#posts that feel specially targeted to me

[owlheartt]

I am so fixated on Mira oh my gosh! Like whyd she lose her eye? Ink probably took. I think. By the pmv you did it looks like he did. But inks also her friend. So whyd he go crazy. Also when did she lose her eye? Did dream and nightmare do anything about it? Did she do something to have her eye taken??? And Mira being some sort of mage or something is so cool. And the mask she has looking somewhat like a lamb could have a bunch on implications to it.

Dude, I wanna see inside your mind so bad! I wanna know more about your characters! Her story seems so cool! Sorry for rambling, but I'm hooked.

Drew this just for you <3<3<3 it answers none of your questions <3<3<3 there is another animatic coming it will also answer nothing <3<3<3 I can’t believe you like her I can’t wait to show you more

[ateliersss]

He Shan‘t Lose

Pairing: Yautja x F!Reader Summary: Mere two months ago, you returned home after the incident on Earth. Now you were back, ready to indulge yourself and go on the weekly "date night" with your mate. If only your unborn pup had better timing… Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 6,716 Part 1: here Part 2: here

⇨ Oh, I missed my Mi‘ytiar.

⇨ I can't believe I finally got this done and I'm able to present this to you. Also, my birthday, guys! God, I'm 20 and I already feel old. Please spoil me with comments, re-blogs and likes.

“Toyou, go! Go! Good boy.” You laughed as you watched your four-legged companion chase after the trail he had scented.

Hell Hounds, they were called, and probably the closest thing to a pet you could get on Yautja Prime. You learned quickly, after your first encounter with them, that they were similar to the hounds on Earth, and like hounds on Earth, they had one purpose — hunting prey.

Unlike a curious Beagle, a devoted Pointer or a stubborn Basset Hound, Hell Hounds were more similar to Yautjas than dogs, both in looks and characteristics. But you still could recognize some traits that reminded you of your childhood dog.

You didn’t hunt with Hell Hounds often — it was more special and intimate when it was just you and Mi‘ytiar — but your mate had insisted that at least one of them should accompany you. As experience showed, the two of you had to split up at times; sometimes he also kept in the shadows, high on top of a tree, to watch you hunt on your own. It was simply a safety measure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t handle the prey on your own. The creatures you hunted were either as small as a cat or as big as a horse. They were insignificant opponents, laughable for a Yautja and not nearly on their hunting standard, but Mi‘ytiar felt different. He didn‘t care how tiny or weak the prey was compared to him.

It wasn't about him, after all.

Those hunts were solely for you, so you could be a part of his culture without him having to worry about endangering your life. 

He had been ecstatic when you voiced your wish years ago for him to teach you how to hunt, how to track and kill as it was custom on his home planet. And even now, after you had exceeded his expectations, he still was immensely proud of you every time you succeeded.

No, Toyou wasn’t only there for tracking or for flushing out his targets, but also for guarding. You were in the final stages of your pregnancy, and your strength, your speed and your stamina had decreased, leaving you more vulnerable should prey ambush you. 

Speaking of Toyou, he had been gone for quite some time.

“Toyou?” You called, whistled, and waited for a moment for him to return to you.

When you neither could hear him bark or see him running towards you, you tried calling him again, “Toyou?”

And again.

“To–”

The other half of his name turned into a strained whimper as a stabbing pain pierced through your body, coming from your stomach. You stifled a scream, but when something wet suddenly ran down your legs, a shaky breath escaped your lips.

You knew what this meant.

Your water just broke.

“Oh no. Not now, my sweetling.”

Clutching your stomach, breathing in and out, you slowly approached a tree and practically slumped against it. One of your hands gripped the meaty texture of the tree trunk for support, the other snaked down and between your thighs. When you pulled your hand back, it was coated with the clear substance of the amniotic fluid.

And blood. There was also blood on your fingers, but it was nothing too alarming. When you had been pregnant with Akail, there had been blood too, but it was still an unsettling sight to you.

“Ahhh!” You cried out as another wave of agonizing pain washed through you, your head thrown back.

As much as you had enjoyed the mostly perfect pregnancy, you had completely forgotten about birthing the pup at the end. Maybe you had just pushed the whole thing aside, since the mere memory of Akail‘s birth was still able to install that deep-rooted dread within your body.

You went into labor when both moons were at their zenith.

Mi’ytiar, who had slept peacefully next to you, was hovering over you the second you tried to wake him up. 

It took one panicked look from you and he knew what was going on. 

He got up from his lying position on your nest and knelt beside you.

You had already pushed the furs you used as a blanket to the side and he saw your legs shining with moisture in the moonlight.

“My water broke.” You faintly answered his silent question. “Our little one is coming.”

Mi’ytiar was on high alert as he knew what that meant. 

He tried to lift you into his arms, his mind fully set on bringing you to Cahrein, the healer, but unfortunately a contraction hit you right at that moment. The pain plus the one you felt as Mi’ytiar lifted you up ripped a heart-wrenching scream from your throat. 

It hurt so very much that you punched him out of instinct, an instinct telling you to do anything to stop the pain, hitting him right in the face.

You looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh God, Mi‘ytiar. I’m so sorry.”

His heart clenched at that. 

You shouldn’t apologize. He’d barely felt the impact anyways, your human strength too weak to actually hurt him, but he didn’t deserve to not feel anything. 

He should have felt pain, should have been knocked from his feet.

He had hurt you, had caused you more pain than you were already feeling.

You noticed the guilty expression on your mate’s face and grabbed his hand. “It’s okay, tahní. It‘s o–”

You cut yourself off as you pressed your lips together while another contraction hit you.

“–kay. It’s okay.” You panted, “Just get Cahrein.”

Mi’ytiar shook his head determinedly as he placed his free hand on yours, which clasped his other hand in a death grip. 

“Cannot leave you.” He growled.

Another contraction made you cry out, “Mi’ytiar, please!”

It took a lot of persuasion for him to finally leave your side to get the healer.

You understood that he didn‘t want to leave you on your own, out of fear something bad would happen to you if he let you out of his sight only for a second, but you needed Cahrein to deliver your son safely.

The healer had gotten to work as soon as his eyes met your tiny, withering body. Putting aside the various instruments he had taken with him — you recognized them from one of your visits where he had shown you which ones he used for births — he helped you to remove the panties that you wore with the little piece of clothing you called nightie, which you had already pulled up, over your bulging stomach, and out of the way.

Usually, you and your mate slept naked with nothing shielding you from each other’s skin, but since you got closer and closer to due-day you wanted to be prepared. You wanted to keep at least a little of your dignity, not wanting to lie completely bare in front of Cahrein. 

Even though you knew he wouldn‘t care, taking his job far too seriously for that, your body in all its naked glory was meant for Mi’ytiar‘s eyes and Mi’ytiar‘s eyes only.

With your mate on one side and the healer on the other, you spent hours in indescribable agony.

Mentally, you were so far gone, blacking out for a second here and there. You barely caught how Mi’ytiar was insistently talking to you, or how Cahrein alternately injected you with a transparent and a bright green fluid.

It felt like a miracle when the unbearable pain decreased bit by bit, but not fully disappeared. Your fuzzy mind and your blurry view started to clear. 

With the pain now more bearable, you could finally focus on the natural instinct that told you to push.

What you didn’t know was that the following screams and cries woke up the clan in alarm, gathering almost everyone in front of your home, eagerly awaiting the new addition. 

This occasion was special, after all. Their fierce and mighty leader was expecting his first pup, something no one had expected to happen. Ever.

The tense uncertainty inside and outside of your home dissipated as soon as the whiny squeals of your newborn pup finally filled the air.

“Such a bad timing, my sweetling.” You mewled.

Tears were gathering in your eyes and you quickly blinked them away. You didn’t know if it was because of the pain of the contractions, which were now four minutes apart, or out of fear of being all alone in a hostile environment.

With your tongue between your teeth, you waited until the pain subsided, fully intending to call for your mate, but when you did, his name only escaped your lips in a short-winded whisper.

It was like you couldn’t breathe.

Biting back a sob, you formed your hand into a fist and hit your chest repeatedly, trying to get yourself to breathe regularly again. And when you thought you had enough air in your lungs, you bellowed, “Mi’ytiar!”

Your breath hitched and tears finally streamed down your cheeks. You bend your upper body forward and towards the tree, and pressed the palms of your hands against the tree trunk. With your head facing the ground, tears left your eyes, rolled down the bridge of your nose before dripping down the tip to the forest floor.

You were crying and panting, your body clenching every time another contraction hit you.

“Mi’ytiar, please, please… I need you… please, please.” You begged, your voice barely audible.

Contentment.

That’s all you could feel as you adjusted your lying position on the soft fur and the woolen and cotton fabrics of your nest. It was living up to its name as it reminded you of an actual nest, a bird’s nest; just as round but with more comfortable materials. Mi’ytiar had been very picky, something that amused you to no end.

That and the fireplace embedded into the floor, enclosing the round platform the nest was on, kept you warm and cozy.

You and the pup that was sleeping on your chest.

Little Akail let out little purrs while he enjoyed the warmth of his mother’s body that kept him tranquil and happy.

Only ten hours old and he already had such a significant place in this clan and his parent’s hearts.

You hummed quietly to your pup, only looking up from the endearing sight when Mi’ytiar entered your home and came to a halt in front of your nest, taking in the very welcome view of his (tantalizing naked) mate and his newborn son.

“Don’t get any ideas.” You warned him playfully when you noticed his heated gaze racking over your body.

“Back on Earth, some parents hold their babies like this. The skin and warmth forges a strong bond between them and the baby can get used to its parents’ touch.” You explained, your fingers slowly caressing Akail‘s back.

Mi’ytiar only clicked his mandibles in acknowledgment before he started to take off his armor and his traditional clothing as clan leader. 

You had to bite your lower lip, reminding yourself of your own scolding words only seconds ago, but you simply couldn’t help yourself. Your mate was a fine specimen, a strong and gorgeous Yautja. You were one hell of a lucky woman.

You watched him get on the nest, now only dressed in his loin cloth, and he moved on his knees towards you. 

You wrapped an arm around Akail — still curled up into a ball with his head tucked under your chin and his feet resting on your belly — and got up into a sitting position.

Mi’ytiar grabbed you by your thigh and hip, lifted you up and pulled you to him so you were sitting on his thighs while your legs were wrapped around the width of his hips.

He lopped his arms around you, drawing you into an embrace, so little Akail was now nestled between both of his parents’ warm bodies.

The smile that had grown on your lips since the moment Mi’ytiar had entered your home was now so bright and wide your cheeks started to hurt. 

But you didn’t really care. You couldn‘t hide the sheer happiness you were feeling right now at this moment.

You felt movement against your throat and above the valley of your breasts, and when you looked down as best as you could manage, you saw Akail nuzzle his face into your skin while his tiny hand was now lying on your chest where your heart was beating.

You wanted to cry happy tears.

You had never expected to become a mother, never planned on it, never even remotely wanted it if you were being honest, but having your baby now in your arms made every antipathy disappear. 

You placed a soft kiss on Akail‘s head, using as little pressure as possible so he wouldn’t wake up.

“He’s perfect.” You whispered and looked up at Mi’ytiar who was already watching you intently. “Are you happy?”

He cocked his head to the side, his chest vibrating when he confirmed, “Happy.”

He felt Akail‘s small body against his own, felt his tiny body press against his every time he was breathing.

Breathing.

A beating heart.

Alive.

He loosened the embrace of one of his arms around your body to reach between the two of you and for his son, his fingers tracing from Akail‘s forehead to the back of his head — there, he had the same scale pattern as his father, only with reversed colors — and from his temple over the hints of dreads on each side of his little head with his thumb.

Akail was indeed perfect, just like his mother, and he loved him with all his heart already, but the price he almost had to pay for having him here…

“I thought I would lose you today.” He admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

You lifted your head from where it had been resting on his chest to look up at him with a small smile.

“For a second, I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would never meet our son." You nodded, thinking about the sharp pain and the feeling of life leaving your body as your pup fought his way out of you. “But Cahrein had prepared me as well as he was able to. He helped me through it. Who knows, hadn’t he injected me with your blood…”

You trailed off when Akail began to stir. You quickly started to rock him up and down, luring him back to sleep.

“He’s a very gifted male. I’ve trusted him with my life since the first time we visited him together after my arrival here so many moons ago.”

You adjusted your arm and its hold on Akail, the other reached up and cupped Mi’ytiar’s cheek. You let your fingertips glide over the scaly texture of his skin and dragged them over his jaw to his chin, down his throat to the middle of his chest.

“He also told me that I would be able to give you another pup in a foreseeable future…”

Mi’ytiar frowned, asking skeptically, “After what you gone through today?”

You shrugged and leaned your head forward, your cheek pressed against his pec. “I’m not talking about now or tomorrow, my love, but someday. In a few years, maybe.”

Mi’ytiar bristled, a loud rumble shaking his torso. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” He shook his head, a very human gesture in your eyes. “You almost died.”

You smiled into his skin. Protective through and through, even when it came to his own offspring.

You were incredibly lucky to be chosen by a Yautja like him. 

It was rare for them to be interested in a human. It was rarer for them to treat that human like an equal instead of a slave or one of many lovers. It was the rarest for a human to be injected with Yautja blood to largely adapt to their DNA and enable life on their planet.

And Mi’ytiar told you himself — you were the only human ever being Life-Mated to a Yautja who carried his offspring and had a similar leading role as him as the mate of a leader; all in one.

You were the rarest of the rarest, a uniqueness, something completely new.

But humans had birthed Yautja-Human-hybrids long before you, most of them more than one or two.

“The next time will be different, Mi’ytiar. My body will be stronger and mentally I will be more prepared.” You told him and peppered his chest with feather-light kisses before you looked up at him again, a loving smile on your lips. “You shan’t lose me.”

You whimpered in relief when you finally heard the familiar growling bark of a Hell Hound. 

“Toyou!” You called, “I’m… here!”

You felt something move under you and fill the free space between your bend-over position against the tree. You opened your eyes, which you had closed to calm yourself and your breath, and looked down to see the Hound’s face already fixed on yours.

“N‘yaka-de. Get him.” You panted and watched as Toyou turned around to run.

When he suddenly stopped to walk hesitantly back to you, not liking the fact he was about to leave you behind who was obviously in distress, you stomped with your foot and yelled, “Toyou, fucking now!”

He darted off and you felt a tinge of guilt for lashing out. After all, he was loyal and a surprisingly good cuddle partner.

“Argh!” You cried out when another stabbing sensation almost made your legs give out.

Once again it felt like you were being torn apart, but at least you didn‘t feel like you were closer to death than life like at Akail‘s birth over 30 years ago. You were kind of proud of yourself, actually, considering you were still able to stand. 

Yeah, standing against a tree for support instead of lying in your warm and soft nest where you had actually planned to deliver your second pup. You didn‘t want to give birth in an unsafe environment, with no Mi’ytiar and no Cahrein. 

But who would have expected that your pup was ready to be welcomed into the world on a hunt?

You did. 

You had felt premature labor pains for two days now, but you hadn’t paid them any mind as Akail was born only six days after those pains had started. 

But even those pains had felt different in those two days, so why hadn‘t you just listened to your body when it undoubtedly told you “No!” while you answered Mi’ytiar‘s question “Hunt?” with an enthusiastic “Yes!” ?

You knew the answer to that, too. 

While women on Earth had to stop certain activities at one point in their pregnancy and were limited in their doings, Yautja females could still follow their everyday lives throughout their whole pregnancy. Meaning, they could still jump from one obstacle to another, chase their prey and kill it. 

Thinking that you were able to do that too had been utterly stupid and arrogant, but you just didn’t want to seem weak. Yes, the clan had accepted you and saw you as one of them, as the mate of their leader, but you couldn’t stop the suffocating need to prove yourself again and again.

It was unnecessary. Mi’ytiar had told you that, Cahrein had told you that, the Females you liked to spend your time with and considered friends told you that and, hell, even a few Males that were close to your mate told you that.

But here you were, crying and groaning, when another contraction cursed through your body. You regretted leaving your cozy home, regretted not being pampered by your loving mate in your nest, and regretted leaving your son behind, who had been by your side all the time, hovered over you in case he had to step in should you need anything in your state, followed you around like a lost puppy if you weren’t napping in your nest.

It reminded you of the time when he had been much younger and much smaller. He had been practically attached to your hip and everywhere you went, he was there. He had been such an adorable and shy little boy. Who were you kidding? He still was, but you missed those times anyway. He had grown up too fast.

You were nervous.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, you watched the hustle and bustle in the distance. They were preparing for the departure of the five Young Bloods who would soon leave for a faraway world to hunt and complete their initiation into Adulthood.

Among them was your son, your Akail, who would leave you for who knows how long to presumably search for the largest and most dangerous beast and kill it to prove himself.

Just like his father, you thought.

In the first year of your relationship, Mi'ytiar had told you everything imaginable about himself, and one evening about his own initiation ritual. He had told you how reckless and sure of himself he had been as a Young Blood, how he threw himself into danger to impress his clan.

Although that had secured his position as leader, he’d summoned his son the day before to admonish him to proceed with caution, to be logical and strategic, and to not let arrogance control him.

Lost in worried thoughts, you didn't notice as Mi'ytiar approached you, dropped to one knee and pulled you to his torso with his strong arms. He nuzzled his face into your hair, his mandibles running through it.

He loved your hair. It was just as soft as the rest of you.

“What on your mind, yawne?” He asked.

“I’m scared.” You breathed.

“On your home planet, oomans worry too when child leaves?”

You put your hand on one of his arms that was wrapped around you. “They do, but not like this. On Earth, human children leave the safety of their homes every day to go to school, to learn, and then they will return. In a few hours Akail will leave the safety of his home to finish school, so to say, but will he return?” You told him absentmindedly, your attention still fixed on the ship. “Human parents don't have to fear that particular day when their children go on a journey to possibly get killed just because of a custom.”

You felt his arms tighten around you. “Do not be scared.” He said.

“I can’t help it. I’m his mother.”

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle that sounded more like a growl than an actual laugh.

“And I his father.” He said and turned you around, not loosening the close embrace. “I trained him well. Made him strong and made him smart. Doubting my skills, yawne?”

Although he had already lowered himself, reducing his height to be closer to you, you still had to raise your head to look at him.

God, you loved his eyes. Even though there were rare variations at times among their kind — sometimes a lighter shade, sometimes a darker shade, sometimes more orange than yellow — the eyes of all Yautja had the same color.

But to you, Mi'ytiar’s eyes were different, even though one couldn’t possibly spot a difference when he was standing next to other Yautja. To you, they were brighter, more intense, more expressive. Or maybe it was just the way he looked at you, with so much gentle affection and love you wouldn't credit a beast of his stature with.

“Of course I’m not. I could never.”

You suddenly could feel large arms engulfing your body from behind, pulling you into an upright-standing position, and you just let yourself instinctively fall into their embrace.

You knew those limbs, knew their warmth and their strength.

“Mi’ytiar, the pup… the pup is coming.” You panted and dug your fingernails into his forearm.

You felt him move behind you. He lifted you up, his arms supporting your back and the back of your knees as he held you to his torso. He briefly registered how you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck before he took off.

He ran like he never did. At the same time, he was careful not to let your body jolt around too much as he jumped over fallen tree trunks and climbed rocks to reach the Scout Ship while you clung to him.

Every time a contraction hit, he could feel your body tense in his arms and your mouth press against his chest as you muffled another scream.

Oh, how he wished he could take away the pain, but at least it wasn’t as horrible as it was at Akail’s birth.

Mi’ytiar remembered your glistening tears and your little withering body, how you had squeezed his hand so hard that even he had felt pain and how you had begged both him and Cahrein to stop it. Especially the fear of death in your eyes haunted him to this day.

He had almost lost you — you, his precious human — all those years ago and it had been his entire fault.

The possibility of becoming a father had been zero, non-existent, and at one point in his life, he had accepted the fact that he may be not meant to be a father. He stopped caring and someday just forgot about it entirely. The wish to continue his line like any proud leader faded away and instead he settled for the idea of passing on his knowledge and experiences to the pups and Younglings of his people.

Then he met you, this petite beautiful thing, when he was lounging on a building near an alley. He heard you before he saw you, heard you and them.

They were calling you strange names and were whistling after you before they decided to follow you down the street. Trying to escape them, you took a left turn and quickened your strides as you crossed the alley.

Mi’ytiar, who was attracted by the noises, slid down the rooftop and soundlessly landed on the metal balcony of one of the apartments. Even from the third floor, he had a perfect view of what was happening down in the alley as the men grabbed you, pushed and pulled on you, and he felt mildly impressed when you started fighting back; kicking, scratching and screaming.

The men’s playful, taunting behavior quickly turned fatal when one of them, fed up with your attempts to flee, slapped you so hard across the face that you stumbled back, tripped over your own feet and fell backwards to the ground.

Your screams quickly turned desperate when one of them pushed up your skirt and tore on your panties, mumbling something about teaching you a lesson, while his companions held you down.

At this point, Mi’ytiar knew something had been wrong. Mating between a Yautja male and female consisted of fighting each other, too, but not like this; not with more than one male and not with the female resisting long after the male fought the female into submission.

Your behavior told him everything he needed to know — you weren’t even close to being interested in mating with those males — and before things could get any worse, he jumped down and killed those who forced themselves on you.

By the time four bodies in various morbid states of dismemberment were littering the alley, your whole body was trembling as you stayed on the ground, cowering.

He had crouched down to your level and one of his bloodied claws reached out to touch your face, your horror-widened eyes watching him with caution.

To him you were what a kitten was to a human. You were so small, he noted, so small and soft and pink. He also thought you were beautiful, contrastive to what Yautja usually thought about your kind. He took you with him that night and the rest was history.

Even though you weren’t a suitable mate, his clan begrudgingly accepted the idea of a human being with their leader. He couldn’t have pups anyway, so why not just let him indulge himself and let him seek happiness and pleasure in other things?

And then, one day, you told him about your wish to carry his pup. He had been excited, absolutely ecstatic, but not about the image of your rounding belly with his offspring — he knew he was unable to have one — and rather about the fact that you were willing to mate with him in a way that could lead to a child. The fact you loved him and trusted him enough was all he cared about.

As much as he loved his son, he should have done something the second both of you learned that you were pregnant. He had been so overjoyed his human mate was extraordinarily able to have his pup that he never thought about possible consequences.

Anyone would have had serious doubts and would have objected because there was no way a human would survive that, but Mi’ytiar didn’t, too blown away by the prospect of becoming a father.

That changed as the day of the pup being due crept closer and closer, and slowly worry and fear set in.

And to make one thing clear: if you hadn’t been injected with Yautja blood from the beginning — first daily, then weekly, then monthly, until it stopped years ago — you wouldn’t have made it and Akail would have torn you apart from the inside out.

He was glad that Cahrein had kept a cool head and realized that his blood would help you when all other means had failed.

