#what do you mean I can't just blow one of them up after they're happy???

[probablyanalienindisguise]

Random oc angst slop as I try color palletizing fr

[scoobydoodean]

You really just can't unsee it once you see it though, can you?

Sam starts blaming Dean for what he's going to do (work with Ruby) way back in 3.09 because Dean isn't going to be around to be Sam's mommy, which is going to force Sam's hand.

After Dean comes back, Sam actually blames Dean for him working with Ruby by saying Dean wasn't there to protect him (4.04).

Dean repeatedly begs Sam not to work with Ruby and is ignored repeatedly (3.03, 3.04, 3.09, 3.16, 4.01-4.04, 4.12-4.22).

After telling Dean to open up to him and trust him (4.08), Sam calls Dean weak and pathetic for being traumatized by hell and says Dean is holding him back and therefore deserves to be lied to because he can't be of use (4.14) Sam says it's not what he really thinks when they both know it is (and Sam repeats it to other characters in 4.16, and 4.18) and then he admits it's the truth again to Dean's face in 4.21.

Sam accuses Dean of not trusting him enough (4.21).

Bobby blows up at Dean for not supporting Sam enough and calls him a pansy after Sam strangled Dean near unconscious, and tells him family is supposed to make you miserable (4.22).

Dean tries to reach out to Sam and Zachariah and Cas actively prevent him from doing so (Cas only at first) (4.22)

Zachariah (5.01) and Cas (5.02) both tell Dean the apocalypse is his fault because Dean didn't reach Sam in time to stop him from killing Lilith.

Dean says Sam hurt him, Sam is the one Dean depended on the most and Sam hurt him in ways he can't even voice (5.01). Sam apologizes, but then in the very next episode, shoves Dean into a wall for not trusting him like Dean is crazy and irrational when Sam doesn't even trust himself (5.02).

Sam says he thinks they should go their separate ways and is shocked when Dean agrees easily. Dean says that he spends more time worrying about Sam than he does doing the job right and time apart would be good. Sam reiterates that he's sorry and Dean gently says he knows Sam is (5.02).

Cas asks Dean if he's okay even without his brother, and Dean says "Especially without my brother. I mean, I spent so much time worrying about the son of a bitch. I mean, I’ve had more fun with you in the past twenty-four hours than I’ve had with Sam in years, and you’re not that much fun. It’s funny, you know, I’ve been so chained to my family, but now that I’m alone, hell, I’m happy." (5.03)

Sam says he wants back in. Dean objects, on the basis that he thinks they're stronger apart. Dean says they're each other's weaknesses and it's being used against them (5.04, but the weakness line is repeated from 3.03 and 3.16).

Zachariah pushes Dean into a future 2014 where Dean never met up with Sam again, and as a result, Sam said "Yes" to Lucifer, and billions of people died. All because Dean didn't want to be around Sam after being hurt and never reconnected with him (5.04).

Dean reconnects with Sam (5.04) even though he clearly doesn't want to, because the first case we see them on again, Dean struggles to trust Sam and leaves to go drink alone because he doesn't want to be around Sam (5.05).

Sam says part of the reason he went off with Ruby was to get away from Dean, because Dean is smothering. Dean is the problem in the relationship, because Sam feels inferior compared to him. Dean apologizes for being too smothering (5.05).

What does all of this tell you? Dean can't win. Dean will always be the bad guy in the family. He loves too much, or he isn't loving enough. Sam needs him and Dean wasn't there for him and so Sam went down the wrong path, but also Dean is smothering and Dean being smothering is the reason Sam went down the wrong path. Sam is not a trustworthy person, but Dean doesn't trust him enough. Sam not being trustworthy is Dean's fault. Dean doesn't deserve trust, but Sam deserves Dean's trust no matter what and not giving Sam his trust is the worst possible thing in the entire world and also again makes him smothering. The apocalypse is Dean's fault. Every single thing Sam does every single mistake he might ever make in his life is always at least partly Dean's fault and Dean's responsibility.

[delopsia]

honey | bob floyd x reader

Word Count: 13,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Succubus!Reader, Virgin!Bob. Shapeshifting, elements of magic, blood, parties, first-time blow jobs, cunnilingus, first-time sex, virginity loss, vague plot twists despite the severe lack of an actual plot. This was a crack warmup that just became...this Brief Summary: "Rich, hot, and a virgin. What's wrong with you?" Or, Bob's coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included.

Well...

This is new.

"It wasn't me! I promise!" 

"Well, someone drew my symbol on the floor." Folding your arms in front of your chest, huffing. All that for this?

"It wasn't—" He freezes, teeth flashing through an awkwardly stretched smile. "I...my coworkers were playing a prank on me."

Lovely that you learn that after you've planted your ass in his lap. "So you don't want me here, pretty boy?"

Because he is cute. Floppy brown hair and the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen, hidden behind a pair of wireframes that perch on his freckled nose. His partner must be an incredibly happy person, having someone like this walking around their house. 

"N-no!" He blurts. His face falls. "—wait! Well-well, I...uh, I...I don't wanna be rude, but I mean I-I..." Your index finger presses against his thin lips, silencing whatever he had left to say. If history is anything to go off of, you wouldn't have been able to understand what he's trying to tell you anyway.

But...well, you are stuck here, so you'd might as well ask. "What's your name?" 

"Ro-Ro..." A short pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. "Robert." 

"Well, Bobby," you can't help but say it, a little too eager to watch the blush in his cheeks deepen. "It's a shame that you didn't. You're pretty cute."

Even in the dark, you can see how his face reddens, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his words. 

"But! I'll be on my way," lifting yourself from his lap before you can become too comfortable there. Something bumps into your ass; you think that may have been his cheek. "Do me a favor and tell your partner that they're a very lucky person, would ya?"

"Partner?" Squeaking.

Your feet freeze. There's no way he's... "Don't tell me you're single."

But Bob nods his head like it's the simplest confession he's ever made. "That's half of the reason why they went through the trouble of making you come here." He pauses, his left eye twitching as a thought visibly crosses his mind. Whatever it is, it's got him looking away from you entirely. "Said I'm...said I'm too old to be a—" 

"Wait, wait, wait." Holding your hands up. Need a moment of silence to understand what the hell you're hearing. "Your coworkers summoned a succubus to take your virginity?"

His lips flatten into a line. "...yeah."

"Well, that's shitty!" That's a new one. Finally, something to top the time a sorority summoned you to party with them for...some reason. Bragging rights, you think. "Do they pay you enough to put up with those assholes?"

It's been a minute since you've run into someone so nonchalant about a demonic creature standing in the room with them, never mind hold a casual conversation with you. 

But here Bob is, shrugging his shoulders like this happens to him every Tuesday. "You learn to deal with it when you're paid a hundred sixty-thousand a year."

"So you're a rich virgin." It shoots out of your mouth before you realize the thought crossed your mind.

Again, Bob is too calm about this. "I...guess?"

"Rich, hot, and a virgin." Modifying your statement. "What's wrong with you?"

Those blue eyes widen. Blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you don't have a line of people out the door." You say, crouching back down in front of him. Sure wish he'd let you do something about that tent in his pajama pants. "If it's not the looks that reel the ladies in, it's the charm, and if it's not the charm, it's the money. And you've got all three, pretty boy."

It's not supposed to be a serious topic, not as if you're about to go and write an article about his non-existent sex life to publish in the weekly paper. But this guy is actually thinking about it. His brows furrowing as he mulls over his thoughts, mouth parting, only to fall closed once more. 

"I think it has something to do with the nature of my job and my severe inability to start a conversation," he concludes, with a little nod of his head. 

You wonder if you could put him in your pocket and take him home.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you're standing on some a ship right now. Is he some kind of cruise captain? "That'll do it." 

Bob doesn't have anything else to say about that, awkwardly closing his legs before you can get another look at what he might be packing under there. Whether or not he caught you staring or he's just become aware of his current state, you're not sure. It's such a shame that someone else summoned you on his behalf; he would have been a fun one to toy with.

Hm.

"Do you wanna fuck with your coworkers before I leave?"

He blinks at you. Not a thought behind those eyes. "Huh?"

"Well, you've already got me here," an excited lilt in your voice, maybe a bit too eager to present your totally thought-out idea. "Believe it or not, I double as a poltergeist on Tuesdays and Thursdays." 

Or whenever you feel like, really. 

"That would be mean," shaking his head. What is he, some kind of saint? 

"They just summoned a demon to fuck you in a locked room," deadpan. 

For a moment, it's quiet, and then.

"...that's a fair point."

As it turns out, Bob lives on the world's shittiest cruise ship. A ship without a pool, a dimly lit cafeteria without a single Michelin-trained chef in sight. Long, narrow, colorless hallways. There aren't even individual rooms, just even smaller hallways stacked high with bunk beds. On the thinnest mattress you've ever seen, might you add. 

Worst of all, rather than allowing personal clothes, everyone is dressed in clothing provided by the ship. Whoever picked the color schemes needs to be introduced to a fucking color wheel. 

How do you trick the head of the United States Navy into summoning you? You have a few choice words about this place. 

You appear in the mirror first. A little flash of your face, and then you're gone, nothing but a figment of the imagination. Again, later in the night, those two coworkers of Bobs have convinced themselves that they had made it up. 

The plan was to end it there and to come back in the morning to turn it up a notch, but there's a chair sitting in the bunk room that's just so comfortable. So what if you lounge there all night, poking through a book Bob had on the foot of his bed? The room just dark enough to allow them to see your vague silhouette, air so quiet that every turn of the page seems to echo.

Not one of them sleeps, but Bob does, snoring away in his bottom bunk. He sounds like a little cat, tiny little noises that sound closer to grumbles than snores.

When morning comes, you show up in their showers right as they turn around. You appear on opposite ends of crowded rooms and in high-stakes meetings with fancy-dressed higher-ups just to get a reaction. Tapping on their shoulders when they think they're alone. Somehow, you managed to get away with swapping the labels on the mustard and hot mustard. Effectively ruined several breakfasts in one fell swoop.

One, this loud-mouthed blonde you forgot the name of, wakes up to you sitting on his chest. Who would have thought that he had such a shrill scream?

But you might take it too far when you chase them down the narrow hallway—five grown adults shrieking like they're in a haunted scream park and not a Navy ship. 

Or at least, you thought you did. 

"I can't-I can't believe you just—!" Bob's laughing into his palms, keeling over with it. His mouth is moving, but he can't get anything out. Bubbly, loud giggles that travel around the tiny little fan room, bouncing off every corner. 

"And here you said it would be too mean," gently mocking, unable to fight off the smile that works its way across your face. So big you can hardly speak through it. 

That should technically be the last of your encounters. 

You should be heading back through your portal and off on another job, but Bob doesn't utter the proper incantations to make that happen. He starts to, but then you ask about his book, and he squeaks at you for spoiling the ending, and then you begin to second guess if you're recalling it correctly.

Then the conversation starts, and suddenly, you've been bound to him for three weeks. 

If it were anyone else, you'd complain and force the portal to open by yourself. There's more than one way to break the spell and go back to where you came from, but there's something about Bob Floyd that keeps you lingering. Maybe it's the way he blushes when you get too close. Maybe it's because you can't remember a time when someone kept you around solely because they liked talking to you.

Maybe it's because he has a fantastic taste in literature. Anything he's reading somehow becomes glued to your hands, unable to be put down until you've reached the final page.

"I can't believe nobody has gotten bold enough to comment on the strange figure reading a book in the corner every night," you giggle, nothing but a misty haze hovering over his head. 

His lips curl into a smile, toothpaste spilling over as he fights not to bite his toothbrush. "I think they're afraid of another hallway incident."

"Are you afraid of another hallway incident?" Appearing in the mirror, if only to get your message across.

"Nah." 

If you had known that the Admiral would be the final person you would get to scare before Bob left the ship, then you probably would have gone all out on it. But at the moment, all you're thinking about is how unfair and rude it was to pin Bob for the mistakes that his pilot made up in the air. The guy can't even fly a jet. How is it his fault that the pilot confused their lefts and rights?

So you show up in the mirror, jump on him, and spiral about the room in a foggy haze before rustling down the hallway in such a storm that it creates a draft. There seems to be a growing trend with men having high-pitched screams on this boat.

If Bob ever catches wind of the incident, he never brings it up.

Hell, maybe he thinks he's left you behind because he sure is surprised to turn around and find you sitting on his kitchen counter one morning.

"Did ya forget about me?"

"Please." Clenching at his heart. "Knock first."

Wordless, you tap your knuckles against the cool marble. 

Knock. 

Knock. 

Knock.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, their color a little more vivid now that he's wearing that deep blue button-down, the sleeves pulled back just enough to reveal the thick muscle of his forearms. They're still swollen from his workout; you wonder if he knows you were watching.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Kicking your foot at him, brushing against his slacks. The last thing you're expecting is for his hand to wrap around your ankle, lightly squeezing, as if to test out the feeling. 

"I got invited to a party and can't get out of it," he hums, letting your leg slip free of his grasp. Then, after a moment. "Wanna come?"

"You're inviting a demon to a party?" Slipping off the counter, batting your eyes at him. 

All it takes is one step forward for him to stumble back, wide-eyed and stuttering. "Is that... am I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry." 

"Hey, I never said no," your hands find their way to his chest, gently pushing—his back thumps against the fridge. "What color do you like?" 

"R-red?" That cute mouth of his wobbles, the slightest hint of facial hair coloring his upper lip. It'll be gone by five, but it's nice to see it for once. 

Red it is.

You think this party was thrown by the same sorority who invited you up to party with them because this is...not what you were anticipating. Shot glasses, shitty beer, and flashing lights, the thump of the music so heavy that your bones really with it. You don't even know where the speakers are, lost to the swarm of people crammed into this tiny bar.

All of a sudden, your long, sultry dress has shed into a short little number that blends in with the rest of the crowd. You can't see him, but you can feel Bob's eyes jump onto your frame. 

"How did you do that?" Tilting his head to the side like that will somehow help him find an answer to his question. 

"Magic, I suppose," there's an actual explanation for it, but you've long since forgotten it. Something about manifestation and energy and a word too big for your tongue to pronounce. "I actually have zero idea how it works."

There's so much going on that you find yourself vanishing for a few minutes. Nothing but a misty haze lingering over Bob's head as one of his buddies shoves a drink into his hand and pushes him down into a cushioned chair. You haven't the slightest clue what kind of golden liquid is swishing around in that cup, but it's got a flavor that has Bob's nose wrinkling.

"Someone's not a drinker," observing aloud, a sudden presence in his lap, your knees caging his hips.  

"Was it that obvious?" Sheepish, with that little sideways smile of his. Whether that's from admitting to his inability to drink alcohol or from where you've chosen to sit, you're not sure. 

"Your little nose wrinkle gives you away," your little tap on his nose makes him blink. "You're almost a little too clean-cut for this place." 

There's nothing special or different that he's done about his appearance, but the aesthetics of the crowd make it look like he's walked into the wrong party. A little bit too put together when you compare his ironed button-down and perfectly gelled hair to the half-drunk faces, trendy, cheap outfits, and that group of shirtless men over in the corner.

At least you have the luxury of changing clothing at the drop of a hat. Otherwise, you would be in the same boat.

"He said it was only gonna be a dozen of us," Bob lifts the glass to his lips once more, his nose twitching at the bitter flavor that greets his tongue. He's trying to hide his reaction, but you can still see the disgust in his eye.

"More like twelve dozen," plucking the glass from his hand, setting it on the little table next to the chair. "You could've convinced me this was a high-end frat party."

Looking around is enough to make you question if 'high-end' was just you being generous because this is looking more like an average party by the second. A myriad of nameless faces lost to the flash of the lights: red, blue, green, purple, yellow, a cycle that never loses its pattern. But even the strain it puts on your eyes isn't enough to distract from the sloppy grinding of bodies against each other, hands in the air, writhing to a beat that definitely does not match the music. 

