#but does anyone else get so frustrated and sad and upset

[agdab]

man

[prettyboykatsuki]

BEND THE KNEE. | ZAYNE (LI SHEN)

♡ tags ; afab + fem!reader, reader is not explicitly mc, established relationship, porn almost no plot, somewhat undernegotiated kink, brat-taming, dom!zayne, sub!reader, corporal punishment (spanking), praise kink, emotional catharsis disguised as smut, fingering, cunnilingus (f!recieving), unprotected sex, aftercare scene included, 18+

♡ wc ; 10.6k (in two days...im so cooked)

♡ a/n ; woman has completely lost her marbles. more at 8.

about the kink being under-negotiated. it's a little tricky but zayne kind of springs this on reader which is not good etiquette technically . but because they have such a strong rapport and so much trust in each other - i think it works out for them anyway. always discuss things like this properly with your partner properly. but in this case, these two have a long established dynamic and complete trust in the other so in no way does reader feel uncomfortable or coerced. she trusts zayne to lead and thats important.

♡ synopsis ; bend the knee (verb) (idiomatic, by extension) - to show undue deference, obedience, or support for someone or something

or when zayne sees you on the edge of tipping over and decides to get you to open up, one way or another.

crossposted on ao3

You need something. 

That’s what Zayne concludes after thinking it over.  

For the better part of the last month, you have been in a bad mood.  

It’s unusual for your off-days to last this long, or at least the kinds you’ve been having lately. Easily irritable, sighing and frustrated, receding into yourself. You’re as human as anyone else - but one of the things likes about you most is that even on your worst days, you seem to smile more often than not. It’s not that you’re happy all the time - but you’re prone to things like numbness and avoidance over sadness and projected anger.  

In layman terms, Zayne has never in your entire relationship seen you so frustrated.  

And, despite his best efforts to talk to you about it, you have swiftly avoided the conversation and insisted that everything is fine.  

Zayne is used to you being stubborn. He’s had to navigate that from the start of your relationship. Though you’re open-minded and often easy-going, there are certain intricacies and small details that you refuse to overlook. Always hard-headed about the strangest things and always trying to fix everything on your own in an attempt to ease his burdens.  

(The real problem is you viewing yourself as a burden in the first place but Zayne ventures that won’t be resolved in a weekend.) 

You’ve talked about this at length already. You and Zayne are in a partnership. He’s your lover, your companion - which means you’re in it together. He can’t, however, act like a proper partner to you if you refuse to co-operate with him on any and all levels. 

It’s not like Zayne is upset with you for it. He doesn’t think you’ve done anything wrong. It’s not even especially frustrating. Zayne is patient. He’s trained to be that way. So it’s fine if you need time, and it’s fine if you need a light push from him. He can throw whatever you handle at him, give you whatever you need.  

For Zayne, that’s where the real problem lies. Your sour mood, this odd sense of secrecy, this persistent sadness - Zayne wants to help you get through it however he can. But figuring out what will actually resolve all of that proves to difficult. Do you need a push? Do you need to be forced to open up? Do you need to get emotional release? Do you need a night out or a weekend away? Maybe a date night? 

Zayne has been sitting on this very question for the last few days determined. Any time he’s had a chance to think idly, it’s always drifted back to solving this mysterious puzzle and getting you back where you need to be. Safe, comfortable, and content. 

Zayne settles on this: ultimately, you need catharsis. An emotional purging - the sort of thing that makes you break down so Zayne can build you back up. It seems like an extreme course of action but given just how long you’ve been wading this storm, he thinks that level of emotional distress is only natural.  

After he figures that out, it’s a matter of how to achieve it.  

What will give you the biggest emotional release? He considers a number of things: going on a hike, watching a devastating movie in the theaters, going to visit some baby penguins and seals at the Linkon City Zoo. Things he know will get you worked up in one way or another. Things that will unravel you.  

But nothing he thinks of feels like enough. Whatever’s distressing you is distressing you enough to make you act out of character like this for weeks. His response to that needs to be just as able to carry the weight of it all, or else it might just make you bottle it up worse.  

You need something, Zayne knows.  

He thinks what you might need is to be punished.  

He comes to this conclusion after trying not to think about it all together.  

For Zayne, sex is an intimate affair. And between you, he is the less experimental. He has is moments, but most of your play that ends up being kinkier comes from your fantasies and daydreams. Zayne is happy to do these things for you and with you - and has learned a lot about himself in the process. Too much, maybe. He enjoys making you feel good. On the rare days off he has where you can have proper sex, he wants to give you as much pleasure as he can 

Most of the kinkier things you’ve done are limited to sensation play. Things that should still feel good or won’t strain you to severely. You have had a long time interest in the more masochistic, the more punishing - and it’s not like Zayne hasn’t entertained it here and there. But still, it’s limited. Rarely a properly thought out act and more an impulsive whim. He has those with you more often then he cares to admit.  

Things like temperature play, blindfolds, and minimal restraints. Nothing more than that, and never with consideration to a particular dynamic. How you have sex on a given day depends, the ‘control’ ebbing and flowing based on mood and circumstance.  

The point being: Zayne has never properly punished you, though you’ve asked him to do it before.  

You often make wry comments when he’s being especially firm with something (most often your well-being) about how he’d do it. He teases the idea lightly, but truthfully - teasing and experimenting are different from actually doing. Zayne has never considered it deeply outside of that.  

But when you mention things to him, Zayne always remembers - stows the information away for when he may need it like right now. He likes being well-informed after all.  

It’s all of these things combined that makes Zayne conclude that fulfilling your desire to be punished might actually be the most effective method of handling the state of affairs. It hits all of the marks providing emotional release, as well as physical release - and also gives you a reason to lash out in a controlled space.  

Zayne read a number of BDSM forums and browsed through several erotica novels to get a clear picture after forming the hypothesis - collecting as much information as he possibly could on what his role would be in the affair.  

As far as descriptions go, Zayne can self-report he fits the criteria for a ‘brat-tamer’ in essence. In a nonsexual way, disciplining you borders on second nature. Being firm is easy but so is being playful, and patient - since ultimately Zayne only whats the best for you. In the same vein, he thinks you fit the description of brat in your own way. A tendency to be fussy, a dislike for being told what to do, a playful mischief that he adores and only corrects as necessary.  

It’s only after the extensive amount of research that Zayne is beholden to, does he understand the dynamic and scene itself. When the play starts to make sense, he comes upon on specific conclusion that leads him to believe this answer to be the right one.  

Above all else, you really do want to be good, don’t you?  

This isn’t working for you either. You’ve been bottling everything up for so long Zayne can’t imagine it’d be easy to approach him now even if you wanted to. Fostering an environment for you to express your feelings and for Zanyne to receive them. To respond to them, and ‘punish’ you for any wrong-doing so that the guilt doesn’t weigh down you so heavily. 

Even through your month of bad moods, you sleep by Zayne’s side every night and wake him every morning. You tell him you love him and tell him when you’ll be home, even when you’re huffy and moody. You want to be good, so isn’t it only fair for Zayne to let you?  

Zayne considers it all carefully. He thinks to make it work, he might have to spring it on you. He’s relying on the rapport between on already having been dating a few years - and the preventive safety measures you’ve had in place for other, less severe play. A safe word and a hand signal. It needs to be timed right, needs to throw you so slightly off-center in order for you to be receptive.  

If you turn it down, Zayne will be back to the drawing board.  

But he has a sneaking feeling that this really might be the last of your bad moods.  

__  

It’s one of those weeks where both you and Zayne are off-duty.  

It’s rare that happens. Given your busy schedules and being in the midst of the busy season, you agreed mutually it’d be better to stay home and save your winter date for after the fog clears. Zayne was planning on having a day at home with you pleasantly doing nothing.  

You are decidedly in one of your moods, however. He really can’t pinpoint what triggered it since you seemed to be just fine this morning, almost back to your usual self. And then something in the afternoon flipped a switch and now you’re right back where you’re started.  

Zayne does not want to waste his day-off squabbling with you over something. So he decides today, he’ll try to get to the bottom of it once and for all.  

He approaches you while you’re in the kitchen of his apartment - quietly making yourself a glass of tea. Conversation first, Zayne always tries to talk to you about it. No matter how much you try to avoid it - he thinks you could solve a lot with a conversation. No drastic measures until he at least asks, though a small part of him is expecting the same answer as he received so many times before.  

He watches you in the kitchen, furiously making a cup of tea. In silence, contemplating if now is the right time. He wants to go about things the best he can. All he wants to do is help you. He sighs and then resolves himself.  

Zayne comes up behind you, soft and gentle. “Would you like to tell me what’s happened to spoil your mood, my love?”  

You pause and then frown, huffing - brows furrowed as you somewhat violently mix your sugar into your tea. “No. There’s nothing to talk about,”  

“Nothing? Even though you were just fine this morning,” Zayne says evenly, voice lacking accusation. Still kind and only gently probing. “It’s been a month now of this. Whatever it is don’t you think it’d be better if we discussed it,”  

You pause, a hand curled into a fist on the counter. “How many times do I have to tell you there’s nothing to say?”  

He gives you a long look. “As many times as I see your mood change at the drop of a hat without a single indication as to why,”  

Zayne can see it happen real time. A brief flash of some other emotion that’s followed up by anger. You let out an indignant noise, turning with your cup and looking up at him. Your lip is curled in anger.  

“God, would you just leave it? There’s nothing to talk about so stop wasting time on your day off,”  

Zayne looks down at you with an expression unreadable. And then, he makes a choice to keep his face even. This is normally when he would drop the conversation entirely. Soothe you a bit, and you’d apologize and hug him though you’d still not tell him a thing. But he thinks right now is the best time to enact his plan. He takes your mug from your hand and sets it on the counter behind you, sitting both his and yours besides each other.  

And then he cages you in, trapping your body between him on the counter while Zayne grips onto the marble edge.  

You look at him confused but Zayne remains calm and quiet until he leans down close to you. Almost eye-level, making sure to be far enough for you to look at his face and his expression.  

He lets the silence sit for a beat. He watches your expression change. But he waits - long enough for you to squirm before he breaks it again.  

“Watch how you speak to me,” He says. Your eyes widen in surprise but Zayne doesn’t waver. “Did you think I was going to tolerate this kind of behavior forever?”  

For a minute you’re awestruck. Well and truly surprised, which is all Zayne wanted to accomplish. You stammer. First upset, then a flashing bit of sadness, then anger all over again. You have something to say but you can’t find the right words to combat him. Zayne does this on purpose. He’s always gentle and soothing and easy with you but it’s not the time for it.  

He brings his hand up to your face, palm cupping your cheek - scrutinizing your every reaction under watchful gaze. It’s surprisingly easy to make you nervous - eyes flickering away from him. Zayne decides against forcing it, opting to continue his lecture.  

“Do you think it’s fair for you to speak to me that way?”  

You stutter again. “I already told you that it’s—“  

Zayne cuts you off. It’s unlike him. “I didn’t ask about that. I asked if you thought you were being fair speaking to me that way. Answer my question,”  

“Why does it need to be fair?” Your voice trembles. Zayne does not show you any reaction. It’s harder than he expects given how cute he finds you.  

“Is it unnecessary? Then, should I punish you according to how you’ve been treating me, rather then trying to be fair to you? Since it’s not important,”  

You look utterly bewildered. “Punish—?“  

Zayne holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up slightly.  

“Yes, punish. If we’re not basing it on fairness - then the only metric left is how you’ve been acting as of late,” Zayne says slow and deliberate. “On that basis, you deserve to be punished. Either you can admit to being in the wrong or be honest with me you can be punished accordingly. Do you understand?”  

A beat. Your lip trembles like you might cry but you seem to get on the same page quickly. You refuse him, but Zayne can tell this is having the exact impact he wanted it to. He knows you’ll keep being stubborn, is expecting it - so you refuting him does not surprise him at all.  

“I haven’t done anything wrong, I already—“  

Zayne shoves a thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You make a noise around him, words muffled as you attempt to pull away.  

There’s a long stretch of silence where Zayne locks eyes with you. Reaching out to you - affirming something. He leans on the rapport you have between you. The ability to withdraw from this if you wish. He stares at you as you crumple under the gaze but do not refuse him.  

“Assuming you still don’t understand, I’ll tell you.” Zayne says. His voice is soft, deliberately gentle all while holding your gaze. He presses down harder, feeling your bottom row of teeth at the knuckle of his thumb. “I’m going to bend you over my knee until you tell me in your own words that you’re sorry. Since you can’t be honest by yourself, I’ll help you. Now I’ll ask you again: do you understand?”  

You glare, and flinch - but you don’t back away. “I get it already. But that doesn’t mean—“ 

 Ultimately. It’s tiny, bordering on imperceptible but it’s there. A brief recognition of play, and understanding of whats going on. Zayne steps away from you, freeing you from his grip. His expression remains neutral now, less kind then before. You’re on the same page.  

“Do you want me to carry you to our room or can you handle walking on your own?”  

You look at him furious. “I can walk!”  

Zayne doesn’t say anything as he trails behind you.  

Once you enter the bedroom, Zayne steps in behind you and shuts the door. Your expression is interesting, he thinks. He’s never seen such a colorful array of emotions flash across your face in such a short time. Despite your attitude and your active grumbling, you almost seem timid to him now. You’re clearly protesting him in some way, acting out what he’s sure is your sincere frustration. But all Zayne can feel is pleased that you’re acting the ways he thought you would. It gives him a strange affirmation that he knows you as well as he thought, he’s satisfied with it. Directing it all towards him, all the frustration as you mutter under your breath.  

The words fall on deaf ears and after a while of him not responding, you snap.  

“What are you staring at me for?” You nip. Zayne looks at you unimpressed. He takes a seat on the foot of the bed, careful to leave just enough room for you as he does. He slides his robe off of his shoulders and carefully pushes up the white long-sleeves of the Henley he wears during the cold season.  

“Come,”  

You stand still and Zayne sighs.  

He’s gentler with you normally. Softer and more delicate. But soft won’t get you to listen to him so he opts to pull you closer by the wrist. It’s not often he feels any need to exert his strength over you this way. But it’s different now. It demands it of him, so he does. You struggle as you fall towards him - into his chest, caught off guard by the sudden movement.  

Zayne wastes no time - maneuvering, manhandling you to be bent over his knee. He uses one hand to slide your pants off completely but leaves your underwear as they are. You gasp under your breath in shock. You’re turned away from him, your cheek pressed to the sheets. Zayne takes a minute to drink you in, examining the white cotton with lace trim that you wear underneath your pajama pants, wearing white ankle socks with a matching trim that he finds remarkably cute.  

Your torso rests across his lap, pressed to the mattress with your arms folded in protest as your knees rest on the bed. You kick one of your feet up - Zayne thinks in a half-ass attempt at objection. He holds you down over his lap more forcefully then before, his arm around your waist. He bends down slightly and speaks with a slow, clear voice.  

“This is your punishment. Each time I spank you I want you to count. If you forget, we start over. I’ll stop when you make it up to me and say sorry. Is that clear?”  

“I didn’t even do anything!“  

Zayne uses his hand to grip your chin hard. A warning. “Enough. You had two choices and you made yours. I will not explain myself again,” Zayne says. You quiet at his tone - brattiness temporarily placated.  

It’s strangely natural to him to do this. Easier than he thought it’d be. He thought being so firm, so strict to you would feel awkward for the first time. But it’s easy to do when he thinks of the outcome he wants. Always the best for you - if this is what you need from him, then this is what Zayne can give you. He pulls back when you relent. No longer squirming away from him.  

“Repeat your safeword to me, love.”  

“Red,” You say through a huff.  

His hand rests on your lower back, tugging your panties up until they’re creased. “What do you if you can’t speak?”  

“Tap three times.”  

“Good job.” He says, soothing. It makes you pause in his lap. “Now, count,”  

Zayne uses his hands to grope and squeeze your ass gently before doing anything else. You take a shaky breath underneath him as he carefully measures the pressure. He lifts his palm high before coming back down - a resounding smack echoing through inside of the quiet walls of your bedroom.  

You let out a loud cry.  

You jolt - startling at the feeling. “That—It hurts!”  

“Do I need to remind you of what to do each time,” Zayne asks. You fuss underneath him, pressing your face to the sheets in what he recognizes as embarrassment.  

“Fuck. One,”  

“Good girl,”  

Zayne repeats the motion again. You whimper this time - clearly more prepared for that strike then the first. He stares, already noticing his handprint becoming visible. He waits for you to respond.  

“T-two,”  

Again. Zayne admires the way the fat ripples at his touch. You shift yourself away from him at the sensation but Zayne quickly pulls you right back down to your place. 

“Three,” You whine.  

Zayne touches your inner thigh soothingly.  

“If it’s too much to bear, all you need to say is sorry,” 

You scoff - showy, but your voice is wavering. “What do I have to be sorry for?”  

Zayne sighs. Again. “Shit, four.”  

“You don’t know what you need to be sorry for? Do you need me to answer that for you too?”  

“I don’t need you to—five,”  

“You kept it in for an entire month and took your frustration out on me. All you need to do is apologize and I’ll forgive you.” 

