging at his pillow, only for him to cover his head with a blanket. "Marko's not home right now. Try again later," he joked, earning a pout from the little girl. He'd spend his morning getting ready to help his mother run their craft store while his father went out to start his rounds delivering mail around Messina.

Marko got to work, moving boxes and suggesting different materials to customers. "Marko!," a little boy dressed in a simple shirt and trousers yelled, running over to Marko and drawing his attention away from his work.

"Yes, Angelo?," Marko bent down to be on the same level as the little boy, "what's up?"

"Can you take come and play with me, Antonio, and Maria? We're really, really bored," Angelo asked as he held onto his older brothers hand, having Marko's heart melt a little. "Wish I could, but mom needs all the help she can get today," Marko turned back to the box in his arms, "Why don't you go and find some treats out in the town? I'm sure mom would give you some money to get them if you ask really nicely," he smiled before turning back to his work.

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Marko took another shaking breath, the dust and debris burning his lungs. "Help..! Help me..! Please..," he cried, trying to have someone, anyone, hear him.

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"Marko, could you go fetch your brothers and sister for me? I want them home before it gets dark outside," his mother asked. "Yeah, I'll go find them, Mama," Marko replied before he set off to go find his siblings out by a bakery two streets down. As he walked, Marko could tell that something was... off. He couldn't tell what, but he knew he needed to find his siblings soon and get them home. Marko soon started to run, the uneasy feeling sinking in deeper as he bolted for the bakery. Then, the cause of his uneasiness hit. The ground started to shake, throwing him off balance as he watched the people on the street start to worry.

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Marko soon finally heard a noise: footsteps, and they were coming closer. "Help..! Please..!," he called out, his eyes finally starting to fuzz as the figure moved closer. Then, after what felt like an eternity, it faded to black.

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The earth continued to shake as Marko tried to run. Buildings started to fall, roads began to crack, and people cried out to be saved, but all Marko could think of was finding his little brothers and little sister.

"Maria! Antonio! Angelo?! Where are you?!," he cried out, his mind racing as he saw the glimpse of a small, pink dress. He ran as fast as his legs could take him. "Maria!" Marko yelled, looking up to see the building coming down; it was coming down too fast to push her out of the way. In a moment of panic, Marko ran to hug his sister, using his body to shield her from the building coming down on them.

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Marko came back around to a man carrying him away from the rubble. He had groomed brown hair and dark eyes and was dressed like one of the wealthy customers that occasionally visited the craft store. Marko soon noticed him talking to a blonde boy who didn't look to be much older than himself. He couldn't understand what they were saying, their voices sounding like they were underwater, then he passed out once again, knowing that his home was nothing more than a dusty memory now.

[queenimmadolla]

just sending you a lil headcanon for waynie baby, i hope that’s ok!

when he’s still in the hospital, he hates having his blood taken and gets really upset about it, eddie notices how much it upsets you so suggests you go check in with penny and he’ll stay and support wayne 🤧

not only is it okay, but I’m gonna expand upon it because you have created art

oh my god, this headcanon has my whole HEART!

Your son’s whimpers turned into wails after the kind nurse had pierced his skin with the needle, those pretty eyes of his squeezed shut and mouth wide open to let the world know he was upset, so much that his little body was shaking with it and his tiny hands were curled in protest. You couldn’t help but cry, feeling helpless even though you were aware this wouldn’t last long nor was it to harm him. But the fact that your baby was crying, essentially screaming for help and you couldn’t do much for him, upset you on levels you couldn’t deal with, you blamed it on your currently out of whack hormones. Eddie had immediately clocked the tears pooling down your cheeks, wiped them away and asked you if you wanted to take Penny (who was staring, petrified, at the nurse as though she’d be her next victim) downstairs to the cafeteria.

You’d readily agreed after he’d reassured you he’d stay with Wayne. Once you and Penny were gone, he’d keep trying to talk to Wayne, despite his wailing drowning him out, cooing softly to sooth him.

“Honey, you’re breaking my heart. I know, I know, it didn’t feel nice. Aw, my poor baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s here, I’ll make the pain go away.” Eddie slipped his finger into the bassinet Wayne had been briefly moved into, finger stroking over his son’s soft cheek. Wayne’s wails died down, breaths hitching as he blinked his eyes open owlishly to stare—squint—up at Eddie.

When the nurse had finished drawing blood, placing a small spot shaped band-aid over the sore spot, she’d offered to let Eddie do some skin-to-skin as an apology to Wayne. He’d fussed a little after Eddie’d taken his shirt off and lifted him from the bassinet, but all protesting seized the moment he was settled against Eddie’s chest. Wayne was silent, breaths evening out as Eddie gently rubbed his back, his dad almost thought he’d fallen asleep until he craned his neck down and around to catch a glimpse of his face; the baby was still awake, eyes staring off into the distance as he focused on Eddie’s heartbeat along with the rise and fall of his chest.

While the two of them waited for your return, Eddie found this to be the perfect time to introduce him to DND—yes, he knew he’d have to re-introduce him when he was older but he was trying to bond with his son—telling him all about the different classes and races and how, despite what Dustin thinks, Alignment has EVERYTHING to do with Background.

[blairbarely]

(In honor of Gladiator weekend, here's an essay I wrote a little while ago when I couldn't stop crying thinking about AFTERSUN and FUN HOME)

There’s a house, a house of bodies and stories. A house where death hums low and steady in the background. This is Fun Home, a musical that isn’t just a play—it’s a testament, a ledger of grief, self-reckoning, and the ache of becoming. It’s not linear. It’s not clean. It moves like smoke, circling back, consuming itself, burning.

It starts with Alison. Three Alisons, to be exact. There’s the kid, all big eyes and brashness. There’s the college girl, shaking with discovery. And there’s the grown-up, sitting at her desk, trying to stitch it all together—her father Bruce's life, his lies, and her truth.

Elsewhere, on vacation with his daughter, there’s a man, Calum, young but weary. A girl, Sophie, open-eyed and reaching. A summer sky stretched wide like a canvas. This is Aftersun, a film not bound by plot but by feeling. It’s not a story so much as a reflection in water, rippling and shifting, impossible to hold.

Fun Home doesn’t move in straight lines. It remembers in flashes, like how we live. The smell of wood polish. A piano in the parlor. A ring of keys. All these objects, these anchors, pulling Alison back to herself, forward through the haze. It’s a puzzle that will never be whole, and that’s the point.

Aftersun unfolds like an old Polaroid—blurred at the edges, washed in gold and gray. Sophie is grown now, but she reaches back, back to a vacation with her father in some sunlit nowhere. She’s not searching for answers, not exactly. She’s trying to touch what’s already gone.

Memory is like that: a patchwork of glimpses and silences. A camcorder frames Calum’s smile, but behind the lens, Sophie sees something she can’t name yet. Maybe she sees him unraveling. Maybe she sees herself.

At its heart, Fun Home is about trying to love people who are too tangled up in themselves to love you back the way you want. It’s about parents and children, about the gifts they give you and the scars they leave. It’s about the things you carry—the good, the terrible, and the unknowable—and how they shape the art you make.

Calum is kind, funny, alive in the way only the deeply sad can be. He dances in the dark, practices Tai Chi by the pool, buys Sophie birthday gifts he can barely afford. There’s love in everything he does, but there’s something else too—an absence, a shadow. He’s there, but not all the way.

He hides it well. Or maybe he doesn’t. Kids notice the cracks, even when they don’t know what they mean. Sophie watches him like he’s the sun: too bright, too far.

Bruce’s song “Edges of the World" near the end of Fun Home is a raw scream dressed up as a goodbye. He’s crumbling, dissolving. It’s not redemption. It’s a last breath, a leap into silence.

Alison doesn’t find answers. She doesn’t fix what’s broken. But she draws it. She sings it. She turns the chaos into something tangible, something true. And that’s enough.

Charlotte Wells doesn’t tell you the full story of Calum and Sophie. She shows you flashes—a dive into the pool, the flicker of a strobe light, a cigarette burning down to ash. The camera lingers, waits. It doesn’t ask for permission to be quiet, to hold space for what’s unsaid.

And the music—it drifts in like a ghost. “Under Pressure” plays, and you feel the weight of the song, how it wraps around Calum and Sophie like a plea, like a warning. Later, there’s a rave, a place where past and present collide, where Sophie and her father exist in the same moment, just for a heartbeat.

And then it’s done. The stage goes quiet, but the story doesn’t leave. It lingers, like the smell of old books, like the ghost of someone you loved.

Both Aftersun and Fun Home are pieces of art born from memory, from ruin. They don’t shy away from the hard stuff—shame, longing, loss—but they doesn’t let you drown in it either. They remind you that there’s beauty in the wreckage, that even the darkest places can hold light. Neither is just a film or just a musical. Fun Home is a hymn for anyone who’s ever tried to make sense of the mess and called it home. Aftersun is an old home movie, its edges frayed like the ribbon of a well-worn cassette. It won’t give you everything you crave, but it hums softly in the dark, keeping the memory alive, as long as your heart can bear to press play.

[your-fav-poster]

And now, I present to you. This.

screaming at the top of my lungs, violently sobbing, throwing up, eating my phone, pacing around in circles, mumbling, tucking my hair behind my ear, swinging my legs, yodeling, doing cartwheels, punching somebodys grandma, getting a little silly, a little delusional, a little crazy, shaking my fists angrily towards the sky and cursing the universe, on my knees, begging, pleading, I'm going absolutely insane I need him, I want him, I have to have him or else I might lose it. barking, screaming, growling, howling, on my knees, begging, pleading, hands shaking, on the roof jumping, angrily shaking my fists towards the sky screaming and cursing, running in circles, running laps, laying on the floor and sobbing, banging my fists on the floor, punching holes in the walls, losing my marbles, my clothes? gone. my sanity? gone. screaming, shouting, howling, doing cartwheels, doing backflips, running laps, sitting in a corner crying, on my hands and knees banging my fists on the floor while "I want you" by mitski plays in the background, running laps, laying on the floor while tears run down my face, angrily shaking my fists towards the sky as I curse the universe, running down the street and punching every grandma I see, on my knees, begging, pleading, hoping, and wishing, I am miserable, I am turning towards my delusions for comfort, I am going clinically insane, screaming and crying in a straight jacket while being in a padded cell, I am losing it, I need them either or I don't mind, I can't go on like this, I want him, I need him, I can no longer tell what is reality or what is my delusions. running around the block, doing jumping jacks, doing backhand springs, doing cartwheels, I'm in a corner screaming and crying, I'm aggressively vacuuming, changing lightbulbs, I'm freaking out, im running around while flailing my arms, im losing my mind, I can no longer do this, I'm eating my phone, scrubbing the walls, blasting mitski, planting bombs, I need help, psychiatric help, I need to go to a mental institution, I need a lobotomy, help me please. I'm screaming and running in circles, doing a somersault, doing a front handspring, doing the splits, doing a handspring, doing a cartwheel, tumbling, doing a handstand, sitting in a corner mumbling, laying outside in the rain, gathering crystals and manifesting, i NEED the universe to hear me out or else i'mma lose it, barking, growling, howling, rearranging my room, painting the walls, laying down and banging my fists on the floor, reading the Bible, praying, begging, pleading, hoping, wishing, singing, screaming and crying, talking to a therapist, cleaning the house, having a conversation with the invisible camera, running up the walls and losing my mind, trying to connect with nature to rid my mind of my delusions, planting flowers, going on morning jogs, eating healthy, doing self care, falling back to my delusions, the voices are winning, getting sent to a mental institution to get a lobotomy , receiving psychiatric care, I need you to hear me out 🙏 giggling and blushing, twirling my hair, drawing hearts in the sand, swinging my legs while looking at my phone, rolling around on the floor while giggling and kicking my feet, gathering crystals and manifesting, I want him, I need him, I have to have him or else I will lose my mind I will go clinically insane, I'm on my hands and knees while banging my fists on the floor and begging the universe for him, I need him I really need him good god, you need to hear me out, you have to hear me out, you're going to hear me out, look at him I'm giggling and blushing so hard, I'm squealing, I would let him call me slurs and I would bat my eyelashes at him with a huge dorky smile on my face and look at him as if he hung the stars, Im staring at my phone with heart eyes. BARK BARK BARM BARK BARK PANTING HOWLING DROOLING, SLAMMING MY FOOT AGAINST THE FLOOR IN EXCITEMENT, GROWING HEART EYES TURNING INTO A LOONEY TUNES CHARACTER, PLAYING THE FLUTE VIOLENTLY, SHAKING MY CHEST AROUND, MY HEART IS STOPPING, IM OPENING MY CHEST CAVITY TO MOVE MY HEART-

[chaoticclaybomber]

The sounds of woodworking surround him, the smell of sawdust and the sealant that Sasori uses to keep his puppets protected against weather mingling with the scent of weapon oil and metal shavings. Tobi is leaned up against the side of the bed Deidara is stretched out on, sharpening a stack of kunai and shuriken as he fills the lazy, warm air with idle chatter. His voice fades into the background with the sound of Sasori's carving knife working at a small block of wood, the puppet master for once working at a silly little project rather then a new or improved puppet. His legs are stretched over top of Deidara's, and Tobi's head is right at Deidara's elbow, all three of them content with the arrangement in a way that speaks of long hours working together and trusting each other with their lives. Deidara is mostly asleep, entirely relaxed.

For shinobi, especially missing nin, this is the highest form of trust possible.

Warm contentment that he's never quite managed to grasp before rests in the center of Deidara's chest. He wouldn't move for the world.

So, of course, that is when the world moves instead.

The door bursts open, and the blond shoots up, finding himself caught entirely off-guard. Wasn't the door open already? Hadn't he just seen Kisame and Hidan amble past? Who had managed to get into the base without alerting everyone else?

The ashy haired young man in the door looks tired but determined, and it takes a long few seconds for Deidara to remember he knows him. Steven sighs at the scene before him, at both Sasori and Tobi standing warily, before focusing squarely on Deidara.

"Hey. It's time to leave. It's a dream, comfortable as it may be, it's still just an illusion, and you know that. I thought you told me you hated illusions more than anything?" Sasori sneers, and Tobi gives a high pitched giggle that's somehow awfully menacing despite being so childish.

"Senpai isn't dreaming, this is very real. But you're invading our space, so now we have to kill you! Tobi is terribly sorry." Steven doesn't even look at the towering, masked shinobi as he lunges, but suddenly Tobi is being flung across the room. Smoke and mist explodes from him at the impact, and he doesn't so much as cry out as he staggers up.

"See? They're not real. Just like that Sharingan thing you told me about, right? The one that makes you see things that aren't there? I'm real, Deidara, they aren't. They're smoke and mirrors, and you need to wake up." Both Sasori and Tobi are thrown away as Steven steps up to Deidara, pressing the handle of the largest dagger he's ever seen into his hand. Then Steven does something absolutely insane and grips the blade, letting it slice into the palm of his hand to draw blood. Deidara is so taken aback that he can't focus on the mist in his peripherals or the lack of his partners.

"I bleed, I'm real, I'm not part of this dream. I came to get you out, you need to come back to reality and leave this place, okay?"