Something is starting to press against your inner thigh. An insistent pressure that almost feels—

Damn, how long have Bob's cheeks been bright red like that?

"Are you good?" Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, clammy to the touch. "You're red as a balloon."

"Yep," his voice strained, so tight it may snap at the slightest hint of pressure. And he's looking over at the painting on the wall, one of those uninteresting things with only a few paint splatters to stain the pure white canvas. Not the kind of thing worth staring at so intently.

You shift forward, thumb swiping at the sweat beading at his temple—

"You sure get hard easily." Teasing. You hadn't even been trying, but that's definitely a heavy bulge pressing into you, straining against the thin fabric of his slacks. 

A muscle in his jaw flexes, swallowing hard. "Please don't say it out loud."

"I can fix that, you know." Perhaps curling your hand around his jaw is a little bit too bold, but he isn't making any moves to push you away or tell you to stop. "Some say I'm pretty good at that."

"No, no, that's okay," Bob shakes his head, gently dislodging your hand from his face. "I don't wanna make you do that."

"You're not making me do anything," leaning the slightest bit closer, tapping him on the chest with an index finger. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference."

He swallows again.

Someone calls out his name, waving a hand in the air as if to guide attention to himself as he emerges from the crowd, drink in hand, smile so big that it ought to blind someone. You vaguely recall seeing him back on the ship; name starts with an 'f'.

...shame that you don't remember anything more than that.

But Bob is uttering some Navy jargon that you don't have the capacity to keep up with, and your knees are starting to hurt, skin stuck to the cheap leather cushion. It's much easier to turn yourself around, back leaning against his chest, now free to scan over and watch the part of the room you couldn't see before. 

It's not that you don't feel him pressing into the curve of your ass; you just...well, you kind of forget about it. The moment you lay eyes on the game of beer pong happening behind the pool table, you're invested. Straining your neck to try and get a better look at who is winning, crossing two fingers as a lady in a little white skirt goes up against a guy who looks two beers away from a total blackout. 

Neither of them are good at it. Far from it, actually, but the girl's friends are cheering her on, and the man has missed the cup thrice now, stumbling over his own two feet. He misses. She scores two. He gets another point while she's trying to catch a ball that has rolled off into her crowd of friends.

You don't realize you've been squirming until Bob's forehead thunks against your back, shoulders rising with his inhale. 

"Where did your buddy go?" Chirping in the lightest tone you can muster. As if you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

"Maybe we should get up," entirely evading your question.

It's a worthy idea that goes down the drain within the same minute it's suggested. What you couldn't see from the couch was how big the crowd actually is. It's a swarm that swallows you whole, someone's shoving into your back, and Bob's stumbling into you, and it's all you can do not to explode into a plume of mist. 

You're only distantly aware of his arm curling around you, cinching you to him as if to anchor you in before the storm can wash you away. Your leg slotting between his is far from intentional. But it happens, and you're nose to nose with him, and the corner of his eye is twitching, and you swear you can hear a dam breaking.

You don't entirely know how you wind up here. Squeezing into this sorry excuse of a bathroom stall, your hands greedily dipping beneath his shirt, chest to chest. Every little meet of your lips has him gasping against you. His tongue tastes like the honey biscuit he was nibbling on earlier, the one that dripped on his shirt and left little white crumbs all over his lap.

You could eat him.

"We shouldn't..." He's whispering. A secret meant for your ears only.

Everything screeches to a halt. "Do you wanna stop?"

Shaking his head. "No." 

He makes it so damn easy. Legs parted just enough to allow your thigh to slot between them, immediately squeezes down around it the moment he recognizes it's there, drawing you right up into—

A shiver wracks through him. So intense that you can feel it.

You don't need to worry about taunting him. He's reacting as if you've already made a remark. Nose scrunching as he tries to steel his face, warding off the softness that once lingered there, taken aback by the sudden pressure between his legs. Such a strong front. Shame that it folds the moment your hand curls against the bulge in his slacks.

"You're bad at this," a teasing lilt in your tone, lazily working your hand against him. No real rhythm or method to it, simply a shifting pressure that you can already feel his hips beginning to follow. 

"It's been a while," muttered like a confession—a sin of the past.

Now that has your attention. "You've done this before?" 

The bathroom door squeals open, the handle cracking against the tile so hard that some of it tears off the wall entirely, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. A chunk of it rolls under the stall on a one-way track to strike the side of your shoe. You don't recognize the too-loud voices that enter the room, but Bob seems to, eyes rolling for a fraction of a moment. 

"Something similar...once," hardly audible over whatever the hell is being discussed by the sinks. 

You'll have to get the full story out of him when there aren't extra ears lurking mere feet away. Right now, though, you're tugging at his zipper, yanking it down as far as it will go, your hand darting through the gap. 

Good lord.

It's always the quiet ones.

"I'm surprised you can get through security with this thing," there's so much of him that you've got to use your other hand, fumbling to pop open his button. 

"With what?" Bob's brow furrows. You lightly squeeze the base of him. "...oh." 

One of the men shouts. Two laughs chime after it in hot pursuit.

There's a considerable weight to him that you hadn't anticipated until just now, his pretty, flushed cock throbbing in your hand. Muscle memory kicks into gear without much thought, gradually gliding up from his base to his tip—ruby red, almost angry in appearance, such a sharp contrast to your fingers.

His hips follow your motions, subtle little backs and forths that you nearly miss at first, keen on chasing your touch but too shy to allow himself to do it. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, pressing so hard that they leave an indent behind. Breathing hard through his nose, eyes screwing shut like he's fighting something back. 

You know what he's doing. Can't let a single noise escape for fear of it reaching the other ears in the room, but there's no way they can. Not with all that racket they're making. 

It's fifty-fifty if you still remember how to interrupt electricity, your one sure-fire method of making sure nobody can see what you're doing, but there's only one way to find out. 

Getting on your knees in a bathroom stall might be a new one for you, but here you are, blindly sinking lower and lower. Can't quite see what you're doing, your eyes hopelessly locked on Bob Floyd and his pink cheeks. Hasn't even realized what you're doing yet.

There's probably a good minute or two where you just hover there, waiting for the moment he realizes that you've moved. Eye-level with his cock, lazily thumbing each and every bead of precum across his plush head, a little routine to decorate the loose up-and-down of your hand. But his eyelids remain closed, and you're just so damn impatient.

The greet of your tongue has him jumping up onto his tiptoes. His head smacking into the flimsy stall wall. 

"What was that?" 

It's as if the room has morphed into a library. Complete, utter silence. Nothing but the faint breaths of the men gathered outside of the stall, Bob's, and your own. From the gap, you can see a black and yellow shoe taking a step forward. Silently inching closer.

The whites of Bob's eyes are so big that you can hardly see the color that decorates them. Drowned out and lost to a wave of fear that you can feel prickling through his body. If only those stupid yellow shoes would turn around and walk away; you wanted to play this card a little bit longer. 

The bathroom plunges into darkness. 

So you do still remember how to do that.

Someone screams. You're not sure who, but it was far too high-pitched to be the man right in front of you. Maybe it was the loser with the yellow shoes. Audibly stomping across the tile floor, shouting at each other as they fight for the door. The hinge squeals. Someone accidentally kicks the corner of it on their way out. 

And then it swings closed. The room falling quiet as the sliver of light peeking through the gap disappears entirely. 

Your mouth opens, gently drawing Bob into your mouth. Thicker than what you anticipated, uncomfortably stretching your lips around his head, but it's only a slight inconvenience. You can hardly think about it. Especially not when flicking the tip of your tongue across his slit elicits that sort of noise. Pitchy and drawn out, slipping out of him before he can stop it.

"That's—" his palm finds its way to your forehead. Pushes lightly. Jerks away. Lands on the side of your cheek instead. "A lot." 

You have very different definitions of 'a lot'.

You're actually moving rather slowly, gradually working your way down his length. He's only just beginning to touch the back of your throat, but Bob sucks in a sharp gasp of air as if you've just sprung this on him. You'd complain if he didn't taste so sweet. Just can't help but take him as far as he'll go, the tip of your nose kissing the cold metal of his zipper, throat so full of him that your head spins. 

He's trying to say something. Little fragments of words that might or might not be your name. Breaking apart the moment they fall into his mouth, shattered pieces raining down upon you and your eager ears. 

Maybe you're too quick about this. A fraction too eager to draw all the way back, only to fall upon him once more, lazily letting yourself gag around him if only to hear him groan low in his throat and to feel his thighs shudder beneath your palms. 

"I'm—I'm already, I..." Bobby's panting. Pawing at the side of your face. Doesn't know if he wants to pry you off or push your head back down. 

You expected this. You knew he would be a little bit quick, but all of a sudden, he's twitching in your mouth, a rope of cum decorating your tongue and...

Honey.

Why does he taste like honey? 

It feels like a fluke at first. Has you drawing all the way back, sucking gently on his spasming tip, but it doesn't change. Overwhelmingly sweet and thick on your tongue. It doesn't...since when did human men taste like this? Good lord, what took you so long to find one like this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob's abruptly pulling out of your mouth with a sharp 'pop,' the toilet paper roll audibly spinning as he grabs at it. 

The overhead light flickers back on. Damn near blinding. You nearly miss the shade of cherry decorating his cheeks. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you taste like honey?" 

"You can't be serious."

"No, something's gotta be wrong. I've picked something up somewhere," Bob doesn't seem to realize that he's started pacing again, striding back and forth across the room. "That doesn't...it shouldn't taste like honey!"

Your leg kicks off the edge of the exam table, taping him on the hip as he drifts past. "And what? You think a mystery STD will?"

"Maybe there's one I'm not considering," he stops dead in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye. "You should get tested too."

"Hard to catch a human virus if you aren't human," dragging your foot up the side of his thigh, "maybe it's just a succubus thing."

Bob's hand curls around your ankle, bringing it to rest comfortably against the side of his hip. "Huh?"

"I mean, like...maybe I taste it differently based on how much I like the person?" You're already grasping at straws as it is, but it's so hard to think when Bob is rubbing the back of your ankle like that. Diligent fingers pressing into strained muscle, drawing the tension away with every loose spiral.

"No," shaking his head as if to add emphasis to an already firm word. "I don't...no, that wouldn't make sense." 

That was your one and only theory, but, well, if he insists. "Alright, honey cum."

"Please, don't."

You're gone by the time the doctor decides to come back. Doesn't have a whole lot to say, but a few weeks later, there's a neatly folded paper on the counter with a whole bunch of negatives on it. 

Bob catches you looking at them, but he doesn't have anything to say about it. He's more intrigued by your appearance than anything else, brushing the pads of his fingers against one of your horns as he drifts past.

"Have you always had these?" He chirps, on a one-way track back to his coffee maker. His poor heart might stop if he pours himself anymore, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"Technically, yes," it's a lazy reply, but you're not sure what else to say. "I didn't think to hide them today. What is that, your third cup of coffee today?" 

"Fifth," he corrects, unashamed about finishing off the pot. There's just enough left to fill his mug to the rim and then some. How he doesn't spill it, you'll never know. "Do all demons have horns?"

"Depends on the race, really," shrugging. "Succubi have short, narrow horns with vibrant colors, crossroad demons have horns similar to a Texas Longhorn, fallen angels don't have any at all..." You could keep going, but you would be talking for a long, long time.

You probably shouldn't be lingering around Bob's apartment, invisible to the naked eye as you lounge in the soft red couch and gaze out the window at every rise and fall of the sun. He seems to know that you're still here; hums something that sounds like your name when the cushion sinks beneath your weight. 

It's a cute apartment, really. A thrifted coffee table and an oversized bookcase that has already run out of room, excess books spilling over onto the shelves that were once reserved for figurines, and clever callbacks to movies. 

There's a stash of DVDs lurking inside of the TV stand, and in the ottoman, a pair of signed and framed Star Wars posters decorating the hallway. He thinks that he's spread out the anime enough to pass undetected, but you can clearly see the manga lurking in the smaller bookcase in his bedroom. There's a Naruto sticker hiding on the side of the fridge, a Pokemon in the bathroom cabinet, and so far, you have counted four Trigun figurines. 

Five, if you include the one you just watched him unwrap and place next to his model jet. This one kind of looks like him...

"Are you still in here?" Bob calls out from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. It might be the first time you've heard his voice rise above a mutter since he left the doctor's office. 

You're not entirely sure where he is. Haven't exactly moved from the couch now that the sun has fallen again, blankly gazing at the distant ocean as if it's a home you once knew like the back of your hand. 

He appears in the hallway. Fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, his eyes squinting as he tries to scan the room without his glasses. You're still waiting for him to realize that he left them next to the stove again.

"Come out?" He tries again, ambling forward. "Please?" 

"Looking to terrorize your boss again?" Dissolving into solidity, the chilly air nipping unpleasantly at your skin. Invisible was better. You couldn't feel the temperature when you didn't have a body. 

Or...maybe you're feeling the temperature incorrectly because Bob looks like a shrimp mid-boil. Red in the cheeks, so flushed that it crawls down into his neck, and the sliver of chest showing through the collar of his shirt. 

"Bob?" Tilting your head to the side. 

"I wanna return the favor." Deadpan.

Blink.

Blink again.

Blink one more time.

You don't follow. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I..." his eyes skip around the room. Bouncing off of the coffee table to the poster behind your head, the miscellaneous figurine shelf, and the refrigerator. "You did something for me, and I...don't...like the idea of it being so one-sided?"

"Bob, I'm a succubus," there's supposed to be an underlying hint there because this is kind of the very reason for your existence, but Bob doesn't seem to pick up on that. Or maybe he does and just doesn't react. "Do you even know how?"

A beat passes. 

His head shakes. No.

"I'm a quick learner?" Offering it up like he's bartering. You wonder if you can get him to start offering crops and livestock. "Is that...okay?" 

You're not sure if it's the novelty of the idea or if it's because of that soft, doe-eyed expression he nails you with, but something has you agreeing to it. But just because you're on the same page together doesn't mean you'll be the very next sentence that he reads. 

You're gone the moment he's in front of you. 

"Where did you—"

"But you'll have to catch me first." Reappearing behind him. Walking your fingers up his spine. 

He turns. 

You're gone. Drifting behind his back again. Blowing at his nape. 

"Hey!" He squeals. So shrill and pitchy that it nearly throws you off. Only manage to dissolve into a plume of mist when he reaches for you. 

Bob is already spinning around. Blocks you from getting to his back again. And there must be some kind of 'tell' of where you are because his eyes follow you every which way. You'd might as well be fully human because this isn't working. 

You don't know how you get into the kitchen. But you're on one side, and Bob is on the other before you've even become solid. You stumble three steps to the right; he's already there. You go left. But then he goes left. You dart right—corner to corner to corner. Shit, you've put yourself in a corner. Either way you have to get past him. 

"Why are you so damn quick?" Giggling. Your feet slide against the hardwood. Not as fast as him. This will only last so long.

"Did you forget." He jumps left. "I'm in." Right. "The Navy?" Left again.

"I thought that meant you would be good at swimming!" You're slipping. Grabbing at the countertop before you can hit the floor. "Not—this!"

He breaks the pattern first. Shoots around the corner so quickly that you nearly don't have time to spin back around. His fingertips graze your back as you turn. You're tearing off around the corner. Dissolving bit-by-bit and—

There's a pressure around your waist, and the room is spinning, and you don't remember when or how your feet left the ground. 

"Bobby!" You're squealing, throwing your arms around his shoulders before you can slip. 

It's hard telling when or how things escalate the way that they do. All you remember is the coldness of the floor as he sets you back down, the heat of his arms around you, and the bump of his nose against your cheek. And melting. Fuck, you remember melting into him like snowflakes in July, meeting him halfway, his soft lips melding with yours so easily. 