It was like history was repeating itself as he tried to focus on the task at hand — getting you to the ship — and not let the fluid running down his arms and body distract him. He wished he hadn’t dared to look down, to look down and see the blood you were losing, coming from a source that was his fault.

Why did he let you convince him to have a second pup? Why did the mere thought of getting you pregnant again make him so ignorant of your near-death experience? Why did he listen to Cahrein when he told the both of you that another pup was possible? Why did he forget that you weren’t like his kind?

His heavy, thumping footsteps suddenly sounded different, and when you pulled your face away from his chest to look around, you noticed the soft earth of the forest had been replaced by the cold metal of the ship.

As careful and gentle as he could in his rattled state, he put you down on the closest surface he could find — the table used for planning, briefing and orientation with several holo-maps — and slammed his fist down on the surface. He growled and hissed a few words you couldn’t understand. Your translating earpieces were perfectly fine, but your brain was only picking up the pain shooting through your body instead of noticing any stimuli from your surroundings.

You were so out of it, the tears blurring your view, that you missed the conversation between Mi’ytiar and the holographic image of Cahrein.

“Mi’ytiar.” Cahrein greeted his leader in the customary way of placing his left fist on the right side of his chest while slightly bowing down his head.

“The pup is coming.” Mi’ytiar said without hesitation, straight to the point.

Cahrein rounded the table to stand next to him and he leaned over you to get a better look at you. He reached out to grab your calves to open your legs, but his hands went right through you.

“Pauk. I can’t help her like this. You have to bring her here.”

“No.” You cried out, answering before Mi’ytiar could even open his mouth. “The pup is coming now.”

Cahrein looked conflicted, contemplating about what to do next as he was restricted in his actions. He could already tell that this was going to be hard.

“Mi’ytiar, I packed a Medicomp for emergencies when you said you two would go hunt. Get it.”

You let out a whine when your mate disappeared from your side, which was quickly occupied by the healer who noticed your distress. “Calm, (Y/N), calm.”

“It hurts so much.” You cried out.

“I know.” He retorted and eyed the red fluid running down your thighs to your calves, dripping down your toes. “You need to take off your clothes.”

With trembling hands, you started to open the pants-like cloth that hugged your legs like a second skin and circled them from your ankles up to your hips. You struggled with the complicated lacing and cursed as you began to rip on them out of frustration.

Bigger hands replaced yours and when you looked up, you saw that Mi’ytiar had returned and stood between your legs. He used his sharp claws to cut the cords open and he pulled the rest of the garment down. He was more considerate with the bloodied panties underneath and tried not to rip them, although you believed that they were irreversibly ruined.

The first and last time he had torn your panties to shreds, you had scolded him for it after he was done fucking you from behind like a dog in his rut. You didn’t have much of your human clothes left — most of it had been replaced by self-made clothes of local fabrics inspired by their style anyway — but what you definitely wanted to keep was your underwear. So when Mi’ytiar returned to you one day from a spontaneous trip to Earth with a dozen new undies, you had been more than thankful.

Mi’ytiar grabbed your ankles, placed both of your feet flat on the table and spread your thighs apart, stepping aside for Cahrein to finally take a look at you.

The healer’s holo-image got down on his knees and peered between what was happening between your legs.

You wanted to hide and press them back together, but you knew that it wasn’t much of help and just let him do his thing. Instead, you let your head loll to the side and looked at your mate.

Mi’ytiar had his hands in fists, keeping them tightly pressed to his sides, and he watched Cahrein with concern and something else in his eyes. You knew he was worried about you. He tried to hide it, tried putting his true feelings behind the mask of a collected and strong leader and warrior like he always did in dicey situations, but you could see right through it.

“And?” He urged Cahrein to finally give him an answer.

“She is ready. She has to push.”

“What about the blood?”

“Incidental. She has to push.”

So that’s what you did.

Taking a deep breath and gripping the edge of the table for the support, you strained every muscle in your body. The resulting, blood-curdling scream even got the two Yautja to flinch and Mi’ytiar lunged forward. He pried your fingers away from the table where you had been holding on for dear life, and intertwined them with his. You instantly squeezed them and Mi’ytiar let out a surprised hiss.

After a moment, your tense body slumped down. It simply gave up after not being able to endure the pain any longer.

“You need to keep going.”

“I can’t.” You hiccuped, choking on your tears as you shook your head vehemently.

“You can. You did this 30 years ago. It was impressive. I never expected such a tiny creature to survive, but you did. You will again.” Cahrein turned to Mi’ytiar and pointed to the Medicomp. “Take the syringe, take your blood and inject it.”

Rather reluctantly, he loosened the hold you had on him and opened the Medicomp. He rummaged through it, found the syringe, and jabbed it into the flesh of his arm, uncaring of the following pain. You were far more important than anything else right now.

While he filled the syringe with his fluorescent-green blood, Cahrein was talking to you and encouraged you to keep going. He tried to distract you and keep your mind from drifting off to a place of no return.

“Something is wrong.” He murmured after a while.

He had watched Mi’ytiar inject you with three doses of his blood already, but you still were in agonizing pain. You even had lost consciousness twice, something that hadn’t even happened when you birthed your first pup.

You squeezed your eyes shut and only opened them again when the pain subsided a bit. “W-What?”

“You should have started crowning already, but you don’t.”

“Why?” You asked in a long-drawn cry.

Cahrein, for the first time in over thirty years, looked baffled and completely clueless. He couldn’t explain it as he had no idea himself. There had never been complications when the females of his clan gave birth. You were the only exception.

“What are typical problems that arise for oomans during childbirth?” He asked, not knowing what else he could do.

It took a moment until you became aware that you had been asked a question.

“Am-Amniotic fluid e-enters the bloodstream… the u-uterus tears… the ba-baby is in an abnormal p-position… it’s s-stuck…” You offered between pained huffs, trying to come up with as many options as you could think of. “In most emergencies, w-when a natural birth isn’t possible, they d-do a c-section… they cut into t-the woman’s belly a-and get the baby out... and then…”

Mi’ytiar wanted you to stop talking. He wanted you to stop putting images of your cut-open body in front of him. He wanted you to stop making him think of your lifeless form after the pup was pulled out of it.

“You have to incise into her abdomen. I will instruct you.” Cahrein finally said.

Mi’ytiar immediately straightened his back and let out a roar. “No!”

“If you do it, either the pup and (Y/N) survive, or just the pup... but if you do nothing, then they will both die.” Cahrein pressed and eyed you for a second.

You were running out of time.

“I… I can’t.”

He sounded defeated. You had never ever expected to see him like this — so vulnerable, so hopeless, so broken. He was the definition of strength, of courage, of accountability, of resilience, and now only a hollow shadow of the man he was was standing in front of you, thinking about the chance of losing his entire world.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t.

How could it be possible for him to live, breathe, without you?

He had a taste of a life he never wanted to leave, a life he wasn’t able to quit, a life only something as extraordinary as you could give him. Not because you were human, although that was probably one of the aspects, but because you were you.

He loved you.

You had taught him that love was the most valuable thing to a person. Love was worth more than anything else in life. It was such a strong, overwhelming feeling no one could put exactly into words until one actually felt it.

And he loved you.

“No, Mi’ytiar… you have to, you have to.” You urged him between panting breaths. “Save our… our baby. Forget me… ju-just save our son… please.”

Mi’ytiar looked down at you as you begged him to do something he wasn’t willing to do in a million years. Cahrein would have hesitated in his stead, but he wasn’t your mate and would have cut into you. Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, could never do something that would harm you.

But he already did, though. He had doomed you the second his seed took.

“Mi’ytiar!” Cahrein barked and pulled the male out of his thoughts.

His body was on autopilot when his hand reached for a scalpel-like tool from the Medicomp.

“Thank you, thank you!” You cried out.

The only thing you felt was relief as your body slowly went numb, tears clouding your view. Everything around you became blurry and Mi'ytiar started to disappear. The world around you grew darker and darker as he set the sharp blade onto your skin and slowly applied pressure, cutting into you until blood flowed onto the table, down to the floor of the ship, creating a red puddle.

You never even registered the feeling of him cutting you open.

Your body shut down before you could.

[genshin-scenarios]

android au - companions droids

Summary: In a modern-futuristic world, it is possible to create androids that are so advanced, they’re more or less human! There will be 5 android au posts total, each focusing on a different group.

They don’t produce more than a handful of copies of each model, meaning that each android is quite unique (with a matching price tag, too...)

The Anemo collection has companion androids who can pass off the easiest as people, each with their own notable personalities. 

Characters: Xiao, Wanderer, Venti, Kazuha, Heizou

More like this: Anemo androids who lost their previous user

Leaning more towards a protective role, Xiao is an android targeted towards users living alone or often traveling around at night. He’s a relatively quiet companion, happy to just listen to your rambling while you walk on the streets—Xiao mostly asks questions at the start, about how you’re feeling, what else is on the schedule… He first tries to learn more about you, and figures things out from there.

It’s nice, but he’s not as expressive as others, so at some point you wondered if he was happy with your current arrangements. Xiao actually did start to open up more after you asked that. It’s gradual, but he starts telling you about the cats that approach him when he’s outside, and other things he notices might be to your interest.

You like teasing Xiao about the people that admire him from a distance (whether or not they could tell he was an android, it was undeniable that he was handsome). He’d simply huff and say they were probably looking at something else, humble as he was, before training his eyes back on you. ‘After all, I’m here for you. So even if those people did approach me, I’d have no reason to find an interest in them.’

You start to wonder if ‘boyfriend material’ was also part of Xiao’s profile, after you realized how much comfort you found in the ways he’d walk you home or shopped for groceries together. Cafe orders? Consider them memorized. No need to even ask him about accompanying you to places

You’re not sure if he’s aware of how much of a romantic he is, from the things he says to the way he acts. He’s definitely a source of comfort after a long, stressful day. Xiao responds to your energy levels quite effectively, and seeing as he’s not the type that has to fill in the air when no one is talking, spending time together in relaxed silence was a nice way to end the day.

As a model who was supposed to be part of an Inazuman security line, then pushed towards the Fatui collection before finally ending up as an Anemo droid… one could say that Wanderer’s specialty is a little unclear. It shows in his personality, too—a little blunt and snappy at times, but ultimately still protective of you and attentive of what’s going on around him. 

In that sense, you could still see traces of some security-line functions in him despite his strong personality that could be hard to get along with. He seems more cynical about the producers that designed him more than anything else; he’s not effective enough at any particular skill to call it at specialization, instead being a jack of all trades who learns quickly. You call that a talent in itself. He says you’re giving them too much credit.

‘Did they run out of ideas or something?’ After living with you though, Wanderer’s cynicism doesn’t show itself as often. He starts to become more involved in the act of, well—actually being your companion, getting used to your routines and finding a place within it. 

If he had one pet peeve though, you’d say it was whenever you got sick or injured. He would get the most annoyed (worried) when that happened, reminding you that while he couldn’t get hurt physically, that didn’t mean it was the same for you. 

He masks these otherwise caring sentiments under insults though, so you suppose that Wanderer really was good for people that needed to push back against life more, making sure your spark is still there. He prefers it when you’re expressing yourself. You’re not a ‘doll’ after all, and who was he going to gossip about you to? The electronics in your home?

If there was one thing about Wanderer, it’s how he’d never turn on you. …Well, and he does ask for the same. Don’t go searching for new androids when you already have him, alright?

If you ever needed a presence to brighten your days, Venti is always up to the task. Not to mention he’s quite good for users with trouble sleeping. With a musical inclination like his and such a wonderful voice, you’ll surely doze away with sweet dreams.

He’s not the best at household chores, so for the most part Venti’s there for the companion part of the deal. He’s wonderful on shopping trips and mingling with strangers, even befriending people on his own if you were busy with something else. He likes meeting all sorts of people, though behind his friendly smile is always the security measure of how much they’d be a compliment or threat to you—if someone gave off the wrong vibes, Venti had enough of a silver tongue to redirect them somewhere else.

In another life, you’re quite sure Venti would’ve been an idol android. He particularly likes to write stories and poems, some of which are inspired by the things that happen in your everyday lives. Part of it is also because it’s a nice collection to have on the side, so that if anything happened and he wasn’t there, you could always hear his voice in those notes and feel his presence with you.

…Not that Venti had any plans of going independent anytime soon. He absolutely adores having your attention and hanging off of you, showing off how close you are to people (and also how cute he is, when he dresses up). He likes pulling compliments from you in particular, seeing how your eyes light up when he enters the room. You’re someone that he’s genuinely interested in and admires; from the way you push on despite the circumstances to the little efforts you put in that you think no one notices, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Venti was a fan of yours as much as you were his.

So… if it’s not too much to ask, please keep looking at him, alright? Even at times you’re too tired to smile, he can do the heavy lifting for you.

With a soft and considerate personality, Kazuha is naturally popular with those that like how approachable he is. He listens to your worries and enjoys going out to places to sightsee. Sometimes Kazuha finds hidden gems around the area and surprises you by bringing you there. 

To call him an ‘explorer’ might be the most accurate—his favorite thing is seeing your eyes light up in wonder at whatever new experiences he can find. He’s most fascinated by nature, so going to parks or any scenic place would definitely catch his interest (and maybe he’ll write a few poems about it too). 

He’s a great traveling companion, considering how adaptable he is and the um, protective measures that are in his system. Most androids have this too of course, but you’ll never forget the time Kazuha had a thief in a headlock after they’d tried to steal something from an old lady on the street. It might’ve been one of the few times you saw Kazuha so intimidating (and dare you say it, it was kind of cool).

When you’re tired from work and just want to sleep in during the weekends, you’ll wake up to Kazuha’s cooking. He claims it was just a nice morning, so he went out to buy some groceries and made something simple. He’s not the most advanced cook, but Kazuha’s meals always have a homey feel to them, with light flavors that won’t be too rough on your stomach if you weren’t feeling well.

The one time you let Kazuha borrow your motorcycle… Well, let’s just say that you never took him for someone that liked thrill-rides until that day. He’s always careful not to get your vehicle damaged, and if you were with him he’d of course refrain from going fast—but you’ve seen the smile on Kazuha’s face when the wind was rushing past him. It made you want to go on trips more often, now that Kazuha was there to keep you company. His presence is something that helps you recharge when you’re emotionally exhausted from everyday things. 

Heizou’s also a protection-type android! However his charming personality means that most people wouldn’t suspect a thing, making it easier for him to mingle with people without seeming intimidating. His pet peeve would be conniving people trying to get close to you with a smile on their face, though he’s a little meaner than Venti in terms of driving them away from you, hidden beneath his own charismatic smile. 

Naturally, Heizou really enjoys mysteries and detective genres! Once he planned out a whole mystery for you and led you through the clues he carefully prepared. It was probably during one of those days where you finally had a week off and just wanted to relax, so Heizou made a stay-at-home activity out of it. Suffice to say it was probably one of the most fun you’ve had in a while, laughing and thoroughly engrossed in the storyline.

Another time, you were attending a festival of some sort and got lost in the crowd. It was stressful to say the least and your phone was out of battery. You think your heart skipped a beat for more than one reason when Heizou finally found you, giving you a reassuring smile; ‘I’d never let you go missing like that. Have more faith in my detective skills!’

He’s helpful by nature, and that extends to strangers that may need advice or assistance at some point in passing, so long as it didn’t hinder anything to do with you. As a result Heizou has done a number of random tasks and even given romantic advice (via an art of deduction, of course), and it’s gotten him quite a number of confessions from both girls and guys. It’s normal to admire a personality like his, and Heizou is always flattered but kindly rejects them.

The next day, while you’re working on your laptop, he peeks over your shoulder with as casual of a tone he can muster, asking how you would confess to someone you like. From the smile on his face, it seems that Heizou wasn’t planning to keep his intentions a mystery for very long. (No one can blame him, though. He has to make a move before you’re snatched away!)

[dahfloofysmol]

HELLO. This is the official post for YouTube kids’ surprise party on the 27th of March. Any and all gimmick blogs welcomed!

Some roles we need are:

-DJ [real-pollo-campero]

-great DJ (as per requested ��) [spotify-kids-real]

-video jockey [buildabearfr]

-Someone to make the cake [forever21-official]

-Puncher server [big-mayo-official]

-Decorator [barns-and-noble-official]

-Party crasher(s) [officialtinder and youtubefr and actually-kroger]

-Corner Person [Pinterest, yahooo-official, reallytimhortons]

-Person who’s dealing with a crazy sugar high [firewaysubs and zotap]

-Emotional support [walmart and def-bjs-guys]

-Mom [Krista the art program and Canadian tire] AND dad friend

-Birthday person IS taken (obviously lol)

-Someone to bring snacks [incognito-mode-official]

-Ring Leader (person in charge of the games) [totally-official-yahoo]

-person who performs a special but confusing (and overly translated) version of happy birthday [google translate ]

-piñata [firehouse-subs-fr]

-setting off fireworks [google-news-official]

-here for the food and bringing tWO DOGS!!! OMG DOGS!!!!! [swearification-and-cursing]

-person currently trying tO EAT THE CAKE!! STOP THAT!!! [shakespeare-official-account]

- stopping the Cake Eater [wow-google-maps]

- putting spiders (?????) under the cake [true-blue-straya]

- the person that is every bisexuals awakening [it’s-target-official]

-pops in for the last 5 minutes with a card + a store bought cake [the-real-google]

- gay wine uncle [the-McDonald’s]

- creepy uncle (???) [rick-e-chedder-official]

-single rich aunt who disappears every night at specifically 8:00 pm [totally-not-kraft-mac-and-cheese]

-shapeshifts between wine aunt and vodka uncle, and the comic relief [the-one-and-only-duckduckgo]

- bringing lights so we aren’t all dancing in the dark [real-vivaldi-browser]

- summoning Satan under the table with a bottle of whiskey and pancakes (??????????) [definitely-canada]

-person asking weirdly specific and absurd questions [actual-aspec-military]

-the COOLEST cousin [support-speaks]

-cousin who hangs out in the corner and looks like they know something you dont [the-official-publix]

-person who hits on everyone at the party even though they’re already dating 2 ppl [fr-winn-dixie]

-contributes Ziploc® bags [totally-scjohnson]

-bringing burritos [the-real-chipotle]

-YouTube's kids southern aunt who blesses everyone's hearts bc they think theyre dumb most of the time [i-bless-your-heart]

-middle school cousin who argues with anyone and everyone to look cool [wallyworld-the-unofficial]

-gives oil (?????????????) and branded pens as party favors [truly-jcjenson]

-the strange neighbor kid who talks to no one but sings the loudest and brings a weird yet tasteful gift [the-real-aperture-science]

-bringing Walmart sugar cookies [not-really-discord]

-guy bringing the Knives [wheatley-labs-official]

-joining in on the games [totally-official-yahoo]

-the disco ball [jollibee-real]

-that one uncle with lore of untold numbers of deaths involved, and that includes guns [partycityistotallyofficailguy]

And any other role I haven’t stated!! I’ll accept pretty much anything

In case what you pick is already chosen, tag your second option ;p

—>The biggest part of the surprise party is wishing YouTube kids a happy birthday, but in the most creative way possible. In the “ask me” works, but literally anywhere; on your blog or on a post from anywhere (that you know they’d be okay with a little shenanigans) works wonderfully.

->Also, saying happy birthday is awesome, but spicing it up would be more fun!!! Day Of Birth, One of Awakening, Oh Child of the 27th, and any other batshit way to say “happy birthday” would both be awesome and absolutely hilarious.

Again, invite any and all gimmick blogs, and feel free to let me know what you’d want to do! We attack on the 27th >:DD

ADDITIONAL NOTE: sometimes there will be more than one person in each role! I do actively encourage for people to come up with silly and niche roles if you think of one ;D

ON THE 24th I WILL NO LONGER TAKE ROLLS!!!! Spread the word please!

@barnes-and-noble-official @basically-bumble @totallyofficialtacobell @totally-official-yahoo @totally-bing @officialtinder @officially-google-translate @officially-ikea @official-fedex @incognito-mode-official @forever21-offical @officialkfc @kfc-official @k-f-c-official @life360-i-swear @xgames-blog @cars-official @big-mayo-official @bingle-official @the-real-google @the-real-firefox @nasa @wow-google-maps @wallyworld-the-unofficial @walmart-the-official @realgoogleslides @realgoogledocs @yahooo-official @unfortunate-wattpad @firewaysubs @firefox-official @pinterest-real @spotify-kids-real @duothelingo @definitely-wikipedia @firehouse-subs-fr @google-2point0 @gimmick-thief

[flanaganfilm]

howdy!! do you rewatch your own work? if so, how often? im wondering if it has the same "artist just sees faults with what they create" thing, or if youre able to appreciate past projects the way they deserve

I don't, typically... usually, by the time we're finished with post production, I've seen the thing so many times that I'm thrilled to stop watching it. I'm either sick of it, or just feeling like it doesn't belong to me anymore. There are other reasons, too - Hill House was a traumatic production for me, for example, I have a lot of complicated emotions woven into it, so I haven't felt ready to rewatch that one since before it aired. Maybe in a few more years.

Somewhat recently, I've revisited a few of the older movies with my eldest son, who is 13 now. He's basically as old as my career itself. We've watched Oculus, Hush, The Midnight Club (which he LOVED, proving it worked for our target audience) and Ouija: OOE together, and each of those screenings was a really cool experience. His reactions and questions were really fascinating, and I felt like I was able to see those movies anew through his eyes. That's the closest I've come to feeling like I was really seeing them, and that's only because so much time has gone by for those. I watched the Director's Cut of Doctor Sleep a few years back at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park Colorado. It was part of a live NoSleep Podcast event, and that was the first time I'd seen that movie since it was released. It was also the first and only time I'd ever seen the Director's Cut with an audience. That was a really special screening and it meant a lot to me.

I haven't yet had the guts to revisit any of the TV series other than Midnight Club. As my kids get older, I'm sure I'll watch them all with them. The one I'm most excited to see is Midnight Mass, which remains my favorite of the shows. I haven't seen it since before it came out - I remember the last day of post on that show, watching down each episode with final mix and color. That's a series I wish I could actually watch like a viewer at home, and while I'll never truly be able to do that, I look forward to looking at it with some real distance.

There are a few of the older projects I'd be curious to watch now. I wonder how Absentia holds up - I was such a baby when we made that movie, and it's been so long. I imagine I could watch that today and have a really trippy experience. I also haven't revisited Before I Wake in a very long time, and I always really loved that script. The movie was a rough road, and my feelings were mixed by the time it finally found its finish line (Relativity Media really beat that one up), but that could also be a really interesting viewing experience at this stage of my career.

But generally, each of these movies is a journey, and once the journey is over it's tough to ever really go back. There's little point, and moving forward feels like a matter of survival. The "finished product" is only the tip of a large, deep, labyrinthian iceberg for me. It's impossible to only see what's on the surface, no matter how hard I try.

