#so he doesn't walk in on you??? but anyway

[lymtw]

Comfort The Tired Soul

Toji comes home from work feeling a whirlwind of different things. He's starving, he's exhausted, he wants to bury his face between your thighs, but he also just wants to lay his head on your lap and have you play with his hair. His body is basically running on autopilot, holding off on giving out until he sees you.

He unlocks and opens the front door, hoping to smell something amazing. Something warm and made by none other than you and your precious hands. Instead, he enters a house that looks like his home, but lacks what truly makes it deserving of the title—you. You aren't there on the couch, ready to jump on him like you normally do. The house smells clean, the couch cushions are properly positioned, like you haven't laid there, at all. The TV is off, the shower isn't running, there's no music blasting from your phone—it's dead silent.

Toji keeps walking, keeps searching for you around the house, the occasional 'doll' and 'ma' being called out. He still peeks into the bathroom, despite the light being off, and rules it out when he sees there's no sign of you. The next room he directs himself towards is the bedroom. The light is off and the door is closed, so he isn't expecting anything from this room, either, but he checks, anyway.

Lo and behold, there you are, sitting on the bed, cross legged. The only light that illuminates your tear stained face and your nervous habit of biting your nails in action, is the screen of your phone.

"Hey, doll," Toji says, his voice calm and steady, so as not to scare you. His hand holds the doorknob and he keeps the door pressed to his shoulder, as he watches you quickly try to get yourself together. You stop biting your nails and you wipe at your face with the sleeves of your hoodie.

"Oh, hey, baby," you say, with enthusiasm that Toji knows you're working too hard to provide. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be home so early. I didn't make anything for you to eat."

Toji instantly notices that your voice doesn't sound like it usually does. It sounds like you're trying hard to keep your emotions down, but there's an annoying lump in your throat that doesn't allow you to hold yourself up very well. You're also still pawing at your face with your sleeves, like your tears haven't subsided.

"It's six, ma. You know I always get home around this time. What are you doing in here with the lights off?" He flicks on the light to get a better look at you and your shrunken demeanor. Immediately, he notices the way you squint and furrow your eyebrows—a normal reaction to brightness after being in the dark. What wasn't normal, was the way you rubbed the space between your brows, like the sudden brightness of the room was affecting you more than it should have and you were trying to soothe the pained area.

"Nothing," you simply say, laughing, nervously. It's a sound with no detectable joy in it, and Toji knows very well that it's fake. You can't trick him into believing that you're alright, with it.

By instinct, Toji has gone into his protective mode. He steps further into the room, with newfound energy, and heads for the spot in front of you. The room is quiet, like the rest of the house, until he sits down. He tugs on the sleeve of your sweater, a silent way of signaling that he's there, but also a request for you to spare him your attention. You look up, facing him, and he sees it all. The slight puffiness and redness of your eyes, the wetness of your eyelashes. Something is tearing you up inside.

"Tell me everything," Toji says, setting a hand on your knee. Instantly, you blink and avert your gaze from him.

"Nooo," you whine, in an attempt to lighten up the mood a little. You didn't intend for your voice to crack and make his view of you more pitiful. "You're tired. You don't need this, right now."

The feeling Toji gets from seeing you this way, is like thousands of little needles jabbing at his heart. Your eyes are growing glossier by the second and you keep pressing your lips together, presumably to stifle the quivering of your lips.

"Sweetheart," Toji says, calmly. His voice carries love, patience, and understanding—all things that easily break down your facade and cause tears to begin freely streaming down your cheeks. Once again, words are lost between you and Toji, and silence nears, only kept away by the sound of your sniffling and soft, shuddered deep breaths. He takes your hand in both of his and brushes over your knuckles with his thumbs.

"I love you, mama. We have so much time," Toji, wholeheartedly, assures. His patience makes it hard for you to hold in your sobs—your chest and your throat hurt from not letting go of them. He sits there with you as your emotions pour out, playing with your hands and waiting for you to calm down enough to talk.

"I don't feel good, Toji," you finally manage to say, slowly shaking your head. You can't lift your gaze to meet his, again, even if you can feel him calling for your attention through the gentle squeezes he gives your hands. You feel vulnerable and you get this strange feeling in your stomach every time you think about how Toji is seeing you completely stripped of any strength to hold yourself together. You can't look at him, despite how attentive he's being. You don't want him to look at you, either, but you won't tell him to stop or push him away. You know it would be heartless of you.

"What hurts? Want me to get you some medicine?"

"No, no. I just..." you sigh, heavily. A fresh stream of tears roll down your cheeks when you shut your eyes. "I've had a massive headache all day and my chest hurts. It feels so heavy, like something is pushing down on it."

"You didn't tell me this earlier, when we were talking on the phone. You sounded just fine." His hands still, no longer squeezing your hands or gently brushing your skin. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have come home sooner, doll."

"That's why I didn't tell you. There's no need for me to share my stress with you while you're working. You have your own things to stress about, too. I'm not going to be another one of those things."

"Hey, come on, stop," he says, squeezing your hands, again, to signal that he isn't mad at you. You don't need more guilt mixing in with the rest of your feelings.

"I get home from work before you. I have time to wind down and... and clean up. The least I can do..." Your chest heaves, your harsher emotions catching up, again. "...is cook you a damn meal."

"My love, stop."

The room goes quiet again, nothing but the sound of your sharp, short inhales and sniffling. He got you to settle down with the remarks, but he wants to calm down your mind, as well. He gently wraps his hands around your shaky ones and brings them up to his lips. Soft kisses are planted on your fingers, your knuckles, and your palms—you feel his perfect scar, occasionally, brushing against your skin. After he sets your hands down on your lap and releases them, he moves up to his side of the bed and positions himself so that his back rests against the headboard. He calls for you, with a couple pats to the space he left for you between his legs and a warm, "Sit, doll."

You stay unmoving for a few seconds—indecisive. He just got home. You don't want to continue to drop all of this on him, but you can feel him watching you, and the more you feel his gaze on your back, the more you start to think about the time that is going to waste because you won't go to him. It's time that he can be using to rest—so, you make up your mind and crawl over to him.

Once your back is to his front, he molds around you. His arms envelop you, tightly, to ensure that you feel his warmth and understand that he physically has you, just as he does emotionally. He rests his chin on your shoulder, and turns his head to murmur a soft, "You listening?" You nod a couple times, while wiping your cheeks with the dampened sleeves of your sweater. "Okay." He tightens his arms around you a little more and places a gentle kiss on your neck, before facing forward, again.

"Ma," Toji starts, a soft sigh leaving him. He's really hoping that by the end of this talk, you won't be trembling in his arms, anymore. "You can't hide this type of stuff from me." The words don't come off as him scolding you or trying to be controlling. Instead, they sound more like a plead. A plead for you to trust him with your mental health the way you trust him with your physical safety, and for you to follow the rules of communication you've done so well at teaching him about.

"You just told me that you don't feel good. You're so stressed that your head hurts and your chest feels tight. Is that why you were in here with the light off?" Toji asks, tilting his head to look at you. You respond with a weak nod, not willing to use your even more weakened voice. "See? It's hurting you, baby. It's making things hard for you. There's no need for you to hold things in when you have me. Me being at work doesn't change a thing. When we're on the phone, I want you to tell me everything. Everything. Not just the good stuff."

He pauses, a brief intermission that gives you a chance to sit with everything he has said so far. He refrains from asking you questions, for now. Clearly, you aren't emotionally stable enough to explain everything going through your head, and it's likely you'll break down again before he even begins to grasp what has you in the condition of a wilted flower.

"You can tell me about anything. Know I'll do everything I can to help or make you feel better, because this? This isn't right, ma. You're my little sunshine. I can't have you dimming on me."

He notices you aren't shaking as much and you haven't been running your sleeves over your cheeks, anymore, so he squishes you in his arms and smiles softly when you release a puff of air—a stifled a groan.

"And just so you know, I'm okay with you not making dinner every day," he says, planting a kiss on your jaw. "Don't get me wrong, I love when you cook for me, but I don't expect you to do it. I can make or get myself something to eat if you don't feel like cooking, alright? Don't ever stress about that, ma."

It goes quiet for a minute or so, just you and Toji sitting in the intimate, guarded atmosphere created between you and him. You feel the pressure of his heavy arms around you, you feel the body heat that emanates from him, you can smell the aftermath of a busy day on him, and though your eyes feel heavy and swollen from the waterfalls of tears you've shed, feeling this safe makes you want to cry all over again. He covered you up and kept you warm when he found you trapped in a mental rainstorm. He soothed your aching soul. He deserves the remainder of your tears—two final liquefied crystals, gliding down your cheeks. They make up the words you can't say in the moment. 'Thank you.'

"You're the last thing in the world that could ever stress me out. Understand?" Toji asks, breaking the silence. He receives a slow, barely noticeable nod, from you. "You promise?" He asks, seeking certainty in your response. Immediately after, he hums in thought, considering the recurrence of your inaudible responses, and decides to find a way around your simple head nods. "You probably don't wanna talk, right now, so just squeeze my hand. Let me know, mama."

He puts his hand out and waits for a physical confirmation from you—your hand around his, offering even the smallest amount of pressure. As soon as he sees you lift your hand, aiming to place it on his, he's rolling the puffy sleeve of your sweater up, so that he'll be making direct skin to skin contact, rather than having the thick fabric acting as a barrier between your hands. Your fingers interlace with his and you give him three squeezes, before relaxing your hold.

"Yeah? You love me?" Toji asks, a soft smile curling onto his lips. You squeeze his hand once, emphasizing your response with a familiar, subtle nod. "Love you, too, doll. Gonna take care of you, I swear."

You release his hand and wiggle out of his arms, turning around, afterwards. You keep your eyes shut, knowing that the puffiness must look even more extreme when your eyes are open, and just fall into him. He's safety, he's home, love, and everything more.

"Your pretty eyes got a raw deal, huh?" His hands go to your back and rub up and down the expanse in slow, soothing motions. You nod against his chest and tighten your arms around him. "It's okay. You're still the prettiest thing," he assures, pressing a couple kisses to the top of your head. "Wanna take a shower with me? Get some food after?"

"Mhm," you hum, a quiet affirmation. Still, you don't make any attempt to move from your position. Toji notices this and pins the delay on himself. He steals your role and makes it seem like he's the one that doesn't want to move.

"Alright, just..." He sighs, reciprocating your embrace. "Just give me a couple minutes. Wanna stay like this a little longer."

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Devout

Guardian Angel alternative POV, or Jason Todd is the Arkham Knight, and he can't stop himself from watching you, from clawing his way into the cracks of your life in a twisted, mangled mirror of what he used to be ~3.5k words

CW: Jason commits a few murders, some gore, stalking, some religious imagery for fun

Jason Todd shouldn't be watching you. He knows it's wrong, knows he shouldn't be perched on the shadowy rooftop across from your apartment building, staring intently into your windows.

He knows. He knows. But he's doing it anyway– been doing it for weeks.

You haven't noticed once, so wrapped up in your own life, your peace of mind that no one would break the sanctity of your own home that you don't even consider closing your blinds.

He thinks you should know better. Gotham is tainted– he is tainted– yet you never spare a glance over your shoulder when he follows you down the street, never linger on that sixth sense that screams that you're being watched.

You pick up on his presence on the rare occasion, he thinks. The days you walk home quicker or the nights you actually slam your blinds shut makes him wonder if you do know you're being watched. But then you go back to normal, brush off every sign and every lingering feeling that something isn't right.

It almost makes him angry, sometimes, that you'd be so careless with your safety. But everything makes him angry now. It's a constant, tight grasp in his chest, the righteous fury he has against the world, against the city and its filth, against Batman.

The anger makes him reckless, or maybe he's just cocky. Maybe he wants you to know he's there. Jason doesn't let himself wonder why he does it. He might just be a masochist. He might just miss you. But he opens the faulty window to your living room that he knows squeaks and never quite locks right.

The first time he breaks into– visits your apartment while you're asleep, he doesn't touch a thing. He just takes in everything that's you, cleanses his fractured soul in the space he used to know like the back of his hand. The trinkets that sit on your counters. The paintings on the wall. The color of the blankets thrown over your couch.

He doesn't touch anything the second time, either. Or the third. The fourth time, though, he picks over the photos you keep on your shelves, the books you leave lying around. He moves them, just slightly. Just to see if you'll notice.

You don't. Not really. Not until the eighth time. He doesn't know why he does this either. He just does. He picks up your keys from where you usually keep them and moves them. It's something you can't deny. Something tangible and real and clear, an unyielding truth. He was here. He exists, and he can affect your life, change it with his hands.

(It's the first time he feels like he's truly alive since the asylum, the first time there's more than just revenge and watching you from afar, even if he feels like he's corrupting something that's only meant to be seen and not touched by impure, broken hands)

If your keys being displaced affects you, well, you don't show it for more than a few moments. And that bothers him. You might not know he's here– alive– and maybe he's not ready for you to, but he's still a part of your life, isn't he?

So he gets bolder. He doesn't want to scare you, not really. But he can't help but dig his nails into the parts of your life he can change. It starts simple, innocent. You were annoyed when you left your kitchen, out of sugar, just another thing on top of everything else you have to deal with.

And he wanted to help. Like he used to. It was easy to get a bag of sugar, even easier to sneak into your kitchen. He leaves just enough for a few days, just enough to get you through the week, enough that you'll think you misremembered how much was left.

And he should have left it at that. But he's never been good at doing things halfway, especially when it comes to you. So he fixes your apartment up while you're at work. Makes sure your window doesn't squeak, your shower doesn't rattle, your oven actually heats up. All things he's heard you try to get your landlord to fix.

He makes a note to give your landlord a visit as he's looping the footage in your cameras over, effectively erasing any evidence of who he is.

Honestly, he's proud of you for finally doing something about him, it's just a shame he has the skills to outmatch your attempts to figure out his identity. Not that any pictures of him would do any good. He's still nameless in Gotham as the Arkham Knight, and if he's not wearing a mask while he's easily picking the new lock on your apartment window, his hood and ballcap do the job of hiding his face just as well.

He thinks he could let it go on like this forever, just doing things for you in the shadows, never revealing himself. At least until he's routinely following you home from work one night, and he sees you get tugged into a dark, lonely alley. He recognizes the man that hauls you off the faux safety of the streets, the one that's lifting a shaky hand and a gun to wave it, demanding your possessions.

Murphy is a nobody in Gotham, just another gambling addicted alcoholic that takes work from whatever rouge is paying the most that week. Jason more or less only recognizes him because he lives on the third floor of your apartment building, but it's clear you don't know who the man snatching your things is.