You sniffle, voice small and petulant. “I won’t.”  

Zayne hums. “Then your punishment continues,”  

Again. “Six,”  

Again “Seven”  

Again. “Fuck, eight,”  

You’re sturdy. Sturdy enough to handle a few hits with ease. Zayne knows because he accounted for it.  Your tolerance for pain, your ability to endure it. It’s why he doesn’t set a number though he has one. If he gives you an option to simply sit through a punishment , you’ll grit your teeth and bear it all the way till the end. You’re stubborn.  

You’re strong. Of course you are. He knows eight hits are barely doing much to you - even as he’s coming down on each strike so firmly. You’ve been training as Hunter for years and familiar with pain so much worse than this.  

But you’re sniffling underneath him, clearly holding in soft sobs despite yourself. He thinks it’s proof of the effectiveness but it makes Zayne feel sympathetic all the same. Zayne doesn’t think you’ll make it far past ten. But he keeps all of this to himself. He brings his other hand up to your mouth and rubs his thumb on your lower lip  - feeling for blood or indentations. He presses it to your lips.  

“Don’t bite your lip,” He says, forcing your mouth open with the digit. He presses his thumb against your tongue again as you protest it. “If you need to bite, use my thumb.”  

Where Zayne expects you to bite him sharp in retaliation, you simply close your mouth and suck. He feels his chest squeeze. Slowly but surely.  

Again and again and again. On the eleventh one is what finally makes you forgo trying to hold back your sobs. They’re quiet, almost meek - weakly protesting each one as soft tears roll down your cheek. Before the twelfth - Zayne takes care to remind you. He makes his voice softer on purpose. Makes his words kinder and less stern. 

“All you have to do is tell me you’re sorry. I’ll take care of the rest,” He promises, hand rubbing stinging skin. “That’s all. You can do it, can’t you?”  

You remain silent, hesitant. Zayne doesn’t scold you.  

Again. “Twelve,”  

Your voice is small on the last one.  A little more, Zayne thinks. “Afterwards, you can ask for anything you like.”  

Again. Your voice trembles. Thirteen comes out barely audible, but Zayne decides not to hold it against you.  

“I’m not punishing you because I’m angry, but because I want you to understand—because I want you to be good for me like I know you can be.” Zayne soothes, rubbing gently just where he hit before. “You don’t need to endure by yourself. All you need to do is remember that,”  

You’re quiet. Once more, but he does it softer this time.  

“F-fourteen,” You say. Your voice is wrecked with some unspoken sorrow.  

“Is there something you’d like to tell me,” Zayne presses, voice warm and soothing. “Or would you like to continue you being punished?”  

A pause. Zayne gives you time to respond. He takes a second to glance down further between your legs  - noticing an incredibly dark patch of wetness right at the seam of your panties. He uses his fingers to rub over the spot carefully, amused by the small gasp that leaves your lips. He only brushes it - not provoking you further. A little amused that you liked it despite yourself.  

You shift, clearly ready. Zayne takes the initiative.  

“Yes, my love?”  

Your voice comes out wobbly. Thick with tears and emotions - like you’re just about ready to shatter into a million pieces. It makes Zayne incredibly fond and incredibly heartbroken all in the same breath. He remains steadfast and waits for you as you take a deep breath and find the right words. You have something to say.  

Or you try too, but the words tumble out in a tearful mess anyway. “I-I’m sorrryy,”  

You wail. Zayne can’t help but be taken aback every so slightly by it. He was expecting it but he didn’t think it’d be so difficult for him to hear.  

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m not angry. Are you in pain? Can you sit?” Zayne asks. You sob, answering through tears. Your words are slurred, hiccuping. You cry a little longer before you answer him.  

“Is okay,”  

Zayne nods. He helps stand you up before he sits you back down on his lap - straddling him while he supports your weight. Your face is tear-stricken, eyes red-rimmed and still crying as he pulls you up. His expression warms , reaching up to brush his thumb underneath your eye and soothe your sobbing.  

And then he hugs you. Puts a hand on the back of your head and pulls you into his chest. Your face pressed into the side of his neck. He rubs slow, soothing circles into your back  - telling you to take deep breaths as he kisses your shoulder blades and whispers as many sweet nothings as he can think up.  

You’re a wreck in his arms. Wordless, helpless - your hands are fisted into the back of his shirt. All the fight has been wrung out of you. Limp in his grasp, you weep woefully and tell him you love him in thick tears. Zayne holds you tight, steady - nothing but the sound of your sobs to accompany you until you’ve let enough of it out to at least speak to him. You pull away - face messy and damp  from crying.  

Zayne cannot help but think about how much he utterly adores you.  

Your lower lip quivers helplessly. “I’m sorry, ‘m really sorry,”  

Zayne shakes his head. “That’s quite alright. I told you I’d forgive you, wouldn’t I?”  

You nod. Zayne looks at you warmly, thumb tracing the shell of your ear. “We’ll talk later. Tell me first - what should I give you for being a good girl?”  

You have a floatiness about you. Eyes glazed over just slightly - clearly comforted enough to release whatever you’ve been holding. Unburdened, it’s like you’ve become something else. Hazy and dependent - lashes fluttering and completely sincere. “I’m good?”  

“Yes. You did well. How should I reward you?” Zayne affirms. “Would you like me to take care of this?”  

He goes again to cup your clothed pussy. You rut into his hand - biting the inside of your lip as you nod. 

It’s something about you like this that sears Zayne’s subconscious like a brand. Unusually docile, vulnerable, needy. It’s strange. He didn’t think of himself as someone with such a strong desire to exploit. Or maybe this is an extension of something that’s already been embedded in him for a long time. To take something apart in his hands with precision and put it back together again. A life, a heart, a lover. You’ve been at the very front of the desire for a long time.  

“Tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you.” Zayne says. Soft and sincere and sun-warm just looking at you falling apart so easily. “Don’t be shy. You should be demanding like you always are.”  

You press your cheek to his shoulder, shivering a little in his lap. “Want it hard,”  

“Is that all the hint I get?” Zayne teases. You groan into his shirt as he bites back a laugh.  

“Yes,” You reply instantly. You’re being shy. It almost makes him laugh.   

“Well, if that’s all you want then,” He gropes you, his hands running over the soft curve of your ass  - marks still stinging underneath his palms. “I’ll have to stretch you open first. Make sure it’s soft enough for me to reach all the way in here,” He places a hand on your stomach and you shiver again. Zayne speaks against your shoulder - a smile playing at his lips.  

“Is that alright?”  

You nod. “Uh-huh.”  

You’ve been reduced down to something that Zayne should want to protect - but finds stronger the urge to experiment with. It is an unkind way of thinking after he’s already gone so far as to punish you. Wring your emotions out by force until you sob and shiver like this. But his eyes settle onto your face and the thoughts won’t leave him. They’re even more strangely persistent, even louder than usual - echoed with your wistful demand for him to give it to you hard - whatever that may mean. And Zayne intends to give it to you in the capacity in which he can.  

It means cruel, cutting precision when it’s him. Deft fingers, a sharp memory and endless amount of endurance. Zayne usually placates you, satisfies - gives you enough to make you contented, maybe refreshed, rather then wearing you down. He wants it to be something that you can unwind with.  

Despite all of this and all of the kindness he wants to show you, there’s something about your expression and how you’ve folded over yourself that makes Zayne want to ruin you completely.  

He knows he can. He knows you’d look good like that. He’d take good care of you. He has many useless, unending thoughts such as these until something in him boils over. He thinks about it with a furrowed brow and then when the silence is about to border on too long - he leans in and presses his lips to yours. 

Chaste but longing - clear intention. He eyes you and lands on only one thing to say.  

“I’ll take good care of you,”  

You blink. It’s something he’s said before - but you both know there is something different about how he’s said it. So you just… nod. Listen. Obedient like you never are and his lips tug ever so slightly at the corner.  

Zayne hauls you with him until you’re both able to lay comfortably in the middle of the bed. He lays you down carefully in the mess of sheets and pillows until you’re resting in them like a painting. You’re frayed at the edges, hands twitching at your sides. Zayne hovers over you until he’s close enough. All the air in the grows thick, hot - and he finds he can’t breath around him with the way you’re looking at him.  

There’s a reverence in your eyes. Fingers threading through his dark locks, squeezing at the base until you��re bringing him down nose to nose. Your eyes flutter back open. They’re wide and watery and beautiful—you’re really just looking at him.  

You look… grateful. Entirely grateful.  

Zayne is so hard it’s hurt.  

Zayne kisses you deeply - hungry with it. Suddenly feverish as both hands cup your face and hold you, tipping your head back so you open your mouth wide. He slides his tongue against yours, forces your mouth open deeper like he might try and eat you whole. But you relent - yield unusually easily to the demand of it as your arms go around his neck and stay there holding him close. 

The room fills with the sound of deep breaths. Wet noises that drown out the loud static threatening to render him something more beast then man. You moan into his mouth when you kiss, chasing him each time he pulls away with this little needy pout to you that Zayne adores.  

Zayne pulls away and presses his nose to your jawline. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, to your chin, all the way up to the junction of your neck and shoulder. He whispers sweet nothings into the skin - repeatedly affirming only that he wants to make you feel good.  

There’s something about how good you’re being about all of it that feels enigmatic - so much so that it’s completely electrifying for him to witness. This kind of sweetness has a novelty to it that makes his heart pump hard. You’re never so pliant. So willing to give yourself. It’s not that it’s always a fight, but you’re usually so sober during sex it borders on steely. A catlike grin with an ironclad determination to never lose, not even to him.  

And Zayne loves that about you to. Loves being wrapped around your finger or tugged by your leash - loves that you demand things of him. He finds it a privilege to give it to you. This is just too new, too exhilarating for him not to be intrigued by.  

You’ve conceded now. Your body and mind have decided it unanimously and it’s why you’re melting so easily at his every touch. Like accepting a loss - some kind of complete and utter defeat, and accepting it so gracefully it makes Zayne wonder if it’d been your plan all along. 

(He isn’t arrogant enough nor clueless enough to believe that, but the thoughts sends shivers down his spine all the same.)  

Zayne traces kisses around the parts of your body he can reach. Down the slope of your jaw all the way down to the dip of your clavicle - the center of your sternum. Your skin runs warm under his touch - he can almost feel your pulse through your skin. He stops to leave small marks just underneath where your collar would sit. They come out a shade darker and a little bigger than they normally do. They look (read: are) deliberately placed. An intentional trail from neck down. A warding signal.  

He runs his incisors against your pulse, tugging at your earlobe as you shiver somewhat delightfully in response to him. The dull drag of his teeth seems to excite you. Your back curls up, goosebumps covering the surface of your skin.  

Reaching your chest, Zayne uses both hands to squeeze and push your breasts together firm. It’s lacking the delicacy he likes showing - a strong grip, almost bruising. Fingers squeezing the fat until it spills from between them, palms pushing lightly against hardened nipples as you moan out loud in reply. Your body is more sensitive than it is usually. Each touch makes you antsy. 

He ducks his head down deciding not to waste time - mouth closing around one of your nipples while his free hand plays with the other. He flicks and sucks with his tongue, using the blunt of his nail to copy the motion to the other, giving them equal attention.  

You moan, this part of your body especially responsive to touch. He can feel them each pebble with arousal. 

 “Hngh, fuck, fuck - feelsh good,”  

Your words come out slurred as you pant as Zayne pulls each sound out of you. You look blissed out, your hips canting where he’s slotted between your knees - rubbing up against him for friction like you’re in heat. Zayne only stops to switch side. He sinks his teeth at one point, long having lost his usual composure  - licking over the indentations when it’s over.  

“Hicc, more - please, more,”  

The desperation in your voice makes Zayne pull away. He rests his forehead against you, kissing the space above your belly and whispering sweetly. “You’re being so good for me,”  

Another whine. Zayne laughs audibly at it, affectionately - something overwhelming him. He picks his head up to look at you this time. “How can you be so sweet, hm?”  

You preen under the praise so visibly it makes Zayne  shiver. Such a stark contrast, such a receptive reply. Your lips pull into another pout, eyes sparkling with the greed of a lover and Zayne cannot imagine in a million years being seriously angry with you about a single thing. One look is all it takes to unravel him this completely. 

Zayne is reminded that he’s a warm-blooded, living thing laying in bed with you. Heart-beating hard, chest heaving, ears ringing. This animal desire that wells up in his gut and whispers to him to take you while you’re at your most vulnerable - mark you somewhere his fingers can’t reach and plant a seed where no one else can touch, is a loud one. It’s like he can feel how he’s hard-wired to want, and want, and want.  

But he loves you is the thing - so much that all of that desire becomes concentrated. Heavy like dark matter, atoms splitting endlessly as if it defies all known laws of the universe.  

He thinks one hundred thoughts at once and leans up to kiss you like he needs you for oxygen. You’re startled but give him a reply as he forces his mouth onto yours like he’s starving. Signaling it back to him, I love you, I love you, I love you.   

Zayne groans into your mouth before he pulls away and goes back down. He trails open, sloppy kisses down your chest - all the way down to your navel until he’s face to face with your clothed cunt.  

He uses his shoulders to nudge your legs apart even further and feels all the air rush from his lungs like he’s been sucker punched.  

You’re wetter than he thinks he’s ever seen you. It’s thrilling, tantalizing in a way that makes the last threads of his self-control shred themselves into nothing at the sight. He shivers, hands gripping at your thighs to push them even further apart. His lust suddenly feels bottomless - an empty void with a gnawing hunger.  

And then, the only word he can think to use spits from between his lips  - half way between curse and prayer. “Fuck, my love.”  

You jolt hearing it. Whimper so loudly and shamefully, reacting it to him in such an obvious way. Zayne gets the inkling then that you’re going to be spending most of your day in bed just like this.  

He touches first. Can’t help his curiosity. His hand resting on your sex  - thumb dragging against the soaked fabric of your panties. His finger comes away sticky as he rubs and strokes and examines. Burns it into his memory, each slight twitch. How you clench around nothing - slick flooding the material so unhelpfully. The distant thought bounces around in the back of his mind, that you got off this much on being punished. There’s so much.  

Zayne breathes. Has to remember to do it after he sees you like that. Legs spread, chest heaving, and so so eager. There’s a list of things he wants to do with you but he stills, and slows - and just over the unusual pull of his desires, focuses on just touching you. He fixes in on making you cum just like that. Slow easy strokes over the wet fabric. Circular motions that are precise even while each breath he takes is so uneven.  

You keen over him. Pitchy, high - legs trembling. Sensitive. You look down at him with wide eyes.  

“I’ll cum,” You say.  

Zayne realizes you’re even deeper into the head space than he thought. You’re so uncertain about it. He hums.  

“Ask for permission when you get close.”  

The instructions abate your anxiety and you nod, sink back, and let yourself indulge in the touch that Zayne offers to you unrestricted.  

This is driving him crazy. You are driving him crazy. So out of his mind that he can’t find his usual sweet talk. His restrained motions are all he can manage. He’s the one making you cum but for some reason it feels like he needs to sober himself more than you do.  

He kisses the inside of your thigh. “Just once like this, alright?”  

You nod. You’re out of it well and truly, hips meeting his touch. Moaning and breathing heavily, hands fidgeting. You lurch suddenly when Zayne seems to brush an extra sensitive spot and you gasp, eyes shut hard. 

“Wanna cum, please can I—“ 

“It’s alright. Go on,”  

You moan a little thank you without any reminder - your whole body curling in on itself as you get off for the first time in the evening. Zayne watches your panties soak with interest. Up close and personal. Fuck, they’re so drenched now, so wet. He watches cum drip down and soak the sheets underneath you as revel in post orgasm bliss and finds himself at least a little more content.  

He kisses your thighs again. “Good girl,”  

Zayne gives you a beat to breathe before he busies himself taking off your panties. Long fingers curling in the waist band. You lift your legs up helpfully, letting Zayne roll them all the way down until you’re bare. He tosses them along with the other stripped clothes laying in a heap near your bed before settling down again between your legs.  

Your cunt is splayed open. Wet and soft and inviting, he watches it pulse. You’re throbbing, heat radiating off of you in waves. He prefers to draw things out longer, but he feels particular impatient with the state of affairs.  

He pulls you down him close until his breath is just tickling your skin, kissing your clit affectionately before using his tongue to flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves.  

You shudder. Nearly scream. Zayne can tell he’s being impacted by this whole affair in the exact way he thinks he is because of how much it makes him want to keep going. You squeak over him, a hand in his hair.  

“Wait, wait—t-too much, just came it’s—“  

“Shhh,” Zayne soothes with false sympathy. “Be good and take it,”  

You relent. A little helpless whimper leaving your mouth as Zayne takes you into his mouth again. Your clit is throbbing so hard he can feel it on each pass of tongue. His mouth fills with the taste of you, heady and rich. Zayne’s eyes flutter back, pleased with it. He opens them back up to drink you in above him, flush. On your back, spread open and so aroused.  