(Interesting side-note: The only exception I've found to this rule is The Life of Chuck. We just finished post production on the movie, and I've watched it dozens and dozens of times now - but I've never grown tired of it, not even a little bit. That movie is something special, and I am eager to watch it again - and again - and again. I don't know that I'll ever want distance from that one; in fact, watching it brings me a sense of joy, comfort, and safety.)

[linkuei-scum-without-s]

First time posting a headcanon so I'm kinda nervous but I'm give it a shot ( BTW ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE )

So I got a random headcanon about the lin kuei bros ! But Cats AU :D

Okay okay imagine living in a house with a three Cats you just found them homeless on the street and feel sorry for them so you took them in ... Orange cat, Gray cat and a black cat in your house

And if you're going to ask me how did all turn into a cats... Then the answer is Shang Tsung... Don't ask how ... It's just Shang Tsung that mf turned them into a cats ... Maybe just to laugh at them....

Anyways living with the Lin Kuei cats it's the best thing!! If you manage to gain their trust ..... Only with Tomas and Kuai tho.. You don't wanna get near Bi-han... Trust me... This bitch would give you a new scrach everyday... He's the kind of the bratty cat

Hiss 24/7 when every you get closer to him

Sometimes attack you and you'll have either Tomas or Kuai trying to stop him... Or both of them by pulling him from his tail....

Man he's a cat with trust issues so it's gonna take a while until you gain his trust

But to be honest... I believe Tomas would be the first one would Trust you... After seeing you how you're so caring to all of them... Even his brat older brother

He will be the type to be a clingy cat that's how I imagine him

When ever you sit down expect him in less then a second to be on your lap.... (HE'S SO ADORABLE KWHWKWJEJ)

Also whenever Bi-han give you a new scratch Tomas would be the one treating it... By licking it.... He's trying to apologizing instead of his bro

Like "I Apologize for my brother action.... He's just like this all the time... Here let me treat your wounds! " but in cats language...

Tomas is loves cuddles as well whenever you go to bed he'll climb up next to you and sleep

He's so wholesome

As for Kuai Liang... He's a calm cat... When you first let them in... He won't do anything just watching you around...

He's believe in 'Action speaks Louder then words' so he'll only trust you by you're action... And since you are so caring about them... And can take his Older brother's behavior he can tell you're a nice person so he will trust you a little... Still calm tho

Likes to sit besides you if you were watching TV or reading a book whatever you're doing he'll sit next to you... Either sleep or watching what are you doing

Btw when you go to bed he will be sleeping next to your head... He loves your hair... He think it's soft so sometimes when you woke up you'll find him sleeping on it like a pillow .... If you have a short hair he will be leaning on your head

He will try to convince his brother that you're harmless and never meant to hurt them but it's not working... Bi-han thinks if he give you a little cance you might going to stop him on his back or betrayed him...

Man the last time you were trying to wash them all.... It went well with Kuai and Tomas they both let you wash them peaceful.. Somehow Tomas was playful in the water and it got you confused actually for both of them... Them were so calm for cats begin in the water.... You didn't think about you just that's they might have got used to water somehow... Or they are a special cat who would give no pain in the ass to their owner when they are washing them

Anyways after finish the and dry them off you turn you're head to the last target .. Bi-Han ... man if you Know anime JJBA you will know what I mean when I say the fight you just had with bi-Han is the same fight between Jotaro and Dio trust Man and all of this happens while trying to get him into the bath top... You got.. A lot of scratches A few were on your face as well not only a just scars you have got but you had too chase him around the whole house whenever you get closer to him will attack you and hiss so good luck with washing him...

But if you manage to gain his trust (and it's a hard challenge trust me) he will be less aggressive ... Might even let you pet him (he will try so hard not to purr) doesn't attack you anymore... But he will always be cold with you...it's just his way of showing he trust you btw at rare times you'll find him sleeping next to you on the bed.... All the time he prefers to sleep alone

This is so random I just wanted to make some headcanons but always so nervous to post it but right now I decided to give it a shot.... Plz don't hate me of you don't like it ;-;

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Grays II

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays - Part I | Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, matchmaking elements, meddlesome mother, lots of teasing, not-quite-friends to lovers dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, oral sex (F and M receiving), protected sex, dirty talk.

Word count: 8.5k

Notes: It's here - 4 months later! First of all, thank you so much for the love for Grays Part I. I still can't quite believe the reaction to Frankie and Shiv, you guys sure know how to make a writer feel special 🥰 This one was so much fun to write, and nervous as I am posting this follow-up, I'm telling myself to let go of my insecurities and just enjoy it because that's what it's all about. I hope y'all will have a good time at this wedding with the gang 😘

Francisco Morales likes to think of himself as a reasonably competent man. 

He can pilot a helicopter under intense enemy fire. He can take out a target from miles away in the tightest of spots. 

But he can’t do his fucking hair.

He glares at himself in the mirror. He can’t put his finger on it, it just doesn’t look like how you did it. He’s already washed it out and started over twice, and for a second, he considers driving to your salon. A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s far too late for that now.

Leaning over the sink, he says to his reflection, ‘Focus, pendejo. You can do it.’

He’s a pilot for fuck’s sake. He’s a man of procedure, he can follow steps. He just needs to break it down.

Hair half-dry - check.

Hair mousse applied - check.

Now he just needs to dry his hair all the way and style it - but the how is where it gets hazy. 

Frankie closes his eyes and casts his mind back to your salon. He’s sitting in the chair and you’re standing behind him. He wills himself to recall what you were doing with your hands, but all he remembers is the scrape of your of your fingertips on his scalp, the ghost of your breath on the back of his neck, and then -

Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.

He scrubs a frustrated palm down his face when his cock twitches in his haphazardly ironed dress pants, not for the first time… hell, not even the fourth time since he left your salon on Wednesday afternoon.

‘Goddamnit,’ he bites out, dropping the hairdryer with a clunk and grips the porcelain sink. He needs to calm the fuck down. 

He didn’t ask for - this, whatever this is. You’re you. You’re Shiv. The loudmouth with the wild hair he’s known since fifth grade. The fourth wheel at guys’ drinks when Will can’t make it. A relentless tease on a good day, and downright insufferable when you get enough tequila in you.

And quite possibly, the only person who’s ever driven him to the brink of unconsciousness with just the touch of their bare hands.

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe you’re right. It has been a while since he’s been with a woman. He just needs to get laid at the wedding, get this weird tension out of his system. And then hopefully, he’ll be able to go to sleep without being kept up by you telling him to go harder, deeper -

By the time he gets his head out of his ass, it’s too late for second-guessing. He rakes his fingers through his hair, sets it with hairspray, and quickly rubs the beard oil he bought in town yesterday into his whiskers. He takes a moment to look himself over while he clumsily does up the tie he borrowed from Pope.

This is as good as it’s gonna get.

He’s the designated driver tonight. By some miracle, he’s only five minutes late when he cruises into Pope’s driveway, where all three of the boys are waiting and sipping on beers.

‘Damn Fish, you look good,’ crows Santi as he climbs into the passenger seat, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You should get your hair cut at Shiv’s from now on.’

‘Only if you keep paying for it,’ retorts Frankie while he backs out of the driveway. He pauses as he changes gears, and adds in a grumble. ‘She’s making me use shampoo and conditioner.’

Pope barks in laughter, twisting in his seat to give Benny a knowing grin. ‘Someone had to, you caveman.’

The younger Miller brother ribs good-naturedly, ‘You ready for some action tonight, Fish? I brought some extra rubbers just in case.’

Meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, Frankie rips into him mercilessly. ‘You know your small ass condoms don’t fit me, Benjamin.’ 

The car erupts with playful jeers, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile as he palms the steering wheel.

‘That’s some fighting talk, Fish!’ goads Santi, punching him on the arm.

Will joins in the banter. ‘You better watch out, little bro. Big Dick Morales came out swinging tonight.’

Benny grins. ‘Ok, I see how it is. Let’s make it interesting, Fish. Whoever picks up a one night stand first wins a hundred bucks.’

Frankie shrugs in mock nonchalance and quips, ‘I mean, I can use the cash. Shampoo ain’t cheap.’

Benny chuckles and clasps his shoulder. ‘You’re on, man.’

It’s eight on the dot when you lock up the salon. While you did RSVP for wedding drinks - opting out of the sit-down dinner earlier in the evening - you hadn’t planned on actually going. But it seems like the whole town did, you’ve barely had two customers walk through the door all afternoon. 

So you let Ashton go home early, and after a quick snack, you take your time getting ready. Might as well have a Saturday night out - your first in many months.

The hotel is just a short Uber ride away. When you climb out of the car, you bite your bottom lip at the unfamiliar tension humming under your skin.

Nerves.

You’re nervous.

And worse, you know exactly what you’re nervous about. 

Or more precisely - who.

‘Pull it together, Shiv,’ you mutter under your breath. Steeling yourself, you stride into the hotel.

From his vantage point at the bar, Benny watches in amusement as Frankie glances towards the doors of the reception hall yet again. He doubts the pilot even knows he’s doing it, or at the very least, he doesn’t think that anyone would notice.

Grabbing his beer, Benny sidles up to his friend. ‘Looking for something, Fish?’

Frankie takes a sip of his Coke and feigns nonchalance. ‘Yeah, looking to win that hundred bucks from you.’

‘Dunno ‘bout that. I don’t see you trying very hard.’

‘Biding my time, Miller. Just make sure you have enough cash to -’ 

When Frankie breaks off in the middle of his sentence, Benny doesn’t need to look to wager a guess what caught his attention.

Turning around as you approach, he flings his arms out to give you a hug, eyeing you up and down appreciatively. ‘Babe, look at you all dressed up! Doesn’t she look nice, Fish?’

In lieu of an answer, Frankie stares intently at some invisible spot over your shoulder until Benny elbows him right in his stomach, jerking him out of his trance. ‘Fish?’

Frankie clears his throat and stutters. ‘Um. I - I don’t know.’

You arch an eyebrow at him. ‘You don’t know if I look nice?’

Benny has to stopper his mouth with beer so he doesn’t laugh out loud at the panic on Frankie’s face as he fumbles for a response. ‘I mean. Um, nice… pants?’

‘It’s a jumpsuit, Morales. Try to keep up,’ you reply and take two steps towards him, which has him backpedalling so fast that he upsets the table behind him, sending half-empty glasses spilling wine all over the white tablecloth.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he growls at you like a cornered stray.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pull him upright by his tie. ‘Is he ok, Ben? He’s even jumpier than usual.’

‘Well, it’s a funny night for him. Watching his ex get married and all.’

‘I swear to God, Benjamin Miller, if you don’t shut the fuck up -’ 

‘Pipe down, Morales, we’re just messing with you,’ you shush him, tugging on his slightly skewed shirt collar to set it straight. ‘Can’t believe you own a tie.’

‘Borrowed it from Pope,’ he grunts without making eye contact.

Smoothing the lapels of his slightly crumpled suit jacket, you probe, ‘You’ve been using shampoo and conditioner like I asked?’

Frankie huffs a dry laugh. ‘I don’t remember you asking.’

‘Someone’s mouthy tonight,’ you tease. ‘And the beard oil?’

He concedes with a sigh. ‘Yes, Shiv.’

‘You look good, Francisco,’ you grin and reach up to push his curls back from his eyes.

He looks away as he admits, ‘Took three fucking tries.’

At least he holds still when you make small adjustments to his hair, shoulders stiff with hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You catch yourself missing the way he leaned into your touch in your salon, and you have to forcefully push that thought away as you push your fingers through the roots to boost the volume. His curls feel softer already than you remember them, with a noticeably healthier sheen. 

After a final rustle to loosen up his fringe, you wink at him. ‘Mark my words, the bride will rue the day she dumped your ass when she sees you.’

A voice from behind you interrupts. ‘It’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it?’

Trading a look with Frankie, who gives you a sarcastic thumbs up, you put on a smile and turn on your heels. ‘Mrs. Morales, it’s been too long!’

‘I see you haven’t dyed my son’s hair like I requested,’ she says by way of a greeting, drawing you into an embrace.

Frankie’s taunt is so quiet that you nearly miss it. ‘Told you she’d come after you.’

Without skipping a beat, you elbow him in the ribs, ignoring his pained oomph from behind you. ‘You look wonderful tonight, ma’am.’ 

‘You can’t sweet talk your way out of my question, young lady.’

You cross your arms with a sigh. ‘I didn’t dye it because he looks good with the grays.’ 

‘Well, I don’t think so.’

‘In my professional opinion, he does,’ you retort pointedly.

‘If he looks so good, why is he still single?’

Frankie throws his hands up in exasperation. ‘Gee, thanks a lot ma.’

You turn to Benny, who has been silently watching you two spar. ‘What do you think, Miller?’

He dithers, eyes darting around in desperation until he spots Santi and his older brother coming back from the bar. ‘Look! Here are the guys, let’s ask them!’

‘Ask us what?’ asks Santi, giving you a kiss on the cheek and a glass of bubbly.

‘Do you think my son looks good with the grays?’

Your eyebrow twitches when Mrs. Morales carelessly ruffles his hair to emphasise her point. To your surprise, Frankie bats her away with an irritated ma!, before hastily rearranging it.

‘Your honest opinion, if you please,’ you add.

The boys hum and haw, sipping their beers and shooting uncertain looks between you and Mrs. Morales, clearly uncomfortable being caught in the middle. Upping the heat, you narrow your eyes at them, and Will folds first. 

‘Yeah, I mean - he looks good,’ he mumbles, avoiding the Morales matriarch's glare.

‘Pope?’ you prompt.

‘Cabrón rocking those grays,’ he nods supportively.

‘Ben?’

‘Uh huh,’ he replies vaguely, but at your menacing glare, clarifies, ‘Yes, I meant - yes, ma’am.’

Mrs. Morales scoffs. ‘They’re men, what do they know! I don’t see him catching any girls’ attention.’

Ah, that’s the easy part. You look around, scanning the crowds - and bingo, you see a brunette staring openly from across the dance floor. You hold up a finger for dramatic effect. ‘Excuse me for one second.’

Frankie looks ready for the earth to swallow him whole by the time you return with the said woman in tow. Pointing straight at him, you ask, ‘Lucy, this is Frankie. Do you think he’s hot with the grays?’

To her credit, she’s a good sport, and plays along with a cheeky wink. ‘Yeah, he is. You wanna dance, handsome?’

‘Yes, he absolutely does!’ you answer quickly before he can get a word in.

‘What the fuck, Shiv?’ Frankie seethes through clenched teeth, literally digging his heels in, but to his despair, his shoes skid uselessly on the tiled surface as you push him towards the dancefloor with this complete stranger. 

Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

‘Have fun, Fish!’ calls out Pope impishly, which earns him an emphatic middle finger. 

You beam at Mrs. Morales smugly. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

‘You better keep it up, young lady,’ she says over her shoulder as she turns to leave.

You raise your drink. ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs M. I promise you - he’ll be leaving with his future wife tonight!’

Santi is minding his own business, sipping on his beer as he stakes out the ladies, when a hand shoots out from nowhere and snatches the bottle from him.

‘What the fuck, man?!’ he bristles indignantly.

Frankie polishes off the drink in one mouthful, before slamming it onto the table and demanding, ‘Where’s Shiv? I’m done. I’m not fucking dancing with anyone else.’

Pope jerks his thumb to the other side of the room. ‘She’s arguing with your mother.’

Frankie flops into a chair, the dress shoes that he never wears are pinching his feet and he fights the urge to kick them off. He folds his arms across his chest petulantly, one palm over his mouth as his eyes wander across the hall to you, where you’re gesturing madly at his ma, embroiled in an impassioned discussion, probably still about his damn hair.

You’re all dressed up tonight, which is new to him - he’s only ever seen you in jeans when you go out drinking with them, and he’s certainly never seen so much of you. The ‘jumpsuit’ (he learns something new every day) is black and cut low both front and back, and fuck, all he sees is soft skin and the dip of your curves and red lipstick -

Pope must have nipped to the bar while he wasn’t looking, and a fresh bottle of beer appears under his nose. Glancing up at his best friend, Frankie mutters, ‘Thanks.’

‘You can’t marry her, Fish.’

He chokes violently at the casual non-sequitur, spraying beer everywhere. ‘What the fuck, Pope.’

Santi beams. ‘You got that look on your face, man. I’ve seen that look before.’

‘I don’t have a look on my face.’

He chuckles, mostly to himself. 'Damn, I really should've seen this coming.'

‘What are you even on about -’ Looking up, Frankie spots you making your way over and panics. ‘Shut the fuck up, pendejo.’

‘Why aren’t you dancing, my little debutante?’ you ask when you come within earshot.

Santi chortles and takes his leave, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck, Fish.’

You sink into the empty seat next to him and he deliberately twists his body away from you, drinking deeply from his bottle to drown out Santi’s words ringing in his ears. 

‘So, I heard you have a bet going on with Benny. I want splitsies if you win.’

Frankie rolls his eyes, staring resolutely anywhere but at the swell of your cleavage. ‘No.’

‘40/60.’

‘Fuck off, Shiv.’

‘30/70?’ you counter-offer.

He sighs. ‘You’re impossible.’

Ignoring him, you jump up with a happy squeak when someone Frankie vaguely recognises as a girl who used to be in your class approaches with a shy smile. You pull her close by the crook of her arm and ask, ‘Morales, you remember Sadie?’

He tries not to scowl too openly as he too gets on his feet. ‘Sure, hi Sadie.’

Herding them towards the dancefloor, you grin, ‘Go dance, get reacquainted.’

As he passes by you, Frankie grits his teeth and curls his fingers into the meat of his palms to crush the urge to reach out and touch you. 

But it’s easier to fall into your well-rehearsed roles, to toe the line that has been drawn in the sand since you were teenagers. And easier is certainly the safer option when it comes to you.

So he throws you a deliberate glare over his shoulder, with a deadpanned, ‘I hate you.’

You blow him a kiss and grin wider.

Frankie can’t hold back a relieved sigh when the interminably long song finally ends, and the woman he’s dancing with - he won’t even pretend he remembers her name - tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jacket after tapping in her number. ‘Call me, gorgeous.’

He stopped counting after the eighth woman you shepherded his way. This is it. He’s not above hiding in the toilets if that’s what it takes to make this stop.

Except he’s not quick enough. He spots you out of the corner of his eye, marching straight towards him with a fresh glass of water and a look of purpose on your face.

He doesn’t exactly know what came over him. He could probably blame it on the one and a half beers that he downed, or being pushed to the end of his tether. Whatever it is, there’s something he has to say to you, and it can’t wait.

You push the glass into his grasp. ‘Here, hydrate.’

‘Shiv -’

You’ve already swivelled around, your focus somewhere else. ‘Where is she? She was literally just behind me -’

‘Shiv -’

‘Mind you, she’s a sweet girl, but clearly not the brightest tool in the -’

His patience snaps, and he barks, ‘Shiv!’

You spin around, brow furrowed in confusion, and snarl back, ‘What?’

Frankie pauses, and you blink as his warm eyes hold yours. On an exhale, he says, ‘You look nice tonight.’

You’re vaguely aware that your jaw has gone slack, but only because his eyes follow the movement, dropping to your mouth. He considers you for a moment, head tipping just slightly to the side as he watches you. Then, satisfied that he has your attention, he brings the glass of water to his lips, throwing his head back as he drinks. 

Your breath catches in your throat when his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow, before he leisurely swipes his lips with the back of his hand.

Except in your mind, it’s not water that he’s wiping from his mouth.

In a perfectly mirrored imitation of what transpired between you earlier in the evening, he takes two measured steps forward, prompting you to back up against the table behind you. The tinkle of glasses falling over hardly registers in the back of your mind. 

The fabric of his suit is cool on your skin, brushing your bare arm as he looms over you, so broad and warm. Though his front barely makes contact, your peripheral vision gives and all you can see is him.

‘What are you doing?’ you croak the same words back at him, hating the way your voice shakes.

Frankie smiles - really smiles at you, with no colour of the usual irony or sarcasm. Warmth settles into the creases in the corners of his eyes as he holds up the empty glass. ‘Just putting my glass away,’ he says coolly, an edge of cockiness at your tragically obvious reaction to him.

You feel your cheeks heat up as he does just that - the back of his hand bumping into your forearm as he moves, the breadth of him pinning you against the table. He doesn’t pull away, clearly basking in the way the tables have well and truly turned -

‘Hi! You must be Frankie, I’m Jan.’

Frankie squeezes his eyes shut in irritation at the voice behind him, nostrils flaring as he collects himself. A resigned smile tugs at his lips, and he tips forward, his words grazing your ear. ‘Catch you later, Shiv.’

You only let your knees buckle when he’s safely out of sight.

You’ve barely stepped back into the reception hall from a much needed bathroom break to clear your head when someone grabs you by the arm, tugging you onto the dancefloor.

‘Benny!’ You reprimand, stumbling over your feet. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Relax, Shiv. Frankie can survive on his own for a second.’

‘You’re just jealous that he’s hogging all the ladies’ attention.’

He scoffs, palms on your waist as he sways to the music. ‘He has an unfair advantage, ok? How do I compete with the bride’s ex?’

Clasping your hands around Benny’s neck, you catch Frankie’s eye over his shoulder. You wink at him casually, having somewhat recovered your bravado - it’s easier to pretend from a distance anyway. He rolls his eyes at you over Jan’s head, but he doesn’t look away, watching you with a hint of something you can’t quite make out.

Glancing up at Benny, you ask a tad bashfully, ‘I know we give Frankie a hard time about all this, but is he - ok?’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

You hesitate. ‘Well, we’re not exactly that kind of friends.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, the kind who sit around having heart-to-hearts and painting their nails.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What kind of friends are you, then?’ 

‘I don’t know, he probably doesn’t even count me as one,’ you admit. ‘He barely tolerates me on a good day.’

Benny shoots you a cryptic look, but before you can quiz him on it, he changes the subject abruptly. ‘Can I swing by the salon tomorrow morning? I have a promotional shoot at half past eleven.’

‘As long as you bring donuts and coffee.’

He twirls you around. ‘Deal.’

Frankie slinks out of the hotel, somehow managing to dodge both you and his mother on his way out, which he takes as a win.

It’s cold outside. He inhales deeply and feels it burn down his throat. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he watches his breath mist in front of his face, savouring the quiet.

‘Hey.’

His shoulders stiffen. He knows he should’ve been the bigger man. Should’ve sought her out first, to congratulate her.

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

When he turns around eventually, she smiles brightly at him, her engagement ring catching the lights.

Closing the space between them, he presses a kiss to her cheek. ‘Congratulations. You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she replies. ‘I’m glad you came. Your mum too - it was a long way to travel.’

His gaze falls to his shoes. ‘Yeah, well. You know she loves you.’

‘How are you?’ she presses on, always one for polite conversation. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

Frankie shrugs but doesn’t answer.

‘Just because it didn’t work between us doesn’t mean I want you to be happy.’

He nods slowly. ‘I appreciate that.’

She points behind her. ‘Well, I should go back inside.’

‘Of course. I’m happy for you,’ he says. And he means it.