".... They're not here at all, are they, yeah?" He knows the answer, he's known it the whole time. Steven's face shows he knows that, and knows that Deidara needs an answer anyway. It still hurts when Steven shakes his head.

"Come back and stay with Ito and I for a while. It'll be better for you, I think." Steven glances behind him, and his expression goes tight. "Listen, we need to go. My ambitus is... well. They're both going to try to kill us right now, and mine might be a tad stronger than yours. So don't let go of me and keep running." In a flash, Steven has his wrist in an iron grip, and they're bolting through hallways and doorways, and it all blurs between underground passages and halls of shining metal. Deidara... doesn't remember most of it, not past the blur of movement and the screaming of voices he knows and one's he doesn't but Steven does. All he knows is that even once they get out, they don't stop moving, and Steven doesn't let go of him.

He thinks there's a door involved, maybe a dog? Honestly, it's nothing he wants to pay attention to when it feels like something in him has snapped apart, and he's filled with a rushing noise and pressure. It's worse by far than the moment he'd realized he'd nearly killed himself because of Itachi's Sharingan. The horror and fear and anger that had filled him then was nothing to the cascade of... of something that twisted and screamed in his chest like some creature had woken up and was trying to tear him apart.

Sasori was gone, dead, torn apart, and stabbed through what remained of his human form. He was gone, and it was Deidara's fault for having left him to fight alone. His arrogance had gotten Sasori no danna killed, and there was nothing that would bring back the real person.

Tobi was the same, likely no more than dust and atoms floating in a breeze in the miles of desolate emptiness that his final explosion had left. He'd killed both his partners, the ones he'd grudgingly liked, the ones who'd kept him sane in the cage Akatsuki had put him in. They were gone, he was gone, but here he was, still finding himself caught in illusions and cages like a gullible idiot. Because he wouldn't admit that he missed them, that he was alone and it hurt and he hated it.

"You're not, you've got me, and Ito, and Badou, and Uriah at least. You're not alone, so just breathe, okay? You're okay now." Who knows when he said any of that out loud, but Steven keeps up a steady litany of nonsense and soft chatter, and it gives him something to focus on, something to cling to.

The last time he felt like this... he was probably only four or five, being reassured by an older kid in the orphanage. What a miserable reminder of how far he hasn't come at all. But Steven came after him and dragged him out of his cage of his own making, and if he didn't trust him after something like that, what the hell would it take? So he cracks and shatters and Steven lets him scream and cry and get out everything he's been bottling up since Sasori died, just sitting back to back so Deidara can feel the warmth of him there but doesn't feel watched and judged.

It's not better, not really, but it is a little bit. At least he can breathe when he's done, exhausted and more drained, then he's been in his life.

"Get some sleep. It'll look better in the morning when you're not so wrung out." Deidara isn't sure if he really believes that, but what does he have to lose at this point? The room is comfortable, and Steven doesn't seem inclined to leave any time soon, so Deidara supposed he can let himself have a proper sleep. Maybe Steven will be right, and things will be better.

That would be a nicer dream then the illusions anyway.

[l-r-christian]

Putting two requests together since they are kinda the same

Title: A banshee and vampires

llulus I don't know if you take requests but I was thinking about something liks poly! mikaelson with a banshee!reader, pretty please 😭✋

Warnings: Fluff, kidnapping, over protective Mikaelson, angst, violence, A big big warning of hints of r*pe I didn't go into detail but just know it is there

Rebekah had been taken and her brothers was every angry having been tearing up the city for their sister which lead them to Marcel who was also looking Rebekah.

"All four brothers here about Rebekah?"

"Yes. what is all this?" Elijah asked walking over to a table that Davina was trying to do a locater spell. Marcel frown looking at the map then at the brothers.

"There has been kidnapping of young woman all some form of supernatural creature. Hayley had told me that a few female wolves had gone missing then as I looked into it witches told a few young witches went missing too."

"So whoever took Rebekah, took these young woman also?"

"Looks like it.

Rebekah woke up in a room and looked around seeing a fire place that was lit there was a chair near the bed she was on. Rebekah also couldn't help notice leather straps attached to the headboard and a spreader bar leaning against the bed this made her shuttered at thought of what it was used for.

"Bloody hell is this?" Rebekah muttered getting out of the bed headed for the door finding it locked then paused hearing screaming and crying of other women. Rebekah stepped back from the door as she didn't need to listen hard to know what was happening to them.

The door open and in stepped a man with a maid next to him. The man was clean shaven dressed in a suit as the maid headed for the closet.

"Have you ate?"

"No. Who are you?"

"My apologies, I'm Anderson and you have been chosen as a bride." Anderson answered eyes raking over Rebekah's body as the maid layed out a dress on the bed.

"A bride?"

"Yes, the Order is in need of brides and you are mine. The maid will ready you then take you to the ball room."

Anderson left as Rebekah glared planning to break out and possibly tear throats out but was snapped out of her thoughts when the maid made her undress. Rebekah sucked in breath hating how revealing the corset was let alone out easy it seem for some to take off the skirt of the dress.

When she arrived to the ballroom see saw more men dressed in three piece suits talking and the women looking pale, a few were bruised, a few had bandaged wrists. The women's eyes were also dull like there was no life behind them but one woman caught her eye.

She was young her neck bandaged and she looked scared as Rebekah noted the young woman must be fairly new. As much as Rebekah felt bad for the other women the vampire needed someone that was a bit more lively.

"Hello." Rebekah whispered making the woman jump looking at the blonde Original who was making sure none of the men noticed that Rebekah was talking to the woman.

"What is your name?" Rebekah asked as the woman grabbed her hand using her finger writing out her name.

"Y/N, do you know what this all is?"

'Vampiric mages....they looking for brides to bare children with powerful magic.' Y/N traced out on Rebekah's palm making the vampire frown.

"How do you know this?"

'An omen. I had a vision...they killed a person to draw me out.'

"You're a Banshee." Rebekah said now the bandages on Y/N's neck made sense so the Banshee wouldn't scream to get free.

'They don't know I can only bare children of my mate....they'll kill me.'

"Don't worry I'll get you out of here."

The Mikaelson brothers had found out just where Rebekah was being held along with the other women. The Order was a group that Elijah and Klaus had dealt with before and they swore they killed the leaders. They stepped inside the mansion the Order had seeing out lavishing everything looked mean while Marcel and his guys were finding a way in.

"These women don't look good." Kol said looking a few that looked weak Elijah noted the bandages.

"They are feeding from them but not caring for them afterwards." Elijah said as the others growled. A man stepped out dressed in a suit smiling at them as the scent of fear and hurt reached the Mikaelson men.

"Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

"We are here for our sister." Klaus growled as Finn held him back from attacking the mage while Elijah stood straight noting that Kol had slipped into the back.

"I apologize but we don't have her." The mage lied smoothly unaware that Kol had gotten to the back.

Kol walked not liking the smell of fear that seemed to soak the air as he heard a women begging for her life. Kol looked into a room seeing two men kill a woman letting her body drop.

"We still need to find who is plotting to escape."

"We will then correct the behavior." One the mages said and Kol quickly moved to find Rebekah.

"Rebekah!"

"Kol?" Rebekah questioned seeing her brother who saw her covered in blood and peeked in the room she came from seeing a dead mage missing his thoat. Kol smirked a spark of pride fill him seeing Rebekah protect her self.

"Wait where are you going?!"

"To get our mate."

Y/N was scared as she did what Rebekah asked her to do as she stared at the dead mage on the floor. Rebekah had sneaked the Banshee a knife and told her when the mage comes to breed her to kill the mage and unlock the door. Y/N had told Rebekah the reason she was in New Orleans was because one of her omens had told her that the Originals were her mates.

"Y/N?" Rebekah called out opening the door seeing the dead mage and saw Y/N shaking in a corner holding the knife. Y/N ran to Rebekah hugging her as the vampire pressed a kiss to her temple as Kol looked at the Banshee seeing how cute she was.

"Y/N, meet Kol which means the three are here." Rebekah said when Y/N jumped hearing screams and growls. The sounds of bodies hitting the floor was heard as Klaus walked in the room.

"Kol did you find...." Klaus stopped talking seeing Rebekah smiling then noticed Y/N hiding herself in Rebekah's arms.

"Yes and it seems she has gotten herself a Banshee."

"Let's get the girls out of here."

Y/N was soon in the Mikaelson home being washed and dressed in warm clothes by Rebekah. It was just Rebekah and Y/N as the Mikaelson men was helping Marcel make sure the Order was dead. The men came home finding Rebekah asleep on the couch cuddled up to Y/N.

"Our every own Banshee."

"We have to make sure she stays safe if we are going to truly follow Rebekah's lead on this." Elijah says placing a blanket over the two sleeping girls and the men sat watching over them.

It was over time the Originals grew to adore their little Banshee as they were fiercely protective of her as one of them was always with Y/N. It took no time for Y/N to adjust to her vampire mates as she loves them just as much. Y/N nuzzled Finn's neck as the family was enjoying a quiet night in with a movie quietly in the background. Elijah was sitting in on the love seat having Rebekah falling asleep on him while Kol and Klaus was watching the movie.

"You can sleep darling." Finn whispered in Y/N's ear rubbing her back lulling her sleep as it was relaxing for once as the night wear on.

[saintlike78]

Bad day [D.M.]

Parings: Husband! Draco Malfoy x fem! Reader

Words: 2.2k

Summary: Y/N comes home from work after having the worst day and doesn’t want Draco to see her sad, so she decides to go past his office without greeting him. Draco thinks she’s being bratty and goes to punish her but finds her crying and comforts her instead.

Warnings: NSFW 16+, shower sex, praise kink, slight breeding kink, slight fingering, unprotected sex, reader being sad.

You loved your job, it made you so happy, most of the time, but today you wanted to either scream, cry or pull your hair out, purely out of frustration.

Closing the front door gently, hoping your husband wouldn’t hear you come home, you quietly remove your shoes and coat.

Usually, you loved coming home after a long day of work to see Draco, working away in his home office, or with dinner ready for you to eat together. Today was different, you could feel a breakdown slowly creeping up on you and you really didn’t want to burden Draco with a crying mess, when he was also stressed with his own work. You knew Draco would always comfort you when you’re feeling down, but it still made you feel guilty.

Moving your feet quietly down the long hallway that led to your bedroom, but said hallway unfortunately also housed Draco’s office. The door to his office was open and you could hear him typing away on the keys of his computer, soft music filling the background. During any other normal day, you would make your way into said office and greet him with a kiss and sometimes you would stay and watch him until he was done with work, making this a little routine.

As quickly as you possibly could, you breeze past the office, praying he was too busy to notice you.

Alas, this is Draco we’re talking about, so of course, he noticed. He had heard the front door click shut and heard your soft footsteps make their way down the hall, he had expected them to lead to him, but was very surprised when your figure passed by the door, without even a small greeting. Furrowing his brows, Draco shut his laptop and stared at the doorway, almost expecting you to come in laughing because he was half expecting your action to be a joke. When you didn’t appear, but instead heard the water from the shower running, coming from the bathroom connected to your shared bedroom, he could feel the annoyance building.

You weren’t exactly a stranger to being a bit bratty, to rile him up, so Draco’s mind instantly jumped to this conclusion, maybe you just wanted attention and that was exactly what you were going to get.

Getting up from his office chair, Draco made his way into the bedroom where he could see your work clothes thrown haphazardly in a path leading to the bathroom.

Smirking, he opened the door as quietly as possible, as to not alert you of his presence and he slowly slid into the bathroom.

You were in the shower, facing away from him, the water engulfing your head to muffle out the sound of the outside world, your salty tears mixing with the warm water from the shower. You knew Draco would probably hear the shower running, but that he hopefully would be too busy with work to think about it.

Ridding himself of his own clothes, Draco’s mind was racing, thinking of what kind of punishment he would bestow upon you for ignoring him.

Walking behind the glass of the shower, Draco stood and took a moment to admire you from behind, thinking about how lucky he was (and also about ravishing you, but mostly admiring).

“So, what makes you think it’s okay to ignore me, darling?” Draco started, finally announcing his presence.

His voice behind you startled you a bit and made you jump slightly, but you still didn’t turn around to meet his gaze, not wanting him to see you bawling your eyes out because of something as silly as work.

When you didn’t turn, Draco just assumed you were testing his patience, so he walked closer to you, so close you could feel the heat radiating his body.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, I don’t appreciate this bratty behavior,” he said as he grabbed your arm to get you to turn around, but you just shook your head.

Draco was suddenly confused; normally when you were being bratty, you would always come with a snarky comment or directly test his patience, not actually ignore him.

He grabbed both your arms, forcing you to turn, and that’s when he saw your red puffy eyes, he only assumed they were accompanied by tears, but the water from the shower disguised them. Your body was quivering slightly as you took shaky breaths, still not looking him in the eye.

“Darling… what’s the matter?”

You shook your head again, knowing that if you started talking your voice would break and a fresh set of tears would make their way out. Draco just took your body and wrapped you in his arms, hugging you tightly against his bare chest.

As soon as his arms were around you, you buried your face in his chest and the tears started again, making you let out small sobs against him.

Stroking your back gently he tried getting you to talk again, “baby, can you tell me what’s wrong so that I can help you? Was it something I did?”

“No,” you hiccuped as you spoke, “you didn’t do anything… I just had a very bad day at work, and I didn’t want to bother you while you were working.”

“My darling,” he cooed, “I’m always here for you when you’re having a bad day, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t come to me… you’re not a bother, I always want to help you feel better.”

Retracting your face from his chest so you could look at his face, finally meeting his eyes, still in his arms, you gave a small nod.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked, still stroking your back.

“Not right now,” you started, your tears having calmed down, “I just want to not think about it.”

Draco nodded and smirked slightly. “I might have a way to take your mind off it.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the small smile that was working its way onto your face.

“Oh? And what might that be?”

His smirk only grew at your response, “I could wash your hair.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head once again at his little game.

“Okay, you can wash my hair,” you said and tilted your head up slightly and puckering your lips, silently asking for a kiss.

Draco grinned and bent his head down to meet your lips in a short, but loving kiss.

Grabbing your shampoo from the shelf he squirted some in his hand and brought it to your hair, slowly lathering it up and massaging it in. You let out a sigh of contentment, enjoying the way his long slender fingers worked their magic on your scalp.

After rinsing your hair of the shampoo, applying conditioner, and rinsing that as well you thought you would be done, but Draco, as always, had different plans.

“Now, darling, your hair is nice and clean, but we’re still missing one step,” he said with a smirk and a playful look in his eyes.

You cocked your head a tad, asking him a silent question with the action, wondering what he had in mind.

Smirking even wider, he grabbed the small showerhead and also turned off the overhead shower. Turning on the smaller showerhead and setting the water pressure to the highest setting, it clicked in your brain what he was going to do, and your stomach flipped with excitement and you could already feel your arousal start to seep out.

Gripping your waist, he held you close, but still left a gap between you, making room for the showerhead. Slowly, he brought the showerhead over your stomach and guided it downwards, pausing right above your heat, but not for long. Finally, he brought it down so the water could hit your clit perfectly, making your breath hitch and then letting out a long breathy moan. The pressure from the water was making your knees quiver and you reached one hand up to grab Draco’s shoulder and the other gripped his bicep to keep yourself upright.

