#and his anxiety that he'll one day pour himself into the Making of something like the og wallmakers did

[beliscary]

there's a tower in belisaere called dolorous bastion

[rottenpumpkin13]

TW: PANIC ATTACK

hiya!! I've kind of been wondering, because Genesis can be all sorts of crazy sauce emotionally, what are some things that would cause him a panic attack, and how would he be during?

and Sephiroth/Angeal would absolutely tak care of him no matter what ♥️♥️

brought to you by my own sensory issues during a school assembly making me cry

lots and lots of love!

Genesis has a funny relationship with anxiety, because while he often feels anxious, he portrays himself as always composed and unbothered, as if nothing could break him, when that couldn't be further from the truth.

• Being perceived as anything other than strong is a source of anxiety for him. He has no problem feeling 100 eyes on him in a crowded room so long as they're admiring him. Turn those gazes analytical, laced with pity or hatred, and Genesis feels entirely naked. His heart races, he shifts in place, begins to look uncomfortable, which in turn attracts more eyes on him. The overthinking comes quickly, as do the reasons why they hate him. He has a readily available list in his mind he pulls out whenever he feels at his worst. It's the way he looks; if only he looked better. It's the medals around his neck, not enough next to Sephiroth. Sephiroth has more. Sephiroth always has more. It's his voice, he's been told it sounds annoying before. Maybe he should be speaking less. Or maybe they hate him because they see right through what he is—an insecure, lonely person who will never be enough no matter how much he tries.

• Genesis has a lot of anxiety surrounding the book(s) he always carried around. While part of the reason he has so many copies of Loveless stems from his love for the epic, he doesn't like losing things he loves. So he makes sure he always has two of the things he loves. Two of his favorite pen, two of his red coat, two of the same sunglasses....he was so glad the day Sephiroth became his friend. Now he had two best friends. That way, if one fell or flew away, he wouldn't be alone. The only thing he cannot have two of is his first and most annotated copy of Loveless he's had since he was a child. He treasures it greatly, but every time he loses it, Genesis thinks he's dying.

His fingers are numb and static beneath his leather gloves, the tears hot as they pour down his face, heart beating fast as he tries to collect his thoughts long enough to focus. His office door is shut and locked, so no one walks in on him like this, wiping his nose and hyperventilating as he pulls open drawers in hopes of seeing his book. When he sees it—nestled under a stack of documents, he collapses onto his chair, clutching the book close as he sobs. He feels ridiculous, in part because he didn't see it laying there sooner, but mostly because he lets it have control over him.

• Genesis is used to being sick, but that doesn't mean it doesn't bother him. His immune system has improved greatly, and was much worse when he was a child, but it's still significantly weaker than the others. A flu that would be a mild inconvenience to Sephiroth and Angeal leaves Genesis bedridden and severely ill. The first day of being sick is the worst for him, the moment he first realizes he'll be away from SOLDIER for days and will be talked about. He's riddled with anxiety over what they'll say.

He thinks—no, he knows that they'll compare him to Sephiroth. They'll question why Genesis is always sick, why his health is never perfect, and why it takes Genesis days to recover from an injury that would be nothing to the others. And then there's the illness itself. He never knows what's coming. Will it be serious? Will it evolve into something serious? Will he survive?

The first day of any illness is when Genesis finds himself curled into a ball on his bathroom floor, biting the color of his shirt to keep himself from hyperventilating, his vision blurred from tears, wondering why he couldn't be normal.

• There's one thing that's guaranteed to send Genesis spiralling into an immediate panic attack no matter who he's with or where he is. It's not something he can control (he's tried). Sephiroth and Angeal are talking. Genesis is in between them (he's placed himself there to guarantee that he'll have a place in their conversation). But they're not responding to him. Genesis levels with them at first. His words are bold, he likes the shock value.

His jokes aren't the kindest. He's not a negative person, but he loves to complain. They dismiss his words and roll their eyes, as if to say "There goes Genesis again." He wanted to know if they wanted to go see a screening of Loveless with him the next weekend, but they talked right over him. Genesis feels smaller and smaller as Sephiroth and Angeal, and not even shouting Loveless quotes at the top of his lungs will be enough to grab their attention. He's not sure they're doing it on purpose. So he sits there, listening to his friends laugh, acting as if he isn't there.

Genesis can't take it. The tears are spilling before he can wipe them away, so he covers his face with his hands and lets himself cry. Sephiroth and Angeal notice and stop talking immediately.

• They're quick to realize where they went wrong, and even quicker to pull Genesis in and apologize profusely, assuring him that they weren't doing it on purpose and never intend to hurt him on purpose. Angeal has Genesis wrapped in a hug that buries his head in his chest. Genesis is still crying, softer now but still clearly upset. Sephiroth joins, sandwiching Genesis as he hugs him from behind. They're both whispering apologies and soft words to him as they let him cry.

Now Genesis feels embarrassed that he's crying and being cared for, which makes him even more anxious. Still trembling, he tries to pull himself away, but they don't let him. Sephiroth holds him tighter, and Angeal starts blowing on his face to cool him off, gently brushing the hair from his eyes. Sephiroth tells him to take deep breaths and slowly count as high as he can.

Genesis gets to 69 when Angeal snorts involuntarily. This catches Genesis completely off guard. Soon all three of them are doubled over laughing.

Angeal's spontaneous humor of a fifth grader is just what Genesis needed to be distracted from what upset him in the first place.

When he's calm enough to speak, Sephiroth and Angeal make him sit down between them again. This time Angeal is rubbing soothing circles on his back, and Sephiroth is holding his hand, lightly squeezing. They want him to explain all that cause potential panic attacks so they can help him avoid them, and be there for him in the future so he won't have to suffer alone.

[thedelicatearcher]

Can you write general headcanons of dating Sejanus please? ☺️

of course, i love sejanus!!

dating sejanus plinth headcanons <3

♥︎ sejanus is the cheesiest, most romantic man you'll ever meet. he had his parents as an example of a loving marriage growing up, and he was obsessed with the capitol's romance movies he grew up watching. so, it's safe to say he always knew what he wanted and never led you on.

♥︎ he loves to cuddle A LOT. even if the weather is super hot and you're both sweating, he'll still hold you in his arms, contentedly humming as a bead of sweat runs down his face. he is like a big teddy bear and doesn't mind being the big spoon or the small spoon, as long as you are in his arms. he adores having you running your fingers through his hair when you lie down together.

♥︎ he is a writer!! that boy pours his big heart into every letter he writes for you. he has a way with words, poetically describing the way he felt the moment he first laid eyes on you. he remembers little details such as the phase of the moon of that day,the color of the dress you wore, and the song that was playing in the background.

♥︎ when he goes on vacation with his parents, you receive letters from him describing every landscape he observes and every interesting person he meets. he expresses how much he wishes you were there with him, and how he is planning to take you to those places someday. after you finally meet his parents, they adore you and warmly embrace you, cherishing that their son found someone as loving as him. sejanus didn't even have to persuade them to let you come with them on their next vacation.

♥︎ he loves hot chocolate with marshmallows. if it's a little cold outside, he is quick to bring out the mugs and prepare the chocolate. after you’ve finished yours, he gives you a sweet kiss and smiles like a child, saying ‘you taste like chocolate, honey.'

♥︎ at the beginning of your relationship, he struggled with communication. growing up watching lots of romantic (and somewhat unrealistic) movies, he had the mentality of 'if they wanted to, they would,' overlooking the fact that love needs communication to flourish and that people have different love languages.

♥︎ he would get upset when you didn't reciprocate his love notes, when you went to bed angry, or when you were too busy with school to check up on him. after a lot of conversations and a few small fights, you both compromised, listened to each other’s perspectives, and promised to make an effort to make the other one feel loved.

♥︎ his mother crochets!! he is always asking her to crochet something for you. she crocheted your favorite sweater, a beautiful colorful cardigan, and a heavy warm blanket. he constantly tries to steal that blanket from you, playfully feigning offense that his mom never crocheted anything that required so much effort and time for him. also, his mom absolutely adores you and always sends you her homemade cookies you so dearly love.

♥︎ he also struggled with self-doubt the first months of your relationship, feeling unworthy of your love and trying to compensate by giving you many gifts to 'win' you over. over time, his anxiety eased as he began to appreciate the way you unconditionally cherish him, allowing himself to be loved by you.

♥︎ he loves nuzzling his face into your neck. he is intoxicated by your scent, adoring the closeness he feels when he holds you in his arms and buries his face into your neck. whether it’s a back hug, a sleepy cuddle, or a koala embrace after returning from vacation, he always does it.

♥︎ he loves receiving gifts!! the more thoughtful they are, the more his heart flutters. the first time you gave him flowers, he nearly cried on the spot. when you prepare his favorite dessert, he eats it with the biggest smile on his face, not caring if it's burnt, or even undercooked (he is going to get salmonella i'm so sorry). one day, he told you he loves the ring you always wear, and when you gave him one that matched yours, it became his most precious possession.he feels happy when he knows you were thinking of him.

[glowingbadger]

Guys I basically hate everything I'm making right now, drawing, writing, etc. and it's all taking a million years to make just to be disappointed with the results SO I'm taking an indulgent and stupid break to spit out my thoughts about the FE3H lads' vices of choice (in terms of what they may imbibe to take the edge off). Also I'm tired and doing this super off-the-cuff, so if I forget someone or my takes are shit or w/e... i dunno, mea culpa I guess.

big ol' TW for drug & alcohol use so skip this one if you don't vibe with booze and/or smoking of various types (nothing too hard tho lmao no one's shooting up or anything on this post). As a disclaimer since this whole post might make me seem super pro-drugs lmao: I am into having your vices and letting them help get you through the day to a healthy and controlled extent.

Also, I guess this is sort of modern au?? FE3H's setting is wildly anachronistic, but I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have things like modern cigarettes, or edibles as we know them. Just. Roll with it ig.

Honestly this was inspired by a guy I used to hook up with before I met my husband who smoked and because of him I briefly developed a pavlovian response where I'd become aroused by the scent of cigarettes so shout-out to you, Dan- hope you're doing good somewhere you dumb, handsome bastard

Vices:

Linhardt- he's open to a lot, as a naturally curious type, but he's particularly fond of hookah. He finds the experience meditative and calming, and it's honestly best if someone keeps an eye out and makes sure he doesn't fall asleep with the coals still burning. But having a pipe in hand while reading on a quiet evening is just unmatched.

Hubert- obviously his canon vice is coffee, which he naturally takes black (at most, perhaps a splash of milk). That said, while he doesn't have an addictive streak, he will have a cigarette here and there when the stress is getting to him and he needs to stay focused. Other than that, he of course will partake in wine when it's expected of him at events, but he doesn't overly enjoy it.

Ferdinand- he enjoys wine both as a social experience, and as a true connoisseur; he's constantly scouting out which sellers have gotten ahold of something rare and exotic, and has no compunctions about paying a good deal of money for a valuable bottle. However, he dramatically overestimates his own alcohol tolerance.

Caspar- pretty much lives completely clean, unless food and over-exercise can be considered vices (which many would say they could). He tried Lin's hookah once and he coughed so much that he wrote off smoking across the board. Totally doesn't get things like "acquired tastes" when it comes to drinks, either- why bother with something you don't like right off the bat?

Dimitri- as a function of growing up at the height of society, he's of course expected to drink socially and know just enough about fine wines and liquors to serve appropriately high-quality drink to guests and dignitaries. However, he's a very dramatic and sad drunk, on the rare occasions he lets himself get that far. Frankly, he should probably just try weed.

Felix- he keeps his vices pretty under control, as lack of control makes him feel on-edge. Similar to Caspar, his 'vice' is more about drowning his anxieties in training and exercise. That said, he'll sometimes nurse a cigarette for a while, mostly to keep his mouth and hands busy- it's a fidgeting habit more than anything.

Sylvain- he's made a conscious effort to familiarize himself with and build a tolerance to just about anything that's consumed socially. Passing a joint, pouring a drink, taking shots, anything that adds to that socially-acceptable party vibes, he's ready to jump on-board. Left to his own preferences though, he likes a good whiskey, but like, the softer, smoother ones that go down easy.