The hotel doors swing open, and Frankie looks up at the sharp clack of heels on the concrete. You pause at the sight of them by the curb.

‘Are you leaving, Shiv?’ the bride laments as you walk over to give her a hug.

‘I am, I’m afraid, gotta open up shop early tomorrow,’ you pull back. ‘Come by the salon any time, my treat.’

Once the bride is out of earshot, you turn to Frankie, hands on hips. ‘Alright, no more shirking, Morales. Get your ass back in there, your mother is on my case again.’

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Oh no, I’m not going back in there without you.’

You sigh dramatically. ‘Am I the only one in this town who’s not scared of your mother?’

‘You should be,’ he snorts, then nods towards the parking lot. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

Taken aback by his offer, you hesitate. ‘Um - I thought you were the designated driver for the guys tonight.’

He brushes off your concerns with an easy shrug. ‘I’ll come back to get them after I drop you off.’ 

Typical Frankie - he walks off without even glancing back to see if you’re coming with him.

You smile to yourself and follow.

You must be drunker than you realised, because you’re staring. Again. For what must be the fifth time in the ten-minute drive.

It’s a lot of staring, even for you.

His jacket lies abandoned in the backseat, his tie jostled loose and the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened, sleeves bunched up to his elbows. You watch from the corner of your eye as his left hand grips the top of the steering wheel steady, fingers flexing every now and then on straight stretches of road.

As if you’re not already discreetly squeezing your thighs together, he’s also rubbing his right palm idly on his leg, the innocent rustle of fabric against skin getting you far too hot and bothered under the metaphorical collar. 

And then - your eyes trail higher - settling on the heavy bulge at the top of his spread thighs.

Fuck. You’re definitely drunk.

You mull silently to yourself that you actually prefer him in his beat-up jeans and threadbare t-shirts before catching yourself. You weren’t aware you had any preferences when it comes to Frankie Morales. And you have no business doing so.

Clearing your throat, you break the tense silence. Well, tense for you, anyway. He seems completely oblivious to your inner strife.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t win the bet.’

His lips quirk, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

‘I had another five girls lined up for you, you know.’

He scoffs. ‘No, thank you.’

You reach over to punch him on the arm playfully. ‘C’mon, you know you enjoyed the attention, Morales.’

‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’ he peers at you.

You make a face of disbelief. ‘If you hated it that much, why did you go along with it?’

Cruising into your street, his truck rolls to a smooth stop outside your salon. Frankie kills the ignition, then turns towards you. His answer is simple, and hits you right between the ribs. 

‘Because you wanted me to.’

You force a chuckle in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Since when did you care about what I wanted?’

He smooths his palm over the steering wheel and holds your gaze. ‘Sometime when I wasn’t looking.’

It would be simpler to pretend you didn’t understand what he means. To brush off this pull between you as a champagne-induced episode that you could sleep off. If you did, you could still show up at Tuesday nights drinks next week as if nothing has changed, and carry on.

It would be simpler. So you ask -

‘Do you want to come in for a nightcap?’

Frankie follows two steps behind you as you grapple with the keys on the doorstep. Once inside, the salon is quiet, and you strategically turn on the lights by the backwash, the semi-darkness making it more homey than it would have been if fully lit up. 

‘I would invite you upstairs -’ you pause and add hastily, ‘I don’t mean upstairs like, upstairs in that way - it’s just that my apartment is tiny, and the backwash is the closest thing I have to a couch. Are you okay with beer?’

‘Beer’s good, thanks,’ he answers. ‘Need a hand?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘Oh god, please no - it’s a disaster upstairs. I’ll be right back.’

The rickety stairs creak loudly under your heels, and once you let yourself into your studio, you fall back heavily on the door, taking a second to catch your breath.

You invited him inside. 

He said yes.

You leap into action, shoving all your dirty laundry into the already full hamper. You try not to think too hard about why you’re cleaning up, you just hope you’re not making too much of a ruckus while you’re at it - because you have a boy waiting for you downstairs. 

Francisco Morales, of all people.

Despite having been in each other’s lives since high school, you’re pretty sure you’ve never been alone with him. Not even once. There’s always a buffer with Pope on his side, Benny on yours, and Will in the middle. And while some find Frankie hard to read, you’ve always known exactly how to act around him. You have an unwritten playbook - you bait him with cheap jokes, more often than not joining forces with Benny to gang up on him. He rolls his eyes and snaps at you to shut up. It’s the longest running show in town.

But this? Alone, after his ex’s wedding, in your salon? You’re going off-script and off-piste. Dangerous enough on a good day; outright stupid after a night of drinking.

Frankie is quick to help when you reappear, armed with beer and a bag of ice, using the backwash sink as a makeshift cooler. Your shoes clatter onto the floor as you settle in the chair next to his. Hugging your knees, you hold out your bottle, which he clinks with his.

‘Did you have fun tonight?’ you ask, rather mundanely.

‘As much fun as one is expected to have at an ex’s wedding,’ he answers with a sardonic smile. Taking a sip of beer, he adds, ‘Gotta admit, you winding up my ma pretty much made up for it.’

‘That never gets old,’ you smirk. ‘Although, I promised your mother you’d leave with your future wife tonight - so that’s a bust.’

You startle when Frankie chokes on his beer, his eyes visibly watering as he thumps a fist on his chest. When you ask if he’s ok, he won’t meet your gaze, downing more of his beer.

Not thinking anything of it, you move on. ‘You know, she sent a bunch of customers my way when I first opened up the salon.’

His voice is still a bit tight from his coughing fit. ‘And I’m sure she’ll deny it till the day she dies.’

‘I can’t figure her out,’ you admit. ‘I can’t decide if she hates me or not.’

‘She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t understand you.’

You hum, unconvinced.

He nudges your knee with his. ‘She was really proud of you when you opened the salon, you know.’

You toss him a sidelong glance. ‘You talk to your mum about me?’

He’s ambiguous in his answer. ‘She asks after you sometimes.’

‘And how would you have anything to say to her? We’re not exactly bosom buddies.’

Frankie concedes with a wry smile, ‘Benny talks.’

‘Ha!’ you laugh, echoing his words from a few days ago back at him. ‘Benjamin fucking Miller.’

He goes quiet for a second, looking around your salon as if taking stock. ‘It’s pretty amazing that you’ve built all this.’

The unexpected compliment catches you blindsided. You reply diplomatically, ‘Ashton helps me loads.’

Frankie’s eyes widen in feigned surprise. ‘Are you going humble on me now? What have you done to Shiv?’

‘Shut up,’ you grumble good-naturedly, adding, ‘Ben tells me you’re doing really well yourself.’

‘Yeah. I got promoted at work last month, and I’m saving up for a house,’ he replies, a hint of pride in his voice. ‘Things are looking up.’

‘You’re actually acknowledging your achievements?’ you gasp in mock outrage. ‘What have you done to Francisco Morales?’

With a shrug, he leans forward to put his empty beer bottle in the sink, but he doesn’t sit back. Instead, he sways even closer, one palm landing on the leather of your seat next to your knee, eyes darting to your lips. His voice is deep as he rasps, ‘Can I kiss you?’

It would be so easy to say yes, but when have you ever made things easy for yourself? 

Instead, you blurt out, ‘Why?’

Frankie looks amused, like he expected this from you. Slowly, not wanting to spook you, he gently plucks the beer that you’ve barely drunk from your grasp.

‘Because all fucking night, while you were throwing woman after woman at me, I just wanted to have a drink with you.’

He leans in close. 

You stop breathing.

‘Because since Wednesday, every time I wash my hair, I get hard thinking of you touching me.’

Closer still.

Your lungs ache.

‘And because when you told me to go harder, deeper - I nearly lost my fucking mind.’

He’s hovering over you now, and you can almost taste the bitter sweetness of the beer on his breath. He smirks at you, but there’s only warmth and mischief in it when he teases, ‘Speechless for once?’

‘Shut up, Morales,’ you breathe and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

And then you’re kissing him. You’re kissing Frankie, and he’s kissing you back.

It’s messy, and disorientating, and you clumsily fumble over each other until he’s sitting up in one of the chairs, with your thighs on either side of his narrow hips as you straddle him. He’s licking up into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip, his hands gripping your sides almost painfully hard.

‘Is this really happening?’ you garble into his lips, ripping off his tie and undoing his shirt buttons as fast as your shaking fingers allow you to.

‘If you want it,’ he mumbles back, loath to pull back from you even for a second to shuck off his shirt. ‘If you want me.’

He kisses you wet and insistent, but he doesn’t push you, waiting for you to make up your mind. Reaching behind you, you tug on the tie that holds your jumpsuit together with a decisive pull, letting the fabric ripple down your bare front and pool around your waist.

Frankie bites his bottom lip so hard it goes white. ‘Fuck,’ he cusses, his grip on your hips twitching as he stares at your tits. ‘Can I, please -?’

‘Touch me, Francisco.’

Your poor second-hand Ikea bed that Benny helped set up when you moved in was not made for this.

This being the way Frankie effortlessly tosses you onto the mattress, his arms flexing with an easy strength that goes straight to your head, as you stare giddily up at him.

His hair - your handiwork - has been well and truly undone, errant strands falling over his eyes as he watches you, his broad frame looming over the foot of the bed. He pulls at his belt, which falls open with a careless clink, and he makes quick work of his now crumpled trousers, kicking them off impatiently.

Your head is swimming, yet somehow, you muster the strength to shuffle towards the edge of the bed, rearranging yourself to sit on your haunches, knees folded neatly beneath you. Boldly, you reach out to slide his dark boxers down his hips, and they fall around his knees and onto the floor. His cock springs free, half-hard and heavy, and Frankie swallows thickly as you tilt your face towards him.

‘I want to suck your cock.’

His eyes close as if he’s in pain, nostrils flaring at your words. Taking advantage of his distraction, you wrap one careful hand around his length, and he jerks violently at the first velvety slide of your palm against him. 

‘Fuck, Shiv -’ he chokes, eyes flying open at the contact, pupils completely blown. He protests weakly, ‘No, stop, need to get you off first -’

You shoot him a lopsided smile, pumping him slowly, your pulse racing at the way you feel him swell in your grasp. ‘Can we not argue this one time?’

You lean forward and, holding his gaze, flatten your tongue and lick your way up the underside of his cock. His breath stutters, one big hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his eyes wide and almost frantic as you press open-mouthed kisses on his sensitive flesh.

With an insolent grin, you tease, ‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you, Morales?’

He whimpers, and you know you have him.

His size is obvious by sight, but you really feel it in the pressure bearing down on the hinge of your jaw as you sink down on his cock, fighting to squeeze the girth of him into your mouth. The guttural groan from Frankie makes your pussy clench, and he tastes like he looks - clean, and all man. 

There’s no way you can take all of him, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. He’s hot under your touch, muscles pulled taut with tension that you can feel thrumming under his skin as you take your time with him. Focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat, you bob patiently up and down on him, slicking up his length with your spit, working him slightly deeper with every stroke - until you’re so full of him that you gag, hard.

Frankie is slack-jawed when you release him with an obscenely wet pop, spit trailing from your lips to the swollen tip of his cock, eyes wild as swipes his thumb across your puffy bottom lip. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ he declares, almost solemnly.

Slinking down his front, one hand securely around the base of his cock, you take him between your lips again, moaning at the salty taste of his precum, which makes him quake above you. As you swallow his length and pump your fist in tandem, your spit wetting your fingers, you peer up at him through your lashes - nothing could’ve prepared you for the utter wreckage that you find on his face. 

His lips are pulled back, baring his tidy teeth into a snarl as he very clearly struggles to hold himself back from fucking your mouth. You feel every bump and vein in his cock with each descent, the wet squelches filling in the gaps of his low grunts and moans. His grip in your hair stings as he starts panting in earnest above you, and somehow he gets even harder on your tongue, making it harder to breathe - 

‘Stop, stop,’ he wheezes suddenly, pulling back in a hasty retreat that has you whining at the sudden loss of him. ‘C’mere.’

He practically hauls you up against him, kissing you deeply, delving into your mouth to taste the bitterness of himself on your tongue. The world tilts on its axis when he tips you back onto the bed, and holding himself above you, he peels the jumpsuit off, leaving you in just your panties.

‘Gonna eat you out, baby,’ he drawls by your ear, trailing one palm up your body, which stops at your tits and squeezes. ‘Get you good and ready to take my big cock. How does that sound?’

‘Fuck, yes, Frankie, please,’ you beg.

There’s no shyness when he pushes your legs up and apart, and instead of taking your panties off, he hooks a finger under the thin fabric and pulls it to the side, his eyes darkening as he stares down at you.

‘So pretty,’ he praises you lowly. Holding your breath as he sinks onto his front, you breathe heavily in anticipation as his shoulders slot neatly underneath your legs. ‘Look at how wet you are for me. All this from sucking my cock?’

You nod frantically. ‘Frankie -’

Straight to the point as always, he ducks his dark head and drags the broad of his tongue over your clit - and you’re gone.

Admittedly, you have not had the best experiences with your exes. There was always too much gratuitous moaning and too little finesse, and afterwards, they always act like they deserve a medal for failing to get you off. But even if your past lovers had been more adequate in the field, you’re sure it still wouldn’t have prepared you for this. 

Frankie goes about it with a quiet focus that veers on reverential, the intensity in his dark eyes watching you makes your knees weak. He’s obviously picking up signs and reactions from you and adjusting his game plan accordingly, the pilot in him clearly in the driver’s seat. 

Not that he’s silent - far from it, you feel the reverberation in your core with every satisfied  hum deep in his chest, and the occasional, muttered fuck, so wet, want more in between licks and groans. But there’s nothing performative or showy about it, just a forthright competency that has you hurtling towards a toe-curling orgasm.

‘Frankie,’ you whine when you feel it about to hit. ‘Frankie Frankie Frankie -’

‘Eyes on me,’ he slurs against your sopping folds, and you listen - for once - watching him watch you fall apart on his tongue, thrashing in his hold as he grips you harder to keep you in place while he laps you up, until the burn of his patchy beard on your inner thighs makes you arch away from him from overstimulation.

Your pussy is still fluttering when he sinks two thick fingers into you, and he hisses at the way it clenches around him as he fucks you, leaving his digits slicked and slippery.

‘So tight, baby,’ he declares through gritted teeth, working you open for him. ‘Gonna feel so fucking good on my cock.’

You point towards the nightstand. ‘First drawer,’ you pant.

Needing no further prompting, Frankie yanks your panties off and flings the soaked scrap of fabric over his shoulder, then lunges at the cupboard where the condoms are. You scrape your nails over his thighs as he kneels over you, his usually steady hands visibly trembling as he tears into the wrapper and rolls the rubber over his heavy cock. He watches you with hooded eyes and settles between your legs, kissing you desperately as the swollen tip of him nudges at your entrance.

‘Ready?’ he asks, nose skimming yours sweetly.

You wind your arms around his neck, holding him close. ‘Fuck me, Frankie.’

The first push is a tight squeeze, and you can’t help the wince at the slight pinch as he sinks into you slowly. With a grunt of effort, he buries face into the slope of your neck and breathes, ‘Fuuuuck. You ok?’

‘Give me a second,’ you gasp, feeling your walls throb tightly around his length. ‘You’re so big, Frankie.’

He tangles his tongue with yours lazily in a deep kiss, before brushing his way down your throat and sucking on one nipple, making you cry out. He murmurs against your skin, ‘I know, but you’re doing so well for me, baby.’

Shifting your hips, Frankie groans when you slide him in deeper, the friction making you quiver beneath him. ‘Move, Frankie, please.’

He starts carefully, his strokes measured and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of him as he draws back then sinks back in, exhaling shakily. ‘You feel so fucking good.’

‘Harder,’ you demand when you feel your pussy relax around him. ‘Fuck me harder.’

‘Shit,’ he growls and snaps his hips, drawing a squeal from you as he hits somewhere deep inside. You wrap your legs around his waist, bracing yourself as he drives into you again and again and again, the bedframe hitting the wall with each thrust.

‘So good, Frankie,’ you plead in between hard pants. ‘Keep going. Don’t stop -’

Looking up at him, you admire the way his hair falls over his eyes, swaying with his movement. Absent-mindedly, your fingers wander into his curls and his reaction is instant - he cries out, arching into your touch, his hips faltering as he seems to lose his rhythm. ‘Oh fuck, baby, been thinking about those hands all fucking week, just wanted to feel you touch me again -’

As wrecked as you are on his cock, you smile at his confession and slide your hands languidly in his locks, dragging your nails on his scalp, your chest swelling with pride when you watch his face - dazed and completely wrecked - fucking you so hard that you’re sure the bed is about to break.

When he finds his voice again, it’s your real name that slips past his lips. ‘Gonna cum so hard, oh fuck - I’m gonna -’

Frankie’s thrusting frantically into you, eyes screwed shut until his hips stutter and then - after one perfect moment of stillness suspended in time - shudder after shudder thunder through his body, your name a broken record as he spills into the condom, his scratchy baritone moaning into your neck as the frenzied energy bleeds out of him.

His weight pins you to the bed as he catches his breath, and you play with his curls gently, basking in the rumbling purr in his chest as you run the strands between your fingers. Eventually, gathering himself, he rolls off you to let you breathe, tying the condom neatly and tossing it into the trash can.

For a second, Frankie lies on his side, watching you quietly. You watch him back, casting your gaze over the curls stuck to his sweaty forehead and his broad outline backlit by your nightstand light. Before self-consciousness can settle into the small distance between you, he cracks a smile and quips, ‘You did say I’d get laid even if it killed you.’

You laugh, which makes him grin. One strong arm reaches out to tuck you into his side, securely beneath the duvet. You hum at the tickle of his beard on the back of your neck and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

Right on the cusp of sleep, you sass, ‘Guess you’ll have to split the winnings with me after all.’

Any other day, you would’ve woken up if you heard someone on the stairwell. Hell, you’d hear if they were knocking on the salon door downstairs.

When you’re rudely shaken awake by frantic knocking on the studio door, you realise it’s because your hearing has been impaired by the side of a very warm body smooshed into your ear.

‘Shiv! Open up! I need to leave in fifteen minutes for my photoshoot!’

‘Shit,’ you croak, throat dry, limbs flailing as you try to sit up. ‘I forgot about Benny.’

‘Fuck him’, grouses Frankie, pulling you back into his arms, eyes still closed.

‘I can’t, I promised to help him with his hair. Fuck, do we need to hide you, or -’

‘The door’s thin, Shiv, I can hear him. And we put two and two together when you guys disappeared last night. We're pretty, but we ain't dumb!’

Frankie lets you go with a grumbled Benjamin fucking Miller under his breath, but he visibly perks up when you stumble out of bed naked.

You half-jokingly shield your boobs from his view. ‘Are you perving on me, Morales?’

He smirks, leaning back into the pillows with his hands folded behind his head while he eyes you appreciatively. It’s not fair how his triceps flex deliciously with the movement. ‘Why bother covering up? I’ve seen everything already.’

Trying - and failing - to shoot him a stern scowl, you pull on a robe and yank the door open, nearly careening backwards at the sight of Benny’s grinning face right in the doorway. 

‘Since when did you bang paying customers?’ he demands in lieu of a good morning.

You roll your eyes and usher him downstairs. ‘He’s not a paying customer. He’s on Pope’s tab.’

Benny flops into his usual chair, making it squeak, one eyebrow up as he does the air quotes. ‘Well, I guess we now know what kind of friends you guys are.’

‘Shut up, Miller,’ you gripe, but your mouth twists into a grin, giving you away as you set up.

‘Damn, that good, huh?’ he laughs. ‘I mean, Fish does have a rep, but I've never had insider confirmation.’

You point your styling scissors at him menacingly. ‘Shut up, or I won’t be held responsible if my hands slip by accident.’

Benny feeds you a sugar donut while you work quickly, trimming the ends before styling it, going for a tousled bed head look. You hear the water pipes run upstairs and the carpeted floors creak when Frankie gets up. Trying to play it cool, you only briefly glance up, catching a glimpse of him in the mirror as he makes his way down the stairs in his rumpled shirt and trousers, zipping up the fly when he reaches the bottom.

‘Morning, stud,’ sing-songs Benny, which earns him a slap on the head. ‘Ow! What the fuck, Shiv!’

Frankie loiters behind you for a second, scratching the back of his neck, before pulling you to one side. Not that it affords you much privacy anyway, with Benny wriggling his eyebrows impertinently at the two of you in the mirror.

‘I - uh -,’ he starts haltingly, one hand rubbing at the silver patch in his beard sheepishly. ‘I had a really good time last night.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ you smile.

His voice dipping lower, he asks, ‘Can I take you out to dinner sometime?’

Benny, being the shithead that he is, interjects loudly. ‘Hey lovebirds, I’m kind of on the clock here, if you don’t mind -’

‘She’ll get to you when she gets to you, Benjamin,’ snaps Frankie, one hand on his hip and the other pointing a stern finger at him.

Something about him being so assertive sends heat running up and down your spine. Stepping into his space - beaming when he doesn’t back away - you smooth a palm over the front of his shirt, unintentionally catching the rabbiting of his heart underneath.

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug nonchalantly. ‘Do you intend to come back as a cash-paying customer?’

His eyes flash with want, one hand closing around your hip and he leans down to let his heated words brush by your ear. ‘Not if I can keep paying in other ways.’

Reaching up, you run a hand through his curls, preening at the way he closes his eyes at your touch. ‘Alright then, take me to dinner, Francisco.’

Peering around you, Frankie barks, ‘Miller, I’m cashing in on our bet.’

‘Fuck’s sake. I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,’ he gripes, digging into his wallet reluctantly.

Swiping the bill from Benny, Frankie winks at you before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth - chaste, but charged with meaning. ‘Looks like you paid for your own dinner, Shiv.’

With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head and playfully push him towards the door. ‘Get outta here before I change my mind!’

‘Yeah right - as if you would now that you know what you’ll be missing.’

You’re not sure which makes your jaw drop - his cocksure declaration or the roguish confidence with which he walks out the door. In either case, Benny howls with laughter as you struggle to stay on your feet, your kneecaps having been rendered completely useless.

Just as Frankie climbs into his truck, Ashton whistles to a stop outside the salon on his wheels. Jaw dropping at the sight of the disheveled pilot nodding at him through the windscreen, he abandons his bike right on the curb and dashes into the salon, the door banging against the wall as he rushes in.

‘Excuse me - what the fuck did I just miss?’ he demands frantically.

You roll your eyes. ‘Calm down, Ashton, it’s not what it looks like -’

‘It’s exactly what it looks like,’ interrupts Benny as he starts singing. ‘Shiv and Frankie sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-’

He breaks off with a yelp when you stuff a donut into his mouth to shut him up, sugar flying everywhere as Ashton picks you up and spins you around, squealing like a banshee the entire time.

‘You guys are the fucking worst,’ you laugh, out of breath by the time Ashton lets you go.