The moans you were letting out were going straight to Draco’s, already painfully hard, cock.

“You make such pretty noises, princess.”

Getting closer and closer to your release, you started to slowly move your hips to create a nice pulsing friction against your clit. Draco, of course, noticed and smirked, your moans and whines enough confirmation that you were close.

“You gonna cum for me, my beautiful girl?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer from the way your grip on his shoulder and bicep was tightening more by the second.

Nodding, you let out a breathy whine as your orgasm finally took over, making your knees quiver and body shake with pleasure. If Draco hadn’t been holding you up by your waist, you surely would have crumbled to the ground.

Draco turned off the water for the small showerhead, but turned the large overhead shower on again, as for you not to freeze.

“You did so good, my good girl,” he said, leaning down to kiss you all over your face, “you ready to take my cock, angel?”

“Yes, please Draco,” you whimpered out, very desperate for him to fill you.

He chuckled at your neediness but nevertheless brought your back towards the wall.

“Jump, baby.”

Doing as you’re told, you jump slightly. Catching you, Draco makes you wrap your legs around his waist.

With one hand on your waist, holding you up, he uses his free hand to guide his length between your soaked folds, slowly entering you.

You both let out simultaneous moans as he enters you, his hand now going under your thigh as he starts moving in and out of you at a steady pace.

“You feel so good, always so good and tight for me, my darling,” he groans out.

“Faster, Draco, please,” you manage to get out between moans.

Draco doesn’t need to be told twice. Picking up his pace, his hips move faster, chasing your second high of the evening and his own.

You’re a babbling mess, leaning forward to kiss him before burying your face in his neck, lightly biting down.

Draco lets out a particularly loud groan at the sensation, feeling himself grow closer to his orgasm. Reaching between the two of you, he finds your clit and draws circles, wanting you to finish before he does.

You let out a loud moan and without warning your orgasm washes over you, making you see stars, whilst your entire body shakes, gripping Draco’s back so hard, you’re afraid you’ve drawn blood.

Hearing your moan and feeling your walls flutter around him, Draco himself is brought to his end. Dick twitching, you feel him release inside of you.

“Yeah, take all my cum, you’re gonna be so full,” he groans as he pumps slowly in and out of you, making sure you’re nice and filled.

Emptying completely inside, he slowly pulls out, earning a low whine-esque moan from you, and helps you down on your feet. He stabilizes you, with one hand on your hip and crouches down, and enters two fingers in your already very sensitive cunt.

“No, too se..sensitive,” you whine out.

“I know, my baby, just want to make sure you’re nice and full,” he coos, looking up at your blissed-out face.

Deciding that you’re full enough, Draco pulls out his fingers and stands up, guiding his fingers to your mouth beckoning you to open, which you gladly do. Taking his fingers in your mouth and sucking lightly, to clean them, you look up at Draco with the most innocent look you can muster, even though what you just did was very far from innocent. He lets out a groan, his eyes rolling a little back and his head also falling a little back.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

You smirk a little and he removes his fingers.

Leaning down, he kisses you again, this kiss slow and passionate, thumb slowly stroking your cheek.

After cleaning you up, Draco jumped out of the shower, drying himself off before grabbing you a towel and letting you dry off, while he went to your bedroom and rummaging through his closet for a jumper, for you to wear.

Finally satisfied with the clothing option he picked for you, he quickly pulled on a pair of underwear and sweats, before making his way back to the bathroom.

Watching in silence as you pulled on the (very skimpy) pair of panties and the jumper he had picked out, he was just admiring you, doing the most mundane thing, but to him, you were just ethereal.

“Come on, darling, let’s go cuddle and you can tell be all about who I have to hex for you,” Draco said, making you chuckle.

Wrapping your arms around his waist and looking up at him, before he could guide you out of the bathroom, you puckered your lips, indicating the fact that you wanted a kiss.

Chuckling, he bent down and lovingly pecked your lips.

“Thank you for always cheering me up, my love,” you said as Draco began to lead you to the bedroom and towards your shared bed.

Draco smirked, “anytime, princess,” he winked.

[concentrateandpush]

Just like Charles had promised, he barely let me stay not pregnant. Baby is only 11 months old and I’m 40 weeks pregnant, which is unheard of with twins. I’ve been up all night with the little one and she’s at that point where EVERYTHING is interesting, fingers in plugs, stuffing bread into where it doesn’t belong.. we’ve gone through 3 iPhones because they just done belong in the bath. But, she’s beautiful and eagerly awaiting the arrival of her little play mates.

“Sweetheart, are you going to have nap time? Then when you wake up, Daddy’s going to be home?” I smile, trying to entice her into the idea. She shakes her head and just runs wild, it’s not that I don’t want to play with her and keep her entertained, it’s that I physically can’t at this point. “Up! Up!!” She smiles to me and I just can’t resist her face and so I get up letting her pull me to where ever she wants. “Ake! Ake!” She smiles, anything but fucking baking “Oh angel.. Mommy’s really tired” I sigh and kneel down “what about drawing? Or even.. even swimming?” I offer and her eyes light up.

Luckily, we have a pool in our garden, a decent sized one. “Okay, come on” I nod and get her changed before getting myself into a one piece. Once we’re in, she’s loving life, she’s like a sea creature, she’s always been great in the water. I look down at my stomach and give a gently brush over the top “we’re ready for you babies” I whisper. As if by magic, I start to feel an all too familiar pain. Biting my lip and just observing, I watch my stomach as it tightens slightly. I had already gotten my mucus plug, so I knew it was coming, but it takes me by surprise.

I ride through a few easy contractions and then decide it’s time to get out “Okay, sweetheart, time to get out” I smile and laboriously grunt as I pick her up and climb out. She senses something isn’t quite right, I know this because there was no nagging to stay in there. I check the time and sigh seeing that it’s still a while before Charles comes home. I settle her down and get her on the couch in a big towel and wrap one around myself, just trying to ease the pains as they come in and let out.

A while goes by and I check the time again, he’s late, baby is passed out on the couch with some kids show playing in the background and I can’t carry her up to bed at this point. Things are getting harder and I find myself squatting as I hold onto the kitchen counter, panting and trying to not wake her. I reach for my phone and call him, letting it ring and ring until he picks up “Babe? Im so sorry, work was crazy” he explains and I cut across “I need you here, I’ve gone into labor” I explain. “Shit, okay.. I’ll have Mom come and pick her up” he says fast and I shake my head “no you know she won’t let us do this alone” I sigh. “Okay, okay.. I’ll.. what about Juno?” He offers and I nod “yeah, just.. just get her here” I say as I clearly get closer to another contraction.

With in minutes, Juno comes in and looks around, I’m still on my knees in the kitchen. “Juno! She’s asleep there, she should sleep through, please just.. don’t tell them that they’re coming yeah?” I ask and she nods “I’ve got you, I won’t say a thing.. I trust you won’t say a thing in a few months when it’s my turn” she smiles softly and I beam at her “you’re kidding me?!” I ask as I get up and go to her, wrapping my arms around her “that’s amazing, I.. I’m so happy for you” I giggle. “Thank you, I’m ten weeks” she blushes. I knew that her and her girlfriend wanted a baby, but I didn’t expect her to do it at 17 and I have no idea who the dad is, but her face.. she’s so happy. “I’m so proud of you” I smile and tuck some hair back behind her ear.

“Babe?! Lena!?” Charles shouts and Juno shakes her head as if to say not to tell him. “I’ve got you” I whisper and rub her back before shouting “kitchen!”. “It’s our secret” I nod to her and squeal excitedly before he comes through. “Hey Juju” he smiles and rubs her back “hey bro, I’m going, I just came for Missy” she smiles and gets her bag and heads on out, leaving us alone.

“So you’re okay?” He checks and I nod “they’re still pretty far apart” I explain and drop the towel, letting him see my belly through the tight suit. I watch his face and see his nose flare “fuck” he whispers. I can’t help but smile as I lead to the couch “coming?” I ask and he nods, following as I go. I lay down and open my legs “I guess I need to make room right?” I ask shyly and bite my lip “I mean.. the head is going to be huge at forty weeks and I’m so tight..” I sigh, watching him get all hot and bothered.

“I..” he starts and I laugh a little “we have time, I’m not feeling movement or anything.. want to stretch me?” I offer and he swallows thickly. “There are some objects over there.. I want to push before I have to push” I say softly and he just gets up and goes for them. I go to take my swimsuit off and he shakes his head “I want that on.. I want you to struggle” he says calmly and I nod “as you please sir”.

He comes back with an inflatable ball, looking at me and I nod “you need to put it in.. how can I push it out otherwise?” I say innocently. He nods and picks up some lube, rubbing it all over me. He slides his fingers in and I groan a little before he pushes the ball in and starts to inflate it. I feel it expanding inside of me, I wouldn’t be able to play for long before baby works their way down. He starts pumping, I usually do two, maybe three. “You need to feel like you can’t do it.. practice” he smirks and I swallow thickly.

Once it’s in, I start to get a contraction and I look at him, immediately zoning out and needing to focus properly. “Come on.. this is the time to push” he tells me and my eyes widen. I pull both legs back, which is already uncomfortable, and I push a little but it scares me “babe, no, I can’t.. deflate it” I demand and he shakes his head “you need to push” he says dead pan and I start to panic, I get on my knees and look at him as I push again, cupping myself as I try to get it out. “Come out!” I groan, the contraction is not helping as I pant and wriggle through the pain. “Babe! Get it out!” I panic and he smooths my belly “it’s okay, you can do it”

“You don’t-“ I cry before pushing a finger around it “you don’t understand, I can’t get it out!” I sob and start to grunt, pushing as hard as I can. “Get it out! Get it out!” I scream “Purple! Charles, purple!!” I scream. Our codeword. “Fuck- fuck baby, I.. hold on” he says as he deflates it, pulling it out and tossing it aside, holding me and pulling me into him “baby, babe I’m so sorry, I thought-“ he starts and I shake my head “it hurt too much” I cry and just sob into him. He holds me, rocking me gently until I fall asleep. I need sleep so bad and he knows that.

I wake up about 3/4 hours later with an excruciating pain in my lower abdomen. “Mmm.. Charlie..” I grumble and rub my belly “Charlie?!” I shout seeing he’s not there. I immediately fall into a birthing breathing pattern, slowly trying to get on top of the pain until I feel a stabbing down below. “Unghh” I groan and reach to hold it “babe?!” I shout before starting to whimper through the pain. “Okay, I’m here, I’m here.. easy, babe, easy” he coaches me and I bite my lip, opening my legs again.

“Okay, we need to break these waters” he sighs and I nod, still working hard through the contraction. I’m opening up already, whether it’s just swelling or the baby, I don’t know. He pushes two fingers inside me and then nods “you’re so close” he smiles “about an eight, but we need to do this” he says softly as he puts on some gloves and a mask. “Ms Lovell” he winks and I laugh a little, the pain wearing down. “I’m just going to feel around and try to break your waters” he smirks.

“Yes doctor” I nod and lay back a little, watching him. The baby is filling me, it’s so hard but he has to have his fun. With in seconds the next contraction arrives, they are on top of eachother. “I need to hold your hand” I grumble and reach out feeling for him. He keeps his fingers inside me and then gives me his other hand. I feel his thumb on my clit, it’s all so much. “Nghh” I grunt “ahh! Baby!” I cry out as he starts to rub my clit so fast that it hurts “p-please!” I ask before he dives in and starts to suck on it “f-fuck” I mutter, the pain, the pleasure.

He starts to finger fuck me as he does all this and I just shake my head holding onto the pillow “Charlie!” I shout “Charlie! Charlie, Charlie!” I scream, partly in pain, mostly in pleasure. That’s when I feel it, the bag of waters explode inside me and flush out. I grip my thigh tightly and look to Charles “fucking hell” I mutter as I look down at the puddle in between my thighs.

[berestweys]

Kinnporsche Rewatch - Episode 8

Summary: Many idiots offer each other thumbs up.

Favorite Line: “Black Eagle is on the way! Tailorbird will run now!”

Porsche’s Wacky Antics: Blasts Kinn with his rancid morning breath, and is repaid in kind. Runs around like a chicken trying to find his clothes. Flips Kinn off. Tells Pete his legs are still shaking from his “rough” punishment. Gets his socks mixed up with Kinn’s. Plays footsie with Kinn during an important meeting and startles him so much all of the bodyguards draw guns. Draws the funniest picture ever of the ghost haunting him, and earns the Dimples of Disdain from Pete. Goes on a high stakes caper with Pete. Screams so much at movie night Tankhun tosses him out on his ass. Throws a consecrated penis at Kinn.

Why is Chay crying? He isn’t, but after his little display in Valet Parking, I am.

Woe is Big: First Khun Kinn replaces him with Porsche. Now, Khun Kim’s making him help with detective work about Porsche. Why is this guy so damn special? He must be a liar! Poor Big.

Tankhun Highlight: I am utterly tickled by his horror movie makeup, his blue jammies, and his cuddle pile with his bodyguards. I’m also squealing to see Lee Hyeri make a cameo.

A Woman Speaks: Yok has missed Porsche! She tells him when you’re in love the two of you “have to add sweetness to each other” outside the bedroom. Tells him any idiot can use google to find a café for a date. 

What’s Pete eating, and who prepared it for him? Microwave popcorn, prepared by Pol.

Vegas Report: :( I’ve got him in my pocket for later.

Shipping Activities

KinnPorsche: They wake up together in Kinn’s fluffy bed, soft cozy & nice. Bread foreplay occurs. Porsche leaps into Kinn’s arms and Kinn can carry him around without any trouble at all and lord that is hot. Porsche really wants to do this dating thing right. He takes Kinn on the sappiest date ever. It’s clear neither of them have ever done this before and apparently I can be seduced with cuteness because they make me smile helplessly and I am embarrassed at myself. Porsche calls Kinn to come over & save him from being alone with a ghost, and later gets advised by Pete not to block Kinn’s ‘punishments’ with his neck anymore. Pete. My boy. Come on.

VegasPete: I don’t think it’s fair to tease us with VegasPete content and then they’re completely absent in the next episode. Give them to meeeeeeeee.

Do I care about KimChay yet? No. Chay stages an ambush in front of Kim’s building and forces him to listen to his love song, and this is happening I guess. I am the security guard coming out to tell Chay to be quiet.

# of KimChay scenes in this episode: 1

# of KimChay scenes I watched without skipping through: 1, but I did pause it twice to take deep breaths before being able to continue.

Kisses: Morning bread kisses. Is this what Farmhouse Bread envisioned when they agreed to be a show sponsor? Date selfie kisses.

Tits Out: Kinn & Porsche in bed together at the start of the episode, and later Kinn while he and Porsche are scrambling to strip each other after the bodyguard meeting.

What’s Gun wearing? He’s nowhere to be found. Look it’s not like I really want him coming around all the time, but would it be too much to ask for him to wander through the background at least once per episode? Maybe so.