He feels himself go slack, lust wrenching all the usual tension from him. He’d be fine to just do this until sunrise - and he would, if he wasn’t already feeling so out of sorts. He needs to open you up so he can do what you both want. Zayne closes his lips around your clit - giving you slight suction that he follows with tongue. Your mouth drops open in silent scream, over stimulation frying your nerves. Your jaw is dropped open, drool pooling at the corner of your lips.  

He knows your body like the back of his hand and has no trouble at all navigating the quickest route to make you feel good. The specific ways you need to be touched to loosen your limbs, make your insides soft for him. It’s not that he’s rushing. But he’s being even more particular about it then usual.  

It’s hard to ignore the growing tightness in his pants. He’s been ignoring completely for a while now so he can focus on you, but he’s so hard it’s straining him. Gossamer threads of pre-cum are pooling in the confinement of his boxers, only getting thicker as he ruts himself against the bed to ease the uncomfortable friction he’s feeling.  

He adjusts himself, bringing his fingers up to your core and gently nudging them through your folds as warning of whats to come. 

You let out a low sound. “Ooh,”  

He slides his middle fingers down until  there’s give. It’s easy to find your entrance and push with how wet you are. There’s barely an resistance him when he presses the digit inside and it makes his stomach flip. You’re so soaked it takes no effort - there’s not anything left of you to resist him and it drives him, truthfully, up a wall. Still, you’re clenching down hard on his middle finger. Wheezing quietly as he presses forward, slowly fucking his finger into you until he’s all the way down the knuckle.  

You collapse above him. Your body, a mess of tension and tight nerves,  gives under the weight of the pleasure and you slump back into the bed and take. Moan loud and unabashed, his name sweet on your lips. His favorite sound. If he wasn’t occupied - he’d praise you just for saying it.  

Your pussy feels so good to the touch. Always does. You’re so much more sensitive than usual it feels like you don’t want him to pull away. A whine leaves you at the loss of the stretch. Zayne looks at you from between your legs and sees a face that’s near begging to be filled up by something else.  

It takes every fiber of his restraint to not stop right there and fuck into you immediately.  

But he’s doing this for a reason  - he reminds himself.  

He adds a second finger and it slides in just as smoother. This is enough to prep you. If he stretches you out, scissors his fingers inside of you just right - you can take him easily without him having to worry.  

But he’s feeling especially relentless tonight. You’re still reeling and over sensitive, barely hanging on over him as his mouth busies itself. Two would be good enough to make you cum just like this.  

Zayne is a little out of his wits decidedly - but he gives you a moment to breathe before adding a third finger.  

You gasp. “W-wait, wai—nghh,”  

Goosebumps pebble your skin as Zayne meticulously adds in another finger. His middle, ring, and pointer all fit inside of you with more ease then he expects. He goes slowly on his pointer. Your body wracks above him at the stretch, nothing but mindless babble as you tuck your face halfway to the bed sheets and try to hold onto. 

Three fingers all the way down to base, Zayne curls them up with a cruel demonstration of precision. His hands are bigger than yours  - thicker and longer. There’s a real possibility that this is the first time anyone has touched this deep and the thought sends Zayne reeling.  

With his mouth lapping at your clit and his digits pressed up against your g-spot with such pinpoint accuracy, Zayne is not surprised to hear you above him wailing. Completely different to before, a pleasured sob almost like you’re going to heave. Your voice is raw with need.  

“Oh, please, please, please—can I please—“  

Zayne hums an affirmative into your pussy. It’s all it takes for you to cum for him again. Both of your hands fisted in the sheets as your buck up into Zayne’s mouth - soundless. He continues through it. Makes sure the ecstasy of your high lasts as long as he can draw it out and only stops when you’re desperately pulling him away to make sure you don’t die from the stimulation.  

He pulls off, slick running down his chin - all the way in little rivulets down his neck. He wipes carefully and licks it off of his hand - since anything else would feel like a waste. He sits up on his knees before crowding over you, pressing his forehead to yours as you blink away tears.  

“Still okay?”  

You make a garbled noise. Zayne laughs, a hand coming up to wipe some of the wetness away from your face.  

“Words, sweet girl.”  

“…’m okay.” You say after a while. You stare at him and then reach for his sleeve, tugging at it. “Are you not gonna fuck me?”  

Zayne feels a shiver run down his spine at how blatantly you ask. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to hearing you talk that way.  

“Would you still like me too?”  

You purse your lips. “Please? I was good,”  

Ah. His composure is truthfully already shred to pieces but he isn’t sure he can recover from that. He’s so painfully endeared. It tucks behind his ribs somewhere, makes him feel ridiculously in love and so turned-on it’s startling. He caresses your cheek, tenderly stroke the flush skin with his thumbs.  

“You were very good. So very perfect for me, always,”  

You beam at him. A slow blink followed by a sweet little smile that Zayne reads as bashful. He drops his head onto your shoulders and just sighs. 

He comes up to look at you. It’s not like you look innocent but you’re so completely trusting in him.  

“Come here,” Zayne says. He dips his head down to kiss you as tenderly as he possibly can. You sigh happily into his mouth and he just smiles a little. He feels especially helpless to this onslaught of affection but decides it’s not such a bad thing.  

He gets up again, just to get condoms but you’re tugging at his shirt before he gets a chance to move.  

“Where are you going? And… take this off,”  

“To get condoms.”  

You shake your head. “Just hurry,” 

You’re on contraceptives. You’re also in a long term relationship. But Zayne still tries to use condoms - mostly for clean-up so he uses them more often then not. Only goes without for an occasion.  

(Or for when his lover is laid out underneath, begging him without shame to fuck her already and Zayne really finds he has no other choice.)  

“Don’t whine later when I have to clean it,” Zayne says playfully. He slips of his shirt finally, feeling ten degrees cooler as it disappears with the rest of your clothes. He pushes his pants down just barely past his thighs - cock springing free. Just having the air touching it makes his stomach tighten.  

“You wanted it hard, right? Turn over. On your stomach,”  

You shiver but listen with ease - grabbing a pillow for security as you flip onto your stomach. 

Zayne likes missionary most of all  - but this is a reward.  Prone-bone is a good compromise for what you both want. You lay on your stomach underneath him, limp and focused on nothing but getting fucked and Zayne still gets to be as close to you as possible, bodies pressed together and all.  

You’re beautiful. Zayne won’t ever get over it. The sight of your spine covered in sweat, the slight raise of trembling hips, all the curves and scars and stretch marks he’s kissed over and over again. He feels absolutely besotted with you, entranced by the very sight of you in his bed like he hasn’t seen it so many times before. He’s like this even now, the weight of his own burning desire like a hit to his solar plexus.  

He feels at his wits end when he finally bends himself over you to fuck you. He kisses all the way down from the nape of your neck to the small of your back - the kind of worship only available to the holy thing that lays in his sheets, the deity of his very life. You push yourself up against him as invitation as Zayne lets his cock rest against the swell of your ass - still lightly red from  punishment.  

You spread your legs for him as Zayne slowly, carefully finds the right angle until the tip of his cock catches.  

Your pussy stretches for him like it was made to do exactly this. The ruddy, leaking head of slides into you with ease. Silken walls hugging him, enveloping him in an impossible warmth that makes Zayne feel completely out of his wits. He puts both hands on your hips - making sure to ease in slowly. Careful and kind  - trying his best not to hurt you.  

Zayne is wound tight. It’s a tremendous show of his patience that he’s being so gentle despite, despite, despite. Most of his thoughts feel concentrated in the one part of his body he shouldn’t think with and he wants to sink into you without a single care. His whole being thrashes against this feeling. He holds steady anyway s - until he bottoms out, his pelvis flush to your ass.  

You shudder beneath him. Your face is in a pillow, fucked out and drooling. All you do is moan, pushing yourself up again and wiggling your hips like you’re attempting to entice him into fucking you. As if it’s something he doesn’t already want to do.   

Zayne drops his head onto your shoulders. You whine, wanton and the last remaining pieces of his restraint fall out of place. He pulls out and pushes back in all at once, the both of you lost in the ecstasy.  

The bliss of it is unbelievable. Zayne can barely control himself, mounting you and relying on his memory of your body to fuck himself into the spot you like best. His forehead drops onto your shoulder and he lets himself go loose - kissing the back of your neck as he ruts himself into you again and again.  

“Oh, you’re so perfect. You feel so good. I love you,”  

It’s not fast, but it’s deep. In the way that’s more brutal then him fucking into you hard. Deep and calculated - measured thrusts that force you grind into the bed chasing the friction of your clit. Your legs kicking up from the pleasure, just crushed by the weight of him. Limp and spent from being strung out so far and simply taking what Zayne is giving you. He likes being able to feel you pressed, pinned underneath him. Crowding into your space with his chin at your shoulder, kissing the side of your neck and wherever else he can reach.  

Zayne could cum any second. He’s holding out until he feels that delicious squeeze that tells him you’re getting close again.  

It doesn’t take long. Each inch of his cock ravaging your insides, dragging against your walls on each thrust combined with all the sensitivity has you babbling within minutes.  

You pick your head up just to beg him for it, but Zayne doesn’t even give you a chance to speak. He can feel it while you’re wrapped around him, pussy trembling around the length of his cock - short panting breaths. He knows you’re close before you do.  

A hand cups your jaw as he whispers into your ear.  

“Cum.”  

You cum just like that, as if on command - your entire body seizing. Every muscle taut like a bowstrong. Your hands reach back for his arm - the one he’s leaning on. Nails digging into his forearms, you cum so intensely you gasp.  

“Zayne, zayne, oh fuck - fuck, please,” 

Zayne barely gets a breath before he’s following after you. He cums hard. The load is so thick it feels delayed even as he nestles himself deep into your cunt to finish. It goes on forever until it’s spill into you and clinging around the tip of his cock.  

The both of you lay there spent for a short while before you blink, lazily - and turn your gaze towards him from over your shoulder.  

“More?”  

Zayne laughs a tired, delirious laugh.  

“Anything for you,”  

__ 

You have sex until evening.  

Zayne doesn’t remember the last time you went at it like that. An anniversary he thinks, or some kind of special occasion. You haven’t had that much time. But two days off in a row was still good enough to have you rest.  

It felt necessary, in a way. Being so wrapped up in each other, a good reminder of your trust in each other. A good way for Zayne to cradle you. Carve the notion into you that all he ever wants to do is ease your burden and improve your life rather then make it harder. In between raw sexual desire and somewhat crass display of pent-up lust, is tucked a few years worth of loving.  

Zayne can only desire you this much because he knows you so well.  

After cleaning you up a bit, he let you lay and catch your breath while he went to run a nice bath with your good products, make you a cup of tea, and order takeout. You managed to not to pass out in the mean time which he’s thankful for - as it made the cleaning up much easier.  

The both of you now settle into the warm, soapy water - only after Zayne showers with you too. To get you properly clean and then help you relax.  

You sit with him now in the bath water. The pleasant floral scent of jasmine and lavender fills the bathroom, and you rest your head against Zayne’s chest as he sits comfortable behind you. His nose against your wet hair, he breathes you in and places a kiss to your bare shoulder.  

You stay like that for a long while until Zayne breaks the ice.  

“Is now an okay time to talk?”  

You stiffen, briefly  - dragging Zaynes hand into your lap and playing with his fingers.  

“Mm. Yeah,” 

Zayne waits for you. Patient and prudent.  

You sigh a little, head drooping down.  

“It’s not even—it’s just a work thing. There’s been an ongoing investigation about a group of Hunter’s from a different association. A Special Ops Unit that dissolved right before a series of protocore related incidents. Dissolved offiically but really more like completely disappeared. The problem itself isn’t really the investigation, but the team we’re working with. We’re collaborating with another association and those fucking,” Anger rises in your voice in a way that makes Zayne laugh lightly. You splash the water, taking a deep breath, pressing your thumb lightly into his wrist to distract yourself. “They’re incredibly incompetent and very combative. It’s been a huge pain to work with them, both tactically and on paper.”  

“It sounds incredibly frustrating.”  

You sigh.  

“It has been. One of the guys from the other association is an enormous jackass. He hasn’t done anything I can document on paper and submit to HR as harassment of evidence - but he’s bane of my existence. He’s actively getting in the way of investigation and he’s dead set on specifically scrutinizing my work. It’s been driving me up a wall.” You say, scrubbing your face. Zayne nuzzles into you sympathetically. “Normally I’d just report him immediately, or beat the shit out of him while we spar or something. But,”  

You take a deep breath. 

“If you need to stop here for because of disclosure or something of that nature, I understand,”  

You shake your head. “No, it’s—I haven’t been able to bring it up to anyone, but I think he’s played a role in the sudden disappearance. I don’t have any strong evidence to corroborate this. It’s just a gut feeling. Because of that, I also haven’t been able to bring it up to anyone either. We are constantly squabbling in the office. I worry if I mention it without something stronger to back me up - it’s going to look like I’m making a serious accusation over office politics and I just—”  

“It’s alright, my love. Just listening to you now is enough to make me exhausted. I can’t imagine what it’s been like living through it,”  

You sniffle, suddenly exhausted. Your voice cracks. “It’s been driving me nuts. I know it’ll blow over eventually one way or another, but it’s been such a constant burden. I kill Wanderers. This weird corporate charade is too much for me. It got to the point where just the mention of it was enough to make my blood boil.” You say, sighing. You turn your head and give him a small smile. “I’m really sorry for taking it out on you. It was almost too frustrating and too heavy to talk about - and you already have a lot on your plate so I wanted to just resolve it quickly. But I ended up making you worry and being unfair. I didn’t even realize how bad it’d gotten,”  

Zayne shakes his head. “It’s not as if I was angry with you at any point. Really. It’s so unlike you being that irritable, I was mostly just concerned. So don’t beat yourself up over it. If I couldn’t handle such mild tantrums, what kind of lover would I be?”  

You scowl at him, smiling betraying your features. Zayne just laughs.  

“I’m truly not angry so don’t beat yourself up over it. I do wish though you would depend on me more when you need it. Even if it’s just to vent. We’re partners right?”  

You nod. ���…Yeah. Sorry.”  

“It’s really alright. Though I suppose I might’ve seemed angry or given that impression based on… earlier affairs,”  

You laugh. It’s a beautiful, lovely little sound. Like a wind chime. He’s happy to hear it.  

“Wait actually, I would like to talk about that. What was that?”  

Zayne’s turn to blush. He clears his throat.  

“Well… I was worried about you and I wanted to do something for you, somehow. After some thinking, I thought you would need some kind of strong emotional release. I considered going to take you to see the penguins and seals—“  

You interrupt him. “Oh, I would’ve sobbed like a baby,”  

“Right, exactly. But I sat on it for a while and felt like it wouldn’t be enough to break you out of your shell. And then I remembered we talked about this once a long time ago. So, I did some research and thought this would work out best,”  

You smile up at him. “You had a hypothesis didn’t you? Lay it on me, doc. What were you theorizing in that brain of yours that led you here?”  

“Well… sex is a good avenue for emotional and physical release. I thought the spanking aspect and ‘punishing’ you would help absolve some of your guilt as well. So at the time, it made the most sense to me.”  

You laugh under your breath. “You know me so well, huh? It worked great, actually. Better than I thought it would. And it was super hot when you were being all strict with me,”  

Zayne laughs. “I was worried about being so harsh but you really enjoyed yourself,”  

“I did. It felt good but after the crying, I just felt sort of floaty and drunk and pleasant. Like a weight lifted. Haven’t been in subspace like that in a while, but I felt really good.”  

He smiles. “That’s what I was hoping for,”  

“You’re so smart,” You praise, voice cooing and cloying. “Thanks for fixing me up, doc. I’m really indebted to you. I wonder if I’d be doing myself a disserivce to be all honest. It’d be a shame if I never got to see you like that again,”  

Zayne murmurs against your skin, smiling. “I could always punish you for doing less,”  

You grin at him. “See, that sounds wonderful.”  

Zayne gives you a kiss on the top of your head. You look back up at him warmly.  

“Thanks for thinking of me so much. And being so good to me,” You say, almost shy. “Means a lot,”  

Zayne has a million things he thinks of saying. That he’d do anything for you. Ultimately he settles on what he thinks most often.  

“Of course. Anything to make it all better, yes?”  