Glancing outside, where Frankie is still parked watching the whole embarrassing episode, he gives you one last wink and an amused grin before he pulls away from the curb.

In an almost exact repeat of the scene from a few days ago, Ashton joins you at the window, and the two of you watch, shoulder to shoulder, as Frankie smoothly steers his truck out of your street.

‘He even drives sexy,’ sighs Ashton dreamily. Nudging you in the side, he adds slyly, ‘You’re in so much trouble, Shiv.’

You grin. You know you are - and luckily, it’s not a spot of bother that you’ll be in a hurry getting out of anytime soon.

Notes: I'm so excited to have finally completed this little two-shot. The two of them have been hanging out in my head all these months, it feels amazing to finally yeet this part into the world! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you had as much fun as I did with these two 🥰 Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ❤️

Now that I've got you here, if you want more of Shiv, I wrote some silly little drabbles of her hair appointments with our handsome Pedro boys for a recent milestone celebration. There are also some fun thoughts that came out of an impromptu Grays sleepover we had last week 🤍

I'm sure we'll see more of Shiv and Frankie somewhere down the line. For now, thank you again, I love you all so much ❤️

[chiibinomonodamon]

WHO WANTS TO HEAR ME RAMBLE ABOUT GAY FURRY DEMON SEX? XD

(damn, there's a sentence I never thought I'd say....)

Okay...so I see some Stolitz confusion and bashing online and I need to type up a defense here because I won't be able to sleep otherwise lol

I consider myself to be a Ship Critic and someone who takes shipping rather seriously.

What I mean by this is, I like to analyze and break down romantic relationships between fictional characters because it's just interesting to write for me. I especially take delight in friendly debating with opinions that I strongly do *not* agree with.

Let me start off by saying I am NOT a "this ship is awesome because gay furry sex lol" type of girl.

FAR from it. I'm generally more passionate about hetero ships between human characters (because I can relate to them more) among other reasons. So if you wanna dismiss my defense as "shallow fangirlism", you can forget about that lame excuse.

I fell in love with Hazbin Hotel when it was finally released in February and suffered waiting for each new two-parts per week. During that time, I decided to watch Helluva Boss as well, after a friend showed me a particularly soul-crushing clip (Moxxie's childhood trauma about his mother).

Yes, I like funny sex jokes as much as the next goofy adult but scenes like this, scenes that carry a very heavy emotional weight are what really get me in the end, even moreso when VERY little dialogue is exchanged. I knew I had to watch the entire episode run after seeing that the creators had a talent for this.

I saw people asking:

"How did Stolas go from using Blitz as a sex toy to being painfully in love with him?"

Oh I can tell you. I can tell you the EXACT moment this is revealed. But it's not spoon-fed to you; it's quite subtle actually and this is why lots of people miss it.

See, one of the strongest talents Vivenne has shown me is that she REALLY knows how to get her characters to communicate their feelings to the viewers JUST from their expressions and body language. These can be 'blink-and-miss-it' teeny little scenes and it may require a couple rewatches.

But since people demand time stamps for all information others post here, I'll rewatch a few scenes from S1 E7 'Ozzie's' as I'm typing this.

'Ozzie's' remains to be not just my favorite episode of HB...but probably my favorite episode of any adult-targeted animated show outside of Japan (aside from S2 E7's Mid-Season Special)

It has this huge reveal for both Blitzo and Stolas.

We'll first address Blitzo's irrational, stalkerish behavior of Moxxie and Millie.

He's obsessed with them. He finds both of them very attractive, fantasizes about threesomes with them and is constantly inserting himself into their personal lives.

Why?

Because they have everything that he badly badly wants for himself.

They have the perfect marriage and he is trying to live THROUGH them.

This was hilarious to me at the beginnning of the show but it's slowly revealed that it's one of the most tragic and depressing things I've ever seen. And it's scarily realistic too.

But you know this already so let's move on...

Blitzo follows the couple to Ozzie's but he can't get in without a date. So he calls up Stolas and yes, this is very low but he doesn't realize how much this means to Stolas (hell, I'm not sure even Stolas realizes it himself!) but the owl man is giddy with joy, he rushes over and they enter Ozzie's.

When Ozzie and Fizz mock Moxxie for being so sappy towards his wife, this strikes a chord with Blitzo (because they're his IDEAL relationship) and he speaks up to defend them.

NOW PAY CLOSE ATTENTION; THIS IS THE IMPORTANT PART:

Fizz, still holding onto his past grudge turns on Blitzo to humilate him:

"Some nerve you got commenting on a relationship"

Time Stamp: 11:37

As Fizz says "-ship", Blitzo VERY QUICKLY makes eye contact with Stolas who has a look of panic on his face. Blitzo is seeking VALIDATION from Stolas in this sharp, subtle second of screentime, as if to ask

"Well, ARE we in one?"

And then what happens next...Stolas remains silent, Blitzo's ex joins in to announce how selfish Blitzo was in bed with her, tearing him down further. Stolas stands up like he's going to put a stop to it but then Ozzie notices him and interrogates him about sleeping with Blitzo.

Blitzo looks incredibly ashamed and guilty as Stolas blushes with similar feelings...and hides his face behind his menu; HIS BIGGEST MISTAKE IN THE SERIES SO FAR.

Time Stamp: 12:24

The look on Blitzo's face as he grits his teeth and darts his eyes away basically says

"Yeah, I should have known...boy am I an idiot for trusting him to stand up for me".

(look how SHOCKED he is...wow, this hurts fr ;_;)

This is a silent betrayal on Stolas's part. Afterall, his reputation is on the line, so if he were to defend Blitzo, it confirms they are in fact, dating. He chose his pride over Blitzo and Blitzo is crushed by this betrayal.

Moxxie finishes his song and kisses his wife tenderly. Stolas watches this and also wants to have an affectionate moment with Blitzo (who is rightfully glaring daggers at him) and tries to reach for his hand.

Blitzo rejects his touch and suggests they leave. As they do, Blitzo still looks furious and hurt. Stolas is now realizing how badly he screwed up with a "What have I done?" face (13:41)

He even looks disappointed with himself.

After Blitzo drops Stolas off, he thanks him and tries to smooth over the awkwardness with sweet talk but Blitzo just rolls his eyes in disgust and pulls on his face like "I don't want to hear this bullshit".

He responds coldly and curtly, "Yeah." Stolas makes more suggestions to spend time with him, which just makes him even angrier and he snaps

"I'm not fucking you tonight, okay!

I'm really just..." (14:28)

he pauses to wipe a tear because at this point he can barely hold it together (top notch voice acting and animation directing btw)

"...not in the mood, Stolas."

Stolas still tries to talk him into doing couple things unrelated to sex.

Blitzo's face switches back to anger and frustration because Stolas isn't getting the message so he goes for the blunt tactic;

"Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but YOU wanting ME to fuck you, okay?"

(14:42)

"You make that really clear all the time."

(again his voice sounds like he's about to break down)

"But I-I just can't do it tonight, okay?"

(Finally meets his eye)

"...I'm sorry."

I believe this is code for "I'm sorry we're even in this situation and how your reputation got damaged. " Or, more painfully, "I'm sorry I'm such an embarrassment to you".

Stolas replies "Okay" and takes a deep breath to compose himself. They say goodnight and depart.

An important note here is that Stolas calls him "Blitzo" instead of "Blitzy" to show more respect.

As Blitzo zooms away coldly, Stolas looks up at the sky with tears in his eyes, surprised at how much it hurts.

He then sits down with his head in his hands in anguish...because he's getting that

"Oh...no. These feelings are real" epiphany.

And as if this wasn't enough angst, Blitzo collapses onto his couch at home, goes through the memories on his phone and starts sobbing.

I'm going to be real with you; this is the most heart-breaking shit I have ever seen in an adult show of this type. It's also the first time a show of this type got me to cry.

The last six minutes have revealed so much information without spoonfeeding it to the audience because the show RESPECTS its audience.

To recap:

*Blitzo takes Stolas on a first official date to use him

*Stolas is extremely happy about it

*Blitzo gets humilated and looks to Stolas for validation

*Stolas betrays him and breaks his heart

*Blitzo snaps that their relationship is nothing more than lust-driven sex

*Stolas realizes he's actually in love with Blitzo and it's a huge problem because (he believes) that it's unrequited.

*Blitzo breaks down because the ONE person whom he thought would protect him didn't do so.

So these two are convinced that neither one loves the other...while the irony is, it's quite the opposite.

Because if Blitzo REALLY didn't feel anything towards Stolas, he would not have gotten this emotional.

Yes, they are both lonely...but I really don't think that's all there is between them.

So..........we know WHEN they started falling...now the question is why;

I think the answer's quite simple; single-target affection.

It was mentioned in S2 that Stolas and Stella did sleep together ONE TIME...but Stolas didn't enjoy it at all. He is stuck with a wife who hates him so much that she put a HIT on him...and a daughter who thinks he's a loser. Blitzo is pretty much the one person in his life who is able to make him happy. That one small, bright spot. He enjoys the sex with him but he also simply enjoys his company, as shown in Ozzie's episode. He is thrilled to simply talk to him about his day...and do anything else that couples do. They're complete opposites. Stolas is an intellectual but naive and sheltered. Blitzo is poorly educated but cynical and street-smart. Opposites attract...though this is likely more from Stolas's POV than Blitzo's.

In other words, Stolas is into bad boys xD lmao

In Blitzo's case, Stolas is the only character who shows him physical affection which he desperately craves. He's pretty tsundere about it most of the time...but I think he actually does enjoy that attention...especially when he's always getting disrespected by Moxxie and Loona..and quite a lot of people around him. BUT he's too scared to get serious with anyone because of past trauma and he also believes that no one could possibly love him as a person. :(

Reasons I Think This Love is Real

Aside from what I pointed out in the Ozzie's episode...there's quite a lot of evidence, esp from Stolas's POV.

After he realizes he's in love, he goes to Asomodeous for an ALTERNATIVE method for Blitzo to use so they will no longer sleep together. He wants to set Blitzo free. Which means he DOES truly love him because love is about being generous to the other person. He COULD be totally selfish about it but he isn't.

Asomodeous mentions how against love potions he is and Stolas agrees. He thinks that's out of the question.

'Look My Way' music video. Lol I don't have to say anything more.

In S2 E6 OOPS

This exchange at 16:57

Fizz: Seems your taste has gotten more 'regal', lately?

Blitz: Yeah, well unlike you, I fuck who I want WHEN I want. I'm not gonna be tied down to some big blue-blood asshole.

Fizz: You coulda fooled me the way Prince was cozying up to you at Ozzie's.

Blitz (gets very defensive) HEY! Stolas only cares about have a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his mattress, okay!

It's nothing...(gets hesistant and looks away)...you know...

(Fizz gives him a 'bitch please' look xD)

"it's nothing else."

Fizz: Then why were you even there?

Blitz: OTHER very important reasons of course.

Fizz: Whatever. I don't actually care.

Blitz: Stolas is just a loud, thirsty BITCH!

(Fizz is rolling his eyes again)

Blitz: He loves feeling the thrill of getting dicked by the lower class.

It's a novelty to him.

Fizz: LITERALLY just said I don't care!

Blitz: And then he'll call me and try to see how my day was!

And he'll pretend to care about me and comment on my photos laugh at my jokes...

Fizz: (Smirking) OH! That's definitely your clue right there that it's all bullshit!

Blitz: I KNOW, RIGHT??

Fizz: (Making a 'What in idiot' expression, shaking his head)

Blitz: HE'S JUST A FAKE, PRIVELEDGED ASSHOLE...

Fizz: Sounds like you just hate him for being a prince!

No one (laughs) and I mean NO ONE pretends to care that much just for a cheap lay.

All right. IF ANYONE knows what real love is like, it's Fizzaroli...who is in a very HEALTHY relationship with Asomodeous. He recognizes the signs because he's IN that place. He sees it...and he's annoyed that Blitzo keeps denying it and brushing it off...yet clearly can NOT stop talking about Stolas (amusing irony)

To sum up (this freaking essay lol) 'Stolitz' ABSOLUTELY has the potential to be pure and true...these two just need to communicate...or Stolas has to PROVE to Blitzo that he's serious about his feelings in another way.

There is no doubt that this ship is 100% endgame and is a case of the 'Earn Your Happy Ending' Trope. I look forward to the rest of the journey. Ron is putting my feelings about Stolitz in a perfect phrase:

[peachdues]

Your Beauty Never, Ever Scared Me

A/N: oh boy, I just couldn't leave this storyline alone, could I?

Inspired by a post from @aagod who pointed out how amazing the trope is of touching/kissing/caressing one's scars, and I was a WHORE for it. This is inspired by that one line from this song.

But because I have never been brief about anything in my entire life (that's why I'm about to be an attorney), I had to write out a full-length fic set in the Bundle of Joy universe.

This takes place roughly a year before the start of Bundle of Joy -- right at the start of Sanemi x Y/N's physical/romantic relationship (featuring a little bit of angst, because I have to, okay?)

I also had fun with expanding upon the concept of the Lunar Hashira, including a new breathing form, as well as a special weapon for Y/N! See the end for a link to a visual of a naginata (pole) blade.

Word count: 6.3k

CW: angst, fluff, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, fucking in a hot spring. Pining Sanemi, soft Sanemi; shoulder injury, improper setting of a dislocated joint; scar worship (?).

Bon appetite!

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It was supposed to have been a one-time thing.

Even though he had asked her to return to his estate for nightly training sessions, she had told him “no.”

It isn’t that Y/N doesn’t want him — she does very much so, to the point it pains her — but agreeing to continue this thing that had grown between them was a door she would not open.

She couldn’t.

Not when a career with the Demon Slayer Corps was akin to putting one foot across the line to the afterlife. Not when opening her heart up meant losing everything again.

And Y/N knows she already cares for the Wind Pillar far too much.

It pained her to establish distance between them over the last two weeks, even more so whenever she saw Sanemi Shinazugawa’s eyes linger on her for a second too long at their Pillar meetings, the hurt and longing in his eyes undeniable. He does not act any differently towards her, but she casn see the question torturing him every time she met that lilac gaze.

Why?

Because she wanted to. Because he had kissed her first, so really, it was his fault. Because she had melted the second his lips crashed against hers, and she had been so tired of wanting but never being allowed to have, and she wanted for once to be selfish.

But she had been selfish, and every day since she has been the direct cause of Sanemi Shinazugawa’s pain, and the thought is slowly wearing down the remains of her tattered heart into nothing.

But she loves him too much to want to lose him, so she does nothing.

——————————————-

They are sent on a mission together the next day.

The target is a suspected Lower Moon, located in some dense forest on the other side of the mountainous range surrounding the Demon Slayer Corp’s safe haven.

Rationally, Y/N knows why they’ve been paired together. She knows that his offensive Wind Breathing coupled with her more defensive style of Lunar breathing complement each other well in battle, each breathing style able to make up for the pitfalls of the other.

Still, Y/N thinks the universe is playing a damn cruel joke in making their fighting styles so compatible. It almost feels like a taunt.

They make small talk as they travel towards the demon’s location, every step fraying what’s left of Y/N’s delicate nerves. Her hand closes and releases the smooth shaft of her niichirin naginata blade — a specially forged weapon uniquely suited to her command over Lunar Breathing — as they near their target, her anxiety palpable.

She is not necessarily anxious over the fight — she is more anxious about whom she is fighting beside.

Nervous, because she told Shinazugawa that they could only ever be friends, yet she knows the second she thinks he might be in danger, she won’t hesitate to pitch herself in front of him. A hypocrite.

As she mulls over the thought, Y/N sourly thinks that the Master was probably right about relationships amongst the Hashira. She could not be trusted because she wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice the world to keep her Wind Pillar safe, even though he wasn’t hers at all.

The pair come upon the ruins of a small village, most of the buildings in great disrepair and in various stages of decay. Both slayers, however, pick up on the foul odor emanating from one of the more stable buildings to their left.

Y/N looks to Shinazugawa, who nods in confirmation. That is where their target is most likely lurking.

“I’ll go through the front. Can you find your way in from the back or from above?” Shinazugawa asks, drawing his blade.

Y/N nods. “I’ll cover you.” She brings her naginata to her front, swiping the blade in a long, graceful arc up as she summons her first form, Night of the New Moon, to act as a temporary cloak for the Wind Pillar.

“See ya inside,” Shinazugawa takes off into the crescent-shaped void, not wanting to lose the temporary advantage her technique provides them.

Y/N darts around the side of the crumbling hut and finds a hole large enough to slip through in its rotting roof, joining the battle already raging within.

———————-

The fight against the Lower Moon had been relatively easy — it had almost seemed a waste to send two Hashira to complete the job, given how quickly they had managed to incapacitate the demon. But the tricky part had been in the demon’s blood art, with it capable of creating full, flesh and blood clones of itself that were just as strong as its main body. Though Sanemi ultimately manages to lob off the head of the main body while Y/N held off four — four — of the accursed demon’s equally powered clones at once, the Lower Moon is able to hurtle one last attack towards the Wind Pillar, who is still airborne as he comes down from wielding the final blow.

Sanemi is just barely able to brace himself for impact as the flash of red light sluices towards him, and he feels a slight twinge of dread because he knows he is unable to twist out of the way as he falls through the air. But just before the posthumous attack can land on its target, a flurry of silver and black materializes before him, naginata spinning rapidly in her hand as she summons her eighth form to shield him for the second time since they had started fighting together.

Y/N’s Lunar Eclipse technique absorbs the full force of the demon’s attack, but because she launched herself from the upper balcony of the rotting house where she had been battling the demon’s clones to guard him mid-air, she is unable to get into the requisite defensive stance Sanemi knows she needs for the proper execution of the technique.

So he is helpless to watch as the recoil from the clash of the demon’s attack with Y/N’s defensive maneuver sends her flying backward through a crumbling wood wall, helpless to do anything but yell her name, his free hand grasping uselessly at the air as she sails away from him.

Sanemi feels a sick sense of deja vu as he tears through the rubble into the adjacent room where she has been thrown, thinking back to the first time she had used that breathing form to save him, when she had nearly lost all of her internal organs. Hot panic roils in his stomach as he clamps down the roar building in his chest, moving to yank a large, broken piece of wood out of his way, uncovering the scowling Lunar Pillar.

Sanemi wastes no time grabbing Y/N by the waist and hauling her up to inspect her, eyes wild and frantic as he looked over her for injury.

Y/N groans, sending a fresh wave of anxiety sludging through him as he waits for the coppery tang of blood to hit his nose, to confirm his worst fears that she is seriously wounded, too much so to be able to wait for the Kakushi, and-.

“Shinazugawa,” Y/N’s voice breaks through the roaring in his head. “Shinazugawa. Sanemi.” She grits out, left hand rising to grasp his forearm, nails digging into his skin to command his attention. “I am unharmed.” Sanemi finally meets her eyes, breath still coming fast and hard in his panic, though his erratic heart begins to slow at her words.

Y/N winces, the hand around him flying to the shoulder of her sword arm as she hisses through clenched teeth.

Sanemi sees then the odd slump of her shoulder, as though the joint were sitting lower, an odd gap forming in the fabric of her haori.

Sanemi recognizes the injury, his jaw clenching as anger chases away the panic that had been bubbling within him. “Your shoulder. You dislocated it.”

Y/N shimmies from his grasp, head falling forward slightly to avoid his gaze.  And for some reason, her refusal to meet his eyes makes him furious. Furious because how could she look him in the eyes and tell him that what happened during their sparring session could not happen again, because they couldn’t afford to have emotional attachments as demon slayers, yet not two weeks later, she risks her own neck for him again?

Sanemi opens his mouth, ready to rip into her, to curse her for her stupidity and her hypocrisy, because how dare she tell him not to care for her but rush to give her life for his.

Before the words can form, however, Y/N looks up at him, her eyes so soft and yet so full of an emotion he instantly recognizes as self-loathing that the words died on his tongue.

At that moment, Sanemi knows only one thing: there is no insult, no mockery, no barb he can throw at her that she isn’t already screaming at herself.

No point in beating a dead horse, really.

Sanemi doesn’t want to think about why she looks so guilty because to think about the why meant giving himself hope that she was hurting just as much as he was, even though he knows why she rejected him; understands it with every fiber of his being.

So, he says nothing as she stands, makes no sound as she stomps past him and out through the decaying wood doorway, towards a dying tree in the middle of the courtyard. He watches dumbly as she lines her arm up on one side of the dry bark, inhaling once, twice through her nose before she jerks herself with all her might in the opposite direction, a pained shriek tearing from her lips.

Sanemi has spent many years with the Demon Slayer Corp. He has seen countless injuries, far worse than a dislocated shoulder, and heard far worse screams from the dying as they succumbed to demons.

Yet, as he listens to Y/N’s scream of pain, his blood runs cold.

No, Sanemi thinks, he never wants to hear that sound ever again. Thinks it would drive him mad if he were ever forced to.

But he doesn’t tell her this, because she made it abundantly fucking clear that they cannot be more than mere colleagues, so he tucks the knowledge away that his limit is apparently her pain deep into the recesses of his mind.

Sanemi tries not to think about what that means for his heart.

————————-

They arrive at the Wisteria House just after the stars in the sky had winked out, dawn not too far away. The mistress of the house promises that there is a large hot spring just behind the small estate, up a winding path and that they are both welcome to use it. Y/N was so enthralled at the promise of hot water on her aching muscles that she hadn’t thought to ask the Wind Hashira if he too planned to bathe.

Which was how she found herself in her current predicament.

It was stupid.

It was so stupid.

They had seen each other naked for crying out loud, had shared their bodies with each other. But now, here they were, stuck in opposite corners of the hot spring, resolutely turned away from one another as though neither of them had anything to hide from the other at all.

As though he hadn’t spent an entire evening inside of her, making her call out his name until her voice went hoarse.

His first name, at that.

Y/N hopes to conceal her flushed face from the Wind Pillar for as long as possible, so she hugs her good arm across her chest tighter, wincing slightly as her poorly re-set shoulder throbbed. Y/N predicts a visit to the Insect Pillar’s infirmary was in her near future, and the thought of her aching shoulder having to be poked and prodded anymore made her want to vomit.

If Y/N had been alone, she would have groaned, loudly, until she felt the weight slowly crushing her begin to lighten. But she is not alone, because she so stupidly failed to ask Shinazugawa who should bathe first, and now he is here and so is she, and they are both naked.

Still, the Lunar Hashira cannot deny the pang of longing in her heart as she furtively glances over to where the Wind Pillar stands, magnificently muscled back facing her, as he cups water between his hands to bring over his head, dampening it from white to a darker silver color.

His hair is shorter than it had been two weeks ago, she realizes, and she bites down on her lip as she realizes she likes it – a lot. Her eyes then fixate on the silvery jagged lines of the scars which crisscross his back, tracing her gaze down to where the top of his hips disappears into the glowing turquoise of the spring water. He has more scars on his back than he has on his front, she notes, evidence of his years of brutal training.

Evidence of his loss; great, unimaginable loss.

