#I'm a blubbering feet-kicking mess | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starstruckserenity · 1 year

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reverse comfort with s/o who’s a soft hugger that tries to cheer kokichi up by using his interests? ex. gaming

hi everyone!! i am so, SO sorry for the inactivity. i haven't been doing too well mentally as of late, and motivation is very hard to come by. thank you for the request, and thank you for being patient! ❤

"Y/N?" Kokichi called your name from the exterior of your door.

You had been relaxing on your couch, deciding to spend a few hours by yourself. Being able to forget about the horrors of the killing game for a while was a nice change of pace. Soon, your eyesight grew hazy. You were slowly falling into a quiet slumber, ready to embrace the euphoric feeling of a 6-hour nap...

Ouma knocked on your door rapidly, panicking to himself. He felt as though he didn't quite catch your attention, the attention he needed so desperately.

This immediately disturbed your sleep. You looked up and let out an overexaggerated sigh before getting up and opening the door.

There he was. Ouma stood there silently, staring at you with cold, hopeless eyes, his mouth drawn into a straight line. He was tracing your doorframe with his left fingertips, and fidgeting with the end of his coat with his right hand.

"Hey. I really need someone to talk to. I need you. Let me in... please." He mumbled out quickly. He looked down and let his purple locks fall over his face. He looked almost shameful. You were fairly surprised, you had never seen him so quiet, so lost for words... You were partly expecting that this was some kind of joke.

"God, Kokichi, I've never seen you this stressed. If you're just using me for the empathy I have for you, I'm gonna be pissed." You joked, cocking your head to the side.

Kokichi grimaced, his frown piercing through your heart and mind. You blinked. "Shut up. Just let me inside."

You just looked at him for a moment before ushering him inside your room, guiding him with a gentle hand.

As soon as you both got inside, he threw his arms around you and collapsed onto you without any warning. You yelped, falling back onto the sofa you were once casually resting in.

"Kokichi, seriously... What's wrong?" You half-yelled, before shutting yourself up as you felt his hair tickle your collarbone.

"You can talk to me." You whispered in a hushed tone, subtly wrapping your arms around him as you heard him sniffle into your chest.

"I hate this. I hate this, Y/N. I really do. I have to get outta here. I have to get out before they do something to me, before they kill me, I have to---" He was silenced when you started mindlessly drawing shapes onto his forearms. He watched you, melting into your embrace. He shuddered a bit at the sensation of your fingers on his skin, loving every second of it.

"It'll be fine, Kokichi. You'll make it, I'm sure of it. ...And, I mean, if it means anything, I can try my best to protect you. I care for you a lot." You caressed his hair, sliding your fingers through his thick strands. "I'm here for you, always."

He lifted his head up slowly, glancing up at you with shiny eyes and a weepy nose.

"Do you really mean that?" He blubbered out, gripping onto your shoulders tightly.

You kissed his tears away. "I do. And if anything were to come in between us, I'd do anything in my power to shut them up." You mused, attempting to peak his interest.

"Wowww~ you'd really do that...? For me?" He began to giggle and kick his feet slightly. "That's real cute of you, Y/N." He twirled his hair playfully before grinning lightly.

It seemed like he was back to his normal, goofy self. But you wanted to make sure he was completely, undoubtedly, 100% okay.

You looked down at him. "How about we go outside, yeah? It's nice out." You pointed to your dimly-lit window that was secluded by shades. You continued, "I'm sure we could find someone to mess with..."

"...You know me so well. I'd love to~!" He popped up from your chest to get a better view of you. Finally, you were able to get a good look at him. This was the first time you've seen Kokichi's smile in the past few hours. You couldn't lie and say that you didn't miss it.

You leaned down, kissed him, and smothered him between your chest one last time. After a few moments, you found each other stepping towards the door, hand in hand.

But before you could let the door close behind the two of you, you heard him whisper a quiet, "Thank you, I love you."

#kokichi x reader #danganronpa x reader

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olichat-reads · 1 year

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Blanket

Kirishima x reader

Summary: Kiri finds you sad & crying.