You do remember when you fall against the couch. Nothing but ruby red cushions and the lingering pink in Bobby's cheeks, settling between your legs with such ease that you almost wonder if you've done this with him before. 

Christ, he could probably convince you that you've already had a few nights together. 

There's no reason why or how he should know that you're sensitive beneath your ear, mouthing at the skin there but never making a move to mottle it with bruises. Respectful. Irritatingly so. Never leaving behind a mark, not even when he bites at the collar of your shirt and grazes the skin that lurks beneath.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a quick learner. Is he sure that he's never done this before? Because he gets your lounge shorts off surprisingly easily. His waist dipping between your thighs, swollen lips finding your lower belly once more, working down, down, down...

"Shit," his tongue has you jolting, entirely caught off guard. "A little sudden there."

It's hard to feel any sort of annoyance when he peeks up at you from beneath his lashes, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "'m sorry."

Your hand curls into the back of his hair, a fraction longer than it was when his so-called friends summoned you right into his lap. Only takes the slightest pressure for him to dip his head back down, licking a slow stripe against you. He misses your clit on the first try, pulls away a little too soon. But he finds it on the second, visibly perks at your sharp inhale, and retraces his steps until you do it again.

Learning should imply that he doesn't know what he's doing beforehand. You're gonna need to steal his dictionary off the shelf and look up the proper definition because you're pretty sure he was lying. 

There's no damn reason why he should know how to point his tongue and trace it around your clit, teasing until your hips lift off the mattress. Temporary relief comes in the form of the hum that rumbles out of him, vibrating through your nerves like electricity. He's settling into it now, laying flat on his belly, arms curled around your thighs as ifhe belongs there.

Fuck, and he's working his way down. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses into your dripping pussy, stopping to lap at your entrance before pressing inside. His tongue isn't even all that long, but the wet heat and the tip of his nose pressing against your clit yanks a gasp out of your throat, eyes snapping shut. 

Your thigh squishes against his cheek, leg looping lazily over his shoulder as if that could somehow possibly bring him closer. Fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping across his scalp—

"What the hell?" Your own voice sounds foreign. Detached from your body.

Bob lifts his head, and good lord, his lips are glistening. "Hm?"

"What is this little bump on your head?" Tapping your nail against it, uniquely bony compared to the rest of his scalp. Feels like a perfect circle.

"I don't know what they are," nonchalant, already dipping back between your legs, "'ve had 'em since I was born."

You can see them when you push his hair out of the way, little indentations beneath the skin, solid as can be. One on each side, a few inches above his ears. These kind of look like...

No, that's not right. 

That sweet tongue of his finds you again. Drawing lazy shapes that transform into shock waves on impact, rumbling up your spine and down into your fluttering thighs. Letters. He's drawing letters, and you can hardly decipher what they are, but the voice in the back of your head whispers that he's writing is name into your cunt. Over and over until he's certain that you'll never find pleasure in a name that isn't his. 

"Bobby, I..."

He hums, hands curling around your hips, pulling you in. Doesn't let go of that same lazy pace that he just set for himself, curling through an 'R' and into an 'O' so intoxicating that you find your own mouth mimicking it, too. You don't mean to cum so soon. You really don't, but your eyes unintentionally lock with his, that tiny smile curling the corners of them, and shit—

Your back twitches up off the bed. Crying out so sharply that it rips right out of your throat. Your head might just tumble off your shoulders. Floating up into the clouds, heaven-bound. Weightless. 

The hands on your hips tighten. Anchoring you back down. Bob's burning tongue working you through it like he's done it a hundred times until your body is tensing and jerking away from every little lick.

"Jesus," sucking in a breath, "Christ." 

Bob lifts his head, swollen lips twisting into a cheesy grin. "Wrong name." 

"Nerd," tapping him on the nose.

"Demon," biting the inside of your thigh. 

It's hard telling who sputters into a laugh first. Giggling like school kids as he climbs up the bed, his mouth clumsily finding its way to yours. It's so much easier to hold his face when his glasses aren't in the way; don't have to worry about smudging a lense or accidentally knocking them off his face entirely. 

If you thought that you were bad, then Bob Floyd is another monster entirely because once he's gotten a taste of you, he can't get enough. 

Because he's on you again in the morning, kissing at your shoulder and working his way down your naked belly before his final alarm goes off and forces him to start getting ready for work. His sweet tongue working over your clit, chasing down a vastly different zig-zag pattern as he eases a thick, curious finger into you. Lazily searches for a little spot that steals your breath away and has you babbling for another.

In the evening, he's nibbling and kissing at your thighs while you wait for the pizza delivery guy is on his way. Leaves behind sporadic little marks that gradually acquire a delicious tenderness that makes you gasp when you try to cross your legs later. 

You answer to the sound of your name on an average Tuesday afternoon. An unapproved presence in a top-security Naval building, perched up on the edge of a locker room bench like you belong there. Like you, too, are a pilot with a willingness to perform and just the right amount of crazy flowing through your veins. 

Bob doesn't utter a word about it, but you know that one of his superiors has chewed him out again because his cheeks are pale as can be, eyes only softening at the sight of you appearing before him. And maybe he's a little bit too eager to fall to his knees, peppering your skin with kisses that make their way to where you crave them the most. 

Again and again. An addict who seems to need his fix every time he's overwhelmed. It's your purpose, the very thing you were built for, but the invisible string that draws you into him is unlike any other you've been wrapped up in before. An undescribable something-else lurking behind the charm of those wireframes and his warm, dizzying voice. Never asks for anything in return, all too content with eating you alive.

Your favorite might be the night that he pulls a muscle in his shoulder blade. One little misstep in the gym is all it takes for a night and a half of overwhelming soreness, binding him flat on his back, minding his left side. But even the mix of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a dash of pain isn't enough to keep him grounded.

"I have an idea." It's been forever since you last heard him speak. The last time you recall hearing his voice was last night when he asked you to pass him his toothbrush.

"Uh oh," not in any particular hurry to lift your head from his chest, naked and oh so warm to the touch. 

"What?" He's trying to act offended, but the attempt dies mid-air. Won't be making a living in acting any time soon, that's for sure. 

Tapping your finger on his collarbone, overtop a thin white scar you've yet to learn the story of. "Don't 'what' me." 

His laugh sounds like thunder. Deep and rumbling into your ears, a tune you didn't know you craved until just now. 

A familiar warmth settles against your cheek, diligent fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. "What if I told you I had another idea?"

One of these days, you'll learn to quit being surprised. 

Today, you're shocked that he asked you to ride his face. 

Shit, but here you are. Knees precariously resting above his head. Trying your best not to let your thighs clamp down around his face as he dips his tongue between your folds, half-lidded gaze fixated on your expression. You've long since lost count of how many times you've felt this. The soft whisps of his short hair tickling your skin, the way he hums when he hears you gasp.

"You've got," raking your fingers against his scalp, anything to distract from the calculated zig-zag across your clit, "a problem." 

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," muffled. His every word rumbling through your core and reaching up into your chest. 

"Yeah, well..." drinking in a shuddered breath, "you being addicted to eating me out was not on that list."

It's his fault for laughing again. Should have known that the vibration would have twisted into your nerves and sent them firing, thighs impulsively clamping down around his head with no regard for him or breathing. 

Fuck, it takes a moment to remember how to move them again. 

"I'm sorry," and you're about to lift yourself up, let him get a full breath of air, but his hands find your hips, anchoring you into place. 

"'s okay," pausing to lap at your clit, wet and messy, and god, the sound. "I don't mind."

He'd say that if you accidentally suffocated him to death, too.

Your nails drift across his scalp. Dragging just enough to feel the shift of hair beneath your fingertips, disturbing the hardened bump lurking just a few inches above his ear. You know that it's probably because of the swelling, but you swear it feels bigger than it did a few days ago. And maybe it's sensitive too because, for the briefest moment, you catch the whisp of a gasp. A sharp little intake of air punctuating the way he drifts down to toy with your entrance. 

They're worse the following morning.

He's only just beginning to settle between your legs, diligently kissing down the inside of your thigh, when the brush of your knee sends him reeling. Pawing at the sides of his head. Wincing. Yelping at his own touch.

"Did I—"

"No!" He blurts. Pitchy. "I'm sorry, it's, I—it hurts."

Even the delicate pressure of an ice pack is too much for him to tolerate, hissing like a cat the moment the material touches his skin. You're not entirely sure what to make of them. Dissolving into the air around him for a better view, drifting around his head, twisting every which way as if discovering the perfect angle will reveal the secret.

It doesn't...look infected. Strained is the best descriptor you can come up with. As if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath the skin. 

"And you said you've had these since you were born?" Musing aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them.

Hands find your waist as you settle into your human shape once more. "That's what I'm told." Then, tilting his head to look up at you, not making any move to get out of his chair. "Why, what did you see?"

"The same thing you're seeing," you can't help but push his hair back, watching the short strands gradually slip free from your fingers. "Must be a really odd birth defect."

He hums, blinking up at you without a word, perhaps not as concerned about his situation as he should be. Not a trace of worry clouding his features, though the corner of his eye twitches when you unintentionally drift over one of the bumps. 

It's the same kind of gaze that gets you into trouble three nights later. 

He doesn't seem to realize that he's doing it, drowning you in pools of ocean blue every time he looks your way. You don't understand how you make it through the night. He's just so damn distracting. Tapping his foot against yours beneath the table, legs tangling as a nameless mid-forties man in a fancy suit rambles on about the honor of working in the Navy and things you don't care to follow. 

You don't know how you get to the hotel bed. Only vaguely aware of the sensation of your feet leaving the ground, thighs clinging to the sharp bone of his hips. One of his hands is on your ass, and the other is smoothing up your back. Presses just hard enough to have you arching, chests bumping together hard enough to break your kiss.

"Bobby—"

"I know."

The room collapses into a world of pristine white clouds���or maybe you've just fallen onto the bed. You can't tell for sure. Can't be bothered to. Not when a familiar pressure appears against your lips, his firm body settling between your legs with a weight you can't possibly ignore. 

He tastes like the hot chocolate they poured into his cup when he turned down the champagne. Sweet and so warm that you can feel yourself melting, and you must be made of chocolate, too, because he moves as if he's going to eat you alive. Hands rising to cradle your face, settling into a lingering liplock that has you gasping for air.

Your head is spinning. One hand curling around his bicep. The other smoothing up the side of his burning neck. Hardly aware of how your hips lift up from the mattress, but all too aware of him meeting you in the middle. A new pressure forms between your legs. The not-so-subtle bump of a growing bulge against your cunt. 

Curse the layers of fabric separating you from each other. Can't do anything but meet him halfway. Mewling into his mouth like a cat in heat. Legs curling around his hips. The heels of your ankles digging into his ass, urging him closer, closer, closer.

Something trickles across your fingers. Smearing across his neck. 

"What is that?" It's sliding down your palm, scurrying past your wrist and beyond. Water? No, where would it have come from...

Bob draws away, an unusual chill filling the space he once occupied. "What is what?" 

Your hand is crimson. 

Why is your hand...?

"Oh my god." Reeling back. Hands held high as if that can possibly stop the blood that drips from your fingertips, so fresh that you can still feel the warmth of it. 

It's everywhere. Staining the fresh sheets, smeared across the back of Bob's neck, pooling at the shoulders of a brand new uniform that will never be the same again. It's on the shell of his ear and in his hair and—

"Oh my god," you sound like a broken record, but it's all you can say. "Bobby, your head."

Looking back on it, you're thankful Bob booked a room with two beds instead of one. 

There's no salvaging or rectifying the utter disaster going on in the bed that he claimed as his when you first got here. The sheets and comforter torn clean off, lying in a messy pile, waiting for the front desk to call back and tell you what to do with them. From here, they look perfectly fine, still the same shade of pure white, as if nothing has ever happened. 

Your attention meanders across the floor, tracing the lines of geometric shapes, following them on their journey between the beds until they disappear beneath the mattress. Bob's foot still hangs off the edge, a smidge too lazy to try and readjust himself now that he's found home here on your chest.

It's almost strange being here. Snuggling on a hotel bed with a man who didn't even summon you wasn't on the job description. Hell, the last time you even set foot in a place like this was probably years before you realized what you were and fully committed to the whole demonic entity thing. 

"Why don't you ever leave?" Bob's voice rumbles into your collar, a smidge deeper than it was the last time you heard it. 

"You never said you were satisfied with me," darting from your mouth before you can realize what you're about to say. A script so rehearsed that your tongue needs no instruction to utter it.

The room is quieter than it was before.

Which...is odd because nothing about it has changed. The cheap air conditioner still rattles to its own mechanic tune. You can still hear the girl talking on the phone in the hallway. Through the wall behind your head, the neighbor's television still plays the rerun of what sounds like a football game. 

Bob's eyes are open. Can feel the flutter of his lashes against the side of your neck. If you didn't know any better, you would mistake it for the dustings of tiny butterfly wings.

But he doesn't say anything. 

"I'm sorry, I...that may have come out the wrong way."

"'s okay." Says it so quickly that you wonder if he's listened to your apology at all. 

Antsy, you reach for his hair, fingers coming through the still-damp locks. A little bit fried after two full washes, but it was the necessary sacrifice to get all of that blood out. 

You've got to crane your neck to see the culprit, but it's still there, in the same state it was the last time you laid eyes on it. Scabbed over. No longer as swollen as it once was, but there's still something solid lurking beneath the surface. You could have sworn you saw a flash of white in there before it had closed up again, but looking at it now, there's nothing. 

"I think I just like being around you," concluding, after a long moment. 

'Like' may be an understatement, but...

The corner of his mouth is turning upward. You know it is because you can feel it against your chest. "I like being around you, too."

And here you thought you'd figured out what Robert Floyd defines as a party. 

Bubbling glasses of golden champagne, the same shade of the delicate chandelier sparkling overhead, crystals cascading down like a spiral staircase. Enchanting. Beginning three stories up and only ending mere feet away from where you stand, you could probably touch it if you tried. 

Such a stark contrast to the midnight peeking through the windows, twinkling city lights of every color in the rainbow drowned out by the blinding white and gold palette you've found yourself in. Unfamiliar faces and dresses worth more than a car fresh off the lot, wrapped up in the whimsical tune of a live orchestra off to your left.

So many things to look at. Luxury desserts and vivid red couches cozied up beside the fire. There's more to be discovered, entire rooms you have yet to venture into, a custom theater, a cocktail bar...yet, your eyes continue to drift to the only familiar thing here.

And his appear to do the same.

Locking from opposite sides of the room, the buzz of the crowd melting into a distant hum, as if you've just plunged into the very crystal oceans that color his irises. The heat of his gaze is the only thing keeping your head above water, burning across every inch of your skin. It's a wonder you don't go up in flames right here and now.

Glass shatters somewhere to your left. A lady yelps. Someone swears. But you can't bring yourself to look to see what just happened. Captured in a never-ending trance as you move about the room, only able to look away for milliseconds at a time. 

One of Bob's friends are talking to him, mouth moving a mile a minute, but Bob doesn't seem to be listening—Fireball or...something. The name should come to you easier than it does. Bob's told you so many stories of them together, but you fear you've spent too much time lingering on the sound of his voice to actually store and remember the fine details. 

The music swells. 

Heads turn toward the melody, and with it, feet begin to move. It's as if one-half of the party has vanished, opening up the floor enough for you to walk without worry of bumping into anyone. You wouldn't even be in this position if filtering through different forms was socially acceptable and not the quickest way to give someone a heart attack. 

It's like drawing too close to a fire, the flames so bright that you can hardly look at them without being blinded. Except the flames are the open buttons at the very top of his long sleeve, milky white skin peeking through the gap. He's grown a bit since this was fitted, the fabric hugging a little too tightly around his chest, straining already weakened seams. Two of the buttons have already snapped off, unveiling more than he would ever willingly show off. 