Ashe- he doesn't look it, but having grown up in a rough situation and having to rub elbows with some unsavory types, he does have a respectable tolerance for most of your standard substances- though he's mostly only ever taken them to be "polite." But he knows his body and knows to keep alert.

Dedue- can appreciate coffee, but is potently aware of the disadvantages of caffeine addiction, so he keeps it moderate. He can also appreciate hookah, and similarly to Linhardt, finds it to be a soothing and calm activity that doesn't impair his judgement or cognition significantly.

Claude- pretty open minded overall, and is in support of indulging in moderate hedonism as long as it never puts you at a disadvantage. His preferred indulgence is weed, and in particular, he can really enjoy a well made edible. He's very picky about who he imbibes with, however- he doesn't trust just anyone while he may be in a slightly compromised state and more likely to say something he otherwise wouldn't.

Lorenz- he's as much a wine aficionado as any true noble would be, of course, and has memorized all the usual talking-points thereof. He considers it distasteful to become visibly inebriated, however. He also definitely owns a collection of elaborate and expensive tobacco pipes that have almost never been used.

Ignatz- he's fairly clean, and will nurse a single drink throughout an evening in social settings. He's heard that many famous artists have found inspiration in "broadening their minds," but he finds the loss of control intimidating. To be honest though, he also should probably try weed, this is a man with an anxiety disorder if I ever saw one.

Raphael- probably hasn't had many opportunities to get extremely experimental, but he does absolutely love a good beer or ale (or several beers or ales), preferably alongside a hearty meal or vast array of snacks. He considers it just part of enjoying a feast, a perfect accent to the food.

Jeralt- his love of booze is canon, of course, but he is generally open minded about such things and is willing to partake in whatever takes the edge off after a big job. He has decent tolerance, but has a habit of ignoring when he might be pushing a little too far, basically willfully ignoring his own limits.

Seteth- canonically, Nabateans have high alcohol tolerance (if Seteth's mention of it to Manuela is anything to go off of), so I imagine this extends to most foreign substances. That said, he does enjoy the earthy flavor of a well-worn tobacco pipe, and will sometimes unwind with it after a long work day.

Also on a personal note, modern au Seteth in a business suit smoking a cigarette makes horny brain go brrrrrrrrrr

Jeritza- he stays totally clean, as he deeply dislikes the sensation of losing control. He lives with the constant shadow of the thought that any lapse will trigger the Death Knight, and knows he can't risk such a thing outside of the battlefield.

[lucalicatteart]

Poll adventure (paventure? lol) Day 6: read the small story tidbit below the poll for more details, OR just vote based on initial impression

(✦ see past poll results + further information HERE (link) ✦)

The winning option of yesterday's poll was that the adventurer should ask the Innkeeper about the suspicious egg he got from the Well Creature….

-

After finishing his food scraps, he awkwardly creeps back over to the main counter, pulling up a stool and just hoping the Innkeeper will eventually make eye contact with him... She finally looks to the side whilst cleaning a glass, his chance to blurt out whatever he can.

"SO!- uh,, I um... I found something weird, or uh.. I didn't find it actually, I guess, I..... s-someone, or something.. gave it to me, as maybe..? a reward, or.. oh, well i-it doesn't matter why.. but UH, but so, I was just wondering, d-do you think you might know anything about it? about like, uh... stuff? Objects.. perhaps.....?"

She stares with equal parts amusement and concern, crossing her arms and letting out a soft chuckle, "Well, I've seen quite a variety of things while working here, so - Yeah, I could try to help you identify an item, if that's what you're asking."

"G-good. Okay. Well.. It's, uh..... this." He's barely even placed the little wooden egg box up on the counter before she's already slamming the lid shut and reaching over to force it back into his bag. Suddenly serious, her eyes dart around the room, scanning to ensure no-one else happened to notice.

"Don't EVER let anyone see you with that, okay??". Abrupt tone shift making him even more nervous, he just stares blankly, muttering a few gibberish noises whilst nodding at her in confirmation.

"I mean, I'm not absolutely certain," her voice lowers as she speaks, "but to me it looks exactly like a Caiploras egg. Those animals have been nearly extinct for at least a hundred years. Only tiny groups of them still exist here and there, and even those eventually get wiped out as soon as they're discovered. Kings and nobles used to hunt them, especially for the eggs, 'cause of all the theories - unique magical properties, uses in enchanting, shit like that.. I don't really know, I'm not that experienced with magic.... But.."

She pauses for a few seconds to stare him down (this does not soothe his anxiety at all), examining intently, as if to determine whether he's actually trustworthy before continuing..

"...My brother is. He's a mage, and a scholar, and he specializes in stuff like this, all these rare animals and whatnot. He'll hate me just sending a complete stranger over there, but.. I think you should go see him. He'd definitely be able to identify it- hell, he'd probably even pay you for it, if it really is what I think it is. And, he'd know how to take care of it properly, raise it well, not just cut it up for fucking potions or whatever...", she scoffs bitterly.

Grasping at a nearby napkin to fan himself with, he shifts sweatily in his seat, "W-wh... but,.. How would I do that?"

"What do you mean? Do what?"

"F-find, him.. IHhh... I just.. I don't, know the area well.. is all, I uh...."

"I'll give you directions, obviously.. Are you okay? Do you like... need some water? You look-"

"NHnnnou, I'M FINE! I just, haha.. uh... Maybe, am.. not very good at....uh.. this.." He gestures around himself nonspecifically.

With a brief confused glance, she pours a cup of water anyway, then casually plucks a small notebook from her pocket to begin scribbling messily. "Well, look, I'll give you the information, and if you feel up to it, you can go. I really think you should, but, eh... your choice, y'know."

As he fights his shaky hands to maintain control of the water glass, she lays out the paper on the table, pointing at parts of her sketch. "He's over in Fargahel, which should be a few days travel from here. See? The roads kind of go like this, but it's mostly a straight path. Look for the ruins of an abandoned castle. He's holed himself up in there, the underground part, repurposed into some sort of 'sanctuary' for rehabilitating injured birds or whatever the hell he's up to now. He probably won't attack you or anything, but I signed a little note on the back of this so he knows I sent you.. just in case."

Neatly folding up the map, she slides it towards him as she leans closer to intensely meet his eyes. "Just remember, no matter what you do, do NOT let anyone know you have that egg. There are plenty of folks out here still hunting for them. You don't want someone recognizing it and coming after you. Especially with how, uh...", it feels like she might mention he doesn't seem he'd be very good at combat, but she simply lets the sentence trail off, shrugging with a smile and politely patting his hand as he takes the paper.

"Just get some sleep, yeah? Think about it. And talk to me in the morning if you have any more questions."

He slumps over to lean on the counter, resting for a moment after she walks back to the other end of the room, just trying to wrap his head around all the new information.. He only took the egg because it looked pretty! He just wanted it to hatch into a cool chicken or something! Why does it have to actually be some big stinky scary secret rare item?... With a heavy sigh, he resolves to never again trust mysterious creatures that pop out of abandoned wells....

Eventually trudging up to his room for the night, he flops onto the lumpy mattress that seems to just be hay stuffed into dusty old potato sacks. As he rustles around waiting to fall asleep, he considers all of his options... What should he do with the egg?

[strawberry-nugget]

𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙄 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 | E. Kirishima/ Reader/ K. Bakugo

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 1

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: after weeks of Bakugo distancing himself from you and Kirishima you finally get the chance to talk out what happened the other day, one thing leads to another and...

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, thr*esome, oral (f! and m! receiving), double penetration, fingering, p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, all characters portrayed are over the age of 20

𝘼/𝙉: I'm so sorry this took me so long. I know this is 6.5k with little to no plot but I hope you enjoy this, hehe, thanks for all of the notes and amazing comments on the last one. I'll be reblogging in a few minutes with the tags in those who asked. Also. This is top Kirishima. Top top top top Kirishima.

It's been two weeks now that you and Bakugo exist in different timelines.

He's never home, lost in patrol after patrol, leaving a hot mess behind him in his room, belts, gear, his back up costume messily sprawled across his room -you guess he doesn't have enough time to clean everything up. Still, the rest of the apartment always looks inhabitable, save for the little mess you make in the kitchen when you cook; he never cleans what's supposed to be your task.

You feel yourself growing sadder every day. It's something Kirishima notices and informs you he feels as well, rooted deep in how Bakugo is treating the two of you ever since that night. And the worst part is you can't do anything about it. He doesn't return his phone calls nor does he ever pick up, and by now you've accepted that he purposely avoids being in the house with you. It hurts even more knowing that he and Kirishima see each other at work every day; at least he knows Katsuki is doing okay, though as he reports, he rarely ever talks more than patrol and business.

You only wonder why he acts the way he does, thinking you don't deserve to get ghosted over for what happened. He's your roommate and one of your best friends, whatever made him feel like he has the right to ghost you with such each is not going to go by so easily and you're not willing to wait it out anymore either.

Thus, this Thursday night you call in sick for work and emerge yourself in the bathtub after checking the clock. 7.25pm. It's still an hour until Katsuki is off his shift, which means you have plenty of time to do some self care. Shave your legs, scrub your whole body with your coconut scrub- anything to calm down that put of anxiety that's starting to boil in the pit of your stomach.

You fear for the worst. That Katsuki doesn't want to be your friend anymore, and losing him doesn't sit right with you. Not over just catching him masturbating once.

There's a ton of things you want to say, or ask him. The lingering thought of him liking Kirishima or you digs deep enough into your brain and plants itself there, getting comfortable right next to the thought of him being jealous of your relationship. Could this be it? Could he just be lonely? He never talks about meeting anyone or having sex -that must be it, he's lonely, that's all.

Your bath doesn't last for long because you're nervous and the water runs cold before you have the chance to enjoy yourself. Maybe it's time to start turning the heating on in the apartment and you curse yourself because you have to talk this out with Bakugo as well -fuck its hard to not live on your own when you have to make shared decisions with someone. To your stomach's turbulence dismay you can't get out of talking to Katsuki.

"No, I literally won't tell you where she is Bakugo"

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of the door unlocking and closing again, followed by your boyfriend's familiar voice. You don't make a single movement to exit the bathroom yet- you're frozen, opting to rest on top of the toilet cap until you hear Bakugo's reply, your gut falling into a muddy pit of panic.

"I swear to fucking god if you two are trapping me to talk about it"

Typically of him, he shouts, barking and chewing a few sounds of what he's saying. Kirishima knows he's all bark and no bite though, you're eager to figure out how he'll oppose him.

"She wants to talk to you, you can't just ghost her like that when you live with her" There's a long pause next "and you should have told me that you're in fucking love with her"

"What?" Katsuki exclaims

What?

"You think I'm an idiot? Or that I can't comprehend basic human behavior? I know how people who feel the way you do act"

"What are you even saying Kirishima? That I'm jealous?"

You blink feverously, trying to take in what you're listening to unfold in the other room. You know a part of you has been wishing that this scenario wasn't true.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. You should have told me you liked her in the beginning. I would have never made a move"

They bicker back and forth for a few minutes; Katsuki accusing and Eijiro defending, then switching back and forth before going silent. It's then that you think you should emerge from the bathroom. It feels wrong to not be part of this conversation when you're the reason for their bickering, but at this point the guilt in your stomach is rotting and polluting your insides.

With a sigh, you turn the doorknob and inhale deeply. You tell yourself you can do this. You have to do this, yet your eyes are filled with hot and salty tears as you approach the living room.

Both of them eye you simultaneously, pursed lips and hands crossed over their chests; the only relieving thing about this is that they're sitting next to each other on the couch, their calves slightly touching. You know they'll make up again, they always will, but you're scared you won't be able to be part of that make up. Not with the information that's been poured onto you.

"Hi" You whisper and despite being sure both of them heard you, they make no effort to open their mouths and talk back "I uhm" You clear your throat "I heard what you were ah saying"

"Course ya did" Katsuki growls "course ya fucking did"

"Baku- I-"

"Save it! I'm gonna-" He snaps and makes a move to get off the couch, though Eijiro has other plans; he slams him back down with just a push of his hand

The same hand that's extended to you, overlapping Katsuki's chest, wordlessly asking you to join them on the couch. Your heart warms up slightly. Kirishima always does his best to make you feel included, it's no surprise he's smiling at you when you take a seat next to the blond.

