#want to give him some hugs
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thinkin really hard of some fluff w dean just cant help myself T_T (but my adhd gives me too many ideas between which I am torn)
#supernatural x reader#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#supernatural fluff#just love dean#want to give him some hugs#so bad#yk just hug him and scratch his scalp like a dog#hes a real life nasty dog btw
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i'm... *inhales* happy you're happy
bullshit detector: BEEP
#tmagp#the magnus protocol#alice dyer#samama khalid#no fr why is he such a bitch in this scene. she's not even being unprofessional#i get that sam might want to set some boundaries but good god man you could've been a little gentler#alice baby you don't deserve this. come here let me give you a hug and smooches you don't need him
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TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog
“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”
High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”
Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.
Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.
“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”
“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.
High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.
Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”
“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”
Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”
“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.
“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.
He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-
Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.
Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.
Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!
And catch him, High General Windu sure did.
“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”
“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.
“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”
“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.
Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”
#commander fox#corrie guard deserves better#sw tcw fic idea#look fox has been planning this coup for a while okay he just needed to adjust and get over the initial reaction of Fuck No#if they’re sentient enough for their signatures to have authoritative quality on military reports and to be promoted to chancellor on a#technicality then they’re sentient enough for everything to be victims of systemic oppression and abuse#fox still does not want this position and will yeet it the literal second bail organa isn’t watching his step religiously#a custody battle ensues between Corries and GAR ori’vode for who grts to tackle him (affectionate)#it is solved by getting a bigger room so they can all do it at once#thorn makes a point of jamming his elbow in some soft places. cody and co are disgruntled but accepting of this#he has a bit of a point admittedly and wolffe has to promise not to threaten murder again#plo makes him go to another Effective Interpersonal Communication Seminar (it’s the fifth that year)#anakin is initially outraged on padme’s behalf but she could literally not be happier#fully supportive of being arrested in the name of Fox’ Good#we can still do book club though right she asks. visiting hours don’t apply to chancellor probably#fox shrugs. it’s his next act as chancellor#count dooku: live slug reaction#the systemic issues fuelling the war cannot be solved with a phone call but in absence of someone with two braincells to rub together#the whole thing loses steam and strategy steadily#look it was always a sham that house of cards of a republic/confederacy was waiting to be blown over by literally any light breeze#general grievous implodes from pure rage. legend has it his last word was KENOBAAYYYYY. wipes away tear#thorn laughs so hard when he hears all this he cracks a rib#another day another post of utter nonsense#ponds makes sure to give his fox’ika a hug as soon as he’s floated down bcs ponds is the best#which is why he didn’t get it in the last ficlet for anyone wondering#the only functional one#much like mace windu
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No because then I think about how much comfort and softness Arthur had to give up since his childhood. No parent figure he could actually admire and be proud of. He couldn’t even be a good husband to Guinevere, he had to be a leader and stoic, he couldn’t cry, and those rare moments where we see him letting himself go, he hugs Gwen so fiercely, he smiles so widely, so entirely, and that’s when your heart breaks, because you see him empty, like something’s missing, and then you realise all those small touches between him and Merlin are all he had ever had. Arthur ‘you’re the only friend I have and I couldn’t bare to lose you’ Pendragon; Arthur ‘Why are you so upset?’ Pendragon; Arthur ‘I haven’t seen you smile these past three days’ Pendragon; Arthur ‘I think we would probably get on’ Pendragon;
Arthur ‘Just… Just hold me’ Pendragon.
He treated Merlin like he wanted to be treated. He did it clumsily, but he still tried. Arthur only ever wanted to be cherished with soft care and tenderness, and I’m glad that was the last thing he got before dying.
And from Merlin, of all people.