Serious Observations of Various Sorts: In the park where Kinn and Porsche go for their date, there’s a man taking photos of his enormous pig. Pete’s codenames for Porsche, Kinn, and himself are Ostrich, Black Eagle, and Tailorbird.  The ostrich is flightless but can run 70 kph/45 mph. The black eagle is a predator famous for eating the nestlings of other birds. The tailorbird sews leaves together with grasses to make its nest. Does any of this matter? I don’t think so? But I like birds.

Have I calmed down? I read the entire Wikipedia page for the black eagle, a bird I’d never heard of before, because it’s Kinn’s code name. So that’s a solid no.

*

Episode 1/ Episode 2/ Episode 3/ Episode 4/ Episode 5/ Episode 6/ Episode 7/ Episode 9

[ggukbabyy]

bro... idk about the whole plot of the drabble but it definitely should have some sexual tension going on but i'm not talking about a quick tension, you know... it could take hours or days idk i feel like you would kill it

“No, never,” you comment with a small shake of your head. Taehyung looks indignant.

“Everyone has done something outside of the bedroom at some point.”

You simply shake your head. “Not me.” Your eyes flick to Jeongguk briefly, his gaze drilling holes into the side of your face. He leans forward, forearms resting on the table.

“You’ve never needed someone so badly you couldn’t wait?” His voice is deep and husky, a hidden implication giving his words weight. You hold his gaze.

“The waiting is the fun part.” The corner of his mouth forms a faint smirk.

“That’s where we’ll have to disagree,” he replies, holding your eyes as he takes a long pull from his drink. Everyone breaks off into different conversations, the intrigue of your reluctance to perform sexual acts in a public space no longer the most interesting thing to discuss. Jeongguk appears to be the only one not ready to let it go.

You sit opposite him in the pub, enough people occupying the space that the din of background conversation makes it hard for others to hear as Jeongguk leans across the table once again.

“Do you really believe that? About waiting?” You’re not quite sure why he’s so interested but you entertain his line of questioning.

“100 percent,” you reply without hesitation and Jeongguk nods slowly as he considers your answer.

“You don’t think the desperation to have someone near you, in you, there and then is fun? How is that not better than waiting?” His eyebrows are drawn together in skepticism. He can’t for the life of him understand how you could enjoy waiting. It’s disheartening to hear when he’s spent the better part of the night trying to figure out a plan that would get you to follow him into the toilets. You’ve been acquaintances for about 4 months and he’s spent an embarrassingly large proportion of his time in your company thinking of all the different ways he’d like to spend his time with you if he could get you alone. And not for one second would he want to wait.

“I enjoy the anticipation,” you begin, moving to mirror his position. Jeongguk gets a wonderful eyeful of cleavage and he takes his time appreciating it.

“Wanting it so desperately and knowing you can’t have it now makes it all the better when it does happen.” For most of the sentence Jeongguk is picturing his dick between your tits so he only half hears what you say.

“Anticipation doesn’t change shit,” replies Jeongguk, leaning slightly closer. A small smile plays across your face, head tilted to the side slightly.

“It’s my favourite,” your voice has turned sultry, the alcohol muddling Jeongguk’s brain preventing him from noticing the change immediately. “The person is so close and not close enough, almost touching where you want and you could scream in frustration because two centimeters to the left and it would feel so fucking good, but they make you wait,” your voice is soft and captivating; even with everything happening around Jeongguk you’re the only one he can hear. His whole body feels jittery yet he’s glued to the spot, his chest beginning to rise and fall just a little deeper as you draw the perfect picture for him. “And wait some more, until I could cry, until I’m begging for the slightest touch or kiss in just the right place, so desperate and needy.” The switch from describing a situation to talking about yourself doesn’t go unnoticed by Jeongguk. In fact, it makes the room seem a little hotter, his pants feel a little tighter, his brain seems a little more clouded as he tries to focus on anything but the sounds you’d make as you beg or the words you’d say to get what you wanted from him. Saliva pools in his mouth at the thought of you spread below him close to tears with desperation. Your eyes are alive and wild yet the rest of your face is the picture of innocence and he’s not sure how much more he can take. You’re inching closer to his face across the table as you speak.

“But you don’t like waiting, do you Jeongguk?” You ask and he can faintly feel the warmth of your breath against his lips from this distance. He swallows thickly.

“You don’t want to keep me waiting, don’t like the idea of making me beg for it? For you?” You add on innocently, eyebrows raised as though you’d asked a perfectly simple, appropriate question. Jeongguk can barely form a coherent sentence with his head so full of everything you’ve just said. You stay there leaning on the table for a few more seconds, Jeongguk’s eyes flicking down to your lips, the air around you both suffocating and heavy. You grin widely before leaning back into your chair triumphantly. Jeongguk’s eyes are clouded with arousal, not trying to hide where your words have taken him and his reluctance to return to the real world. By the time he does you’ve moved on to a conversation with Jimin, giggling at his shit jokes. You don’t look Jeongguk’s way once for the rest of the night and it drives him insane.

-----

Two weeks later and you’re at Jimin’s place for a barbecue with a friend. Only Jimin’s housemates are Yoongi and Jeongguk, and no one told Jeongguk you were coming over. Ever since the night at the pub, Jeongguk has fantasised about you more than he would care to admit - even to himself. More than a few times his hand wandered south with pictures of you flashing behind his eyelids, replaying the conversation you’d had over and over, vividly picturing you doing the things you’d described. So when he walks out of the patio doors into the garden to see you laid across a towel on the floor, the smallest bikini he has ever witnessed wrapped around your body, to describe his feelings as shocked is a gross understatement. From his vantage point he can watch you while you remain none the wiser, so he takes the precious time to appreciate everything that you are. Your legs go on for miles and are toned to perfection, your tits fill out your bikini with some left to spill over the side and yearning burns deep in his stomach to have his lips against the smooth flesh, dragging his tongue leisurely across your nipple. Images of you begging for him flash violently across his mind, and he’s itching to return to his bedroom for a few minutes. But then you turn over and notice him, a lazy grin creeping slowly across your mouth.

“Can I help you?” You ask innocently, eyes dancing with amusement at having caught Jeongguk staring. He saunters over to you, arms braced behind him as he sits down.

“You’re in my garden, I should be asking you that question.” Your eyes are glued on the way his biceps tense to support his weight. It should be illegal for Jeongguk to walk around shirtless, even if it is the height of summer. For the sake of your own sanity he should walk around in a full wetsuit - but you’re sure he’d manage to make that look sexy. His broad chest is on full display, the golden skin pulled taut against the toned muscles of his abdomen. Your eyes continue their journey down his stomach, thoughts swirling at the dusting of hair beneath his belly button, following it down until it disappears beneath his shorts.

“Are you nearly done?” Amusement drips from his words as you pull your eyes from their pleasant detour. You fight desperately to keep the heat from your face.

“Almost.” Jeongguk’s tongue pokes the side of his cheek at your answer. He’s used to girls fawning over him, melting into a puddle of shy giggles and doting compliments. Not this. The idea of having you begging beneath him becomes more and more appealing the more you demonstrate all the ways you need to be taught a lesson.

Both of you bask in the heat of the sun in silence, music drifting out from the kitchen, Yoongi’s contagious laughter bringing a smile to your face. Surreptitiously you peek one eye open, looking sideways at Jeongguk. The perfect definition of his jaw is showcased with the way his head is tilted towards the sun, little beads of sweat developing at his temples and clinging to the nape of his neck.

“You should really put suncream on,” you state, shutting your eye before he can catch you again.

“Are you offering?” His tone is bored but excitement thrills through his chest.

“Not really.” Jeongguk fights the smile threatening to reveal itself.

“If I end up burning, it'll be all your fault,” Jeongguk complains, and when you say nothing in return, his arms buckle under his weight dramatically, his back thudding against the grass.

“I can feel the blisters forming already,” he groans, rocking side to side. You suppress chuckles as you watch his performance.

“Unngh,” he groans, turning his head to look at you, a fake pained expression pulling against his features. “I need you to put suncream on me,” he whines, “please.” His lips jut into a pout.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” you reply with an eye roll, Jeongguk all but ignoring it as a delighted grin lights up his face.

While you grab the cream, Jeongguk arranges himself into his original position, a satisfied smile gracing his plump lips as he basks in both his small victory and the heat of the sun. His smile vanishes, eyes snapping open, when he feels the cool of a shadow passing across him only to be faced with you straddling his lap. Your expression is the picture of innocence, eyes wide, head tilted, soft lips slightly parted as you hold to bottle of cream in one hand expectantly, but a flicker of wickedness flashes across your eyes, there one second and gone so quickly Jeongguk could almost convince himself that you’re clueless to the effect your close proximity has on him. But the way your back arches into him gives you away.

Jeongguk hisses a breath through his teeth at the first contact of the suncream against his warm skin and you giggle. There’s no hint of amusement on his face. Having you so close and yet unable to touch you has his mind reeling and frustration bubbling like acid in the pit of his stomach. You smell incredible, sweet and floral, and your hands are delicate as they roam his chest and stomach, eyes completely focused on the task at hand. He sighs deeply as he lets himself become lost in the way you touch him, the way your hands rove confidently, traversing low enough to have him forcing down the urge to buck his hips against you.

Nothing in the world is going to pull your gaze from the path your hands trace against Jeongguk’s skin. From his broad shoulders and collarbones you would be happy to drag your tongue across, to your palm grazing his nipple, noting the muscle in his jaw jumping at the contact. Down, down, down his stomach as low as his shorts allow, over his hips and waist. All amusement has vanished as your fingers explore. Jeongguk’s breathing is deep as you toy with the waistband of his shorts, slipping the tip of your finger just underneath. He’s watching you like a hawk, nostrils flaring as he wills you to just reach down, give him the look so he can take you upstairs and show you there’s no fun in waiting. Instead you raise your eyes to his and breathe out, “I need to do your arms.”

He shifts his weight forward, one arm held out for you, the other sliding around your body, hand resting gently on your arse. Raising your eyebrows questioningly at the placement, Jeongguk simply shrugs, a devilish smile flashing at you.

“What’s the matter, darling?” His deep voice questions. You forego a reply, squeezing cream directly onto his arm. He watches your face with delight as you continue.

“Turn around so I can do your back,” your voice is barely above a whisper. Having him so close for so long is starting to prove difficult. You can’t get your thoughts away from his hands, how strong and big they are in your own, how they’d wrap perfectly around your neck or how easy it would be for Jeongguk to prod and massage your g-spot until you were exhausted from overstimulation. It hasn’t slipped your notice that he’s been getting progressively harder beneath you, every inch of him pushing against your core. It’s getting hard to breathe, hard to look him in the eye - he relishes every second of your struggle with a cocky grin. His eyes are heavy and clouded with arousal and he drags his gaze leisurely down your body and back again.

“I’m sure you can reach from here, darling.” The determined look in your eye has Jeongguk chuckling. The action of reaching your hands over his shoulders and down his back has your chest pushing into his face and a small groan rumbles in Jeongguk’s throat. Your stomach burns with desire at the sound, a desperate need to hear the sound over and over, louder and then whispered into your ear, claws mercilessly at your insides, threatening to suffocate you. Without thinking you push your hips down in an effort to garner some friction against your swollen clit. The manoeuver doesn’t go unnoticed.

Jeongguk’s mind is blank. Your arse is pushing back into his palms, his fingers massaging the supple flesh delicately. With your tits so close to his face he determines it would be criminal if he doesn’t lean forward just a little more. His hair tickles your cheek as he moves, his nose brushing your chest as he gets closer. He flattens his tongue against the swell of your breast, licking a stripe against your glowing skin before sinking his teeth into you. A small gasp escapes your lips, hips rutting against him of their own accord. He groans again, using his hands to push you into him harder, desperation and frustration intermingling at the clothing separating your pussy from his bare skin. He pulls back to look up at you, the muscles of his jaw jumping as he restrains himself. Your lips are so close, both of your chests rising and falling rapidly, each waiting to see what the other will do, the atmosphere suffocating as the tension rises. Jeongguk’s gaze is intense and his eyes flick briefly down to your lips, his intentions and desires clear.

“Come to my room.” His voice is gravelly and shoots heat directly to where you need his touch the most. “Let me touch you, make you feel so good, princess.”

“We can’t,” you whisper back, lacking conviction.

“Why not?” Whines Jeongguk.

“Everyone will see and they’ll know.” It’s a feeble excuse and your resolve to stick with it is crumbling quickly.

“I’ll happily fuck you out here if that’s what you’d prefer.” Your cheeks flame at the idea. “It would be easy,” he continues, mind so consumed with you and his need to have you as close as possible. His fingers skim the apex of your thigh, toying with the edge of your bikini. “I’d just have to pull this to the side and then I’d see your pretty pussy, but I bet you have a tight cunt, couldn’t take my cock all at once.” Your core clenches reflexively at his words and you know you’re absolutely fucked.

“Come to my room,” he states, moving your hips over his with his hands. You smile devilishly, leaning forward until your lips almost brush.

“I’m sure you can wait a little bit longer.”

an; so i clearly don't know the meaning of the word drabble and you said i'd kill it so the perfectionism took over and i couldn't stop until i thought it was good

[dreamescapeswriting]

BTS Reaction ||Prank Wars [Request]

BTS X GN!Reader

WARNING: FAKE PHYSICAL FIGHT IN JIMIN’S REACTION

SEOKJIN:

Jin smirked to himself as he finished applying the small fake hickey's up and down his neck, he was proud of himself for making them look at least a little convincing in low light. He knew you were due home any minute and he was determined that he was going to be the one winning this prank war the two of you had seemed to have found yourselves in together. It started off with the small squirt of water here and there but now it had turned into a full-fledged war between you both, each of you outstepping the other. The door turned to the bedroom and he picked up some concealer from the desk quickly pretending that he was attempting to cover up the purple marks when you walked through the door. 

"J-Jin?" You stuttered out as you stared at the marks on his neck, your heart sinking as you began to think of him sleeping with someone else, someone that wasn't you.

"Babe, it isn't what it looked like-" You began crying into your hands dramatically as you thought of him with another person and Jin couldn't help but feel bad at the thought of a joke making you this upset. 

"Baby please, listen-"

"No, we're done...I-I can't believe you would ever cheat on me." You whimpered as you walked out of the bedroom door, tears rolling down your face as you headed towards the front door of your shared home. Jin continued to plead with you to turn around and look at him but you stood at the door with your back to him, 

"I can't believe you would ever do something like that...T-That you think I would fall for something like that," You laughed as you turned to look at him, turning on the flash light to show the sparkles of the purple eyeshadow he'd used on his neck. 

"Dang it," He hissed out as he realised you had been pranking him, of course, you knew they were fake the moment you walked into the bedroom door, the light reflected on the glitter and he'd left the evidence all over the vanity.

YOONGI:

Yoongi whined out as you continued tickling his sides, you knew just how ticklish he was under his arms and down his hips so you were doing your best to tickle him in revenge for him putting salt in the sugar pot making your drink salty.

"You're evil Min Yoongi," You cried out as you straddled his lap continuing to tickle him as he thrashed around beneath you doing everything he could to get you off him but that was when he came up with the genius idea. 

"Babe! Stop!" He whined out as he continued trying to push you off him, slapping your hands away before he whined again. 