The Arkham Knight resigns himself to stealing your wallet and phone back after you've gotten home, to keep himself out of your sights for as long as he can. That was the plan.

But there's a flicker in Murphy's eyes, a consideration– a passing thought that Jason can't ignore, one he's seen a million times. Maybe it's the idea that he could get more from you, or maybe he's realizing you've seen his face and wants to get rid of any witnesses, whatever it is, Jason isn't going to let it happen.

The Arkham Knight doesn't hesitate to drop himself between you and the gun. He breaks Murphy's arm without even thinking about it, effectively disarming him as he kicks the gun away from him. The sound of his bones breaking is loud, but Jason doesn't register it as something to be sickened by until he turns and sees the nausea and horror written plainly on your face.

Honestly, maybe he should be more disgusted with himself. He's just sent a man into shock, revealed himself to you in a way that's not at all comforting. But he doesn't care. No one was going to save you. No one but him. He protected you, and it's not like Bruce Batman– it's not like broken bones are uncommon in Gotham.

You take a step back. He steps towards you, drawn to you. He can't help it. He shouldn't. But his head is spinning, and he hasn't been this close to you since before the asylum. You look tired, older, but no less beautiful than he remembers.

"Who are you? What do you want," You snap at him.

Jason wants to praise you for your bravery, as fake as it is. It's a good tactic, to try and get him talking. He doesn't understand why you look so uneasy of him, though. He got you out of a bad situation, even if he's wearing military-grade armor and a mask that glows in the darkness of the alley, shouldn't you feel grateful? Safe? Happy?

He tilts his head, trying to read you. Would you feel better if he offered to walk you home? "I saved you," he tries, the modulator making his voice sound flatter than he intends to. The Arkham Knight silently curses himself. He should just leave. Should have shot your attacker from the roof without you ever seeing him. He's being emotional now, irrational under your gaze.

"You've been following me. You're the one who's been in my apartment," you accuse, eyes darting like you're trying to find an escape in the dead end alley.

He stiffens. Huh. Clever thing. You've always been too smart for your own good. A part of him wants to deny it, pretend he's just some passing good doer in a mask, pretend that he's some kind of knight, an angel here to shield you from harm.

The notion almost makes him laugh, "Have I," he prompts instead with all the air nonchalance. He wonders if you'll drop it then, actually thank him for stepping in and helping you. You don't.

"Yes," You say instead, voice low like it's a secret– a confession, "You have."

Jason finds himself impressed at your stubbornness, if not a little unnerved by your recklessness in confronting the supposed stranger you believe is breaking into your home alone. He has to give you credit for piecing it together, but who else, if not a freak in body armor, would be letting themselves into your apartment without a word just to fix what's broken?

He nods, unsure of what to do. You weren't supposed to figure it out, but you have. And now there's consequences.

The Arkham Knight turns his back to you, making a show of gathering your phone and wallet before standing and facing you again. He walks closer to you, each step measured and calculated. He holds your belongings out to you, a twisted, mirrored version of some kind of sacred offering.

He studies you as you grab at them, trying to tug them from his unyielding grip. There's bags under your eyes. He can practically see your pulse jumping under your skin.

You're less than a foot away, and Jason basks in that distance, how light he feels now that you're only an arm's reach away. He could brush his knuckles over your cheek, dip his head to take in the scent of your hair, kiss the hollow of your throat the same way he used to.

He does none of those things. Because you don't see Jason Todd. You only see a threat, a monster, some kind of demon that clawed their way out of the shadows and cracks that litter Gothams hallowed corners.

He cocks his head, letting go of your wallet and phone while greedily drinking down the color of your eyes in the dim light of the alley, "And if I have?"

"I'll go to the police," You tell him, defensive, and he wants to laugh as you shove your wallet and phone back into your pocket.

"They can't help you," he grits out, and it's the truth. No one knows who he is yet, what his plans are. Even if you told someone, whatever description you give won't be enough to find him.

"They can contact Batman," you bite out, and that does earn you a laugh. You really think Bruce can do anything? That Batman has any chance of standing between him and you? Batman couldn't even find– couldn't even save–

"He can't help you either," The Arkham Knight tells you. He gives into his desire to touch you then, partly in anger that you still believe in Batman and partly because he just misses you. He pats your cheek, but doesn't let himself linger. "Get home," is all he says before he grapples into the night.

He follows you back to your apartment from the rooftops and notes how you avoid getting too close to any more alleys. But, it's not until you're safe in your bed that he goes looking for Murphy– that he goes to finish the job.

The creep's nursing his broken arm in his dingy apartment when The Arkham Knight gets to him. He doesn't make it quick, but it is quiet. (It's difficult to scream when you're choking on your own severed tongue, after all) He brings down fire and fury and vengeance for daring to lay a hand on you and leaves nothing behind but a corpse.

Murphy's brutal death is swept under the rug by the GCPD, which Jason shouldn't be surprised by. Just another mob death, the tiny obituary in the paper reports. You don't even register the death in your apartment building. He doesn't blame you for that. Not when he knows he's scaring you.

He's getting careless, sloppy. He wants you to catch glimpses of him now, he wants you to know he's watching. It's sick. He knows that, knows it so well that it claws in the back of his throat when he breaks into your apartment to fix your fan.

He's guilty about it, sometimes. It's a pressing weight on his shoulder even when he's trying to help. So, he redoubles his efforts.

He sneaks into your room and stuffs six hundred dollars into the emergency fund you keep under your bed. He sends you flowers, fills your gas tank, finally visits your landlord, and pays off your rent for the next six months. (He's already bought you a better, newer apartment, he just hasn't figured out how to tell you that)

He knows it's all wrong, but sometimes, he doesn't feel guilty at all. He wants to do things for you, that's not a lie. He wants to do everything and anything you could ever want or ask for.

He starts letting you catch flashes of him outside your window, moves your things around just out of the sheer curiosity of what you'll do. He can't justify that, because it does nothing to protect you. But he does it anyway. The Arkham Knight needs you to know he holds a spot in your life, even if it's not as Jason Todd anymore.

He's getting bolder, much too comfortable. There's times you almost walk into your apartment as he's leaving gifts on your counter, times when you wake up and walk into your kitchen just seconds after he forces himself out your window.

He's going to get caught if it keeps going on like this. But he can't bring himself to worry or care. His plans are coming together, and while he doesn't exactly know where you fit into them yet, he knows he doesn't trust anything or anyone enough to leave you to your own devices once he unleashes his legions upon Gotham and her failure of a saviour.

He never seems to do the right thing when it comes to you, at least not since he came back. But saving you– guarding you against the vile filth of the world– that can't be wrong. He'd do anything to keep you as you are, untouched by all the cruelties Gotham has to offer. It's an unwavering, righteous mission he has commanded unto himself.

It's why he reacts the way he does when three men break into your apartment.

He was late. He always seems to be late when you're involved. He had just finished overseeing the arrival of tanks and men into Miagani Tunnel, just dragged himself halfway across the city for the slightest chance to catch a glimpse of you in your apartment, when he catches sight of it.

Your window– open. You never keep it open. Dread washes down his spine, and when he gets close enough to see the man pointing a gun towards the floor– towards you– he just reacts.

He shuts down, becomes nothing but instinct, and he brings hell on to Earth in your name.

He's clinical. He doesn't hesitate to shoot the man aiming a gun to your head through his temple. If the man were alone, he would have shot the gun out of his hand, but there's two other targets, and he needs to eliminate any threats to your life first.

He climbs through your window with the ease of a man who's done it hundreds– thousands of times. You haven't moved to get up. It concerns him, but he's angry right now, so, so angry he doesn't even consider ending this quickly.

Everyone tries to take something from him. He keeps losing. If he didn't come to watch– see you tonight, he would have lost you too. The very thought makes his vision blur red, his ears ring.

It's not a fight, what happens next. It's a death penalty. The Arkham Knight is a weapon, and he proves it with each hit. He's efficient, brutal, and purposeful with each movement. He doesn't flinch at the blood that splatters on his armor, doesn't stop even when fluids and flesh start to stick to the knuckles of his gloves.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, until the only hearts left beating in your desecrated apartment are his and yours.

Then, and only then, does the blood pounding through his veins start to cool. It's only then, does he turn to look at you. He expects to meet your terrified gaze, but you haven't moved, still laying on the floor. It makes his heart clench. What's wrong with him? He just– while you–

He shakes his head, slowly tugging his gloves off and stuffing them into his belt. He walks over to you, kneels carefully to your side, and watches you breathe. He matches the slow rhythm of your shoulders rising and falling, and then he helps you sit up.

You're responsive to that, at least. The Arkham Knight presses his hands to your face, waiting for something. He doesn't know what, just anything. Some kind of sign. A message of what he's supposed to do. How he can make this all better.

When you finally open your eyes, they're hazy, not quite reactive. It makes him angry all over again. You got hurt. He wasn't here.

"Saved me again," you murmur, and his throat tightens. He failed you. Yet here you are, spouting words that make it sound like he's done something good.

He runs his thumb over your cheek, savoring the feel of your skin, soothing himself and you as he reassures himself that you're still here– still alive. But you aren't safe.

It's all he can think about. He saved you, but how long until you're in danger again? What if he's not quick enough this time? What if he's not there? What if– what if– haunts him. It weighs heavier than the nightmares that plague him when he finally has to succumb to sleep.

He makes the decision then and there to take you away from here, away from the rot and the fester to some place where it can never touch you again.

He picks you up, cradles you to his chest like you're made of shattered, stained glass and tarnishing silver, but nonetheless precious. You're talking, and he's answering, but he hardly registers what either of you are saying. His mind is working over plans, where he's going to take you, the guards he'll need to recruit to watch over you when he can't, which ones he trusts the most.

Jason only tunes back in when you point out that he could hurt you. It's funny, in a way. After everything he used to be to you, after everything he's done for you, he could still hurt you. He tips his head down to really look at you, the cloudy, exhausted look on your face, the heaviness of your eyes as you struggle to keep watching him.

He can't find it in himself to lie, so, he tells you, maybe he could hurt you. He tells you that he wouldn't like it. (And it's the truth)

Maybe you recognize that, because you drop your head to his shoulder and let your eyes fall shut. The Arkham Knight never wavers in his steps, mapping the path to the apartment he'd purchased in your name in his head. It's not perfect, not filled with everything you deserve quite yet, but it'll do the job for now.

Something in him simultaneously softens and hardens when your breathing goes even and slow against him, and he curls his fingers tighter into your skin. You're weak. Weaker than him. Too naive and too soft for what's going to come.

There's no other fate for you than this now. He'll have to take care of you, protect you from it all, from all the evil that festers in Gotham, even if that includes him.

He lets the mission engrave itself into his heart– into the fabric of his very soul and right next to his revenge. You're going to be safe. He is going to keep you safe, and he'll throw himself into fire to see it done.

[gguk-n]

heyy could you maybe pls write a charles x reader fanfic where she is a doctor and they met bc he has a broken dick 😭😭

OMG!! This ask is haunting me bc if a hospital finds out you are with your patient, too many issues🤣🤣. Also, it's unethical, power imbalance😳😳 ig. Anyways, I tried not to think too literally.

Unethical

Charles Leclerc was a Formula One driver for Scuderia Ferrari. Charles Leclerc was Monegasque. Charles Leclerc had recently broken up. Charles Leclerc was stressed. Charles Leclerc couldn't get an erection.

Charles was extremely embarrassed with what he was dealing with. He broke up with his girlfriend because of having erectile problems. He couldn't believe he was having to deal with it in his twenties. He wasn't sure what was the cause; he was supposedly fit, he ate well, he had fun when he wanted. But right now, he wasn't sure why he wasn't able to stay hard. This was a conversation he had with his older brother, who laughed at him first and then told him to see a doctor. Charles knew he had to see a doctor but he didn't want to.

After much pressure from his brother and mother, who Lorenzo informed as soon as he had found out. So, now Charles was sat at the clinic waiting his turn, surrounded by many men in their later years waiting their turn. Charles looked around and made contact with a few men who would tisk as they made eye contact with him. Charles wanted the ground to swallow him.

"Mr Leclerc, you're next" the receptionist called out. Charles stood up and followed her to the room. "Have a seat, the doctor will be here soon" she said, robotically and left Charles in the room.

When Charles thought he would see a doctor for his dick, he thought it would be some man in his fifties but a man nonetheless but right now, stood in front of him one of the prettiest girls he's seen in a while. She was gorgeous and Charles may have wanted the ground to swallow him then, but now he wanted it for real.

"Hello, I'm Dr Y/L/N. You must be Charles Leclerc?" she greeted. Charles quietly nodded. "If it's okay, can I call you Charles?" she asked and he nodded. "Could you confirm your age?" she asked again. "27" he replied. Charles was rubbing his hands up and down as the pretty doctor smile at him. "So, Charles, I see you're here because you aren't able to hold an erection?" she asked. Charles wanted to run away, but he held his head down. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about Charles. I'm here to help you. If you could answer some questions for me. I'll try to help you the best I can" she reassured.

After a while, and answering multiple questions Charles felt at ease. He wasn't sure why he was this scared. "From what you've told me Charles, I think it's probably stress induced. So, I'll refer you to a psychologist and they should be able to help you. If it doesn't improve, please do come back" she instructed Charles. Charles nodded along as she wrote down some stuff and handed him a paper. "Thank you" Charles said taking the paper. She just smiled, "Bye Charles" she said preparing to leave.

"Dr Y/L/N" Charles called out as she opened the door. She turned around to look at him, "When's your...um...shift end?" he asked rubbing his neck. It had taken a lot for Charles to ask her but her face was apologetic; "I'm sorry Charles. But that won't be possible" she spoke slowly. "Why? Are you taken?" he rambled. "Charles I can't date my patient" she stated and walked out. Charles walked out with shoulders slumped.

Charles got treated. He didn't have any issues with his dick. But he wasn't able to see Dr Y/L/N after that until he was back home and visiting his mother salon. That's when he saw her, sat on one of the chairs getting her hair done. "I have a son. He's great, drives for Ferrari" his mother boasted. "Maybe you two could go out some time" she suggested. She just laughed, "I'm sure he'll fancy a model." "No" Charles interrupted suddenly. She looked at him shocked. "I'm not you patient anymore" was the first thing he said after a while. "I know" she muttered. "Will you go out with me? You won't regret it" he said biting his lower lip. "Okay" she nodded. His mother was smiling at them, shaking her head.