(let’s also not forget that Arthur held Merlin’s hand before he died. He stroked his hair, and smiled before going away. In the end, that’s all he ever longed for)
#give my man here some cuddles please#i bet he is like a koala when he sleeps AND WHY DO I KNOW THIS?!#because in season five where we see him sleeping with gwen#he is hugging her so close🥲#i want to implode#he is so soft#he just wants some hugs from the people he loves the most#I BET HE NUZZLES#oh my god why am i doing this to myself#merthur#bbc merlin#merlin#arthur pendragon#merlin bbc
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i will forever defend these two- NOT to start discourse but they are both so heavily mischaracterized by the fandom its INSANE like omg yes they are flawed but they are also trying their best PLEASE leave them alone 🙏🙏🙏
as usual im yapping in the tags if anyone cares
#rose rambling#this is not directed at anyone#just some observations within the fandom ive noticed#i genuinely sympathize with jayce sm he may be making mistakes but he is trying his best under a stressful position#that he didn't even want to be in in the first place#there isn't a LOOT of people who are anti ekko or anything but he's genuinely so erased from fandom spaces#NOBODY TALKS ABOUT HIM and it makes me sad#or they completely mischaracterize him as this like emotionless stoic badass???#he literally cried during our first intro to him when he hugged vi but! sure!!!#but yea jayce and ekko are both of my favs#jayce is a problematic fav and ekko is an unproblematic fav who has done basically next to nothing wrong#jayce? hes flawed.#he killed a kid#hes classist#hes lowkey a capitalist#but he cares sooo much ab people around him and prioritizes viktor and mel over everyone else#even though everyone around him seems to only want to use him#and ekko? he was forced to grow up without the guidance of someone like silco or vander#he was ALONE when he built his safe haven#and he is so caring and emotional and SWEET and people just disregard so much of both of their characters#i could give character analysis' on both of them for HOURSSS#arcane#arcane theory#arcane ekko#ekko arcane#ekko#arcane jayce#jayce talis#jayce arcane#arcane jayce talis
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Loving the Marty drawings!!! I'd love to see a doc in your style!
A doc, you say....
woe. many docs be upon ye.
#doc brown#emmett brown#bttf#bttf fanart#back to the future#his double watch action amuses me#my design for him is still kind of rough but it's getting somewhere! not super happy with some of these but it is what it is#it's all in the wrinkles baby. if your docs look a little off slap some eye bags on that guy#the urge to Also give him antennae was strong... saw exactly one picture of him with them and ran#he looks a little off with them sometimes tho... i guess his will be retractable#and now that i know how to draw him somewhat phase two of my devious plan will come into action rubs hands together#(my devious plan being DOC AND MARTY FRIENDSHIP!!!! >:DDDD)#(i love being an artist. i can make characters hug each other whenever i want)#kit does an art
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you don't know how much comfort your dragon king bkg drabble has given me ever since you posted it!! i keep reading it i love it sm 🥹
as it turns out, the man bakugou is — a bit harder to handle.
he sleeps like a heathen; you once thought the dragon bakugou to be a bit lazy, with how often he tended to curl up in the fields of grass, warm under the sun, but now — it would seem his little human form needs significantly less rest.
almost up all hours of the day, and when he does finally lay down, he's everywhere. a mess of limbs: one thrown carelessly out to the side and the other bent at an angle you can't believe doesn't hurt his joints. his head stays tucked into you somehow, either buried in your neck or pressed against your ribs — or you'll wake to find him nose-to-nose with you. he still snores like a dragon, however.
you're also beginning to wonder if there is a bottom to the pit of his stomach. he ate much before, whole fields of things, but you expected that appetite to dwindle, at least a little, now that his stomach has decreased considerably in size. and in number ? you're not even sure how many stomachs a dragon has; that's not something that was mentioned in the fairytales.
it burns through him quickly, gives him more energy than he needs, and it doesn't ever seem to affect his weight much. already, he's huge and thick with muscle and eating as much as he does never dulls the severity of his cut abdomen. not that you're looking all that much.
— not that you have a choice not to, as he seems to have little-to-no understanding of —
the door to the bathhouse kicks open, with enough force that you already know who it is without ever turning to look. you try not to shriek when you see him, because he seems to like that in some evil, impish way.
you've been alone to wash so far, thankfully, as the inn you'd managed to find was small and far enough out from the nearest kingdom that the occupancy was low — enough for you and your little brute.
the man bakugou comes to stand in front of the bath, blinking and huffing against the steam. finding clothes for him was — nearly impossible, and so the trousers you'd found hanging on someone's line outside fit above his ankles, a bit too tight around his waist. instead of a shirt, you've wrapped him in a scratchy linen, swaddled him up like a baby to cover the small smattering of scales that decorate his body, almost like freckles from the sun, though they gleam just as bright and red as they ever have. no matter his form.
a horn has started to sprout, on the right side of his forehead, and you've done your best to cover that, too.
you have no idea how long this man thing will last. if it's permanent or if he even has control over it. the last thing you need is for him to switch back, somehow, while you're in the middle of feeding him, absolutely demolishing whatever tavern you're in and calling all of king todoroki's guards to attention.
bakugou grunts, almost sleepy, and tosses a fat, weighty sack onto the edge of the bath. it jingles a certain jingle that makes your heart stop.