"Areum stop!" You froze in place at the mention of his ex-girlfriends name and you stared down at him, 

"What?" You questioned thinking you might have just misheard him through all the laughter and whining but he frowned, 

"I said stop Y/n," You shook your head as you struggled to get away from him,

"You called me Areum-" As soon as a giant smirk took over his face you knew that it was his plan to just get you to stop tickling him so much so you grabbed a pillow and threw it at his face, laughing as he rolled back against the floor in a fit of chuckles.

HOSEOK:

You stared over at Hoseok as he worked on his laptop from home, he had planned to take some time off and spend it with you but so far he'd been working from home. 

"Hoseok can you get me my jacket please?" His whole body tensed and you smirked to yourself knowing that your plan was working, he slowly turned to look at you with sad eyes. 

"What?" He questioned, you glanced over at him innocently as if you had no idea why he was so upset all of a sudden. 

"Hoseok, can you get me my jacket? Please..." You repeated but his eyes seemed to get sadder and it felt as though you were staring down at Bambi. 

"Why? Why are you calling me Hoseok? Did I do something wrong? Did I forget our anniversary?!" You could hear the panic in his voice as he rushed to his feet checking the calendar as you did your best to hold back a small laugh as you watched him.

"Baby relax, I was just playing." You laughed as he looked at you, his eyes still sad as he began to pout a little, sitting beside you and kissing you all over your face. 

"I promise to spend today with you after I've finished this email." He whispered before going back to his laptop.

NAMJOON:

Namjoon left half an hour ago to go to the studio for some kind of emergency leaving you home alone after watching the scariest horror movie you'd ever watched. You thought you would be able to manage it without being too scared but that was before Namjoon up and left you in the middle of the night. 

"I'm fine, it's just a movie." You whispered to yourself as you headed up the stairs to bed, flicking the light switch on as you entered the bedroom, you sat down on the bed and tried to calm yourself down when all of a sudden the light turned off and you let out a scream. 

"I-It's fine! It's just the light bulb, it's old." You tried to reassure yourself but it came back on only to go off again a couple of more times making you scream out and hide under the blankets as Namjoon continued turning the lights on and off from the main switch downstairs. 

"Babe!" He yelled out as he heard you crying to yourself under the sheets, he sprinted up to you bringing you into his arms as he did his best to hide his laugher.

"I was just playing around, I'm sorry." He whispered as you sniffled in his arms, shaking at the thought of a ghost being in the house only for it to turn out to be your dumb ass boyfriend. 

"If I wasn't so scared you'd be sleeping on the sofa." You complained before pouting up at him.

JIMIN:

Jungkook and yourself had been practising the routine for weeks, you had fake sugar glass around the apartment as well as fake blood pods stashed in your pockets. Jimin had the genius idea of starting a prank war between everyone and you and Jungkook teamed up together to end it, deciding to "fight" one another as if a prank had gotten out of hand and you were truly mad at him. 

"You're a fucking bitch!" Jungkook yelled out as soon as the front door opened to reveal a concerned Jimin standing there watching you both. 

"Yeah! Well, at least I'm not a fucking cry baby!" You yelled out as you playfully shoved Jungkook against the wall only for him to light push you back, knocking you into the coffee table that smashed and made you hit the ground. Jimin yelled out for you to stop but Jungkook stood above you, pretending to punch you since Jimin couldn't see which was your cue to bite down on the blood pill in your mouth. Jungkook was dragged off you and placed on the floor as Jimin began to lecture him about how much of an idiot he was, getting ready to hit his friend when you jumped up. 

"Now will you stop with the stupid pranks, before this really happens?" You gestured to the floor as Jimin's face ran pale realising all of it had been fake, he nodded before kissing your face softly relieved that you were okay.

TAEHYUNG:

You woke up from a nap to see Taehyung sitting above you with a panicked look on his face, you frowned wondering what was wrong when you suddenly felt something on your head. 

"B-Babe?" You questioned as your fingers graced over the piece of paper that was attached to your eyebrow, 

"Baby, don't overreact...I-I was going to prank you by "waxing" your eyebrow but I've accidentally put a real wax strip on." Taehyung's voice gave you all the sincerity you needed to know he was being serious and you let out a whine at the thought of having one eyebrow.

"You can just draw the other one on." He said as he tried to remind you that this was all going to be okay but you were up on your feet and staring at yourself in the mirror trying to come up with a way to take it off without taking the hairs out. 

"Here, the internet says to do this-" Taehyung spoke as he looked at his phone, you turned to look at him wondering what it was when he suddenly ripped the sheet off making you scream out. 

"BABE! MY EYEBROWS!" You yelled turning back to the mirror in a panic to see it was still sitting there fine while Taehyung died of laughter in the background.

"Oh it's on." You breathed out as you stared at him, 

"You want a prank war...You'll get one," You smirked at him, turning to leave the room to come up with some ideas to prank him back with.

JUNGKOOK: 

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," The boys were all crowding around you as Jungkook bought a cake into the room, your age on the cake with sparklier candles as all of them sang together. 

"Happy birthday to Y/n, happy birthday to you!" They all chorused as the cake was placed down in front of you, you smiled happily as you saw an image of you and all seven of the guys sitting on top of the white cake, it looked like it was going to taste heavenly. 

"I want my face," Yoongi said as he watched you picking up the knife to cut into the cake with, Jungkook was watching with a smirk on his face the entire time while Namjoon set his phone to record. 

"Does everyone want their own face?" You questioned innocently not knowing that the cake wasn't a fake at all but that Jungkook had covered floral foam in icing to make it look real. 

"Sure," They all said together as you tried to stick the knife in, the smile fading from your lips as you thought maybe the cake had gone bad,

"Baby I can't cut it." You looked at Jungkook who told you to try again but when you did you heard a creaking noise and you knew why, 

"You're evil!" You whined as you stabbed the knife into the centre of the "cake" and wiggled it apart to see the green floral foam poking through you began pouting playfully while all the boys laughed. 

"Here baby, a real cake." Jungkook laughed as he placed a real cake down in front of you this time.

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @taestannie @rjsmochii @kneel-begyourpardon @sw33tnight @sweeneyblue1​ @agustdjoon​ @jin-from-the-block​ @acciocriativity​ @mwitsmejk​ @justbangtanthingz​ @anxiousbobatea​

[itsjustmyfantasyroom]

A feeling.

This was requested by the lovely @ben-c-group-therapy who asked for this:

< Hi! So I’d like to request a story between Nick and reader. Reader is Nick’s pregnant wife who gets kidnapped and held most likely due to a case Nick had been involved with putting the person away for etc. (of course that’s up to you lol.) She and baby would be fine just she would have some bruises or something from where they tied her or whatever. Idk. I don’t have enough courage to write it and I wanted to come to you with it. If you like the idea I’d love to read it! Thanks!>

Hope this hits the spot for you lovely and it’s what you were looking for. A I bet you could absolutely write something like this and it would be amazing. 

Warning: angst, a lot of angst, talks of SVU cases, talks of kidnapping,  happy ending and soft soft Nick. The pinch of Spanish that’s in there, sorry if its wrong I used google.

WC: 1770

Enjoy x

Nick had been day dreaming since he got back to his desk after court that morning, he hadn’t been this happy in a long time and he was finally starting to feel more relaxed now your maturity leave had started, you had only been married for 6 months before the two pink lines showed up and you were both looking forward to adding to your existing family. He knew you had an appointment with your OBGYN that lunch time that he couldn’t go to because he was in court.

But as he sat at his desk, he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that was filling him. His phone started to buzz in his pocket and when he pulled it out, he frowned his brows at the doctors office number flashing on it, confused at why they were calling, you weren’t due for another 2 weeks,

“Hello, Nick Amaro”

“Mr Amaro, its Jill, Y/N didn't show up for her appointment today, I have tried to call her cell but she didn’t answer. Have you heard from her?”

All colour drained from his face and he froze just as Liv walked out of her office and Sonny jumped up from his chair walking to Nick and taking the phone off him to find out what was going on. Sonny hung up after talking to Jill and turned to Liv, Amanda and Fin filling them in. Nick was looking ahead, fear filling him and everyone tried not to show how worried they were as well, it wasn’t like you not to show for an appointment and even if you didn’t Nick always knew why you weren’t going. Sonny grabbed Nick’s shoulder and shook him to snap him out of his head,

“Come on man, I’ am sure she is having a nap, we all know how tired she is. She only has 2 weeks left. We’ll go and check on her, ok?”

Sonny drove as fast as he could to your apartment building, they rode the lift up to your floor while Amanda and Fin worked with TARU to track your phone as you still weren’t answering and Liv made some calls around to local hospitals and your family to see if you were at any or if they had seen you.

Nick and Sonny rushed out the lift door down the hall to the front door. At first it looked like it was shut but when Nick tried to put his key into the lock, the door opened up. He raised an eye brow at Sonny trying to hold back tears and they both reached for their weapons, drawing them and started to walk into the apartment. Nick had to remember to breath at the state of it and tried to push away the horrible feeling that washed over him as his eyes scanned around your shared home. Sonny’s eyes blew wide at the mess around, the whole place was trashed and there was a smashed coffee cup with coffee pooling around it on the floor.

They both searched the apartment finding you nowhere, Nick yelling your name at the top of his lungs, but he panicked even more when he walked into the bedroom and found photos spread out on the bed of Nick with a recent victim, who had to go into hiding after testifying against her FBI husband,

“Carisi” Nick shouted trying to hide the fear in his voice. Sonny came rushing through the door and his eyes set on the photos, and he too had to try and hide the panic that bolted through him,

“I’ll call Liv” Sonny pulled his phone out of his pocket and made the call to her.

The next few hours where a blur and Nick found it hard to focus worrying if you and the baby were ok. TURU and the FBI agents sergeant finally found the location on where you were and they were getting ready to move in, Nick given strict instructions to wait at the car. Liv, Sonny and FBI were busting into the front of the old factory and Amanda, Fin and SWAT were getting ready to move in from the back.

Nick had seen first hand what this guy was capable of, you had as well, it was the last case you worked on before your maternity leave started and you knew how much Nick was there for the wife and helped her get out with her kids. He kicked himself for not knowing this was coming, and now you had been gone for hours, heavily pregnant and although he was trying to prepare himself for what he could be walking into, he also knew you were strong and he was hoping for nothing but the best for the whole situation.

They all moved in as quickly, but quietly as possible. As they walked into the big room, Liv and Sonny saw you in the middle of the room tied to a chair still in your pj’s, rope around your wrists to the chair arms and duct tape on your mouth. Sonny could see your tears in the shine of the sun from the windows behind you and the FBI agent was screaming in your face and holding something up to you throat,

“Stop, police” Amanda’s voice filled the room.

Shots where fired and you squeezed your eye’s shut, sobbing hearing the shots being rung out of the room and fading away into the background. As soon as Nick heard the shots, he did what he was told not to do and he ran as fast as his legs could carry him into the factory. It didn’t take long for him to find you sitting in the middle of room shaking and crying,

“Y/N, mi amor” his voice echoed through the room.

Your eyes sprung open and you sobbed uncontrollably watching as Nick ran towards you dropping to his knees in front of the chair undoing the rope on your wrists as quickly as he could. As Nick undid one rope he saw the deep marks around your wrist from how tight the rope was around you. He then moved onto the other one and when he pulled off the rope, you were bleeding slightly. Rage filled him even more when he looked up your arm just under your sleeve and saw a bruise from where you had been grabbed too hard,   

“It’s ok Y/N, I’ am here now, you're safe. You’re ok. Baby, you’re ok”  Nick repeated over and over till he reached up pulling the tape off your mouth.

You launched onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck hugging him tight and he did the same wrapping one arm around your middle tight and his other rested on your large belly, tears spilling from his eyes when he felt the baby kick his hand,

“Nick” you sobbed squeezing your arms around him tighter.

Nick kissed all over the side of your face, the hand around you rubbing over your back and his other rubbing over your belly,

“It’s ok, I’ am here my love. I got you”

Without pulling out of your embrace, Nick moved to stand up, pulling you up with him and he scooped you up carrying you out to EMT’s. Nick spent the rest of the day with you at the hospital while you and the baby were checked to make sure you were both fine and getting your wrists patched up, Amanda and Nick’s mum went back to the apartment to pack bags for you both, Amanda dropping the bags and his mum back at her place where you were both going to stay for a while and Sonny organised a cleaner for your apartment for when you were both ready to go back. Liv told Nick to start his leave to keep an eye on you, while she, Fin and Rafael worked on the case against the FBI agent to make sure the book was thrown at him harder this time.

You were finally back at Nick’s mum’s sitting on the spare bed after having a shower and his mum making your favourite dish, Nick just got out of the shower and he was making you a tea. He walked over to sit next to you on the bed, sitting the cup on the bedside table and he sat down right next to you, his arm going around you and his hand resting on your belly.

You moved yourself to lay into his side, his arm coming down to rub up and down your arm, kissing the top of your head and then resting his head on top of yours, a comfortable silence filling the room till Nick broke it,

“We will stay here as long as you want to, I’ll go and pick up the bassinet and the new born stuff tomorrow and we will look for another apartment we can move into as soon as we can, a secure one this time”

“I like that idea”

You sat up off him and your eyes locked with his, you both sat there for a moment looking deep into each others eyes. Your hand rose up to his cheek, a smile pulled to his face and he lent into your hand,

“You were on my mind the whole time” you whispered.

“You were on mine too. Everything was out of my control, I wanted to go out to find you, I felt so helpless. I needed you to be safe” a tear rolled down his cheek and landed on your thumb “I couldn’t lose you” you both giggled when the baby kicked hard and Nick lent down kissing your belly and muttering into it “You too, mi pequeña niña, Te quiero” Nick kissed your belly again.

Nick sat back up and rested his forehead on yours, both of his hands moving to the sides of your head. Nick pulled back slightly, his hands still on your head and yours on his cheek. Nick titled his head to the side looking into your eyes again,

“Nick, kiss me, Please?”

A small smile pulled to his face again and he licked his lips before he closed the gap and his lips met with yours, fitting together. The kiss never deepened, it was soft, slow and loving. Nick peaked your lips, then along your cheek till he hugged you tightly in his arms pulling you into his warm solid body as he sat back on the bed head. You laid into him, your head resting under his chin,

“I love you mi amor, so much”

“I love you too babe”

Tags: @beccabarba @alwaysachorusgirl @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo

[lightsinthedistancee]

Under the Cover of War: FO!Poe Dameron x Resistance!Reader

Pairing: FO!Poe Dameron x Resistance!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: “‘Let’s go,’ he murmurs. ‘Let’s run.’ His gaze is fixed on you, begging for this. He needs you—he needs you to be there for him so that he has a place in the galaxy, a place he would never have otherwise. ‘Please.’”

Following the destruction of the Hosnian System, a promise and a dire decision are made by you and Poe.

Warnings: Language

“Why?”

The single word is clipped, volatile, dangerously soft in nature. It’s a question, a plead, an accusation, all at once. It seems to scream in the silence, to imply a million other queries that Poe doesn’t want to answer.

He simply remains quiet as he stares at your back turned to him. You sit on the edge of the bed, breath shaking, refusing to even look at him.