He would catch your staring if he weren't already doing the same damn thing. Knows he's been caught, too, cheeks dusting a cherry red the moment he tears his attention away from the slit in your dress, showing off your upper thigh. 

But Fanbase is still talking, rambling on about the subplot of a movie that you've yet to see, and you're simply not interested enough to linger any longer than you have to. Gliding past Bobby as if you hadn't just made eye contact with him, your hand trailing up the side of his arm on your way past. 

The door couldn't come quickly enough, and you disappear through it with nothing more than a wayward glance over your shoulder.

He's still looking at you. 

It's so much quieter in the hallway, all that noise and music vanishing the moment the door swings shut behind you. You're not sure where you're going; didn't plan this far ahead, but you can already see a floor-to-ceiling window that looks interesting enough. A decorative fountain rests in front of it, the water sparkling with the city lights.

The view is better at night. Still breathtaking during the day, but...god, something about the velvet black and twinkling shades of neon really bring out the charm of a city like this. Though you've still yet to figure out why a Navy event is all the way up here, in the tallest building they could find. One of their own venues would have sufficed; then they wouldn't have had to rent all these hotel rooms. 

"Your dress looks awful familiar." Maybe Bob is hiding magic powers of his own because there's no way he could have snuck up on you without floating here.

But there he is. Shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The rolled sleeves are struggling with his forearms, fabric so tight that the threads silently scream. 

"Does it?" Coy. You entirely stole this idea from the front cover of the magazine he had sitting on the kitchen counter. 

You don't mean to step forward at the same time he does, but you do. Nose to nose in the blink of an eye, so close that your vision goes a little blurry and out of focus. 

A door slams down the hall.

The invisible string snaps.

Your hands are in his hair, and his are on your waist, and mouths are clattering with all the grace and elegance of a car crash. The back of your leg hits the fountain. Sends the thing jumping as you all but slam into the window. It's a wonder you don't go crashing through it, plummeting through miles upon miles of midnight neons. 

Because it certainly feels like you did. 

Head spinning as if you're in a free fall. Fingers twisting in his hair before unspoken forces can peel you away, sloppily falling into tune with the bold dance of his lips. Fuck, it's so much more than what you've spent the past fifteen minutes picturing in your head. He tastes like cola and honey, so dizzyingly sweet that a sugar rush buzzes through your veins.

What is it with you and this human? 

It's as if you're one half of a magnet, hopelessly bound to him by forces that you can't quite identify. Yielding to the subtle pressure of his hands, allowing him to gather you into his chest as if you aren't close enough as it is. Heaven, Hell, and Earth could collapse right here and now, and it still wouldn't be enough to drive a wedge between you. 

"And here I thought you weren't the PDA type," that thought was supposed to stay in your head, but it's far too late to do anything about it.

"I think this is a little beyond PDA," Bob's mouth twists into a smile too soon. Teeth smash together with a sound that makes you wince. 

There are voices down the hallway, familiar, but you don't care to try and identify them. Whoever they are, they don't get a chance to see you here because Bob's taking hold of your wrist, and you're falling into the clumsiest run imaginable. Arms awkwardly tangling together. His boots too new to grip the floor. Giggling to yourselves as you slide to the right, fighting to get around the corner before he can be recognized. 

You're already crashing into each other again. And again. And again. Stealing kisses as if you need one for every few steps taken. Can't function otherwise. Winding through the hall, no regard for where you're going or if it's even the right direction, barging through a door and racing up the stairs. You trip on one. Bob falls on his ass on another.

It's a damn wonder how you find the correct door. 

At least, you assume it's the right one because your back all but slams into it; don't even hear the noise that rattles down the empty hall. How are you meant to pay attention to such meaningless things, when a soft pressure appears at your lips? Greedily leaning into it as you all but melt into one another, his breath running ragged.

The key. You need the key. 

It's somewhere on him, your hands blindly smoothing over his chest, searching for the outline of that thin plastic key card. And so what if you momentarily hook your fingers into the top of his shirt? It could have been hiding there, for all you know.

Bob finds it just before you do. Plucking the hunk of plastic from his front pocket, and you can feel the heat of his arm as he reaches past.

Beep.

Gravity tilts on its head. Falling backward. 

Toned arms loop around your waist. Force you to remain upright. Pulling you close like there's a risk of you blowing away. Stumbling backward. Through the door. You don't know how your arms got around his neck, but you're not making any move to let go. Clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do. Nose bumping into his cheek as you find your way to his mouth once more. 

One fleeting, accidental brush of his teeth against your lip has electricity bolting up your spine. Shades of gold explode in the depths of your frenzied mind. Fireworks. Tongues tangle for the briefest of seconds. But then he's licking at your bottom lip, and it's parting with a gasp, a little too eager to let him in. Twisting together in a fashion entirely unfamiliar to you, an exquisite dance that has you melting like snow on a summer day.

The mattress greets the backs of your knees, a gentle nudge that has you falling backward without ceremony. He's on top of you within a second, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, chests pressing together, and—

"Mmh."  His legs spasm around your thigh, only to push it up into him again, pressing against the growing tent in his slacks. Heavy. 

"What was that?" In the lightest tone you can conjure up, rubbing your thigh against him once more. 

His face flushes red. Eyes darting away like he'll catch on fire if he keeps looking at you, but there's no hiding the way he twitches at your touch. And he knows you've felt it because, somehow, his cheeks get even redder. 

"What, don't like being teased?"  

"I might die if you keep talking." 

You'd like to see how true that statement can be. But that's an experiment for another night; you can only take your mind off of the throbbing heat resting against your thigh for so long. 

Fuck, and it seems he's on the same page. Spit-slicked lips find the corner of your jaw, one of his hands smoothing down your side as he works his way beneath your ear. One kiss after the other, only lingering long enough to lightly suck on the skin there. Teeth scrape against you, and you absolutely shouldn't shudder at such a simple feeling, but it happens anyway.

Just like how you wander to his shirt, perhaps a bit too eager to start fumbling with the buttons. They're just as stubborn as you thought they would be, angrily wedging themselves in the gaps designed for them to fit through. Stupid things. Who ever thought these were a good idea?

Bob reaches past you, his wrist bumping your hand away—

Buttons scatter. Rolling across the floor. Bouncing across the bed. One strikes your chin. Another thunks against the headboard.

"I didn't know you had it in you," giggling. Only have a handful of seconds to admire the broad expanse of his pale chest before he's on you again. Picking up right where he left off, somewhere beneath your ear, where you're most sensitive. 

His hum sounds like it's wrapped around the shape of your name, vibrating up your neck, rattling around in your skull like an earthquake. It's a wonder you don't fall apart. Fingertips biting into his shoulders, squeezing them as tightly as you can. And he just keeps kissing on you. Working down, down, down to your collar, only stopped by the fabric of your dress.

You can make it disappear.

He knows you can make it disappear.

And yet his hands slip behind your back, tugging down the tiny zipper that runs parallel to your spine. 

Takes the time to ease the soft material off your body, impossibly slow, as if he's afraid of ripping it. Past your hips and over your knees. Folds it in half and sets it off to the side. And for a moment, he pauses. Lips shining with the same light that reflects off his glasses, hardly distracting from the sparkle of his eye. 

Kisses find the inside of your knee. Working across the joint and delving into the delicate territory of your thigh. It's a tune he's played so many times that you already know where he's going and what thoughts are lurking in the back of his quiet mind. Tempting, but...

The dog tags hanging from his neck are too perfect not to grab. Why he's wearing them, you're not sure, but they reel him back in so damn easily. 

But Bob freezes the moment you're eye to eye with him, not entirely sure how to tread this newfangled path he's found himself on. And that must be what makes it so easy to push him around. Flipping your positions with a skill you forgot you had, your ass snug in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

The back of his head thunks against the headboard, unnamed shades of red rising to tint his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

"You're sure?" He croaks; for a split second, you're on the ship again, meeting for the very first time. 

"Are you sure?" Countering. The bridge of your nose bumps into his. 

You don't necessarily remember what happens after that. 

It all melts into a blur. Starts with you bouncing a button off his bare chest and ends with the sound of his pants hitting the floor next to you. You don't know who got the lube out. It must have been him because you still don't know where it even came from, but it's the sensation of his slick fingers pressing into you that catapults you back into reality. 

"You remember that I'm a succubus, right?" The intended sarcasm doesn't so much as reach your vocal chords, nothing but a breathy whisper of the obvious. 

A smile is all that he gives in return. "I know."

It's been too long since the last time you felt this. The pressure of thick fingers slipping into your already drooling cunt, knuckles catching on your entrance as they drag past. Coarse fingertips drag against your walls, crooked, running across a bundle of nerves that he has no business knowing about. Knows he's found it too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your whine. 

Yeah. 

It's been too long. 

That's why you're so sensitive all of a sudden.

It's certainly not because of the heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. Has nothing to do with the pools of blue that lurk in his eye; you reckon you'd drown in them if you were to fall forward. No, you only feel like that because of the never-ending city view that sits just past his head. Broad and expansive, just like...just like his shoulders...

You don't realize what your hand is doing until you overhear his sharp inhale. His body jerks, shocked by the sudden trace of your fingers running up the underside of his cock. 

Impatience will be the undoing of both of you. In such a sudden hurry that lube spills onto the bed in your rush to slick him up, and it's only after that he realizes he's forgotten about the condom. Doesn't matter. The damn thing flies out of his hand when he tries ripping it open with his teeth, landing somewhere on the floor.

"Again," lifting your hips, lazily smacking his blunt tip against your cunt, "succubus."

"I'm sorry," he's yet to realize you're merely messing with him. Condom, no condom, you don't care either way. "I don't wanna make a mess of you."

"Maybe I want you to make a mess of me," countering. And it's the last thing you can say before the pressure of his cock shuts you up. 

If you asked, you're certain he would humbly refer to himself as average, but this is...this is so much better than average. Thicker than usual and wonderfully curved, fitting that a man so intent on pleasing you would also have the perfect cock, too. Stretches you just enough to make your jaw go slack, his fat tip dragging against every little nerve it can find. 

Bob tilts his head back, his chest rising with a heavy inhale, and that may be a whine that you hear. His lashes flutter, visibly fighting to keep them open as you sink down on him. Inch after inch, and it's been so long since you last felt this full. 

And maybe they've sucked all of the oxygen from the room because neither of you can seem to catch your breath. 

"That's..." his eyes drop down, fixating on the sight of him disappearing into you, "shit, that's..."

He doesn't get to finish that thought, and you don't get the chance to bother him about it, entirely distracted by the overwhelming sensation of him bottoming out. Your ass flush with his thighs, so damn full of him that your heart has risen into your throat. 

You've already found the strength to lift your body again. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, using him for leverage as your hips lift, the city lights seeming to twinkle when he rubs into those soft nerves. Can only manage to raise yourself by an inch or two before collapsing down into him once more. 

The warmth of Bobby's gaze crawls up your naked body, slow, like he's trying to take his time before he meets your eye. And when he does...

"You still in there?" Winding your arms around his neck. Can't seem to get him close enough.

His tongue darts out to wet his swollen lips, dry from panting, "uhuh." 

You suppose he's telling the truth because he's present enough to remember how to tilt his head up and catch you with a kiss—breathing hard through your noses. His hands squeezing your hips. Holding them through every rise and fall. 

Lube squelches between your legs. His cock head driving directly into that bundle of nerves again, your pussy helplessly spasming around him. You fear you're going to shatter into a million pieces if he does that again, but there's no attempt to shift your angle. Chasing that sensation again, crying out as a shock bolts up your spine. 

"Bobby," it slips out so easily. Riding on the coattails of a gasp. 

Foreheads knock together. So close that the sight of him goes a little bit fuzzy. Noses bumping when his hips twitch up, snapping into yours so swiftly that it knocks a whimper out of you. Just makes him do it again, and you are not living up to the whole succubus thing by collapsing into his shoulder. 

"Fuck, I can—" he grunts, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, "can feel you clenchin' around me." 

And you can feel him twitch inside of you. Such a simple feeling that has you getting wetter around him, can only imagine what kind of mess is forming between your bodies right now. You'd look, but it's hard enough pulling yourself back, thighs burning, desperate to work back into the rhythm you just...built up...

Is...that...?

"What's wrong?" Bob has stopped moving at...some point. You don't know when that was. The concept of time passing is a little bit irrelevant right now.

Words don't necessarily come to you. Fleeting chunks of vaguely related sentences that you can't quite stitch together. You don't...that's not...when did...?

The only thing you can think of is to touch one of them. 

His back jerks off the headboard. Sucking in a gasp. Eyes going wide. But then, twitching at the corners, pretty blue irises rolling back, his cock spasming despite your lack of movement. For a moment, not a sound seems to escape him, but then it's all shattered by a barely muffled whimper. 

"So that's what's wrong with you." Deadpan. 

Touching them made him cum. That's... somewhat familiar, actually. 

Bobby's eyes can barely tear themselves open, fighting against them as he blinks up at you. "What?" 

You're almost hesitant to touch them again. Two tiny horns, no more than an inch tall, poking out from where those pesky bumps once resided. 

Horns. Of course. Why did you think you were wrong when you considered that earlier? They're identical to yours! A few inches above the ear, wide at the base and growing narrow as it nears the tip. Jet black for the time being, but they'll develop their color with time. 

The one upside to being a succubus. Uniquely colored horns. 

"Not to bring up family while all seven and a half inches of you are inside of me," because you're not sure about how to start this conversation, jumping on the first half-baked plan that comes to mind. "But are you entirely sure your folks are human?"

His head tilts. "Why?" 

The only thing you can think of is to take a picture. Those two tiny horns poking out like they're part of a cute headband, so ridiculously small in person and even smaller on his phone. As you pass it off to him, you catch yourself wondering if he'll see them at all. 

"...huh." Is all that he can say. 

They're far too sensitive for him to touch, not after what mess you just caused, but he tries. Winces the moment his fingertips make contact with the fresh new bone; you can only imagine this is how you reacted the first time your horns made their appearance, too. 

You wonder if there's anything behind them. You've seen a few variations where a second pair sprouted behind the first, but you can't see anything from this angle. If you just lean a little further to the right—

A whimper twists through the air. Pretty blue eyes squeeze shut.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, no, don't," his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back down into his lap before you've even moved an inch, and oh, you can feel his cum beginning to spill out of you. Fuck, there's so...there's so much of it. It'll make a mess of the bed if you're not careful, but you can't move. Not with those big hands anchoring you down. 

But he's not done talking. 

"Keep going," he blurts, his chest shuddering with a breath. Horns be damned, those aren't on his mind right now. "Please, I just, I want, I want you to—" 

A swivel of your hips shuts him up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, already too late to stifle the pitchy little noise that sails out of his throat. God, that's a hell of a sound. Combined with the way his half-hard cock twitches in you, it's almost too much to bear. He can hardly handle it himself, squirming, not sure if he wants to push into you or away from you. 

"There!" Stardust twinkles behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't move."

It's as if the room has exploded into a galaxy. Midnight black and the deepest shades of navy, decorated in a rainbow of distant, twinkling stars. You and him and this big, oversized hotel bed. Weightless. Floating round and round, further and further away, until you're lost to the Milky Way itself. 

The fat tip of his cock drives up into those nerves again. Space nearly swallows you up once more. "Bobby..."

Your eyes must have been closed because you don't remember his head tipping back. Dazed, flushed cheeks, so entirely focused on you that the rest of the world ceases to exist at all. Pitchy whimpers, stumbling off his drooling tongue, overstimulated but making no move to push you off of him.

His lips seal. Hardly manages to muffle his noises, but it's already too quiet for your liking.

One of your hands curls around his cheek. Thumb pressing against his bottom lip, hardly takes any pressure for him to give way, allowing you in. And his poor tongue is right there, practically begging you to pin it down, and who are you to deny such a request?