[urlovebot]

cw: perv!sunghoon. sunghoon does your laundry so: panty sniffing.. and licking, possessiveness, exhibitionism, praise, overstim, hands free orgasm again (?), dry humping but solo (???), sunghoon creams his pants twice lmfaoooo what a loser.

a/n: nastiest thing i've ever written so if it isn't for you, i get it 😭

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sunghoon knows its wrong. he knows its gross, a little fucked up but he can't help it. especially not when you ask him to wash your laundry with his to save on some money.

he couldnt help but dig through your pile, searching desperately for it and- oh! he's found it.

a worn pair of your panties. they're different than he imagined. he's spent hours thinking about it before. he thought they'd be plain, no lace, no pattern. multiple pairs but not alot of difference in color. mainly ones that match your skin tone. you wear alot of light clothing and he sees nothing when his eyes scan your body, spending more time on your ass than anything else. he knows that you dont wear low rise anything so they must be high cut? maybe hipsters? he's sure its nothing out of vanilla for you.

so why would you own a pair of white, bikini shaped, lace trim panties? this soils the picture he had of you in his head. all of his research- all of this knowledge he had of you.

he inspects the garment in his hand. this can't be yours right? sunghoon brings the thin, thin piece of clothing to his nose. it's definitely yours. he can smell the faint scent of your body wash on them.

now he's upset; nearly distraught. why would you own a pair of panties like this? who would you need to impress-

were you fucking other men? were you- sunghoons stomach drops- were you letting them taint you? a different, even more devastating thought springs forward and sunghoon is nauseous. are you not a virgin?

the sadness fades and is replaced by wild, unadulterated anger. his fist closes around the flimsy cloth. god hes upset, frustrated nearly to tears but never at you. never at you. you could never do wrong, his perfect angel. his pretty princess would never do wrong. he knows this, but he's got to take action. do something to solve this issue, make you clean again.

sunghoon brings the panties up to his nose and lets out a whimper at the scent, its tangy but theres a hint of sweetness. fuck, he's hard now. he palms the outline of his cock through his sweats; you smell so good. he knew it, knew that you'd smell good. he tracks what you eat, when you eat it, how you eat it. he makes sure to prepare good, balanced meals for you. he buys you all of your multi-vitamins, tracks the amount of water you drink to make sure you're never dehydrated. he knew you'd smell good, he made it that way.

he feels his cock leak into his underwear. he knows its wrong, knows its fucked up and dirty, but he does it anyway. his tongue pokes out to lick the center of your panties- oh. oh. his eyes roll to the back of his head. it tastes- no, no. you taste good. he feels precum dribble out of his cock and now he feels his underwear get a little damp.

he presses his palm harder against his crotch and takes another, more confident lick at the spot where your pretty pussy would've laid and now he's whining and humping into his hand like a fucking dog. he stumbles at the sensation and catches himself on a washer and he's reminded that this is a public laundromat on campus. a more secluded one, but public nonetheless. the thought of someone catching him makes his head spin.

everyone knew you were roommates. you were so, so popular amongst your peers. so sweet and kind, a smile that lights up a room, an infectious, contagious giggle. and sunghoon, who was so, so handsome but as much as he was handsome, he was shy. didn't talk much to anyone. except for you. he'd stroll with you as you bounced next to him, talking about your day as you both walked back to your dorm.

what better way to claim you than for someone to walk in and see him fucking himself and holding your panties up to his face. the thought turns him on so much that he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a strangled moan.

god he needs it. he needs to fuck you in front of the whole campus. all of those men that violated your princess parts- he needs them to watch as he stuffs his girthy length into your pussy. he wants them to watch as he stretches you out. he's sure you'd struggle against him as what he had in girth he also had in length, but he knows you'd like it. he knows you'd love being filled up by him. by him.

he's so fucking mad. how could they? he slams the fist holding your panties on the washer as he continues to fuck and grind into his hand.

fuck those men that defiled you. fuck them for touching you that way, putting their filthy hands on your precious body. he'd fix that. cleanse you. cum all over your pretty frame, cover you in it. your face, your tits, cum on and in your tight little cunt. he prays you'd let him fuck your ass too so he could fill that up as well- shit.

he feels it coming. he feels the onslaught of pleasure start to pour into his body. he wants to hold off- wants to hold his cum until he can spill it inside of you but he cant. he's gonna cream his pants like hes a teenager again.

he laps at your panties again and he cant wait to taste your pussy. he can't wait until he can eat you out for hours, have you cum on his tongue over and over and- oh-

his eyes squeeze shut again and he bites his lip to try and conceal his moans. he can't tell if its working though, his ears are ringing and the only thing he can think of is roughly humping his hand to get off.

he whines and whines and whines as he feels himself let go, ropes of cum seeping through his underwear. its spurt after spurt and now his hand is wet and its starting to stain his sweats but he cant stop. his cock has a mind of its own, twitching and jumping and fuck- he's so sensitive.

he stops cumming, stops shooting his load into his underwear. he whimpers and removes his hand from his pants but his hips are still stuttering against nothing.

god he wants to feel it. he wants to know how it'll feel when he slides his cock into your warm, tight, wet cunt. he wants to feel his balls slap against your ass from how hard he's fucking you. he wants to feel your pussy gush around him, cover his cock and balls in your juices. he hopes he can make you squirt so you can drench him in you and- no. no no no-

sunghoons knees knock together as he feels himself cum in his pants again and he might actually pass out this time. its dry, nothings coming out but he feels euphoric. his hips fuck into the air and its so fucking gross, he feels so gross and so dirty but its only for you. only for his pretty princess.

[aakeysmash]

Tell me you love me

Pairing: f!reader x Sukuna Ryomen.

Word count: 2512.

Warnings: ANGSTTTTTT. An attempt at it at least lmao, let me know if I did a good job with it. A bit suggestive in the middle. Cursing. Mentions of cheating (mentions!!! No cheating in this house).

People often say that Sukuna would be obsessed with the reader/oc, but I think a relationship with him would be the hardest thing ever.

He doesn’t get the concept of being in love: at the start of your relationship he found out you were more tolerable than anyone else, he assumed that meant he liked being around you and went along with it. Of course he fell in love in the long run, but for him it’s embarrassing to admit it. He barely even said it when you asked him why he wanted you to move in with him.

It’s not like he isn’t obsessed with you: he’s obsessed with the way you just seem to get him, with the way you smile when he comes home from a long day at work, with the utmost kindness you treat people around you with and that he lacks completely. He’s mesmerised by you, by the curve of your hips, the brightness of your eyes, the softness of your hands on his body.

He doesn’t show it, though.

He’s used to being rough and redeems emotions as futile. Like he already said to you in a couple of your arguments, if you get him you get him, if not, he’s not explaining himself. Everything he does is thought of and automatically right, so why would he give you explanations?

But sometimes in relationships you need communication. He doesn’t see how intense it is to be next to someone who acts like he doesn’t care about what you want to share in your daily life. And again, he does care: if he could, he’d make a copy of you yapping and just listen to it on repeat while working. He loves how passionate you sound while talking about your hobbies, he finds the little tilt to your voice when you search for his approval adorable. He doesn’t see how difficult it is to be with him because he’s only been with you, and you’re so good at communicating and making him feel heard he doesn’t notice he’s not reciprocating your efforts.

And that means that he’s never the one who wants to resolve misunderstandings, because he thinks they don’t really exist. You were upset about your dish not coming out the way it was supposed to and instead of reassuring you it was still edible he straight up said it looked horrible and walked away? He’s not sorry. He spoke his mind, did he not? And why would you be sad about the truth?

You’re not weak, and you’re not shy either. Kind people are not necessarily stupid, and you’re living proof of that. He’d never be in a relationship with a weakling who doesn’t know how to raise her voice and stand her ground. You’re fierce in your own way, and you know how to manage his stubbornness 90% of the time. You don’t like being disrespected or ignored, and you made sure to talk his ear off whenever he did it. Not like he purposefully did it, anyway.

But as a person who understands emotions and feels emotions, sometimes being with him frustrates you. And it comes to a point where you debate on keeping being next to him or leaving him for good.

He’s not the only one who has hard days, but when both of you have one, the silence inside your house is deafening. You’re the one who usually starts up conversations, but your mind is occupied with other things. You’ve barely touched your food.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” He scoffs at dinner. He doesn’t like you frowning, it wrecks his heart. It makes him want to destroy the face of whoever took the smile he lives for off your face.

You sigh. “You know how my parents said they were coming to visit us next month? Well-”

He’s silent. Fuck, when did she say this? He thinks. Probably one of those days where the thought of your thighs suffocating him all night plagued his mind last week. Fuck, he’d take a bite of them right now if you let him. Maybe he could suggest it. It could take his mind off of his own shitty day.

“Are you even listening to me?” You say sternly. He notices you kept on talking while his mind wandered, but he disregards it.

“Wanna fuck?” He asks instead.

You’re baffled. “Sukuna, what the fuck?”

“Damn, you could’ve just said no, brat,” he says rolling his eyes.

You get offended. “Don’t fucking ask me what’s wrong if you’re not going to listen to me.”

“Yeah yeah, you were probably going to talk about how worried you are and shit. I don’t care about that. If you don’t want to get my dick wet I’m going to rub one out,” he says waving his hand in front of your face and standing up from his chair.

You huff out a sarcastic laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Would you prefer me to find someone else to do it for me?” He bites, snapping his head toward you.

He sees you widening your eyes. If there’s a thing you don’t tolerate is cheating, or jokes about it. He knows it. He knows it, dammit. You’re fuming.

“You’re an asshole. Fuck you. I’m sleeping at Nobara’s,” you spit at him, grabbing the purse you left on the side of the table and rushing out the door, slamming it.

When he’s left alone in your shared living room, he keeps on looking at your front door. The silence is making his head hurt, the only thing he’s hearing is the sound of the door slamming. Did he overstep? Nah, you were probably overreacting. He shrugs and finally moves from his spot, going to put his dish in the sink. He leaves yours on the table, because maybe you’ll be hungry when you come home. You usually are after an argument. You’ll come back after a couple of hours saying you didn’t want to worry him too much, you’ll sigh saying this can’t keep on happening and that you’re tired of arguing, then he’ll hug you and everything will be alright. Just like it always is. You’ve never left like this, though.

He ruffles his hair; he’s angry at everything and everyone. You should’ve got that he’s the one overreacting, why didn’t you get him like usual? Why aren’t you still back after 3 hours? He hates feeling angry. He hates feeling tired. He hates feeling in general. Most importantly, he hates that the hands in his hair are his and not yours. He hates the way right now he’s craving your soft voice reassuring him in his ear, your sweet words covering him like a blanket; his head on your chest listening to your heartbeat while lying on your couch, reminding you that you’re there. You’ve always been there. There’s no one else for him, there’s never going to be one. He’d never cheat, you’re so stupid for getting angry about it. Why did you get so mad about it? Suddenly, he’s thinking about random stuff you said that he ingrained in his head.

I love you too, Sukuna. I’ll wait for you to tell me that without me forcing it out, mh? I’ll move in with you, sure, if you ask me so that nicely.

You picked this book because it reminded you of me? Thank you, baby. I love it. Both the book and the fact you thought of me.

Can you stop messing up my sock drawer? No, I did not hide your cigarettes there. But please stop smoking, I love when you taste like my lip gloss and not that disgusting shit you inhale. Give me a kiss so I can prove it to you. I’ll take your breath away way better than tobacco.

He smirks while on the couch, alone. You’re so cute. He wants to bottle up your laugh. Why aren’t you back still? His mind doesn’t stop, though.

You hurt me, Sukuna. Why can’t you notice?

I feel like you don’t care about me.

If I hadn't come to you, would you have come to me? Or would you just have ignored this whole argument and acted like nothing happened?

Am I just filling up a random space you leave open for a significant other or am I the significant other that’s capable of filling that void?

That night he dreams of you. The way you glared at him asking him if he was serious, almost like a warning before you lashed out. He dreams of the hurt that flashed in your eyes when he spewed nonsense. And when he wakes up, you’re still not back. Your unfinished plate is still on the kitchen table.

But he’s prideful, that’s why you’re the one that’s always trying to resolve arguments. Yes, you’ll come back. He’s sure of it. You always came back during the 3 years you've been together.

A week passes by and he's going crazy. You haven't contacted him at all, and he didn't text first. He lies to himself saying it's because he's leaving you some space, but the truth is that he's scared. What is he even supposed to say? Hey, I'm sorry, I miss you, please come home? That's pathetic. He's taking a shower when suddenly his phone rings. His heart skips a beat and he rushes out to check if it's you. Please, let it be you.

Instead it's Yuji, his brother.

Yuji: Hey, what happened with y/n? She asked me to come get some of her things for her. Is she sick?

Sukuna frowns. Then he realizes that- you're going to move out. You're going to break up with him.

He goes into panic mode. He never thought about the possibility of you leaving him. He thought you would come back, like you always do. Why would you leave him? Is it because you finally realized that you're better off with someone who knows how to express their feelings for you? Did you get tired of him? Have you already found someone else?

He finds himself knocking on Nobara's door in the next ten minutes. He ran, he's sweating and it's starting to rain. He's out of breath, and he gets his hands on his knees while he waits for you to open the door. He's not ready to let you go. He can't even fathom a life where he doesn't wake up to you trying to get warm between his arms, without you nagging him while watching a film together, without helping you bake cookies while laughing with each other. Without not being able to talk from how in love he is while looking into your eyes. And he knows that if you leave him he's never going to be able to live in his own house ever again, or walk down the street you always do together, or go grocery shopping and not thinking about you while looking at vegetables. You always said you liked vegetables and he always lied about liking them just to see you excited about cooking them together.

"Yuji, I didn't think you'd be this fas- oh," you open the door and your face falls when you see it's Sukuna. He snaps his gaze toward your face when he hears your voice. He missed it so much. You're so beautiful. He missed all of you. So much.

Neither of you move, you just keep staring at each other. This time, he knows he's going to have to talk first. For the first time, he realizes how hard it actually is to confront someone first. Do you feel like this every time?

"Come home," he says. "Please," he adds.

You look sad. "I don't think I'm going to, Sukuna. It's been more than a week and you didn't even reach out to say... I don't even know what. I know you don't say sorry. You never do."

Your words feel like knives. From where you're standing you're taller than him, and he has to look up to look at you. It's like he's in front of the pearly gates of heaven and an angel is making him confess all the wrong things he did, except in this scenario you're the angel and the things he did are just what he thinks about all of this. About you in general.

And you're right, he doesn't usually say sorry. The words get stuck in his throat and he just gapes up at you, still catching his breath. Pathetic.

You sigh, then go to close the door. You don't look at him anymore and he feels like he can't breathe, and not because of the run.

"I'll come get my things next week. Go home, you'll get wet," you say. And your voice is clear, you're not mumbling, you must have thought about this. He sees how hard you're clenching your jaw to appear resolute, your nails hurting your palms from how hard you're closing your hands. But you still manage to worry about him, worry about him possibly catching a cold from the rain. And he loves you. Fuck, he loves you so much.

"Wait," he manages to say. You look at him with longing. With sorrow.

And he feels like he's crying to the angel in his afterlife when he opens his mouth again, thorns in his throat getting tighter, suffocating him. But he doesn't cry here, in front of you, even if maybe you'd like it. You'd probably say that you appreciate him showing emotions, maybe tease him for it, but you'd like it. He'd kiss you while you're still laughing, saying you're stupid, and you'd continue laughing.

"I love you," he rasps out. The words feel so unfamiliar to his tongue, but so familiar to his ears. You always tell him you love him. "I'm sorry for being a shithead. Please don't leave me. I promise you I'll get better at this communication shit," he begs.

You still don't move, but he sees you getting softer.

"Go home, Sukuna. We'll talk about it when it's not raining," you utter.

"No, I don't fucking want to," he snaps. You're startled, and he cringes. He's really not used to all of this. He doesn't like scaring you.

"Fuck, I meant to say I want to get over it right now. I didn't want to scare you. I want you back, Y/N. Please, have me back. I'll get better for real," he says while getting progressively closer to you.

"You promise?" You ask, now shorter than him. You're a step of distance from each other.

"I promise, baby. I'll make you the happiest girl to ever exist," he tells you, looking at you intensely.

"Start by saying you love me again," you mumble, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his chest. He engulfs you in his own arms, inhaling the smell of your shampoo, then snorts.

"Sure. I'm in love with you, brat."

Being in a relationship with Sukuna is hard, but he loves you easily.

[linaslivery]

౨ৎ LOSS ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ it was a rough weekend to say the least. sadie's first tennis tournament didn't exactly go as planned in her mind. how does oscar handle his little girl being to down with herself?

PAIRING ౨ৎ Not really a pairing, but reader makes multiple apperances 🩵

WARNINGS ౨ৎ sadie being a perfectionist :( (me tbh)

A/N ౨ৎ I HAVEN'T SEEN IT FULLY BUT I SAW SNIPPET OF IT 🥹 i can see this happening 100% 🩵 (minus the karting! little sadie is a tennis player in the future 😋) small little imagine for today before i do school notes!! (sadie is about 7 here!)

Part of the Dad Oscar mini-series 🩵

Two sets. Two sets was all it took to get eliminated from her first tournament final.

Sadie sat in the backseat of the car, arms crossed and gaze fixed out the window as the ride remained quiet, with Oscar glancing at her in the rearview mirror, noticing the way her lips pressed together tightly.

She wasn’t one to cry easily. If anything, she hates crying. But at this point, the lump in her throat was undeniable.

Oscar gave a sigh before speaking, “Sadie, you did great. You know that? Getting second in your first ever tournament is amazing.” he smiled softly.

“If i did great then I wouldn’t have lost.” Sadie replied bluntly.

He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. God, how he wished you were here right now. You’d know what to do. “Sadie, you didn’t lose, you came second. And that’s something to be proud of.”

“Second is first to lose.” Sadie replied, rather quickly as she fiddled with her fingers while looking out the window.