He inhales, blinking rapidly. “Sweetheart—“

“Why?” This time, it’s a scream. The sound is ragged, painful, your voice cracking. It makes him flinch, makes him draw into himself.

The loud cry echoes, disintegrates as the seconds pass.

He wishes he could transport himself back to five minutes ago, before either of your holos had rung. Before the First Order had reported a victory to him, before the Resistance had reported a devastating, unfathomable loss to you.

He wants to return to when he’d laid beside you, running his fingers down your sides, when the memory of pressing you into the sheets was still fresh in his mind.

But somehow he knows that whatever the two of you have will never return in any way.

“How could you?” you whisper, the shock of five of the galaxy’s most populous planets being obliterated in mere minutes still in the process of shattering you to pieces.

Poe wants to shrink into the air, disappear in moments. He knows you’re crying, that you can’t handle it. He’d be lying if he said he himself was handling it at all.

“I…I don’t know what happened.” He stares at the sheets, tears running down his own face. He can’t imagine it. The deaths of tens of trillions. Their screams, the pain they must have felt in the blinding light of imminent death.

Your hands tighten into fists as you shake. Your form is locked in tension, perhaps about to abruptly turn around and strike him, perhaps about to break and collapse into a distraught pile of bone and flesh. “You’re a liar.”

The words are akin to a strike itself. He near hisses, unstable in his new knowledge. “Why the fuck would they tell me? I’m not even a colonel.” His volume rises, swirling in the atmosphere, ready to completely burst free. “I didn’t have a damn thing to do with it—“

“But you certainly have something to do with those who ordered it!” You finally turn to him. You’re livid. Eyes red with tears, lips in a tight line, a glare that threatens to break him.

And your statement is not something he can deny. He deflates, silent. He can feel your eyes on him expectantly, but nothing comes.

When enough time passes, you stand from the bed, grabbing your things from the bedside table. As your fingers delicately wrap around the blaster you regularly carry around, he briefly thinks that perhaps you’re about to turn around and shoot him.

But you don’t, and something new finds home beside your anger: a heartbreaking sense of disappointment.

It’s on instinct when his hand shoots out, grasping your arm. “No, wait…please. Don’t go,” he says quietly.

You’re all he has. There’s nothing more to say other than that. Life in the Order is a cold one, always has been. While he may not agree with the side you’ve chosen, you’re the sole warmth in his life, the sole radiant light.

You jerk in his grip, but he tightens it, eyes unashamedly pleading with you, begging you to not leave him.

Even in the place you always meet him, buried beneath layers of rock, surrounded by passages of clandestine activity necessary in your illicitness, his meetings with you never fail to be the only times he’s truly happy.

“Please…,” he pleads once more, thumb running over your knuckles.

A debate takes place on your features, and he can read you better than he can anyone else. He’s the person you’d let into your heart, the person you’d revealed every personal secret to. He’s the one who’d whispered ‘I love you’ one fateful night, the one to whom you’d whispered it back. He’s the one that had challenged your blind loyalty to any ideology, the one to whom you’d done the same.

He can see all those things viciously, ruthlessly grappling with the horrifying events that had just transpired: bodies being ripped to shreds, building being reduced to dust, life being annihilated in fire.

And in an act of emotional obscurity, the two opponents are shockingly close.

It’s evident which wins out when you limply fall back to the bed, body slumping to lie down, eyes tiredly closed.

“Then tell me why,” you whisper, barely audible.

“Why what?”

“I want to know why you joined the people who did…this.”

And at that simple request, he feels his walls rise. Even if they’d fallen long ago when he was around you, they’d never truly disappeared.

“I thought we don’t talk about stuff like that,” says Poe quietly.

“Well, I changed my fucking mind.”

He gazes around the room, reminded of the sole thing that prevents full, unconditional commitment to the other. The space they are in is a brutal reminder of the fact, for it presents itself in sets of two, an embodiment of duality.

Two blasters on top of the bedside table. One polished and new, the other dull and thoroughly used.

Two sets of boots clumsily scattered by the door. One shiny, lacking a single scuff mark, one that’s appearance suggests it’s been passed through several owners.

Two jackets. One with the hexagonal, sixteen-rayed symbol of the First Order, one with the starbird of the Resistance.

It’s a glaringly horrid representation of the two of you, never destined to be the same.

“Did your tongue also vanish along with the five planets?”

He slowly comes back to the present with your words, forcing away his disconnect.

It’s not something he can afford right now. Maintaining his privacy, hiding the events of his past, concealing the cause of his motives—he can’t afford any of that if he wants you.

And somehow, all he does want is you. You, you, you—to the point that he wonders if it’s unhealthy, if it’s even real and true, but that’s something he refuses to consider in the moment.

Even though you’d seen some of the darkness through him, he is certain that your loyalty to light is stronger, if only marginally, and that means he has to tell. He has to reveal.

“My mother,” he simply says, gaze unfocused. “She was a rebel pilot. She died.”

The slight stirring of your body freezes. He’d never talked of his family’s loyalties; he’d always given the impression that they’d passively existed in the deluge of light and dark that had overtaken the galaxy.

“She’s why I joined.” He flinches at the memory, grimacing at the pain he’d felt as a boy. “She died because of rebellion recklessness. Because of belief in blind hope.”

The anger—it’s simmering once more, bubbling higher, inching further and further to the edge of his chest.

And he can tell yours is too. Your fingers grip at the sheets as your eyes narrow. “Reckless…blind…hope?” He’s questioning your belief, accusing it of something dangerously irrational, and you yearn to lash back on instinct, to defend the beliefs you’d lived your life by—even as your own doubts of it conceal themselves in the background.

He laughs bitterly, his voice rising again. “Don’t kid yourself. That’s what the New Republic lived off of, and it was a fucking mess.”

You tense up, practically shrieking your next words, wholly, viciously attacking him back. “Who are you to say that—“

“There were people revolting in the streets!” he yells, his voice perhaps even louder than yours had been. “There were people in the Outer Rim starving! It was chaos—“

“And the First Order is what? Orderly?”

“They’re better than you and your—“

And he falls silent all of a sudden. He stops himself.

He knows where this is going. It’d happened and been resolved before, but he has a sneaking suspicion that that won’t be the case if the two of you continue down this road.

“Fuck,” he groans under his breath, his back slumped as he rubs his face with his hands.

“Me and my what?” you ask quietly.

He just shakes his head.

You fall back to your laying down position, head burying in the sheets, trying to block everything out. He’s right. He’s entirely right. The flaw in the Light, the flaw in the Republic, but you can’t bring yourself to denounce the loyalty you’d inherited.

He sniffles, hiding his tears behind his hands, and his figure—he knows it’s one of pure pain. As good as he’d gotten at hiding his emotions, they always seem to show themselves in your presence, no matter how hard he tries to defeat them, and it’s undeniable that you feel them to the fullest.

“You say ‘mama’ in your sleep sometimes,” you whisper all of a sudden.

At the revelation, he goes still. It’s an unsettling thought…that perhaps you’d known of his weakness long before he’d willingly showed you, long before he thought you deserved to know.

That maybe you’d heard the words of him crying out for his mother before you’d even known the slightest deeply-personal thing about him, when you’d only known the feeling of him inside you and the feeling of his lips on yours and the weight of his body as he slept beside yours.

His reluctance to look at you only increases tenfold when the shame floods in. The shame of a lifetime at this point—of weakness regarding his family, of putting blaster bolts in people who didn’t deserve them, of not being able to let go of his past, something he’d been striving for his whole life.

It all externally devolves into a mere fit of subtle trembles.

“Poe?” Your tone is soft now, gentle. You’re on your knees, sitting up, a single hand on the side of his face joining the space between the two of you. A certain mixture of concern and inquisitiveness finds home in your eyes, and for a second, he thinks your expression reflects one of a person staring at a beaten-down, once-aggressive animal.

“I regret it—joining the Order,” he simply says, voice cracking. The gas, plasma, fire, flesh, and bone of the destroyed system fill his imagination. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Only if you mean it.” There’s still no sympathy to your voice, but there’s a softer edge to it, the kind that’s always existed but disappears in every fight.

“I do.” He leans back into the pillows, forearm over his eyes. It feels as if this has been going on for far too long, for he’s exhausted.

Your hand finds its way into his curls, tracing from his hairline to the base of his neck. It’s hauntingly reminiscent of what he’d felt so passionately and tenderly before the conflict had even begun.

“All darkness dies in the light,” you whisper.

It’s an ambiguous statement to many, but he automatically knows what you’re asking of him—you want his darkness to die in your light.

And while part of him begs and yearns to submit to your wish, something about your words perturbs him—the words unsaid. His darkness…the one he’d held for so long, you don’t want it to disappear, you don’t want it to transform, no, you want it to die. You want him to kill it.

“I can’t,” he says softly, fingers fumbling with the sheets, almost hoping to blindly find you.

“The Light Side’ll—“

“I’m done with the fucking sides,” he interjects, his words lined with a sharp edge. A puff of air leaves his lips as he desperately wishes for calm, one with at least some semblance of permanence. He finally looks at you, eyes now completely devoid of any anger or menace they’d held before, just the sadness of someone who’d made one too many wrong choices. “It’s just pain either way, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” you admit, a brief expression of hesitance crossing your face. “But you have to choose.” The hesitance turns to anguish, a revelation in its most subtle form. “There’s more pain if you don’t, and perhaps…perhaps that’s why I chose my side.”

He props himself up on his forearms at the mere implication—the implication that your unwavering loyalty to the light is not so unwavering, that you’d gone head in like he had with his loyalty and was now beginning to doubt things.

“Some don’t choose—“

“And they suffer for it,” you interrupt, finishing his statement with your own thoughts. It’s something you’ve seen your whole life: those who don’t choose being made to do so—often in violence.

He laces his fingers with yours, delicately wrapping each of your digits around his palm.“We’ve suffered our entire lives, darling,” he muses. “Born into a galaxy at war, a brief respite, and then yet another one…just suffering, suffering, suffering…within us, around us…what’s a little more?”

The whole room seems to freeze as you peer at him, part curiosity, part doubt, part disbelief. “What are you suggesting?”

“I think you know,” he says softly. The warmth staring back at you is undeniably something you would die for.

“Say it.” Your whisper is said with the deepest conviction, awaiting the words that would cement your decision, perhaps a decision you won’t know until you hear the offer leave his lips.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs. “Let’s run.” His gaze is fixed on you, begging for this. He needs you—he needs you to be there for him so that he has a place in the galaxy, a place he would never have otherwise. “Please.”

Your breath shakes, just barely, contemplating, debating. There’s an inevitable weight to war, the kind that crushes people to pieces, and the temptation to run from such a force—it feels right. It feels right to be free, to live safer, to be with whom you want. “There’ll be sacrifices to make.”

“There’ll be sacrifices either way,” he insists, and you’re certain he’s right. “Darling….” His words fade off, and he surges forward, gently locking his lips with yours. It’s tender and pleading, the ultimate question asked once again through touch.

“Poe….” The way you say his name is filled with something decisive, something deliberate. The seconds pass. He waits. “Let’s go.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

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[whenisitenoughtrees]

this cup of yours tastes holy (this lie is dead)

“I think you might have missed the part where I said that you almost died,” Logan says, and his voice is steady, but his hands are not, trembling where they have balled into fists on his lap.

He blinks, at a loss.

Janus attempts to save Logan from being poisoned. In the moment, switching out their glasses seems like a perfectly rational idea.

It is not, in fact, a perfectly rational idea.

Content Warnings: poisoning, mentioned blood, mentioned death (no actual death though), mentioned violence

Word Count: 5,772

Pairings: Loceit, background Prinxiety

Written for Whumptober2020 theme no 22. "Do these tacos taste funny to you?" with the more specific prompt: poisoned.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

The banquet hall is bright, noisy, and crowded, full of laughter and music and talking, and Janus is almost certain that the ambassador from Halledrin has just slipped poison into Logan’s wine.

No one else seems to have noticed. Janus can’t say he’s surprised. The formal dinner is over; now is the time for mingling, and everyone is deeply involved in their own conversations, their own social circles. Roman knows how to throw a good celebration, if nothing else, and now that the pressure is off of him to preside over all the little details, Janus spots him off to one side, shamelessly chatting up Virgil, who seems… exasperated, if not entirely displeased. He spares them a glance before turning back to Logan, who seems to be doing his level best to escape the conversation, but the ambassador— and just what is his name? Janus has entirely forgotten— is persistent, and Janus would think it no more than an annoyance if he weren’t fairly certain that he saw the man brush one hand against Logan’s wine glass while gesturing broadly with the other.

Which, no. That is absolutely not permitted.

He makes his way across the floor, snagging a glass of his own on the way.

“If I might cut in?” he says, as soon as he’s close enough. “I’m afraid I have a pressing matter to discuss with our illustrious court sorcerer.”

Logan inclines his head toward him, and Janus doesn’t think he mistakes the relief that flashes in his eyes. The ambassador stammers a bit, trying to come up with an excuse to stay, but a pointed look takes care of that, and the man retreats sullenly. Janus smiles at him, thin and knife-sharp, and then takes Logan by the elbow, escorting him to the other side of the banquet hall.

“Was there actually something you needed to discuss, or was that a rescue?” Logan asks dryly, and Janus laughs.

“Oh, you seemed like you were having so much fun,” he replies. “Here, switch with me.” And he presses his wine into Logan’s hand, taking Logan’s for himself. Logan frowns at him, but Janus shakes his head. Not here, that means, and Logan can read him well enough to understand it, little though he likes being unable to ask for clarification. In any case, as soon as the potentially-poisoned glass leaves Logan’s grasp, Janus finds himself able to relax.

“I’ll admit, the man is… long-winded,” Logan says. Janus sniffs at the wine as surreptitiously as he can. He can’t smell anything, but there are plenty of odorless poisons out there. “And yes, I am aware of how that sounds coming from me.”

“You’re not that bad,” he says, trying to keep track of the ambassador out of the corner of his eye. He’s positioned himself at the edge of the room, now, and he is staring at Logan, not even bothering to hide it. “At least you actually know what you’re talking about.”

“I would hope so,” Logan says, and then narrows his eyes. “Just what is Roman doing over there?”

Janus turns his head in that direction, but he’s too preoccupied to pay much attention. The problem with this is that he’s only about eighty percent sure that the drink has been tampered with, and the remaining twenty percent is enough unsurety to prevent him from being able to confront the perpetrator brazenly. Not that that would be his style anyway, but it also means he can’t go to anyone else with it; if he told Roman his suspicions, for instance, his sword would be drawn in an instant. And on the off chance that the drink isn’t poisoned after all, that would irreparably damage relations with Halledrin, and they can’t afford that.

So, he’ll have to be careful with this. Keep hold of the cup for the rest of the night and have it tested for toxins as soon as he can. Take the results, and move from there.

“Oh, dear Fates,” Logan groans, and Janus snaps his attention back to the present. It doesn’t take long to figure out what has Logan annoyed.

Roman’s climbed on the table. And as king, he can do what he wants, of course. But generally speaking, he’s supposed to keep the table-climbing to a minimum.

“My dear guests!” he calls out, his voice rich and booming. He doesn’t sound as drunk as Janus would expect from this kind of behavior. “If I may have your attention, I would like to propose a toast! To my dearest friend—”

“Oh my gods, Roman, stop,” Virgil groans.