"oh, allfather—" you move for the edge, awkwardly keeping one arm against your chest despite the fact that he's seen it all by now. when you peek inside and confirm your fears, you lob it back to him furiously, as if it were a steaming potato. "where do you keep getting this stuff?"
things have started to turn up, miraculously. shiny things — like coins and rings and gems. things he could not have simply found rolling around in the dirt.
"go put it back!" you hiss at him, and the tone of your voice makes his frown deepen. you never realized how pouty he was, when he was still a dragon.
you think he understands you, and you're pretty certain he just chooses not to listen; instead of doing what you've told him in the slightest, he simply dumps the coin-purse to the floor, and then lets his linen and stolen trousers cover it as he unceremoniously undresses.
the biggest issue that you would say the man bakugou poses is — his complete lack of understanding of personal space.
"bakugou!" your voice wavers, shocked again by his nakedness. as if you haven't seen it all by now. "no, you — get out!"
but he does the exact opposite, which is hop into the steaming water, ignoring the arm you hold out to keep him away as he saddles up beside you. skin against scales, pressing a nose into your hair to huff out his annoyance, to make it something you can feel.
if anyone were to walk in right now, they would — probably think the lie you'd told the innkeeper was true. that you are a simple traveler and this is your mute, over-sized husband.
regardless, you think this behavior isn't polite. especially in a public bathhouse.
"bakugou," you try again, turning your face away as you speak to the wood-paneled wall. "i'm taking a bath, you have to wait your turn."
all you receive in response is another huff against your ear and a low rumble of disagreement from his chest.
he has yet to speak back, and has only used inhuman sounds as his points of conversation. the only word you've ever heard him utter is oi, which he does when he really thinks he needs your attention. you're starting to wonder if he's named you that in his head. oi.
curiously, you turn back to him and the movement has him pulling his face from your hair, just enough that he can look down at you, too. watch you, with the red-rippled sea in his eyes.
they're — amazing, you will admit. just as bright and detailed as they always have been. fit for a fairytale told by the fire, veiled by the soft-ash of his lashes. he watches you through them, half-lidded, and you wonder if it's something other than fatigue that has them so heavy.
"do you know what i'm saying?" you ask quietly, voice lacking the firm heat you want it to. instead it's heavy, too, weighted by something soft and unfamiliar and frightening. "can you even understand me?"
bakugou doesn't respond, not with a huff or a rumble or ever a purr, like the one he let out on the night he lay over you by the lake. you've only heard it sparingly since then, oftentimes in his sleep when his face is pressed into you.
you try not to frown at his silence, try not to let it disappoint you because it shouldn't; he's a dragon afterall, and you're not sure what it matters. the little horn protruding from his forehead catches your eye and you reach up to touch it gently, watching him blink away the water that drips from your wrist — and then he's turning into you again, too close.
beneath the water, you feel his hands skate up your bare thighs, wrap around your waist until your chest is pulled flush against his. you feel his huff, again, against the damp skin of your neck but it's slower, lighter. not laced with his frustration. some unknown thing you feel guilty for liking.
you drop your hand to his hair, rushing full force into all the damned things you've thought about doing but have been too afraid to. he's soft between your fingers, and you trace your nails lightly against his scalp until he groans quietly; a new noise, one you don't know how to translate.
your fingers stop when they brush upon little spines that have grown at the base of his skull, that have started to trail down the center of his back.
suddenly, tangled up in the bath with him, you wonder how much time you have left.
bakugou huffs again into your skin, a little fiercer this time, and it's because of his light jostling that you realize how rigid you've gone. you try to relax so that he will, too, though you must not do a convincing job, because a sharp nip comes to your earlobe.
"ow!" you squeal, but he doesn't let you go far, not even as you try to jerk away from him. in fact, the harder you try the more his teeth show: into your cheek and the point of your jaw and then dangerously low on your neck.
it's not until you finally freeze that he stops, huffing again, with a warmth that burns more than the steaming water.
and then, very quietly, he grumbles, "shitty wife," into your collarbone, just before biting you again.