A/n: i'm sad & sensitive & i can't find enough kiri comfort fics so i wrote my own. yes, i'm a crybaby & yes, this is self indulgent. there will be a LOT of future crybaby!reader fics deal w it. not proofread because its 1 am & i refuse :))

🌟

You stood at the foot of your bed, the closet & drawers in your room mildly upturned from your efforts to find you missing blanket. It was still missing though. Clenching your fists, you felt tear pricking the corners of your eyes & you start sniffling.

This was stupid.

In the midst of your breakdown, you barely heard the soft padding of feet approaching your bedroom, a gentle voice following after.

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm going to start dinner. Is there anything you-" Kirishima cut himself of when his gaze landed on your upset figure. His protective instincts kicked in & he was rushing to your side. Large hands reached out to gently cup your face, his worry filled red eyes quickly scanning your body for any physical injuries. When he found none, he sighed in relief before he returning his attention to your face in his palms.

His expression softened as he brushed away the wetness with his thumbs, only for fresh tears to fall down your cheeks again, your crying just barely calming in your boyfriend's comforting presence.

"Hey, now. Whats got my baby so upset hm?" He whispered gently, as if speaking to a frightened baby animal.

"Can't find my blanket," you hiccuped, upset.

Kiri's face dropped, eyebrows furrowing at the relevation. "Oh, baby. I'm so sorry. I put it in the dryer to heat it up. I knew you had a hard day today & I figured it'd help you unwind better if you got to curl up in it nice & warm. A little extra comfort? I didn't mean to upset you, baby. I'm sorry."

And just like that you're sobbing all over again, making the poor boy panic.

"Hey, hey, please don't cry. I-"

"I love you." You cut him off. His eyes widened as he looked down at you, red in the face, cheeks overflowing with tears with your eyes furrowed, sniffling & hiccuping. You were a mess. Yet he can't help but crack a smile at the sight.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you blubbered, crying harder. "You're so thoughtful & sweet & perfect & I love you so much," you trailed of with a sob. Kiri laughed at that.

"I love you too, sweetie. But please stop crying. It wouldn't be manly of me to leave you crying your eyes out even if its out of love."

Sniff. "M'kay."

Still chuckling, he proceeded to scoop you up & set you on the bed, handing you the box of tissues from the sidetable.

"I'll be right back," he promised with a sweet kiss to your forhead, before disappearing out the door.

You only just managed to dry off your face before your boyfriend reappeared, a bundle of your fluffy blanket in tow. He padded over to you, unbundling the dark red material before wrapping it around your frame. It was so ridiculously warm & soft from the dryer that you almost started bawling again.

"Uh uh, no more tears, remember?" Kirishima tuts lightly at the side of your eyes glistening. You shook your head.

"No more," you reassured with a small smile which your lovable boyfriend returned with an adoring grin.

"Good girl," he hums with a kiss to your nose, making you giggle.

Climbing into bed, Kiri immediately bundles you up into a burrito, trapping you in his embrace as he held you close, his chin resting on your head. You sighed at the contact, feeling snug & cozy & finally, finally home.

He thinks it'll always amaze him. How you found a home in him. Having feel safe & comforted my his mere presence. Kiri brushed his fingers over the soft material of the cause of your meltdown tonight. Even your comfort item stemmed from being something that reminded you of him, that felt like a comforting hug after a long day even if he wasn't around, you'd say.

He will never forget the day he gifted you the prototype of his merch, the blanket being way too oversized, the printed Rs not the right color, causing them to blend into the dark red. Yet, he remembers the way your eyes lit up in excitement, the way you clutched the overflowing material to your chest, beaming up at him with a thanks & this is mine. i'm sleeping with it forever. no take backs or i'll throw a spoon at you.

He had no problems with that. Happy at your enthusiasm. Not realizing how much emotional value that red riot blanket would come to hold.