Oscar gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, the weight of Sadie’s words hanging in the air. He understood her frustration all too well, but it was hard to see his little girl already feeling the pressure of expectations.

“I get why you're upset, Sadie,” Oscar started, glancing at her in the mirror. “I really do. But you know what? I didn’t win all the time either, especially not at the beginning of karting. It takes time, and every time you play, you’re learning something new.”

Sadie didn’t respond right away, her eyes still fixed out the window, but Oscar could see the slight frown on her face.

“And you know, you always keep the memories with you,” Oscar added softly, remembering what he had said in that interview not long ago. “Every match, every race, every time you give it your all—it stays with you. It’s not about always being the best. It’s about getting better and enjoying what you do.”

“Do you always remember the times you lost?” Sadie asked quietly, her voice breaking the silence as she turned to look at him.

“…Some more than others.” Oscar replied.

“What about wins?”

“Everyone remembers when they win.”

“Even your first win in Hungary that the team messed up the pit stops making the whole race behind Lando and when lando didn’t change positions until the very end?” Sadie asked, tilting her head slightly with her blunt tone.

“…You know, you’re making this really hard for me to comfort you now.” Oscar blanked.

“I know,” Sadie replied, the corners of her lips twitching up ever so slightly, despite her sadness. “That’s why I said it.”

Oscar couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, “Well, thank you for that, Sadie… but seriously,” Oscar said, his voice softening again, “I know it’s tough, but you should be proud of yourself. It’s not about comparing yourself to me, or anyone else for that matter. Tennis is your thing. It’s your journey. You love playing, right?”

Sadie’s frown deepened. “…mhm.”

Oscar noticed Sadie’s eyes wandering to the tennis bag in the backseat, her small fingers tracing the strap. Her thoughts were clearly elsewhere, but he took the opportunity to continue. “Nothing comes from nothing, Sadie. It’s okay to be sad and want to do better, but don’t ignore the amount of effort you put into it.

Sadie was quiet for a moment, her little fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt as she mulled over Oscar's words. "But it’s not enough," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar's heart squeezed at the sight of his daughter, so young and already feeling the weight of expectation. “Sadie, you don’t have to be the best at everything right away," he said gently, “and you don’t have to be as good as me, either… besides, I’m barely any good at padel, let alone tennis.”

Sadie finally turned to look at him, her expression serious. “But you’re always good, Daddy. Everyone always says how great you are.”

Oscar bit his lip, trying to think of how to explain it in a way she would understand. “That’s because I’ve been doing this for a long time. Sadie, you’re young. You have time to grow.”

Sadie stayed quiet, though her frown softened just a bit. Oscar smiled softly, taking that as a sign to keep going. “You love tennis, right? That’s what matters. If you enjoy it, you’ll keep getting better. And guess what? I’ll be there to watch every match.”

“You really think I did good?” Sadie asked hesitantly, her voice smaller now, as though she was afraid to believe it.

Oscar nodded, catching her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I know you did. I was watching, remember? Every single serve, every single shot. You didn’t give up, even when it was tough. That’s what makes you great.”

Sadie finally met his eyes in the mirror. “But I wanted to win.”

“I know you did. But you’ll have more matches, more chances. It’s okay to be sad now, but you should also be proud of what you did today.” Oscar paused before adding, “Plus, second place means you’re already better than most people on the court.”

That earned him a tiny smile from Sadie. "I guess.” she mumbled, her hand resting on her tennis bag.

“Now… ready to show your Mum your trophy?”

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

“Second place? …In your first tournament?” You asked, stopping what you were doing to look at the pair that just returned home.

Sadie stood next to Oscar, her tennis bag slung over her shoulder and the silver trophy cradled in her arms. Her gaze was still shy, as though unsure whether her result was something to be proud of.

Oscar gave you a small, knowing smile, as if to say, Please help me here.

You knelt down, meeting Sadie’s eyes as she shifted on her feet. “That’s amazing, Sadie!” you exclaimed, your voice full of pride. “Second place in your first ever tournament? That’s incredible!”

Sadie blinked, as if she hadn’t expected your reaction to be so positive, her lips parting in surprise at the compliment, making her cheeks slightly redden. She looked at you for a long moment before glancing at Oscar, who place a hand on her shoulder. "But I wanted to be first…" she whispered, her voice trailing off.

"I know," you replied softly, nodding in understanding. "And that’s okay. It’s good to want to win, but it's also okay not to win every time. What's important is that you did your best, and look—" you pointed to the trophy in her hands, "you still achieved something incredible. Second place out of all those players? That’s huge."

Sadie’s eyes finally lifted to meet yours, and you could see the tension in her shoulders ease a little, though she still looked unsure. "You really think so?" she asked, her voice small.

“It’s not just me.. we know so.”

Oscar watched the exchange, his heart swelling as he saw the tension ease from Sadie’s small frame. You always knew exactly what to say.

“Now,” you said, pulling back slightly and smiling at her with a playful glint in your eyes, “how about we put that beautiful trophy somewhere special? I think it deserves a place on the self, don’t you?”

Sadie nodded, her earlier disappointment fading away bit by bit. “Yeah… I think so.”

Besides, there was still more that the future holds.

[sepublic]

After this episode I don’t think you can really blame Ragatha for being a people pleaser when twice she tries to be better than that and everyone just judges her for it like. At that point the problem really is everyone else. Jax derides Ragatha for not being honest about her frustration but when she is he still derides her anyhow. And if she isn’t being treated any differently why should Ragatha care about what others are saying???

Likewise it’s annoying seeing people infantilize Jax’s shitty behavior because OH he’s trapped in the circus and someone he knew got abstracted like. Bitch he’s not special so did everyone else. Zooble is also off-putting and negative but she makes a point to mind her own business and is nice even when the other person hadn’t initiated it towards her first.

Jax is going out of his way to be a gleefully malicious asshole, incessantly. And then has the gall to be offended at Ragatha for accidentally bringing up his issues, and is only nice when someone is nice to him. But in the end his lack of friends is 100% his fault. People have a right to be upset with him! Why is the onus on everyone to be patient with Jax, and not Jax to have basic restraint for once??? He talks such hot shit but can’t even take a single hit.

And like I love Pomni but the third episode already made a point that she DID make Ragatha feel excluded, it was a thing she apologized for, and Kinger’s framing puts Pomni’s neglect as the worst thing anyone could do; Not Ragatha being a bit overbearing.

So with that in mind it’s not out of the question to say that Pomni is doing the same for Ragatha. I’m not saying she’s maliciously, intentionally choosing Jax over Ragatha. But if Ragatha is considered by the fandom to still be responsible for how she makes others feel regardless of intent, doesn’t the same apply to Pomni?

Again she’s frustrated with Ragatha for infantilizing her but in the end she (or at least the narrative) kinda infantilizes Jax with her willingness to be more sympathetic and friendly because he’s actually just sad and lonely inside and doesn’t know better. Rather than being a grown-ass man people have made explicit to him that they’ve been upset by.

She’s put off by Ragatha coming across as being dishonest due to her fear of upsetting people, but instead of being up front to Ragatha about wanting to get through to Jax and needing someone to give her time to do so, Pomni lies about doing this for Ragatha, to give Ragatha a chance to redeem herself; Presumably because she’s afraid of upsetting Ragatha. Meaning she knows how this comes across and still does it.

I’ve seen some argue that it’s the other way around but I dunno. In the end Pomni doesn’t spare a passing glance to Ragatha afterwards or even remember to invite her. And it’s a flaw we’ve seen before so it’s not out of the question that it’s her same flaw at the root of this scene, and not just Ragatha’s insecurity making her perceive it that way.

Pomni admits that she wasn’t there for Ragatha but in the end she’s not really trying to stand up for Ragatha when Jax continues to both be an asshole and act as if Ragatha is the one who crossed a line. Maybe her goal is to talk Jax into being nice enough to apologize to Ragatha himself but given she lied to Ragatha about her intentions it feels almost a little knowingly insincere.

Sorry not sorry but fandom has always been way too forgiving towards male characters for being utterly terrible, while giving female characters so much flak for being even a bit flawed. The fact that people can even feel sorry for Jax’s “trauma” as if he isn’t constantly verbally abusing everyone around him is ridiculous. While they act as if Ragatha’s loneliness is a proportional consequence to being a bit needy; Like her efforts to be kind are just so inherently purely evil and hurtful. Jax and Ragatha are both traumatized but in Ragatha’s case she’s at least trying to avoid being an asshole about it and I just don’t buy the excuse that Jax has a “different coping method” like that’s what every shitty abusive man has said.

It’s absurd that everyone is talking hot shit about how Jax needs kindness when he’s the one who should be told that others need kindness. It’s absurd how people saw Kinger describe what Pomni did to Ragatha as Pomni explicitly makes it clear to us that Ragatha is the one being left out. And yet people will say Jax is the poor baby feeling left out as if his constant harassment isn’t what’s making people feel isolated. Gooseworx has even said that Jax deserves to be in the circus the most out of anyone. Like technically it shouldn’t happen to anyone but I’m gonna be real here sometimes there are basic consequences to one’s intentional actions. There comes a point where people do not fucking owe you shit!!!

[billiuspendragon]

The thing about Teruhashi is that she isn't "the peak of femininity", she's the epitome of what the patriarchy wants women to be.

Men are nice to her, love her and give her things -- but it isn't really for her. Men go out of their way to give her attention because they hope they will get attention from a pretty girl in return. They might not want her to do anything specific -- they just want her to exist for them, and to always be smiling at them, because they think that's what a pretty woman should be. According to the patriarchy, pretty women exist to be lovely and to brighten everyone's days. If they're not then there's no point to them.

Honestly I think Teruhashi has made it her mission to be "perfect" in this way because it's that way she feels she has control over the situation. Weaponising her beauty and manipulating people is all she can do because she can't use her voice. People listen to her, yes, but only because she's pretty and nice for them. They love her, but they don't respect her as a person. I believe that if Teruhashi was truly upset about something she would probably be labeled as "crazy" -- and she knows this, which is why she tries so hard to make even her tears palatable and pretty.

That's why it sort of rubs me up the wrong way when she's praised for her efforts by Saiki. Why should forcing ourselves into a mould for men to admire us be praised? It's sad that Teruhashi has to do this. It's sad that she has to act and perform to feel like she has even a little control over the waves of people constantly fawning over her. She did not choose this life. Why should Teruhashi be praised for being a good girl and fitting into the patriarchy? I don't know if that was the intended message but that's what it feels like at times and it's frustrating! It's so frustrating!

My one hope is that she does refuse to answer a guy's question after she faints that one time, which paints a hopeful picture of her future character development. I do wish they'd taken this a bit further, but, hey ho.

In short, "the peak of femininity" is not something that really exists, because we are all our own people. Being a woman shouldn't be about living for others, it should be about being a fucking human like anyone else.

[xjulixred45x]

Hiii xx do you think you could do ror hades and ror poseidon you don't have to do both xx with reader who's like mabel from gravity falls but there her uncle the scenario can be whatever you like I don't mind xx

Alright! If i understand correctly You want a platonic Reader so where it goes.

Platonic Hades/ Poseidón with Mabel! Reader

Okay, more than a request, I'm going to answer this with a rant (as compensation, sorry).

This gives me a lot of vibes from Hebe!, the Greek goddess of youth, which fits Mabel's super cheerful and lively personality like a glove. Besides, being the daughter of Zeus and Hera, it makes sense.

I can tell you that Hebe! Reader would be the most spoiled and protected child in all of Valhalla, not only by her parents, but also by her uncles. It's so rare to have something genuinely pure and innocent in this particular family; they want to protect that innocence.

That means they end up being more overprotective of the girl than they should be. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if Poseidon/Hades mentioned the idea of ​​Hebe! Reader becoming a virginal goddess like Hestia, simply because it's safer that way than ending up in an unhappy marriage (like her parents', cough cough). It also wouldn't be surprising if people tend to avoid Hebe! Reader. Reader, by the way, I mean, her father is the GOD OF THE UNIVERSE, her uncles? The god of the seas and the underworld respectively, her brother the god of war, and the list goes on. Hebe! Reader is naively unaware that her family is pushing away any potential suitor or lover interested in her hand.

Poseidon is someone stoic, we all know that, Hebe! Reader knows that, so she does everything possible to get at least one expression out of him, JUST ONE! Whether it's making a fool of herself, showing him funny or weird things, throwing herself at him, cuddling him, etc. Anyone would say Poseidon is upset or doesn't love her, but anyone who knows him knows that if it were anyone else, he'd be dead in her place. He allows this kind of thing for Reader because he doesn't like seeing her sad. Is it annoying? Yes, but it's more annoying to see her sobbing.

It may seem hypocritical, but Poseidon indulges Reader's childish attitude, precisely because of his philosophy. After all, Reader is the goddess of youth. Doesn't it make sense that she acts anything but childish and youthful? It's part of her role, so Poseidon actually sees his niece in a rather positive light (that, and he'll never admit that her cheerful and vibrant attitude gives a fresher air to the whole of Olympus).

Hades definitely finds Reader's attitude hilarious and charming, partly reminiscent of Zeus when he was young (of course, not as rude and much more adorable). Although that doesn't mean he isn't concerned about his niece's naiveté. He is quite considerate of the people around her, especially men who try to get too close for his liking.

Everyone knows that if you want to be alone with Reader, you have to go through Hades first. Even the reader prefers it this way rather than them meeting her father, mostly because, well, Zeus is Zeus. But Hades actually listens, gives genuine advice, lets her stay in Heilheim if she argues with her parents, takes her side, goes with her when she gets in trouble, etc. He's practically a second dad.

That said, no matter how much he loves his niece, Hades will never let her win at a board game. Sorry, he doesn't make the rules. Well, he does, but it's too fun to watch him get frustrated trying to make a move without realizing he's losing. He's still a guy, after all, a guy who loves to annoy his nephews from time to time.

Regardless of everything, these two will always be willing to stick their necks in the fire for the reader, some more openly than others. But the intention? Always there.

___________

(ESPAÑOL)

Okey, mas que una peticion, te voy a responder esto con una rant (como una compensasion, lo siento)

¡esto me da muchas vibras de Hebe! la diosa de la juventud griega, lo cual va como anillo al dedo para la personalidad super alegre y vivaz de Mabel. aparte, siendo hija de Zeus y Hera, tiene sentido.

te puedo decir que Hebe! lectora seria la niña mas consentida y protegida de todo el Valhala, no solo por sus padres, sino tambien por sus tios. es tan raro tener algo genuinamente puro e inocente en esta familia en particular, quieren proteger esa inocencia.

eso significa que terminan sobreprotegiendo a la niña mas de la cuenta, diablos, no me sorprenderia si Poseidon/Hades mencionan la idea de que Hebe! lectora se vuelva una diosa virginal como Hestia, simplemente porque es mas seguro de esa forma a que termine en un matrimonio infeliz (como el de sus padres cofcof). tampoco seria sorpresa si la gente tiende a evitar a Hebe! lectora a proposito, digo, su padre es el DIOS DEL UNIVERSO, sus tios? el dios de los mares y el inframundo respectivamente, su hermano el dios de la guerra y la lista sigue. Hebe! lectora es ingenuamente ingorante de que su familia esta alejando a todo posible pretendiente o amante interesado en su mano.

Poseidon es alguien estoico, todos sabemos eso, Hebe! lectora sabe eso, por lo que hace todo lo posible para aunque sea sacarle una expresion, SOLO UNA! ya sea haciendo el ridiculo, mostrandole cosas divertidas o raras, tirandosele encima, dandole mimos, etc. cualquiera diria que Poseidon esta molesto o que no la quiere, pero cualquiera que lo conozca sabe que si fuera cualquier otro, estaria muerto en su lugar. El le permite este tipo de cosas a lectora porque no le gusta verla triste ¿es molesto? si, pero es mas molesto verla sollozando.

puede parecer hipocrita, pero Poseidon indulge la actitud infantil de lectora, justamente por su filosofia. despues de todo, lectora es la diosa de la juventud ¿no tiene sentido que ella actua sino de forma infantil y juvenil? es parte de su funcion, por lo que Poseidon en realidad ve a su sobrina bajo una luz bastante positiva (eso, y nunca reconocera que su actitud alegre y vibrante da un aire mas fresco a todo el olimpo).

Hades definitivamente encuentra la actitud de lectora hilarante y encantadora, en parte recordando a Zeus cuando era joven (claro, sin ser tan rudo y mucho mas adorable) aunque eso no significa que no le preocupe la ingenuidad de su sobrina, es bastante atento con la gente a su alrededor, ESPECIALMENTE los hombres que intentan acercarse demaciado para su gusto.

todo el mundo lo sabe, si quieres estar a solas con lectora, tienes que pasar por Hades primero. incluso lectora prefiere que sea asi en vez de que conozcan a su padre, mas que nada porque, bueno, Zeus es Zeus. pero Hades en realidad escucha, da consejos genuinos, le deja quedarse en Heilhaim si se pelea con sus padres, toma su lado, va con ella cuando se mete en problemas, etc. es practicamente un segundo papa.

eso si, no importa cuanto ame a su sobrina, Hades nunca la dejara ganar en un juego de mesa, lo siento, el no hace las reglas, o bueno si, pero es demaciado divertido ver como se frustra tratando de hacer un movimiento sin darse cuenta de que esta perdiendo. sigue siendo un tio despues de todo, un tio que le encanta molestar a sus sobrinos de vez en cuando.

indifenrentemente de todo, estos dos siempre estaran dispuestos a meter las manos al fuego por lectora, unos mas abiertamente que otros ¿pero la intencion? siempre ahi

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[hyacinthleaves]

Istg you're carrying the project eden's garden x reader tag on your back 😭😭.