Heat twists in your belly. Pussy clenching tighter around him. Your motions growing jerky. Sporadic. Sparks of color flash behind your eyelids, growing heavier by the second. And it's so fucking loud in this room. Whimpers. Cries. Blending together so seamlessly that you can't tell who makes what noise. Every motion punctuated by an all-too-loud squelch of cum and lube, fuck, this bed is going to be ruined after this.

"I-I'm—" Bob whines, tongue flexing beneath your thumb. Eyes glassy, one blink away from tears spilling over the brim. 

"Close." Don't know if you're finishing his sentence or speaking for yourself. 

It washes over you with all the strength and violence of a tidal wave. Hips stalling. Head falling back. Cumming on his cock with an unexpected cry, heat racing through your veins, skin prickling, breath hung up in your throat. You think your eyes cross. Can't really figure out how true that is, too busy floating through the cracks in the universe to think about anything but the spasm of his length inside of you. 

And you're vaguely aware that he's cumming, too, his cries vibrating through your thumb and deep into your bones. 

"Still in there?" You find yourself asking after a moment. 

Bob hums and you're only now realizing that his glasses are gone, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. Where they've gone, you don't know; don't think you could get up and look for them if you tried. 

All of the strength has left your legs. Thighs trembling as you lift yourself from his lap. And they can only hold you up for so long before you find yourself collapsing next to him, greeted by the significantly cooler sheets. 

Those horns are still there. All too present as he tries to snuggle down onto a pillow, inconveniently brushing against the fabric. You're both a damn mess. His lower belly glistens in the light, and you can already feel his cum beginning to spill out of you onto the sheets. 

Sheets that you don't want to change for a cleaner set. 

But the shower is so far away...and Bob is curling his arm around you. Pulling you closer to him as if the six inches of space between your bodies is too much for him to handle. Your nose bumps into his chin, the slightest hint of stubble growing there.

You should hide his razor and see what happens.

"How do I make them disappear?" Bob's voice cracks in the middle, sporadically skyrocketing in pitch. Water might do him good, but...damn, the fridge is by the bathroom. 

"I'll teach you, eventually," your voice isn't doing much better; you can hardly get it above a whisper. "I wanna see them on you for a little longer first."

His eyes roll, shaking his head all the while. Almost like he expected you to say that. But he doesn't call you out on it, content to tilt his head down and shut you up instead. Swollen lips crashing together, lazily tangling. A small explosion would be less messy, tongues licking into each other's mouths and teeth clacking so hard that your even bones recoil at the sensation. 

...but there's pressure on your shoulder, and you're rolling onto your back, his comfortable weight settling on top of you. Half hard against your thigh. 

"Satisfied?" You murmur, though you suppose you already know the answer to that.

His lips curl into a smile. Devilish, even. "No."

You're beginning to think you've swapped roles in this relationship.

[humdrummoloch]

Here's an exercise to apply to your story: pick any scene and build up its stakes.

Most scenes should have at least a tiny bit of tension. Not every scene has to drip with artificial melodrama, but if the audience doesn't see a good reason to care about what's happening, they probably won't.

Using this 3-part exercise I just made up, just with a few quick bullet lists, you can dissect that scene's stakes and make them mean something.

PART 1: THE TELLING

Take a moment to focus on the stakes in your scene. What's the worst that could happen? List them.

Here's the rule: if a stake is obvious, don't count it.

Wrong: "If he kills me, I die."

Wrong: "If the villain fails to get the artefact, he fails."

Wrong: "If I lose this match, I lose."

Sure, yeah. But what ELSE?

Correct: "If I die, there'll be no one to protect my family."

Correct: "If I don't get this magical artefact before the hero stops me, my plans to take over the world will be sabotaged."

Correct: "If I lose this match, I'll never make it to the championships and show the world what I can do."

The stronger these stakes are, the better (within reason). "So-and-so might die" isn't a compelling (as it could be) narrative stake even in stories where people do die.

Even in low-stakes stories, the characters care about those low stakes. If it's important to them that they impress that client or get that job, tell us WHY they care. Is it their lifelong dream, or the promise they made to their dying mother, or the job that'll take them away from a horrible living situation? Will failure embarrass them in front of their crush?

PART 2: THE SHOWING

Now you know what could go bad, let the audience feel it. Just take things that matter and tweak them so that they're tangible.

"If I don't join the fight, my friend might die!" -> Show us an enemy raising a sword about to strike their friend down if the character doesn't rush in to save them NOW.

"If I drop out, I'll be a bad daughter!" -> Show us her parents bragging about their kid's academic performance and telling her they're happy they have a good kid with a bright future instead of some "no-good delinquent."

"If I don't pay by next week the bank's gonna take our house!" -> Show us the character begging for just a few more days, show their reaction to overhearing someone talking about buying the house from the bank to bulldoze the property. Show what the house means to them and how they made it their home.

PART 3: THE HAPPENING

Remember, a bullet seems a whole lot deadlier when it doesn't literally miss every time. But it would be strange if every scifi involved the whole planet blowing up, right? Or if the main characters all died? So, you have to show us you're not kidding by employing a secret third thing. Here's the trick to this: divide up the stakes into pieces and make one of the pieces happen.

If the protag's team is in actual danger, just one of them can die. Maybe even someone "essential" -- the climax will be boosted from the team overcoming this setback, the story becoming more clutch and unpredictable to the audience.

A marriage on the rocks? Show that their previously happy kid is suddenly hiding things from them and failing in school.

The city in danger? Show us buildings being knocked over.

Hell, the protag themselves in danger? They've got a leg they might not be using.

If a stake can't be split down like this, it might be better to have the bulldozers show up at the house during the climax. Maybe even let the house fall.

After this exercise, your scene should now feel a whole lot more weighty, whether it's a job application or a final battle to the death. Again, not every scene needs tension and it can go too far and become silly, but I hope this exercise helps you the way it helps me.

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE BAKUGOU FAMILY HEADCANNONS (Platonic)

There would be NO DOUBT that they would ALL be HELLA OVERPROTECTIVE about you 

I mean, Masaru would be kinda chill actually compared to Mitsuki and Katsuki. He won't freak TF out if you talk to other people and have fun with your friends and he's the most lenient one in the family and he doesn't give a damn what you wear. He likes seeing you in all sorts of clothing and thinks his darling little daughter looks good in whatever she wears and won't force you to do anything 

But when it comes to the question of sleepovers and going to other people's houses WITHOUT EITHER one of the Bakugou's to accompany you is a big no go. They're worried that something might happen to you if you step out of the house and they half wish you'll stop trying to be apro hero. Why be a hero and put your life at risk while you have the big strong Ground Zero as your brother and 2 parents who are perfectly capable of protecting the youngest Bakugou?

Mitsuki, on the other hand will treat you like a child along with Katsuki. Everyone loves spoiling the shit outta you and Mitsuki likes dressing you up in cutesy cutesy little outfits. Mitsuki however will NEVER allow you to break rules like disobeying her when she says no to something and sneaking off with your friends. She simply will NOT tolerate rule breaking and even if you DO manage to sneak around her back, your brother Katsuki will always be there to 'get you on the right track' even if he has to use his quirk on you. They just want what's best for you after all

They are self aware yanderes and their relationship towards you is unhealthy and delusional and they KNOW it but they have to protect you from the horrors of the world. If you used to attend the UA, you bet Katsuki had something to do with why your mom suddenly wanted you to drop out and take a break for sometime and soon that 'break' turned into a never ending relaxing vacation at your home for you. You won't be working anytime soon while they're around that's for sure and while Masaru talks to you, Katsuki and Mitsuki will be busy preparing food for you guys to eat. They don't want you going in the kitchen, what if you accidentally hurt yourself or boil or burn yourself?

They'll love cuddling with you and making you feel safe and comfortable in their presence. They have NEVER hit you till date and never will either. And WHO expects parents to starve their own kids? Cuz, they aren't those types of parents

For punishments, they'll just restrict your usage of your favorite items but they won't leave you isolated or without food and water. They aren't THAT heartless psychopaths 

Katsuki is the world's MOST short tempered brother one can have and you BET he's gonna cling to you 24/7 and tell on you to your parents what you both did the entire day (This boi should come with a blabbermouth and a tattletale warning label). You can hate him all you want for it but he just wants what's best for his youngest sibling. He loves and cares about you too much and he won't cuss around you so much either since he actually rather enjoys your innocence. His blood will BOIL when you talk to other people ESPECIALLY other GUYS and he'll obviously threaten to blow them up, even if you talk to Kirishima

 Being in relationships is COMPELTELY off the table for you. They will NEVER allow you to date and if you are in a relationship in secret, oh... what a shocker, that scumbag broke up with you the next day? Well, you can BET your allowances your OWN family was behind it but they'll just comfort you as they get you and give you whatever you want

The house will be full of baby pictures of you and Katsuki and you all as a happy family. They'll have guests over a few times but they can't ever let someone try taking you away from them so they'll try limiting the time of the guest's stay in their household instead of maniacally killing them. They won't let pro heroes enter their house either and will come up with INFINITE excuses as to why they can't come in. They just don't want to lose you 

Just let them take care of you and everything will be all right after all, family ALWAYS knows what's best for you...

''Come on little firecracker, you'll look cute and adorable in that dress and I think we should CERTAINLY put up some pictures of the wall after this. What do you think Masaru?''

''Sure, our little angel looks nice in whatever they wear''

"Tch... you don't look THAT bad firefly..."

[rosenclaws]

Happy Birthday Old Man || Old Man!Logan drabble

warnings: none, maybe a little sad

a/n: I can't believe Hugh is 56. He's now 33 years older than me. For now. (it'll be 32 next week but that's not much better oops)

come join my discord server!

Logan's back ached worse than normal today. It's been a pretty shit day to be fair. The fall weather only made his bones creak more and it's homecoming season meaning all those asshole rich kids with daddies money rent a limo. Stupid high schoolers who think they're being sneaky with their drinking making a mess in his car. He charged double the price after one of them puked all over his seats.

Glancing at the clock in his limo he sees that its finally time to go home. His mind drifts as he drives and drives. Only thinking about you as he nears closer to home. A part of him wonders why you're still here. He can't give you the best life. He can't give you any life. He's dying. Still you stay with him. Taking care of him. Why? He'll never really understand. As he pulls into the dark driveway he sees the lights still on in the kitchen.

"Honey," He calls as he stumbles inside.

"Logan!" You smile as you appear from the kitchen. It's nearly 3 in the morning and yet the smile on your face stays. He collapses into a chair. Groaning as his bones creak and pain shoots through his whole body.

"I'm alright." He says with a tired smile, he's lying but he can't stand to see you look so pitiful. Not at him. You sigh as you go over and start to massage his shoulders. Kissing his forehead as he melts into your touch.

"Are you hungry?" You ask. He nods. To be honest he doesn't really eat much anymore. At least nothing healthy. You disappear into the kitchen only to come back covering something with your hands. Slowly you move your hand to reveal a small cupcake with a candle in it.

"What's this honey?" You place the cupcake by his side and smile.

"It's your birthday." He furrows his brows as he thinks. Was it really? God he lost track of his birthday a long time ago.

"You sure?" You laugh and bring the cupcake up to his face.

"Very. Charles told me a while ago. I know that you aren't big on celebration but..." You drift off, starting to regret your silly little idea. He breathes in and blows out the candle. Suppressing a cough as he plucks the candle out.

"Thanks." He digs his finger into the frosting. It's sweet, just like you. It's also homemade. He can see the flour on your face and clothes.

He almost feels guilty. For being the lucky one who gets your love. All your hard work just to make him a cupcake for the birthday he forgot about. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? He rips off a piece of the cupcake and holds it up to your mouth. Feeding you the soft cake and getting frosting on your face.

"Logan," You gently scold him. Picking up some of the frosting yourself and smearing it on his cheek.

"Hey!" He smacks your hand away and pulls you into his lap. He kisses the frosting off your face and you gently wipe away the frosting on his cheek. He groans when he moves just a little too quick and you get off of him immediately. Settling in between his legs instead.

"I'm fine honey, promise." You smile and rest your head on his knees. You try to hide your sadness as you look at the man in front of you. You love him and you don't know how much time you have left with him. But you push that thought away. It's his birthday. Another year and he's still here.

"Happy birthday Logan." You stay by his side as he rests in the chair. Basking in the soft moment for as long as you can.

"Thank you honey," Happy birthday to the old man.

Now all you can do is hope he makes it to his next one.

[genji-centric]

Venture NSFW Alphabet

MDNI!!! Warnings for NSFW unter cut!

A = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sloan gets super cuddly after sex. They need to feel how close you both are, the sound of both your breaths slowing down as you both come down from your highs. Venture loves to hold you or to be held. Aftercare is important to them, a cloth fetched and water for you is a garuntee but first they need to be held and told how good you felt.

B = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Venture likes their hands, with those hands, they are able to carry that drill to sights and battles. Sloan knows with that strength, they can hold you up and put you into any position, and for that, they love their hands. Venture can't pick a favorite on you. Your thighs feel amazing around their head. Sloan loves to grab at your ass, grope your breasts, and just everything about you drives them crazy.

C = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Venture can cum fast, they get aroused fast and overly excited means Sloan cums faster then they like to admit. They love to cum on you, from your mouth, and watch their fluids drip down your face. It's so hit to them, they also can be gross with your cum, they will make a show of them playing with it in their mouth. They will seductively lick their lips and let your cum drip down their chin.

D = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Venture always wanted to take you to a dig sight and fuck you there, its the mix of being outdoors where people can see and the fact you both are in some place so old yet doing something so sinful that gets them off. Maybe one day, but Venture isn't sure about how bringing the topic up could start.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Venture is utterly clueless. But they make up for it in their enthusiasm. They love to please you, so anything you want, they can do it. Sloan never had much experience before you, maybe a fling in school at most, and even then, Sloan didn't gain much, but they do research on their own to figure out the best to please you.

F = favorite position (this goes without saying)

Venture has a big thing for 69. The fact they can please you with their mouth is their favorite. And feeling your mouth on theirs is amazing, they will cum fast but they make up for it in how ravenous they get for you after each time either of you cum.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Venture can be so silly, in and out of the bedroom. Sloan can't help but be a little silly. They love seeing you smile, and watching your face as you laugh makes them so happy. You just make them so content, and how else are they supposed to show that then making you feel good? Venture loves hearing your giggles from something they said, turning into a moan or whimper. It gets them off.

H = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Venture doesn't strike me as the type to really groom, yes their hygienic, but that's about it. If you ask, they're more than happy to shave or wax, but if you don't mention it, they just let it grow as it pleases.

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Venture gives their all in anything they do, including getting you off. Sloan, when they try, can be a sappy romantic who gets candles and rose petals ready so they can blow your back out. Praise is a must, and they will tell you everything they love about you either whispered in your ear or muttered in Spanish. Each session of this is so romantic, and they know it, tell them how much you enjoy it, and rest assured it will become regular.

J = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Venture is easy to rile up, but they will try and distract themselves to the point where everything they think of gets them riled up and they can't do anything else but touch themselves. There is a near infinite amount of times they had to cover a wet spot in their pants or a boner and run away from a drill sight to go please themselves. If you get involved in teasing, they will become much to your every whim, use this sparingly please Sloan needs to get somethings done in a day..

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise. Venture will forever get off on praise and so help me if you whisper it in their ear they cum so fast and hard it's crazy. Another one of Venture's kinks is sub/dom, Sloan loves the idea of doing everything you say for them to do for a little praise. They also live to be a soft dom. They please you and whisper sweet nothings while deciding what you two do. It's exciting.

L = location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere in your guys' place, really. But their absolute favorite is the couch. They love how many positions they can take you. Missionary just laying down, doggy with you bent over the arm and draping you backward across the back so you're left to dangke iver the cushions as they rail into you. It's a favorite of yours and theirs for that reason.