Now he holds you close, watching you barely keep yourself awake, having tired yourself out with all the crying. He started rubbing circles on your back, lulling you further into sleep. The last thing you heard was his gentle voice, laced with love, always laced with love when he spoke to you.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

#kirishima fluff #kirishima x reader #kirishima comfort #kirishima eijiro x reader #oliwrites

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majimasleftasscheek · 11 months

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thank you for making topjima content 😭🙏🙏 youre like the only artist i can name off the top of my head who draws or talks about it and as a certified switch/vers Majima believer it has me kicking my feet and feasting on your art

😳💖 👉👈

nsfw //

hehe very welcome and thank you for enjoying it!! I have a big fondness for topjima and tbh there's so much topkiryu stuff already so I gotta be the change I want to see in the world 😤 kldfkldsds

plus like... Majima annihilating Kiryu until he's a blubbering mess? sublime. Kiryu wanting to be at the mercy of someone he trusts? fantastique. Majima letting his soft side show with genuinely sweet aftercare? WOOF WOOF

throw in some topGoromi and I'm just

#I also do topjima out of spite cuz sometimes I get comments on my shit saying they firmly don't see majima as a top ever #as if my art isn't first and foremost for me myself and I #it's like bbygorl if you want topkiryu then pick up that pen n paper #I got my 0kiryu calling y6jima daddy too cuz that's how I thrive with kiryu on his knees #right as kazama walks in the office #nsft

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broken-footstool · 2 years

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May you please make a thing where Avery, or whatever the rich guy's name is, sees jewelry on the PC and thinks they're cheating on them only for it to be "decorations" from the night monster?

(I'm so sorry if you meant Ivory Wraith. If you did, I'll redo this) “May I speak to you privately?”

Avery’s words came out as a snarl, sending a chill down Esther’s spine. The timid girl excused herself from the gathering, an angered pull from her date sending her backwards. Her head swam with possibilities as she was led out into the freezing cold. Had she said something wrong at the party? Was there food stuck in her teeth? Avery rarely pulled her aside unless it was to scold her for something. Esther swallowed and as the backdoor to the building slammed, she was met with a swift smack across the cheek.

“Are you trying to irritate me tonight?”

Gripping his date by the hair, Avery pulled her to the tips of her feet. His eyes burned with anger and his breath reeked of red wine. His grip on her hair tightened and he struck her again, moving his free hand to an amber colored bracelet on Esther’s wrist. He pulled hard on the elastic, threatening to snap it.

“What the hell is this? Who bought you this tacky garbage?”

“It’s from a friend,” Esther sobbed. She flinched as the elastic band was snapped against her wrist.

“Don’t lie to me!”

Avery shoved his trembling date down, kicking her hard in the ribs. He pressed the bottom of his loafer against her head. His foot taunted the girl’s skull, threatening to crack it at any second. Esther could only lie there and pray. Pray for someone else from the party to save her. To whisk her back inside. To get Avery the hell away from her.

“I’m doing you a favor, you ungrateful little shit!” Pressure was applied to Esther’s head and she began to cry out. “And you go leave me for some cheap bastard?”

A blubbered mess of an apology spewed from Esther’s mouth. She did her best to explain herself, only to be kicked again and again. With each hit she only apologized more. Cried more. Screamed more. But no one ever came for her. It was only Avery and her> Screaming at each other into the crisp night air.

“You're nothing without me!” Bending down, Avery snapped Esther’s bracelet. As the elastic broke, stones and bits of amber tumbled across the ground. The brunette did her best to collect the broken pieces, stuffing them into her pockets.

“I never needed you!” Esther spat, scrambling to her feet. “I’m not your little doll anymore!”

Before Avery could raise his hand again, Esther began to sprint down the street. Her kitten heels clicked noisily as she fought for balance. The cold night air nipped at her exposed skin. The heels of her feet were beginning to hurt and Esther’s cheek burned from the slap. Strands of messy brown hair stuck to the dried tears on her face, nearly blinding her as she ran deeper towards the dark. A loose piece of gravel snagged the bottom of her heel, tripping her and sending her face down onto the concrete.