Because even the most skilled soldiers cannot save everyone, a truism she knew tore Sanemi apart. As memories of their past conversations came flooding back to her, memories of Sanemi telling her exactly what had happened to his family, his partner in the Corps, Y/N feels the oily slick of guilt seep into her gut.

It is ironic, that Sanemi Shinazugawa of all people, had felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with her, — both physically and emotionally — but she had run at the first opportunity for her to return that vulnerability.

She, who had prided herself on being someone that others could depend on, could turn to in moments of need.

But she had run.

Because she is a coward.

He is beautiful and good and selfless and she is a damn coward.

Y/N’s shoulder throbs so violently it feels as if it has its own heartbeat, but Y/N doesn’t pay it any mind. She does not sink deeper into the beckoning warmth of the spring water to try and relieve the ache that is so deep it makes tears sting her eyes.

Such comfort is the least she deserves for the pain she has caused him.

——————————

He hadn’t meant to look. He swears he hadn’t.

But Sanemi accidentally turns when he hears her hiss, an instinctive urge to respond to a threat, to protect her forcing his head around, only to see no threat existed at all. Rather, the sound seemed to have been made in response to her shoulder wound.

She is not turned away from him completely — he has a perfect view of her side profile, the side of her injured shoulder facing him directly. Though her body is mostly concealed by the thick curtain of dark hair that spills down to her waist, he can see that Y/N still has her good arm locked snugly around her chest, in some futile attempt to conceal her ample breasts from sight.

Sanemi bites his lip to keep from snorting. Did it seem stupid, considering he had seen her in a far more intimate setting just a couple of weeks prior? Obviously. But Y/N’s discomfort with the situation had been obvious the moment she had stumbled across him in the hot springs, and Sanemi isn’t about to push her any further.

Especially after the stunt she just pulled on their mission.

He means to turn around once he confirmed that she was safe, that there was no threat looming in the woods surrounding the rocky hot spring. But his eyes snag on her face, on the grimace that twists at her mouth and the furrow of her eyebrows as she massages the tender skin around her swollen shoulder joint.

He hates to see her in pain. Hates it so much, it makes him want to rip the world apart with his bare hands.

And maybe it was because it tore at him to see her in such pain that he feels compelled to speak up, even though he knew he was opening himself up for more rejection, even rejection as her friend.

“You need heat,” Sanemi says, turning fully towards her.

Y/N startles slightly at the sound of Sanemi’s voice cleaving through the silent tension that had been steadily building between them. She turns her head slightly to face him, good arm tightening its hold over her chest.

He is standing in the water, body turned fully towards her. The blue-green spring water laps gently at the toned muscles of his lower abdominals, but Y/N can still make out the start of the impressive “v” of his hips. Her cheeks warm at the sight of the small trail of silvery hair that began just beneath his navel winding down and disappearing beneath the surface of the water to the crop of neatly trimmed hair that she knows frames his thick, proud length.

Y/N’s mouth runs dry as the memory of what Sanemi did to her with that length on the training grounds of his estate flashes through her mind.

So lost in thought is she that she almost forgets to respond to what Sanemi has said, flushing a deeper shade of crimson when she realizes that he had been talking about her wound.

“O-oh, I know. It’s just hard to do when I’m — well, you know.” Y/N laughs shakily, wiggling her good shoulder and the position of her arm across her chest.

Sanemi stares at her for a moment, eyebrows raised incredulously, though Y/N drops her gaze from him before she can see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I can help — if you’re comfortable with it, that is.” Sanemi offers.

Y/N feels her heart lurch at the silver-haired man’s proposition, guilt sliding back into her veins. She does not deserve his kindness, does not deserve his help after how she has treated him, and yet he offered nonetheless.

Y/N cannot deny him again, not when he seems so earnest in wanting to help ease her pain, so she nods. Something like relief flits across Sanemi’s face as he begins to make his way through the water towards her, keeping his eyes fixed behind her out of respect.

When Sanemi is close enough to reach out and touch her, he stops, the water having risen slightly up his waist now that he is in a deeper portion of the spring.

“You can — you can turn away. Put your back to me.” Sanemi says, awkwardly shifting his weight between his legs.

Y/N nods and turns to face away from him. Sanemi’s proximity sends chills across her skin, and Y/N’s belly dips in anticipation as she waits. The thick, damp air of the spring combines with the hot water licking at her upper waist makes her feel dizzy. Wordlessly, Sanemi cups a handful of hot water and brings it up over Y/N’s bruising shoulder, opening his palms to let it pour over her skin.

Though her arm remains firmly placed over her cleavage, for the first time in a long while, the Lunar Pillar feels her body begin to relax under the exquisite heat of the spring water Sanemi delicately pours over her tender shoulder.

So relaxed is she that she does not realize she is drifting backwards, not until her head thuds lightly against something hard and warm. Jolted by the sudden contact, the Lunar Hashira’s silvery eyes fly open and collide with the lilac irises above her, the surprise in his gaze a mirror of her own. 

He is now much closer to her than he had been, and it is with no small amount of embarrassment that the Lunar Pillar realizes that in her haze, she has sunken back against the taut, warm body of Sanemi Shinazugawa.

There is a hint of red that begins to spread across the girl’s cheeks as she looks up at him that makes Sanemi’s ears burn, and he quickly moves his own gaze to somewhere — anywhere — that isn’t the ethereal creature now peering up at him with those haunting eyes.

He wills his other head to not react to the feeling of the girl’s head against his sternum; to not react to the silkiness of her hair or the thick haze of jasmine and honeysuckle soap which now enveloped him.

God, has she always smelt this good?

There is no making sense of what happened next. the Lunar Pillar lifts her head from Sanemi’s chest and turns to face him completely, her left arm still failing to totally obscure the luscious swell of her breasts from view. She peers up at him, as he continues to try and glare at a nearby rock in a futile attempt to not show that he has been watching her every bit as much as she is watching him.

Slowly, the Lunar Hashira lifts her free hand to lightly graze a thick scar that slants Sanemi’s left pectoral. She marvels at how it is both jagged and thick but surprisingly smooth and soft beneath the gentle press of her fingers.

Her touch is feather-light but Sanemi feels the skin beneath her soft caress erupt into flames, his cock beginning to stir at the slight contact.

She begins to trace her fingers to the start of another scar lacing his chest — slightly lower than the first — when Sanemi’s hand snatches up to grab her own, stilling its movements.

“Don’t-“he hisses through clenched teeth, his eyes screwed shut as though in pain. His grip on her is firm, but not harsh. “Don’t touch me like that.”

The Lunar Pillar feels the guilt and shame, hot and relentless, course through her blood. Of course he doesn’t want her to touch him — she rejected him after all. Though she had realized there was no point in trying to run from the blossoming warmth she felt her in her chest every time she looked at the stone-faced Hashira, that did not mean he wanted her, too.

Swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat, she moves to quickly pull her hand away, an apology already falling from her lips at her complete lack of professionalism, at her idiocy—

Sanemi’s grip on her hand tightens before she can remove it, pressing her hand harder against his chest. “Don’t touch me like that,” he repeats, opening his eyes to look down at her startled, red face, “because I won’t-.” He winces, trying but failing to cut himself off before he could make the admission that would surely damn them both.

“Because I won’t be able to stop myself if you do.”

Y/N’s eyes fly up to meet Sanemi’s burning stare, her breath catching in her throat. She curls her fingers against his chest, her arm falling from its position across her breasts so that she is fully exposed to him, and Sanemi thinks his heart might fly out of his chest. She steps closer to him until the soft plush of her chest lays flush against his upper abdomen, the heavenly feeling causing Sanemi’s cock to throb as she leans in close.

Sanemi’s free hand itches to touch her, to rise to rest on the dip of her waist and tug her close, but he holds back, insistent that he gives her an out, a window to walk away if that was what she still wanted.

Instead, Y/N stares up at him through a thick cluster of dark lashes, her gaze setting his skin on fire as she further presses herself against him.

“Then don’t.” She whispers.

Sanemi’s heart skips several beats, and his fingers tentatively rise to brush the skin of her waist, Y/N’s eyes fluttering softly at the contact. He lifts his hand, however, to cup her jaw, forcing her to look back at him, needing to see her eyes to confirm that she truly wanted this — wanted him.

“If we keep going, that’s it. No more running from one another.” He warns, voice hoarse with desire and emotion. “There will be no one else.”

Y/N leans her face into his touch, and Sanemi thinks his knees might buckle right then. “There never was anyone else,” she says earnestly, raising her good arm to parrot the hold he has on her face. “It’s only you, Sanemi. It has only ever been you.”

Whatever resolve Sanemi had kept tethered within himself snaps, as he crashes his mouth down against Y/N’s, her mouth opening easily to allow his tongue entrance. He crushes her face against his, desperate to give everything he has and to take whatever it is she can offer him.

Y/N moans deeply into his mouth, her fingers threading themselves through his damp hair. Sanemi’s kiss is so deep that she feels as though he will consume her whole, but she cannot find it in herself to care because, for him, she would let herself burn.

His lips are still locked on hers as he drops his hands from her face, reaching down to grip under her thighs and lifting her up, Y/N’s legs locking around his waist with ease. Sanemi makes his way towards a small, rocky island that separated the hot spring into two, connected pools, wading seamlessly through the water. 

Y/N breaks from the impassioned kiss with a gasp as the cold, rough edge of the rocky bank scrapes against her back. Sanemi uses the opportunity to readjust his hold on her, lifting her slightly up to press her against the island so that he has better access to her neck and below, though he does not drop the iron grip he holds on her hips.

Sanemi dances his lips down the elegant length of Y/N’s neck, pausing to suck on her sensitive pulse point and eliciting a high, keening moan from her. He moves one hand from its bruising grip from its position on one of her thighs, wrapped tightly around his waist, trailing it teasingly under her to knead the soft flesh of her backside. Y/N moans again, grinding her hips against him, desperate for the tiniest bit of friction against her core which was now aching with her need.

Sanemi growls as Y/N’s core brushes against his throbbing length, his teeth sinking into the juncture between her good shoulder and neck as he nipped her in warning. As much as he wants to bury himself in her intoxicating heat, he will not do so until he knows she is good and ready to receive him.

He pulls away from her neck to look at her, his eyes dark with need and with something deeper, something tender that Y/N won’t name right now, even though she cannot deny that she feels it, too. His cheeks are dusted pink, and his lips are reddened by her kiss. His hair, though still damp, is perfectly tousled from her fingers, and his chest heaves as he tries to control his breathing.

Sanemi is beautiful and Y/N knows in her heart that she is doomed. Doomed because there will never be anything as good as this — as good as him.

He doesn’t hesitate to pounce back on her, hand dragging down the front of her torso to fondle her breast, his lips following down the same path. Before Y/N can draw another breath, her breast is sucked into Sanemi’s deliciously hot mouth just as a rough, callused finger runs over the slit at her core, dipping below slightly to brush against the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. Y/N cries out then, her fingers moving to clutch onto Sanemi’s shoulders, and she finds that it is easy to ignore the throb in her injured shoulder when he is working to relieve the pulsing ache between her legs.

Sanemi begins murmuring against Y/N’s breast as he slides one thick finger into her, causing Y/N’s hands to fly up to grip his hair, pulling harshly at the strands as she is overwhelmed by the sensation. He tells her she is beautiful, how perfect she feels clenching around him, and how he cannot wait to be inside her and make her sing. He slips in another finger, his thumb pressing against her clit as his teeth graze her nipple, and Y/N shatters in his arms.

“Mnnnh, Sanemi,” she pants, thighs tightening around his waist as she grinds herself relentlessly against his hand. “Oh!”

Y/N comes with the prettiest moan Sanemi has ever heard, and it takes everything in him not to follow suit just by the look of blissful pleasure on her face. Sanemi cuts off her cries with another kiss, fingers curling inside her as he brushes against the sensitive spongy patch on her inner wall, causing Y/N to fall apart all over again, a gush of fluid coating his hand for a second before the water washes it away.

Y/N feels delirious from pleasure, but a cold sting rushes through her, cutting through the hazy fog in her mind as Sanemi removes his fingers from her needy core, her walls still clenching in the aftershock of her successive orgasms. The sting does not last, however, as Sanemi readjusts her thighs around his hips, unhooking one of her legs to bring it up to her side against the rock island, bending it at the knee. He hikes her other leg higher up his waist so that her core is now pressed flush against his demanding length, its weight heavy and hot as it rests against her sensitive flesh.

He rubs his cock against her dripping folds, the friction causing Y/N’s head to fall back against the rocky bank with a thud, uncaring as a wanton moan rips from her throat. Sanemi has one hand supporting the leg pinned against the rock at her thigh, and the other grips her waist tightly, using the rest of his body weight to keep her slightly upright and pressed against the stone.

The grip on her waist tightens as he calls her attention back to him. Through half-lidded eyes, she sees him staring intently at her, eyebrows raised in question, and she realizes that he is waiting for her signal.

The thought that he would still wait for her consent, that he is still offering her an out if she wanted it, is enough to make her want to cry. But she can’t stop now, can’t stop ever, because Sanemi makes her blood sing and she is so tired of denying herself the happiness she feels whenever he is near.

“Oh Sanemi, please. Please.” She begs, rolling her hips towards him, desperate for him to claim her all over again, to make her his and his alone.

Sanemi does not waste any more time as he carefully sinks into her, a strangled groan falling from his lips as he no doubt was overly sensitive from having waited so long. Y/N’s head falls back against the stone embankment and she cries out, finally feeling whole as he seats himself fully inside her.

Sanemi does not wait long to start moving and for that, Y/N is grateful. But unlike their first pairing at his estate, Sanemi takes his time, rocking his hips into hers, cock hitting her so deep that she cannot tell where she ends and he begins. Their first time had been the product of repressed sexual tension that had been steadily building between them, hard and fast and needy, but this?

This was different.

This was passion. This was both the end and the beginning, a sacred covenant between them that bound their hearts together, entwined their souls for infinity.

As Sanemi’s hips pick up the pace against her, the water stirring and sloshing and breaking around them with the force of his thrusts, Y/N realizes that until now, she has been on fire.

She had been from the moment their lips had met during training at his estate. She had been engulfed in an inferno that had only grown hotter, had only consumed her more, when she had tried to run, tried to deny the love that had bloomed in her heart well before she had ever offered herself to him for pleasure. For the last two weeks, she has burned and burned because she had known deep in her soul that she loved Sanemi Shinazugawa and had put herself in hell trying to deny it — to deny him.

Yet he had come and saved her, again, had pulled her out of that pit of fire and brimstone and smothered the flames with his tender heart and tender kiss, and now she was no longer burning; she was just warm.

Warm and safe and in love.

“Y/N,” Sanemi rasps, his forehead pressed against hers as his eyes bore into her, his mouth falling open. His hands clutch her tighter against him, the possessive drag of his cock making Y/N see stars as she clings to him, moaning and whimpering as she feels her release building inside her belly.

And though she is unable to stop the words that fall from her lips, she means them with every ounce of her heart.

“I love you,” she whimpers, fingers digging into Sanemi’s back as his hips stutter slightly against her at her words, the movement resulting in a delicious spike of pleasure against her clit. “I love you, Sanemi.”

Sanemi’s forehead pulls away from her own, his eyes wide and so full of hope it breaks her heart. He does not say anything, but the way he then kisses her makes her taste his response.

I love you, too.

Y/N breaks the kiss, her moans growing louder as her end nears, and from the way Sanemi’s movements quicken, becoming slightly uneven, she knows he is near as well. So Y/N presses her hands against the sides of his face, thumb running over the jagged scar cutting across his cheek as she tilts his head up to look at her.

Lavender eyes meet hers and Sanemi tumbles headfirst over the edge.

He comes with a shout, the tendons in his neck straining as his hips press hard against her. Y/N feels the warm rush his seed start to fill her and she follows after him, clenching so hard on his cock that Sanemi moans again, his release prolonged by Y/N’s pulsating walls around him.

They are both finally spent but Sanemi cannot yet bring himself to pull out, instead burying his face in Y/N’s neck as he tries to catch his breath.

“Did you mean it?” He pants against her sweaty skin, his breath causing goosebumps to ripple across her. “Did you mean what you said?”

Y/N moves to cup his face, pulling him away from her neck so he can meet her eyes. Though he is inside her, he blushes as she peers up at him, her expression serious.

“I love you, Sanemi. I have for a while,” She pauses, considering. “Longer than I was willing to admit two weeks ago.”

And her words are so honest, spoken with such conviction, that Sanemi cannot stop the grin that spreads across his face, and Y/N thinks she has never seen a more beautiful sight than a smiling Sanemi Shinazugawa, as he leans to kiss her slowly and languid.

————————

It’s hours later, and the two have not left the hot spring, even though they’ve long stopped feeling the heat of the water.

They had not stopped themselves from having one another again and again. Sanemi had still been buried inside of her when she had felt him harden as she professed her love for him again, and so she had had no choice but to move him under her and ride him until he shouted her name, filling her back up with his essence.

Y/N now rests her head on Sanemi’s chest, fingers tracing the outline of the scars dancing across his pectorals.

God, he was beautiful.

His scars told a story — a story of a warrior who gave every part of himself to the dream they shared of ridding the world of demons.

A story of strength; of survival. A warning that he had won every encounter with every demon who crossed his path.

It was a beautiful story. He was a beautiful story.

“Ugly, aren’t they?”

Sanemi’s derisive tone startles Y/N from where she lay, and she looks up at him in alarm. Though the expression on his face was soft — contented, even — there is an unmistakable hardness in his eyes as he glances down to where her fingers rested.

“What on earth do you mean?” Y/N demands, fanning her hand out protectively across his chest.

Sanemi does not respond, merely choosing to smile ruefully at her.

But Y/N shakes her head. “No. No, they’re not ugly; not in the slightest.” She moves so she’s sitting on his lap and bends over him, brushing her lips along the outline of each scar that crosses his skin.

“You’re beautiful.” Y/N insists between the press of her lips to him.

Sanemi reddens but shakes his head at her.  “They scare kids, ya know. And girls. And most people, for that matter.”

Y/N looks up from the scar she is currently lavishing and sees Sanemi watching her intently. She sits up, reaching a hand to cup under his chin so that he won’t try and hide from her, won’t try to avoid what she is about to say.

“Your beauty has never scared me, Sanemi. Ever.” She swears, voice firm and steady.

Sanemi’s heart feels like it is going to punch through his chest and dance across Y/N’s lap. At that moment, Sanemi realizes that nothing else matters to him, nothing at all, except for the woman with the kindest heart he’s ever known and the moon in her eyes.

So he sits up, and cradles her face while he kisses her softly, breaking away from her only to respond to her earlier declaration.

“I love you, too.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

I hope you all enjoyed it!

Here is the reference for the Lunar Pillar's naginata blade -- fun fact, naginatas were historically used by Japanese noblewomen for protection!

Tag-list:

@stuckinthewrongworld @ladytamayolover @sweetblueworm @kazehayaaa @horror4themasses @catzpawn @lollypoporabullet @fuckimgenderfluid @sobbing-bunny @otaku-reblogs @umekohiganbana @mydreamissleeping @finnydraws

[kakujis]

stay with me?;

a/n: a little continuation of this post. i love kakucho too much to not give him what he wants c’mon now. 😭 but why is it so sexy for (fictional)men to restrain themselves until they just can’t anymore n they jus go buck wild?? anyways, i put my entire p*ssy into this i hope u guys enjoy! like genuinely i lost my mind writing this jjdjdjd

ft: bonten!kakucho x afab!reader

wc: 4.1k, not proofread xd

warnings: dark content. afab fem!reader, sub!reader, somno, f!oral receiving, overstim, dacryphilia, praise, pet names, slight orgasm control, unprotected, creamp*e(i hate this word), multiple rounds, dubcon, jealousy, stalking, obsession, honestly the more i wrote this it became a bit of yan!kakucho lol. gets a little soft at the end. very self indulgent 💜

showering with your door unlocked wasn’t the dumbest thing you could do. okay, maybe it was…but you trusted kakucho to watch and take care of any danger while he was there.

fresh out of the shower, you finished putting lotion onto your skin, the cool cream sinking into the warmth of your skin. switching off your bathroom light as you leave, you glance at your bedroom door.

maybe.. you should say goodnight to him, he is going to be up all night. you walk over, goosebumps blooming as you rubbed your arms for warmth. why was it always so cold out of the shower?

you open your door and peek into the dimly lit living room. kakucho was there, sitting on your couch and reading a book. dressed in all black, he rested one leg up on his knee and under the light of lamp you thought he looked handsome, his black hair dangling in front of his face as he read some random book plucked off the shelf.

“kakucho..” you started, voice barely louder than a whisper. he glanced up immediately, concern etching his features and two tone eyes meeting yours. you gave a small smile, “good night and thanks for... all this,” you say, gesturing to his spot.

he blinks, before nodding, “no problem. boss’s orders anyway,” he smiles back at you, before waving you off. “go get some rest.”

you nod before slipping back into your room, closing the door behind you. you hesitate on the lock slightly before you forgo locking it, trusting in kakucho completely. he was different from the rest of bonten. his voice was gentle alongside his touches. he was sweet to you and you to him. he was the one you went to when you were upset or scared. in another life, under different circumstances, maybe you would’ve dated.

but you remember what he actually does every time he stumbles into your office, hands bloodied and eyes frenzied. you always patch him up, watching the rise and fall of his chest reminding you that he was alive and someone else wasn’t. it strikes fear into you every time, that someone so gentle and so sweet could still snuff the light out from someone else.

you wonder what he looks like in those moments. does he look as lost when he’s sitting on your desk, eyes far off and unfocused as you disinfect and bandage his wounds? or is his resolve unwavering, eyes locked as he stares down his target and pulls the trigger?

you shake your head, nows not the time to think about that. now is time for sleep, you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow. mikey’s list of tasks seemed to never end and you groaned thinking about the new stack of paper work that would grace your desk tomorrow morning.

you flopped into your bed, sinking down into your comforter and pillows. curling up under your blanket, you checked your phone one more time to see if you had any missing messages. you had just said goodnight to him, but seeing his name in your list of messages had you wanting to say it again.

y/n: kaku, i’m gonna sleep now. feel free to use whatever, whenever! sorry you have to stay up for me.

you waited a few moments, seeing if he’d respond. and he did, an immediate “read” underneath your message followed by his own:

kakucho: what’d i say earlier? don’t worry about it. you’re special to us.

y/n: you’re all special to me too. <3 goodnight.

kakucho: goodnight, y/n.

with that you closed your phone, placing it onto your nightstand before turning over. almost instantly, exhaustion took hold and you fell into a deep slumber.