[be-my-sunrise]

Court-side Fever || z.cl

pairings: bf!chenle x fem!reader

genre: smut, minors pls dni

word count: 1,826

warnings: car sex, unprotected sex, pussy and thigh slapping, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, tit play. let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: happy new year's everyone! i hope you all enjoy your holiday :D i haven't posted in a while and i apologize for not being active here😞 anyways, enjoy this chenle fic! watching him play basketball does things to me, so i decided to write about it lmao

special thanks to @onriyuview @notyourjaem @lovetaroandtaemin @jenoslutie for helping me out🩵 ily teehee :3

“Good game, dude. See you next week!”

Chenle daps Mark up and leaves the basketball court. After bidding his goodbyes to Haechan and Jeno as well, he jogs towards where you’re sitting and grabs his water bottle. 

“Babe, do you want to order food at home, or should we go to a drive-thru?” He asks before downing his water.

However, you barely heard what he said. You don’t usually come with him when he’s playing basketball with his friends, mainly because Chenle feels bad about having you wait hours for him. But you insisted on tagging along this time, and boy, you were glad you did. 

Seeing him play and watching his moves on the court after so long has you in a trance. You find yourself rubbing your thighs together subconsciously almost the entire time. It's clear that he does things to your body, and it's evident in the way your panties stick to your core.

Now that he’s standing before you, lust clouds your mind, and every inch of your body is fighting the urge to take him on this bench. He looks so ravishing, all sweaty like this, the sun behind him like a paid actor. 

The cast of warm golden light around him only emphasizes the droplets of sweat on his dewy skin, and it’s not doing much to help with your situation.

Chenle glances at you when he doesn't hear any response. He waves one hand in front of your face. “Baby?”

You blink your eyes a couple of times, waking yourself up from your daze. “Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” 

“Did you even hear what I just said?”

“Uhh… no?” You look away nervously, which makes him chuckle. “Should we just order in? You seem a bit tired.”

More like aroused, but he’s right, you are somewhat tired. Tired of squeezing your thighs together. You need him so badly that you can’t even think straight. Realizing that Chenle is waiting for your answer, you give him a nod as a response.

“Alright then, let’s go home!”

Chenle leans down to pick up his bag from the ground beside your feet, and you suck in a sharp breath when you catch a whiff of his scent. He smells so fucking good, and it's driving you insane.

You stand up abruptly, almost bumping into his head in the process. He grabs your arm before you could walk away and pulls you close. “Baby, why are you being weird today? Are you okay?”

One proper look at him is all it takes for you to crash your lips against his. You practically throw your body onto Chenle, making him yelp when his back hits the fence. The kiss catches him off guard, but he quickly snaps out of it.

“You're so fucking hot, baby. I need you so bad,” you say in between kisses and feel him smirk.

You bunch his shirt up in a fit of desperation, exposing his toned abs. Chenle quickly snatches your wrist away when he feels you tugging on the waistband of his shorts. 

“Slow down, baby,” he says after pulling away. “Let's continue this in the car, yeah?”

He chuckles when he sees your face light up. You're buzzing with excitement as you drag him to his car, quite literally shoving him inside and straddling him in a blink of an eye.

You connect your lips with his again while grinding your core against his bulge. Chenle pulls your hips down to make you feel his hardening member even more. You run your fingers through his damp hair, giving it a slight pull. 

The kiss gets messier as the two of you get more desperate. He pulls away to catch his breath and tilts his head to give you more access as you start to leave hickeys across his neck. A small moan escapes his lips when you lick a stripe across his salty skin and blow cool air on the fresh red marks.

“If I had known you’d be like this, I would’ve taken you with me a long time ago,” he says breathlessly.

“I feel the same way, baby. I forgot how hot you look when you’re playing basketball,” you giggle. “At least we know better now.”

Chenle lays you down on the seat before pulling your pants down along with your panties in one swift motion. He smirks at the sight of your leaking core. 

“Fuck, baby. You must really like watching me play, hm? You soaked through your panties,” he says as he dangles your panties next to his face. 

You bite down on your lower lip when drags his finger along your slit, hips twitching as he lands a light slap on your clit. He pushes his pants down with one hand while rubbing your sensitive bud with the other. 

You feel a shiver down your spine when Chenle taps his cock on your clit, letting out a moan as he spreads your arousal across your pussy. You wait for him to push it in, but he continues to rub his cock against your slit and you start getting impatient. 

“You're so fucking wet I could just slip in easily,” he moans, admiring the mess he's making.

“Stop teasing and put it in then!” 

You snap and roll your eyes at Chenle, which makes him raise an eyebrow at your sudden change of attitude. 

“It’s cute that you think you can talk to me like that,” he scoffs. Chenle grips your thigh before landing a slap on it, making you flinch.

“You should be grateful that I’m hard as fuck right now, otherwise I would leave you untouched,” he says as he pulls you up by your arm. “On your knees.”

You quickly adjust your position, standing on your knees and placing your hands on the backrest. You let out a yelp when he pulls your head back by your hair, feeling his hot breath on your ear. 

“I've been spoiling you too much, and now you’re giving me attitude.”

You moan as he slowly rubs your clit. “Chenle, please.”

“Please what baby?” He teases while nibbling on your ear.

You try to form words but you can’t think straight. Your pussy is throbbing and the feeling of his hands on you makes you dizzy.

“Please… I need you,” you whine. Chenle lets out a condescending laugh seeing you push your ass back, grinding against his cock. 

“You can do better than that,” he says before slapping your ass.

“Fuck! Please, baby, I need you so bad. Need your cock inside me now, please.”

A gasp escapes your lips as Chenle pushes his cock all the way inside you, letting you adjust to his size for a moment as he leaves kisses on your neck. He pulls his cock out almost entirely, leaving just the tip before pushing himself back in all the way. 

His thrusts are deep and rough, your breath getting caught in your throat each time his hips slam against yours.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers before pulling on your hair once more. “Always so tight and wet.”

“O-only for you,” your voice trembles, barely managing to say anything.

He chuckles, “Is that so? Such a good girl.” 

Chenle slips both hands underneath your shirt, giving your tits a nice grip before pulling down your bra. He tugs on your nipples and rolls them between his fingers, making you throw your head back to rest on his shoulder as he continues thrusting relentlessly.

The car shakes with each thrust, and only the sounds of skin slapping and your broken moans can be heard. The grip you have on the seat tightens as Chenle angles his hips to push his cock even deeper, earning a loud moan from you.

Your thighs tremble as he hits your sweet spot repeatedly. He places one hand on the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss, and you moan into the kiss when you feel his fingers sneak their way onto your clit. 

“Baby, I'm-”

“Close? I know, baby. You keep clenching around me,” he chuckles. He picks up the pace and rubs your clit faster. “Cum for me, baby. Cream all over my cock.”

Your jaw goes slack as the pleasure overwhelms you. The way you're squeezing his cock makes him dizzy. Chenle lets out a groan, his thrusts getting sloppier as he reaches his climax. 

He pushes his cock all the way inside you as he cums, and you grind your hips against his to help him ride out his high. He presses a kiss on your temple before pulling out of your warmth.

You gasp as he cups your pussy and flicks his fingers against your slit with a quick motion, making his cum drip onto the leather seat. He tugs on your shirt as a signal for you to take it off. 

“Lay down on your back for me, baby,” he says with a low tone.

You lay back down on the seat and he spreads your legs wide. Chenle pulls your bra down to expose your hardened nipples and leans over to latch his lips around one of them. 

He shoves his fingers inside your pussy as he flicks his tongue on your nipple and you suck in a sharp breath, back arching from the pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby. Feels so good,” you moan. 

You place your hand on his head to feel him even closer as he sucks on your nipple, making you whimper. You're still sensitive from your previous orgasm, so it doesn't take long until you feel the familiar knot again.

“Oh, god. I'm gonna cum again, baby.”

Chenle unlatches his lips from your nipple and straightens his back, pushing his fingers all the way inside before curling them. The intensity of his fingers has you crying out in pleasure as you reach your second climax, legs convulsing as he pulls his fingers out and starts rubbing your clit quickly. 

Your legs clamp around his arm, but he uses his other hand to spread them apart and hold them down. Chenle slaps your clit harshly after you come down from your high, making your hips twitch. 

He grips your tits using the hand that's still wet with your arousal, flicking the bud until your chest starts to tremble and you let out a shaky breath from the tingly sensation. 

He leans down to kiss you once more before tucking his cock back into his pants. You were about to get up and redress yourself, but Chenle stops you. You look at him confused.

“You're staying like this until we get home, baby,” he says with a smirk on his face. 

He grabs one of your hands and places it on your core. Then, Chenle climbs into the driver's seat and adjusts his mirror so he can watch you play with yourself.  

“Just keep that pretty little pussy of yours wet for me.”

a/n: save me basketball player chenle😵‍💫🫠 thank you for reading<3 i hope you like it!

[satorella]

You caught 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫’𝐬 attention at a soccer conference in Japan about a year ago, where you were hired to take pictures for the sports magazine you worked for. At first, it was just him being his usual arrogant and cocky self when he randomly gave you VIP tickets just because.

“Oh… uh… d-danke, Herr Kaiser…” [Thank you, Mr. Kaiser] You gave him a polite smile. He tilted his head, “Ah, you speak German?” “Just a little… enough for a tourist to get by.” You answered. He nodded and smirked, “Cheer for me, ja?” [Yes?] He pointed at the tickets in your hand as he turned to walk away. “Ja…” You gave an awkward little wave.

Neither of you had any idea where this would eventually lead though…

A couple days later, you woke up with your head throbbing, and Kaiser sleeping soundly next to you... naked under the sheets. You looked around, realizing you were in his hotel room, and both of your clothes were thrown carelessly all over the place; on the sofa, on the counter, the floor, your panties were even hanging on the damn lamp. Then it all started to come back to you. What was supposed to just be a few innocent glasses of champagne at the afterparty of his game, turned into a bit more… obviously. Once you came to, you slowly slipped out of his bed, searched for your clothes, and quietly left his room.

Fuuuuuck, did you really have a one night stand with Michael Kaiser?!?!

After a couple hours, you opened your suite door to...

"Guten Tag, Schöne." [Good day, beautiful.] Shit. "Herr Kaiser... hi... h-how'd you, um, know which room I was in?" You asked, looking both ways down the hallway. "I asked your little freund." [Friend.] He waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway you left your, ah, kamera in my room. I figured you might want it back for work." He hands you your camera. "Oh! Danke!" You take the device. He looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I looked through some of the photos. I hope you don't mind." He finally says before leaning down to your ear, “I enjoyed seeing the ones from last night as well.” He whispers, making a shiver run down your spine. Pictures? From last night? The hell is this guy talking about? Confusion and curiosity etched on your face, you turned your camera on and clicked through the recent photos...

You, your colleagues, Kaiser and his team taking shots.

You and Kaiser pouring each other shots.

You sitting on Kaiser's lap.

You, and what looks like, grinding on Kaiser.

You, completely blissed out, taking a selfie with Kaiser kissing your neck.

You taking a picture with Kaiser in the elevator door's reflection; he stood behind you with his hands on your hips... while he was busy with your neck.

Kaiser leading you into his hotel room.

You, in Kaiser’s POV… sitting naked on the counter, eyes low and head thrown back as you laughed. (You honestly looked great in this pic… if it weren’t for you being naked😵‍💫)

Kaiser... taking body shots off you...

A mirror selfie with Kaiser positioned behind you... holding one of your legs up on the vanity... while he-

ALRIGHT, you got the point! You quickly shut off the camera and looked at anywhere else but him. He smirked, seeing how shy you suddenly got. "I-I'll, uh, delete these… don't worry..." You cleared your throat. "Just because you get rid of the evidence of our fuck-fest, doesn't mean I'll let you forget it." He shamelessly looks you up and down, "Are you free to do it again tonight?" You scoffed. The nerve of this guy!? "I-I'm not some bootycall, you perv! Du bist so ein perverser!" [You are such a pervert!] You whisper-yelled. He laughed at your attempt to insult him in his own language. "Really? But from what I can remember, all you could say was 'Micha! So gut! Bitte! Bitte mehr!' hm?" [So good! Please! Please more!] All the color drained from your face. “Okay. Guten Tag, und Auf Wiedersehen.” [Good day, and goodbye.] You tried to close the door in his face, but he stopped it with one hand, “Nein. Wait.” [No. Wait.]

…And that’s how your love story all began. Annoying way to meet the love of your life, right? Agh! Aber du hast trotzdem gelernt, ihn zu lieben. 💆��♀️ [Agh! But you still learned to love him.]

Ever since that day, he subconsciously started talking to you more and seeing you more at soccer conferences; country to country. You were the only foreigner that could actually understand him and have a decent conversation with him in his native tongue. (Not to mention, you kept each other company at night.) At games, he would casually search the crowd for your familiar pretty face, knowing you’d be there; rocking his jersey, waving and screaming his name. You showed up for him at every game, wherever it was. Even though he was still kind of an ass, your constant presence started to make him feel… something. Something he’s always wanted, but would never allow.

Kaiser wasn’t one to catch feelings. He’d usually cut out anything that would distract him from his goals. Nor does he really have that many friends due to his arrogant and rude personality. Sure, he has his team, but ehh. Then there was the thing going on with you. He actually didn’t mind having you around. You weren’t clingy and annoying like most women were. And he enjoyed the sex, of course. But after a while, he started to notice that things between you started to become something a little more than just sex. Even just talking to you became part of his daily routine. You guys met up to have breakfast/lunch/dinner together if you were in the same city, and FaceTimed if you weren’t. There were times where he just craved to hear your sweet voice after a gruesome day of practice. Craved to hear your stupid jokes that weren’t even funny, but it was really your laugh that he wanted to hear when he was having some depressing late night thoughts. God only knows why you still stick around. He’s unbearable half of the time, but here you were… choosing to deal with his bullshit.

All of it.

With time, you started to become the support system, the companionship, the patience, and the love he’s always wanted, needed, but was too prideful and damaged to ever ask for. You understood him. You were always there for him. And for once in his lonely life, he didn’t feel so alone anymore.

Currently, you and Kaiser were in his hotel room, massaging his scalp as he laid his head in your lap. You came to surprise him at one of his home games in his home country, Germany, after telling him just a few days ago that you wouldn’t be able to make it.