#anon dear friend i am so happy you have enjoyed it !!! and that it has comforted you in some way !!#i am wrapping you up in a big hug and so is our bratty lil dragon🥹#this message was just so cute and i wanted to write more for you !!!#this is all for you my peach my plum 😌 thank you for being here and reading my silly things !! giving me a reason to share them !!!#how fuuuuunnnn i am enjoying him way too much LOL#he's a brat !! a biter !!! he does what he wants !!!#god this is going to become a thing on here isn't it LOL might as well start a tag because i have much more to say !!#the lil world-building i have done for this in my mind...you have no i dea LOL#thank you again dearest !!#he he he he said THIS IS MINE 😊#and by this he means YOU 👀#๑ remember me love: bakugou ๑#✿ willow writes#✿ ask willow#✿ thoughts: bakugou
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Sometimes I’m normal. Other times, I’m internally screaming about the brotherly relationship between Kai and Lloyd and giving myself a whole Ted Talk I’ve been developing for like three years about why I love them so much.
#ninjago#ninjago lloyd#ninjago kai#Im just really not normal about them#Like guys they are so family coded#Don’t imagine Lloyd giving Kai a huge hug after some of the traumatic stuff he’s been through#And trying not to cry because Kai gives GREAT big brother hugs#Also Kai always secretly wanting a younger brother but after his experience raising Nya#Was always like “okay maaaybeee not”#And then Lloyd was there and he was like “YOU ARE MY LITTLE BROTHER NOW KID DEAL WITH IT”#Kai teaching Lloyd how to cook#Giving him tips on controlling his powers#Did I mention I’m not normal about them?#I have such a rant I could give about all of this don’t test me#Im being so fr rn
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Ahhhhhhhhh this photo
#he has always just been. a boy. who wanted some hugs and reassurance#carlos sainz jr#carlos sainz sr#sainz family#tiny baby balaclava boy#with his face in his hands#oh baby#give him all the comfort he needs
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yeets this Edit: Holy moly, this got like 40 notes in what? 2-3 days? Thank you so much?? I'm blown away.
#in stars and time#isat siffrin#siffrin fanart#HollowedKnell Art#i just want him to be happy#give them a break#and maybe some hugs from Isabeau#Also a snack#Knell Does Fanart
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having shut downs for two days in a row, decided to feel my feeling through jpegs
so yeah here is Astarion struggling after being captured (and saved) from cazador or smth, everything i knew is still random cutscenes with him recomended by youtube, but i love him anyway
(why is he fat - because)
#autistic headcanon#autism headcanon#pls give me a little validation and hugs#i have all of this#accept from steps reading#which i had in childhood#well and i slept in bed for one day#not 3#but yeah#non verbal is something new#not very cool to be in that mod#but surprisingly charging#i suppose i should accept that i am autistic now i guess#but no thoughts i need to sleep it's night here#i want to tag the game and character so hard but i am sure i will get some hate for making him fat
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"You’re who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)
Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!
Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader
Wordcount: 2k
Warnings for this fic: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)
It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that you’d hoped would lull you into a peaceful sleep. But that wasn’t in your cards tonight, it seemed.
“He’s headed yer way. Things… didn’t go well tonight.”
Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off from the rain when he arrived. You didn’t care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their family business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had actually wanted this. You knew he'd had different plans when he'd finally gotten out of prison, plans of a quieter, more peaceful life. But he was a loyal man, one who was endlessly devoted to his family, and that loyalty, that devotion was something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of.
You had thoughts on her, too, but much like your night's rest, it would also have to wait.
“We lost a few o’ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but… Well, the family argued after. Things were said to him, and…”
Some nights, nights much like these, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath the weight of expectation and grim responsibility. It was a burden he shouldered without complaint, even as it became clear he was destined to crumble beneath it. In the two years since you’d met that beautiful, quiet man in a small coffee shop, you’d watched those brittle cracks form, line by line. Over time, as he'd gradually begun to let you in, you’d discovered far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath his fractured armor. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what he’d done in the past, had only pried open that door further until he sought you out with regularity, just as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits revolved closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inescapably in the pull of each other’s gravity.
Neither of you had named what this was between you. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then you’d happily give it.
“Just… be gentle with him, dear.”
Somehow, even the quiet knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where you’d been filling up the kettle—you’d learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when you’d moved to Ireland—and headed down the warm hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the pouring rain and a gust of chilled, bitter wind.
“Oh, Michael,” you whispered.