Esther couldn’t even pick herself up. Her body lay there on the cold, wet ground, heaving as she finally let herself cry. Bits of her jewelry collected around her, spilling freely from her dress pockets. A silver ball rolled in front of her, showing a distorted reflection of her face. Lipstick was smeared across her mouth and dried mascara left tears of black. The eyeshadow she had put on that evening was almost wiped away completely. She was a disheveled mess. Sitting herself up slowly, Esther swiped a hand under her eyes.

Reaching within her bra, she pulled out a shimmering red lipstick. Esther applied it to her lips with care, wiping the dirt and debris that stuck to her clothes. She held up the small bits of her bracelet that were still in her pockets and began to shake them in her fist. They clacked together gently, filling the otherwise silent space. The tired girl climbed back on her feet, taking a few wobbling steps in her heels. With her head held high, Esther strolled through the streets.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” Jingling around her ruined bracelet, she wiped smudged mascara across her cheeks. “Come and get me.”

A deep growl rattled the brunette’s chest and she stopped her stroll. There was a hot, musky breath on the back of her neck. Esther could feel eyes leering at the back of her head from just a few inches behind. She felt a sense of calmness overcome her and she shut her eyes tight, falling back into the dark. A pair of arms enveloped her, keeping Esther’s head from hitting the ground. The beast pulled her shivering body close, warming her up with its own heat. For the first time that night, Esther felt safe.

“Just take me.” Her voice was breathy and cold. “Take me with you.”

#anon request #dol pc #dol avery #avery the businessperson #degrees of lewdity #anon ask #dol night monster

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bookshelf-in-progress · 1 year

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For the fairy tale flash fiction ask game: Tattercoats?

I love you for requesting this fairy tale. My love for this fairy tale has grown a hundredfold since you sent in this ask. This has sat in my inbox for so long because I have struggled to write a retelling worth of my love of it. I've written and rewritten openings to this, and this is going to turn into retelling too long to fit in the answer to an ask. I'm going to write a lengthy short story that I may even expand into a novella one day. This is my fairy tale now, in a very personal way, and I'd like to write a retelling that makes me feel the way my favorite retellings do.

That said, I'm trying to figure out how to turn these grandiose dreams into reality. I'd like to have a short story version finished by Valentine's Day, but that's not going to happen if I keep rewriting the opening. So, if no one minds, I'd like to offer three options and get feedback. This may be a bad idea, but I've found that when I hit this point of indecision on a story, it can be good to get some extra voices in there, so I'll give it a shot. I've provided three openings, and I'd be grateful if people could give me feedback as to which direction would make for the most compelling story.

#1: First-person present-tense: This is the oldest version, so it will be a bit more polished. I like the immediacy, but I know a lot of people don't like present-tense, and it does offer issues with fitting in backstory. I don't think I can just switch this as written to past-tense--these words only work in present-tense.

In the portrait above the mantle, my mother wears a gown of cloth-of-gold. She is barely nineteen, with milk-white skin and golden hair that piles high atop her head. Lace billows from her sleeves and pours from her collar, and diamonds crown her brow. All my life, she has hung in this room, frozen in a moment of pure happiness. Now she smiles down upon me as I weep on the floor beneath her. Grandfather's words echo in my head. There is nothing on heaven or earth that will make me look upon that child. I've heard the words a thousand times, but today I had dared to hope for better. How could I have been so foolish? I've learned enough in eighteen years of life to know that hope only causes greater pain. My mother had hope in full measure--her portrait shines with it. She had every joy the world could give her--youth, beauty, health, love. She was the only child of the kingdom’s wealthiest duke, destined to become a duchess as the title could pass to a female heir. Her father had given her a wedding that was talked about for years, commissioned a portrait to capture her joy, allowed her to marry a man she loved with all the fullness of her heart. Yet even her hope, in the end, was a lie. Her husband died on her wedding tour, and she returned as a widow to her father’s home, only to die a few months later bringing me into the world. All her joy, all her glory, all her love and her hope and her joy, has resulted only in me--an unwanted girl, clad in rags, hated by all the household, not to be claimed, even now, by any family. Not allowed to attend the prince’s ball. Why had I hoped? Because Grandfather had come out of mourning? Because he planned to leave the house for the first time since I was born? His daughter--the beautiful, beloved woman in the portrait above me--died giving me life. Why did I think that the end of his mourning meant the end of my hatred for me? I weep until I feel the familiar sensation of a boot in my ribs. When I look up, the housekeeper looms over me. "Get up, Tattercoats." Ashamed to be caught crying like a child, I sniffle and wipe my eyes on my threadbare sleeve. It only makes more of a mess. The housekeeper kicks me again. “I don’t need you staining the duke’s good floors! Go blubber to your gooseherd!” Still wiping away tears, I spring to my feet and obey.