"You're not going anywhere Bakugo. And babe, you can speak now"

Though you smile nervously with your lips, your first word falls silent, in awe of a lung filling sigh. Then by the time you gather some thoughts together your chest is shivering and the tears that you managed to drown before are now threatening to spill from your eyes again.

Kirishima is watching you religiously, pouting as you throw your head to the opposite direction of his to let out a small sob. He tightens the grip of his hand around yours and barely notices Bakugo batting his eyes to that direction.

"Hey, no, don't cry"

"I just don't want to lose Bakugo because of this" you sob and Kirishima shoots a killer gaze at the blond, biting the inside of his lip.

"You're not losing anyone idiot" Bakugo says, clearing his throat, giving Kirishima a strained look as well

"Babe, don't worry, Bakugo and I will be fine, you and Bakugo will be fine"

You sob again, wiping a stream of tears that's falling from your eyes and Kirishima wastes no time on cupping your cheek after bullying Bakugo to do the same. A nice change, you think, two hands reaching out for your face, you could almost get used to this.

"Yeah, you're not losing me" Bakugo tries to soothe, though by Kirishima's demand he adds to his words "I- uhh, I might want you but this has nothing to do with us not being friends"

"Yeah?" You sniffle, looking up

"Yeah"

It's too soft how you're cuddled into their arms instantly, pulled on top of them to sit on both of their laps, held tightly in both of their embraces. You coo into their arms for a while, content when Kirishima kisses your cheek and sobbing faintly when Bakugo rubs your back in circles.

"Do you want a beer baby?" Kirishima asks, softly patting your back and kissing your nape as he leaves you clinging onto Bakugo. You nod into the crook of Bakugo's neck in reply and Kirishima smiles from the other side of the couch.

The sound of the fridge opening is timelines away from what's entering your mind. Is it wrong that you like that cuddle too much? And is it even more wrong that you want more? Bakugo feels nice when you're curling up onto his lap and Kirishima adds warmth and love into everything he's touching, you almost feel your thighs clench at the idea of where your mind's traveling to.

"What if we had a threesome?"

It's so faint when it comes out of your mouth that you're convinced there shouldn't be any loud reaction to it, though you hear the can of beer that's presumably in Kirishima's hand hit the floor, you feel Katsuki's hand freeze on your back. Both of them wonder if they've heard correctly, but never asking you to repeat it.

"A uhm.. Threesome?" Kirishima asks "you'd like that?"

"Yes"

You try to hide your face deeper into Bakugo's neck, but he doesn't seem to approve of it- he pushes you back softly, with a thick hand on your stomach and another still on your back. You feel your face burning as you're forced to face him

"You'd really want a threesome?" You nod and Bakugo gulps "Right now?"

"Mhm" You gulp too, your nose almost nuzzling against his "if- if you want to"

The way you're swamped with attention is overwhelming. From the way Kirishima jumps to the edge of the couch towards you, to the way Bakugo lifts you up and stands on his feet, urging you to do the same as your feet land one by one on the carpet underneath you.

"Fuck okay uh, are you fine with it Bakugo?" The redhead asks, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I am."

Kirishima gulps when he sees Bakugo latch onto you, placing his hand on your shoulder and coughing up slightly "Should we set some rules?"

"Yes" Bakugo coughs as well, though you can feel him getting hard to where your thoughts are meeting his "wanna suggest anything?"

"Great uh, maybe no kissing between the two of you, since she's my girlfriend? And Katsuki you're wearing a condom too. Are these fine?"

Both of you gulp and nod. It's natural for Kirishima to ask this. Sharing you out of the blue can't completely sit right with him; it almost flicks a switch on inside your gut, making you gulp again when you feel him hugging you from behind.

"Safeword?" Bakugo asks

"Red" You reply cooing when your back finally hits your boyfriend's chest.

You don't even have enough time to count down seconds before you're pounded and squished between the two of them. It's a miracle that you somehow manage to convince them to move it to the bedroom.

Even if making a small stop at the hall wasn't in your original plan

Kirishima's hands are everlastingly on your waist pulling your back into his chest. He's nibbling on the nape of your neck, his fingers light as feathers as they're peeling your T-shirt off of you. He almost grunts at your exposed back, leaning down just to place a kiss on each of your shoulders before latching onto your ear

"It's fine baby, it's fine if you're embarrassed okay?" He blows into you then takes a bite of your ear lobe to which you shiver as you snap your head to his face. “what? Are you that excited?"

You gulp, nodding with your eyes shutting, an expression on your face that looks almost painful -Bakugo can't help but palm himself, searching Kirishima's carmine eyes with his, waiting for a sign that he should make a move or retreat. Anything that doesn't involve him getting a front row seat to how your chest bounces as Kirishima runs his hands on your torso from behind.

"Fuck, I-" He says, swallowijg his tongue in the process, just when Kirishima's hands change paths, now wiggling underneath your sweatpants.

"Enjoying the show Bakugo?" Kirishima's smiles and fuck- when did he adopt such an attitude? "Come 'ere"

Bakugo does as he's commanded, guided by Kirishima, as he trails your torso with his hands intertwined with his, squeezing your upper hips, trailing your belly button, eyeing you with doe eyes before launching a kiss to your navel. You writhe and wiggle in Kirishima's embrace- the feeling of another man too new, too strange to take in in less than a few moments, but Eijiro's got you, kissing your nape, your cheek, softly playing with your breasts above your bralette. Whispering his praises with his hands across your body.

"Good girl" You're sure he whispers in your ear "I got you" But all you can feel is Katsuki's breath as he's placing open mouthed kisses across your tummy, over the valley of your chest, your cheek.

Kirishima is overly alert by this, jumping in between the little scene, capturing your lips with his, using a hand to push Bakugo into the kiss as well, pulling him in as lips as smeared against lips, your saliva trailing out of your mouth. You instinctively rub your thighs together to relieve some of the burning sensation between your legs

Soon enough, Bakugo is taking off your pants, rhen his shirt, Kirishima's taking his off too, managing not to let you go all while pushing the three of you into the bedroom. There's nothing but a trail of clothing in the hallway that could suggest what's happening inside the room once the door closes shut; three pairs of sweats, three different t-shirts and maybe the white ghost of hot and heavy breathing.

On the bed, it's way more comfortable. Your arching back is finally resting against the pillowy mattress, Kirishima's smile from upside down soothing and forgiving, you almost melt away while he cups your face and bumps his nose to yours, giggling slightly, before glaring at Bakugo. He guides your head into his lap, still holding your cheeks, still rubbing circles onto your soft face, pouting hard before facing your friend.

"You good babe?" He asks you and you nod again, humming a small reply to him "you too Katsuki?"

"Yeah, fuck yeah, I am" He gulps, pumping himself twice.

"You're not getting in without prep by the way"

You writhe in Kirishima's lap, gooey eyes and mouth open wide as he leans to pry your legs open, trailing his middle finger across your clothes slit. Your chest jumps when you hear him chuckle. You know he's struck the gold vein he's searching for, your panties swimming in a puddle, completely damp from getting your neck attacked only a few minutes ago.

Katsuki marvels a finger across your slit as well, avoiding your clit purposely or flicking it occasionally, moaning every time his finger touches the chilly dampness of your underwear.

Kirishima pries your legs open wider, hooking his middle finger under your panties and pulling them over and slightly to the side, flashing the blond with a glimpse of you -you swear you see him gulp. Hard.

"Want a taste?" Kirishima asks, chuckling, as if Bakugo isn't frothing at the mouth at the mention of the action, as if he isn't diving in between your thighs like a starved man.

He almost rips your panties by pulling them to the side. Your hands link through his platinum hair and you almost whine at how soft it feels, or, about the moaning sounds he makes as he's digging his fingers in the plush skin of your thigh, swinging your leg wider. You slide a little further along, laid completely flat on the bed -head still on Kirishima's lap.

Sweetly, Kirishima captures your inner lips with his fingers and circles them around before making you hump on him, his knuckles bumping with Bakugo's nose when he chuckles again. You almost tear up by the over stimulating pressure Kirishima's fingers provide for you, but you decide to hold it in; not sure hitched breath leaves your mouth until Bakugo takes an experimental lick across your slit.

With a thumb presses to your clit he retreats for a second, just to watch as he sinks his middle finger inside of you and -"oh my fucking god Katsuki"- he's back at it again, licking at you religiously. Softly, like Kirishima always does, patiently. Just like you love it.

It has your back arching, chest bouncing for Kirishima's eyes to enjoy. He decides he won't have you hanging, bouncing and thrashing. With two huge palms he cups your breasts, flicking your nipples, massaging you for just enough time to make your heart burn, then he wiggles a finger to the hood of your clit, applying throbbing pressure.

The knot in your stomach is tight, your vision blurry, you're sure what you think is silent moaning is probably full-on screaming, mewling or pleas of pleasure that you can't comprehend.

Kirishima is smiling at you from above, still wiggling his finger on you left and right in Bakugo's business and you can't help it- you yelp, pushing Bakugo's face deeper into you. It feels good- too good, like your legs are nothing but jello, your stomach and thighs feeling like they've transformed into liquid smooth. You mewl in Kirishima's arms, coiling, desperately eyeing him in hopes that he and Katsuki won't stop what they're doing.

"M so close" You slur when Kirishima takes a hand of yours away from Bakugo's hair, softly turning it upside down, until your palm is met with the wetness of his foreskin, the pulsing slit of his that leaks precum into your hand.

He whines -"ohh"- when you wrap your fingers around him, instantly pumping your hand up and down, your grip firm and steady as you twist your wrist with every bob of your hand.

"Suck me off baby" Kirishima softly commands, rubbing an experimental circle with his tip on your lips, smearing some of his precum around your mouth. You gulp at how carelessly he pumps his base, until he pries your lips open.

You take him eagerly into your mouth, feeling your stomach churn and your thighs freezing in place by Bakugos movements; so long as you're steadily sucking Kirishima's cock into your mouth, he scissors his fingers inside of you.

"You like that?" He moans into you, eyeing Kirishima "you twitched- fuck you're twitching"

"Show me how wet she is"

Kirishima commands and Bakugo complies by taking his fingers away from your heat and shining them into Kirishima's face. You whimper but how good it feels when he moans against you, blinking as you watch your boyfriend take your friend's fingers in his mouth, sucking in eagerly, before popping the digits out of his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva fall faintly onto the valley of your breasts

"Your pussy's s'wet baby, you're dripping all over over Katsuki's hands" Kirishima thrusts in your mouth "you taste so good" then turns his attention to Bakugo "tell 'er, how fucking good she tastes"

Bulky fingers rub on your clit once more and Bakugos hand secures your tummy in place while pinning you down; you feel it then, the inevitable end of what has been building up in your stomach for such a long while and you can't help but scream at the feeling of coming undone. Shaking, struggling to take a breath without popping Kirishima out of your mouth.

"Fucking perfect"

Your vision is white, your head is buzzing and your legs are frozen. You can feel Kirishima fucking into your mouth once, twice and ever so slightly, depending in how relaxed your jaw is as he's moaning. You don't choke when he hits your throat, you simply moan onto him, too blinded by the afterglow of your orgasm to even react to what's about to unfold.

"Fuck- take 'em off- Fuuck" Kirishima says, you notice. Bakugo probably does as he's told; you hear shuffling and grunting, the soft pop of his dick to his stomach. You want to see-

Bakugo, hazed and drenched in you, cups your womanhood with his hand, landing his thumb on your clit and you yelp again, thrassing onto the bed, finally popping Kirishima out of your mouth. He tugs and drags his fingers away- he's opening you up, of course, that's it- and you can't help but roam your eyes all over him. Searching for his cock, wanting to see it dive inevitably into you.

It's unfair that Kirishima has a better view than you do, but at least, you hope he enjoys the view. You buck your hips forward when you feel Katsukis thighs grace against your own. His skin is unbelievably cold, making the hair on your legs and tummy raise; a tear rolls down your cheek then the moment the tip of his cock touches your clit.

"We've got- ah- condoms in the first drawer. On your left" Kirishima says cheerfully, bucking his hips away from your face, kneeling just to place a kiss on your forehead- your nose- your lips, finally bumping the tip of his nose to yours when he sucks your inner lip into his mouth

"You liked that baby?" Kirishima breathes "You liked Bakugo eating you out?"