-

the instant mikey mentioned that you could be in trouble, kakucho offered himself up. due to the increasing gang-conflict, you were assigned more body guards to escort you to and from home. not only that, but you had guards keeping watch outside your office day in and out.

as kakucho said, you were special to bonten. a shining, pearly light in the bleakness of bonten’s all consuming night. each executive held a place for you in their heart and each one had dreams of making you theirs, but kakucho.. bordered on obsession.

it started off innocent like holding the door open for you or grabbing an extra coffee on his way to work. if you were going to be a long time addition, he might as well get to know you. eventually, he started to relax in your company. he’d always visit your office at least once a day and you welcomed him, listening to his woes while venting some of your own. you were a breath of fresh air, the sweet scent of flowers, and being around you felt like a dream.. but then he started getting jealous.

jealous of the way you’d lightly tap on ran’s arm, giggling when he made a joke. jealous when you’d dance in rindou’s office, body swaying and humming to his music. jealous when he’d catch you sobering up sanzu, your body dangerously close to his as you pressed a water cup to his lips.

jealous of the way you’d always tell kokonoi how pretty his hair was and what he thought about your own. jealous when you’d light up takeomi’s cigarette for him without him even having to ask. jealous when you’d rub mochi’s shoulders after a long day, calling in someone to bring him a glass of wine. jealous of how every morning started with mikey and ended with mikey, as you were his secretary.

kakucho hitto was so fucking jealous of every single little thing you would do with anyone who wasn’t him. that’s when he started taking your things, little trinkets to keep you close, praying you’d keep your balcony door open every evening so he wouldn’t have to feel bad for breaking in. when he first followed you home, he didn’t even realize it. for some reason, you loved to take public transport home, as if you didn’t work for the most notorious gang in Japan. he was entranced by the way you moved, seemingly without a care in the world.

he caught himself when you turned back, the weight of his stare boring into you. he hid quickly, crouching behind a parked car. you shrugged it off and continued on, eventually making it to your small apartment home situated on the second story. he pondered over going back to his own place. he made it here, but what now? he couldn’t just knock on the door.

but then he heard something, the sound of a sliding door being opened. you stretched and sighed into the evening air, before heading back in. he came closer, until he decided to climb up onto your balcony. he dropped down, hiding behind your curtains. he peeked in, breath hitching as you started taking your clothes off before entering your room.

at the sound of running water and your bathroom door softly closing, he fully made his way in. he thought your apartment was cute, simple and small. the others probably would’ve had a fit knowing you lived so quaintly instead of bathing in luxury. but kakucho liked it anyway, running his hands along your walls and furniture, taking in deep lungfuls of your burning candle’s scent. god he wanted to make you his wife.

his pretty little housewife who would greet him home after a long day at work. his angel who would sit in his lap, pressing kisses to his forehead, murmuring, “let me take care of you, honey.” he yearned for it, his pretty baby fucked dumb on his bed every night.

when he first peered into your bedroom, he held back a groan as he saw your panties thrown onto the floor. your skirt was left haphazardly on your desk chair. while the rest of your clothes left a trail into the bathroom.

he felt guilty, you had no idea he was here. technically he was breaking in, but you had left everything so open. as if you were inviting him in just like you did with your office.

that night he stole his first pair of panties, shoving them into his pocket as he slipped out the way he came. heart pounding he walked away with his prize, albeit small in the grand scheme of things, but he couldn’t stop smiling, twirling the fabric in between his fingers. he came hard and fast that night inhaling your scent, he was addicted. he wanted more, your voice, your touch, your everything.

he started becoming a little more risky, first touching himself in your bedroom to opening your bathroom door slightly just to hear your singing as he jacked off into a used pair. it was never enough, he wanted, no, needed you underneath him squirming and writhing as he filled you up multiple times a night. he was getting restless and sooner or later he would finally get what he wanted: you.

that’s how he ended up here, the first one to watch over and protect you. his phone buzzed and he closed his book, reaching over to see who was texting him. he frowned when he realized it was the bonten group chat. what could they possibly want? he thought, opening up his messages.

mikey: we didn’t have time for a meeting today but who’s watching y/n tomorrow? kakucho can’t do it two nights in a row.

he tsk’d. he’d do this for the rest of his life if he had too, no questions asked.

kakucho: i don’t mind doing it tomorrow too.

mikey: no. you need rest, won’t be as reliable if you’re tired.

he bit his lip, tapping impatiently on his phone.

kakucho: i could just rest during the day.

mikey: i said no. it’s not an option. i don’t want anyone doing two nights in a row.

ran: i could probs do it or rin?

fuck. he grimaced, thinking about how ran wouldn’t hesitate to flirt with you. he remembers the day that he caught you letting ran sleep in your lap, your fingers running through his hair. not to mention, rindou, who already has you dancing in his office, you’d probably dance with him here too. at least, he thinks, it’s not sanzu. between the two brothers though, he’d probably hope for rindou.

mikey: sure, idc as long as someone does it.

rindou: i think i’m busy tomorrow night? have some stuff to clean up, it’s gonna have to be u ran

ran: alright lol

fuck. kakucho rubs his face, bouncing his leg as he sets his phone down. he paces the room, carefully trying to not wake you up. but the idea of ran flirting with you and you laughing, crinkling your nose, like you always do has him up the walls. would you playfully hit his arm like usual? would you let him touch you, hands trailing down your back? would you let him kiss you? god forbid, would you let him fuck you?

he runs a hand through his hair, his rage starting to consume him. there was one stream-line thought, hammering itself and taking hold of his brain: he has to be your first. he eyes the closed bedroom door. he’s done this before, he thinks, kicking off his shoes. just never while you’re actually in your bedroom. he takes a deep breath, before lightly placing his hand on the knob. slowly, he turns it, opening and entering into your room.

moonlight spills across your bed, illuminating your face in the dark. you snore softly, the exhaustion not only physical, but mental, wearing on you. the danger of having your brains blown out at any given moment loomed over you every day, suffocating every waking moment. you were on edge, always, and rightfully so. that’s why you felt safe with kakucho, utterly and completely safe. but that’s because you had never noticed the hurt in his eyes when you’d turn away from him. or the way his jaw tensed when you’d get “too close” to other executives. not once did you see the longing stares from across the room during meetings, too focused on writing down as many notes as you could hanging onto every word.

so you slept, peaceful and content, completely unaware that your protector was longing to keep you pinned underneath him as he had his way with you. if only you knew the things that he would do to you. slowly, he crept towards your dozing figure. your bed dipped as he came closer, a gloved hand pulling down your blanket. you twitched and he paused, watching as you made a little noise in response to the sudden cold shift.

his heart was pounding as he left light touches, ghosting over your exposed skin. he hooks a finger under your waistband, inching down your pajama shorts. he removes one glove, his hands burning with desire to truly feel you before he uses one finger to trail down the length of your clothed cunt.

you stir once more and he pauses again. is he really doing this? there’s no way you wouldn’t wake and yet he can’t find it in him to care. so he continues, gently carressing your core, every so often glasting over your thighs. little moans and mewls came from you and kakucho could feel his patience thinning. he wanted to take his time, explore every inch of you, but if just those small touches could get you writhing underneath him what would happen if he did more?

removing his other glove and casting it onto the floor, he starts to remove your panties. he throws them near his gloves, a reminder to take them for later. settling himself in between your thighs, he presses a kiss to your pussy. his breath is hot as he licks a stripe from your hole to clit. hooking his arms around your thighs, he holds you in place as you start to squirm in your sleep. he spreads your folds, admiring your pretty pussy before he dives back in, eagerly licking at your clit.

he watches you through half lidded eyes as your features contort, your mouth a small “o”. he switches between sucking on your clit like it’s candy and burying his tongue deep inside curling up against your walls. you eyelids flutter as you wake, drool dribbling down your chin.

“wha- ah!” you gasp, roused from sleep with hands shooting down and tugging onto his dark locks. he groans, brows knitting as he continues fucking you on his tongue.

your vision is blurry, only the moonlight that seeps in through the window illuminating your view. but you see him, eyes lidded, looking up at you in nigh worship, as he licks and kisses and slurps at your arousal.

“k-kakucho?” you stutter out, “fuck, what are you-“ you’re interrupted again, as he slips a finger, then two into your dripping cunt.

“cum for me, pretty girl.” he murmurs against you, his fingers brushing against parts of you that set your legs trembling. you try to resist at first, confusion tumbling through your brain, but with one more curl of his fingers you release, eyes rolled back, toes curling and body shaking. kakucho keeps his mouth on you, lost in the taste of your fluids until he feels you pushing on his shoulders.

“t-too much, kaku, s-stop,” you pant, tears pricking at your eyes. he pulls away, reluctantly, a sticky line of spit and cum trailing from your pussy to his lips follow him as he inches forward, suddenly crashing his lips into yours.

you taste yourself on his lips, melting into the kiss. he kisses you deep, before pulling away and peppering kisses onto your jawline and neck. it’s messy, wet, and you’re still dazed from your post orgasm high. it’s odd to think about how you were peacefully sleeping not too long ago and maybe this is still a dream? it certainly feels like it, your head light and fuzzy as kakucho kisses every inch of your face.

it’s not until you feel something blunt and hard rubbing in between your folds that you snap out of your dream-like state. he’s undressed himself now, his clothes mixing with yours as if he really did live there. as if you two really did belong to one another. glancing down, you see his cock, hard and angry, pre-cum glistening on his tip.

he lines himself up with your hole and you start with a “wait-“, but he doesn’t listen, slowly sinking into your cunt. you moan at the stretch, gripping the sheets underneath you. “kakucho, i told you-“

“i can’t fuckin’ wait! okay?” he snaps and you flinch, diverting your eyes from him. he grips your chin, digging into your skin and forcing you to look back at him. desperation fills not only his eyes but his voice, “do you know how long i’ve wanted this?”

he continues rambling as he pushes into you, “do you know how fucking hard it was to watch you every day knowing that you weren’t coming home to me? every fucking day where you’d turn away from me to look at someone else? to be with someone else?”

it’s the way he words it as if you really were seeing someone else, completely aware of his feelings for you or maybe it’s the vitriol laced in each word that sends a creeping blush up on your face. he sounded so mean, completely different from the tender tone you had known. honestly, you kind of liked it.

you claw at his arms, back arching off the bed as he sinks deeper. “you’re fucking mine,” he says through grit teeth as he bottoms out. “all fucking mine.” he presses his forehead to you, hips flush against yours. “fuck, baby, you feel so good.”

he pulls himself until he’s almost completely out and you whine at the loss. he mumbles, “i’ll give you what you want, pretty girl.” right before he slams himself back in.

you gasp as he starts fucking you, his pace brutal and unforgiving, you were his and he was going to make sure you knew that. pushing your knees up to your chest your eyes roll back again because he’s just so deep. the drag of your walls around his leaking cock is euphoric. he drinks in all of your mewls and moans as he continues to hit that sweet spot inside you, love drunk on the sound of your voice.

“‘m close,” you rasp, looking up at him through glassy eyes. “p-please kaku, can i?”

“can you what baby? be specific.” he tuts, but his head is spinning and his heart is swelling.

“kaku, please, i wanna cum,” you babble, tongue lolling out of you slightly. he slows down to a full stop and you desperately try to grind back against him. “please! please, i want it!” you cry, tears starting to freely fall down your pretty face.

“yeah honey? you wanna cum on my cock?” he coos and you nod vigorously, “then tell me who you belong to, who gets to fuck you like this?”

“you! i belong to you, kaku, only you,” you sniffle up at him and he smiles, finally starting to move again. you wrap your arms around him as he angles himself so he can hit that spot that has you seeing stars with each thrust.

snaking a hand down to play with your clit, you sob out, as he rubs sticky circles. you’re so close the added stimulation has you clenching and dripping around him. “let go, princess.” he says, and you do, falling apart on him. legs kicking wildly, your pussy squeezes down on him and he follows you soon after, thick, hot seed spilling deep into your cunt.

he pushes himself up, leaning back and gently pulling out. wincing at the loss, you turn onto your side, curling up on yourself, too exhausted to care about the amount of cum not only leaking out of you but splashed onto your bed and thighs. your hair sticks to your sweaty forehead, you feel full and utterly spent.

you close your eyes, trying to calm your breathing as your body continues to twitch from post orgasm, little hiccups escaping your mouth here and there. the calm doesn’t last long and soon you feel a hand on your hip, flipping you onto your stomach. you wail, gripping the sheets, as you feel kakucho pull you back to slip into you, again.

“i wasn’t done with you,” he growls, leaning down to press his chest against your back. you can’t really talk much at this point, brain mushy and fuzzy, so you whimper out a small “mm.”

he wraps his arm around your neck, keeping you in a near chokehold as he pistons into you. the squelch of fluids and the slapping of skin fills the room once more. something about the way he fucks you is different now, his thrusts are sloppy, needy and his moans tickle your ear.

“i love you,” he chants, “i really fucking love you.” you don’t know what to say, pleasure taking over you again, so you ignore the little voice in the back of your head screaming to say it back and moan into his arm.

he moves his free hand down to hook behind your knee, sliding it up to spread your legs further. you try to keel up into him, one hand grabbing at arm curled around your neck, but he has you caged. you’re almost entirely sure you’re drooling over his arm. with your head tilted towards him, you glance up with glassy eyes, mouth open and panting.

you think he looks pretty like this, looking down at you, brows knit. you’re not sure if you love him, but you do love the way his dick slides in and out of your tight hole. “f-feels good,” you slur, “feels so, ah!, good,” you can feel your orgasm blooming again, heat bubbling in your gut.

“gonna cream on my cock again?” he grunts, thinking how after this there’s no way you wouldn’t be his wife… right?

“yeah, ‘m gonna cum,” you mewl and kakucho’s thrusting his tongue into your mouth. the added stimulation is enough and you’re both unravelling. your eyes cross with the intensity of your orgasm, as your entire body shakes. he can feel you squeezing down and milking his cock as you moan into each other.

your head lolls onto the bed as kakucho’s grip loosens. he buries his face into your neck and you stay like this for a bit, heavy breaths and sticky bodies. he gently pulls out as he rolls over, one arm draped over his forehead.

you’re not sure you would look down even if you had the strength, your body limp. but you can feel it, you can feel his cum seeping out of your cunt. your bed is probably a mess.

you prop yourself up onto your elbows as best you can, “that… was the last time… for tonight, okay?” you pout. you'd probably actually pass out if he wanted to go again.

he moves his arm off, sitting up immediately. his look is incredulous, maybe even hopeful, “for tonigh-“

“or ever!” you interrupt, reaching for him and wincing. “oh, ow.” your entire body is aching so you opt for curling in on yourself again.

“… sorry,” he says sheepishly, one hand on his neck, “i didn’t mean to-“

“you don’t have to lie, i know you did.” you mumble, peeking up at him.

shame crashes over him and he gets up to get dressed, trying to not look at you. i fucked up, he thinks, until you grab his wrist and he looks down at you, a blush tinting his features. funny, as if he didn’t almost just fuck the life out of you.

you spread your arms, a blush on your face as well, “stay with me?” except it sounds more like a command than a question. and he does, getting back onto the bed and melting into your embrace.

he moves and positions you so that you’re resting with your head against his chest. he trails your lower back with his hand absently, making small shapes across your skin. it’s quiet, cozy, and there’s so many things you want to ask before you drift off into sleep, but he speaks first.

“could you do me a favor?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your head. you can’t see it, but there’s a smile gracing his face. you're warm and everything he wants.

“mm, sure?” you reply, sleepiness starting to overtake you.

“tell mikey you wanna stay at my place tomorrow.”

[worukin]

╭୨୧︰ childhood friend yandere x male reader

・✦⇢ growing up together with him was certainly a gift. always kind and understanding, never leaving your side. he would always protect you from those who dared to cross you. and now that you're both all grown, he's ready to take protecting you to another level.

︰꒰1・ ( warnings ) — overprotective behaviour, manipulation, yandere themes, bullying, yan taking advantage of his reputation and y/n's shyness.

︰꒰2・ ( notes ) — HIII AFTER A LONG TIME IVE FINALLY POSTED!! Missed you all cant believe i hit 300 already <333 how would you guys feel about yan darling for the special? anyway enjoy!!

( if you are uncomfy with this type of content, kindly block me instead. anyway, hope you enjoy reading this aaa <3 )

You and Kian were attatched at the hip since kindergarten, him first approaching you during the first day of class to talk about how his parents told him about starfish swimming in the sky at night.

Eventually after a few playdates, you were finally ready to call the both of you best friends.

It wasn't much of a surprise to your parents that you didn't try to approach other kids as you were already content with Kian himself, and he took pride in that.

"See! Y/n doesn't need anyone else and so do I! We have each other, don't we?" Kian exclaimed, turning to look to you for confirmation. He beamed when you nodded.

The adults cooed, glad to see their kids getting along well and clinging to each other. "Awe, this is so cute! Smile!" Kian's father out his phone to snag a picture. Kian wasted no time to wrap his arms around you and smile, encouraging you to give a meeker one.

And then during middle school, Kian would always sit beside you during classes you had together. Claiming that having someone you know beside you helped with learning.

This was proven wrong when all you two did was whisper to each other about nonsense, paying no mind to the lesson.

And he'd always share his food with you, even if you didn't forget yours. "Well, mama says I'm a growing boy and need to eat. And since you're a boy you're growing too!"

You took the pieces of Kian's meal he placed into your lunchbox back to his, shaking your head. "I already have enough Kian, growing boys need their own food."

Kian pouted, and began to whine. "But both of our parents told me to take care of you at school! How am I supposed to do that if I don't at least try?" You whipped your head at him, embarassed at what your parents told him.

"They said what!?" Kian nodded at you, chewing. "Y'know because you're shy and can't talk to other people?"

A sigh left your lips. "What does that have anything to do with feeding me?" You shook your head. "Anyway stop it, I don't need to be fed like a baby!" You huffed, before angrily munching away.

Kian sat still for awhile, thinking. Before deciding to tease you. "Aww, why not? Little ol' Y/n only eating when he's fed properly?" He scooped up some of his lunch and went towards you.

"Here comes the airplane! Woooosh!" Kian snickered at your shocked face. "What!? That's even worse Kian!" Grabbing onto his arm to force it back, but Kian wanted to have fun.

"Oh I'm sorry, did you want the choochoo train?" He cackled, eventually placing the spoon back to let out his laughter.

Looking away to stop making it worse, you mumbled. "God that was embarassing..." but you were drowned out by your best friends's giggling. "It's fine Y/n, I don't mind!" He said.

"Well I do." You rolled your eyes at him. "Now eat your food if you wanna grow." Kian stiffled his laughter but eventually went back to eating.

And now you're in highschool, and puberty is making it the worse. People you knew in a small community became mean and targeted you for your shyness.

Well, it wasn't just them who changed. Kian did as well, and you think it's safe to say he's qualified to be your bodyguard.

Always walking you to your classes, fending you off from bullies, sending his harshest glare to those who even look at you wrong. He might be a little overkill but it did provide protection. Even if it did backfire on you.

"Who do you think you are? Using a guy like Kian to protect you? Do you pay him or something?" Being cornered by some other students was definitely not something you expected. Especially when you don't have a bad reputation.

"I don't think so, someone like him wouldn't have any money." One of them snickered. "Look, all we're asking is to leave him alone. It's sad enough he has to hang out with someone like you, jeez."

A girl sighed, "Oh poor Kian, star of the Basketball team having to deal with a loser nobody like you. It's pitifful."

Kian did grow a reputation. For being kind and charming, despite being a class clown he never really said anything degrading. And on top of that, he was athletic. Everything a teacher and a classmate could want.

Active participation, good sportsmanship, good grades, a great relationship among his peers and teachers? And what did you have? All you were was the kid that Kian stuck with, Kian's "friend".

Though none of this answered why they thought of you using Kian when you've been best friends since diapers.

"Aww look, he's too ashamed of himself to say anything. We caught you red handed didn't we?" One scoffed, stepping towards you and grabbing your collar. "Just scram."

And you did. Speedwalking then breaking into a run when you weren't in their sight anymore.

Then, the next day arrived. And as much as you didn't want to— you had to go to school. You already had everything planned out, talk to Kian about this and hopefully he can clear up whatever twisted misunderstanding this was.

But the heated stares you got from some students were enough for you to back out on your plan. Maybe they think I forced him to tell them I'm not bribing him. Ugh.

Nervous thoughts swarmed your head as you sat in your usual seat, and Kian beside you. "Hey Y/n! Wanna go eat out later?" He smiled, sitting down.

Though the prolonged silence confused him a little. Usually you'd nod at him or hum. "Y/n? Did you hear me?" His eyes met yours before you briefly look away. "Okay uhh, did I do... anything? Did something happen?" He suddenly got defensive.

Why is he ignoring me? Kian thought. Staring at you with hard focus. Well I know for a fact I haven't done anything out of line. Have I been to overbearing? Was I that obvious?

Kian hummed, lightly tapping his pencil against the desk. He's been careful for a long time now, managing to keep up the act of an affectionate friend. And it's not like you weren't used to it— cause apparently he's been like this ever since kindergarten, said by both of your parents. So what could be making you act like this?

Honestly, he was a little hurt. You were always such a sweetheart with him. He enjoyed playing the role of a dumb friend who you had to look out for and worry about. And Kian wasn't taking you getting "tired" of him as a reason.

Now you felt bad for ignoring him like this, but you panicked. You were unsure of how to deal with the situation. And now Kian's getting hurt because of it. Maybe I really am an asshole.

It was kind of obvious that something was going on, you had such a somber expression on your face it made Kian frown. The last thing he would want is you getting hurt.

He sighed. Deciding to talk to you about it after school. He wasn't really fond of the idea that you were falling out with him, after everything he's done for you? No way in hell.

Eventually school neared it's end and you tried your best to get out as soon as possible. To avoid Kian and both those guys who cornered you the other day.

With quickened steps and bated breath, you walked out of school as soon as the last bell rung. Kian would surely be swarmed by his teammates— allowing you time to escape.

Oh god, why am I even doing this? Your mind overflowed with anxious thoughts. What if the bullies caught you? What if Kian caught you? The look on his face would be a nightmare.

He'd probably laugh at you for being such a coward, running away from your problems.

Suddenly— an arm reached out to you once you passed by the same street on the way home. Heart beating at the speed of light before realizing it was just Kian.

Oh. It was Kian.

Quickly tensing once you made eye contact, and in a panicked state a bunch of incoherent words left your mouth.

"Kian! I... forgot we always walk this way home." Awkward chuckles filled the air. It made you uncomfortable how you could feel the sweat sliding from your temple.

"Y/n. I was looking for you! Or- waiting for you actually."

He stepped back to give you space. "You worried me man, I thought I did something! I didn't, did I?" He whispered at the end.

For some reason you were relieved to see he wasn't mad at you. I mean, Kian? The Kian who would take care of you when sick? No way.

"Uhm... hi." You whispered after atleast a minute. Kian's face softened. "Hi," he cooed. You were wrapped in a warm embrace once he spoke again. "Hi Love."

Kian wanted nothing more than to smother you in hugs once you were in the alleyway. But he didn't want to overwhelm you.

He missed your voice so much that when he said hi he couldn't help but hug you. Though he was able to restrain himself from squeezing you to death.