#2: First-person past-tense: This is my attempt to switch it into past tense, and take advantage of that character voice to just info-dump all the pertinent info right away, rather than trying to blend it in later. This keeps it closer to the fairy tale, but might be a bit too info-dumpy for a retelling.

At her wedding, my mother wore a gown of cloth-of-gold, with lace billowing from her collar and pouring from her sleeves, jewels of every color swirling through her skirts, and diamonds crowning her golden hair. All the kingdom spoke of her for months afterward as the pinnacle of beauty, a woman who had every possible joy in life. She was young, the only child of the kingdom’s wealthiest duke, destined to be a duchess since the title could pass to a female heir. She was loved deeply by her husband, and perhaps even more deeply by her father, who had paid for the gown and for a painter to capture her wearing it. The artist called her portrait his masterpiece, and I believe it; her gown and jewels glitter with light, and her face seems nearly alive, showing even in its stillness her kindness, her love, and her soul-deep joy. It was all I ever knew of my mother, yet she always seemed alive enough for me to count her as a friend. The moment the portrait was finished, my mother left with her new husband on her wedding tour. She was a widow before the trip was over. My father caught a chill that turned to pneumonia, and my mother, alone and with child, returned to her father’s home. My grandfather, though he mourned his dead son-in-law as was proper, was overjoyed to have his daughter home. His Abigail was his only daughter, his only living family, and he loved her more than life itself. Her portrait had been a poor replacement, and he was glad to have the genuine, living article in his home once more. At least, until I was born. On a cold night in February, my mother died bringing me into the world. While my grandfather wept in his chambers, my nurse, Matilda, brought me before him, all wet and wrinkled and wrapped in a down blanket. “Your grace,” Matilda asked, “what shall we do with the child?” My grandfather, Matilda tells me, lost his mind in that moment. “It may live or die as it pleases,” he snarled, “but I shall never look upon its face!” Since I had nowhere else to go--neither my father nor mother had any other family living--I remained in my grandfather’s house. My grandfather, true to his word, never looked at me. He remained in his rooms for most of his days, looking out at the sea and weeping over his lost daughter. The servants, who had all loved my mother, had little love for the child who had killed her, and no patience for a child getting underfoot. Matilda did what she could to care for me, but that was little enough, in a house full of servants who were all-too-eager to report--or to punish--any too-kind treatment of me. I ate the scraps the dogs wouldn’t eat, wore the clothes that had been worn too threadbare to be used for cleaning rags. I had been named for my mother, but only Matilda remembered it, and the other servants all abused her when she dared to call me by it in their hearing. Before I turned five years old, every servant in the house--save Matilda--called me Tattercoats, after the rags that were the only clothes I had to wear.

#3: First-person past-tense: This is a slightly folksier version I wrote on a whim this morning, trying for a breezier, more condensed version of the above. Might be less of an info-dump but might be a bit too cutesy?

The trouble with my tale is where to begin it. There is so much to tell about the circumstances of my birth and even before. How my mother was married in a cloth-of-gold gown that made her renowned throughout the kingdom as an exemplar of beauty. How my father died of pneumonia on their wedding tour, so that my mother, so recently a bride, returned to her father’s home as a widow with child. How my mother died bringing me into the world, and how my grandfather, when my nurse brought me to him, swore that I might live or die as I liked, but that he would never look upon my face. How I grew up as an unwanted shadow in that big house of his, clad in rags and eating the scraps my nurse could filch for me when the cook wasn’t looking. How the servants all shouted at the mere sight of me, driving me away with hard words or hard blows as soon as I came in their sight. How I spent most of my days wandering the hills and lanes of my grandfather’s estate, out in the sun and the wind and the rain, exploring the pastures, the cliffs and the seashore. I could fill your ear with tale after tale of hardship and joy, of oppression and glorious freedom. But I think I will start with the prince’s ball.