“I could have flown you out here, meine Schönheit. Tsk.” [My beauty.] He lightly scolds you. “But that would’ve ruined the surprise, ja?” You smiled. “Tsk.” He grabbed your wrist and moved your hand to his neck, “Here. Massage me here.” He demanded. “So sassy, mein Schatz.” [My darling.] You chuckled, but did as he said, massaging over his blue rose tattoo. He closed his eyes. “Your touch, it’s relaxing, meine Liebe.” [My love.] He said, which was a little unusual. He was being sweet and focusing on you, rather than bragging about how his team wouldn’t have won without him; which was what he usually did after a win. You leaned down to press a kiss on his forehead as a reply. You weren’t sure how to respond to that… without saying the wrong thing and risking ruining his good mood. He opened his eyes, a sigh leaving his lips as he looked up at you. He pulled your head back down, capturing your lips in a kiss. After a moment, he pulled away and caressed your cheek. “Ich liebe dich, Engel.” [I love you, Angel.] He said quietly, which was another rare occasion with Kaiser where he actually used his words to express his feelings. “And I love you.” You smiled, hovering your lips over his, “Are you okay?” “Ah, meine Liebe. I’m alright, just… tired from playing.” He said as he reached up to move a few strands of your hair behind your ear. His bright blue eyes were scanning your face, watching every expression and detail. “I’m glad you’re here...” He ran his thumb over your cheek, “I can always count on you.” He sat up and pulled you on top of him, his hands moving to rest on your hips as you straddled him.

“Michael!” You gasped as you felt his semi-hard poking the inside of your thigh. “I thought you said you were tired?” “I said tired from playing, mein Liebling. Not in other activities.” You playfully rolled your eyes. Ah, now you understand why he’s being so lovey dovey… he’s horny! He chuckled in his rough German accent as his hands began to roam your body. “I missed you these last few weeks.” “Ja, I can see that… or I mean, feel it.” You snickered. “Ah, mein Engel. Du bist so wunderschön.” [My Angel. You are so beautiful.] He praised you as he gave your jawline soft kisses. He grunted a little when he felt your lower half grind against him, causing him to squeeze the plush fat of your ass under your denim skirt. He wanted to be gentle, but that’s proving to be quite difficult for him right now. He needed you. “Mein Engel, bitte. Lass mich dich lieben.” [My Angel, please. Let me love you.] He pleaded quietly as his hands continued to roam your body, slowly lifting his jersey off of you. “Ich will dich.” [I want you.] You let the jersey fall to the ground, tilting your head to the side as he kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear, making you throb at your core.

Kaiser turned, laying you down on the sofa and positioning himself in between your legs. “Ich liebe dich.” [I love you.] He murmured as his lips began to trail down your neck, down your chest. He took one breast in his mouth, and sucked on your hardened nub. You let out a whimper, arching into him, practically smooshing your chest in his face. His tattooed hand journeyed down your body. “So Schön.” [So beautiful.] He hissed, pushing your legs open wider for him to have more room. He wasted no time in bunching your skirt up and pulling your panties to the side, dragging a finger up your slit, collecting your slick. His finger began tracing circles around your entrance before slowly pushing it inside you. “Ah, du bist so feucht für mich…” [You are so wet for me…] “Hnngh!” You moaned, nails digging into the sofa. “Komm für mich. Be the good girl I know you are.” [Come for me.] He murmured against your skin, lightly nipping you in random places. He inserted another finger in you, pumping at a slow, but good, pace and curling them both slightly to rub that sweet spot that always had you seeing stars. “M-Micha!” You whined, writhing beneath him. “Let yourself go on my fingers…” He said, his voice low and raspy. And like the good girl you were for him, you did as he said. As always. You shut your eyes as you came on his long, thick fingers; panting and moaning his name. He grabbed your chin during the middle of it with his free hand and forced you to face him. “Look at me.” He demands. Your eyes fluttered open, trying to stop them from rolling back from pure ecstasy. “That’s it. There’s my girl.” He lets you ride out your high, before slowly pulling his fingers out of you and licking them clean.

He reached between you to pull the knot on his robe loose, and lets it fall on the floor next to the jersey, then positions himself at your entrance. “Ich brauche dich...” [I need you...] He whispers as he pushes into you, letting out a deep groan and grunting. “Gott, du bist so eng.” [God, you’re so tight.] You let out a louder moan at the stretch, your nails digging even more into the sofa. He slowly slid out almost all the way before thrusting back in deeper. Harder.

“So gut...” [So good...]

Fuck, maybe you two should spend time apart more often.

© 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[transmascaraa]

bf!kinich headcanons!

simple life.

bf!kinich x gn!reader

author's note: hi i'm back with something new after a month or smth anyway i hope you guys have been doing well^^ (this one is basically about how you two live and i'm excited to write for kinich lmao i hope he's not ooc)

"you like it, no?"

-(this man managed to become my favorite char after 3 years of scara)

-he's literally ideal like not only is he literally gorgeous, but he's also so fucking kind-hearted regardless of the fact that people see him as scary

-he's nonchalant but at he same time not at all

-anyways that wasn't the point

-he always wakes up before you somehow and if he has a commission early in the morning, he'll probably just kiss you goodbye and leave in silence

-but if he doesn't have any commissions early then enjoy the morning with him

-his good morning kisses are usually on your forehead, but you're sometimes lucky to get a kiss on the lips from him(he's such a good gentle kisser trust me)

-HE DOES THE COOKING IN THE HOUSE. NO EXCUSES. AND COOKS THE BEST FOOD EVER. (he's latino in my mind and i literally can't imagine him not cooking for his s/o)

-you can clean if you want but he's always cooking the best food ever and he loves doing it especially since he gets to see your happy face afterwards and your compliments for his cooking

-you two probably have a little garden near your house where he grows vegetables and you plant flowers all around as decorations

-if he ever comes home injured you're quick to patch him up and scold him about taking some random dangerous commission

-he says he won't do it again and that he knows exactly what you mean but it just keeps happening unfortunately

-i forgot to mention ajaw in your guys' relationship. well shit.

-he ruins any situation you have with him so that's the reason he's in timeout 90% of the time dw (the 10% is just arguing with eachother until kinich throws him to the sky)

-i believe he has ptsd in some way so nightmares might not be uncommon for him

-the worst this about it is that he would never tell you. never ever. he thinks it's not fair that you comfort him but he can't repay you in any way

-so even if you reassure him it's okay because he also comforts you, he always finds an excuse like "but i'm not good with words, my comfort isn't as valuable as your's."

-next up, he's probably not into pda

-sure you can hold hands and add a kiss here and there but it's nothing too much

-if you're into it, he'll try to make it up to you but it won't really work out too well so you can try to find a balance with him which will be easy for you both

-his love language is probably quality time with some additional physical touch and gift giving

-he has such gentle hands probably because he plays a lot of games(gamer kinich is undeniable)

-usually likes when you play with him because he finds it as something that builds your relationship further

-but if you just feel like watching him play that's alright as well like literally just sit on his lap while he plays some random game and you can fall asleep there because SOMEHOW he's pretty calm when he loses and doesn't exactly "rage" and just whispers "fuck/shit" or something

-he brings you trinkets from his commissions definitely especially when it's from somewhere far

-even the simplest things

-he'll make a bouquet out of random flowers and plants he found on the way and tie them together with some strong grass or something

-at night, when the both of you have nothing to do for the rest of the day, there's a few things you could do with him

-he could give you a massage, you could watch him play, you could play with him, he could simply cuddle with you, or watch a movie with you, or take a walk outside together, hang out with mualani and/or kachina, basically anything

-when he isn't with you he listens to the playlist he made to remind him of you

-loves when you send him videos of like cats and then say "us" because he finds it cute(he hearts every msg)

-very good at teasing but he doesn't do it often for whatever reason

-also doesn't really get jealous since he trusts you

-but he knows when you need him to protect you since you're like a rare emerald in his eyes

-doesn't break promises because he takes them really seriously

-if you suggest getting a pet(let's say it's a yumkasaurus in this situation) he would agree immediately

-he'll first of all explain to you everything you need to know about them and what they do, what they need and like

-and if you're okay with it in the end, then you can expect a yumkasaur as a present on your anniversary, birthday, or some holiday you celebrate

-he makes your birthday really special but ofc often forgets his own so when you surprise him it takes a second for him to understand the situation and then says you didn't have to

-finally, going to sleep with him is also perfect

-cuddles most likely, and if you prefer, he can play something simple like minecraft or stardew valley etc in bed next to you until you can finally fall asleep

-in simple words he's the perfect bf if his personality is what you're looking for :p