He was soaked down to the bone, his dark hair plastered against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and his hands, with more of it leaking steadily from a ragged split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes weren’t red because of the rain. The moment he realized you didn’t buy the act, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and limp on your doorstep.
“That bad, eh?” he asked tiredly, trying for dark humor and missing by miles.
“Shit, get in here before you freeze.” You caught his sleeve and tugged him forward until you could shut the door behind him. He didn’t fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldn’t seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness.
“I’m gettin’ yer floors all wet,” he said distantly. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, drained of all energy as if he’d used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head slowly, staring down at the growing puddle of rainwater on the floor, his face twisting through an unreadable expression. “‘M sorry, pet. I shouldn’t have—”
“Floors can be dried, Mikey.” You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was still standing shivering in the hall, curled into himself as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just… broke your heart. “Come here.”
He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. “I’ll… I’ll get blood on ya.” “I don’t care.”
He clenched his jaw, still refusing to meet your eye, a sign of just how bad things had gone for him. Some of the blood on his clothes and skin had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a tinted, rusty pink. And that only seemed to make him feel worse, as it seeped into the grooves and lines between each tile, staining it. “No, I-I shoulda stopped ‘a home first, cleaned up. And it’s late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another time—”
You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the front door. He went stiff and rigid, closed off the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops. You had to make it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of warm whiskey and leather, of gun oil and fresh rain and blood. “Stop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,” you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder. His breath hitched at your voice, his arms still locked between you, a barrier you knew he needed help to break down. “I don’t care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that won’t change. I’ll stand here all night with you if I have to.”
He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his arms tentatively unwinding so his hands could find their way around your waist. Almost as if he were still convinced his touch, his need for comfort would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. “Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. I have nothin’ to give ya. To give anyone. I keep tryin’ to be what everyone needs, but I can’t even do tha’ right. Why do ya keep openin’ the door for a broken man, pet?”
“You might be hurt, but you’re far from broken,” you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands fisting in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath rattled out of him, more of his tears rolling down your throat until he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what you’d offered. “I open the door because I just need you, exactly as you are. You’re who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. There’s nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.”
That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked, ragged sobs, the sounds of someone who hadn't been able to let go for some time. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, comforting whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and back up through his hair as he let fall every last wall he’d put up between him and the outside world.
It took time for that cresting wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat into something slower and gentler. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, setting him down on the side of the tub so you could clean him up. He accepted the care in silence, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready—and besides, people had demanded enough out of him tonight without you adding to it—so you let the quiet have its place as you bandaged him up, cleaning the blood from his hands and drying him off without so much as a hint of judgment. Whenever his breath grew a little shaky again, you’d lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles to remind him he was safe.
You left him alone just long enough for him to change, and you were grateful you'd both decided he should keep a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, this knowledge that your home was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed and he stepped out of the bathroom, dark eyes immediately seeking you out, you tipped your head in a request he follow you before heading towards the bedroom.
He hesitated, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.
It wasn’t every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. So far, it only seemed to happen on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed the other’s presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against waves of grief or bloodied hurt. Until now, however, those moments had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that you’d never intended to fall asleep at all and well, it was late, wasn't it? It was expected. Tonight, however, you just… thought he deserved a bed.
That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate as he considered you, his gaze shifting over your shoulder to the open doorway in thought. Neither of you had dared offer access to the other’s bed until now. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet, though there’d been… moments when you’d both come close, dancing along that edge, driven by adrenaline or alcohol or just a quiet moment when you both seemed to be drawn into it. But there was no alcohol now, no mistaking the shift in the air. There’d be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when you’d both sworn you were simply good friends.
After a long moment… the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow.
The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you.
Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him.
“I don’t know what I’d do without ya,” he murmured, his breath slowly easing down into something like peace, like contentment. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them stole your breath away, filled with tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the bottom and never find it. “Every time I think I’ve lost who I am again, yer there to bring me back. I just… I feel real when I’m with ya. I…”
His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his damp hair as his lips finally met yours.
Your first kiss with him was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, skin chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a growing confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer, his beard a pleasant scrape against your skin. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed in as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he laid his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed as he just... breathed with you. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, though he didn't seem ready to open them just yet. “Wanted ta do that for a while, now,” he admitted. “Since not long after we met, if ’m honest.” “I may or may not have wanted the same thing,” you huffed softly, his smile growing wider.