If you've read these and one stands out as the better option, please let me know which one. You could just answer the poll, but if it's possible, I'd appreciate comments as to why a certain one works or doesn't (or if I should alter into a different style entirely).

#adventures in writing #fairy tale retellings #tattercoats #answered asks #isfjmel-phleg

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queeriboh · 2 years

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ok ok but more seriously. Kaibas. I was trying to write a little idk not really a drabble but something almost narrative but I'm too gotdanged sleepy for that today

but the Kaibas, ofc, jet off to America after destroying Alcatraz, yadda yadda. but for the entire trip, Seto's distracted, and Mokuba starts to get a little pissy about it. I think when he accepted blowing up the Duel Tower, he thought it wouldn't just mark closing the book on Gouzaburou's legacy and influence but also the stupid game that had been distracting his brother from their mission statement. like maybe he'd finally just move on from Duel Monsters now that he and "Yugi" are both losers, but of course that's not at all what happens.

Seto spends the whole trip pouring over the final duel, over every single play, card draw, attack, trap, chain. The cameras don't show the stakes at hand though, the illusory bodies slowly devoured by the shadows as each duelist loses life points. He can clearly see "Yugi" seemingly speaking to himself, facing the space near him, but you can't expect Kaiba to actually connect the dots there. when Yami collapses into a blubbering mess, Seto just rolls his eyes.

And it's not like he accepted any kind of explanation. As soon as he saw his rival, the subject of his passion and his reason to keep fighting and growing stronger, broke down into tears, Kaiba had turned his back. He was furious, confused, hurt...? How could Yugi lose to anyone but him ???? He feels sick, and he's just ready to burn this bridge and move on already!

But yet he spends his entire trip distracted. Trying to figure out how anyone but himself could have possibly defeated Yugi without cheating. Mokuba ends up doing most of the talking when they meet with their business partners, when they make their proposal for the first international Kaiba Land. He doesn't remember the meeting the papers were signed, he was too busy mentally recounting that duel again.

Goes back through Marik's other duels in the finals while Mokuba kicks his feet and whines and tries to beg his brother to do something fun before their trip is over.

Seto queues up the Duel between Rishid and Joey. The counterfeit Ra hadn't worked, hadn't responded, but. It had been processed on his Duel Disk as authentic. Hm. That's a problem. If the fake Marik was so confident to play a fake God Card, how many other cards were counterfeit? He ends up completely redesigning the authentication process to be much, much more accurate.

But he doesn't just stop there. He goes all in running a campaign to raise awareness against counterfeit cards, offering rewards to duelists who report players using fakes. Works with the police and even federal agencies to track down Marik's Ghouls and their little card game mafia. As exasperated as he is, Mokuba is happy to help. After all, he had his own little cartel once. He knows what he's doing.

It isn't long before Marik finds his funds frozen, his lucrative career as a crime lord abruptly ended, and his yacht impounded by the coast guard.

and that's when Marik decides to turn his attention and wrath towards Kaiba Corporation

#darkest tl #hey i havent seen dsod yet but isnt there something about kaiba like #making all residents register as duelists #bc that would be a very convenient reason for Marik to want kaiba corp too

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whump-cravings · 2 years

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Also

Tseth, you’re very cute in pain. Would you prefer to be whipped or cut up? Drugged or waterboarded? I’m just curious.

Cw: needles, drugs, strapped to a chair

Tseth backs away from the stranger nervously. "Sorry, I think I-I got the wrong address," he says, even though ey called him by name. "I'll just, just uh--hey let go of me!"