-(bonus for the people who also hc him as latino or simply spanish-speaking, he would definitely help you learn spanish if you don't already speak it. and if you also speak some other language he would love to try and learn it.)

~~~~~

DAMN this was long

probably because it was a random rush of motivation all of a sudden

i wish this happened more often smh i hope you all enjoyed anyway lol

| @mariaace <3

[sailorluna15]

what about pitfighter vi who wants nothing to do with virgins because she thinks they get too attached, and then reader is a virgin but vi really wants to fuck her anyway

"Come on, you're telling me you like used goods?"

Vi rolls her eyes and takes a swig of her beer.

"It's not used goods. I like a woman who knows what she likes and doesn't get too attached. Virgins get one taste of you and fall in love. I'm looking to fuck, not get married."

"You're thinking about it too much! It's kinda fun when they get attached. They're like little puppies."

"Nah, I'd rather stay away from that shit. I don't got time for the puppy attachment bullshit. I'm good.

That's how Vi felt until she met you.

Vi walks into the club and scans around for a nice piece of ass. She walks further into the club and sits at the bar. Waving the bartender down, he slides her a drink that she knocks back in a second.

She looks around again and spots you. Immediately, she knows who she wants to fuck tonight.

When she sees you, you're spinning upside down, naked, with your legs split in the air. Your bikini top, G-string, and dollar bills lay thrown across the stage as you dance. You look mesmerizing and delectable.

Vi walks over to the host and requests a lap dance from you.

After you finish your set, the host tells you Vi wants you. She points to the room Vi's waiting for you in and wishes you good luck.

You stalk towards the room and open the door with a smile.

"Hello, Vi?"

She nods and stares at you like a predator checking out its prey.

"Thank you for booking a dance with me. Do you want anything to drink before we get started? I wanna make sure you're comfortable." You say flirtatiously.

She shakes her head no and allows you to begin the dance. It feels like the entire world has disappeared as your bend over and shake your ass in her face.

When you turn back around to grind against her again, your faces come so close that your noses touch. The energy between you two is magnetic. As you two continue to breathe each other in, a knock comes to the door, signaling the end of the dance.

"I guess times up, huh?" Vi whispers.

"Yeah."

Silence passes by before you speak.

"My shift is over in 10 minutes if you wanna take this to my place.

Vi contemplates your offer, before agreeing.

"I'll be at the bar waiting."

A small smile graces your face as you both leave the room.

The host approaches you with a knowing look.

"Did little Ms. Emo Girl enjoy her lap dance?"

"Very much so. We're about to take it to my apartment." You say sweetly.

With a loud laugh, the host says, "Okay, girl, get you some! I want to hear all about it tomorrow."

"Oh, trust me, you will!"

You both wave your goodbyes as you walk to Vi and leave the club with her.

The air is filled with anticipation as you both make your way to your apartment.

Finally, enter your apartment and immediately jump on each other's bones.

Vi kisses and sucks on your neck as moans flow out of your mouth.

She quickly drops to her knees, removes your panties, and immediately starts to devour your pussy.

Loud groans fill the air as she sucks on your clit and sticks her tongue in your pussy. She sticks two fingers into your pussy and fingers you as she continues to eat you out. Vi stands up and leads you to the bedroom. She manhandles you onto the bed and starts to unbuckle her pants.

"Wait...wait." You plead as you put your hands on her belt buckle.

"I've...I've never done this before."

Vi laughs in disbelief and says, "You joking, right?"

You avoid her eyes and shrug your shoulders.

"Oh my God, you're serious. You're a fucking virgin."

"It's not my fault! I've...I don't get out much."

"You're literally a fucking stripper! How are you still a virgin?!" Vi exclaims.

"Me being a dancer has nothing to do with having sex or my virginity! It's a job just like any other and has nothing to do with my personal life." You say defiantly as you lean back on your hands.

"You know what? I don't even fucking care. I just wanna fuck. You take strap or what?" Vi asks with a raised brow.

"I mean, I...I guess. I've always wanted to try it." You whisper out shyly.

With a hum, Vi drops her pants and underwear simultaneously, revealing a thick 8-inch purple dildo attached to the strap.

"Is that gonna fit?" You question nervously.

"We'll find out in a few seconds, won't we? You got lube?" Vi responds

"It's in the first drawer."

Vi leans over, opens the drawer, and grabs the lube. She squirts it on the dildo and lines herself up with your pussy.

"You ready?"

You nod and relax as Vi slides inside you.

"Fuck." You breathe out.

Vi slowly fucks you until she feels you get comfortable.

"Go faster."

Vi smiles and quickens her pace. She lifts your legs, presses them to your chest, and fucking you deep into the mattress.

Moans, groans, and curses fill the air as Vi takes your virginity.

"Damn, your pussy's so tight. You wanted this bad, huh. Fucking whore."

"I'm a whore." You whine out as you clutch Vi's arms.

You feel a sting on both of your asscheeks as Vi delivers a slap to them.

"I love a girl who knows what she is."

Vi begins to rub little circles on your clit as she drives her hips faster into you.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm gonna cum!"

"Go ahead and cum. Cum on my dick." Vi grunts out.

One, two, three thrusts, and you unravel. Your body shakes as ecstasy overcomes you.

"Oh my God, I've never come like that in my life." You say with a heavy breath.

Vi chuckles as she removes the strap from you and helps you clean up.

After she helps you clean up, she heads towards the door. You quickly chase after her.

"Wait!"

Vi turns around with a raised eyebrow and an expectant face.

"What's your number? I wanna do this again sometime."

"555-876-0982. Don't expect a relationship, though. I'm strictly here to fuck."

You quickly write the number down and nod your head in agreement.

"Yeah, no, no, no. I want the same strictly fucking. No strings attached."

With a low 'mhmm,' Vi walks out of your apartment and heads home.

"What a fucking woman."

[measuredingold]

my soul is useless without you

author's note: part two to i'd walk through hell for you is finally here ! i'm not sure if i want to do a third part, but we’ll see lol but i'm currently working on something for folio 👀 as always, i hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated ! also, if yall have any requests, send them my way :) i'm in the mood to write but inspiration is running thin lol

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

divider: @saradika-graphics

word count: 3.5k

cross posted on ao3 / part one

cw/tw: angst, hurt/comfort, Noah Sebastian Is Bad At Feelings But A Good Friend, reader is going through it, anxiety, hints/mentions of depression, noah is just a good guy and cares about reader a lot ( more than he realizes ), friends to lovers pining lol, 18+ minors do not interact

It's when Jolly asks Noah in-between takes if he'd heard from you recently that the anxiety finally settles in.

Because he doesn't know the last time he's heard from you. Which isn't normal.

He's a bad texter, notorious for looking at messages and making a note to reply to them later or replying in his mind, but he always makes sure to reply to you whenever the two of you aren't together. It's just always been a thing, to always have some form of communication with you when he wasn't over at yours or if you weren't at his, so it panics him when he can't remember the last time he'd spoken to you.

He goes through your messages and finds that it wasn't him this time who didn't respond, but instead it was you. Relief washes over him briefly, the guilt of forgetting to respond to his best friend vanishing, but then that anxiety comes back full force. 

You didn't respond.

You always responded.

He sends off a quick message to you, apologizing for being in studio mode and not leaving the house and asks if you're alright. He waits. They go through another take, he somehow doesn't fuck it up even though his mind isn't all the way there. You still haven't responded by the fifth take and that's when he starts to feel sick, stomach twisting with the worry of what could be wrong. 

He tries to think back to if you've ever gone this long without speaking and he can't think of a time when that has happened. 

"Earth to Noah." Jolly's voice pulls him away from his thoughts.

"Oh. Uh, sorry." 

"All good, man." His bandmate eyes him for a second before his eyes flicker towards his phone. "She respond?"

"Um. No." His brows furrowed as he stared at his phone, the black screen mocking him. "Kind of worried."

"Yeah... I am, too." Jolly murmurs. He clicks around on the screen a few times before twisting his chair around to fully face Noah, arms crossing over his chest. "You should go over there. Check and make sure she's alright."

Noah raises a brow at him. "We're in the middle of recording?"

"And?" Jolly shrugs, waving him off. "We got a lot done today, we can wrap it up. Something's obviously wrong and she might need you. That's more important than some song."

He blinks at his friend, letting his words settle in. Jolly's right, he thinks. You are more important than whatever song they're working on. That confirmation makes him feel funny, something tightening beneath his chest but he ignores it, nodding slowly. 

"Okay. You wanna come?"

Jolly shakes his head. "Nah. The both of us might be overwhelming. If you do need me then call, if not..." He shrugs again before lifting himself up out of his chair, groaning softly to himself, "...might be best for just you to go. She'd probably feel better if it's just you, anyways. You know how she is."

Noah isn't quite sure what he means, but nods along anyways. He checks his phone again and still no text, but he notices that you read the message. He should feel relieved at the sign of life but it only makes his anxiety worse, stomach twisting violently. 

"Okay. I'll text you when I get there." 

He's practically running out of the studio after that, the only thing on his mind was you. He needed to make sure you were okay. Deep down he knew that if this was him, you would've already been here, and he feels guilty all over again. He should've paid more attention, shouldn't have let this slip his mind so easily. He thinks back to your last messages together and how you were talking about your work day, overwhelmed and quite frankly, upset about it all. He should've paid closer attention.

He makes it to yours in record time, legs moving him to the door before he can even think about it. He sends up a quiet prayer to the universe that you had given him an extra key months ago and uses it to unlock the door, slowly pushing it open.

He calls out your name, but no answer.

His eyes sweep over your apartment as he enters, scanning the open space. Your kitchen looked untouched, minus the few dirty dishes that were in your sink. A few boxes of Chinese take-out and some bottles of water. He feels almost relieved. You'd been eating and as far as he can tell you'd been keeping yourself somewhat hydrated, so that was a plus. He knows how bad you can be when you get into this headspace - brain fog, forgetting to do basic things like eating and drinking water. But this... this is a step in the right direction.

His eyes move towards the living room and it's just about the same. A pile of blankets lay together at one end of the couch, pillows scattered along the length of the cushions. You'd been there quite a bit, he can tell, but other than that nothing was too bad.

Noah feels like he can breathe for just a second, eyes going straight to the cracked open door to your bedroom. He hears the faint hum of your television and hears the muffled voice of your favorite characters in your favorite comfort show. His chest tightens. You only ever watch it when things get bad inside your head, when things start to become too overwhelming and you need to cling onto something that you know. Something that won't throw any surprises at you and make things worse. 

He makes his way towards your room, ready to call out your name again as he pushes open your door but stops halfway. You're curled up in your bed, covered in a pile of blankets. He steps closer to get a better look at you and he doesn't think he's ever seen you look so peaceful. Lashes against the tops of your cheeks, lips parted. The crease between your brows is relaxed, which never happens. 

Noah takes a deep breath.

You're alright. He can see that you're safe and sound, at least for now, and that's enough for him. He shuts your door behind him and makes his way back into the main room, taking his shoes off by the door. He takes another deep breath to center himself as he looks around your space, hand finding its way to his hair. 

He decides he'll clean up your kitchen and living room. It isn't too bad, and it won't take him too long. He also just... doesn't want to leave yet. He'll wait until you wake up. Make you talk to him, ask what’s up. Probably make you eat something. Then he'll head home. 

Sounds like a good plan to him.

Even though your door is shut he still tries to be quiet, making sure to carefully wash and put away your dishes without making too much of a fuss. After the dishes, he throws away all the take-out boxes and water bottles. He even makes a note to take the trash out for you when he's all done, because he knows you would've done it for him. 

The constant reminder of you and knowing that you'd do something like this for him, and have, is the motivation he needs to continue. It makes him feel warm all over and he thinks how lucky he is to have someone like you as his best friend.

And he definitely ignores the bitter taste in his mouth at the word best friend. 

It's maybe an hour after he's finished, curled up on your couch that now has its pillows in place, and the pile of blankets are neatly folded and put away, that you finally emerge from your room. You rub the sleep out of your eyes, not noticing him on the couch at first, but when you do you make a noise of surprise that has Noah laughing.

"Hey."

He notices the slight flush of your cheeks but ignores it. "Hi?"

"I uh," He scratches the back of his neck, sending you a sheepish smile. "Hadn't talked to you in a few days. Got worried. So did Jolly. Told me to come over. Check on you. You were sleeping so I just," He throws his arms around, gesturing to the space around him, "cleaned up a little? Figured you would appreciate a clean house when you woke up so..." 

He's talking too much, he knows it, but he can't seem to stop the word vomit from coming out. Noah knows you wouldn't mind, but he was nervous, especially because all you do is stare at him without saying a word. Stare and stare and stare until you sniff, brows furrowing.

"...Thanks."

You're unusually quiet and it makes his stomach turn again. You sniff again and Noah swears you look like you're on the verge of tears, and he sits up on the couch. He watches you closely as you wring your hands together in front of you, mouth opening and closing as if you want to say something. You don't, and Noah catches the exact moment when your bottom lip trembles, and he's moving before he can even think about it.

"Hey. It's okay. You’re okay."

He tries to keep his voice soft and free of any panic, but his heart is beating so rapidly against his chest he swears you can hear it. You sniff again, head shaking as your lip continues to tremble and he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls you into his arms and presses you into his chest. You don't move for a second, but eventually your arms circle around his waist. You squeeze, tight, but he doesn't mind. He just squeezes you back. 

Your body begins to shake as the cries start to rack through you, the sound muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Noah swallows down the lump that was beginning to form, cheek resting on the top of your head. He's always hated when you cry. He himself wasn’t one for much display of emotions, but when it came to the people he cared about, he hated seeing them anything but happy. 

Especially you.

He's seen you cry a few times. Well, more than a few times. Sometimes it was over nothing, and then sometimes it was over an incredibly cute dog you'd seen scrolling on Twitter. He didn't mind those, but when it was over something serious, he fucking hated that. He never wanted you to be anything but happy, and whenever you weren’t, it’s like a piece of him breaks. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispers into your hair, trying to pull you even closer to him.

“Everything.” You eventually mumble against his chest, sucking in a deep breath as you try to control your tears. “Fucking everything is wrong.” 

He fucking hates the way that answer makes him feel. His chest feels like it's on fire, and he swears his heart just fucking broke at how sad you sounded, voice muffled by his shirt. He squeezes you to his chest again.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He wants you to talk about it, to tell him what's wrong so he can make it better. Noah knows it'll probably be damn near impossible to even do that, but god, he'd try absolutely anything to make your tears stop. You take a long moment to respond, trying to control your breathing, before you eventually shake your head against his chest.

"Not right now." 

"Okay.” He mumbles, raising a hand to smooth down your hair. “That's okay, we don't have to."

"Thank you."

You stay like that for a moment, in the middle of your living room. Noah doesn't plan on letting go any time soon, thinking for a split second that he wished he could keep you in his arms forever. If you were there, he'd always know if you were okay. The thought fades before he could think too hard about it when you finally pull away from him, and Noah catches sight of your slight red and blotchy face. He frowns.

He doesn't remember the last time he's ever seen you so sad. So defeated. Whatever was going on really pained you, and he wishes you'd just tell him so he can fix it. Another passing, fleeting thought, but he thinks he'd do just about anything right now to see you smile again. 

"Have you eaten?" He breaks the silence between the two of you, not waiting to hear whatever you were planning on saying.

You blink up at him. "Um... no. Not since this morning. Had some fruit and coffee." 

"I figured." He guides you towards the couch, practically pushing you onto it. You snort when he grabs a throw blanket and dumps it onto you. "Pick something to watch." 

It's not a question, but more of a command, and Noah ignores the way his chest flutters at the small smile you give him. He turned away from you, pushing whatever feeling was brewing inside of him so far down and got his brain to focus. Food. You need food. To be honest, so does he. He’d been so worried about you for the last few hours that he didn’t even think of getting something to eat. 

It takes him a few minutes of rummaging around your kitchen to settle on making something easy - instant ramen. He’s surprised you hadn't eaten it all in the week you’ve been off-grid, but thankful nonetheless. Noah's way too impatient to wait any longer to actually cook something, especially knowing you hadn't eaten anything since this morning. Every so often he looked over his shoulder to watch you, wishing you'd say something, but would find you either staring blankly at the television or your phone.