“Can I take ya to breakfast tomorrow?”
You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt… permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for.
“I’d love that.”
And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.
#tuna-tober 2024#michael kinsella x reader#michael kinsella#kin#fic#fanfic#reader#reader insert#x reader#angst#fluff#emotional hurt/comfort#tw: blood#or mentions of it anyway#in which we all just want to give him a hug and hold him and tell him he can just be loved for a while#i hope i did this right like i am N E R V O U S about writing him for the first time#he was very cooperative and was just seemingly happy to have some attention which is great cause i adore him#10/10 would be his mob wife
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Me when he has an abusive parent,Whom he wants to impress,good at fighting ,went from a soft child to an asshole golden child but he's still like a child in the fog sometimes, probably neurodivergent,had a sister,likes men and his name starts with A
#I WANT THEM#SOOOO BAD#im so gay#aurelio is my new favorite child#LUMBRE GET AWAY FROM HIM#thats child abuse.#I swear I wanted to cry when he took off the bracelets#AURELIO WAS SO CUTE#lumbre goes to the terrible parents cage right next to Uther#give my boy back his father#what parental separation is this.#give him his family back#I KNOW HE WILL BE FRIENDS WITH NIYIA#plsplspls#I still love Arthur ofc but this entire account is about him so let's give some attention to my other children#aurelio has autism#change my mind#COOKING PROGRAMS FOR RELAX#arthur has adhd#i want them both soo bad#as a simp but i also wants give him hug#arthur pendragon#merlin#merlin bbc#merthur#bbc merlin#aiden thomas#the sunbearer trials#celestial monsters
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Apologies
#shadowpeach#six eared macaque#sun wukong#lmk#lego monkie kid#monkey king#liu'er mihou#I just think it'd be neat if they apologized to each other and then cried and hugged about it#(cuz on god they both have some shit they should get off their chests and own up to)#like holy blue hells they're both just like “I think i shall spend my immortal life ruminating on my greatest regret and letting it fester”#everytime i watch the scene where Macaque is like:#“its good to talk about feelings! obv i don't do it”#i turn into the hands on hips guy meme#DUDE GO TO THERAPY#wukong too lets be real#been reading jttw the west (haven't actually gotten to where SEM shows up in the book yet tho)#and i think that if therapy existed back then tripitaka and sha wujing would've been gently but firmly#herding wukong into the local therapist's waiting room in as many towns they pass as possible#he'd probly grab the door frame and have to be literally pried off#these hypothetical ancient-chinese therapists all have claw marks on the hallways and doors going into their offices#hey how about an au where shadowpeach get therapists who end up getting all the monkey drama news first#and end up on the business-rivals-to-drinking-buddies pipeline#stopped while drawing this like “hey why'd i make mac be touching wukong's face in both sketches?”#and then i remembered that between the two mac's the one who wants to be something to the other#to the point of desperation#its like if they're both cats who got coned swk is the one who sits there miserably accepting his fate#while mac is that one video of the tuxedo cat shrieking and trying to paw it off#i'd read the hell out of a fic where they end up swapping attitudes about their dynamic#in canon wukong's the one who seems like he would like to never see mac again (at times) even tho he really regrets it and it hurts#like mac just gives up on trying to convince himself he can make swk see him as a significant part of his life again
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☆Art by kumoma_no on twitter!☆
#they have such cute and soft art!!! pls check out and give the original artist on twitter some love ❤️#i want a hug from him 🥺#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#五夢
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*rings the service bell* hi um i was wondering.. if there's any yakumo temperature play in here? sounds silly but i only realised after i circled the building a few times... that i haven't seen it at all. Seems to be common practice, actually- to not have it. i've visited several other buildings and there's been no sight of it.
which is... strange? if i think about it, it's surprising that i haven't encountered it yet! it sort of makes sense to have them together, you know? considering that temperature is so vital to a snake's perception of the world. and how sensitive reptiles are to temperature fluctuations.
so there's a lot of control to be had here. can you imagine controlling someone's energy level just by adjusting the thermostat? er- well, i guess we already do that. but imagine you put yakumo in an ice bath and he immediately falls asleep. brumation happens instantly now, sorry. and the only way to snap him out of it is to stick a flaming dildo up his ass
what?. no, i mean, restore his regular energy level with a soft warm-up. a heated blanket and a gentle steam. hahaha.