Strong hands take either arm, and he throws himself back with all his might, but only gets a grunt and tightening hands in response. The two force him forward and he stumbles a few steps, then tries going limp, gasping at the pain of his own weight pulling on his shoulders. The two are unfazed as Tseth's feet drag against the floor.

They throw him into a chair; of course he tries to scramble up and out, but one of them shoves him back by the chest, nearly winding him.

"Stop!" he shouts as they take his wrists, forcing them down to meet the chair's arms before strapping them into place with thick leather buckles. Helplessness and fear curls in his stomach, tears pricking at his eyes as he kicks to keep his ankles from being strapped down too. It's no use at this point, but he can't help it.

A hand slips into his black hair from behind, tightening when he tries to shake em off.

"Stay still," ey purr. "I wouldn't want to miss and paralyze you."

"M-Miss what?!" Tseth cries in alarm, jerking his head just enough to see a syringe glint off the light from the doors. His eyes go wide, panic shooting down his spine, and he struggles useless. "N-Nono, what is that, please don't you can't--"

Ey shove his ear down to his shoulder and another set of hands keeps him still. He screams even before the needle pierces his skin and artery, pitching high when the drug unloads into his neck. Tears slip from his eyes and he whimpers as they release his face.

"That was so much harder than it needed to be, Tseth," ey say, petting his hair. "You only needed to answer my questions, and now look."

"What--what did you give me?" he half-asks, half sobs.

"Just a little truth serum," ey say, handing the empty syringe off and coming around front.

"Those are a myth," he rasps, but his head is swimming.

Ey clap, and the sound makes him flinch. "Oh, Tseth. You're a myth yourself, aren't you?" Ey lean in, tilting his chin up with a starry velvet glove. "Besides, anything goes in a world where there's magic. Now..." A knife appears in eir other hand, and ey touch it to his cheek. "Whip or knife?"

"I-I--" Tseth shakes as he leans as far back as he can go, the metal following him, fear mixing with a pressure behind his eyes. "I don't want either, please please don't hurt me," he simpers.

The back of the tip presses right below his eye. "Whipping or cuts? Choose, or else we might have to find out firsthand which one you prefer."

"Knives!" he sobs, squeezing his eyes shut. The pressure and knife vanishes in a dizzying rush. "It-it's cleaner and less likely t-to do unintentional damage than whips, please please no, don't do either, I'm--"

"I haven't even done anything and you're a mess," ey tsk, carding through his curls, now damp from sweat. "There's just one more question: drugs or waterboarding?"

"What-what kind of drugs?" Tseth blubbered, venom dripping from his lip, pressure building up again. "Like, like, cocaine or something?"

"No, no, that's all the information you get," ey said. "Waterboarding, or drugging?"

"I-I--"

Ey put a hand on the back of the chair, pushing it to tilt him back. "Fellas, get the water, would you?"

"Drugs!" Tseth said. "Drugs, okay?"

Ey let all the legs of the chair hit the ground again. "Good," ey said. "That's all for now, Tseth." Ey patted his cheek, then unbuckled one of his hands and stepped into the shadows. "Until next time."

Tseth frantically got himself out of the chair, stumbling erratically outside and down the block, praying he would never have to live through that again.

#sadistic choice #truth serum ask #whump writing #he refused to answer without persuasion #needles #drugged #fanfiction of blue/anaias i guess??#lmfao #tseth the dhampire #tseth

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iimuchakk · 4 years

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//I'm not sure if I'm doing this right.... Could I please request Kouen and Sinbad taking care of their s/o who's pregnant with triplets?You don't have to do both if you don't wish too...

I decided just to do Sinbad since he really inspired me for this ask. As well as this since I’m slowly getting back into the fandom and my laptop broke it’s just so much easier!

Sorry for keeping you waiting @mori1284 hope it’s okay!

Okay so Sinbad was scared when it was one baby

The moment you told him you were pregnant he was cradling himself on the floor

He was going to be a DAD

It took him a day or two to come around to the idea of it but at the end of the day the thought of you and him with a little bundle of joy was starting to look kind of perfect

Thus when the baby bump was big enough to be examined by Yamrahia he was ecstatic!