A bitter taste settles in the back of his throat every time he turns back around to the stove. He hated this, and he fucking hated that he couldn't do a goddamn thing about it.

He brings your bowl to you once he's finished, already making a mental note to clean up the mess he had made while cooking. You blink up at him and reach for it, giving him a quiet, "Thank you."

Noah doesn't verbally say anything, just hums out a response as he ventures back into the kitchen to grab you something to drink. When he comes back he notices you had slowly begun to eat, and he feels his shoulders finally relax. Just knowing you ate something eases him, the tension in his body leaving him completely. You're already reaching out for the glass of water in his hand that he happily hands off to you, giving you a gentle smile.

"Need anything else?"

You shake your head, peering up at him. "No. Just want you to come sit with me." 

That same fluttery feeling beneath his chest returns and he wishes he could ignore it again, but it doesn't go away. No, it stays perched underneath his chest, as if it's decided that it's making a home there and never leaving. He doesn't say anything, just nods at your request before grabbing his own bowl and a Pepsi you had in the fridge before making his way back to you.

You wait until he's settled on the couch to scoot closer to him, legs pressed flushed together. You're already halfway through your ramen and for a split second he forgets that weird feeling in his chest, instead focusing on the intense pride filling him. He was able to get you to eat, he was able to help out in some way. Knowing you were alright for the most part and it was from his doing made him feel good.

The both of you eat in silence as whatever show you decided to put on plays in the background. He’s just now realized it was The Office, and he huffs out a small laugh at something Michael Scott said. Another one of your comfort shows, something easy. 

It isn't until you both are finished with your food and Noah's back in the kitchen cleaning up that you finally speak. He doesn't hear you come up behind him, focused on washing the dishes and making sure everything's clean and good to go, so he can't help but jump when he feels your arms slip around his waist and squeeze.

"Shit." He swears, followed by a breathy chuckle. "You scared me."

You don't say anything to that, just squeeze him harder and he feels you press your face against his back. Then ever so softly, he picks up the faintest, "Thank you," muffled against his back. His face flushes, eyes casting down to the soapy water his hands were currently submerged in. He's glad you can't see the blush on his cheeks, and he fucking hopes you can't hear the way his heart is pounding beneath his chest. Can probably feel it, though, and that makes his face burn even more. 

"For what?" He manages to mumble out, resuming his efforts. Your arms squeeze his waist again.

"For being here." You sound so small. "You don't have to be, but you are, and I can't thank you enough for that."

"You'd do it for me." His response comes easily, voice nonchalant because it's true. He knows you'd do the same for him, and the thought has his stomach flipping every which way. "And have done it for me. It's the least I can do."

You're silent after that but don't part from him, and Noah can't help the smile that spreads across his lips at the feeling of you rubbing your face against him. It makes him feel warm all over, and that damned fluttery feeling in his chest is back yet again. You stay like that until he's finished with the dishes, moving with him as he shuffles to the side to dry them off. You don't pick your head up even when he manages to turn in your arms, finally facing you. 

Noah's arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him and now you can rub your face against his chest. He laughs softly, pressing his cheek against the top of your head.

"Still don't wanna talk about it?" He knows he's pressing but he can't help it, a part of him still needs to know what's wrong and how he can fix this for you.

You shake your head. "Not yet. Tomorrow, okay? I just... don't wanna think about it tonight."

"Okay." He thinks he can handle that. 

"Thank you." You say again and finally lift your head up from his chest, blinking up at him. There's still a sadness there, roaming around behind your eyes, but not as prevalent as it was earlier. He’s at least done something right. "I'm really fucking lucky to have you, you know that, right?"

The way you're looking up at him is overwhelming, Noah's throat tightening at the softness surrounding your tired eyes. You smile at him and this time it reaches your gaze, not faked but real, and his heart slams against his chest. A thought passes his mind again, something he hasn't thought of in years, and he pushes it back with a hard swallow.

"You're just saying that because you didn't have to do the dishes."

You roll your eyes but that smile never drops from your lips, and Noah thinks he'd like to keep you smiling like that for the rest of his life. 

"Shut up. I'm being serious." You're giggling now, eyes crinkling and he catches a glimpse of the real you for the first time in hours - probably days, weeks even. 

"So am I." Noah yelps when you pinch his side, your laughter growing louder. "Hey!"

"I'm trying to be nice here, asshole. You can at least try, too."

He softens at that, eyes meeting yours. He's well aware his face is on fire right now, cheeks pink.

"You already know I'm lucky to have you. Didn't realize I had to say it."

Even if he doesn't say it often, he is very lucky. So incredibly lucky to have you in his life, for sticking by him and for understanding him. For always being patient with him. Jolly reminds him occasionally how lucky he is to have you, how all of them are lucky to have someone like you in their lives. He doesn't know what the fuck he or anyone did to be so deserving of you, but dammit, he's fucking thankful for it everyday. 

You don't say anything, just continue to beam up at him and Noah can't seem to stop himself, tilting his head down to brush his lips against your forehead. He feels you press further into his chest, if it was even possible, and practically melt in his arms. 

He wishes he could keep you here forever, tucked away in his arms. He thinks there isn't much he wouldn't do to keep you safe, to make sure you were okay, and that thought alone scares him. He'd never admit it, at least not out loud, and he tucks that thought away for another time. Or to possibly be never thought of again, he doesn't know. He doesn't really care.

No, all he cares about right now is that you're okay, at least for now, and that you're nestled against his chest like it's the only place you want to be. 

And that's enough for him. 

[dunmeshistash]

...how long does mana sickness last? for marcille it seemed like a game-ender for her, she seemingly couldn't recover in a week's time without drinking the undine, but mithrun just straight up is better in like. A day? An hour?(at thistles house) is he just built different? Maybe more offensive magic like marcille's explosions make it harder for you to recover?

In that case it wasn't mana sickness it was loss of magic power

"Couldn't recover in a week's time" she probably could! But they were rushing to save Falin, and they had to survive in the dungeon while she recovered, they already had a party that was too small and were getting deeper into more dangerous parts of the dungeon, they wouldn't have been able to keep going with Marcille not being able to fight that's why Laios wants her to go back

This is the timeline of events of this part, drained of magic on 3/22 and having to fight the dragon on 3/24 barely a day to rest, she would be in a weakened state in a deep dungeon floor and would have to fight the dragon (here's the timeline I'll be using if you want to check)

She even gets drained again after fighting Thistle, they fight thistle on 3/25 and by 3/28 when they find the Dryads she's still too weak to fight, but the next day (after a good meal) she's okay enough to fight the Cockatrice (she gets petrified but cant blame lack of magic it was lack of Laios)

Now for the Mithrun timeline, he faints from lack of magic after they eat the roasted walking mushroom and rest for a bit (I imagine he was already with low magic before from the floor one fight and then teleporting them around to stop the fall and overworked himself?) that was on 4/4

The next day he continues to be weak and faints just from teleporting them away from the wolves so he's still drained

The next day he's once again forced to use magic to teleport the griffin away, he manages not to faint but he's clearly still unwell

The day after that he doesn't need to use magic they just need to take a bath to get rid of the mushroom spores, and finally the next day they're rescued

So he first faints on 4/4 joins with the canaries on 4/8 and they only arrive at thistle's on 4/13 I believe. So he had at least 9 days from the first time he ran out, he was still VERY weak in the next few days after fainting which would be the situation Marcille would have been in for the Dragon fight if she hadn't eaten the undine.

He doesn't get drained after this does he? After fighting Marcille for the first time Kabru does say this, but he's not drained he's "on the verge"

After that Mithrun was "forced to rest" for a bit before fighting again so maybe not being fully drained and resting helped him have enough for that last hurrah when fighting Marcille?

Just checked their fight and he only uses magic to heal himself once and then one other time to teleport, even Marcille calls his bluff, that was probably his last drop now that I notice

But even with all that Mithrun is stronger than Marcille (The canaries are specialized in defeating dungeons after all they're all strong and used to combat), Kabru even mentions he has lots of stamina for an elf. They aren't really eating well these few days waiting for rescue so I imagine this contributes to why it took him a while to get better during that, he's also used to forcing himself to the extreme so even if he is almost running out in the Marcille fight he would force himself to the last drop (as he does)

Anyway, maybe it seemed like he recovered super fast during ch62 since it all happens in one chapter but it actually takes him a couple of days to get back to 100%

[saintzweig]

art donaldson x mean girl!gf hcs :3

୨ৎ personality for the character (reader) is based off jade west from victorious!

୨ৎ if there were three things people remembered you by, it would be your rbf, your brutal (sometimes unnecessary) honesty and your boyfriend who is your complete opposite, art donaldson.

୨ৎ you and art dating came as a surprise to everyone, he was an angel while you were... you've had your moments.

୨ৎ they all came to accept it sooner or later, seeing as how the two of you balanced each other out. with art around, the chances of your outbursts were lower and with you around, art learned how to stop being such a pushover.

୨ৎ art loved your transparency and honesty, the way he doesn't have to walk on eggshells around you or decipher whatever is going on in your brain because you express so clearly the emotions you feel.

୨ৎ other people may have their thoughts on you, gossip about who you are and all that but he knows that they're all surface level, he knows you better than anyone so he knows it comes from a good place.

୨ৎ you're overprotective of him and your close friends, you don't like it when other people cross boundaries and make you (and him) uncomfortable.

୨ৎ he's pretty much the only person who's well equipped to deal with your moods, knowing when to pull you away when things become too much and you're starting to get irritable from overstimulation. he knows how to calm you down, help you ground yourself.

୨ৎ on the rare occasions you blow up on him, he tries not to take it to the heart. he knows it's more the situation than him, you were blowing up at him and not about. but it still doesn't change the fact that it hurt, so he goes quiet and leaves you alone.

୨ৎ you tell him to fuck off and he will, but just in the other room. he knows you'll come around soon enough and make up, so he doesn't approach you unless you make the first move.

୨ৎ usually you find him wrapped up on the couch, with a tray of meal on the coffee table waiting for you. even when you were so unfair to him, he still wants to take care of you.

୨ৎ "it's alright, darling. you were just stressed, i know you didn't mean it"

୨ৎ aside from that, he finds it hot when you're mean to other people. especially when you're jealous :3 which is often, considering art is pretty famous on campus.

୨ৎ this man would stand behind you while you go off on a girl that tried to kiss him, giggling and blushing while holding your hand.

୨ৎ he also likes it when you end up using your mean-ness for good lol, someone's yelling at the pregnant cashier lady at the grocery? you're giving them the same energy. a professor is trying to humiliate someone in front of the entire class? they can kiss their job goodbye.

୨ৎ you and art balance each other so well, when he's too shy or too much of a pushover to disagree with whatever, you push him to do it anyways and remind him to prioritize himself. when he's doubtful of himself especially in his tennis career, you tell him that a man with his talents is allowed to be a little arrogant.

୨ৎ he's so malewife energy and he's well aware of that, i swear his type in women are assertive and feisty ones.

[introspectivememories]

timbern au where tim and bear are married in secret and no one knows bc a) it's not anyone else's business and b) tim's the face of wayne ent. and he doesn't want weirdos harassing bear while he's out and about. so they get married in secret and all the public knows is that tim drake-wayne one day started showing up in public with a wedding band and no explanation. there's rumors and theories of course but nothing substantial.

and then one day, tim calls a public press confrence and he looks haggard and unkempt. there's dark circles under his eyes and he keeps fidgeting with his wedding band. his face is scruffy like he hasnt shaved in days and his suit is ever so slightly rumpled. the viewer count grows higher and higher by the minute. finally he speaks and he says that he's been receiving threats for the past few month. that he tried to solve the case privately with the cooperation with the police but something terrible has happened recently and now he needs the public's help. my husband is missing, he says. a photo of his husband is shown on the screen behind him. it's been one week since he's been taken.

his name is bernard dowd he says voice catching, he's the light of my life. every camera in the room catches the way his eyes gloss over. i have loved him since college. please i dont know what to do without him.

he's 27, with blond hair. tall about 6ft and he like funky patterns. he smiles and the world lights up. he always makes me laugh and he gives the best hugs. and-

tim's voice catches on a sob, the mics pick it up anyway.

and, he continues, i have loved him in some way since i was 16. so please if you have any information on him or if you've seen him, i beg you to call the number on the screen.

tim drops his head, desperately trying not to ugly sob on camera. his lips are chapped and swollen from how often he's biting them. his hands tremble and he can feel his family's concerned stares but he has to do this.

they have no leads, no clues, nothing. just a single, grainy, convenience store security camera footage of a man shoving bernard into an unmarked car and driving off. nobody knows anything. and tim can't do this anymore, he needs his husband back. and even if his bear is dead now, then he needs the body back. he needs to curl around his husband one last time. he needs to hold his hand on the way down. tim needs him to breathe.

one last statement, he thinks, then we can go back to wearing his hoodies and rotting on his side of the bed. then we can go back to staring at the door like he'll walk through it at any moment.

lifting his head, he looks at the first camera he can find and says, i haven't loved him enough yet. i haven't made him laugh as much i should've. i haven't apologized for coming home late the night before he got taken. i haven't loved him enough yet. please, if you see him or know anything, please call the number.

and bear, baby, if you're watching this from wherever that man took you, i love you. till the heat death of the universe, remember?

he laughs wetly, and even if you're tired, you gotta keep fighting until i find you okay? you didn't give up on me all those years ago, and i'm not giving up on you now.

i love you bernard. i'll see you soon.

[strawberrykidneystone]

mechanic sevika

ty for requesting @sunflowerwinds ILY

a/n: i only know basics about cars so here's something that actually happened to my shit ass car LMAO

INSPIRED BY THIS

while you were pulling out of the parking lot from your weekly errands, you heard some sputtering from your car

it freaked you out a little bit, but then it went away so you ignored it for now

then the battery icon popped up

pulling into an auto parts shop, you had the cashier check your battery only to see coolant splashed all over the place

he said that your battery was fine, but your serpentine belt had snapped

whatever that meant

you felt nauseous, worried about how much this was going to cost

not to mention that most mechanics were shutting down for the night

the guy offered to take you home in his car in a flirty way, which was disgusting since he was well into his 60s, MAYBE 70s and ugly as fuck

as you backed away from him and gripped your car door handle, she appeared

like your knight in a shining jumpsuit

"we already chatted earlier, she's coming over to my shop to get her car fixed, she doesn't need a ride," she said firmly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as she walked up from behind you

she had heard everything in the store and the story you rambled out, figuring out the problem pretty quickly

she also knew the owner was a bit of a creep

the owner quickly nodded and scurried back inside with his equipment

you deflated with a sigh of relief, but still needed your goddamn car fixed

"thanks, i definitely didn't want to get in a car with him..."

"no problem sweetheart, and i was serious about taking your car in. i got my truck right here and my shop is just up the street." she offered and respectfully took her arm off your shoulders, the two fo you now facing each other

your eyes widened as you shook your head and started stuttering, "oh i couldn't its probably past your working hours and i don't want to be an inconvenience-"

she chuckled and held up a hand to stop your rambles, "it's fine doll. i was planning on working late anyways and your belt's an easy fix, you’ll be in and out in half an hour."

you thought it over in your head and accepted her offer, grabbing your essentials out of your car before she hooked yours up to her bright red truck

she opened the passenger door for you and offered her hand, which you happily took as you climbed up the tall truck

she had a pair of fuzzy dice hanging over the central mirror and the truck had a smell of stale cigarettes and weed despite the (probably old) air freshener hanging in the middle of the dice

the seat covers were leopard printed and faded, but added to the overall charm of the car

the two of you sat in a semi-awkward silence as the radio played old divorce dad rock