"Mhm" You nod, not wanting to break away from the kiss, unlike Kirishima

You can hear Katsuki cursing, slamming the drawer shut as he fidgets with the condom. Everything seems slow, from the way his thick fingers can't grasp the tiny edges of the wrapper, to him finding out what's the right side to put it on -he grunts, inevitably- stealing giggles from both you and Kirishima

"Ah man, you're struggling, come 'ere let me help"

Bakugo grunts once again, although this time it's not out of frustration. Kirishima playfully pulls him close, places a kiss on his navel and extends his hand underneath Bakugo's, politely asking for the condom -you know his lips are pressed into a goofy smiley line right now just by the way his body moves.

Kirishima lets your cheek rest on his thigh when he moves to grab Katsuki's cock, to roll the condom on him while twisting his fist on him no more than twice -unfair- before playfully slapping the blond's ass, urging him to climb onto the bed again.

It's then that your hips are jerked and raised towards the blond, huge palms on your hips, pulling you towards him. Nervous touches, unspoken apologies for potentially harsh movements, his eyes are flickering into yours and his lips are all pouty, scrunched, his cheeks plump with embarrassment. He doesn't know if you notice, nor does he think he ever will, but it's killing him -that he's only allowed to line himself up with you under this circumstance.

Whether you notice the hurt in his eyes or not, you don't comment on it, nor do you spare him any worried look. He doesn't even know if he wants you to take pity on this state of his.

No.

No, he doesn't.

He only hopes Kirishima won't get mad when he cups your face tenderly, nor when he traps your face with his other hand caging you away from the redhead thigh -it's for better leverage he'll say if he's asked to- but you melt into his touch.

And his chest burns.

It's worse when he finally pushes into you. His heart won't stop beating hard and fast and he's scared he's going to have a fall. No-no- he shouldn't think about it, if he does think about it, he'll definitely have a fall.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh," You murmur, feeling the voice come from the depths of your chest.

That's the only confirmation he needs to ignite his ego and light it on fire. You feel good, you're sucking him in deeper and your cheek is still melting into his palm. It's more than enough; he ignores Kirishima's gaze and whatever it may carry behind it. It's for his own sanity he reminds himself.

"You're doing so good babe,'' Kirishima asks you, cupping your other cheek. He's smiling- no need to worry about him not having a positive reaction to Bakugo caressing you

(The rules that had been presented to him were simple- wear a condom and no kissing)

"You're taking it so well, isn't she Katsuki?"

"Fuck yeah" He grunts, thrusting harder

"So, so well baby, we'll make sure you get to come first okay?" You ogle your eyes at Kirishima, teary and soft by his words, clapping your lips together and pouting, begging him silently for a kiss. Only to feel the void when his soft lips don't come in contact with yours

"Oh no, no kiss for baby. You're so naughty, wanting me to kiss you when you're getting fucked by our friend"

"What?" You whine, popping on to your left elbow "Eiji- i want my kiss"

"None can do" He smiles and Bakugo snaps his hips into you "unless you earn it"

Your stomach is tied in a knot again, gummy walls tightening around Bakugo, back arching. It's almost painful to watch you sprawled like this underneath him, reacting in peak with the rhythm of his hips, begging him to go faster, harder. At one point, he's losing himself in the speed he's fucking you with, feeling like he's about to combust from inside out is not helping either

-He thinks, he'll be spent for days after this-

It's guttural, the way you feel as Bakugo thrusts inside of you, the way you mewl and twitch and feel your eyes roll to the back of your head. You feel full, so much that you mutter it, slurred and incomprehensibly at Kirishima. It's more than enough for him to rub your chin with his thumb and buck his hips on your face again. You take him eagerly, smiling with your lips when he lands on your tongue. You swirl it around, pump him deeper into your mouth, suck on his tip until he moans in sync with you.

"Bakugoo" He hisses, biting his lip as he's eyeing you "don't chase your own satisfaction! Go slower and rub her clit too" He takes Bakugos hand away from your face, tracing it down your body before landing on your heat, pinching your clit softly making you moan "ah so responsive"

For a while he doesn't move his hand away, focused on guiding Bakugo's fingers on you, teaching him how to make you feel good while he's fucking and you're on fire, gut churning and chest tight, ovestimulated by how good it all feels. You can't even take a proper breath as Kirishima humps deeper into your mouth. He groans too loud when his tip hits your cheek.

You know this is too much for him, you know he can't hold back any longer, but you grab onto his shaft and twirl your grin on his base, bobbing it into your cheek and popping it out before swallowing it again.

And while Bakugo's thrusts are becoming desperate, Kirishima bursts into your mouth, holding your hair softly, pulling you closer to you- closer, closer, until your nose hits his navel, biting on his cheeks and squinting his eyes so he won't shut them, drunk on the view of you overflowing with his come. He only grubs your chin, swiping his thumb on the white trail that's spilling from the corner of your lips, trying his best to smirk at you without taking a breath.

"Swallow it sweetheart -ah- that's right, you're so -fuck- perfect for me"

Your lower stomach is protesting, bursting slowly as Bakugo is thrusting faster into you. His speed, him hitting that spot in your gut repeatedly, creating the perfect feeling of numbness, it's all too much and not enough all at once, you want to cry out- you gush and you writhe as your legs hook around Bakugo's waist.

Your boyfriend retreats from his previous position, smiling as ever, petting Bakugo's blonde hair, massaging your breast, kissing your nipple, then attacking your upper chest, trapping supple skin in between his tongue and teeth, dragging Bakugo along with him. It's what ultimately leads Bakugo over the edge, his tip feeling numb, blood rushing all over his body, he thrusts a few more times before he pulls out, spilling his own satisfaction into the condom, feeling his heart race faster than ever before.

"Your doing sooo good" Kirishima says once more, pecking your lips repeatedly. "Wanna ride me? Or are you tired? "

"Fuck no, lay down"

"That's my girl" He smiles "Katsuki, come here"

Kirishima rubs your wetness up and down, grunting when he finds your clit, grazing it with the back of his hand, whispering about how wet you are, to which you respond by hugging your arms around his neck, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. You only pull back when he lets you coo into him by petting your hair softly.

You're instantly met with Bakugo's eyes blazing into yours from above- it's not intimidating, rather, it's lustful, but you still need some time to pull yourself back, despite the eagerness in his eyes. You must have missed the point where he discarded his condom, or just how thick he actually is, because he's standing hard and proud before you, nervously searching for Kirishima's approval.

Your boyfriend's approval comes with gripping on him and easing him close to you. You take him in both of your hands, relying on Kirishima to keep your torso lifted, focusing on twisting your hand around him in the same way you did for Eijiro. Too bad you almost lose grip when He snaps his hips into you.

You can feel Katsuki's dick twitch into your hands as you pull him down lower, getting your tongue out of your mouth to place kitten lips all over his length. Eijiro mimics you, licking the tip when you're not licking the base, letting you take control when he ceases his movements for a bit, to lift both of you a little higher, so you don't have to bend your neck as much. He strokes some sweaty strands of hair away from your face, he kisses your cheek and Bakugo is already thrusting into your mouth feverously.

"Fuck"

"You're so wet baby, you feel like you could take us both" You yelp, wide eyes as you freeze on the spot "want to take us both?"

"I do" You yelp with tears in your eyes "I do I do, I do I do"

"Oh, look at you being so desperate, want to get -ah- wrecked, don't you?"

"I do Eiji- you cry out

"Then ask Katsuki to take you too, ask him to shove his cock into you while I'm fucking you too, like the greedy little thing you are"

At this point, you think poor Bakugo isn't going to make it to the end of this.

"Katsu" You plead, watery eyes staring into desperate carmine ones "Katsu fuck me while Eiji fucking me too-"

"Say please" Kirishima interrupts, pinching your nipple "or I'm not going to let him"

"Please, pleaseplease, please"

"Fuck yeah" Katsuki replies "ill fucking wreck you" The sounds he's making are supposed to be words, though they're far from being clear and understandable, his veins are pulsing into your mouth. He's too excited for this, so excited that you know he'll never make it to the drawer to reach for a new condom. So Kirishima is doing it for him, hooking the little rubber between his fingers as he's opening the drawer.

"Come on baby, pull back" He taps on your shoulder and places a kiss on your collar bone, thrusting deeper into you this time. The reaction is immediate, you're throwing your head back in seconds and Bakugo whines at the sudden departure of your warm mouth.

Kirishima allows you to kiss his thighs, his tip, his navel, to squeeze the small of his back and his ass before letting you wear the condom onto him.

You lose track of Bakugo until you feel wet kisses being planted on your thighs and ass, the back of your knees. You feel his hand being placed on your thigh, the warmth of his palm as he's soothingly rubbing it up and down your skin, to prepare you, raising his thumb to graze at your crotch occasionally. You whine every time he thumbs your clit, or flicks it when it meets with Kirishima's navel.

"You good? I'll start with my fingers" You choke on the sound of his words and nod frantically. If only you could actually watch him when he delves his middle finger in you along with Eijiro's cock. Still you whine loudly, when another finger joins the first one, slowly scissoring inside of you "fuck you're gonna take it so well aren't you? Kirishima's right. You love this"

"Answer him," Kirishima whispers, teeth biting down in your lobe. He grabs your face, trapping your cheeks between his fingers, turning you in Katsuki's direction, pushing your cheeks together. You swallow when you see the blind focused on watching you stretch.

"I love it

But Eijiro isn't satisfied with how you're trying to make your words get past from your lips

"Say it like you mean it doll, or I won't let your friend put it in"

You eye him dangerously, putting your lips even further before muttering a soft 'fine' -your redhead doesn't make a comment on your little attitude, probably because he's gotten what he's wanted from you- and Katsuki hisses, fisting his cock faster.

"I love it so much Katsuh"

"And Eiji- you mean. It's not only him that's here" Kirishima smirks and this time he pulls out of you, flipping your body so that your back is facing him. One hand comes to your wetness, spreading your lips apart, stretching you wide open "Try again" He lets go just for a moment, to slap your clit loosely. Once. Twice. Never ceasing when you whine. Your hips buck up towards Katsuki.

"Look at how nice I am, I even gave you a full view. Am I not?"

"You are Eiji. You're the best, the best. And I love this so much, I'm going to combust"

"Oh you will?" Katsuki interrupts, grunting when Kirishima pulls his dick closer to you, rubbing the head on your clit until Katsuki gets the hint. You let out a guttural groan at the feeling, tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes from being too overstimulated for so long

"Yes baby, I will, just please"

"M going in-" Katsuki announces, earning a nod from Kirishima "If he won't let you come, then we don't listen to him 'kay?"

Kirishima chuckles at the one and bites the top of your ears dragging his tongue to the base of it- a warning- to not try and agree with what Katsuki's offering. And being obedient definitely pays off when you feel your boyfriend's head poke against your entrance.

It feels splitting and painful all at once; the tears in your eyes are pouring, and none of the caresses you're receiving is helping. You need time to adjust and both men provide that for you. Minutes pass spent with soft kisses. Kirishima sucking your neck and Bakugo kissing your breasts, the three of you making out- anything until you feel like you can get used to them.

And when you do, they go slow, each at their own pace, simultaneously hitting spots that you don't know could or should ever be hit at the same time.

"You good?" Both men ask and you have to gulp that frog that sits at the top of your mouth if you want to talk, but you can't. Your throat is too tight, your eyes are too watery

"Babe"

"Better than I thought I'd be actually"

You get lost in the haze of their hips, their thrusts and you can already feel Katsuki collapsing onto you, chasing his own pit of pleasure when it hits you. Your gut coming undone for the last time has your heart leaping and skipping beats; you hook your arm around Katsuki's neck, jumping up and down from how fast both men are thrusting into you and you bring your face to his, cooling your mouths together.

When he feels you clamp down on him -and Kirishima- he pulls out, rolls the condom off and strokes himself slightly. You whine at the sudden departure of him inside of you but you quickly clamp down on just your boyfriend, before feeling him shifting from underneath you, finally pushing down the small of your back. You take Katsuki into your mouth while Kirishima slaps your ass, thrusting fast and hard into you.