“—Virgil of the Western Isles, who single-handedly—”

“Roman.”

“—rescued me from the clutches of the dread Dragon-Witch Alcara, thus saving this kingdom from utter disaster and ruin, and once again proving himself to be a man of the highest courage and determination, yes, courage, stop glaring at me like that, and also, did I mention he did this all by himself?” Roman raises his glass high, cheeks flushed red. Virgil has stopped protesting verbally in favor of trying to strike Roman down with his eyes alone, it appears. “So! To one of the best heroes this land has ever known! To Virgil!”

The crowd echoes the call, most of them smiling good-naturedly, a few laughing at the antics; if nothing else, Roman knows how to play to an audience.

“Not one of his best speeches,” Logan mutters.

Janus shrugs, and finally manages to catch Virgil’s gaze from across the room. He smirks, sardonically saluting him with his glass, and Virgil turns the full force of his glare onto him, mouthing something that is either I’m going to kill you or I’m rowing to mill two; really, Janus can’t tell which.

And then, he realizes that he has a problem.

It’s a toast. Everyone is bringing their drinks to his lips, taking sips, swallowing. Obviously, he can’t do any of this, as he rather likes being alive and unpoisoned. But the ambassador is still watching Logan intently, and Logan is sipping from Janus’ old glass; if the ambassador is expecting something to happen, and nothing does, he will turn his attention to the people around Logan, trying to figure out what went wrong. If that happens, there is a chance that he will notice if Janus doesn’t drink. From there, he will be able to suppose that Janus has caught onto his plans, has caught onto him, and from there, he will become more desperate.

Janus doesn’t want that. A desperate man becomes unpredictable, uncontrollable. A desperate man might act as though he has nothing to lose.

His mind racing, he brings the goblet up to his lips. It shouldn’t be too hard to feign a sip. He’s overthinking this.

He tilts the glass back, stopping just short of letting the wine touch his lips. He swallows a bit of his own saliva for realism. And then, it’s done, and he can relax again.

“Really, he should know better then to put Virgil in the limelight,” he says, keeping the ambassador in the corner of his vision. “He’s going to make him pay for that later.”

“If he would stop being so reckless, he wouldn’t be captured by his enemies so often, and Virgil wouldn’t have to hare off after him at all,” Logan sighs. “I will never understand their intricate courting rituals. Why don’t they just say they have feelings for each other and have done with it?”

The longer Logan goes without succumbing to some kind of terrible sickness, the paler the ambassador’s face grows. Janus is almost enjoying watching him.

“Some people are incapable of saying what they mean,” he says, and Logan looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that the case?” he says, pointed, and Janus grins.

“Why, my dear master sorcerer, you can’t possibly be implying that I—”

His left arm goes numb. Suddenly, all at once, and he cuts himself off, trying to shake feeling back into it. But it’s not like pins and needles, and as the seconds pass— only a few, surely, but the quick, rabbit-beating of his heart makes it seem otherwise— the sensation spreads, creeping toward his chest.

“Janus?” Logan asks. “Is something wrong?”

He sounds worried, very concerned, and Janus would be flattered, but he’s a bit busy being concerned himself.

“I don’t,” he starts, “I’m not—”

And then, his lungs are set on fire, and the rest of his sentence is lost to a wheezing scream as he doubles over, hands flying up to his chest, the wine glass clattering against the floor, half of it shattering and drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity, but he can’t care about that because he’s trying to force his lungs to inflate, but he’s burning up from the inside out and he can’t—

“Janus!”

There are arms, around him, steadying him. He looks up to meet Logan’s face, painted with fear and blurry, strangely blurry, and he doesn’t think that he’s crying so why is Logan blurry? But he is blurry, and the rest of Janus’ limbs have gone numb, and standing is becoming increasingly difficult, and the fire is there, growing hotter with each moment, and he opens his mouth to say something but all that escapes is a gasp, and then a strangled squeaking sound, as if the sounds are being wrung from him along with the last of his air.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

It’s almost funny, Logan swearing. He’s usually far too collected for that.

His center of gravity tips. Everything spins, and then, he feels himself being lowered to the ground. The floor is cold against his back, soothing, though it doesn’t help much after the momentary relief.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?”

Virgil, now, hovering over him, frantic.

“I don’t know,” Logan says, and he sounds scared, and that’s wrong. Logan is never scared. “I don’t know, poison, I’d imagine, but I don’t know what—”

“Well can you figure it out?”

Roman’s here too.

“I’m trying,” Logan snaps. “If you’ll give me a bit of room—”

The pain rises to a crescendo, like it’s eating his flesh away, and he lets out a whimper. An honest-to-gods whimper, and no. Absolutely not. He has more dignity than this. He has faced worse than this and come out alive, and he trusts Logan to do all that he can. So he breathes, shuddering breaths, breaths that twist and hurt and seem to move in places that they shouldn’t, and he wrests his mind back under control.

“The wine,” he gasps out, and his voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “I saw— the ambassador from Halledrin— he put it in the wine—”

“So you switched them,” Logan says, and scratch fear. This is fury. “How could you possibly have been so stupid?”

“I didn’t drink it!” he cries, and the exclamation is ripped from him, too harsh, and the exertion sends the pain flaring up, the flames licking at his heart, and he chokes on air. “I didn’t— I faked it, I didn’t drink, I don’t know—”

“Well, how the fuck did you get poisoned, then?” Virgil shrieks, and then, Logan fills his field of vision. He’s chanting something in the Old Tongue, and then slapping his hands on his chest, and just like that, the pain fades as magic rushes through him, warm and sparkling and steady and very, very Logan, and his head clears enough to think properly.

“The Halledrinian ambassador?” Roman snarls, and in that moment, he looks exactly like his brother. “I’ll be back.” And then he’s stalking through the crowd, and Janus wishes he didn’t feel so drained; he’d love to watch Roman make the man sweat, but he can barely muster up the energy to raise his head to look at Logan.

“I was going to keep it until I could get it looked at,” he says. His mouth is dry, painfully so. “I faked a sip, for the toast, but I didn’t take one. I didn’t touch it.”

The magic is still buzzing through him, lending him strength. He’ll ride it for what it’s worth.

Gods above and below, this is embarrassing.

“Are you sure it was the wine?” Logan asks. “It couldn’t have been anything else?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” he says. “I’m sorry, I probably should have—”

“Told me?” Logan cuts in. “I should think so. Honestly, why would you think keeping it from me was a good idea?”

The magic is still buzzing through him. It feels more intense now, almost uncomfortable.

“I didn’t want him to think that I knew anything,” he says. “I didn’t want to risk him trying something else.”

Logan shakes his head. “You’re too clever for your own good, do you know that?” he says, and he sounds completely exasperated, but the anger is fading, and Janus is glad of it. He doesn’t regret what he did, just how it turned out, and he never likes it when Logan is annoyed with him, because somehow, Logan has the ability to make him feel like a child, chastised for trying to sneak dessert out of the kitchen.

“I think I’m just clever enough,” he retorts, and then frowns. “Out of curiosity, what spell did you use?”

“A general cleansing incantation,” Logan tells him, “though at twice the power I would usually put into it. I’m just glad the poison wasn’t more specialized. Some toxins are resistant to magic, you know.”

Janus does know, and under any other circumstance, he would be more than willing to listen to Logan going on about the subject for days. But the buzzing of the magic in his system, Logan’s magic, has graduated from relieving to uncomfortable to something approaching pain, and it’s been a long time since he had to be healed with a spell, but he doesn’t think this is right.

He opens his mouth to tell Logan about it, about the way it feels as though there are ants crawling under his skin, but then—

then—

his body—

seizes—

and rational thought flies out the window as his muscles lock and pain tears through him, biting and sharp and ripping and buzzing, and his limbs jerk and this is a seizure, he’s having a seizure, and his head slams against the ground hard and white lights flash across his vision and he can hear shouting, and something soft is shoved underneath his head to soften the impact as it hits against the floor again and again and again and he can’t speak, can’t breath, and there is blood bubbling in the back of his throat, so much that he fears he’ll choke on it, and all the while there is the buzzing, curling in him and forcing his bones from their sockets, it feels like, scrambling his innards, and it feels like there is something inside of him, something eating him, and perhaps he’s eating himself, has turned into the serpent that consumes its own tail—

He doesn’t know.

There are still voices, panicked and loud, and he should know them, too, but he can’t. Not now.

He just knows that it hurts, in waves, each one worst than the last, and it won’t stop. A strangled scream is ripped from his throat, high and thick, forcing its way past the blood that’s gathered in his mouth, and someone is cursing, swearing up a blue streak, and the people around him sound scared, and he thinks that he is too.

Each wave worse than the last. Once he screams once, he can’t stop.

Unconsciousness, when it comes, is a blessing.

-------------

Awareness comes and goes in flashes.

He wakes, his body thrashing, trying to escape. Pain like red hot pokers pressing up against him and into him. He wheezes, and there is someone holding him, trying to restrain him, and he’s too weak to push them away.

“Please,” he tries to say, but the word comes out garbled and mangled beyond all recognition.

“Remus,” the person growls, and it must be Virgil, but he can’t pry his eyes open to see, “knock him out.”

“On it,” says someone else, and there is a hand on his forehead, blessedly cool, and then nothing.

Then, again: his entire body on fire, but lacking the energy to so much as lift a finger. He gasps for breath, each inhalation a struggle, and past the white noise in his ears, he thinks he hears someone speaking. Muttering. Praying? He wrests his eyes open, and his surroundings are a blur, but it is Patton sitting at his bedside. Holding his hand, too, he thinks, but he can’t feel it.

He didn’t even know Patton had returned to the castle.

He tries to say something, anything, but he doesn’t have the air to spend on speech. So he lies there, panting, and finally, Patton looks up, and Janus can’t make out his face but he hears his gasp.

“Oh, gods,” Patton says, and leans in closer. “Jan, can you hear me?”

He can’t respond. Can’t so much as nod.

“You hold on,” Patton says, and he sounds like he’s fighting tears. “You hear me? You don’t die from this. You hang in there, and everything’s gonna be a-okay. You got it?”

It’s a sweet lie, a pretty lie, and Janus can’t begrudge him for it.

Darkness again.

And then:

“—cking be giving up!”

“Of course I’m not giving up!”

Logan’s voice, sharp and angry and lined with despair, and his heart skips a beat. Or perhaps it’s not the sound of his voice that does it at all, but the poison, wrapping around his heart and squeezing. He still hurts, every inch of him, but it’s distant, far away, and it should worry him, he thinks, because that probably means that he’s far past the point of pain that his body can actually handle. But his mind is too fuzzy, everything indistinct.

“I’m not going to give up. I would rather die. But without knowing what the poison was, or better yet, having a sample of it, I’m left to flounder, and attempting to use magic has done more harm than good.”

Gods. He sounds so broken.

“Roman said he was gonna try and get answers out of the shithead.” That’s Remus, uncharacteristically serious. “No luck so far, apparently.” A bang, like a fist against a table. “He should let me at him. I’d rip it right out of him, reach my hand down his throat and pull out his fucking vocal chords—”

“Okay, I’m gonna need you to shut up right the fuck now—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is that too much for your delicate sensibilities—”

“Enough, both of you!”

Logan again, desperate and exhausted, and with a labored, stuttering breath, Janus pries his eyes open. A wave of dizziness assaults him, and the light is far too bright, but he holds out, turning his head to the side in a motion that takes more effort than it should.

His vision is swimming, coming in and out of focus. But it’s Virgil, Remus, and Logan, all standing and arguing with each other.

And it hits him, then: Oh. I’m dying.

“The fact remains that we’re all in the dark here. I’m in the dark. Without knowing what the poison was or how he ingested it, I can’t deconstruct it to find a cure. All efforts to use a spell to detect the toxin have failed, and all efforts to use a spell to heal him have only aggravated his condition.” Logan makes a sharp motion; Janus isn’t sure, but he thinks he’s scrubbing his hand down his face. “It makes sense,” he continues, more subdued. “I was the original target. So of course the poison would be undetectable by magic. Of course it would—”

He breaks off, and Virgil reaches out to him.

“This isn’t your fault,” he says lowly. “Janus made his dumb fucking decision himself.”

“He wasn’t trying to get poisoned,” Remus interjects, sharp. “So how about you take your dumb fucking decision and shove it up your—”

His mind is whirling. Something about the description of the poison, the fact that magic cannot be used to combat it, seems familiar, but his mind refuses to dredge up any memory that he might have of a poison that fits those qualities.

He doesn’t know. Or, worse, he might know, but the poison that is killing him is preventing him from coming up with the information that could save him.

But there’s something else. Something just beyond his reach, something that flits from his grasp when he tries to think about it.

“And there was nothing in the wine,” Virgil says. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing that the chemists could find.”

“And I checked it for good measure!” Remus says. “Nadda. Zip. Fucking nothing. So how we got here is beyond me.”

That’s it.

That’s it.

He didn’t drink the wine. It wouldn’t have mattered if the wine was poisoned. He didn’t have any.

But he remembers swallowing. His own saliva, just to make it realistic.

There’s only one place the poison could have been.

He tries to speak. But his throat feels full of razor wire, and the effort is enough to bring the rest of the pain back into focus. What starts out as something that might, possibly, be a word devolves into a high, keening whimper, and he can’t muster up the energy to be embarrassed about it, because gods. His back arches, and his fists clench into the bedsheets as he tries to ride it out, but there is no riding it out, because it just won’t stop.

“Janus!”

Suddenly, they’re all very close.

“Shit, shit, you’re gonna be okay, just give us a second,” Virgil says. “Remus, you—”

“Right—”

And no, because Remus is going to knock him out again, but he can’t, not before he tells them what he just figured out, because if he goes under again he’s scared that he won’t get another chance.

“No,” he gasps, and his voice is absolutely wrecked, and speaking hurts, but— “No, don’t. I need—”

He breaks off with a ragged gasp, his throat refusing to cooperate with him, and he could scream with frustration, really would scream, if his voice was working. But then, Logan is there, his face close to his and his eyes very blue.

“What do you need, Janus?” he asks, his voice low and urgent, and Janus gathers his breath, and try again.

“Test the rim,” he says. “It wasn’t— wasn’t in the wine, and it wasn’t a spell. But I—” His words strangle themselves, but he can see the light dawning in Logan’s eyes.

“You put your lips to the rim of the glass,” he finished. “It was on the—” He turns to Virgil, the motion whipcord sharp. “Virgil, go find the glass and have it sent to my— no, actually, bring it here. Time is of the essence.”

Virgil is off like a shot almost before Logan is finished speaking.

“And Remus,” he continues, “I’ll need—”

“You’ve got it, specs,” Remus says. “Whatever support I can give.”

Logan nods, and meets Janus’ eyes again. At least, he thinks he does. His vision is growing dark, shadows curling around the edges like fire-blackened paper, eating away everything he can see. The pain is distant again, and even his own heartbeat seems to be slowing. Logan’s voice sounds as if it’s coming to him through deep water.

“You can rest now, Janus,” he says. “You’ve done well. I’m going to cure you, I swear. This will all be over soon.”