as sevika backed up your car into the garage with her arm reaching around the back of your seat, you had to ignore the blush that was creeping up you cheeks

you hopped out of her truck as she unhooked your car, parking hers out into the parking lot

pacing in the lobby and glancing at the window to the garage to see her working on your car, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand

if you weren’t so stressed about your car you would’ve taken time to appreciate how hot she looked more

sevika walked into the lobby with a reassuring smile once she was done and wiped her hands off with a grimy towel, “should be good as new sweetheart.”

she grabbed a post-it note off of her desk and scribbed her number down onto it, holding it out to you across the counter after you paid for the part, “call me if you have any other problems with your car.”

“could i call you just because i want to,” you blurted out before you could even process what you were saying, a deep flush covering your cheeks

sevika raised her eyebrows and smirked, rubbing her chin with a crooked finger, “ ‘course doll, i’d love that.”

you aimlessly nodded and smiled, bumping into the doorframe on your way out to your newly fixed car

driving home, you couldn’t help but hope that you broke down on the side of the road

a/n: WHO WANTS A FUCKED ON HER TRUCK AFTER HOURS FIC‼️‼️‼️

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds

[hermesserpent-stuff]

more thoughts about creeds intro for brotherhood gambit au

Creed is tired and hungry. He claws his way out of the ditch and snarls a bit to himself. Magneto owes him. Big time. That mission was far more complicated than the man had promised. And he had ended up in a ditch! Dead if not for his powers. Creed had gotten done what he needed to be done. The dried blood is proof of that. 

He starts walking.

And walking.

Walking.

Then Magneto fails to show where they are supposed to meet. Anger flares. He moves on, growling deeply.

Creed stumbles to the building that he knows Magneto had been sending teens. He needs to report in about the last job and recuperate some strength.

He bangs on the door, flicking a bit of mud onto the front stoop. It splashes over the welcome mat. 

The door opens and a teen stares up at him. There is a flash of recognition there. Red eyes widen and then blink.

“Bonjour? Why’s the infamous Sabretooth drippin’ mud on my doorstep?” 

The teen asks, head tilting.

“I'm looking for Magneto. Have some things I need to settle with him.”

The kid hums.

“In. It's cold out here, monsieur. And I got chili on. Come on.”

The kid settles, pulling the door wider. Creed comes in and settles at a table he is lead to. The house smells vague of water damage and cleaning products. The teen putters about the kitchen spooning out a bowl. He glances at Creed and then spoons a second bowl. Both are settled in front of Creed, along with some water. Creed starts eating, ignoring the spoon, simply tilting the bowl into his mouth. The teen settles in a chair opposite.

“‘Neto ain't here. Never comes round. Not regular like anyways. Now, Mystique will be back tonight. She comes by to eat dinner, and leaves if she don't like what I be cookin’.”

The kid scrunches his nose in offense at the last sentence. Creed growls. The teen plops another bowl in front of him. 

“Not Remy's fault our fearless leader hides away all the time. Talk to Mystique. She sees him more often than the rest of us. Now. Imma fill the tub and heat it. You can keep on eatin’ till you're good. Then you gonna take a warm bath and settle in for waitin’.”

Remy says calmly. Creed tilts his head and decides that this is probably his best option.

“Fine.”

“Good. Pots yours. Been told you eat a lot. I'll have to make… somethin’ else for Toad and Blob. They can handle sandwiches for now. I'll go draw the bath monsieur.”

The teen nods to himself and trots off.

Creed feasts, the taste of the food heavenly to his empty gnawing stomach. When he goes upstairs he finds Remy withi his hand in the water reading a text book. The kid looks up at him and shakes out his hand. 

“Its pretty hot now. Pipes don't make no heat so you wont get any more hot water from them. Desole monsieur.”

The kid states and then stands. 

“I dont think any of the clothes in the house gonna fit you. Not that youd wanna wear any teens clothes.”

Remy says with a nose scrunch, looking at the muddly clothes. He then snaps his fingers.

“We do got somethin’! Big ol’ sweater and pants. Ill grab them and trade your stuff so I can clean up your duds.”

“You’re a regular old housewife aren’t you.”

Creed states and Remy rolls his eyes.

“Someone has to ensure the guild’s form of xenia is followed.”

Remy huffs. And then cocks his head to the side.

“And I don't wanna clean up mud from all over the house monsieur. Now! Let's get a movin’!”

Remy claps his hands together and trots out of the room. Creed shifts off the clothes and sinks into the warm water. A sigh comes unbidden from his mouth as he relaxes. He draws the curtain and closes his eyes. He hears Remy renenter and the shifting of cloth. Then the door closes again with a firm click. He slips a little more under the water. After a moment he starts running his hands through his hair. He finds soap that doesn't smell awful and scrubs at the dirt and blood. 

It is a little relaxing to be able to get all the gunk off. When the water get cold he pulls himself out and dries off and slips into the provided clothing. He walks back downstairs and finds Remy facing off with a crouched teen.

“What I tell you about shoes on my counters t’crapaud??! I can't keep cloroxing them. I know that you like jumpin’ up mais, not my counters!!”

Remy rubs at his face looking like a tired mother. The teen looks like he is about to say something when he spots Creed. He jumps up and onto Remy who causally catches him like its nothing.

“AHH! Yo! Whats the kitty doin’ here???!”

Oh. Toad. He had seen him at a fight before. Its one of Magneto’s drafted teens. 

“T’crapaud. Petit brigand, dont be rude! Man’s a guest. Now, scoot. He goin’ to the livin’ room and your gonna wipe down my counters so I can make your dinner.”

Remy gently puts the teen down and shoos him off. Toad looks at Creed with huge eyes and Creed gives a small growl and the kid scampers. Remy turns on a dime, eyes sparking.

“Non! You be a guest and you dont be growlin’ at mon petits. I will extend my hospitality, mais if you gonna spit in the face of it, I will not hesitate to show you how Guild treats enemies invading the house.”

Creed tilts his head and then nods.

“Got it. Won't hurt anyone while here.”

He says with a shrug. He won't promise to grow or hiss. It's his nature. Remy nods and then waves his hand.

“Livin’ room this way. None of the spare rooms are made up yet. I'm workin’ on it. But for tonight you got a couch. Desole.”

“Eh, it's better than a ditch.”

Creed says with a shrug and plops himself down on the couch. He stretches out with a yawn.

“Fair. I'll keep the others outta here. Get some sleep grand chat.”

Remy tosses a blanket over him and Creed blinks.

“Quoi? Need more?”

The kid asks and tosses another blanket over him. Creed lets out a confused murp and Remy walks off. 

--

Creed wakes up several hours later. He can tell that it is past midnight. He gets up and slinks over to the kitchen. Surprisingly he finds Remy there, spreadsheets layed out with assorted bills and coupons strewed about. Remy looks up from the pile and a red flush flickers over his face.

“Oh, ah, sorry. Mystique never came, so I let you sleep.”

Remy has puffy eyes and Creed can smell salt. But there is no tremor from tears in his voice. 

“Gotcha. Got anymore to eat?”

Creed asks and remy breathes.

“No more meat. Chili was the last of the chicken. There is a bone broth, but just some. Id… there wont be anymore meat in the house for a few days at least. Its too expensive.

Creed notes the kid fiddling with the papers and swipes them up.

“Hey!”

“Jesus kid, do you run the whole budget of this joint?”

He asks, looking over the expenditure columns written in freakishly neat hand writing for someone that is definitely not legally able to drink or be this responsible. He sees a few sticknotes penciling in estimated costs for repairs around the house and what priorities things had.

“I-... it started out as just the groceries. Mais I noticed… well, someone has to do it. And Mystique’s to busy bein’ the principal to look after us.”

Creed puts the papers down, thoughts quickly flashing through his head. The kid had treated him better than most strangers ever had or would. And he did eat all the chili on his own, where it could have fed the teens of the house twice over.

“Can you cook animals if they are freshly killed? I like hunting and I like eating.”

The kids eyes have no right looking that hopeful when aimed in his direction.

“Oui! I can cook just about any meat. If you show me how to skin and carve up the stuff I aint dealt with before, this cajun cook anythin’ you drag back!”

Creed hums.

“Yeah. alright. I can show you a few tricks for carving up meat. Ill go hunting tommorrow some time.”

“Maybe a bit later in the day, so its not dead for hours while Im in school? I can give you the schedule!”

The kid looks genuinely excited. Its… novel. Most people got grossed out at the mere thought of him dragging a kill home. But here this kid is, basically begging for it. 

“Yeah. sure. Means I get to sleep more.”

“Oui! Oui! Though, Imma wake you for breakfast. We having pancakes. And coffee. Dont want a guest hungry while Im away.”

[fluffyficsanddreams]

Softening

A/N: AAA YAY POOLVERINE!! i absolutely adore these two and have wanted to write them for months now, just now getting around to it. i really want to get into writing consistently again, so i hope there'll be more soon (i really wanna write one with Logan and Laura, so we'll see if i get around to that) <3

Summary: Wade learns about the best way to comfort a Logan stuck in his mind, and also learns that Logan doesn't mind said comfort very much.

this is a sfw tickle fic and features implied romantic Wade/Logan, plus a decent amount of language. if you don't like it, don't read it. 🫶

also spoilers for the movie lol

Logan was tired.

Okay, tired was a very very large understatement. He was absolutely exhausted.

Now, granted, he wasn't nearly as exhausted as he had been before a certain merc showed up at the bar and dragged him on the weirdest journey of his entire 200-year-long existence. Wade was actually a good person at heart underneath his constant quips and innuendos, and was now someone that Logan considered a good friend (perhaps he felt something more, but he hadn't decided on that yet.)

But right now, he didn't feel like debating on his feelings about Wade. His mind was filled with memories that he'd tried so desperately to bury and forget, memories of those he had once cared for, those that had died because of his negligence.

He leaned back against the couch cushions in the living room of Wade's apartment, taking another swig of the alcohol from the bottle in his hand, trying to drink his feelings away as he had done since the incident.

Wade, however, was not going to allow that to happen.

The merc walked into the room in a Hello Kitty t-shirt and shorts, carrying his best-dog-buddy in his arms. He let out a slight huff at the sight of Logan chugging booze like there was no tomorrow, setting Dogpool down on her overly-large dog bed.

"Hey, peanut, put down the bottle for at least two seconds, would you?" He asked with an undertone of sarcasm, walking over and flopping down onto the couch next to him, just slightly too close as usual.

Logan, not exactly being in the mood to deal with Wade's jokes and nonstop rambling, ignored him for a second to take another sip. "I don't feel like puttin' up with you right now. Go away, I needa be alone." He grumbled, gazing down at nothing in particular, his expression contorted with irritation and suppressed emotion.

Wade, of course, didn't listen. He was able to read the other mutant very easily by now—it wasn't like Logan bothered to hide it very much, anyway, so it didn't take much to see that he was being weighed down by something. Despite his tendency to turn everything into a joke, he knew when something was important.

Although he knew that the grumpy man usually didn't allow Wade to touch him, he reached out and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, inwardly celebrating when Logan allowed it to stay there. "Hey, what's on your mind?"

Logan didn't answer at first, having a mental battle with himself within his head. He trusted Wade, genuinely, but sharing his thoughts and feelings was something he'd never been good at. Pushing people away was what he was good at.

But... look where that had gotten him last time.

Deciding that he would have to do this eventually anyway, he let out a sigh before speaking up in a grumble.

"I jus'... miss 'em. I wasn't there to protect 'em, and now..."

Logan's voice trailed off, his gaze troubled as he avoided looking at his roommate. He felt pathetic, talking about this—it was something he'd only shared with a couple people (one of which was manipulating him), but... for some reason, he found himself trusting Wade with it, despite the fact that he was the most annoying person he'd ever known.

Wade, on the other hand, didn't think it was pathetic in the slightest. He was absolutely thrilled that Logan was being so vulnerable with him, and he wasn't about to let it go to waste. Besides, he understood how he felt, in a way—not protecting the ones you love, and feeling the guilt destroy you from the inside out.

The merc leaned forward so that he was in Logan's line of vision, offering him a small smile.

"Thanks for telling me, peanut. Really. I'm sorry about all that."

Wade said, nodding his chin a little. He hadn't been this genuine or sincere with Logan since their talk before the whole creating-a-matter-antimatter-circuit extravaganza.

But, of course, he was still Deadpool, the Merc with the Mouth.

"Come on, bud, I gotta get you to cheer up a bit. Ya can't brood forever, as hot as you look doing it." He joked, giving Logan a light poke to the side, trying to get him to loosen up a little. He did not, however, expect the reaction that the poke got him.

Logan flinched at the unexpected poke, his eyes widening briefly, drawing in a quick breath at the sensation. He hadn't felt that in so many years, and... fuck.

Wade was definitely not going to let this go.

A shit-eating grin spread across the mischevious Deadpool's face, multiple thoughts popping into his mind, but one was able to be heard above all—Logan was ticklish.

"Actually, Wolvie, I think I have the perfect idea to help you cheer up..." Wade said slowly, leaning closer and closer to his now inwardly panicking friend-maybe-more.

Logan was definitely not about to let himself get tickled of all things by the most insane person he'd ever met, for he knew that Wade would take forever to drop it.

The man shifted uneasily toward the arm of the couch, scooting backward and keeping an eye on his roommate at all times. "Absolutely not, motherfucker. You better not touch me or I swear to god I'll—AHCK!"

Logan's threat (that he didn't really actually mean) was cut off as Wade tackled him down, pinning him to the couch and straddling his thighs so that he couldn't go anywhere. The merc grinned like a Cheshire cat, a few fantasies playing out in his head now that he had the Wolverine pinned underneath him—

Nope, we're not going there. Besides, Wade had different plans right now.

He placed his hands on Logan's abdomen, just resting them there for now, smiling broadly as he felt the mutant tense up underneath his touch.

"Ooh, I didn't peg you to be the sensitive type, but you learn something new every day, huh? Now, let's see here. Since Marvel Jesus is merciful, I'm gonna let you pick out a safeword! Whaddya think of that, peanut? What do you want it to be?"

Logan felt his sanity slowly deteriorating as Wade blabbered on and on, and frankly, he didn't really know what the fuck he was even talking about (although he'd gotten used to that by now.) He was currently clenching his fists at his sides, using every last ounce of self control he had to not stab Wade through his arms.

"The only reason I'm not cuttin' your fucking hands off right now is because Althea doesn't want blood gettin' everywhere. Get the fuck offa me and find someone else to bother." Logan snarled up at Wade, shooting him a glare sharper than a piece of shrapnel—but, of course, Deadpool was not deterred in the slightest. In fact, Logan's mild panic masked by anger only egged him on further.

"Well, that isn't a safeword, is it? I guess you're just gonna have to go without. Sorry not sorry!"

Wade declared with a joyous smile, curling his fingers and starting to scribble up and down both of Logan's sides over his shirt, his fingertips climbing up to his ribcage and digging into the muscles there. Being the dexterous mercenary he was, quick movements like this were a piece of cake for him—and came in handy when tickling, apparently.

However, it proved to be a death sentence for Logan.

The Wolverine was now squirming and bending away from Wade's hands as much as possible, although that didn't exactly prove helpful, considering his currently pinned position. His lips were stubbornly clamped shut, forcing back the laughs that he felt were quickly bubbling up in his chest.

"Fuckin' piece of—grrrgghh! Wilson! I'm gonna—" Logan began to threaten through clenched teeth, falling silent again when he realized he was growing closer and closer to breaking with every word. He hadn't been tickled in literal decades, and he found himself reacting to the feeling way more than he expected.

The thing was, he had long ago grown accustomed to violence and an otherwise lack of physical touch in his life. The only times he was touched was when he was fighting, in danger, things along those same lines of violence. To be touched in a gentle way at all felt incredibly foreign, and he frankly didn't know how to feel about it. The idea that he wasn't in danger, and that he could allow this to happen without any harm to anything aside from maybe his ego, was a surprisingly comforting thought.

That thought sort of helped (or hindered, depending on how you looked at it) Logan loosen up a little, and caused him to break a little sooner than he would normally have allowed himself to—especially when Wade's mischevious fingers crawled their way up to his upper ribs, near to his underarms.

"Pfffuhuhuhuck! Dahahamnit, you dihihick! Stahahap it!"

In that moment, Wade definitely fell in love. Whether it was with Logan himself or his laughter, he didn't know. What he did know was that he needed to do this more often.

"Aww, listen to those sweet little laughs! C'mon, Logie, I know you've got more in you! I think I've just gotta find the right spot, huh? Wanna tell me where that is?"

"Fuhuhuck yohou!"

"Now, while that does sound quite enticing, I'm afraid that's not what we're doing right now. If you're gonna be a stubborn little asshole, I guess I'm just gonna have to find that spot myself. How terrible..." Wade beamed, his expression filled with pure glee.

So, now, Wade went on a new mission: find Logan's worst spots and then proceed to exploit the shit out of them. The mischevious merc's fingers crawled up from Logan's upper ribs into his underarms, digging his wiggling digits deep into the soft muscle.

Logan let out a loud snort before dissolving into wheezy laughter, clamping his large arms to his sides reflexively while simultaneously punching and smacking at his roommate's arms in a feeble attempt to get him to stop.