Could I request Damon, Wolfgang & Mark with a blackened reader and what their reaction would be when they discover it was them in the trial?? (For the sake of this imagine Wolfgang is alive...)

PD: what if the motive was that if the blackened got away they could choose another student to leave with? (Reader would obviously want to leave with the character)

DAMON FANS WHAT IS HAPPENING

Damon Maitsu:

I already talked about Damon's s/o as the blackened but with that motive?

He's actually going to lose his shit

He cares so much about you and he had a sneaking suspicion that one of you were going to die by the end of the game (though he didn't want to believe it) but he had no clue that it was going to be for that reason

Really, with his mixed emotions in that moment, he wants to call you a dumbass

But he loves you so much because you went to those lengths to try and make sure the two of you come out alive

So for a bit he says nothing because he's genuinely buffering, but you can see it in his eyes (through his tears), he's extremely grateful even though you did do that

It pains him to say that you're the killer but he'll honestly try to be as slow as possible just so he can have a few more moments with you (and he's beating himself up for it because he knows what's going to happen anyway)

He'll watch your execution and just think that this was entirely preventable if he never got close to you in the first place

...wait

Hear me out. What if you just told him in advance

I really think that if you manage to make Damon reach a level of selfishness and hate for others, you can convince him to keep his mouth shut for a pretty long time

Like really if you let him sit in the fact that he never wanted to be there, everyone hates him, he hates everyone, and there's a way out if he just shuts up, I think it's possible

Out of all 3 characters listed, I genuinely feel like he's the most likely to shut up and actually help you get away with it if there's enough preparation

Food for thought, I don't know

It'll make it so much worse when/if you get executed though because he actively played a hand in your death. His mental health will quickly go downhill from there

Wolfgang Akire:

He's SO conflicted, poor guy

And I'm sorry to say this, but he would flat out tell you that he never wanted you to do that

It hurts him to say it too but he's generally pretty selfless (or at least in front of others, he does care about how he presents himself) and he wants to keep that up, whether he actually believes it or not

It's not like his love for you isn't strong, but he's also a lawyer. YOU should've seen that coming

He'll still be upset for sure but in a moment of high stress, it'll definitely look like he turned his back on you, even though he's just trying to solve the case

And I don't think it would've changed even hm if he thought that you might've done it from the start

I don't think he would want everyone else to die for the sake of you two, it just wouldn't have worked long term either

He's pissed but so sad because he knows how much you care about him but you knew damn well he doesn't like what you did

This would be disastrous because he's crying out of frustration and it looks like he's so pissed. It literally looks like you two are breaking up, because he's mad at you because you killed someone and now you're about to die. There's so much shit happening I don't even think anyone would want to talk anymore

Mark Berskii:

(if the motive was public) As soon as that motive dropped, he knew something was going to happen

I feel like he considered it for a moment but he thought that it wouldn't be right to do anything so he didn't

He also wondered if you would kill someone for the both of you, but it wasn't something he was taking seriously. It still stayed in the back of his mind though

This bit of anxiety caused him to keep an eye on you a lot more than he usually does

If he thinks you're acting suspiciously, he'll be extremely nervous but he won't say a word. He doesn't want to know. If it's you, he doesn't want that thought plaguing his mind at a time like this

Even if you did do it, he wouldn't want you looking suspicious during the investigation. He'll stick to you and just tell you to act normal if you aren't already

If you don't have an alibi during the time of the murder, he might just make something up. He becomes EXTREMELY protective. He doesn't want anything happening to you

He might crash out before you do just because he doesn't even want anyone thinking of you in that manner

It would look very sudden compared to his general silence from before

He doesn't care if you did or didn't do it anymore, he refuses to lose you. It almost looks like he has more to lose than you do, and you're the one that might die

He's gonna become Damon levels of pissy after the trial. If people even look at him for too long he'll get mad

It'll take him a bit to calm down and I don't think anyone will really try to bother him, for obvious reasons

[bunniekittiee]

Bi-Han x Fem. Reader (as well as general headcanons)

Alright alright the Bi-Han headcanons was a success so ykw I’ll bless you all again. Also this is my depiction of Bi-Han so if you think I can tweak it and make it better then by all means let me know!

CW: mentions of eating problems, anxiety, illness, chronic illness, a little nsfw, nothing too crazy

Hair combing is an intimate ordeal.

He does not let anyone else touch his hair besides himself and you. He trusts you completely to comb his hair and even put it up for him.

He thinks you do it better than him, but he can manage it himself if needed.

He sighs with relief when his hair is let down, feeling his s/o’s fingers gently massage his aching scalp. It feels so good to him, he loves it.

Bi-Han does like the quietness. Especially after a long day of Grandmaster duties and irritation.

So if it is quiet during this time, he can close his eyes and almost fall asleep as you caress his hair and take care of him.

Sometimes he has fallen asleep when you are doing this.

If you were to ask Bi-Han to bathe together, he would silently go insane for a second and then agree.

Despite seeing you naked more than often, it still gives him butterflies in different scenarios that isn’t inherently sexual. Such as bathing.

He thinks you are beautiful, do not ever be negative about yourself around Bi-Han because he will immediately worry.

If you are worried about gaining weight, he is already overthinking that you will stop eating.

So instead, Bi-Han gently encourages you to train with the other Lin Kuei if you feel that you want to lose weight or prevent yourself from gaining weight.

No, he does not think you are fat at all, do not twist his words.

But Bi-Han is the type of man to give you solutions to help you but not in a rude way.

He just tries to encourage and give you options.

He will also suggest yoga with Kuai Liang. Kuai Liang usually meditates, but he will divulge himself in yoga for you if you are interested.

He does not like to see you sad or upset about your self image. It makes him feel helpless.

Bi-Han can handle a physical threat because he can eliminate it, but when it is a mental threat such as self image issues, depression, etc., Bi-Han finds himself unable to see straight.

Out of his brothers, I see Bi-Han struggling with some anxiety.

Like I said in my previous headcanons, Bi-Han worries for his s/o because she is his weakness. If anyone were to take her away from him, he would practically engulf everything in a blizzard.

I see Bi-Han having anxiety about his brothers as well, whether they are safe or going to be okay.

As much as Bi-Han shuns Smoke, he still worries for him. Smoke is the ‘baby’ of them all, and if he were to see him in any form of pain, he is already wanting to murder the person who inflicted it upon him.

That being said, if you have any sort of health issues that will literally send Bi-Han over the edge.

He is constantly having the medics check you over and he will be riddled with so much anxiety he will stop eating and sleeping well.

God forbid you have a chronic illness or anything at all, at that point Bi-Han will just have an aneurysm.

As tough as his exterior is, Bi-Han can be sensitive.

Please do not call him names, he doesn’t even do that to you and it will hurt his feelings.

He will distance himself and feel melancholy until you apologize. He doesn’t like it when you are rude or mean to him.

As I mentioned in my other previous headcanons, he does get snappy himself so he knows that he is a bit of a hypocrite.

If you were to communicate your feelings to him, whether it is your frustrations, sadness, or anger, he will understand and try his best to relax you and make you feel better.

You do the same for him, so it’s time that he repays that favor.

Bi-Han can be extremely busy with his duties and he knows you hate being cooped up for so long.

So he will allow Smoke and Kuai Liang to take you out, whether that’s for a walk or to Madame Bo’s, Bi-Han just wants to make sure you are happy.

I don’t know where people got the “jealous of my brothers being around my s/o” belief from, but Bi-Han trusts his brothers completely.

He has to, they go into battle and on quests together, they have to deeply trust each other and have a strong bond with one another.

So he lets his brothers take you out, he does not get jealous of that. They would never do anything to you, and Bi-Han knows it is completely out of character for them to do anything in the first place.

So yes, he lets you go out with his brothers and enjoy your time together when he is busy.

Again, he knows you get cooped up and he wants you to have some freedom.

His brothers love that you have somewhat changed Bi-Han but in a good way.

He is somewhat nicer to Smoke and refrains from telling him he is not part of their family. Last time he did, you gave him the absolute worst glare that even Kuai Liang felt his stomach turn.

Bi-Han is gentle as possible with you. His hands have killed and hurt many, he would hate to inflict the same pain on you.

You are like a flower to him, a delicate and precious lively being.

You have softened Bi-Han in many ways, and many appreciate what you have done.

[theseinfernalangels]

The Haunting Ordeal of Rosarie Fuentes — Liam Mairi

Synopsis: Today is the anniversary of the day Rosarie Fuentes’ parents were killed in action by General Melgren. When the past comes back to haunt her, she finds solace in an unexpected visitor.

Includes: New OC, some made up spiritual stuff and places because we don’t know many regions in Navarre, angst, the role model/big brother Liam we didn’t get to see for Day 6 of Liam Week 🥹 

November 13th. Generally, I try to avoid people on this day due to its significance, which means that I have not been to any of my classes today. I told one of my squadmates that I’m sick, but I’m not quite sure he —or anyone else, for that matter — believed me.

Everyone knows what happened today. Even if I went out, they’d avoid me either out of hatred or for fear of me tearing them all apart.

“I still do not see how this benefits you.” Taibh’s quiet, husky voice echoes through my mind like an aching lullaby. “Does isolation not make your pain worse?”

“No,” I huff, lowering my head back into my history textbook, right on the page of a fierce Tyrrish queen. “One of two things would happen if I saw people today. They’d either pity me or taunt me, and I don’t need any of that.”  

“Fools,” the dragon growls, shooting waves of frustration down our bond. “A rider like you does not need pity.”

I unconsciously nod my head in agreement. I am Rosarie Fuentes, daughter of Isidor and Gwenael Fuentes. They are Tyrrish legends. Their names alone mean that people should respect me…But they don’t, because their names are those of fallen traitors now. 

Traitors? Please. The real traitors are the ones who decided that the Apostasy was something worth killing people for instead of something to be celebrated. 

I stare down at the textbook before I flip it shut, resisting the urge to put a knife through it. Through anything, really — it would take the edge off quick, but if I started with that, I don’t know how I could stop. And, with the way my aim has been lately, I’d probably break a window. I can’t be a traitor and commit property damage. 

I end up just pacing back and forth in my bedroom, angrily muttering to myself with quiet commentary from Taibh. Despite it being — what, seven years? — since my parents fell in battle together, I still get overemotional about it all. Not like when it originally happened, but it’s enough to be unsettling to anyone who sees, because I don’t get emotional. Ever. It’s odd, to me, because it’s not like I don’t spend every other moment of my time thinking about them. I should be over it by now…But I guess I’m too weak for that.

“It does not make you weak to grieve,” Taibh interjects. He’s silent for another moment before he continues, “Would you like to know something about me, Little Thorn?”

“Sure,” I reply. “Shoot.”

“Two decades or so ago, I lost my dearest brother against a drift of gryphons.”

I pause. Taibh has — had — a brother? It strikes me that I’ve never thought about Taibh as anything more than my dragon — half of my soul, ready for action. It certainly never occurred to me that he has a family, too…Probably because I never shut up about losing mine.

“Oh,” I manage, feeling a bit guilty. “I’m sorry, Taibh. I didn’t know.”

“No,” he amends. “You’re alright. What I am trying to say is that grief does not leave just because time has passed. You are allowed to be upset about your family just as I am mine. I think about Titeciúnaigh every day. Does it not irritate you?”

Ah. So that’s the wave of sadness I feel from him every time he lets his shields down a little too much — cold, aching sorrow that chills me from the bones outward. It comes and goes, but it’s easily distinguishable from my own, which is burning, venomous, and all-consuming.

“No,” I reply. “Of course not. I hardly even notice it sometimes. When I do, it’s mostly physically uncomfortable.”

“Precisely.” The dragon snorts. “And it does not bother me or anyone else that you miss your parents. No more apologies.”

It’s nothing short of an order, so I concede and resume my pacing. Despite my exhaustion, that sinking feeling in my chest doesn’t cease once. Perhaps it’s the rawness of the day, or maybe it’s because I always have this feeling that something is going terribly wrong. Or, it could be that no one has deigned to ask how I am today — but that’s my own fault for locking my door and not speaking to anyone. I’m not very up for a conversation, but the fact that no one has even tried to talk to me kind of…stings?

That makes no sense. I can’t expect anyone to communicate when the only thing I’ve conveyed to my squad is that I want to be left alone. I’m too used to being in Antara with my foster siblings, who took care of me a little too well whenever the sadness became too much to bear. I’ve hardly even tried to forge that kind of relationship with anyone here, besides Taibh. — not even with the other Tyrs my age, which I would probably benefit from considering our circumstances right now. But I don’t need help like them. I can already fight and hold my own just fine. It’s not fair to ask anything of them when I haven’t given anything myself.

 My steps falter a little as I near the window by my bed, the setting sun casting arcs of red and orange through the Moranian sky. My nails scratch at the stone wall absentmindedly. Is this what they saw as they fell, my parents? Free-falling from the backs of their slaughtered dragons, tumbling through the air together whilst Navarrian soldiers watched with glee? The thought makes me so sick to my stomach that I have to grip the wall, hard, to force the rising bile in my throat back down. I take in a shaky breath and slowly lower myself to the ground, just like the Earl of Antara taught me, and tuck my head between my knees.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Hold. Try not to choke. Out.

“Easy, now,” Taibh soothes. “You are okay, Little Thorn. Keep breathing.” A well-meaning surge of warmth floods the bond, but it doesn’t do much to quell this feeling of nausea that continues to eat at me.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, Taibh. You need a rider who can actually keep her shit together and not get triggered because of something as small as a sunset.”

“Why do you question my choice in a rider?” He asks, his tone growing firm but keeping that softness to it, quite uncharacteristic for a Red. “I chose you for a reason, you know. Your reaction to traumatic events have nothing to do with it.”

“It’s just—“ I take deep breath in and feel my jaw clench, ignoring that familiar sting in my waterline. “I feel so alone now. Mom is gone. Dad is gone. They executed Charlotte. None of my foster siblings are here. I’m…Dammit.” A stray tear streaks down my cheekbone. “I’ve lost everyone that’s ever been important to me. Lonely doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

I pause for a moment, my breaths shaky and uneven. “And maybe that’s stupid, because I don’t make much effort to train with anyone else who’s marked, but I can’t just make myself get close to someone again. Everyone I care about leaves me, and I have to pick up the pieces every. Single. Time. It’s not fair.”

Taibh is silent for a moment, and for those few seconds, I have the agonizing thought that he thinks my feelings are pathetic and decided to leave. When I hear his voice pick up, though, my heart leaps in relief.

“Well,” the dragon starts, going slowly like he doesn’t quite know what to say. “There is one thing for certain: You are most certainly not alone, as long as you have me. Which is forever, by the way. Even if the world around us turns to rubble, you and I will not be separated.”

I nod along with the sentiment, but I don’t have the heart to say what I’m actually thinking: It’s not the same. Sure, Taibh and me have that ruby red bond between us, glowing and ethereal and strange, but that’s not the same as a friend or a sibling. I miss sneaking around at midnight to climb onto my parents’ roof. I miss going swimming in that stupid little creek that has ice-cold water in my backyard. I miss praying to Dunne for extra power to my parents when they went out on mission.

Dammit, I miss my sister.

Slowly, I feel Taibh creep out of my mind, his meaning unspoken but clear — he’s giving me some privacy to sort things out. I silently thank him and bury my head in my tingling arms, letting my sorrow wash over me in continuous, ferocious waves. That sinking feeling becomes bottomless, dragging me into the depths of my pain with nothing to anchor me to the surface. It’s killing me, I realize — this isolation I’ve set myself into. What I thought would protect me is the thing that weighs me down further, and I’m not sure how much of it I can take any longer.

It surges through me, this feeling, flooding my veins and screaming a single word: Alone, alone, alone. I’ve never thought about it so intensely, but at Basgiath, where people try their best to kill people like me for some form of sick closure, I am truly, utterly lonely. I like my solitude, but not…whatever this is. 

Charlotte would know what to do; she made it through the quadrant with flying colors. She was one of the most ferocious riders, even when they had her on her knees and lit ablaze. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry — she didn’t even make a noise. How does one even do that?

I need her. I need advice. I need someone to talk to, someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing in this godsforsaken place. I can’t cry in my room until my fingers flood with pins and needles forever. That won’t fix shit in the end — and to assume that it will would be like reading my own name off the death roll.

“Shut the fuck up,” I scold myself softly. “Get ahold of yourself. Crying won’t bring them back, and it won’t fix you.”