Shortly after that, Kian confronted you about why you were ignoring him. Obviously he found out why and let's just say they were dealt with.

Overtime Kian grew paranoid that people would hurt you when he isn't there so... his overprotectiveness kind of grew.

Always sitting beside you, having an arm wrapped around your shoulder, he even got his classes chanbed just for you!

And well... he started to make good use of your personality. Aww, too shy to speak? Don't worry, Kian will order for you!

You didn't mind when he would talk for you, if anything you were grateful. Minus the times he took the opportunity to put words in your mouth.

It's all good fun though! Kian doesn't mean any harm to tease you. (Even if it's on purpose just so he could make it up afterwards)

Give it a few more months and maybe he'll take it to the next level.

ʚ ﹒ ﹕ ̟乀 all works belong to @worukin, do not repost on anywhere else with or without credit, do not plagiarise. ty!

[minggukieology]

편지- Letter ✍️

Now that the dust has settled, I found a peaceful moment in the afternoon to sit down in silence and listen to Letter while trying to unpack all my thoughts. This lengthy post will be more in the tone of my personal stance and connection with the song, omitting going into too much detail about the grammar and explaining Korean expressions but still I will try to explain how the song makes an impression with the specific language used.

My reflections:

From the beginning onwards, the song sounds very delicate, while Jimin is singing to us in the polite form and bringing up multiple themes that are characteristic for the ARMY fandom and our path with the boys over the years: the desert, the sea, the cold winter and a warm spring day... He is wishing us to be happier and for this to last forever, while promising to be there when you feel like falling and cherishing all the memories we made together.

In that way, I, as a listener, am in a headspace where I am reminiscing on our story with Jimin as an idol and all we've been through together with him (and trust me, if you have joined just recently, there has been a lot darker times)...

Though as the song progresses and as the refrain comes on, the urgency to express his emotions intensifies together with the instrumental. And this is where Jungkook's vocals come in too. Jimin with the help of Jungkook is suddenly singing in a casual (lower politiness) form as if directly trying to reach out to the person on the listening end individually, addressing every line with a higher intensity and more personally. It just feels more intimate, even more earnest and more powerful. Moreover, the lyrics and chosen words feel more targeted at an individual rather than towards a group (even the scrapped lyrics felt more like he was writing towards a single person in this section).

Whatever the reason for Jungkook's appearance in this part, it makes the emotional impact even more convincing.

....

No matter what angle you may choose, Letter is an incredibly heartfelt track packed with strong emotions. I believe it's a song for ARMY and at the same time it is a song for someone in Jimin's life that has been his lifeline and his strong heart connection to them prompted him to write these lyrics woven with thick emotions.

That being said, Jimin sharing this unique space with Jungkook to support him in his emotional expression with his hidden layered vocals and some more audible backing vocals speaks volumes. Just the fact that Jungkook is present on a track (and on the most intense and personal part of the track) where Jimin is earnestly trying to deliver a message to the listener from the depths of his heart is special, no matter how anyone subjectively wants to interpret the song and its content: Do you think they are singing directly to ARMY? Great! I'd argue having someone that shares the same love and commitment, understands what you're feeling and is able to channel the same emotions as you, and as a testament to your bond you let them contribute to your own artistic expression with theirs, is incredibly precious.

There are things that Jimin will never comment on, so I doubt we will ever find out how this song and Jungkook's feature came to be besides what we already heard. Jimin is incredibly smart in how he tailors his message and communication with the broader audience. Thus, while on the surface the public sees him dancing sensually with female dancers, a longer careful look would give you a view of the half-half makeup and other dichotomies in the choreo/concepts, specifically chosen pieces of clothing, specially crafted details in the performance sets, etc. And the same thing applies to the song Letter too. Only after listening closely, you'll get to uncover layer by layer what lies hidden in this "hidden" track. On top of that, Jungkook casually showing he learnt the chords for this song in a random live broadcast out of nowhere prior to the release of the album just shows there is more to the story than we'll be ever told.

Personally, I will be keeping this song close to my heart and holding onto it until their military service concludes. It has become my own lifeline to my life as a fan and getting to hear Jimin and Jungkook together delivering these precious words is something I will cherish forever 🙏

[futurecorps3]

𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬

Masterlist<3

Summary: YEARNING WITH A READER HES ABLE TO TOUCH. Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem!reader Warnings: Mentions of Kaz's touch aversion, death, slight OOC Kaz but I think only if you squint like he's a softie with Y/N and Y/N only. Let me know if I missed any!!! Word Count: 2.3K Requested: I guess? @kaldurahms-lover

A/N: The user tagged posted a general request to us Kaz fic writers. The concept follows the line of how our boy would need TOUCH from an s/o who he has known from before JorDIE died. Bestie I hope you like it and you don't mind I used fem!reader (I can change it if it IS an issue). I haven't started and I'm already excited about this piece being posted!!! Mwah hope I did justice to the concept.

˚ · • . ° .

Kaz didn't really know what it was. Maybe it was the weather, too warm for Ketterdam, or the way he was sweating under his gloves. Maybe it was how loud Nina and Jesper were being, too tipsy to care for the volume of their laughs, or how the last job had gone well even when they didn't follow the plan he traced. Maybe he just missed her.

Who was he kidding? Of course he missed her. Y/N had been gone two weeks on a little trip to Novyi Zem to pick up a shipment and get information from financial records kept in one of the properties belonging to their next target. He really tried getting his seller to deliver directly to Ketterdam, but they said it would be too much trouble. Y/N, kind as always, convinced Kaz offered to do both tasks.

And he missed her. The others could tell. The grumpy mood the bastard carried himself with had been even grumpier in the last couple of days and they all knew well what was going on, but decided against prying because he'd never admit it. They couldn't really blame him. After all, his girl was the only one who seemed to melt that inaccessible boy.

They found each other in akin situations; lost kids in a new city, all on their own and with the foolish dream of making a life with nothing but honest intentions and a kind heart. The boy could still remember those pretty watery eyes looking up at his brother with fear, fear of him being another person ready to hurt her. Instead, he made a silent promise to himself to always protect her, to never let anyone hurt her again.

Little did that boy knew he could not keep that promise, not for her, not for himself. He thought fondly at that memory, though. An image close to his heart that made him wonder that maybe he wasn't such a horrible person. Blame it on the innate capacity of kids to feel empathy towards virtually any living thing.

When Jordie died, Kaz was ruined. He felt like he had lost a part of himself, and he didn't know how to go on without his brother. He was consumed by grief and anger, early in age, and pushed Y/N far away from him. But Y/N didn't give up on him.

She knew how much he was hurting, and she refused to let him suffer alone. She was patient with him, giving him the space he needed to grieve, but also letting him know that she was there for him whenever he was ready to talk.

One day, as they were walking through the streets of Ketterdam, Kaz finally opened up to Y/N. He told her everything he had been feeling since Jordie died, the anger, the guilt, and most importantly, the emptiness. And as he spoke, Y/N listened, never judging him, but always offering a kind word or a gentle touch. A touch that did not bother him in the slightest.

Her hands didn't make him feel sick like the ones from officers in the Stadwatch. He realized that he could bear it, and even better, savor it. As they sat in that alley all those years ago, sharing a piece of bread and a dream of a better life, Kaz knew that he had found something special in Y/N. He had found someone who understood him, who accepted him for who he was, and who believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself.

And he knew that he would never let her go. No matter what challenges they faced in the future, no matter how dark the world around them became, Kaz would always have Y/N by his side, just as she had always had his. Together, they would face anything that came their way, because that was what they had always done. They were lost kids in a new city, but they had found each other, and that was all that mattered.

With time, he saw Y/N under a new light. Kaz admired the girl for her capacity to take the best out of situations while remaining conscious of how awful things could get. Her tenderness and bliss seemed to come from a bottomless pit, while his had run dry a long time ago.

It's okay, she had enough to spare for the both of them. Feelings developed, conflict ensued, and after three years of the perilous path of love, they became official. Kaz wouldn't have it any other way and Saint's know Y/N wouldn't either. They loved each other like only two young kids in love could; raw, endlessly.

And that's why Y/N's letter saying she needed more time to collect information had the barrel's bastard all sulky. He needed her embrace, and he needed it now. The more he thought about it, the less probable it seemed for him to be able to hold on a few more days.

"You okay, boss?"

Now, Jesper knew the answer to his question, and he knew why Brekker wasn't doing okay, but he was no expert on how to handle these types of situations, and it seemed like the right thing to ask. As far as Kaz goes, well, he had no idea when the zemeni boy had left his place next to Nina to walk all the way to him. He was too busy thinking about her, as he had been for the past two weeks.

No response came from him. Then a sigh from Jesper. "She'll be back soon, she's okay, Kaz. Turn that terrifying frown into the normal one, you're scaring the piggeons more than we want to". The frustration he felt seemed almost unreasonable; he gave her the job knowing exactly the implications it entailed, so why was he so needy? There was patience in any action of his, but he couldn't control how much he wanted a kiss from his lover at the moment.

To some, it might be cute. To him, it was thoroughly infuriating. "Get a hold of yourself. She'll be back soon, no need to get all mad about something that only time will fix", he thought to himself over and over again in that hot afternoon as he laid on a white blowy blouse in his room trying to go to sleep so time would somehow be faster since burying himself in paperwork and plotting hadn't worked.

With a deep sigh, Kaz closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. He knew that he had to get a grip on himself and not let his emotions get the best of him. Y/N would be back soon enough, and until then, he would have to be patient and wait for her return. And so, he lay there, trying to calm his racing thoughts and steady his beating heart, until finally, he drifted off to sleep.

˚ · • . ° .

First thing he heard was a soft hum. A too familiar song coming from a sweet voice in the bathroom. Was he so out of control he was now dreaming of Y/N returning? What love does to a man... The sun prickling his skin felt too real, the sweat on his bare hands ran freshly, tickling him ever so slightly.

He sat up quickly, his heart pounding with excitement. Had she returned early from her trip? He got out of bed and walked towards the door carefully, his bare footsteps echoing delicately on the wooden floor. As he opened the door a bit wider, he saw her standing in front of the mirror. Y/N's eyes met his, hers sparkling with a well-known happiness.

"Hi" she dared to say. Saints! She had no idea what an agony it had been without her, right? Kaz felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of her. She looked radiant, with her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed from the heat outside. A long walk from the docks, surely. Had he been awake and aware of her early return, he would've walked her back to the Slat with an umbrella to shield both of them from the suffocating light.

"Hello" he mumbled, still a little dazed from sleep. Y/N smiled and stepped closer to him. "I missed you," she said simply, reaching out to take his hand. Kaz felt a surge of emotion wash over him, and he knew in that moment that she had missed him just as much. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him as he breathed in the scent of her hair. It was the same from before she left, just a little saltier.

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, savoring the feeling of being together once more.

Finally, Y/N pulled back and looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips. "I brought you something," she said, pulling away and shuffling through her bag before humming contently, pulling and holding out a small box.

Kaz took the package and opened it to reveal a delicate silver necklace, with a tiny crow charm dangling from it. He looked up at her, surprised and touched by the gesture. "Y-you don't have to wear it-" "It's beautiful," he said softly, handing it over to her as she carefully placed it around his neck with a content smile.

They both knew it would remain hidden under the various layers of clothing he wore on cooler days (or even the hotter ones such as this), but knowing it was there was enough.

"Looks pretty" Y/N beamed, tracing her fingers down his half-exposed chest and pulling him in for a hug from the waist. "I missed you so much," he confessed, feeling the commotion inside of him finally subside under her touch. "I missed you too much, never let me go away for that long again... no matter how stubborn I get".

Kaz felt his mouth turn up in a grin, almost letting out a giggle. "Never," He looked down at her briefly and found her looking at him already, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "don't think I could bear it".

As the heat of the afternoon persisted, Kaz and Y/N found themselves seeking refuge in the relative coolness of Kaz's bedroom. They lay on the bed together, cuddled up over the white sheets, with Kaz's arm wrapped tightly around Y/N's waist. Despite the warmth of the day, Kaz felt a chill run through him at the touch of Y/N's skin against his.

As they lay there, Kaz felt a sense of peace wash over him. He had spent so much of his life chasing after money and power, but now, in this moment, he realized that his number one priority was something much simpler: the warmth and love of the person he cared about most in the world.

Y/N shifted slightly in his arms, and Kaz tightened his grip on her. He could feel her breathing softly against his chest, and he knew that he would never tire of this feeling.

"I've been more... difficult than usual. Even Matthias got alarmed," he murmured, his voice low and husky laced with amusement. Y/N looked up at him, giggling, her eyes filled with love. "It's okay," she said softly. "I missed you too."

Kaz smiled, feeling a sense of contentment that he had never experienced before. He knew that his life would always be filled with danger and uncertainty, but as long as he had Y/N by his side, he knew that he would be able to face anything. Just like when they were kids.

They lay there for a long time, just holding each other, lost in their own thoughts. And as the afternoon turned to evening, they drifted off to sleep, safe and content in each other's arms.

˚ · • . ° .

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed:)

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO REPOST AS THEIR OWN/TRANSLATE/OR COPY MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM OR SPACE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT CONSENT.

[matan4il]

I can't believe it's only Aug 12th and already there's a Xmas post on my dash.

Every single year I have to get through the non-Christian erasure that is Xmas season, the way that everyone acts as if the whole world celebrates Xmas, every year I have to feel like I'm being mean and raining on people's parades when I refuse to join in, or when I try to (as politely as I can) refuse to be greeted with Xmas wishes, every year I have to grit my teeth as every show has a Xmas special, every app and software has festive events and sales, changing into special Xmas versions of their icons, every media outlet wants to tell me about the joys of Xmas shopping and tourism, meanwhile I'm biting my tongue not to blurt out repeatedly that Xmas is when historically my people were targeted, brutalized and sometimes even MURDERED... and apparently Xmas season just keeps getting longer.

I don't mind that people who are religiously or culturally Christian celebrate it. I kinda mind it when non-Christians do, because that strikes me as the effects of commercialism and cultural colonialism, but hey. Other people are independent individuals, it's up to them to make their own choices, even if I personally make a different choice. And I'd never make anyone personally feel bad about their choice, either. What bothers me is that it's basically IMPOSSIBLE to opt out of Xmas celebrations if you're one of the people who don't want to participate. They're everywhere. They're in every place, they're in so many spaces that I otherwise love. And they just keep starting earlier every year. I wanna bang my head against the wall.

This is what religious / cultural coercion feels like. Yeah, even if it's done unintentionally by many.

[hobie-enthusiast]

THINGS SO DEAR !

— hobie brown x gn!reader

— fluff, character analysis, angst if u squint, head-canons, non-traditional love languages, specifically music, typical and non-typical couple behaviour, mentions of corrupt government, use of shit once

— The most important things in Hobie Brown's life, and how he connects them to his relationship

— i recently took a sort of unannounced break to center some attention around myself and the important things in my life. it has been about two months since i wrote and published my last piece, and for that i am sorry. as much as i didn't want to take a break, i needed to prioritize my mental health and manage my stress, depression, and anxiety before i could even think of writing. life was hard. i needed to make it not hard. i never intended to leave anyone in the dark, and for that i am, again, so sorry. though my interactions and maybe even posts will be less than before, i hope you can forgive me and continue to enjoy the content i produce. thank you, and i love you :)

— music

The significance music holds to Hobie is something that he doesn't really expect people to understand. In fact, he thinks music is something a lot of people tend to under appreciate. To Hobie, music can be life changing. The mix of beautiful tunes and heartfelt lyrics can convey and provoke emotions that many people couldn't even describe. And that, to Hobie, holds a special place in his heart.

Music is a part of Hobie's everyday life. It's embedded in the way he fights. It's constantly ringing a tune in his head. Hell, even the lyrics to songs sometimes show up on the cutouts behind him. So naturally, it's important to him in his relationship. It's a love language. If words fail him, he can rely on a sweet sound from his guitar to convey his feelings to you. It's important that you know the importance of music from him, and understand why he thinks so deeply of it. Hobie loves the way a song can speak volumes, and when he writes something of his own, his fondest memories and relationships go into it. Every song about you is so deeply thought out, even if it's accompanied with a more punk-rock sound. It's the way he shows his love and adoration for you, unconventionally.

— creative outlets

Hobie believes that everyone should be able to express themselves. The ability to put one's imagination into their hobby is something Hobie values highly. For him, his outlets are advocacy and music. Hobie has a lot to say, and he wants people to hear what he has to say. Being able to put out his music for people who enjoy it is the perfect way for him to say everything he needs to where people will listen. And advocacy? He makes the important people listen.

In his relationship, he's one of the most supportive people anyone could possibly meet. He encourages you to continue pursuing your passion, supporting you every step of the way. Haven't found that passion? He'll help you find it. Hobie wants you to be able to express yourself in a way that isn't unhealthy, and a hobby is the way to go for that. Creative freedom isn't something anyone should lack, and Hobie will make sure that neither of you ever do lack it.

— advocacy

One thing Hobie will never understand is how a group of people could ever think that others different from them shouldn't deserve to live. Advocating not only for himself, but for the lost voices in society, is so incredibly important to him. It inspires the way he lives day to day, how he interacts with the world. Everyone deserves to live freely, not hated and dragged down just because of the way they look or think or love. He organizes protests, speaks out against corrupt government nature, and uses his Spider-man status to fight for what is truly right, even if it puts a target on his back.

When it comes down to his relationship, advocacy plays a big part in it. You and him work together to fight for what's right, and that means the world to him. Even if you can't do most of what he can (because he is, in fact, Spider-man), it still makes the world of a difference when you do what you can. Hobie knows that this sort of fight, this fight against a government that doesn't want him around, is one of the most difficult he will ever face. So having someone there by his side? Fighting with him? Cheering him on? Means a lot more than words can describe.

— communication

Communication is something Hobie has always sought out in his life. The idea that a relationship he worked so hard to build on could crumble from a simple misunderstanding is scary to him. He'll never let people misunderstand him. Not his messages in his music. Not his message when protesting. Not his message when crime fighting. None of it. It's what makes Hobie such an honest and open guy to his friends, family, and even the strangers he fights so often for.

Communication is the main concern Hobie has in a relationship. Like mentioned, he can't have it thrown away over something so trivial. The two of you are always open and honest with each other, even if it may come off as rude or hurtful. But that's what makes your relationship so strong and trusting. What may seem too open to others works perfectly for the two of you. And if there ever was a time where a miscommunication does happen, Hobie will always, always, be the first to set things right.

— crime fighting

From a young age, Hobie knew he couldn't rely on others to keep the city safe. It felt like no one was ever safe. Hence why he was quick to assume his Spider-man role when the opportunity came to him. It was hard at first, adjusting to constantly saving others from rotten criminals. But over time, it started becoming a piece of cake. At least until the bigger government problems presented itself. But fighting to keep the streets safe is something Hobie loves doing. It feels like he's doing his part for the people, even if that was something pushed onto him.

You, as his partner, are the one constantly pushing him to keep going and reminding him what he stands for. Said job as a city hero isn't easy, even for Hobie Brown. There was even a time when he tried to quit. Give it all up, because he was just so damn tired. But you didn't let him. It took a lot to remind Hobie that he's also doing this for himself. To remind him that he's doing so much and that you were so proud of everything he stands for. It was enough to get him back on his feet, keep him going when it comes to being the people's hero. Hobie never forgets your encouraging words, they always keep him going.

— his partner

Hobie values all the relationships he makes; platonic and romantic. He was lonely for a small time in his life, and it hurt him in ways he'll never forget. So his relationship with his partner will always be a priority. He'll never just jump into a relationship, he has to make sure this is someone he can see himself loving, committing to, forever holding close to him. But he'll never choose to love someone because of their looks, gender, sexuality, anything. The only preference he truly has is when it comes to personality and political beliefs (being an anarchist, he just can't see himself being with someone who isn't). Regardless, Hobie's partner will always have a feeling of love buzzing within them, solely because of how loving and loyal he truly is.

When it comes to you. Hobie is so incredibly in love. He takes no shit about it, and will defend you whenever he needs to. He's also somewhat over-protective, despite being very secure in the relationship. It's a comfort thing, is what he says when you ask. Hobie isn't afraid to show his love to you, though he does it more in private. He doesn't care what others think of him, but he also very much doesn't want you in such a harsh limelight (being how hated he is by the government). He only ever wants what is best for you, and will do a lot to make sure you have everything you deserve and more.

[jotarobutcat]

I'll just be honest and say that I hate it when people use neurodivergency as an excuse to be immature. And by that I don't mean things like liking shows with a younger target audience or getting overwhelmed by tasks. These have nothing to do with being emotionally mature.

I mean refusing to cooperate or make compromises, throwing tantrums in public and overall disregarding other people's needs in order to make yourself comfortable.

The world doesn't revolve around you. We live in communities, and in order for the community to prosper, you need to take into account other people's needs and comfort as well, not just yours. If you have special needs, you're obviously allowed to ask that these needs are met as well as possible, but neurodivergency isn't a "do whatever you want without consequences" card.

You're allowed to have emotions, you're allowed to feel overwhelmed and you're allowed to have your own wants and needs, but you need to learn to communicate these in a mature way and to take other people into consideration as well. It's a part of growing up and maturing.

And before you come at me with the "we shouldn't have to abide by neurotypicals' rules", many of these rules also benefit many neurodivergent people. For example, I am extremely oversensitive to noise and have trauma from overbearing parents, if an adult man suddenly started screaming while I was bying new clothes I would likely have a panic attack. When somebody chews with their mouth open I feel like someone is trying to put a living spider in my ear. When someone throws a tantrum I have a hard time keeping myself calm because the noise is so overwhelming that it fills me with violent anger. It's not just neurotypical people who the "don't be an obnoxious little shit" rule benefits.

/nbh

EDIT: Since this is getting way more attention than I thought it would, and some misunderstandings have arisen, I'll just add here what I explained in the comments as well. Before anything, this edit is merely to prevent further misunderstandings, not to put anyone on a pedestal of shame for misunderstanding what I meant. The original post leaves many things vague, and it is understandable that it might come off the wrong way.

This post is about using neurodivergency as an excuse for bad behaviour, not as an explanation for problems that actually come with neurodivergency. It is specifically aimed at people with autism and/or ADHD who use their neurodivergency as an excuse for behaviour that is usually *not even caused by their neurodivergency*, but rather bad parenting or other external factors.

The word "tantrum" is NOT used to describe meltdowns here. Tantrums and meltdowns are very different in nature, the former being usually caused by an inability to accept not getting exactly what one wants, and the latter being caused by emotional or physical overwhelm. During tantrums a person is in control of their emotions, but chooses to release them as an angry outburst towards other people. During meltdowns a person is NOT in control of their emotions, and cannot choose how they present their overwhelm. If you need an example of what I mean by tantrums, you can look at your nearest neighbourhood "Karen" for that, and you will probably see that the kind of behaviour I mean is very different from an autistic meltdown.