people plunge themselves into ice water before jumping into hot tubs and vice versa- for fun! they do this recreationally!! they call it a "spa treatment" and pay a premium for it! what's wrong with giving yakumo a spa treatment? who are we to deprive him of such sensory luxury?
i'm JUST SAYING that since he naturally gravitates toward heat, you could put him in a hurt AND comfort scenario he could be naked and cold, banished to the distant corner of the room.. but when you offer him a source of warmth, whether that be a hot rock or a warm hand or 20 lit candles suspended above him dripping wax on him at random intervals,,, wouldn't he have a tough time turning down your generosity?
i mean, he certainly would if he was tied up.
see, here's the other thing i cannot quite comprehend-- it's that--- how has a snake yokai not featured bondage scenes yet? i guess there was that one time with the.. hm. no, we shan't talk about the cellar. besides, ONLY ONE TIME is unacceptable for a sentient rope!! although yakumo would love to wrap up his prey and squeeze the cum out of em, i feel like we're missing out on a lot by not OutSnaking the Snake. tie up and restrain the Restrainer. it's just a liiiiittle step farther than putting him in a pillowcase! so mild!!!!
here's a guy who is always worried about losing control/// about being free to wreak havoc on his loved ones, despite his best intentions. so how about we give him a moment of peace? a moment where he believes he's subdued and unable to cause harm? just tie him up! keep him under TIGHT lock and key. (or some nice soft cloths for his sensitive skin, if we're being nice.) honestly, his brain will do the rest of the work. even if he's not truly incapacitated, his desire to BE So can fill the gaps in any questionable knotwork.
while he's half in the prison of his mind and half in the confines you've created for him, take some time to squeeze some whimpers out of him. although it pains me to cover up those soggy eyes, a blindfold may be an intriguing option. is yakumo the type of snake to rely on heat vision? WHY NOT FIND OUT! (if he's not terrified at his loss of sight, then i guess his pit organs are functioning . in which case, the blindfold doesn't really need to stay on. if he IS terrified and feels the loss of visuals acutely, this would be an excellent opportunity to soak in his panic. just for a bit though. we're not so cruel. guide him back with a warm touch. see? playing with fire temperature contrasts can bring such relief!)
maybe i'm getting ahead of myself. i don't expect yakumo temperature play to show up WITH bondage , why- that would be asking a lot, right?
but the basics are simple enough, yes? give the wretched creature the comforting warmth he wants, then perhaps inch closer to something bordering uncomfortable? Too Much? have him seek out what he craves, only to be burned (metaphorically and/or literally) if he indulges himself too much? oops! someone's become a slave to their senses!
i'm just saying that the sensory perception of yokai vs kink is (relatively) unknown territory. if temperature play already messes with humans, what could it possibly do to yakumo? he could experience it in facets unknown to others.-=- to levels others are incapable of appreciating---- like someone with synesthesia who can experience music with another layer of enjoyment.
if you give a snake ice cream, followed by a hot piece of meat [unknown origin], it'll really make him aware of the contrast, hmm??????
anyway. sorry about that. i'm not super clear on the specifics of it all. i just thought it peculiar that i haven't seen the yaku-hot-cold-sensitivity-finagling. out there, in here, nowhere as far as i've seen..
...or is it located in a part of the building i overlooked? if so, could you direct me there? i would really appreciate it.
if you don't have it after all, that's ok. i'll keep a careful watch now that i know what i'm looking for. maybe it's one of those things where, once i actively search for it, i'll notice it everywhere! wouldn't that be delightful!
with that, i guess i'll be on my way. thanks for your patience. yeah, i hope i find it too. have a good one!!
#TEMP PLAY YAKUMO#I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M MAKING THAT A TAG BUT IT'S HAPPENING#wishful thinking probably#.icy hot. yakumo.#laughs at the vague ideas in my imagination#this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now#yes my brain is SUPER muddy on this#you can ask me what specifics i want and i'll go ????????#can't articulate it. can't envision it. i just know i want it#somehow. in some way.#i want him OVERSTIMULATED and COMPELLED BY HIS SENSES and BRAIN OFF and PLIABLE#throw in some distressed squeaks and conflicted gasps while we're at it. shivers for garnish. i'll wait.#toast him in the fires of solaria then offer a cold drink#or freeze him in the mountains before giving him a warm hug#I NEED TO SUBJECT HIM TO INCLEMENT WEATHER#nu carnival yakumo
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