“No, but you have to admit it’s quite therapeutic,” a voice says, soft but sure in tone.

…Huh?

 I frown and glance at the Taibh’s and I’s bond — still there, obviously, but the light doesn’t pulse the way it normally does when either of us speak.

What the fuck? “Taibh?”

“I never liked to cry much in front of others, either,” it continues, “but you have to let it all out eventually, or you’ll go fucking crazy.”

That voice…It’s not inside my brain. That’s not Taibh. My head raises, but there’s no one here with me—

Until my eyes catch icy blue ones, and my heart stops.

“Shit!” I yelp, palming a dagger and hurling it at the source of the voice while I fling myself to my feet, ready to draw blood. I know my blade lands true, right where it should sink into the invader’s chest, but instead of flesh, I hear it stick in the wood of my bed frame with a dull thunk.

 I whip my head around and stare at the boy who should be dead, who in turn stares at my bed looking almost…impressed. “Awesome aim,” he compliments, turning to me, “but  that’s not going to help you here, I’m afraid.”

I’m hallucinating. I must be. No one could have gotten in here without me or Taibh noticing, and this guy is barely even visible. His form, tall and broad and leather-clad, flickers slightly at the edges, as if he was suspended in a dying candlelight — except for the outline of his left arm, which looks more solid than the rest of him. The blade went through him, so he’s not real. Easy. Factual. Done. I’m hallucinating because of my grief, and I should probably get some sleep before I go even madder.

Noticing my disbelief, he just smiles gently. “I’ve been waiting for someone to see me,” he murmurs, taking in my tense stance. “I guess you’re the lucky one of the bunch, huh?”

“Not real,” I say under my breath, digging my nails into my palms, which feel strangely heavy. “Hallucination. Calm down, Fuentes. Calm the fuck down.”

His eyes, so blue that they could practically be a piece of the sky, soften a little. “Hey.” He takes a step closer and then pauses when my hand flies to my hip for a second dagger. “Breathe. You can’t hurt me, and I won’t hurt you. That’s not why I’m here.”

He tilts his head to study me, a not-quite-there blond curl falling in his eyes. “You must think I’m some sort of illusion, right?” He says, slightly teasing. “Because I can promise you that I’m not.”

Exactly what a hallucination would say. Maybe I should finally go outside and dunk my face in some ice water.

My lack of a reply doesn’t go unnoticed. His bright smile turns a bit melancholy at the edges. “You’re the one who summoned me here, you know. You said you needed to talk to someone. I heard you.”

Nope. Fucking nope. I reach out and tug hard on the bond. “Taibh?” I think desperately. “Please help me. I think I’m going insane.”

A wave of soothing calm washes over me from the opposite edge of the red string, but what Taibh says makes my heart rate pick up right where it left off.

“You are not insane, Little Thorn,” he says, his voice laced with…pride? “You’ve finally manifested your signet, I see.”

“Manifested myself seeing things? That’s kind of a shitty power.”

“No,” he replies, ever patient. “You’re not seeing things. You, my chosen, have been blessed by Malek. You are a medium.”

“Fucking what?” I can’t stop the words from leaving me. “What do you mean, a medium?”

The boy brightens a little, his eyes sharpening in understanding. “Ah.” He nods. “So that’show you can see me.”

A medium? Those are only scammers who pretend that they can contact your dead family for the price of fifty krown. Unless…

“Oh.” 

I glance back over at the boy. The way he just showed up in here out of nowhere, combined with the fact that he’s present but visually not quite here…

“Are you…”

“Dead?” He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. “Yes.”

Assuming I’m not losing my mind here, I’m speaking to a dead person. Who’s in turn speaking to me. I think I need to sit down, or my brain might go into overload.

“Okay.” I breathe in, deep and slow, and then exhale. “Okay. I think…okay. I — uh...” I start fiddling with my fingers awkwardly. “Sorry? For trying to stab you?”

He shakes his head. “No worries. I would’ve done it, too. I’m sorry for just popping in like that. I guess I’ve been a bit…” He cringes a little. “Antsy, waiting  for so long for someone to talk to me.”

I sweep my gaze over him until my mouth dips into a frown. “But…I thought the dead went to Malek’s realm after they passed. Please don’t make me have a religious crisis and tell me that’s not true.”

The boy barks out a laugh. “No. As I understand it, not all of my things were burned in reverence. So, until they are, I’m kind of stuck here.”

He winces. “I’m not sure how much I can say. Being dead has rules, and I don’t want to damn myself by accidentally spilling things.”

Being dead has rules? I’d call bullshit, but it makes a little sense, I guess. You’re the closest to Malek you’ll ever get, which means He has more control over your fate. I don’t even know this boy, but I don’t want him to be in trouble with the god of death, either. He looks nice enough, anyway.

I settle myself on my bed and allow my fingers to start twisting at my sheets in an attempt to calm myself. “Is it against the rules to ask for your name?”

He drops to sit on my bed, too — but instead of a plop, he just kind of…hovers. “It’s not. My name is Liam. Liam Mairi.”

I straighten instantly. That surname…I’m all too familiar with that one. “Mairi? Was your mother—“

“The colonel, yes,” he finishes. 

I feel a foolish little twinge of excitement rise through me, one of the first in years, excluding Threshing. “We’ve met before, I think. Rosarie Fuentes. Our parents fought together on the front lines.”

He blinks, his expression going far away. “Fuentes, huh?” He looks away in thought before blinking. “We have. You and my sister tried to climb the side of your house once, but she got too scared to come down by herself and made me climb up with her.” His gaze turns wistful at the memory. I feel a bit guilty again; for the five months we’ve been here, I haven’t even tried to find Sloane to talk to her. I don’t think we’re even in the same wing — and I certainly didn’t know that her brother died. He’s  not much older than us, just by a  year or two.

What happened last year?

“My mother never did quite get over your parents’ passings,” he murmurs. “She talked about your mom a lot. I miss my Gwen, she’d say. Gwen needs to get out of Malek’s realm so she can taste this wine.” 

He stops speaking abruptly and cocks his head to the side, the blue of his irises flaring in understanding. “Is it November 13th?”

My excitement dies, and by the way his eyes soften, I can tell my face probably has fallen. “It is.”

Liam’s hand moves to lay on mine, but it passes right through, although I do note that my skin becomes a little chilly under his touch. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “That must be why you’ve locked yourself away in here, right?”

I swallow. “Yes. I don’t like to be around people on this day. Especially not here.”

“I get it.” He sighs and glances out the window. “On Reunification Day, I made the bright decision to go to the celebration with my friend. To say I was popular is an overstatement.”

Reunification Day — the day everyone else’s parents were killed, and my sister. Great, now I have two days where I need to avoid people. 

“Why did you go?” I ask. “Is it mandatory?”

“Oh, no,” he reassures me. “I was the only marked kid to go. I was watching out for my friend. Her brother died that day, too, and no one likes to be alone on death anniversaries.”

He stops as if catching himself and then raises an eyebrow. “Except for you,” he comments. “Why is that?”

I shrug. “It’s easier. I’m alone most of the time, anyway, so it’s not like it bothers me.” …Bothers me much, anyway. I leave that part unspoken, but as if sensing the words, Liam plucks them straight from my mouth.

“Sure,” he replies, unconvinced. “But you aren’t alone, you know? You have your dragon, firstly, but then you have your fellow Tyrs to look out for you.” He squints. “Unless you haven’t done that.”

I lower my eyes, trying not to squirm in embarrassment under his ghostly gaze. “…Not really,” I admit. “The others in my wing have made it clear they don’t like me.”

“And my sister?” He asks. “You know her.”  

“I haven’t seen much of her,” I try to deflect. “I only saw her after the Parapet, and that’s because she threw a fit about being sorted into a squad with General Sorrengail’s daughter.”

Liam goes quiet, and when I look up, his face is screwed up in a face that I can only imagine is one of either disappointment or resignation.

“Oh,” is all that leaves his mouth. “I see.”

To be fair, you can’t really blame her. I’d be pretty pissed off, too, if I had to share a squad with the daughter of the person who killed my parents and sister. Lucky for me, General Melgren has no children, so I never have to worry about that. 

“So you’ve just been…avoiding your allies?” He asks, raising a stern blond brow.

I try not to flinch at the accusation. “No! I don’t avoid people. That’s a pussy move.”

“Then you should go talk to them,” he encourages. “They’re easy to find. My sister. Bodhi Durran. Imogen Cardulo. They’re the only way I was able to get through last year with my head on straight.”

I stuff my frustration into a little mental box and shove it deep down. “I’m fine” I say through a deep breath. “The others need more help, anyway. Have you seen them fight?”

“Yes,” he replies. “And you can help them learn. That’s how I had it last year. Some of my year-mates, Dunne love them, were absolute shit at sparring. I helped train them since I was pretty decent.”

Pretty decent sounds like the understatement of a century. The way Liam is built, obviously for combat, screams that he wasn’t just good — he was the best.

The way he looks at me, full of expectation that warrants responsibility, has me fidgeting a little with the hilt of another dagger. “There are only two other Tyrs in my wing, and they don’t like me. Said I got off easier since my sister was the only one at the executions.”

His eyes darken. “Bullshit.”

I just shrug. “I can’t help what they think of me. They don’t want me around, so I don’t bother.”

“What about the others, then?” He asks. “They’re not in your wing, but I’m sure they’d be glad to have you.”

My gaze drops to the floor. Honestly, I’m not quite sure how the dynamic is supposed to play out, and that scares me. I’m not a leader, but I’m not a subordinate either; I’m a free-faller, just like my parents. I have no place in the fucked up little family of separatists at Basgiath.

Alone, my veins sing. Alone, alone, alone.

As if in response, Liam’s form turns completely opaque for half of a second before he starts to flicker again. He sighs and looks back at me. Even though he’s not there, not really, I can still feel his eyes trace over me carefully. Maybe it’s because he’s dead, but the air around me feels colder than usual. 

“I guess that’s why you summoned me,” he mutters. “The magic knew what you needed, and delivered.”

Immediately, I feel bad for accidentally bringing him here when he should be…Well, I don’t know what dead people do, but I can’t imagine they want to spend their afterlife with First-Year cadets who have avoidance issues.

“I mean, if you want to go,” I tell him hesitantly, “then go ahead. I didn’t mean to bring you into my bullshit. I just got too emotional.”

As if on cue, his face goes from musing to soft. “No. I’m here for a reason. I know we didn’t know each other well in life, but I don’t leave when someone clearly needs me.”

I swallow back the words that automatically rise in my throat: I don’t need you. Because, really, while my pride screams at me to figure out how this signet works and kick him out, I know that deep down, my power knew I need someone like Liam right now. Magic knows, according to Taibh, and I don’t think it’s the best idea to try and defy it.

When I don’t reply right away, Liam shifts a little closer to me. “Listen,” he begins, his mouth twisting as he searches for words to say. “I don’t get to tell you how you go through the motions here. Your journey is up to you, and you alone. What I do get to do is give you some advice, as someone who’s been in your shoes. Is that alright?”

No, actually. I hate unsolicited advice, especially when it comes to how I conduct myself. Surprisingly, though, I find myself more willing to listen than I’m used to. Maybe it’s the quiet sureness of his voice that reminds me of my big sister, or because he deigned to ask first, or the fact that something about him feels…safe; before I can really think about it, I nod.

“I know what it’s like to be alone,” he murmurs. “It sucks. Don’t pretend it doesn’t, because I don’t like being lied to. It’s okay to like being by yourself, but being lonely is the worst burden to bear in a place like this.”

It is, I want to say. It really is. To go from a loving family to a cold foster home to an actual death trap, leaving no room for other relationships besides the ones forged under fire, has killed a good portion of myself for good. I’m not even sure if I’m that good of a person anymore — any hope of that died the minute I stabbed that boy on the Parapet.

“So,” Liam continues, “here’s what I’ll say. I strongly, very strongly, recommend that you talk to at least one other marked kid, because then you’ll have at least one friend.” His lips quirk into a wry smile. “Well, one living friend.”

I don’t comment on his choice of words; obviously, he means that he’s my ally — as much as he can be, being a spirit. But to go to someone now? After Threshing, when dynamics have changed and people are already distrustful as is? I’m more likely to go back to Aretia.

Instead, I just slouch a little, more defeated than anything else. “I don’t think I can. It would look kind of pathetic for me to go begging to talk to someone so late in the year. Allyships have already been formed, and it’s pretty damn clear that I’m not welcome.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he insists. “I didn’t meet my friend Violet until a little after Threshing, and she came to be one of the greatest people I ever knew. And just because a few people have some shitty opinions, doesn’t mean that they reflect that of the entire group.”

He turns to me fully, locking eyes with me with a gentle intensity that practically burns right through me. “Again, I can’t control what you do. Hell, you just manifested and are talking to a guy that died five months ago. But think about it, alright? I can promise you that the effort will be worth it, in the end.”

Will it? I don’t know. I barely know if I can trust him — but, at the same time, something about Liam Mairi screams that he’s a man of his word no matter whether he’s solid flesh or a flickering projection. The energy practically calls to me, catching on to an instinct that I barely registered before — Liam is safe. He knows what he’s talking about. I don’t know him, and I don’t trust easily, but something inside is telling me that he is good, and I would be wise to listen.

That, or maybe it’s because he sounds a lot like Charlotte right now.

I hesitate, and then my voice returns to me, but quite a bit smaller than I’d like. “I know this is completely unfair, but can I ask something of you?”

“Of course,” he replies automatically. “Talk to me.”

I take in a deep, shaky breath. “I…I know we, like, just met. Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out if I’m hallucinating or not.” My hands start drumming rapid lines on my thighs. “I don’t think I can do what you’re asking of me. Not alone, at least.” My request is implicit, enough to be clear of what I want without damaging my pride too badly in the process.

Liam catches on almost right away. “I’ll be there,” he vows. “I can’t do much to protect my sisters or my friends, but I can help you, Rosarie. You deserve that much.”

His head inclines. “Where do you want to start?”

I swallow, feeling my palms start to sweat with nerves. “Baby steps.”

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.

The steps I take to the commons are slow, methodical. They don’t need to be — I’ve thought out what I’m going to say for at least three days now, and with Liam’s gentle encouragement, I know I’ll be fine.

But the prospect of allowing someone in after so long is overwhelming. I don’t like this feeling, not one bit. But I’m not a child anymore. I cannot let my paranoia get in the way of making connections that ensure my survival, not when there is a fuck ton of people praying for my downfall.

The light of the room is dim, slightly dappled from old raindrops scattered in the window. It casts rays of light on me, warm and comforting, and beautiful shadows on to the person I’ve been trying to track down these past few days, coming around through word of mouth and some investigating on Liam’s part.

I stop before I shake my anxiety and take a step in.

Liam is already there, of course, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms and ankles crossed. Being a spirit, he’s not exactly bound to the laws of nature like us — which makes him unfairly fast when it comes to travelling. I’ve gotten used to it already. No more attempted stabbings on my end.

I stare at him. He watches me. Then, slowly, he dips his head, gesturing ahead of me. He doesn’t even need to speak for me to hear what he’s clearly trying to convey.

You’re already here now, so go for it. I won’t leave.

I nod and squeeze my hand until

my heart stops pounding. I inch little closer, and then a little more, and then a little more.

My teeth dig into my lip, but I clear my throat. “Is this seat taken?”

The girl in front of me startles a little, her hand automatically flying to her hip like mine did with Liam, but she pauses at the very last moment, right before she can put a blade through my head.

Her narrowed, sky blue eyes go wide. “Rosarie?”

Despite myself, I feel a long-coming smile start to spread across my face while Liam just watches us with a bittersweet grin.

I tilt my chin. “Hi, Sloane.”

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[em-harlsnow]

ian hated Monica when he was younger in my opinion. He loved her too, but he had the same hatred and anger that everyone else did. Every time Monica would appear and then disappear or come home and cause havoc or come home and completely crash in bed, Ian would be left frustrated and angry and upset just like the rest of them.

He saw his siblings hate her (they hate her because they loved her and wanted her to be their mum) and get angry at her and want her gone.

So when Ian gets sick, all he sees is that hatred and anger. All he sees is his own feelings of anger at Monica, his family’s feelings too. But he finally gets it, gets why Monica behaved the way she did, in a way Fiona or Lip could never understand. Ian stops hating her, starts seeing her as this sanctuary where no one will judge him or look at him differently and suddenly he’s not crazy anymore, he’s with his mum and she understands like no one else can.

There was no responsibility with Monica. Ian didn’t have to try to be anything with her, because Monica was deeply flawed but she never really judged anyone and never expected much from him. With everyone else, Fiona, Lip, Mickey, Ian was expected to be something, whether it was a boyfriend or a brother or the stable rock of the family.

And Ian sees his own feelings of anger and frustration and sadness reflected in his family, but this time they’re directed at him. And worse, he sees Mickey look at him, all heartbroken and confused and angry and Ian remembers looking at Monica like that. He remembers seeing Frank look at Monica like that and Fiona and Lip and his whole family.