One way or another, he agrees, but doesn’t say it out loud. Even if he could, he thinks it would upset Logan to say something like that. Would upset him to remind him of the very real possibility that this will not end well, that it is already too late. Because his vision is blackening and his heartbeat is slowing, and everything feels so very, very far away, and he doesn’t want to die but he might not have a choice in the matter.

Logan’s face is still hovering above his, and he thinks that if this is the last sight he will ever have, it’s the best one he could have asked for.

-----------------

He wakes to a pressure against his side and a bone-deep exhaustion, and he takes a moment to simply breathe, staring at the ceiling and reveling in the ease of it. He is so very tired, but his lungs inflate and deflate without pain, without anything catching and setting him to coughing, without having to fight his own body to get the air he needs.

Then, he turns his head.

Logan is asleep on a chair next to his bed, slumped forward so that his head is resting against his side, effectively trapping one arm. He is pale and drawn, his brows furrowed and hair sticking out in all directions, as if he’s been running his fingers through it repeatedly. His glasses are still on his face, terribly askew, and on instinct, Janus reaches across his body, trying to correct them, perhaps, or to take them off entirely. But at the movement, slight though it is, Logan startles awake, eyes blinking wide open, lips parted as if to call out.

Then, his eyes meet Janus’.

“You’re awake,” he breathes, and it sounds uncomfortably like a revelation, like the answer to every prayer Logan has ever offered— and Logan isn’t religious, Janus knows, has never seen much point in worshiping distant gods. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he offers, wincing at the sandpaper-quality of his own voice. It’s the truth, though; he feels drained, mentally and physically, and he aches terribly, but the pain is nothing compared to what it was. “I assume you figured it out.”

Logan pushes his glasses back into position on his face, a little more aggressively than the motion should require. “Barely,” he says. “If you had consumed any more than you did, or if I had been even ten minutes slower, you would have died.”

He hums. “I certainly felt like it,” he murmurs, glancing away. “Thank you for saving me.”

For once, he means exactly what he says, but Logan’s expression darkens. “I shouldn’t have had to,” he says, sharp. “That poison—” He breaks off, sucking in a breath, looking away. He vigorously jabs at his glasses, pushing them even farther up his nose. “That poison was meant to target magic in a person’s system, and because you don’t have magic inherently, it turned to attacking your internal organs instead. Every attempt to heal you only fueled its effects. Do you know how I—”

He breaks off again, but Janus is stuck on something else, is stuck on targeting magic, and he has always been good at reading between the lines, so he knows exactly what Logan isn’t saying. Logan lives off magic, breathes it, practically is magic in every sense of the word. Had Logan taken a poison that destroyed magic, it would have destroyed him.

The Halledrinian ambassador chose his toxin well.

“In that case,” he says, “I suppose that this turned out as well as it could have. Obviously, getting poisoned myself was far from ideal, but better me than you, in this scenario.”

He knows immediately that this is the wrong thing to say; usually, he would have realized that before the words left his mouth at all, but his mind is still sluggish, his mouth looser. Logan’s face twists, becomes something thunderous and angry, and the warm candlelight that fills the room— his room, he notices, though he’s fairly certain he was in Remus’ infirmary before— flickers and dances as the air stirs, a slight wind buffeting the bedsheets.

“I think you might have missed the part where I said that you almost died,” Logan says, and his voice is steady, but his hands are not, trembling where they have balled into fists on his lap.

He blinks, at a loss. Were he in better form, he would know what to say here, how to soothe Logan’s worry and wash the past few— well. He has no idea how long it’s been. But he would be able to turn it all around, put the event behind them, if the words would only come, but they don’t, so here he lies, feeling powerless and a bit stupid.

“I didn’t,” he points out, and knows that the rebuttal is weak, that this won’t help. “Clearly.”

“The point is that you could have!”

It’s a shout, and Logan pauses, seemingly surprised at his own volume. He deflates, then, his shoulders slumping, all the fight flowing from him like water from a sieve. He hunches in on himself just slightly, his expression fading from fury to something much more tired, much more worn.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Janus can only watch as he scrubs at his eyes, almost viciously, and then stares at his hands. “I just— you nearly died. From poison that was meant for me.”

He sounds wrecked, as if that is the worst possibility he could imagine, and— oh.

“I would have died,” Logan murmurs. “It would have decimated my magic before I could do a thing about it, and me along with it.” He looks up, and his eyes are shining with unshed tears, and Janus wants nothing more than to wipe them away. He would try, he thinks, if he felt as though he could move enough to do so, if he thought Logan would allow him the liberty. “But instead of me, it was you. And I had to watch as you died in my place. If you hadn’t been able to communicate how you’d ingested it, I would have been helpless. I would have—” He breaks off suddenly, closing his eyes. “I would have lost you.”

Oh.

He wrenches himself into a sitting position, ignoring the way his muscles scream in protest, ignoring Logan’s startled exclamation. He pushes himself up, reaches out, and snags Logan’s hands in one of his. Too late, he realizes that somewhere along the line, he was divested of his gloves, and his bare skin makes contact with Logan’s. It’s like a bolt of lightning shooting up his arm, and he struggles not to show his shock on his face; he is no stranger to touch, but not like this, never like this, with his bare hand. And from the way Logan is staring, from the way Logan’s lips have parted, just slightly, he knows it too.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, as fierce, as vehement as he can manage. “And call me selfish, but I am infinitely glad that I didn’t have to lose you.”

He meets Logan’s eyes. As difficult as this level of honesty, this level of vulnerability is for him, it needs to be said. He needs Logan to know, needs him to understand, needs him to realize that he cannot possibly regret this, if the alternative was watching Logan choke on his own blood.

Logan makes a sound, soft and wounded, and turns his hand so that he’s grasping at Janus’ just as tightly as Janus is grasping him. And then, he leans in close, bumping their foreheads together and then staying there, and Janus doesn’t dare to move. He can feel Logan’s breath on his skin, ghosting across his lips; an inch or two closer, and they would be kissing.

With one hand, Logan continues to hold his. The other curls around the back of his neck, keeping him in place.

“Never,” Logan says, “do that to me again.”

“I assure you,” he replies, “I don’t plan on it.”

For a moment they stay like that, foreheads touching, breathing together, and Janus’ eyes slip closed. Like this, he can almost forget that anything happened, can forget the pain, can forget how weak he feels. He’s here, and Logan’s here, and nothing else matters.

And then, the door slams open. He jerks back, startled, and Logan’s hand slips away from his neck.

Remus is standing there, gaping.

“Holy shit,” he says. “You’re awake.” He turns to call to someone down the hall— “He’s awake!—” and then, he’s rushing into the room, and Janus doesn’t have any time to prepare before he’s jumped onto the bed, wrapping his arms around him like a particularly clingy octopus, and he’s chanting a litany of words under his breath, things like, “You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay holy shit,” and other words that he can’t quite make out, and the hug is a bit too tight to be comfortable, but he accepts it anyway. He’s still holding one of Logan’s hands, and he is loathe to let go, but he wraps his free arm around Remus’ back.

“Everyone’s been very worried about you,” Logan says quietly. “Patton returned from the coast in the middle of it all, and he was quite distraught. And that’s not to mention how… irate Roman has been, and Virgil—”

“Speak for yourself,” Virgil says, leaning in the doorway. He crosses his arms, but the relief on his face is poorly disguised, and he must have truly been in a bad way if Virgil was that concerned. “Roman and Patton are on their way up, I think. They were talking to the asshole. The ambassador,” he adds when Janus tilts his head in a silent question. “Piece of shit admitted to everything. He’s not even the real ambassador; he killed the real one and took his clothes, tried to go after Logan to spark war between us and Halledrin.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Remus says. “Roman said I could, if I wanted to. He was real mad so I dunno if he meant it, but he said it, so it counts. I’m gonna stick a knife in his guts and pull out his intestines and feed them to him and—”

“That’s more than enough, I think,” Logan interjects, and Janus is glad of it. He’s used to Remus’ gory tangents, can deal with them well, normally, but he’s exhausted, and he thinks that consciousness will slip away from him any moment now. He can feel his eyelids beginning to droop, his body leaning against Remus’ more and more, and he highly doubts that he will make it to see Roman and Patton.

But that’s alright. He’ll wake up again and see them then. For now, he has Virgil here, and Remus, and he is still holding Logan’s hand, and he is tired and he aches, but he’s alright.

He meets Logan’s eyes, squeezes his hand, and smiles. And Logan smiles back.

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[yanderecandystore]

How about some yandere!giant headcannons please?

(Yes I took the lazy route when drawing this, and if you see people you don't recognize it's because I decided to put my friends in it-)

(( I also had drawn Mikudayo and Miko because I just thought it was funny to make them considering the time I had mistaken them for each other-))

TW/tags: gender neutral reader // I'm gonna make the giant male because you didn't really say giantess? So I'm assuming it's male/gender neutral pronouns // being treated like a doll/pet // kidnapping // language barrier cause I'm yearning- // very generic giant story // delusional thinking // slight stockholm syndrome

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Don't even ask me, y'all read about eldritch creatures so a giant is literally no big deal- [Yandere!Giant x Reader - Headcanon]:

Oh dear, oh goodie, oh Lord-

Does anyone need a bit of context? Maybe a little storyline to start with? I could just go straight to the good stuff though??

Listen- I could pull out so many mother fucking posts under the category of Yandere Giants- Almost all Eldritch content in my blog involves the height difference of: vewy tol x vewy smol UwU

Anyway- Malos, the giant of our story. I'm going to go very generically since I didn't want to say something that could possibly not be of your taste boo-

Malos is your classic troublemaking giant, the type of which you would hear about in fairy tales created to scare the human folk all around your kingdom. All those stories talked about the world beyond the clouds, the giant's kingdom, living their lives in wealth, very far from the ground below where humans (their "favorite delicacy", allegedly) lived.

The one thing that all those stories shared in common was the violent behavior of the tyrants above, their arrogant and greedy nature mixed with the horrifying sightings of giants who would somehow find their way to get on land, specifically targeting a small town to torment. Many have said to have faced a big beast walking around in the woods, some would claim that they actually fought a giant or two, although there is no way to confirm such bold claims of being true.

Were you a common townsfolk who got themselves too far into the woods? An adventurer finding their way into a town surrounded by mystery? Or were you perhaps a noble who by terrible misfortune, had their carriage be stuck during a heavy storm in the dark of night?

It doesn't really matter which one you choose, considering that what happens next would be inevitable. You get lost at the dead of night, the townsfolk not even being able to comprehend how someone can simply disappear like this. You would wake up at a place you couldn't even begin to recognize, it was a very well decorated room yet none of it felt familiar to you.

Maybe it was because of how fancy and modern it was compared to what you were more accustomed with on land, or maybe it was the simple fact that everything in this room was awfully huge compared to you. It took you quite some time to realize that you were not only on top of a massive bed- But that you were trapped inside a bird cage.

Before you could question whether you were having a hallucination or not, your joyful captor made its way inside the bedroom. With such a blissful expression that makes a chill run down your spine- He was so big, it was obvious your captor would have been a giant considering your current location, yet it still shocked you for some reason.

Much to your dismay, your captor does not speak the same language as you, which made you scream at him to free you and put you back where he found you. You have noticed he wasn't understanding a single word coming out of your mouth the moment you started crying at the giant, begging for mercy in fear of what could be your destiny here.

Yet here you were, just- Being observed by such gentle eyes, concerned of your current state. He could talk and shush your cries all he wanted, but you couldn't understand a single thing he meant, the only certainty in this case being the fact you ain't getting out of here so soon.

Malos isn't evil, even if you can't understand what he says- You can tell he is very gentle with you, maybe because he sees how scared and panicky you are, or because he sees you as a pet- Who knows?

He did give you a lot of signs of seeing you as possibly just a "pocket companion", a pet and a doll, someone he could take care of and take wherever he wanted. You noticed how there was no one else who lived with him, maybe he was that lonely and desperate to find a friend that he took you- Without considering your actual feelings on the action.

You weren't too small compared to him, you were basically the height of his hand- A small doll to him, just for him. Whatever life you used to have could be kissed goodbye at this point, because even if you wish everything could go back to normal, that ain't happening, boo.

Malos loves dressing you up, giving you little trinkets to use, giving you small portions of his own food, hearing you make all those lovely sounds he doesn't understand one bit off yet it is still willing to try and comprehend it. He is a very skilled crafter, you know? He knows how to create small toys that will make wonderful gifts for you, at least in his own mind.

Whatever situation you were in that would have brought you to meet him, he would have thought the same thing regardless of what background you could choose for yourself- In Malos eyes, you were lost in the cold of the night, looking so lonely and in need of someone's attention, which he could relate to since he was also lonely and looking for company.

Malos is quite delusional, he has his moments where he has to face reality as a lonely toy maker who kidnapped a human to be his little companion. In these moments of lucidity, he will look at you as if he was lost, as if he was searching for an answer- A confirmation of his actions.

And looking at your cute small little self, confirms his beliefs. You were lost, he was also lost- Yet you found each other, and that's all that matters for him.

After being faced with so much love and attention, considering how weeks and months have passed since he got you here, it's not hard to imagine you feeling more comfortable in his presence.

His skin is so much warmer than yours, his rough hands hold you with such care- It's hard to not give yourself in to his gentle touches, to his incomprehensible whispers, he has such a smooth voice that is hard to not enjoy listening to it.

You didn't plan this to happen- But on each day that passes by, you start feeling like being taken care off is way better than having to fend for yourself down there with the other humans. His company has been so heartwarming, and it hurts you the times he has to go out and take long periods of time outside his house, probably selling his toys or even buying more food for you two.

It's so unfortunate to think that you, someone who was once a person, was now submitting to him and enjoying being treated like this- You would curse at yourself for being so weak, so desperate for his affection, to the point you enjoy being petted and loved as a doll.

With Malos, you could ignore the voices screaming at you to get yourself out of his house in the clouds, but whenever you were left alone locked inside a doll house he built, you would cry yourself to sleep until you could ignore your conscience telling you how much of a failure you are.

If Malos was somehow aware of this confusing thoughts inside you, he would try his best to calm you down, while also pulling you closer to the confirmation that he is here to help you, to take care of you and that there is no shame in you liking him as well. He already loves you so much, he just needs you to do the same for him.

However, Malos isn't always gentle with you- Not only is he easily excited, but he is also easily angered, very childishly. His outbursts are never on you, but rather on the things around you. You can feel the table under you shake whenever he has his temper tantrums, you can see him taking away some of your items as a form of punishment in case you have been acting up.

He would also give you an ice shoulder for some time if he felt as if you were in need of apologizing (even if he didn't understand your language, he could still see through your mannerisms if you were truly sorry or not). He wouldn't ignore you for long, considering how he is also very touch-starved, which leads into the next point:

Malos loves petting you, and touching you. You're soft and squishy and so charming to hold- How can he not love you to bits??!

He gets very confused sometimes, he isn't sure if he sees you as a small pet-like companion, or as a possible- Well, partner. His adoration towards you will start to twist into actual romantic interest, and I warn you to be careful darling-

The moment he sets his mind into something, it's nearly impossible to change it back.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