There's no sweet talk right now, authority and intimidation hiding away as satisfaction is being chased. Sloppily and not carefully at all. It's evident in how you're sucking Katsuki off. There's no consistency in your rhythm, you're squirming as Kirishima is slowing down before picking up his pace again, running his hands through your hair affectionately. When he comes, he coats your insides in white ropes of pleasure, riding off his orgasm softly, until he feels himself stop twitching.

By the time he pulls out you've made Katsuki come as well, hearing his high pitched grunts as he lets it all out in your mouth. Although this time you're not overwhelmed with the amount; it's his second round nonetheless.

Katsuki's hands don't cease to take this chance, even if they're awkward and shaking he's grabbing your cheeks squishing them just like Kirishima did a while ago and kisses you, poking his tongue in your mouth, moaning at his own taste, pulling your lips under his teeth.

You know your lips will be bruised by this. And you don't care. Because when he pulls back, Kirishima is kissing you as well, pulling you into his arms, caging you into his chest.

You even smile as tiny, peppery kisses are pressed onto your skin.

"You did so well" Kirishima smiles "you too Katsu, you both were amazing"

Katsuki smiles, popping onto the bed as well, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling himself onto you and Kirishima. He nuzzles his nose at the crook of your neck and for the first time in a while he feels warm, content, calm and collected. Or so you think by the kiss that's planted onto your back by him.

It's tender and soft, mimicking Kirishima's but feeling nothing like your boyfriend's kisses at the same time. You collapse further into Kirishima's chest and he kisses the top of your hair and your cheek, mellowy.

"Wanna take a bath?" He suggests under his breath and both you and Katsuki nod, sinking further in the sheets with heavy eyes. Maybe when your feet won't feel like they'll betray you, you'll get up and have a warm bath, sandwiched between Katsuki and Eijiro, smothered in kisses, lathered in lavender soap, maybe you'll make a cup of chamomile for the three of of you and cuddle between them before you go to sleep.

Until then…

[justletmeplayminecraft]

It doesn't happen often, but sometimes Mumbo will find himself frozen in place, struck down with fear and doubt.

He'll find his mind echoing with the "but what if" and "you're not good enough to stop them leaving" and he'll begin to lose his vision as his eyes become clouded with tears.

He'll take out his communicator and, with shaking hands, send a message into chat;

<MumboJumbo>: Hey I need some reassurance, could someone stop by?

And the hermits will always stop by. Sometimes just one, sometimes many, but he'll always get at least one hermit at his side in a matter of minutes.

"It's okay" they'll tell him. "We'd never abandon you" they'll say.

"Wherever we go, you'll always be welcome. Until the end of time."

oh my gosh this is so good ;-; hold on lemme see what i can write

warnings for self-doubt, fear of abandonment, implied anxiety attack

Mumbo knows what caused it this time. A combination of late nights, feedback on the HCBBS and being in Scar's base. Everywhere he looks is an incredible creation, more amazing than he could ever hope to achieve. He's felt the thoughts building over the past few days, shoving them down as deeply as he can. Which is always a mistake.

Ironically, it all spills over when he's looking at those same tiny mushrooms that excited him so much before. It's just so clever! It's so smart! And it's something Mumbo would never think to do. He's not smart like this, doesn't have Scar's creativity. He has no idea why the hermits keep him around when they could have more people like Scar. Probably because they know he has nowhere else to go, because they're good people and-

No, no. He tries to remember Xisuma's advice. He needs to breathe. Don't spiral. Long breath in, hold, long breath out. In, hold, out. His vision is blurry, eyes stinging with tears.

He keeps that mantra in his head as he pulls out his communicator. Hands trembling, he manages to navigate to the global chat. He doesn't bother reading the previous messages.

<MumboJumbo> csb somebody come over? need somrone rn

<Xisuma> mumbo? where are you?

<GoodTimeWithScar> Mumbo?

<ZombieCleo> where are you mumbo?

<MumboJumbo> msgic village

<ZombieCleo> omw

<Xisuma> let me know if you need back up

<ZombieCleo> will do.

By the time Mumbo hears rockets overhead, he's curled into the base of a tree. The bark presses hard against his back, his face hidden in his knees. He focuses on his breathing. All of those thoughts are blocked out of his head. He knows they're stupid, he knows. The hermits must be so tired of this by now-

"Mumbo." A voice calls, derailing that notion. "Where are you?" He raises his head, rubbing his eyes with a sniffle.

"I'm over here." Mumbo's voice shakes as much as the rest of him. There's a crunching of grass, and he flinches when he hears a twig snap. Soon enough, a wave of red hair falls in front of him, Cleo crouching to his level. She has a gentle smile that is in such contrast to her usual sarcasm.

"Hey, Mumbo. You want to go inside?" He nods. He can't quite find the words to say, so he accepts Cleo's hand as she pulls him to his feet. His suit is crumpled, pulling in all the wrong places and it only feels more stifling. Cleo walks with purpose, searching each building until she finds one that's mostly liveable, with a fair amount of grumbling about Scar and chestmonsters.

It is nicer inside the house. She sits him down on an old sofa, ruffling through already messy locks. The suit jacket is discarded and laid carefully over an armchair. Mumbo tucks his feet onto the edge of the sofa, wrapping his arms around long legs. A blanket is soon wrapped around his shoulders. Mumbo snuggles into it, disappearing until he's a head and two black socks in a pile of blue fabric.

"There you go, do you want some tea?" Mumbo nods. Tea sounds nice right now. He gets a good hair ruffle before Cleo vanishes in search of the kitchen. He can still hear her moving around, cursing under her breath as she tries to navigate Scar's overflowing storage. Mumbo laughs softly, more air than noise. He closes his eyes, resting his chin on his knees.

Cleo's good to him. She came here so quickly, like she often does. If not Cleo, then it would've been another hermit. They always drop everything to come help him. He just- is he really worth that effort? He doesn't do anything in return for them. Maybe it was a mistake calling someone over, he should've just dealt with this on his own, they're going to get frustrated he keeps doing this-

"Mumbo," Cleo calls. Mumbo blinks as he finds himself back in reality. "I can hear your thoughts from here. Do you want honey in your tea?" Mumbo squeezes his fingers into the soft material of the blanket, listening to a distant kettle boil. He breathes in a scent similar to a library. Something old, with a hint of magic.

"Yeah, honey would be nice."

"Got it!" He occupies his mind by looking around the room, naming each of the things he can see. There's a bookshelf against one of the walls. The top two shelves are decorated by various trinkets. Little statues and toys, sentimental items that Mumbo doesn't know the meaning of. The bottom shelves are filled with books from various designers. Scar showed him some recently, pouring over the art with a bright grin. Mumbo hung onto every word he said. A solitary redstone book sits amongst them, and Mumbo huffs an amused breath.

When Cleo returns, he's looked at the curtains, one of them pulled tied open, the forgotten mugs on the coffee table, the various doodles scattered in sheets of paper, the plants that are somehow alive and Cleo, who isn't. She smiles, passing Mumbo the mug. He curls his hands around it, pleased the heat isn't unbearable.

"So which ones do I need to fight this time?" She asks. Mumbo chuckles. The blanket has slipped further back so his hands can stick out.

"You don't need to fight anything," he replies. Cleo crosses her arms, dropping into the space next to him.

"Really?" He looks into the steaming tea. Cold isn't a problem in the jungle, not during the day. But the heat is a good grounding point. Though he could get lost in the way the steam catches the light, shimmering white patterns painted in the air.

"It's the usual," he finally concedes. "With some added 'I'm only bothering you and you're all going to get tired of needing to help me.' You know." Cleo hums. She does know. Mumbo sometimes wishes his doubts would get more adventurous, and then remembers what a terrible idea that would be.

"Do you have the book?" She asks. Mumbo shakes his head.

"I think I left it in my- no, Scar's base." He would usually keep his book of affirmations in his enderchest, but he was a bit flustered with the whole move. He thinks he left it under his pillow.

"I'll ask Scar to bring it over later."

"You don't-" She gives him a look. "Okay. Thank you," he amends. Taking a sip of the tea, he sighs. Cleo knows just how he likes it. The honeyed taste is a much-needed treat.

"So, you know what I'm going to say?"

Mumbo smiles, telling her, "Say it anyway."

"Mumbo, you could be the biggest spoon in the world, and we'd still keep you around, right?" Mumbo laughs, falling into the script with ease.

"Right."

"You're our family. We don't care if you don't achieve these incredible feats, though you do, by the way. We're lucky to have you here, and it makes me smile everytime I see what you're up to. Big or small." He hides his wet smile behind a sip of tea. There's no hiding the tears gathering in his eyes. "Mumbo, you're an amazing person, alright? The best annoying baby brother I could ask for. Wherever we go, you can come with us. As long as you want to."

"And if that's forever?"

"Then it's forever. And I'll consider myself lucky everyday you decide to stick around." Mumbo sinks back into the sofa, finally letting go of the tension he was subconsciously holding. "Right. Now let me read all the chat messages."

Mumbo laughs, reaching up to wipe his eyes, "Seriously?"

"We care about you, you dork." Cleo sits forward, holding her communicator up. She takes a deep breath, continuing in her best gameshow voice, Mumbo laughing the moment she speaks, "And first up, we have Xisuma! Asking me to tell you that he cares about you and he's always here if you ever need to talk." Mumbo settles back, a wide grin on his face, content to listen.

-

Cleo carefully takes the mug from Mumbo's hands, the redstoner offering no resistance as he yawns. His eyes are half open, blinks growing longer every time. She brushes hair from his face, gently lying him down until he's resting in her lap.

"There you go," she soothes. Mumbo quietly rearranges, hugging Cleo's legs. "You've done so well. You can rest now." Mumbo's sleepy hum brings a smile to her face.

She watches as Mumbo's breath evens out, his body growing heavier on her. She carefully tucks the corner of the blanket in before pulling out her communicator, snapping a quick photo.

<ZombieCleo shared a photo>

<ZombieCleo> mission successful

<Xisuma> :-D

<Stressmonster101> awwwwwwww <3

<iskall85> some much needed sleep i'd say

<GoodTimeWithScar> I'll be over with the book when I find it

<ZombieCleo> don't worry, i think he'll be out for a while lol

She smiles at her communicator and the lanky redstoner in her lap. There are very few sights that warm her undead heart more than this. She leans back, and settles in for however long Mumbo needs her.

[cuppachar]

Roy/Jamie & Team: That crazy business man buts a hit out on Sam for rejecting him. One night in the parking lot the hitman shoots at Sam only something knock Sam aside. When Sam looks he is horrified to see Jamie laying beside him with blood pouring from his head. The hitman tries to flee but some of the other players see him and give chase. Roy, Ted, and Beard come running. The bullet only grazed Jamie's head but he is unconscious for days after. Sam is beside himself alongside Roy.

And Jamie develops post concussion syndrome woobies with a bunch of symptoms Headaches, Dizziness, Fatigue, Irritability, Anxiety, Insomnia, Loss of concentration and memory, Ringing in the ears, Blurry vision, Noise and light sensitivity. And he's super happy Sam is okay, but he's pissed and annoyed because his head is off and he's benched for the foreseeable future and he's 'life might as well be over' (Roy: Oi, you're life is not over you idiot. You can play when you start seeing things straight again and are medically cleared. We're not writing you off yet, Tartt. You fucking hearing me?) and because his brain is fucked up and and it's making him more irritable and emotional and irrational. Ted is supportive and gives good Ted hugs, especially when Jamie's head is hurting like someone's performing an orchestra in his head and Ray's a surly not-nurse who force feeds Jamie pain pills when Jamie's being too stubborn or a irritably-pained prick to do it himself.

And the team are fantastic - Dani lets him rest his head in his lap and messages his scalp, Will likes to put cool compresses on his head, Jan Mass and Colin research techniques to help vertigo, Isaac quietly whisper-yells when he needs to, 'sit your arse down before you fall down', and Sam, feeling guilty, promises his soul to Jamie and tells him 'he'll do anything that Jamie wants if it will help his head'. Jamie nearly takes him up on the offer too, until Roy steps in and tells him 'Oi, don't fucking manipulate his guilt-feelings for your own fucking benefit' so he settles for Sam bringing him guilt-ridden cookies instead (because annoyingly 'yay for me, every day is cheat day, init mate?')