"Wihihihilsohohon! Gehehet the fuhuhuhuck out of thehehere, ya mohohohoron!" He managed to snort out, hating himself for being unable to hold back the wide grin he knew was on his face at the moment.

Wade cocked his head to the side, his devilish grin widening even further. "Oh, not there, huh? That's okay, I've got plenty of other options here..."

After giving one last scribble to Logan's underarms for good measure, Wade brought his hands down to those stupidly attractive abs that he was hiding underneath that shirt, kneading them with both hands on either side while drilling his thumbs into the flesh around his navel.

Yet another snort was ripped from Logan's throat before he erupted into a fit of hearty laughter, the sound a little more wild and frantic than it was a second ago. Of course Wade had managed to find the spot that practically made him explode as soon as it was touched.

Except, as he writhed around underneath his roommate, another thought occurred to him amidst his persistent giggling. He didn't really mind this as much as he thought he would. In fact, he found himself secretly enjoying it, in a sense. It allowed him to let go, giving him a reason to laugh, which was something that Wade said he didn't do nearly enough. Perhaps he should take his advice, just this once.

However, Logan was forcibly ripped out of his thoughts when he felt Wade's hands sneaking their way underneath his shirt, pushing it up before he began scratching at his abdomen rather than kneading.

"Ooh, now I can really get in here. Look at those gorgeous abs, how could you possibly go around hiding these?" Wade beamed, admiring his muscles as he kept up his attack.

Logan, meanwhile, was laughing so hard he could barely form thoughts, pounding his heels against the couch cushions while he grasped desperately at Wade's wrists, trying to wrench his hands away from his stomach—but the mercenary was freakishly strong.

"WahahAHAhade! You're suhuhuch a—ahahEEK! Fuhuhuhuuuck, nohohot thehere!"

Logan had been about to threaten Wade with the usual decapitation (which he never meant), but it had been cut off by his own squeal when Wade's finger dug right into his navel. He was losing his mind by now, and he wasn’t sure how much more laughing he could muster. The answer was a lot, but he didn't know that.

He was probably about to find out, though, because Wade had yet another mischievous idea. It seemed he was never short of those, and Logan was often the person who ended up the victim... see the pattern?

The merc leaned forward to get a better look at Logan's smiling, red face, a smile of his own spreading across his features. It was devilish, but it had a bit of genuine warmth behind it—this was the first time he'd ever seen Logan smile so much, and he looked so relaxed, even if he was laughing his ass off. He definitely wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste.

And so, he set his idea in motion, even though he knew he probably would get stabbed for it. (It wasn't like he hadn't gotten stabbed by Logan a million times already, what was one more?)

"Y'know, Wolvie, I'm feeling a little hungry. Whaddya say I just take a big ol' bite of these sexy abs?"

Logan didn't even know what the hell Wade was talking about, but he barely had time to process his question before his insane roommate came forward and planted his mouth right above his navel, nibbling at his skin—not nearly hard enough to hurt, but definitely enough to tickle the poor guy out of his mind.

Logan let out a shriek he didn't even know he was capable of producing, the wildest laughter ever exploding from his chest, snorts and squeals erupting from him in between—much to his own dismay. Wade, however, didn't think it was as bad as Logan did. In fact, he found it adorable more than anything else.

He wished he could hear Logan laugh like this more often—he was always so tense, never able to relax fully due to his own mind. If Wade was able to take his mind off of the thoughts that plagued him, even if for just a few minutes through something as silly as tickling, he would definitely do it.

...Which was why he continued to nibble at Logan's abs, making exaggerated eating noises as he did so, loud "OMNOMNOMNOM"s filling the space in the room that wasn't already filled with Logan's hysterical laughter.

"Ahahahahaa, Wahade, for fuck's sahahAHAke! Thahahahat's enoUGH! Seriously! Pleheheheheeeease!"

Wade blinked, pulling back for just a second to make a theatrical flabbergasted expression down at Logan.

"Do my ears decieve me? Was that... dare I say it... a 'please'?! You're begging? Oh, man, I must be dreaming. I'd ask you to pinch me, but seeing as you can't right now, I think I'll just pinch you instead."

Wade didn't give Logan time to process the blabbering that was coming out of his mouth before he started pinching at the mutant's ribs, going one at a time as he slowly made his way upward, leaning forward again to nibble at his abdomen simultaneously. Logan lost his shit, between the little pinches that tickled way more than he thought it would and the unbearable nibbling of his ridiculously ticklish stomach, he was going insane.

"Ehehehahahah—c'mohOHOhon! Stahahap it, no mohohohORE!" Logan managed through his hysterical laughter, slapping at Wade's arms, seemingly endless snorts being torn from his throat every few seconds due to how hard and how much he was laughing. His roommate simply smiled down at him and continued, expression filled with glee and pure delight.

"No can do, honey badger. This fic still isn't long enough, so I've gotta do a little more... unless I stop now and we hug it out for a few paragraphs..."

"Hehehell no, fuhuHUcker!"

"Well, then it seems like you're just gonna be stuck here for a while longer. Such a shame—y'know, I wonder how often I can do this without you stabbing me. Does daily sound good to you? I think that sounds wonderful, I wanna hear your cute little piggy snorts—"

Logan felt a burning warmth rising up his cheeks and at the tips of his ears at Wade's words, managing an annoyed (embarrassed) groan through his giggles, which were growing louder and more frantic as Wade made his way back up toward his armpits.

"Shuhuhut uhuhup! Gohod, I hahahahate you..." He retorted, letting out a squeak when Wade give a firm prod to his underarm in response.

"Now, now, my little honey pie, I know for a fact that's not true. People who hold hands while listening to Madonna can't hate each other. See, your problem is—AACK!"

Wade had been about to dive into a deeply comprehensive list about the reasons why Logan could never possibly hate him when he was promptly bucked off and onto the floor, rubbing at his head as he picked himself up. He was about to pounce on Logan and attack him with revenge tickles for throwing him off when the sight before him made his heart melt into mush.

The feral man was lying on back still, a smile still on his lips, a red color having bloomed across his cheeks, spreading up to his ears and down his neck. There was a sparkle in his tired eyes that hadn't been there previously, his hair all messed up from how much he'd been squirming.

Honestly, Wade thought it was adorable.

The merc sat down on the edge of the couch next to the still-panting Logan and gave him a little smile and tilt of his head, deciding to keep all his quips to himself for the moment.

"Feeling better, peanut?"

When Wade asked that question, Logan blinked and realized that yes, actually, he did feel better. A lot better, at that. He didn't think something so stupid could manage to take his mind completely off of what had been haunting him, but... he wasn't really complaining.

He sat up and tried to regain his bearings, pushing his shirt back down and running a hand through his hair, gazing down at his lap for a few moments before he looked over at Wade, not holding eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds.

"Uh... yeah. Um... thanks. For that. I didn't realize I needed it, but... you seem to know me better than I do." Logan said quietly, letting out a slight huff of air as a lopsided smirk made its way to his face.

Wade smiled at him, simply giving him a nod of acknowledgment for his thanks. Honestly, he didn't need to thank him—he would so tickle the shit out of him every day if Logan let him, which he wouldn't, but hey, a man can dream!

He wrapped one arm around Logan's shoulders, expecting the former X-Man to push him away, but found himself surprised when he didn't. He gave another internal celebration before he pulled him close to his side, giving friendly pats to his shoulder (this was probably about the non-gayest thing they'd ever done: the bro side-hug.)

"Anytime, peanut. Cures something in my soul to see ya smile, really, so I'd do it again."

Logan shivered a little at that idea, instead opting to just not think about it and instead relaxing into the gentle physical contact that Wade was slowly training him to become more used to. Hesitantly, after a few moments, he rested his head on his roommate's shoulder, expecting to be poked fun at for his action.

However, the silence that followed genuinely surprised him. Wade was too busy being completely enamored with Logan and how vulnerable he was allowing himself to be right now to say anything for once.

After a long while of silence, Logan was considering letting himself drift off here since the after effects of the tickle session Wade had put him through was hitting him, but the merc broke the silence before he could do so.

"...So we did end up hugging it out for a few paragraphs."

"Motherfucker—!"

[wisteria-lodge]

About the gender in hp thing: I know JKR wrote the books wanting the patriarchy to have minimal impact on the world but even through a couple of the metas you wrote you can see that that’s not the case. In your character crying post there’s a clear implication that showing that kind of emotion is a weakness but also that it is not masculine. Equating strength with masculinity is foundational for cultures with strong patriarchies, and this idea infests every other aspect of their lives. Idk because of that and many other reasons I have a very hard time of writing the wizarding world as anything other than a patriarchy

This is a watsonian analysis vs doylist analysis issue.

I 100% do think that JKR went out of her way to really, really downplay the importance of gender in her worldbuilding - and this contributes a lot to the specific feel of the world. You could genderflip, idk. Neville. Snape. Draco. Hermione. McGonagall. and almost no plot elements or character dynamics would change. (Maybe James would bully Severus slightly differently? Idk. He honestly might not.)

Compare HP to something like His Dark Materials, another British fantasy series released at the same time, marketed to the same demographic... in which gender politics are REALLY important. Lyra conforming or not conforming to specific gender norms hugely impacts the way a lot of other characters treat her. So much of Mrs. Coulter's character has to do with how she's navigated the back ways and side avenues into power, because the patriarchy that runs *that* world is extremely explicit and plot relevant, and there's a lot she just can't do.

Now is JKR *good* at writing a gender-blind world? Not really no. So she's stripped out the importance of gender in a fairly surface way, while leaving evidence of the foundations intact. Everyone's a het couple, women take the husband's last name, Molly and Petunia are at home while their husbands work and there's no inverse of that situation, Fleur's father walks her down the aisle at her wedding, it's important that Hermione be able to tame her hair when she wants to, but for Harry it doesn't matter...

There is ALSO the narrative voice poking through and putting its own spin on everything. This is where we start getting judgment (for example) directed both at girls who are too feminine, and at girls who aren't feminine enough. Or sexual assault not really "sticking" if it's directed at boys. We don't have a character talking, in-universe, about how it's wrong for a woman not to want children. We just have a book where the only women who don't have kids (or take care of kids) are villains. Same thing with masculinity = strength = no crying. That's something the narrative framing / bias of the author brings to the table, but it's kept out of the mechanics of the magical world. I guess you could say Harry and Draco equate crying/fainting with weakness (but not explicitly anti-masculinity)... but then Lupin goes out of his way to separate 'fainting' from 'weakness' anyway.

Interestingly, gender is much more baked into the muggle worldbuilding. (Part of why I think leaving that aspect out of the wizarding world was a deliberate choice.) Smeltings is an all-boys school, so is St Brutus.' Dudley teases Harry about his "boyfriend" Cedric, Vernon sizes up Arthur and Mad-Eye by how masculine they are. At the beginning of Book 4, Dudley's diet is this very gendered conflict between Vernon and Petunia, where Vernon doesn't want a "little nancy boy for a son" - and that is one of the only truly gendered insults in the whole series. "Crybaby" almost counts... but the Slytherins tease Hermione for crying too, so idk. They tend to go for pretty gender-neutral insults, like "poor" "unimportant parents" "looks like a chipmunk" ... etc.

Like... I'm trying to imagine a scene were Lucius lays into Draco for not being masculine enough, and I can't. I think that in a canon-compliant fic, a scene like that would feel odd. The conflict would need to be framed more like a "you disgrace the name of Malfoy with your weakness" or "never tell anyone outside the family what you're thinking" or "your believe yourself to be more intelligent than you truly are." Not "you need to man up."

[joeloverture]

tlou s2, racism, & neocolonialism

hi. im vetty. i'm a diehard joel defender and i also have thoughts on that but that's not why we're here today. above all, i'm an indigenous mexican-chilean and tlou is (unfortunately) my special interest. in my time at uni i've taken a lot of classes about neocolonialism in latin america, and i also have my lived experiences. so let's talk about it and how it applies to tlou season 2.

severe spoilers for tlou2 below (the big one, mainly, but also some explanatory stuff about the wlf. if you are confused you should scroll) there's more to critique than just this but it's what im most qualified to talk about so here we go.

tw: racism, colonialism, mentions of torture, mentions of rape (very small), mentions of violence

pedro pascal. yep. pedro pascal. what's there to say about him other than almost everyone in hollywood saying he's as nice as he seems? many know that pedro is chilean, and is the child of socialist immigrants to the U.S. who fled pinochet's rule. being latino is an important cornerstone of his identity — he talks about it often, unapologetically so.

in a variety interview with clayton davis, pedro says, "...the best way to continue representation is, exactly as you put it, just casting a person into a role that isn't limited to opening, not limiting a character to its racial identity, especially if its an IP we're familiar with or a book. people get so butthurt about this stuff but who cares?"

joel isn't explicitly latino, but honestly, i think it'd be worse to strip away pedro's identity from joel than conflating their identities*. in the game, joel does say "adiós" in the whitest way ever (without an accent), but i forgive him and call him latino anyway. i'd argue, with pedro and gabriel both being latino and cast as brothers, he is latino in the show. i'd also argue that joel's death, as it is in-game, doesn't translate well onscreen with pedro as joel. not in implication.

to understand the implications of what we may see in the show, first, you have to understand what happened in chile. a us-backed coup occurred in chile to get rid of the elected marxist. said marxist was replaced by augusto pinochet. numbers are not exact since it was such a large scale population, but under his rule approximately three thousand people were killed or 'disappeared' (never seen again) and almost forty thousand became political prisoners. most of whom were tortured.

had pedro's family, balmecadas and socialists, not escaped, they very likely would've been added to that count. think about that.

that brings us to how, when abby kills joel, she doesn't just kill him. ellie walks in on joel having been brutally beaten for likely hours. we don't have an exact time, but abby goes from having subdued joel while wearing her coat to having taken it off, implying she was sweating for a prolonged period. (keep in mind. it was in a BLIZZARD).

abby is a white girl. not only that, she is a white girl who joined up with the WLF (washington liberation front) following the death of her father. the WLF is a militia group that fought against FEDRA in seattle. it's a compound of soldiers, heavily militarized, and one must think of how it compares to U.S. militarization.

the school of the americas is a school in georgia where people are trained to become mercenaries. whether they be killing or torturing techniques, they were learning how to commit war crimes, primarily against vulnerable brown populations in latin america. dictators installed in latin america sent trainees there — for a few examples, cadets were sent from chile, bolivia, peru, panama, and honduras. there's absolutely more countries that were involved, but the cadets that were sent back went on to enable dictatorships through rape, massacres, torture, and murder.

while the WLF is taught how to fight their turf wars against the scars, the school of the americas teaches their cadets how to perpetuate war crimes in the global south.

so let's say they keep joel's death scene the same in length and context. joel, latino and chilean in this case, is on the ground for hours, surrounded by white people, while he is being beaten to death and brutalized.

it's a disgusting reflection of all that has been done to people like us in the past, and with the connotations of war that coat tlou2 like viscous slime, it's a reflection that's impossible to look away from. do not let season two blind you from these implications, if they are realized onscreen.

more info:

*- it's not as if i hold any of this against pedro. that's the last thing i'm doing. he took a job, he fulfilled it. this is work for him. im just elated to see someone like me on tv, but beyond upset with the writing packed into this. this isn't a critique on abby (that'll come later from me), rather the writing behind her and her crew. it's got revolting undertones. don't put words in my mouth. tlou2's anti-palestinian messaging is another topic, one i'm less equipped to discuss. i encourage you to look into this and be mindful about it if you watch the season at all. when doing so, do so elsewhere.

further reading/material:

chile, the cia, and the cold war: podcast featuring a guest speaker who authored a book of the same title (tried linking but wouldn't work, can be found on apple podcasts for free) the farming of bones by edwidge danticat: i'm not linking this because if you're interested you should order it from a small bookstore in your community instead of supporting amazon or b&n, but this fictional angle of the aftermath of the parsley massacre in the dominican republic is a must-read the inferno by luz arce: linking because you can order directly from UW press! memoir that follows arce's story of being tortured and detained by the chilean intelligence service.

if you hate me because i posted about this, good! i dont want you here.