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Any single thing, they love you, and they need you at all times. Bat your lashes seductively at them, run your fingers along their side as you walk by, and the rest of the day, they are daydreaming about how to take you when they get home. But two can play it that game, a quiet dream can have them grasping at the opportunity to tell you about it. They will whisper it in your ear in public and then act like nothing is happening. Their goal is to make you as pent up as they are so you can indulge them.

N = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything sadistic, they just can't bring it within themselves to be mean to you.. they love you too much to do that. If it's your thing, then they might indulge you by calling you a whole with lots of praise. Even then, it's just not their thing.

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Sloan lives to give head. End of story, they love the idea of lapping into your cunt with your juices running down their face. Slurping you up and watching your face as they lick their lips un a job well done, Sloan needs it in their life.

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sloan, it depends. There are some days they want to go slow and admire their favorite treasure. Feel you quench around their fingers as they look deeply into your eyes. Other days, they have so much energy, either from a successful dig or seeing you after so long they need to let off steam. It's those days to expect not to leave the bed for an hour.

Q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sloan enjoys quickies. It's enough to hold them off for a while, and it can get you both even more excited for later. A quick moment of giving you head, or you giving them a hand job, is fun. It's fast and a good way to get off, much better them their hand, that's for sure.

R = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

T = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Sloan is on the fence for a lot of things, asking them to do something, and they will give it a try to buy more public things or stuff involving pain, which makes them iffy. Ask them nicely, and they will think about it, but it isn't a garuntee for more harsh things.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Sloan is in shape, spending hours holding up the drill that weighs at least 70 pounds. They are not one to back down from difficult tasks, solo digs? With ease, but spending time with their favorite person? They can last about 3 rounds, with their high drive it can feel alot. But you can rest assured after each moment with them you both are leaving satisfied.

Venture loves using toys. In ancient societies, there have been dildos found, so what's stopping you two? They love to use a dildo on your or themselves, it's so hot watching you please yourself as they can just sit back and watch. Vibrators are a yes, putting it to your clit while they finger you is one of their favorite ways of getting you ready.

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

They live to tease you, whispering what they will do to you in public is their main pick. But Venture won't just stop there, expect to see a raunchy text but a late reply, texting you is still a little too much of a thrill and they need a breather but you best know they can write a text that has you shifting in your seat as you read it.

V = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Venture isn't that loud. Making noise is a garuntee with how much praise they whisper to you or the panting and groans they give off. Pit don't expect loud moans from them. They like making you loud, but they feel embarrassed if their noises go past light whimpering.

W = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Venture is the type to find a type of aphrodisiac to play with, the idea of you both being so insatiable horny is an idea they want to try so bad. Expect Valentine's day they bring out those aphrodisiac chocolates for you two to try.

X = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Ventures build is a strong one. Their muscles are defined but still having enough chub to be squishy to hold and expect them to have a bit of a tummy. Amab Venture's cock stands at about 6 inches, thick and veiny. Afab Venture has a big clit, perfect for sucking on.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Venture loves you, and with that company, all the lewd thoughts they have about you. Expect to find them pleasing themselves to your nudes alot, they need tou and always yearn for you.

Z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Venture is really out like a light, after everything is taken care uo they rest easy knowing you both had a good time. Holding you in their arms as they fall asleep is something they would never trade anything for, they love you and being able to sleep beside you after such a passionate time is the best feeling in the world to Sloan.

[saekkas]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

summary: dates with michael kaiser are fun, more so when they turn into a three-hour sanrio shopping spree.

notes: this is my attempt at spoiling him <3 also big thanks to @mirahua for the inspo! go ahead and *grabby grabby*

[wc: 915]

"do you really need to buy that much?" you honestly don't know what you're looking at, and you honestly don't know whether to be concerned or amused. "you're going to rob this whole store clean."

currently, it's the beginning of july, and kaiser, being the lovely boyfriend that he is, insisted on taking you out to the mall. window shopping, he called it.

more correctly, you're taking him shopping. especially with the way he's currently filling up your trolley with sanrio plushies.

"stop judging." kaiser glares, all pout and no bite. in his hand is a small cinnamoroll plush, one that looks suspiciously like him with blue eyes and blue star patterns on its ear.

he's holding it with such love and care, and you have to stop yourself from snorting when he lifts it so that they're face-to-face. "besides, how can you resist? he looks exactly like me!"

"that's exactly why i can resist."

your words catch his attention, and he scowls, playfully hitting your face with the plush toy's hand. "how dare you!"

"i'm kidding," you laugh, nudging him back with the hand that's not pushing the trolley. "but when i see headlines of you robbing a miniso, i'm totally sending them to ness."

his lips aren't the only one smiling. his eyes are bright, his shoulders seemingly light. your boyfriend looks like a child here, comfortably in his element, even with the people staring oddly at him.

it makes you happy that he's happy. it's enlightening to see the mikka that could be. the mikka that should be.

"yeah, yeah, whatever." even his words hold a sweet lilt to them, and you can't even bring yourself to complain when he throws a hello kitty themed soda can into the trolley. "i think i'm done."

you quirk an eyebrow, giggling as you survey every item he's managed to throw in. "aren't you forgetting something?"

you watch the flurry of emotions that pass through his face. confusion, confusion, and more confusion.

his eyes stray behind you, brightening as he extends a hand to show another sanrio plushy, this one modeled with him beside it.

"no," you laugh, wrestling the very cute toy out of his hand. "you've bought enough already!"

he pouts, and it's eerily similar to the toy he was holding earlier. "but don't you want a mini me at our house? a very special, limited addition mini me, part of the sanrio collaboration?"

"nice try but we should get the thing we actually came here for." you hold back a squeal when he tilts his head, looking oddly lost.

his cheeks have grown in lately, courtesy of your cooking, and now he's looking too much like baby mikka from the photos his mom showed when you came over. too cute to say no to.

"the very special, very limited addition hello kitty headband you wanted?" you watch as he perks up at the words, making a beeline to the other side of the shop right after.

you discreetly throw the plushy into the trolly as he leaves.

you suppose bringing your big baby of a boyfriend has its perks. not only does he come with a black card, but his fans are everywhere, letting him cut through the ridiculously long line of adults holding onto stuffed sanrio dolls.

"you should do some fanservice," you hum, holding onto a bag as he holds onto another, your free hands intertwined together. "blow some kisses or something."

there's a ruckus of screams as kaiser does just that, a smug smirk on his lips as he waves to his fans, tugging you to the exit with him. "they love me."

"careful, there." the screaming doesn't stop, not until you're both out of the mall and in the parking lot.

even then, there are a group of girls following you both around, smiling and giggling shyly, trying to catch his attention. "your head's going to become so big it won't fit through our door."

"why are you so mean?" he whines, pinching your cheek when you both finally get into his car. "don't you love me too?"

"nope." the words are out of your mouth in a second and he glares, taking your hand to squeeze it tightly. he backs out of the space, a hand on the wheel and the other in yours but the pout on his lips never fade.

you sigh. "okay. fine. i love you too."

he squeezes your hand every few seconds after that, his head turning back and forth, torn between wanting to look at you and having to look at the street.

when the car meets a red light, he steps on the breaks, leaning over the console to kiss your cheek. "what are you reading?"

you quickly show him your phone, laughing when his jaw falls at the headline written on the screen.

BASTARD MUCHEN'S MICHAEL KAISER SEEN AT LOCAL STORE, HOARDING NEWEST COLLECTION OF SANRIO TO HIMSELF.

"the nerve," he grumbles, continuing to glare at the street when you take your phone back. "what's wrong with me collecting? can't people have a hobby these days?"

he stares when you show him your phone again, this time of a comment someone posted on the article.

user mirahua: can't believe i actually simp for this blue painted red flag. can't believe he looks like hello kitty too. i hate hello kitty.

kaiser can only grumble, muttering curse words under his breath as you laugh the rest of the way home.

[mmurazz]

love on act. lhs

previous. | main. | next.

THE WIND BLOWS AGAIN, and your body shivers a bit from the cold. You wrap his jacket tighter around you, trying to stay warm as you look up to the stars in the night sky. Heeseung is still standing next to you, but he doesn’t say anything, he just watches you silently. 

“Oh look shooting star..!” You said as you looked up to the sky, a shooting star streak across the night sky, leaving a trail of glimmering light behind it. 

“You know what they say, right?” Heeseung speaks, sounding slightly amused. “If you make a wish, then your wish will come true.”  You giggle softly, and reply, "Yeah, I know that." You say, you are feeling happy now, as you see another shooting star in the sky. You feel like making a wish but you are not sure if it will come true, but you still make a wish in your heart.

What  did she wish..? I mean.. maybe something touching if you know, we’ll reveal it later on.

Heeseung hears the gossip too and his face looks annoyed. "You should just ignore them. They're just jealous, that's why they're talking about you." He says, he is trying to sound like he cares about you, but you don't believe it, though his tone is a bit cold. He then starts to walk away. "I'll be back." He quickly tells you, before walking away, as the gossiping people watch his every move.

You stay in the garden, feeling a bit lonely. But after seeing another shooting star, you make a new wish, one that is probably impossible to come true. As you look at the stars, you hear a soft voice, it's one of the gossiping ladies. She says, 

"Do they even love each other?" 

She laughs and whispers to her other friend, but you hear it clearly. It hurts, but you don't let it bother you. 

"I heard their relationship isn't even real, they're only married because their parents arranged it." You hear a man in the gossiping group say.

"I heard their relationship is just for show, they don't even love each other." A woman chimes in.

"I know for sure their relationship is fake. I mean, I don't see any love between them." Another man chimes in.

"I thought it was weird when I first saw them together. I don't feel any connection between them. I mean, look at them. Neither of them look too happy with each other."

You continue to listen to their gossip. The more you listen, the more heartbroken you feel. You look up at the sky again, and see that another shooting star has passed, you still make another wish, hoping it will come true. You feel a small tear forming in your eyes, you don't want to cry, so you just blink and quickly wipe it away. But another tear rolls down as you hear another person gossip. They say,

"I wonder how long they can keep their fake marriage?"

"I wonder if they can fake their love till death do them part."

They all continue to laugh at the thought, continuing to gossip about you and Heeseung's relationship. The more you listen, the more heartbroken and upset you feel. You feel a lump forming in your throat, you want to just walk away, but you are frozen in your spot, listening to their gossip while holding back tears.

THEY GO ON AND ON,  gossiping about you and Heeseung, like you're a piece of trash.

"I bet their marriage won't last five months even."

"They won't make it more than a year, I believe they'll divorce even before that."

"Yeah, I agree with you. I bet their marriage will only last two months. They don't have a love connection, nor do they have chemistry, so how can their relationship last long?"

You go back inside the hall and find your seat. But this time, Heeseung is talking to some other women. You can't help but feel a pang of jealousy as you see him talking and laughing with them, but you try to ignore it. All the gossiping you've heard has made you upset, and you can do nothing but feel helpless, as you just stare at Heeseung talking and laughing with other women.

You think about what the gossipers said, "Their marriage will only last a few more months.. no.. I bet we'll break up sooner than that.. our relationship isn't even real.. our marriage is based on a fake love.. our marriage is just a lie." You look down, feeling more upset and heartbroken. You can't help but feel like crying, but you hold it in, until finally a tear rolls down as you look at Heeseung again. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you quickly wipe it away before Heeseung could see it.

You keep on thinking about how Heeseung doesn't love you, and that your relationship is based on lies. The more you think about it, the more you feel hurt, and you find yourself slowly breaking down inside. Your heart feels heavy, and you feel like you're about to cry, but you hold it in, knowing that you can't let yourself cry here, with all these rich people watching you. 

You stand up, and walk out of the hall, without any word to Heeseung. You quickly send him a message that you're going home early, and you immediately order a taxi. As you wait for the taxi, you think about the gossip you heard, like "Their marriage will only last a few more months", and "Their relationship isn't even fake". Your heart feels like it's breaking, and it makes you feel sad, more tears trickle down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly. You get into the taxi, and you're on your way home. You can't help but feel sad as you think about what the gossip said about you and Heeseung's relationship. You keep replaying the gossip in your head, and it just makes you feel worse. The tears keep coming, but you keep wiping them away quickly. 

You finally arrive home, and you quickly enter inside. You rush up to your room, and sit down on the bed, crying softly to yourself. Your heart feels heavy from all the gossip you heard, you know your relationship with Heeseung is fake, but you can't help but feel depressed and alone. You're in the room crying by yourself, no one cares about you, no one is there to comfort you, you are completely alone. You change out of your dress, and throw on a nightgown. You feel so lonely, so you sit on your bed, and silently cry to yourself. You can't stop thinking about the fact that your marriage is fake, and that your relationship with Heeseung is just an act. All of these thoughts make you feel like your heart is breaking, and you just cry and cry. You feel so alone, and so helpless. It's like you can't escape all these feelings.. As you keep crying, you suddenly hear a knock at your door. You quickly wipe away your tears, and try to compose yourself, but it's too late. 

TEARS STILL COVER YOUR FACE, and it's obvious that you've been crying. You slowly walk to the door and open it, to find Heeseung standing there, looking at you with a blank expression on his face.

“Hi..?” You greeted him, your voice was slightly cracked from crying. 

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, before speaking.

"You're crying?" He asks, sounding a bit surprised as he looks at you, with the obvious tear tracks on your cheeks.

“Ehm.. yea i watched a drama before..” lies.

He nods, and seems to buy your excuse, but he knows that you're lying. But he says nothing, and just stares at you for another moment, before speaking.

"You left the party without even telling me? You know it's not just about you, but our company's image too, right?" He reprimands you, sounding angry at you. He is more concerned about his reputation, than about you being upset. This upsets you more. 

“I-.. okay sorry..” You apologized as you looked down.

Heeseung continues to lecture you,

"You can't just leave like that, it looks weird... You should always tell me before you leave..." He says, but he continues to sound angry, disregarding your tears.

"Don't you understand that my company's image is on the line too?" He asks, sounding a bit irritated as he stares at you. Heeseung sighs, and crosses his arms.

"I know this marriage is only for business purposes, but you can't act like that. Don't you care about my reputation?" He asks, sounding more annoyed.

"Our marriage isn't even real, and I don't feel a connection with you, but I at least care about my reputation. I don't want to look bad because of you." He says, sounding irritated. You nodded in reply, he looked at you for a moment, before he sighs again.

"Don't do that again. You know how this marriage is fake, but it's more about our company's image.." He reminds you, his tone still sounding annoyed.

"Don't do something like that ever again. You should remember that this marriage is just for a business deal, and we don't love each other." He then turns and walks away, shutting the door of your bedroom, leaving you alone and heartbroken once again.

.cpyright @mmurazz

[waybeforeyourtime]

This isn't directly related to YR but I want to bring it up after I've seen way too many negative comments about Edvin backing away from fans.

If you say or imply anything negative about someone for backing away from a space where they are harassed daily, then you suck.

Sometimes actors have a serious threat against them. Like this one. Sometimes, they can't tell you when law enforcement is first involved. Sometimes they simply aren't ready to discuss it and might never be.

But.. sometimes it's simply the pressure they feel from fans.

I know I'll never change the obsessive fans' minds. They have a mental illness that makes them unable to stop themselves. But oh I've seen many people, who should 100% know better, cross so many lines.

Harassment includes positive, yet extremely personal comments as well. Imagine every time you signed on you had hundreds of people telling you that you saved their life, that you are the only thing making them happy, asking them to talk to you, asking you extremely personal questions.

That would stress most people out, even those without an anxiety disorder. The comments are well-meaning but for the person receiving them, they are overwhelming. So, someone doesn't have to only be receiving hateful comments to want to take a break.

There there's stalking friends'/families' accounts, digging in deep for photos from years ago, looking for any sign of the actor or worse who they're romantically involved with. If the actor wants you to know, they'll tell you. That's it. It's that simple. So, please, please don't do this. Every actor I've talked to about this topic told me that it feels so creepy and extremely violating.