[lu-undy]

Another sniperspy hc! Hope you lije this one too! (if u wanna write it ofc dont wanna pressure u!). Spy has anxiety, a little, but still has it; and it mostly shows when he is touchstarved. He gets nervous and a little overwhelmed but he hides it trying to play it cool. He stays in his room in the ceasefires all alone but that just makes things worse. He needs cuddles, but he'll neer admit it, never asks for them. And it gets worse. And Spy breaks, just a little, but Snipes notices and helps❤️🐑

Here we go! Sorry about the delay, I have to juggle with work and my long fic at the same time. I hope you’ll like it :)

"Oh, Scout, please, go fuck yourself." 

The young man insisted. 

"Spy, c'mon man, you-"

"I said: go fuck yourself."

"You can't just say that?!"

Spy was in his room. All the lights were off, only the dancing flames of the fireplace lit his smoking room. The Frenchman was sitting on his armchair, a glass of wine in his hand and an annoyed look on his face. 

"Scout if you stand behind my door one more second, I will push every single blade I have into you, in places where you couldn't possibly pull them out." 

He answered, his teeth gritted and his jaw clenched angrily. 

"Jeez, fine…!" 

The Frenchman was pissed off. He had played his part very poorly that day and even though his colleagues respected him enough to not mention it, he could see it in their eyes. He had disappointed them, and he could hardly look at himself in the mirror for it. 

There was one pair of eyes that was stuck in his mind. Those lagoon blue eyes had dwelled on him for the entire duration of his dinner, they had spoken louder thatn any voice.

What Spy needed was red wine, a strong, almost bitter château. Ah, some cheap Spanish one would do. There were very few occasions the Frenchman would betray his country: when he needed the alcohol to sting his soul from the inside was one of them. He just needed something to hurt him physically, something that transferred the pain from his soul to somewhere he could point at, on his body. 

Spy emptied the glass and poured more, grunting. The strong sourness hurt the back of his throat. Good. He threw his gloves away and undid his tie. It flew straight to the floor. He had removed his jacket and his vest and was now undoing the first couple of buttons on his shirt. 

The Frenchman was sitting on the edge of his armchair, his elbows planted on his thighs and his head hanging low. He wasn't proud of himself and he didn't have the energy to pretend that he was in front of his colleagues, so his isolation in the deafening silence and darkness of his lonely room was the best course of action. 

He put a hand on his face and let it sink from his brow down to his chin. A knock interrupted him. 

"Scout, no respawn will fix what I am about to do to you." He said angrily.

"It's not Scout." A muffled voice answered across the door. 

"Leave me alone." He answered, as if he didn't know who it was, as if he hadn't recognised that voice. 

"C'mon, open the door."

"Non, go away."

"I won't." 

Spy heard a thud and rolled his eyes. He knew the man behind that door could be awfully patient. He could picture him, sat down on the Frenchman's doormat, his back against the wall. That was the thud, he had dropped himself on the other side of the door with the knife symbol. And Spy knew he could wait there for hours.

"I am not up for games. Go back to your van." 

"Neither am I. I didn't come to play anythin' with you." 

Silence fell. Spy wondered while his visitor pulled his hat in front of his face to block the light from the corridor and rest his eyes more comfortably. He had all his time. He knew his own patience could match Spy's ego. So he waited, sat there, like a homeless man would find shelter under the front facade of a shop when it rains. He waited, his eyes closed and his hat on his eyes.

The man with the absurdly long legs let them flow in front of him. He didn't know how long he had been waiting but the base had gone totally silent. The light in the corridor had switched off a long time ago now. 

Inside the room, the Frenchman had stopped drinking since his visitor had sat there. 

Spy grumbled and stood up. He went to the door, making sure that his footsteps could be heard. The visitor opened his eyes and unstuck his back from the door. The footsteps stopped. There was a moment of hesitation before the doorknob twisted and the door opened. 

Spy looked down. 

"Come in. Don't stay sat there."

The man under the hat stood up and straightened his back before entering. Spy quickly shut the door after him. 

"What do you want?" The Frenchman asked. 

"To not let you get pissed alone. And on cheap wine at that…" 

Sniper had gone next to the sofa and took the bottle of wine in his hand to read the label. The Frenchman almost regretted the wine tasting lessons to his colleague.

"This is shite wine, Spy, what's your problem?"

Spy sat on the sofa. 

"None of your concern." 

Sniper sat down next to him.

"Yeah, it's none of anyone's business but yours, you're right. So what is it?"

The Frenchman put his fingers on his temples. Now that they were both facing the flames, Sniper could see him better. He looked disheveled, his shirt open, without a tie and a miserable look on his face. Had it not been for the taylor-made shirt and trousers, the Australian would have looked better dressed.

"I know you did shit today. And I also know it doesn't look like you. You're better than that, I know it and you do too. So what's special about today?"

The Frenchman sighed. 

"Again, none of your concern."

"Is it your birthday or somethin'?"

Spy shot him a murderous glance. He was nowhere near the point where he could appreciate any joke. His icy blue eyes split the dark room sharply, like the sheen of the short blades he liked so much. 

"You don't want to say, eh?"

"Non, I don't."

"So why did you let me in?"

"To not let you rot on my doormat."

"Pfff, even Scout could lie better than that." Sniper answered and it did strike a nerve. The Frenchman clenched his jaw. 

"If you didn't let me in to talk, it's cause you need somethin' else."

Sniper stood up and headed to the small kitchen area in his colleague's flat. 

"Now, I'm gonna make us some herbal tea. It won't make you talk but it'll help your nerves." 

The Australian kept the lights off. He filled a kettle with water and put in on the stove to heat up. When the water boiled, he poured it in 2 mugs and took 2 tea bags out of his pocket. Spy's eyebrows jumped. Those teabags showed that Sniper had prepared himself and hadn't come by chance or politeness. His mind was set to help the bitter Frenchman. 

A minute later, he brought the two mugs. He handed one to his colleague and that's when he realised that Spy wasn't wearing his gloves. Sniper's brow furrowed for a short instant. Observant as he was, Spy saw it. 

They both took a sip. 

"Something's the matter, Sniper?"

"Well that's cheeky. You're the one who has a problem obviously and you ask me if something's the matter?" 

"You frowned. I'm just curious." 

"I'll tell you what made me frown if you tell me what's pissin' you off like that."

Spy sighed. 

"Today is not a good day for personal reasons." He answered. 

"That doesn't tell me anythin', Spook." 

"Well, too bad, I will not disclose more of it." 

And silence fell again, that was only interrupted by their sips. But they soon finished their drink. Sniper leaned back on the sofa. 

"So that's what you do when you're pissed off? Get drunk on shit wine, alone, in the dark?" 

Spy didn't want to react but of course it affected him. He knew he looked miserable and hearing it being said aloud did not help. Sniper sat up and put his hand on Spy's thigh, right above his knee. 

"You're not wearin' yer gloves. That's why I frowned." 

The Frenchman double-checked and yes indeed. He didn't even think about his gloves when he opened the door. It hurt him even more. 

Sniper took Spy's hand in his and opened its palm. 

"Bushman!"

"Oh c'mon, it's only yer hand! I just want to see it better." 

He tilted it such that he could  see it well.

"Y'know I can read the lines there. Wanna know what they say?" 

The Frenchman didn't answer. 

"Well, they say that it doesn't matter if you don't tell me what your problem is." 

Sniper moved closer to his friend. 

"You need someone to help, because you're not making it out of this on yer own. And shit alcohol won't do either." 

Spy raised his eyes to finally look at his colleague with something else in his eyes than blind rage. The way that Sniper traced the lines on his hand, how he delicately handle his palm, it all surprised him. The man lived in a van, in the most rustic way, yet he was holding his hand like he would a delicate flower. The tickling of his index tracing the lines through Spy's palm was almost poetic.  

The Frenchman hid his face with his other hand. 

"Hey…" 

Sniper got even closer. Now their thighs were touching and Spy felt an arm wrap around his back, pulling him to his friend. Without a second thought, he bent on his side and leaned on Sniper's side, his head below the Australian's chin, closing his eyes. 

The marksman got surprised by the suddenness but didn't question it and hugged his friend, lacing his other arm on his left shoulder.

"I don't care why you're annoyed. I just want it to stop. No one wants to see you like that. I watched you during dinner. You were fumin' with rage and you didn't eat much. 's not good."

The vibrations of Sniper's voice travelled through the Frenchman and made his insides relax. There was something about his voice and the embrace. Spy needed more of it. He wrapped his arms around Sniper and buried his head deeper in his friend's chest. He wanted to say something, anything! But the words failed him. 

"So that's what you needed all along? A good hug?" 

Of course, Spy stayed mute. Was his clinging to his friend's polo shirt not enough of an answer? 

But suddenly Spy felt Sniper moving, pulling him. His eyes snapped open as he followed his friend's movements, not really understanding what he was doing. Sniper kept him close all along and soon stopped moving, when he was laying on his back, on the sofa, his feet dangling off of it. Spy was on top of him, his arms still around Sniper's sides and his head below his chin. That way, the Australian couldn't see how hard he was frowning… 

The Frenchman would never admit how much he loved the embrace. And Sniper's hand brushing his back and his other one behind his head... Non, Sniper had understood what Spy needed and wordlessly obliged, without the grumpy one even having to ask. 

There was a blanket on the nearby armchair. The Australian extended his arm and took it. The next thing Spy knew, he was sandwiched between the softness of the duvet and the warmth of Sniper's body.

He squeezed Sniper tighter for an instant. 

"You're welcome. Now, try and get some sleep, will ya?" 

Spy raised his head of his friend's chest and looked him in the eye. 

"Merci." [Thank you.] 

Sniper was looking at him with a smile. He cupped Spy's head and left a silent kiss on his forehead, on the fabric of the mask. Spy's eyes opened wide. With one hand he swiftly removed the mask and threw it away, and ignoring Sniper's total shock, he looked up at him and asked him with his eyes… 

The Australian took a second to process what had just happened and he devoured his friend's face with his eyes. He put his palms on the Frenchman's naked cheeks and slid his fingers up through his hair. Spy closed his eyes, focusing on the touch on his face. He was really just thanking that one man whose patience was infinite with him. 

Sniper pulled him and kissed, not his forehead.

[citrinekay]

I've had a prompt rolling around in my brain the past couple of days, I keep thinking of Holden's car breaking down in the rain, and he has to make his way to a payphone, and he calls Bill, because he doesn't know who else to call. I keep thinking about Bill being worried he'll get sick because he's soaking wet. Sorry if this is disjointed sending asks gives me anxiety >>

Nothing to worry about at all, hon. This makes perfect sense to me! Here you go, hope you enjoy 💕

Holden’s father had instilled a healthy respect for car maintenance in him from a young age, and he considers himself a responsible person when it comes to his possessions; but some things just can’t be foreseen. There were no warning signs, no little lights popping up on his dash to tell him that something was wrong, but still, as his car sputters out on the side of the road, he figures this is somehow his fault. 

It’s late evening on a Friday, the ragged conclusion of a long week out of state on consult. It’s no more than a thirty minute drive between the airport and his apartment, but his little Nova, which up until this very moment had been trustworthy and faithful, couldn’t make it that far. On top of everything else, it’s raining. Not a mist or a drizzle, but a deluge that rolls from the rumbling sky in unrelenting gusts that don’t appear to be stopping anytime soon.

 As the engine clicks and dies on the gravel shoulder of the road, Holden leans his forehead against the steering wheel to brace back a wave of tearful dismay. Not only does he usually leave car repair up to knowledgeable professionals, but he’d also been looking forward to crawling into his own bed after an arduous week spent tracking down a pedophile and murderer. 

A rift of anger rises up from his sudden despair, and he leans back to strike the wheel with the heel of his hand. 

“Fuck!” The curse chokes from his throat, punctuating the steady drum of rain against the metal exterior of the car. 

He breathes heavily into the silence for a long moment until the initial rush of panic and alarm fades. He tries to think clearly about his options. He should call someone. But who? It’s much too late for shops to be open, and he doesn’t want to call the police department and create a scene. He could call a cab, but that might take awhile. And before he can pursue any of those options, he has to find a phone to even call from first.

Holden rubs his tired eyes, and scans the street. 

He knows where he is. Just think … Payphone. The corner of Mission Street and Jackson Road. Two blocks away. 

“Fuck.” Holden says, aloud, again. 