Unfortunately he had to catch up with work. He could only use you as an excuse to Ja’far for so long...

“Okay be careful in there! Make sure you tell me everything she says when you come to visit me!”

Leans down to baby bump

“Be good for mommy my sweet~ whose a little cutie~ you are! yes you are!” “Sin people are staring...”

Both go your separate ways and Sinbad is restless

He hopes everything goes okay

Ja’far slaps him round the head since he’s staring into space like a dork so the king just pouts and gets on with his paper work

When there’s a knock on the door and you step into the room Sinbad is grinning ear to ear and practically throws his work all over the floor

Ja’far will kill him later

His grin drops as the look on your face

“What’s wrong? Is the baby okay?”

“Yes. The babies are okay...”

“....twins?”

“Nope.”

Turns out Ja’far dosent have to kill Sinbad because he’s laying on the floor like a dead man already

His misfortune makes Ja’far so happy

Takes him around a week to process the fact he has two more babies on the way

His reaction is enough to worry you and so the eight generals get involved since, well, you’re an emotional pregnant woman who they can hear crying and stressing out thanks to her husband

Pisti and Sharrkan try coaxing him out with drinks

Dosent work

Hinahoho and Spartos try talking sense to him

Dosent work

Yamrahia and Drakon pretend like there’s a war!

Dosent work

So Masrur breaks the door down and Ja’far drags him to your bedside

He noticed how upset you are

Then noticed how fat you are

Suddenly he’s not scared

He’s excited

After all, it’s going to be you, him and three bundles of joy

From then on Sinbad treats you like more of a Queen that what he did before hand

He does everything for you and makes sure somebody is with you at all times

Whatever you’re craving he will make sure that the servants cook it for you

Buys you comfier clothes so you’re cooler in the hot sun of sindria

Foot rubs? You got it

Warm baths? He’ll run it for you!

After he has his initial breakdown, Sinbad is the best person to have by your side when you’re pregnant with his three children!

“Sinbadddd—“ There is a soft whine coming from the bathroom, the fourth one of today but the king doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he follows the uncomfortable sound of your voice and pops his head into the lavish room attached to your shared sleeping quarters. “—it won’t go away.”

“Morning sickness won’t go away just like that, my queen.” His reminder of how pregnancy works make you scoff though in an instant you regret the action, as the sudden pressure to your throat makes you cough up more bile.

“This sucks. I hate you. Why did you do this to my body?” In response all you get is a chuckle and soft relaxing strokes to your back. The triplets in your stomach make your belly stick out like a sore thumb. It’s swollen, stretched and ready to pop. Having to carry it around makes your back ache like never before and all of this combined sends your hormones raging. It takes a few minuets for your vomiting to calm down and once it does you’re a whimpering mess on the floor, looking up to your husband who tenderly strokes your cheek. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.” Hums Sinbad in response. “Let’s lay you down. It’ll all be over soon and then the suffering will be both of our responsibilities.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Both of you you share an amused smile, basking in each other’s presence before sinbad breaks up the moment by standing. He offers his hand to you and you take it, swiftly being pulled up onto your feet. “Careful Sinbad.” The warning that leaves your lips falls on death ears. The King is to busy moving a hand to your belly, stroking it in circles. In response, there is a kick and you hiss at him playfully. “See? The babies agree. You need to treat me with more respect.”

“More respect?” Faking innocence, Sinbad moves to stand behind his queen, arms circling around her form. “The babies kick at me because they’re excited to see me. They know their daddy.” It warms your heart to see Sinbad so smitten. It wasn’t to long ago he was a blubbering mess in his office, but now he seemed to realise how joyous this occasion truly was. “Want me to carry you into bed? I can bring you some grapes and water too?”

“Only if you’ll stay with me?” The answer to your question is one arm under your knees and Sinbad moving your arm around his neck. He swoops you up bridal style, carrying you to your shared bed before laying you down as gently as he possibly can.

“I’ll stay with you.” Your hands find each other’s, and you both move forward to give each other a gentle kiss, filled entirely with love. “All of you.”

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