Yet, in fandom, we've come to consider that okay and normal. Just part of being a fan. All fans do it. Well, I'm here to tell you that they don't, you've simply found an echo chamber of fans who think like you.

In this fandom, it just blows my mind - given the canon material - that any fans have crossed these lines. Some people have praised Edvin for his portrayal of Wilhelm's anxiety and for being frank about his own and now have turned on him because he's backed off social media, accusing him of 'moving on' and 'not caring about YR anymore.'

tl;dr Actors are human. They are not objects that exist for your entertainment only. Their personal lives are not reality shows for you to watch. They don't owe you anything more than what is in their job description.

If you know your behavior is wrong, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, but you can't stop yourself, please talk to a mental health professional. Don't spiral into being one of these people.

[tytarax]

Lost and Found

Request by: @brethebomb2

Pairing: Kirishima Eijiro x GN!Reader x Bakugou Katsuki

Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Mentions of injury and memory loss, angst, eventual happy ending.

Word count: IDK, a lot

I literally cried writing this...

---

The air in the room was thick with tension, a palpable pressure that seemed ready to burst at any moment. Kirishima stood with clenched fists, his normally bright demeanor overshadowed by a deep frown. Bakugou, on the other hand, was seething, his explosive temper barely contained as he glared daggers at the other two.

"You can't keep doing this!" Kirishima's voice was low, but there was an edge to it that spoke of his frustration. "You can't keep pushing us away every time something goes wrong!"

You, caught in the middle of the argument, looked between them with tears in your eyes. "I'm not pushing anyone away," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. "I just need some time to think."

Bakugou scoffed, his expression scornful. "Think about what? About leaving us? Is that it?"

"No, Katsuki, that's not it at all!" Your voice rose in desperation. "I just... I need to figure things out. I need to understand what I want."

"And what about what we want?" Kirishima's voice was pained, his eyes pleading. "Don't we deserve a say in this too?"

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air. You felt trapped, torn between your love for Kirishima and Bakugou and the uncertainty that plagued your heart.

Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, Bakugou exploded. "Fine! If you need to figure things out so badly, do it on your own!" he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. "We don't need you dragging us down with your indecision!"

You flinched, the words hitting them like a physical blow. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you watched Bakugou storm out of the room, leaving them alone with Kirishima.

Kirishima sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "He didn't mean that," he said softly, reaching out to cup your cheek. "He's just... scared. We both are."

You were waiting for a hug from your big teddy bear boyfriend... but instead of pulling you into one, Kirishima hesitated. His eyes flickered towards the door, where Bakugou had disappeared, and then back to the reader.

"I... I need to go after him," Kirishima said, his voice strained. "Give us some time... and space."

.

.

.

The hospital room was quiet, save for the steady beep of machines monitoring your vital signs. Eijiro sat by your bedside, his usual bright demeanor overshadowed by worry. Katsuki stood nearby, his arms crossed, a deep frown etched into his face. He arrived an hour before Eijiro did.

"How are they?" Bakugou asked, his voice low.

Kirishima sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Physically, she's stable. But mentally... I don't know if they're okay, Katsuki."

Bakugou's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching. "What do you mean?"

"Just that," Kirishima explained. "The doctors said they were hit very hard in their head, and they won't know if something happened until they wake up"

Bakugou's expression softened, a mix of concern and confusion. "Is there anything we can do?"

Kirishima shook his head. "They said we just have to wait."

.

You opened your eyes slowly, being blinded by the harsh lights of the hospital. You tried to move, but you felt a grip on one of your hands and a pressure on your chest. You looked to the side and saw an ash-blonde boy holding your hand, he was asleep. And on your chest rested the head of a red-haired boy, also asleep, with a little drool coming out of his mouth.

"Where... am I? What happened?" You asked confused.

Out of nowhere, both boys opened their eyes quickly, scaring you.

"Hon! I'm glad you're okay! You have no idea how worried we were" The redhead told you while the blonde looked at you in silence.

"Love? What are you talking about? Who are you?" You asked.

"You sure ask strange things, baby." The red hair answered you again.

"I'm serious, who are you?" You asked, now a little more alarmed.

"Enough! If this is revenge for our argument this morning, that's enough, don't scare us like that!" Finally the blonde shouted.

"The ones who are scaring me are you. I just woke up and I have no idea where I am, what happened, or who the hell you are!" Thanks to the commotion, the doctor in charge of you quickly entered the room, silencing everyone.

"Hello, ____. Let me introduce myself, I am Dr. Yosano" The doctor interrupted.

"Dr, what happened?" You asked a little more calmly.

"Well, you suffered a severe blow to the head… erm… could you excuse us for a moment? I have to ask them some questions," he said, addressing the two boys.

After what? 30 minutes maybe? The doctor came to the waiting room. Katsuki was resting his head on Eijiro's shoulder while he had his eyes red and sore from crying.

The two boys got up and approached him.

"Doctor, what's wrong with ____?" Kirishima asked.

"I'm afraid... your partner is suffering from temporary global amnesia after the blow they received on the mission." The doctor answered looking at some papers "This means that ____ will be unable to generate new memories, so the memory of the latest events disappears. They can't remember where they are or how they got here. They do remember they are pro heroes, tho. But I'm afraid they do not remember who you are. Which is weird considering you have been together for a considerable time"

"That's not... permanent, right?" Katsuki asked.

"Luckily not. This type of amnesia is temporary... what is uncertain," The doctor looked at both of them "is when they will recover their memory."

Kirishima was holding back his tears. "Is there something we can do?"

"Well, as I tell you, it's uncertain when they'll recover their memory. But one way to speed up the process is to take them to familiar places, where you've been through things together." The doctor said "At the moment, you should enter and present yourselves"

"You're right... thanks, doctor, for everything" Kirishima said as he reached for Katsuki's hand. "Let's go Kats"

---

Days turned into weeks, but your memories remained lost. Kirishima and Bakugou tried everything they could think of to jog your memory. They showed you photos, told you stories, and took you to places you used to frequent together. But nothing seemed to work.

"This is where we confessed to each other..."

"You really enjoyed the Christmas night we came to this cat café"

"Some days later we had our first time together here"

Those were the kind of things they mentioned to you, but... nothing came to mind.

One day, while out on a walk, trying to clear your mind, you encountered Hawks, another pro hero. He greeted you warmly, but you barely registered his presence. Something about him, though, sparked a flicker of recognition deep within you.

"Hey ____, how are you doing? Long time no seen." He said and was taken aback when you stared blankly at him, with a bit of confusion.

"I'm sorry, I was told I had an accident, and now I have temporary memory loss," You said explaining yourself.

"Oh boy... that's rough, how could someone forget me," He said exaggerating his tone, causing you to giggle. "Well then, I'm Hawks or Keigo Takami, and I'm one of your sidekicks"

As days passed, you found yourself drawn to Keigo's company. His kindness and unwavering optimism were comforting in a way you couldn't explain. Kirishima and Bakugou noticed the change in your behavior, and it didn't sit well with them.

"We used to be so close," Kirishima lamented one evening, sitting with Bakugou in your now not shared room. "Now, it's like she's a completely different person."

Bakugou clenched his jaw, his fists trembling with suppressed emotion. "I won't give up on her, Eijiro. I can't."

One day, you told Kirishima and Bakugou you were going to hang out with Keigo. As you sat with him in a café, eating something and chatting, you saw Kirishima approaching with a determined look in his eyes.

"____, can we talk?" Kirishima asked, his voice tinged with sadness.

You glanced at Keigo, who gave you a smile. "Go ahead, I'll be right here," he said.

Kirishima led you to a secluded spot, away from prying eyes. "I know you don't remember, but we..." he began, his voice wavering slightly. "We were a team, you, me, and Katsuki. We fought together, laughed together, cried together. We were... family... And now, without you... we're lost. Kats wasted a lot of weight... he's just not right, the day of the accident we had an argument and he was not able to say he was sorry..."

You listened intently, a pang of guilt tugging at your heart. "I'm sorry, Kirishima. I wish I could remember, but I just... can't."

Kirishima sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I understand. I just... I miss you, ____. We both do."

Back in Kirishima's and Bakugou's room, Katsuki sat alone, lost in his thoughts. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, not after everything you'd been through together. Determined to remind you of the bond you shared, he began to gather photos and mementos from your past adventures.

"Please, ____, remember," he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. "Remember us."

Days passed, and still, your memories remained lost. Kirishima and Bakugou were running out of ideas, but they refused to give up hope. One evening, you were walking through the streets, and a familiar voice called out to you.

"(Y/N), wait!"

You turned to see Bakugou running towards you. "I-I have something to show you," he said, slightly out of breath.

Curiosity piqued, you followed Bakugou to his house courtyard. There, he had set up a makeshift projector, displaying chronologically organized photos of your entire life.

When you were a little baby in your parents' arms, you with your kinder-garden uniform, the day you discovered your quirk, the first day in UA, all your friends, the prom day, your closeness to both Katsuki and Kirishima, the vacation you had together in which you all confesed, the Christmas night, some kinda embarrasing pics Kats took after a night of pure passion...

As you watched, little scenes of your life together started flowing back.

"This is where we confessed to each other..." The hicking day...

"You really enjoyed the Christmas night we came to this cat café" We went to see the Christmas tree that night...

"Some days later we had our first time together here" That stormy night in the cabin...

"I remember...," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "I remember you both."

Kirishima and Bakugou pulled you into a tight hug, relief and joy washing over them. "We missed you, ____," Kirishima said, his voice choked with emotion.

"I missed you too," you replied, burying your face in Bakugou's chest. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm the one who's sorry... but, just... promise you won't forget us again," Bakugou said, his voice gentle.

"I promise"

Masterpost

MHA Masterlist

[sadist1224]

I need the Mafia!141 AU

I just want one more Mafia!141, but where you are not a sweet helpless girl, but a junior police lieutenant who was not accepted back into service due to injury.

And so you work in a bar that belongs to Valeria, and you don't give a shit who's a thug or not, but at some point you find yourself involved in this cycle of mafia events between gangs 141, CorTak, Los Vaqueros, Shadows and Connie, although you are essentially a civilian.

But instead of being a victim, you, as a former policeman, begin to nightmare overconfident mafiosi, defend your point of view and protect ordinary civilians from them.

Of course, you attract their attention, especially 141, who dragged you into this mess.

Sop and Gaz, who come to your bar for the first time, see you and go to greet you with a happy face, and you point guns in their faces, because WHAT the HELL do they think they can just kidnap you to blackmail your idiot ex who dared to steal money from them.

Sop and Gaz, who liked you right away, are still tied up in a chair, and they didn't mean you any harm, but work is work and now they're trying to make amends.

Imagine the faces of Price and the Ghost when Johnny and Kyle tell them that they met you at the bar behind the counter, and the men's eyes immediately light up with interest, because this is Valeria's bar, and she is still a dark horse.

Of course, they are setting up surveillance on you, but you are not blindly sewn, so you literally burst into Price's office and poke him in the face with this espionage. Your threats don't sound so impressive to him, but your sharp angry look and tough stance ignite something in him that he has long forgotten about. And he agrees to stop the surveillance, but in return he sends his boys to follow you.

Since then, there has not been a day when b 141 has not appeared in your bar. Of course, it annoyed you, but then you resigned yourself to working in a bar and helping those in need.

At some point, Joni brings Alejandro and Rudy to the bar, and Valeria is not happy about this, but you calm her down, saying that you keep everything under control.

Johnny, who quietly boils with jealousy when you respond to a light flirtation of Mexicans, but you only give him an angry look.

Kyle, who arrives a little later and finds Sope smoking at the entrance with an offended expression on his face.

And you see the upset expression on the face of the man with the mohawk, and the way Gaz gently rubs his shoulders, trying to cheer him up, and your heart thaws a little bit.

Johnny is ready to blow something up with happiness when you secretly send these two two stacks of whiskey on the house. The smiles on their faces are so bright, like children's, that you can't take offense at these two anymore. But this does not mean that you have posted a Price List or (even more so) A ghost who tried not to contact you at all.

A ghost who already knows where you live, what you drive, what kind of coffee you prefer and what books you read.

A ghost who actually feels sympathy for you for the strength of your character and a moderately kind heart, but he also thinks that you obviously like Gas and Soap more than he does, so he does not want to get into your fragile relationship with his subordinates, for fear of breaking everything.

A ghost who refuses Johnny to go to the bar with him until the last moment, but eventually breaks down when Sope talks about his favorite bourbon, which you ordered just the other day.

A ghost who sees no point in giving flowers, preferring something more practical and necessary for you. Therefore, by the end of the evening, he imperceptibly leaves you a generous tip, knowing what a precarious economic situation you are in, and that you will obviously refuse them if you are given them on purpose.

Price, who has been trying to get information about you all this time after you appeared in his office, but apart from your date of birth, place of birth and place of study, he can't find anything, even with his connections, so he considers you "clean".

Price, who is so intrigued by their new friend from the bar that he sets up a business meeting with Los Vaqueros in it, making a new secret gathering point out of your place of work.

Needless to say, Valeria was not happy about it? But she does not blame you in any way, because you are almost her sister, and if she could, she would have made you her right hand in her underground business long ago, but you deliberately ask not to involve yourself in this.

The bar where you work unwittingly becomes a neutral zone, and the bar area becomes Valeria's area, which means your area. And now you are unwittingly responsible for its inhabitants. But you agree to this, because these people - your neighbors and friends - have become your family and you will do everything to protect your small area from mafia groups and keep peace in it.

[devastatinglygreen]

Why do you think they're waiting for the Lady Whistledown reveal?

aside from drama? and i mean that seriously. i know everyone had headcanons and wants for years here but they're building tension. there was no real tension in part one outside of sexual and the stakes need to be higher for the penultimate episode.

the next bit is spoilers we know have been pretty much seen by too many people for ep 5 at least so wander under the cut at your own risk:

i think, and i know a lot of people aren't going to be thrilled about colin not knowing before some things happen, that they need to do two things: solidify their relationship a bit and basically send penelope into a spiral to take the stakes higher.

they have plot armor, they're not going to behead penelope right there in the queen's garden with the peacocks once she gets caught. the only thing truly up for grabs is polin. and not even that, not really, but it's the thing the audience is going to care about.

the spoilers have penelope trying to tell him but failing because she keeps getting interrupted. every time she fails, the clock ticks further. it's a pressure build. eloise is on her back. colin is just wandering along, deliriously happy and penelope knows she's carrying this bomb she's gonna blow up in his face.

she lost eloise to it. colin is the love of her life. i think we can all do that math. she's so stressed out by eloise's timeline she can barely breathe and then comes cressida.

you've got cressida taking credit for LW, colin's happiness sitting on her shoulders (tho i do think it's also so smart of them to have him defend penelope to portia before he finds out, it might give him some insight to how penelope is treated and feels when the right time comes), eloise is assuming things and giving her hell.

i mean, wouldn't you be a mess too? like, give the girl some grace her entire life is imploding right after getting what she's always wanted and never thought she'd get and losing the two most important people in the world to her only a few months before. would you want to blow that up again? yes, yes, i'm sure everyone who says "but she has to!" is very morally outraged and perfectly righteous in their own lives scoffs at the idea that penelope might struggle with a secret she doesn't know what to do with.

it's not like we've never seen how that eats her up before, right? oh. we totally have. nvm.

anyways. cressida. i kind of hope it's the turning point for peneloise because i think even eloise knows she's not a good person to have in a position of power like that. say what you want but penelope doesn't lie in LW.

add in they seem to be bringing in book scenes and i'm going to guess colin catches her after she takes off to print something saying cressida is a whole ass lie. fight ensues. angst! stakes are ridiculously high. the wedding is planned. the pedestals are knocked over and now colin will know everything. does he love her after that? can he? does he trust her ever again? (clearly yes or they're gonna need to change up that family tree thing they released lol).

this will give way to colin having to come to terms with penelope's legacy and how it affects his own estimation of himself and his writing. jealousy like the book. it's a colin issue and he knows it but he still has to deal with it.

colin very much thinks penelope is his purpose, right? the book says it. LN said it about show colin. he's gotta reconcile that LW and penelope are two halves of the same person. he can't put them both in boxes.

anyways what i mean is that the stakes need to be high and her blurting it out then having 2.5 episodes of them moping around about their LW fight isn't really the thing that gets your heart racing when you've got 8 episodes to tell the whole story.