He’s exhausted, and he doesn’t want to walk two blocks in the pouring down rain; but what other choice does he have?

Gathering his collar up around his neck, Holden draws in a deep breath, and shoulders his way out of the vehicle. The rain is coming down so hard that he’s almost instantly soaked, his hair drenched and plastered to his head, his trench coat barely concealing his shivering body from the biting gust of cold wind and stinging droplets. 

For a moment, he thinks about climbing back into his car and waiting it out, but he doesn’t want to face the possibility of the rainstorm persisting through the night. Putting his head down, he trudges away from his car in the direction of Jackson Road. 

The shoulder of the street is washed out in the rain, creating a treacherous obstacle course of sliding gravel, loosened rocks, miry sludge, and muddy puddles, two of which he manages to step directly into. It’s difficult to see with his eyes squinting shut against the driving rain and the scarce streetlamps lining this particular strip of deserted asphalt. 

If his car had broken down just two blocks later, he would have been in a much better position. There’s a tavern and gas station at the intersection along with the payphone, some sign of civilization that this forested stretch of road where he’s abandoned is absent of. 

Holden clenches his jaw and drags his coat more tightly around himself as a fresh clench of frustration seizes his chest. Part of him wants to sit down on the side of the road just to rest his trembling legs, but he pushes on, determined to get to the payphone in as little time as possible. 

Eventually, he approaches Jackson Road, a darkened street of shops with only the neon blow of the tavern sign smudged against the black sky in rain-drizzled reds and greens to light the way. Across the street, the gas station with two sad pumps is illuminated by a few overhead lights that attract more insects than people at this time of night. The phone booth stands like a beacon at the corner of the intersection, interior lit by a single, bare bulb. 

Holden rushes to the payphone, relief washing through his chest. The sliding door protests on rusty, jammed hinges as he grabs the handle, and it takes a few forceful pulls to get it open far enough for him to slip inside. 

The steady, cold patter of rain on his cheeks cuts off abruptly as he stumbles into the glass enclosure. Bracing a hand against one wall, he draws in a shuddering breath and tries to subdue the bone-deep, chilled shiver running through his body. 

His relief lasts bare seconds. Now what?

Turning to the pay phone, Holden tucks his hand in his pocket to search for coins. As he sorts out the quarters, he bites anxiously at his lower lip. The booth has no telephone book, and he doesn’t know any numbers for a cab off the top of his head. Nervously jostling the quarters in his hand, he glances down at his watch. 

10:35. Christ, it’s late. 

Holden presses his eyes shut as a solution rises in the back of his mind. He can feel rain dripping from his hair and sluicing down his cheeks, absorbing through his clothes to chill his skin. His belly shudders from deep inside and his feet hurt, cold and miserable from the long walk in the storm. He’s stranded, and he doesn’t have any other choice. 

Shoving aside his nerves, Holden feeds the quarters into the narrow slot and listens to them fall to the bottom with a metallic clatter. He picks up the phone, and slowly dials the number he knows by heart. 

As he listens to the shrill ring of the phone, he feels a sudden wave of emotion crawl up the back of his throat. He’s thinking rapidly and all at once: Please pick up. Please don’t be mad. Please help me. And finally: Well, this is just fucking pathetic, isn’t it? 

The phone rings six times, and he thinks about hanging up. He could call the operator and get a cab service. He could call the police and they would be more than happy to send someone out - it’s their job after all. His anxiety is about to overwhelm him when the repetitive tone cuts off, and the line rustles with movement.

“Hello?” Bill’s voice is muted and raspy with confusion. 

“Bill.” Holden says, pressing his eyes shut. His cheeks flush with heat that competes with the chill of the rain. 

“Holden?” Bill’s sleepy confusion quickly breaks out into concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m sorry it’s late. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What’s going on?”

“I, um … I just got back into town, and my car broke down, if you can believe it.” Holden says, a nervous chuckle rising from the back of his throat. 

“Oh, man, talk about shit luck. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. I just …”

“Where are you?”  

“Well, my car broke down back on Ellis, but I’m at the payphone at Mission and Jackson.”

“Shit, it’s raining cats and dogs. I hope you didn’t walk all that way.”

“How else would I have gotten here?”

“Jesus, you must be freezing.” Bill says, his tone taking on a note of worry. “Stay inside. I’m on my way.”

“Thanks. And I’m really sorry about this. I know it’s late and it’s an inconvenience and-”

“Don’t worry about it. Now the sooner we get off here the sooner I can come pick you up.”

“Right.”

“Okay, stay put. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks, Bill.”

“Yep.” Bill says, quickly, before hanging up. 

Holden puts the phone down, and leans back against the cold glass partition. Relief surges through his chest at the prospect of not having to walk one more foot in the rain, but despite Bill’s eagerness to help, he’s still anxious. Ever since Atlanta, they’ve been walking around on egg-shells with each other. Holden doesn’t want to intrude on Bill’s privacy as he goes through his divorce, and Bill seems too focused on his own problems and work to regard Holden’s tenuous grasp on his panic disorder. He’d never wanted to be a nuisance or create problems he couldn’t solve on his own. He’d never wanted to be babysat, or for anyone to think he needed supervision - but apparently he had; and now he’s facilitating yet another situation that Bill is required to pull him out of. He wants to pick the phone back up and call just to say “You’re not mad about this, are you?” But Bill has probably already left the house. 

Drenched and shivering, Holden cowers in the phone booth for the next fifteen minutes until he sees Bill’s car through the smudged pane of glass. 

Bill pulls up at the curb, and climbs out of the car. Rain dampens his hair and the shoulders of his trench coat as he pulls a blanket out of the passenger’s seat and carries it across the sidewalk to where Holden is slipping out of the booth. 

“Thanks for coming.” Holden says, blinking against the surge of rain. “You brought me a blanket?”

“Yeah. Jesus, look at you.” Bill says, his brow pinching with worry as he unfurls the blanket. 

Lowering his head, Holden revels in quiet disbelief as Bill drapes the blanket around his shoulders, and draws it closed at his chest. 

“Come on, you’re going to catch a cold.” Bill says, his hand bracing against the middle of Holden’s back to lead him towards the car. 

Holden quietly lets Bill guide him to the passenger’s side and hold the door open for him. Slipping into the vehicle, Holden lets out a shuddering sigh of relief at the warm air blasting from the dashboard vents. 

Bill jogs around the hood of the car, and climbs behind the wheel. When he pulls the door shut behind him, the interior falls into silence except for their muted, heavy breathing, and the quiet sound of Holden’s teeth shivering against one another. 

“You okay?” Bill asks. 

“Yeah.” Holden whispers, his voice unsteady with a chilled tremor.

 He slips his eyelids open to peek across the car at Bill. His face is illuminated in the pale light from the dashboard, rain-slick lips pursed into a grim line of worry, his usually perfectly combed hair flattened with the rain. He doesn’t look angry.

“I’m really sorry about this.” Holden whispers, drawing the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “It’s so late-”

“I said not to worry about it.” Bill says, firmly but gently. “Frankly, I’d be more upset if I found out later that this happened and you didn’t call me.”

Holden glances back down at his lap where his numb fingers are white-knuckled around the blanket. It has that foreign smell of someone else’s house lightly concealed by the ashy sting of cigarettes. Abruptly, he feels like crying again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bill asks. 

Holden nods, pressing his eyes shut. “I’m just really tired.”

“Okay, let’s get you home.” 

Holden turns his face toward the window where the storm outside continues to rage. The car softly lurches into motion as a tear stings the corner of his eye. He lifts his chin against his cheek to let the emotion absorb into the soft microfiber of the blanket along with the rain. It takes him just as long the drive back to his apartment for him to realize that he isn’t just overwrought or extremely tired, but relieved - as if he’s been holding his breath since Atlanta, waiting for everything to spill over between them, waiting for Bill’s disapproval to come crashing down on his fragile shoulders. It hasn’t come, and apparently it never will; he’s been shadowboxing with lying ghosts. 

At his apartment, Bill shuts off the engine, and climbs out of the car. Holden steps out onto the street on the other side, letting the blanket slide from his shoulders. 

“I’ll walk you in.” Bill says.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Bill circles around the car, his expression determined and unwavering. He waves a finger at the drooping blanket. “Come on, put that back on.”

“It’s yours, I don’t want to take it.”

“You know how long that thing has been sitting in my closet for?” Bill asks, pulling the blanket back up around Holden’s neck. He nods toward the building. “Come on, the blanket is the least of my worries. I don’t want you getting sick.”

Holden doesn’t protest again as Bill leads them across the street to the lobby. He punches in the door code with cold, shivering fingers that he quickly sticks back underneath the blanket when the door unlocks. 

In the elevator, neither of them say a word, but Bill’s hand is tucked loosely against Holden’s lower back. It’s not grabbing or forceful, just resting there almost protectively. When Holden closes his eyes, he can feel the weight of it more than the bone-chilled shivers running all the way to the core of his body. 

Holden leads the way to his door, and drags his keys out of pocket with numb fingers. 

“You should get out of those wet clothes right away.” Bill says, quietly.

Holden nods. “I will.”

“Good. The last thing we need is you catching a cold or pneumonia.”

“Yeah.” Holden mutters, jiggling his key in the lock. 

“Hey,” Bill says, touching his elbow. 

Holden glances up from the lock, and Bill’s eyes are soft in the low light of the corridor, worried and unaccusing. 

“We need you.” He says, “So take care of yourself, okay?”

Holden’s throat tightens, and he nods. Shrugging his shoulders to indicate the blanket, he says, “I’ll get this back to you on Monday.”

“Sure. Keep it if you want.” 

Holden frowns softly as Bill gives him a pat on the back, and moves past him back in the direction of the elevator. 

“Let me know if you need a ride to work on Monday.” He says. 

“Thanks, I will.”

“Okay, see you then.”

Holden stands with his key in the lock as he watches Bill amble down the hall back towards the elevator. A slight smile tugs at his mouth. 

When Bill is out of sight, he gets the door open, and slips into his apartment with a sigh of relief. 

First, he drapes the blanket over the arm of the couch, and takes off his wet clothes. When he’s in clean, dry pajamas, he goes into the kitchen to boil water for tea, and as the kettle warms, shuffles into the living room where the discarded blanket is lying. Picking it up, momentarily holds it to his nose, and closes his eyes as he inhales the lingering, warm smell underneath the rain. If he washes it, that scent will be gone. 

Carrying the blanket into his bedroom, Holden uses clothespins to hang it from the curtain rod to dry. Faint light from the streetlamp filters through the microfiber, casting a soft, pinkish glow across his room. The cold in his bones is almost entirely melted away, and he feels warm again. 

[lunarkat87]

It's been so long since I posted to this blog. I guess I stopped when I lost touch with my best friend who was like a sister. I've been wishing I could talk to her for guidance for so long, but I had to let her go for myself. She was attempting to push a guy on me when I wasn't ready, and purely so I would have a reason to move back to our hometown. Didn't she remember how bad that place was for me? I was homeless for nearly 4 years, bouncing between places, never secure, just surviving. Every time we talked I could feel my energy depleting, but she was my best friend, so why would I leave her? She was getting married, so naturally she was focused a lot on that, and I was meant to be her maid of honor. And as the MOH, it was my job to stand up for the bride, and to get the bridal party in order. So when I saw how much they kept hurting her, and how she was more sad about her experience as a bride than happy, I stepped up to the plate. Me, the girl terrified of her own shadow on some days. But I did it, and she called me her only friend, and her other bridesmaids did not like it, so they ran to her.... and she called me a bully. It was in that moment that my heart was broken, that she could think I had bullied people into something. She was ultimately my soul mate, we were meant to be in each others lives... and suddenly I was reduced to this one word. And all the pain, all the hurt I had over the years preceding this came pouring out, how she guilt tripped me, how I needed her and she wasn't there, how just because it wasnt what she wanted to do she didn't stick to plans with me. How she blew me off time and again, and how she stopped seeing me and I always had to travel to see her. And it was done. And what broke my heart more was the relief that I felt after I sent her an email. I loved her, so why would I be relieved? But as I write this today, I wish I could talk to her. Because she was and has always only ever been, the person that understood me. Who understood my heart, my mind, my emotions. Who helped me heal from my ex-fiancé that cheated on me. On the days I felt like giving up, and not being able to see through the blinding pain she was there to support me. She sent me quotes, she texted me every day, she made sure I was okay. And she always knew deep down I wasn't, and she was okay with that. She didn't expect or need me to be. And I wish I could have her now, because as I write this that fragile heart that I had finally fixed, has broken and shattered all over again.