Ian decides he can’t do that to them. He runs off with Monica, comes back because he realises he needs his family, but he breaks up with Mickey. Because Mickey didn’t sign up for Ian being sick, because Mickey doesn’t know what he’s in for but Fiona and Lip do because they’ve been through it before. So Ian, heartbroken himself, breaks up with Mickey and makes empty promises to him in prison because he doesn’t like seeing him so sad.

But Ian doesn’t visit him, because he thinks Mickey deserves better. Because he thinks that Mickey will get over him, will hate him or that nothing Ian could do would improve Mickey’s situation. And it was a shitty thing to do, it really was, because prison alone as an openly gay Milkovich must have been awful. I think sometimes Ian wished Mickey didn’t love him, because then he wouldn’t be letting anyone down.

Ian goes out with Caleb and he goes out with Trevor, but none of those relationships were intense. Not as intense or as serious as his relationship with Mickey. It was so so so easy for Ian to cut ties will all the guys he dated. And that’s because he didn’t want anyone to be burdened by him the way that he felt Mickey was.

After they’re in prison together, Ian proposes and then backs out because he doesn’t want to trap Mickey like that. Because does Mickey really, really know what he’s in for? Because Ian saw Monica and Frank and watched how Monica being sick affected them (they were a very different couple and Frank is evil, but I recon this is how Ian would see it) and he doesn��t want that for Mickey. But Mickey isn’t doing it again, he isn’t making another giant proclamation of his love because he’s already done it and if Ian doesn’t know by now he never will. Because Mickey doesn’t even know if Ian loves him, so why should he put his heart on his sleeve again only to be hurt again when he was already hurting.

But Mickey says ‘Jesus Christ, Ian’ and I think that’s what changes Ian’s mind a little bit. Because Mickey sounds so fed up, so done with Ian thinking he’s not worth anything and that exhaustion in itself just shows that Mickey does know what he’s getting into and he wants it. Mickey saying that, Mickey being sick of Ian not thinking he’s worth anything or being unsure of Mickey’s love, makes Ian realise that Mickey is certain about Ian. Mickey knows what he’s getting into and he still wants Ian.

So I think Mickey saying what he said instead of some great love proclamation (like a lot of people wanted) was better for both of them. It told Ian that obviously Mickey loved him and it allowed Mickey to not have to continuously convince Ian to be with him. It was by far the healthier thing to do.

[ashketeers]

Brinky Love Confession and their emotional struggles ramble bc I thought about this last night and I needed to write it down bc it was driving me insane.

It’s kinda angsty

I am a firm believer that Brinky would have the messiest love confession ever, absolute emotional wreck of a confession.

Pinky is obviously the one who confesses first, Brain would go his entire life without ever revealing his feelings for Pinky and take them to his grave if he didn’t.

Now, Pinky might be the more emotionally intelligent of the two but he isn’t exactly emotionally stable. Neither of them are, they just act in different ways.

Pinky can quickly go from happy to sad to happy, he can be loud and yell when he’s frustrated but usually goes away to collect himself when he’s upset. Pinky is “smarter” in this way since he can actually usually calm himself down and can reflect on emotions.

Brain however is not in touch with his emotions. He turns sadness and fear into anger and frustration. He builds a barrier and refuses to take it down, even if it harms him as well. He completely shuts down and makes accusations, anything to make him look better because his ego is being hurt every time he lets himself get emotional, even if it’s anger.

As for the confession, like I said, Pinky is 100% the one who tells Brain. Pinky has showed signs, some more vague and some very obvious signs that he’s attracted to Brain and shows romantic interest. Now here’s a thought.

Is Pinky aware of Brain’s attraction? Is Brain even aware of all the things and acts he’s done that shows how he feels for Pinky?

I think Brain is slightly aware but he pushes it back into his mind, afraid to act on it, maybe some internalized fear? Who knows.

One might think Pinky’s too stupid to realize all these signs from Brain. But I beg to differ, Pinky is very good at reading Brain, despite his low intelligence. As I said before, Pinky is obviously the more emotionally intelligent one, he’s even told Brain “Maybe if you were more sentimental.” when Brain brought up his crush on that one sea lion.

Pinky have also on multiple occasions commented on Brain’s odd or unusual behaviors, he also tries to cheer him up in ways he knows usually work. It’s quite obvious that Pinky knows Brain on an emotional level that Brain might not even know himself.

So, does Pinky notice and is aware of Brain’s feelings? I think so, but he also knows that Brain isn’t any good at expressing his emotions so I like to think that during his confession, he takes Brain’s feelings and behavior into account.

Brain, being the emotionally constipated mouse he is, he can’t comprehend having his walls broken down and he feels exposed. He barely registers Pinky’s confession, because why would he? He doesn’t need to listen to that drivel, he doesn’t need a romantic relationship, he doesn’t need anyone. But now he’s bare, exposed and vulnerable. Pinky can read him like an open book, and that doesn’t sit well with Brain. He’s afraid of being vulnerable, helpless.

Brain turns this fear into anger, as always. He says things he shouldn’t or wouldn’t say. He doesn’t even recognize himself, his walls are shattered and all he can spew is in self defense. He knows that Pinky is not a threat, but logic is out the window and he can’t stand not being in control of the situation.

Pinky, who’s opened up his heart and (naively) expected Brain to open up too is upset and quite honestly disappointed. Of course he sees through this act and knows Brain is upset and afraid, but he doesn’t get why Brain can’t reflect on it like he does? And why can’t Pinky help him? Didn’t it feel better having someone else tell your feelings for you?

They both need a break from each other, Brain is still in defensive mode but without anyone to take it out on, he doesn’t know what to do.

Pinky is trying to calm himself down, he loves and cares for Brain, he really does. But it’s hard to see the one you love in such distress over something that should be wonderful (in Pinky’s words). Love is supposed to be happy, not sad. Why doesn’t Brain realize that he’s happy when he lets his guard down? All those involuntary and carefree behaviors, the hugs, the gazes, the “my dear pinky”, the rare occasion of hearing him speak fondly of Pinky, that he doesn’t deserve him and that he’s too good for him.

Brain thinks about what Pinky told him, really thinks about it. The confession that is, not the breaking of his emotional wall. His feelings are reciprocated. So why didn’t he just tell Pinky the same and let himself be happy?

Well, because in his eyes he doesn’t deserve it and he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t need it either. What has Brain ever done that got Pinky of all people to love him? Obviously he doesn’t realize that Pinky sees through his persona and knows Brain for who he is. He’s passionate, determined, caring and loving when he lets himself be. All those things are under a protective layer, and that layer is what Pinky wants to get past. Both for himself and for Brain.

Pinky of course, in his mid-emotional-ramble, said all of this in his own “Pinky” way. It only clicks with Brain just now though, and now he feels bad, guilty, unlovable.

Brain wants to go to Pinky, his defense mechanism and ego be damned, he wants to spill his own feelings to Pinky. But he can’t bring himself to do that, not just yet, but god he wants to, he knows that’s the right thing to do, but it’s so difficult.

Pinky is conflicted over whether to give Brain time or speak to him a second time. He might push Brain even further away, but at the same time, he saw that look on Brain’s face. It was hopeful, even if only a little glimpse, he let his guard down for just a split second. He wants to see that again, he wants it to last longer, forever. He wants Brain to let himself be happy. Brain never gives up, so neither will Pinky.

Pinky goes to Brain.

It’s quiet, it’s desperate, it’s tearful, it’s physical and it was about damn time.

They try to talk, both trying to be the bolder one in this situation. But it’s pretty damn difficult to have a conversation when you’re all over each other in a desperate attempt to be closer than you’ve ever been before. All emotional guards are down, all emotions are spilling out, it’s been years of pining, some years they didn’t even know they were in love. For all they knew, it was merely friendship. That’s what they thought at least. But they’re aware, they’re inseparable and it will hurt. They know it will hurt, they know it will be a rocky journey for the both of them.

But it’s so worth it if they can kiss each other like they currently are, forever.

[positively-peachy-143]

pb & jally / panini hcs

Dallas loves tussling Ponyboy’s hair, not quite playing with it, but messing with it enough to get a little glare from Pony.

Dallas randomly stops by the school to pick Johnny and Pony up and get them to ditch with him, usually to DQ’s or some diner. 

It pisses Darry off.

Pony will sometimes sketch Dallas and Johnny cuddling after they’ve fallen asleep. 

The gang doesn’t know, as per Dallas’ request, but if it were just Pony and Johnny they would have come out to the gang by now.

They don’t mind keeping it secret, having this special little thing between them that no one else gets to see.

Johnny wears Dally’s st christopher, but always hides it under his shirt. 

Dallas always makes up a story about ‘some broad’ when anyone asks him why his necklace is missing, but he ends up lowkey describing either Johnny or Ponyboy each time (for example “nah she’s got this big doe eyes, like a sad puppy’ or ‘she loves reading. Crazy, man.’)

Dallas HATES reading, and doesn’t understand why his boyfriends love it, but he actually secretly likes when either of them read to him. 

Dallas will lift books for them. One time Two-Bit caught him and now teases him for it. 

They each have a little heart on one of their shoes with the other two’s initials on it. Poyboy wrote each of them, since he has the best handwriting. 

Ponyboy gets to wear Dallas’ ring, but similar to Johnny, he wears it on a chain around his neck and hides it under his shirt. 

They sometimes go to the lot together, all three of them, and at first Pony was afraid he’d be irritated by Dallas breaking the silence every two seconds, but he actually doesn’t mind it. Sure it’s not the same as him and Johnny sitting there together quietly, but he actually kind of likes it this way. 

Dallas doesn’t understand why his boyfriends like the quiet so much, but he tries to respect it. He can’t help it though if he wants to crack a few jokes or mess with Pony’s hair or give Johnny a light shove every now and then. He’s pretty restless, but they haven’t reprimanded him or anything for being obnoxious yet. 

Not only did Dallas reluctantly agree to join them and watch sunsets, but he actually secretly started liking them

One time Dallas caught himself watching a sunset alone and got really sad bc neither of his partners were there to see it. He thought the sunset was wasted on him bc his boyfriends would’ve liked it more than he does. 

Dallas still drives and lives recklessly, but he’s a bit more careful now. He’ll catch a glimpse of the heart on his shoe or his ringless finger and remember he has something to live for now. Two somethings. 

Pony and Dally hang out one-on-one the least out of the three of them. Sometimes Johnny tries to get them to bond, and they do, but they like it a lot better with him there too. 

Pony and Dally really only bond one-on-one when talking about Johnny and having a cigarette.

Pony grows to actually like how unconventionally attractive Dallas is. He’s unique to draw. 

Pony writes down all (if any) stories Dallas shares about his time in New York. Usually all he gets is small remarks and basically table-scraps worth of stories, but he’s always trying to urge more information. He thinks it’s fascinating. Like they’ll be talking about something and Dallas will go “oh yeah I remember military camp” and Johnny and Pony will just stare like 0-0

Dallas still flirts in public with girls, but never gets further than that usually. There have been a few times however, where he’s been unfaithful to Pony and Johnny, as to be expected. He’s slept with other people, kissed other people, etc. 

Johnny is more upset about it than he lets on, and if Pony weren’t there, he would have just accepted it and moved on.

Pony was the one to push the “are we exclusive?” conversation, which led to Dallas getting frustrated and storming out

He wasn’t really mad at them, more mad at himself for not realizing that they wanted to be exclusive. 

They broke up for a while, but eventually Johnny managed to pull them back together.

Johnny’s kind of the mediator in the relationship. He’s their glue. 

Every time Dally fucks up or Pony gets frustrated, he’s there seeing both sides.

Sometimes he feels trapped in the middle

In the end though, they always come back together. Dallas never apologizes, as that wouldn’t be true to him to do, but he does try to change for the better, for them. Pony still sometimes thinks Dallas is scary, maybe a bit too real, but it’s in a different way now. Dallas is scary, but Pony is safe with him, Dallas would never intentionally hurt him. And Johnny loves both of them uniquely. They’re both so different but he loves them so much. Pony’s gentler, more thoughtful side, as well as Dallas’ rugged, rebellious side.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The GED - Part 2

Pairing: Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader Summary: You've made your bed. Now, you have to lie in it. And you'll do anything to prove you're not the stupid, illiterate Avenger dumb.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Grumpy Sunshine Series The GED Series List

You don't know how long you've been standing in the common room. You don't know how long it's been since you heard those agents making fun of your friends, making fun of you.

All you know is that you can't get the sound of their voices out of your head. They just keep echoing off each other, getting louder and louder with every passing moment. 

You feel shellshocked, hollow. 

"Hey, I thought you were taking those down," Sam's voice interrupts from the doorway. You didn't even realize you were still clutching the plate of cookies you made for those agents. 

"Oh," you choke out. Your knuckles are white. You have to will yourself to set the plate down on the table. You have to will the sadness off your face before Sam sees your pained expression. You don't want to tell him what you heard.

He would tell the others and they would just go down there. You really didn't want to make a tense relationship worse because you couldn't leave well enough alone. This was your fault. There's another part of you that just doesn't want to admit it. That doesn't want them to know what those agents think of you, what they found out by reading confidential files. You're worried they'll agree. You're worried they'll tell you they had a point. You're embarrassed. Embarrassed that people really think of you like that. Dumb. The stupid, illiterate Avenger. "I - I was. They weren't down there."

"Oh." Sam looks at you quizzically. "Are you okay? You look upset."

You shake your head, clearing the knot lodged in your throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just don't want those cookies to go to waste."

"Well, I doubt you have to worry about that," Sam jokes, grabbing a cookie off the plate. 

As Sam finishes off the cookie in his hand, your curiosity gets the best of you, "Hey, Sam? What's a Stepford Wife?"

"Nothing good, why?"

"I just - I heard it from somewhere."

"It's sorta like a woman who does whatever her husband wants, like she can't think for herself."

"Oh." It feels like a punch to the gut. That's what they thought of you. 

Sam reaches out, nudging your shoulder, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I was just thinking."

"About?" Sam urges.

"I want to go to school," you unexpectedly announce. 

"You wanna go to school. Why?"

"Why not?" you counter, an uncharacteristic bite to your words. 

Sam jolts, confused by your defensive response. "You've just - you've already got so much on your plate, you know? You barely have any free time as it is. And school is - it's hard, really hard."

"So you don't think I can do it?"

"Of course I think you can do it!" Sam exclaims. "I just don't know what brought this on, that's all."

You force yourself to calm back down. You remind yourself that you brought this on yourself, Sam didn't deserve your frustration. You take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back. You hate how easily the lie rolls off your tongue. "I just - I want to have that experience. Everyone else in this Compound does."

"That's fair," Sam acquiesces. He gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze. "We'll talk to Fury. I'm sure we could make it happen. If anyone can do it, it's you."

You smile at him. "Thanks, Sam."

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Grumpy Sunshine Series

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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[obsessedwrhys]

Do you have any angst headcanons for Lorsan (AFKJ)? Doesn’t even have to be ship related I just love a good lil sad bunny boy every now and then and I’m curious if you have anything in mind

|| LORSAN ANGST HEADCANONS ||

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ major angst, bit of fluff, I added some relationship headcanons as well, enjoy!!

He has self esteem issues.

It's the constant overthinking of whether if he's good enough that made him this way. With all the corruption happening in the land of his home, he just feels the guilt.

He tells himself he did what was right setting out searching for help but was it right to have abandon his people when they could have been better if he stayed and helped instead?

That's why whenever the thoughts became unbearable, he'll start pacing up and down and even sometimes go as far as to pulling at his own bunny ears.

He just doesn't wish to be a burden to anyone.

Adding on that his big sister is such a good role model to others, it pressures him even more to try to be as perfect as she is. After all, he never was a good student at the Jade Lake Academy when he was a kid.

Although he always plays off as the cool guy and whatever, most of the time it's his way of coping with his insecurities.

So if you happen to be dating him, communication will be a huge issue in the relationship.

He doesn't listen to you even though he's a windwhisperer. It's quite ironic.

You always have to point out the things he's doing is not good for him or that what he's doing is not fine with you. He can be a bit slow.

He also gets depressed easily if left alone. That's why he's very chatty when he's around his friends. It's all because of his fear of loneliness.

He just doesn't want to be abandoned.

The thought of all his friends forgetting about him scares him.

Another thing I would like to say is I think that whenever he cries, he starts off with like this high pitch whimper. It's like those cries where he feels so vulnerable that he completely loses all hope in himself.

Whenever he's upset or anxious, he grabs onto his arms like he's hugging himself. It's how he tries to comfort himself.

If you were to offer him a hug, he'll literally melt into your embrace and start crying shamelessly. He'd struggle to talk through the hiccups as he pour out his problems

"I—I'm sorry— hgnh! I wasn't thi-thinking right... hold me hnn... mm..." He'd cry, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

He rarely cries so when it does its from the days of bottling up his emotions deep inside.

Sometimes when he gets too frustrated, he'll accidentally lash out and bite you which ends up with him apologising nonstop. All this leading to him hating himself even more.

Even though he has his issues, he's still a person just like everybody else. You just hope that someday he'll realise there's no shame in being imperfect.

(Sorry this was a bit short, I ran out of ideas 😅)