(also as an aside, i think it's going to lead to us getting second "firsts" in a way. it's not going to be a first kiss or anything but i feel like the energy of it all will be different and i, personally, think that could be very fun)

[yuri-is-online]

you said that yutu and his friends have fought the heartslabyul boys in the bad timeline before, and it got the gears of my head turning. are they aware that their yutu is their kid? we know that ob! trey loved toying with his kids. even if they're not themselves anymore, it's interesting to know what their first reaction would be when this/these random kid/s (who looks a little TOO CLOSE to their long lost pregnant s/o or weirdly enough them in some cases) gets within their vicinity. can they even connect the dots since they’re phantoms now? do they seethe at this brat who masquerades as a memory of the past? (i can see ob! deuce getting extremely violent since his yutu looks like yuu, especially since i headcanon him acting as his delinquent self but 100x) Or do they just somehow know and not give af at all lmao.

How aware they are depends on 1) whether or not they died before of after the phantom possessed them and 2) who exactly killed them. This doesn't mean they act like themselves though, what I was trying to get across in Rook's pt. 2 is that he knows Roland is someone important, and might even be aware that this is his child, but the finer details are lost on him. He won't kill him outright, but if he starts using magic or if he were to try and kill him then the Hunter would kill him without much hesitation. What's left of Rook's soul would be distraught, his panic would likely influence the Hunter to take the boy's corpse to the Fairest Queen so she could "fix" him. And he wouldn't notice any difference between the two Rolands, if anything he might be relived that his son was no longer "sick." Now as for the specifics of the Heartslabyul boys:

Riddle is a wildly violent phantom. He is actively looking to enforce the Queen's law and take out his own pain on anything that looks wrong or moves. He is so caught up in his own anger, that he doesn't think Yutu is real. He thinks he is a hallucination mocking him for thinking he ever could have been happy, that you ever loved him or wanted to build a family in such a broken world. The real Yutu can't come home now, he hasn't made things perfect for him yet.

We have already talked about Trey, and I don't really want to pull back the curtain too much but (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵) The hatter is very independent. He is one of maybe two phantoms who have traveled outside of their domain but what the Phantom does and what Trey thinks he is doing are two very different things. When Trey leaves the Queendom he thinks he is going on vacation, when really he is hunting for more victims. As for his children, what is left of him genuinely thinks he is playing with them, and if one of them dies well then they just need to be taken home and put to sleep. As time goes on, the more he watches over them and tries his best to take care of them... then he might start to realize something is wrong. He gets a lot less intelligent and a lot more violent after that.

Cater's unique magic allows him to sit back and relax while his clones do most of the work for him, so actually seeing him is very rare. He spends most of his time in a state that looks like he's sleeping, only ever really waking up to do much of anything when Riddle forces him to. The clones don't recognize Yutu at all, and treat him in much the same way they do everyone else; they tend to be very annoying to fight and narrate how bad you are running for your life in very mocking tones. Actual Cater is much different; he's slow, deliberate in his movements and surrounded by a river of polluted water with a look that suggests he's tired. Maybe he is, he's been splitting off pieces of himself to trap you here and can't be whole anymore. He doesn't recognize Yutu until he finally gets in the killing blow, the only thing he has the energy left to do by then is smile.

Ace and Deuce are typically seen together. They're very similar to their duo magic line, where Deuce charges ahead and Ace laments that Deuce has lost it again, but there is a strange sort of desperation to a lot of their actions. Even if Yutu isn't their child, they recognize him sort of, they have been looking for you for a long time now and are very upset that someone is trying to use this against them.

For Ace, this manifests in him mocking whoever he thinks sent Yutu. He can't look the kid in the eye, if he is forced to think about what happened to you and your child any semblance of intelligence his phantom has leaves. Not even Riddle can control him when he thinks about how that makes him feel. He wants to kill Yutu, remove anything reminding him of what happened from the world at all. But as soon as he looks at him he loses most of his nerve. He's perfect... are you here too? Do you see what Ace is being forced to do to him? He was hoping he would look more like you...

Deuce's phantom refuses to think of Yutu as real. He is similar to Riddle in that he thinks the similarities he notices are just his imagination. It makes him violent, but unlike Ace he has no real problem looking Yutu in the eye. He makes no secret that he is looking to crush Yutu like a bug, how dare he pretend to be someone who has been dead and buried for years now? How dare he mock his grief? He wants nothing more than for you and your child to be here with him, but you aren't and that's just something he needs to accept. It's his fault you aren't here, he sees his current state as fitting punishment for that.

[starlightshadowsworld]

That scene of Chuuya saving the Agency from the Hunting Dogs.

Except it's BEAST and it's not Chuuya who shows up.

"Hunting Dogs, your certainly capable." Grumbles Kunikida, trying to get up from the road.

He looks around at his fellow Agency members, they weren't doing much better than him. This day was just getting worse and worse.

Ranpo had been right, of course he had been. This had all been a trap from the start, one they'd each fallen for.

And now they were being picked off one by one. Ranpo had vanished after that phone call, none of them knew if he was alright.

Odasaku had been arrested prior to all of this. With Perfect Crime seemingly nullified, his past crimes as a Port Mafia assassin had been revealed.

Akutugawa had been seperated. Junichiro had ran back into the building to find him.

'I only hope they're doing better than we are.' Thought Kunikida, glaring down at the Hunting Dogs, who remain unfazed.

"Now than, if you please Tecchou. First decapitate the doctor. We can't have her healing her comrades. Besides she's an angel of death, the world's better off without her." Says Jouno.

Yosano looks at him confused terror "how do you know that name..." She whispers.

Kunikida raises his hands in surrender "no don't kill her! Alright we'll surrender!" He knows its the wrong decision but what other choice do they have?

These two are only a fraction of the Hunting Dogs true power, and they could easily match Kenji's strength.

Kunikida's notebook laid in pieces at his side, there was nothing he can do but surrender.

Not for the first time did Kunikida miss the President, miss having Akutugawa, Ranpo and Odasaku at his side.

The Agency's strength has been divided, and he refuses to lose anyone else.

"You have an intresting pulse, Kunikida. You're an idealist, right?" Says Jouno, a smirk on his face that Kunikida wanted to wipe off.

"I'm sure you're relieved right now. Aren't you?"

No... No that's not true. It wasn't true at all.

"I read up on you. Your ideals are as lofty and large as a hot air balloon. But a hot air balloon will inevitably run out of fuel and run into the ground. You've lived in fear of that day."

"Stop." Kunikida yells. "I'm happy for you Kunikida, starting tomorrow you will be free." At Jouno's words Tecchou unleashes his ability, Plum Blossoms in the Snow.

His blade slices through the air faster than anyone can blink, heading straight for Yosano. But before it could reach her, something blocks his blade.

Jouno frowns "another fighter? But I didn't hear them approach." Because it was no person that stood defending Yosano, but a ghost. It couldn't be possible, but it was unmistakable who this spirit was.

"Demon Snow." Whispers Kunikida, eyes wide in shock.

Tecchou continues his attack but Demon Snow meets his every blow with her own deadly strikes. 'She's not giving him any room to breathe' thinks Yosano.

Demon Snow moved like a bullet, her movements sharp and precise. Tecchou looked suprised, it was clear not many could match him in a fight like this.

'If Demon Snow is here, than that means her weilder is nearby. And if she's here' Kunikida's eyes widen, looking up into the sky as a helicopter comes into view. 'Than that means...'

"You fucked up Detective Agency!"

And there he stood. It was unmistakable, the white hair, the long black coat with tiger fur on the brim. Standing above them all with a Cheshire cat smile was Atsushi Nakajima.

The White Reaper.

"Kyouka and I are here to save your asses on the Boss's orders." Yells Atsushi, answering the question they were all thinking.

Kyouka, sat flying the helicopter exchanges a smile with him. She nods and Atsushi drops his coat onto the seats.

Before jumping out the helicopter. As he did, his legs transformed into that of a tiger. Sending a shock wave through the road at the force of his feet hit the ground.

"So you're the famous Hunting Dogs. I'm afraid I'm more of a cat person myself." Smirks Atsushi, even from this height they all hear Kyouka facepalms

"What, you said that was a good one. You laughed last time." Says Atsushi, pouting. "It was a pity laugh" says Kyouka. "Everyone's a critic" Says Atsushi, sighing sadly and getting into position beside Demon Snow.

"The Port Mafia's Demon Blade and White Reaper, but why? Why are the Port Mafia helping these Agency terrorists?" Asks Jouno, readying himself to attack.

Atsushi chuckles "terrorists? Man you guys have been really busy since we last crossed paths." He says before transforming the rest of his body transforms into that of a weretiger.

"Fine, if you wish to die by these criminals side, so be it." Says Jouno. Atsushi skillfully dodges his blade, he almost looks bored. "You know you're pretty judgemental for being a former criminal executive, Jouno Saigiku."

Jouno pauses in his attack, caught off guard. Atsushi smirks "what? Did you think you were the only ones digging around for information."

Jouno glares at him, activating his ability as Atsushi swings his fist at him. Atsushi simply grins "in fact, this isn't the first time we've met. I'm kinda sad you forgot me so easily."

Jouno reappears, confused but Atsushi turns his attention to Kyouka. "Now!" Kyouka gets up from the pilot seat, leaving it running on autopilot. She throws a lemon shaped grenade at them and it bursts into flames engulfing Jouno.

"Jouno!" Yells Tecchou, leaving himself open for Atsushi to punch him hard enough he goes flying back. "I know I can't defeat you guys in a fair fight, so I'm afraid I had to play a little dirty." Says Atsushi, watching them both amused.

"Kaiji's been begging me for months to" give his baby" a test run. You're pretty invulnerable in that state, but not even you can run from fire." Says Kyouka.

Tecchou glares at her. "You bastards. I'll see it you both face justice for your crimes." Kyouka yawns "uh huh sure" she sidesteps his blade as it reaches her. Taking out her own katana and redirecting his back at him.

"You can waste your time fighting me, or you can go and make sure your team mate doesn't burn to ash. You're choice, of course." Tecchou glares at Kyouka one last time before running to Jouno's side. He extinguishes the flames and leaves with him on his back.

"That won't keep them for long" Says Atsushi, catching the ladder Kyouka sends down. "You guys go with Kyouka, we've got a bunker for you to hide in. The Boss will meet you there."

Kunikida sighs, knowing it's the best option and gets to his feet. Atsushi goes to help up Kenji "thanks for the beef bowl by the way, best I've ever had."

Kenji smiles back at him, so bright it took attention away from his wounds. "Really? I'm so glad" Atsushi smiles, it seems not even the Port Mafia were immune to the sunshine that was Kenji Miyazawa.

Atsushi helps him up onto the ladder, going back for Yosano who declines his aid but nods in thanks. "Hey glasses" Kunikida turns to face him "don't worry about your other two, I'm gonna go get em. You'll all be reunited shortly."

Kunikida just looks at him in suprise, how did he know? As if reading his mind, Atsushi tapped his nose. Right, he probably smelled them out.

He wants to help but, seeing his notebooks been destroyed and he's badly hurt he knows he'll just get in the way.

"Thank you, it you hadn't shown up..." Kunikida trails off, not wanting to finish that line of thinking. Atsushi nods in understanding "your welcome, but don't thank me just yet." He says cryptically before facing his sister.

"I'll meet you there, just got two stragglers to pick up." Kyouka narrows her eyes "if you aren't back within the hour, I'll hunt you down and drag your ass back my self." Atsushi smiles "I'd expect nothing less."

He pats Kunikida's shoulder and helps him onto the ladder. Atsushi gives one last look to Kyouka before running off. He jumps high up into air and transforms into a tiger.

Kyouka rolls her eyes but there's a grin on her face.

"Show off."

[gabessquishytum]

Everyone seems to love warprize Hob so... what about something similar for Dream?

The Sun King has been fighting a war against the Endless kingdom for over a century. The Endless started it, and they're beginning to realize they can't win. They won't necessarily lose, but they definitely can't win.

So Time and Night offer their second oldest son in exchange for peace. Dream does not get a choice. The Sun King, Hob, agrees. He's tired of defending his kingdom, and Prince Dream is the most gorgeous creature he's ever seen. Time and Night immediately send Prince Dream to King Hob, no hesitation. Dream is certain he'll never see any of his siblings ever again (King Hob is not that cruel, his siblings can visit, but only if they behave)

Hob tries very hard to court Dream who is not having it. Hob's servants try to help after weeks of nothing and give Dream aphrodisiacs. Dream, unaware of what they are, eats them. The next thing he knows, he's on his back, on his bed, desperately trying to get off, but nothing is enough.

Hob comes in, and Dream immediately begins begging, pleading. He's so hot, and hard, and empty, won't his King fill him? Hob, unaware of the aphrodisiacs, takes Dream to pieces in what is the roughest, yet gentlest sex he's ever had; it's also undeniably the most satisfying. When Dream comes to the next morning, with the King wrapped tightly around him, he remembers everything. He's also certain that the King didn't actually have anything to do with the aphrodisiacs. He decides not to say anything. Anyone who can make him feel like that in bed deserves a chance to court him.

Weeks later, when Desire visits, they try to start shit with Dream, calling him a little whore for how easily and willingly he spreads for the King now. Hob is absolutely furious with the way Desire treats his beloved fiancé and nearly orders their execution. There is a reason the Endless feared him in the first place, you know.

- 🐺

Oh yes Dream can be warprized!! As a treat!!

King Hob gives me happy shivers because I imagine that he would generally be a fair ruler to his own people, but when it comes to the enemy in a war? He's merciless and terrifying. And he always holds a grudge, unless he gets adequate recompense or an apology.

Sending one of their princes is technically adequate recompense for the war, so Hob accepts the terms... and Dream turns up, absolutely agonised and terrified and so fucking angry. He's expecting Hob to be as awful as his own parents, but Hob is just like "wow super fucked up that you were sent here against your will, feel free to live your life as best as you can! I'm going to court you but you don't have to do anything unless you want to."

And Dream does NOT want to, so he gives Hob the silent treat... and tries to survive in his new life.

Unfortunately, Hob’s servants have questionable morals. While Hob is trying to make Dream feel safe and court him the old fashioned way, they... go for a different tactic. Dream ends up sweaty and naked in Hob’s bed, absolutely begging for some kind of relief.

(And ok, Hob isn't dumb. He knows what the symptoms of an aphrodisiac look like. He doesn't approve of what's been done to Dream, but he also can't waste the opportunity. At least he can make their first time together absolutely mind-blowing).

Hob is expecting Dream to hate him in the morning. Instead he wakes up with Dream’s mouth on his cock. All traces of the drug are gone, Dream is just... himself. And he's made a decision: if he's going to be the king’s pretty little plaything, he might as well be fucking good at it, and also have a great time. He can show his family that their actions mean nothing to him, now.

Desire shows up expecting to find Dream chained up to a wall somewhere. Instead, they find their big brother perched in the sun King's lap, wearing a diaphanous black robe that leaves nothing to the imagination... being hand fed a selection fruit. Desire is so annoyed. They wanted to see Dream humiliated, not cherished and loved!

Hob makes it very clear that Dream is his property now, and he won't stand for a him to be insulted in any way... Desire is already on thin fucking ice. They end up leaving early, metaphorical tail between their legs, to report back to the rest of the family that Dream is thriving. Damn him.