You see, I met a guy. It had been 2 years, and I was ready to open myself to the idea of love again, especially because I realized I did not love my ex anymore, nor had I for a long time. I had tried dating in between those years, but it never felt right, or like I was ready. But after spending time on my own and feeling empowered, I downloaded a dating app. But it wasn't long before I began to dislike it, I don't like judging based off of pictures, and only a few words. I was feeling discouraged, maybe I wasn't ready... but then the app pinged for someone they thought I might like. I saw him and thought, wow he is handsome, he has a smile that I could melt from, and.... was that a racoon on his head?? I had to know, and so I hoped he would respond. And there began my downfall, because he did.

We spent an entire week texting, and I found myself eager and smiling at my phone. I was actually excited, and couldn't wait to meet him in person. We even came up with nicknames... he was Cinna-Ron because he asked me if I thought he was as sweet as a cinnamon roll... and he was, but even more so. My heart pounded as I waited to meet at the boba shop where he would pick me up for our date. And when he finally arrived, he was even more amazing in person. And he brought me burgundy colored carnations, it was that moment I knew I'd love those flowers forever. He opened my door for me and was a true gentleman, and when he leaned in to kiss me, I felt the world slow and my heart stop. All I could think was "wow~" we spent the whole night together, talking and kissing and flirting and I was convinced I had never felt more alive. And so began my hope.... that evil, snaring, soul crushing light..... the hope that things would keep going well, and that he felt the same way. To my excitement he did, and it was like I had known him forever. I was so unbelievably happy, and excited, and absolutely terrified. Because deep down I knew he was going to break my heart.... and so I ignored all of my alarms, my instincts. "Run away, he is going to hurt you" "don't let him in, keep him at a distance" "this will only lead to pain" and I could feel my heart shake from fear... like it knew it wouldn't survive another fracture... but I stood my ground, I was going to fight myself and trust for once, because he was nothing like anyone I had ever met before. He made me feel safe, he was why I took so long to come back, because I wanted to give him a real unicumbered chance at loving me, instead of pushing him away. I was happy being alone, I was content with myself and who I was, but I wanted to share it.... so I let him in.

Not long after I began to have health issues, an excruciating pain developed in my abdomen that I never found a real answer for. I hurt my wrist at work, and was in a minor fender bender that hurt my upper back. I was in my last year of Nursing school, and so the stress began to overwhelm me and I started overeating again. Before I knew it I was 30 pounds heavier.... but worst of all the darkness started creeping back in.... here was my depression again.... and crippling anxiety.... it began to be too dark to see any light.... I failed 2 exams in my last semester.... but I still had hope and light because he was there. Reminding me I was smart and I could do it.... and when I opened up about my mental health, I told him I would understand if he didnt want to stay because he didnt sign up for that... and he told me he wasn't going anywhere.... and so I had some hope to hold onto.... because I knew the real Kat was in there still, but the world was piling it on and I was suffocating, and he was patient enough for me to get back to me again. A week later he changed his mind.... he decided he couldn't "reciprocate as strong of feelings" for me as I had for him. A polite way of saying he doesn't love me, and knew he never would. And just like that, hope was gone....

Did I imagine it? The last 8 months? Was I really the only one who fell in love? Did I misread all of his actions as just really strong like and not love? The only reason I was open about my feelings towards him was because I genuinely believed he felt the same, his actions spoke louder than his words, or lack thereof. And I said I would wait for when he was ready to say it back, because I wasn't going anywhere and he made me believe he felt the same.... little did I realize he had one foot out the door from the start of our relationship. He thought the feelings would grow but they never did.... so when he smiled at me and held me close did he feel nothing? Was there not a fire roaring in his chest for me? Did not every fear and care melt away? Did the sound of my voice not send a thrill through his heart? Did he not look at me and feel pure happiness? What happened? What went wrong? What changed? It was me. It had to be me. Why else would he decide this now? He couldnt see the girl he first met anymore, I was a whole new person to him and he did not like what he saw or how he felt with me. And so he decided it wasn't "fair" to me if he kept me because he couldn't "reciprocate as strong of feelings."

Ultimately I don't believe I ever really had a chance with him, because he kept me at a distance emotionally. I realize now he never truly opened himself to me, and when he saw how serious, how real a relationship with me could be. He chose to run instead of opening his heart to being hurt. So you know what, maybe I do deserve better than that. I deserved the person he made me believe be was, he started out all in but I didnt realize he had that foot out the door, especially after I told him those three words. He has an idea of what he thinks love is like and how it's supposed to last, but doesn't realize that love is different each time you find it. He always told me he loves love, so why didnt he want the love in front of him? I think he still holds his heart for the one girl he ever really loved. So he'll never find what he is looking for because each new person he brings into his world, he never really gives a chance to, they'll never fit that mold. How can he expect to love someone, if he doesn't allow himself to? And yet, here I am... still wondering why I was not enough.... it's never enough.... and so I've closed my heart to love permanently. Because I can't stand this pain.... I feel so tricked... and so betrayed... the only quote befitting this is by Bob Marley "The biggest coward of a man is to awaken the love of a woman without the intention of loving her." How do I trust love if it ever comes again? Because what I mistook for love from him, was apparently nothing.... how do I trust actions now? How do I trust myself? And how did I mean absolutely nothing to him? Why am I the only one hurting? How was I so blind? I was foolish to believe someone like him actually loved me... it never crossed my mind that he didn't... he never made me feel otherwise.... I hate this. But what can I do? He'll never regret this decision, that isn't like him. Why would he regret leaving someone he doesn't love? He'll never miss me, for the same reasons. I can't make him love me if he doesn't. I'll be a fleeting thought for him, but for me he'll always be that maybe. I'll always find myself wanting to talk to him, wishing I could be with him. And if he ever does find love, I'll likely envy that girl. Because she must be something truly special to awaken his love... so I'll go back to finding myself. I'll try to finish school amidst this chaos in the world, become a nurse, buy a house with a backyard for my dogs. And be content knowing that I don't want love, I don't want this pain. I reached for too much happiness and light, and so the universe has ripped all of that away from me, reminding me that I don't get that kind of contentment. School hangs in the balance, still unsure if they will be able to continue due to Covid-19. The man I thought loved me is gone, and my love with him. That bright shiny future I thought was waiting this year is gone. So now I'm lost to wander alone. But this time I choose to be, because this pain isn't worth my sanity, or my life. I'm tired of surviving, I want to live.... Goodbye my sweetest of cinnamon rolls... I know you'll never see this... but I hope you know the love I felt was real...

03/19/2020 2220

[seraphimluxe]

survival × b.b.

SUMMARY: Bucky woke up depressed today and it doesn't show any signs of letting up.

trigger warning

warnings: this is very dark. it's basically a description of depression with mentions of anxiety and winter soldier violent stuff. if that sounds remotely triggering to you, please skip it.

your mental health > being potentially triggered

I care so much about you, and I'm always here to talk 💞

a/n: hi🌻 i wrote this because I was researching ptsd, c-ptsd and the connection between them and depression, and I wanted to portray depression in a way that wasn't romanticizing it, fantasizing it, or making y/n cure it with a cup of hot cocoa. I know you don't just "wake up depressed" but I feel like with buckys trauma it could be triggered and come on quickly? if that makes sense? I hope this helps someone maybe feel not alone or less hopeless.

🌻 I really do love you. keep living babies 🌻

His mind is loud today.

The world around him is a wet towel that's been washed so many times it's lost its color, and he can't bring himself to care.

He lied in bed staring at the ceiling, watching the cool, midnight filter on his bedroom get cut through with warm sunlight.

It wasn't nice. It wasn't pleasant. It was another day, and today, he just didn't want that.

He felt stupid for sitting in bed– maybe guilty was a better word. He should get up, make himself useful, redeem himself, but the inflamed words in his head ached everytime he tried to think of anything.

What's the point?

He should go get breakfast, but what's the point? Why does it matter if he gets hungry? He should train, he should at least try to act normal, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care if he starves, he doesn't care if the blankets are hot and stuffy and disgusting on his skin.

it doesn't matter

He's just so numb. He truly doesn't have the energy to feel emotions today. His tank is on "E", and now he's empty.

His chest is so heavy. It's so heavy. His brow and lips are stuck in a frown, and his arm hurts so badly. Whenever he has a day like this, his arm aches like the day he got it.

Everything aches. His whole world is heavy and painful and it's suffocating.

The days of numbness and emotionlessness are the ones where he most feels like the soldier. Those are the days where he teeters on the line between Bucky and The Asset.

He doesn't feel like Bucky today. Not today. But then again he doesn't feel anything.

The only emotion he can welcome is guilt. He knows it's only a matter of time before all the avengers start noticing his absence, and start worrying about him. That makes him guilty. He feels guilty that Stark is letting him stay here, giving him food and a bed, and he has the balls to sit in bed and rot.

He feels guilty that he killed people, stole them from their families, loved ones. He stole their lives right away from them, and now he's just sitting here in bed, moping around like he's the one who lost something.

He doesn't understand how he was one of the deadliest assassins, he served in the war, he's a soldier, but today, he can't get out of bed. It's pathetic.

It takes hours for him to get out of bed, the alarm says it's almost noon. His brain runs on autopilot, taking up so much of his already absent energy. He goes to the bathroom, knowing it'll probably be the only time he's up today. He's proud of himself for making the walk there. It's the first taste of a real emotion today, it's almost nice before he's swallowed up by the darkness again.

The mirror in his bathroom told a horrible story and he didn't even recognize the soulless being looking back at him. He knows he should go down and at least get some water, show his face, maybe a snack if he can manage it.

He's forgotten the elevator ride as soon as he steps off. The world is still moving, still bustling outside like nothing's changed, it doesn't feel right. He feels like he's watching a movie, and he's the only one who knows something is wrong. It's so quiet, the walk to the kitchen feels like a walk through a museum, he's grateful he doesn't encounter anybody.

He gets a drink, the water tastes like nothing. He pours himself some cereal, and stares at it until it's soggy. It tastes like nothing too. He manages a few spoonfuls. He feels guilty about throwing away good food, so he just stares at it in hopes that it might disappear.

He wants to be back in bed.

Steve enters. He doesn't look like Steve. A cardboard cutout, or a bad drawing. He's unfamiliar.

Steve seems surprised to see him, Bucky knows that he knows something is wrong.

He gives up on the cereal, a sour taste in his mouth being the only thing that prompted another sip of water. It's silent except for Steve preparing his protein shake. He knows not to talk, he can sense the thickness and dark in the room. He knows his words won't cut through it, so he smiles and doesn't speak.

Bucky nods and abandons his cereal, aiming for bed again. When he occupies himself with walking or eating or just doing something, the screams in his head take over any other thoughts he would have. He sees them all in little flashes in his head. Every single person he's killed, everyone he's hurt, the flashes of blood, a gunshot, a final gurgling gasp, someone hiding under a desk, a neck snapping. He's almost glad he's numb today.

Every now and then there's a scene of him being beaten, him falling off the train, more of him being tortured and abused, insults in Russian, curious and demeaning eyes looking him over like he's a horse at an auction. These scenes hurt less than the others, but make anxiety well up in his chest and his lungs.

He knows he just needs to survive today. That's what Sam's told him, sometimes when it gets bad, you just gotta survive. Bucky forgot how bad it can be.

He's lived through 70 years of torture, beatings and mutilation, and right now, safe in his bed, he doesn't know how he's going to survive the next 24 hours. He knows it's just his mind, he knows things won't be bad forever, he knows there will be a day where he's happy again, he knows all that, but right now he can't see it.

So he survives. He lives through the minutes that last for hours, he lives when it gets dark and the scenes in his head begin to flash behind his eyelids. When he gets tired of breathing, he lives.

Tomorrow comes, and he's not healed. He's not "normal", but he's just a little bit better. He survived. He'll try his hardest to survive again today.

He lives for the moment when he'll be alive again, until then he'll survive.