A Very Rough Tamaharu Parents Comic

i'm gonna be charitable to the hosts for once and say this is them affirming haruhi's gender from shiro's transphobic arse

Springtrap is NOT supposed to be in his office.👀💀 FNAF Springtrap and Michael Afton father and son drawing.

I always loved the idea of Michael Afton being unstoppably sarcastic and beyond annoyed by his dad. Showing literally no respect at all. Lol. Also a funny thing I've come to love is Springtrap calling him: Mikey. But Ive never seen Mike calling him: Willy. Probably because if he had any sense, which this version of Mike doesn't, he knows that Springtrap would beat him up haha.

he looks like the hot guy from tokyo-sims on instagram that interviews ppl in shibuya

ouran high school host club’s kyoya ootori

I just wanted to say that I admire you so much, lovely! you're such a sweetheart <3333 kisses!!!!!! xoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxox

love you!!!! your writing is so good i read it and start hissing like im harry potter setting a boa constrictor on my cousin (IN A GOOD "this-hiss-too-cute" WAY) <33333 kiss kiss

𓆰 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

sylus & (luke & kieran) • accidental baby menace acquisition • reluctant caretaker • comfort no hurt • ao3 link

reblogs and comments are what keeps your writers alive! requests are open

Summary: Trouble has found Sylus in the form of two little boys desperately needing a warm shower and some new clothes. Reluctantly, Sylus lets trouble in.

It's a bit of a logistical struggle to get the two boys back to Sylus's main residence. Sylus will usually disappear into his signature red mist, or gun it on his motorcycle, but neither of those things prove viable options when toting along two young children. So, he does what one may expect of a criminal overlord and hot-wires a car.

Perhaps it isn't the best example to be setting to the incredibly impressionable children who watch him do that, but Sylus isn't a parent, or a babysitter. Hell, this could very well be a valuable skill for their future. He's basically doing them a favor, giving them a nice, early head start into the world of automobile theft.

"So cool…" the seemingly more talkative little boy whispers as Sylus gets the car running, the other twin nodding along. Sylus hums and gives a slight, satisfied smile. The kids aren't half bad, he supposes. Not that he's planning on keeping them around, obviously, but he does hope they do well for themselves once he tells them to scram. Which will be soon.

He opens the doors to the car, ushering the two into the back seat. They scramble in, practically climbing to get their little bodies into the car. It's amusing, the way they move. They're so small, navigating a world where nothing was truly made for them, and doing so admirably.

"Buckle up," Sylus tells them. He's no parent or anything, but stars above, even he's not so heartless as to let these kids jostle around in the back of the car while he drives. He watches in the rear view mirror as they pull the seat belts over their laps, clicking them into place. Satisfied, Sylus tells them to hold on tight, and then steps on the gas.

Judging by the giggles and the shouts and squeals behind him, the boys seem to think Sylus's slightly reckless, much too fast driving is purely delightful. Sharp turns and swerving acceleration only pull laughter from the kids. Sylus is starting to think, somewhat ridiculously, that these two aren't scared of anything at all.

It's not long before Sylus is parking in front of his main residence, the tall, huge manor sprawling before them. Sylus leans over to pick up his suit jacket from the passenger's seat. One of the boys (he's not sure which one, their voices are rather identical) asks, "Is this your castle?"

Sylus scoffs. "It's a manor."

"What's the difference?" Now that bit of bravado comes from the mouthier twin.

"That's not important right now," Sylus replies. "Come on. Out." The boys scramble to follow instructions as he steps smoothly from the car, nearly tumbling out of the car as they open the door and hop out.

Sylus makes a beckoning motion as he walks, not bothering to turn. He doesn't have to, really. The children are rather loud as they run after him, little legs working hard to keep up with his long strides. He can hear them just fine, then feel them as the grab onto him, one taking his hand while the other clutches at the fabric of his pants. Sylus watches his step, just to make sure he doesn't accidentally knock one of them over as he walks.

The door swings open as soon as Sylus touches it, reading his biometric information with technology of his own design. He pauses in the foyer, looking over the two boys. They stare up at him, two pairs of big, dark eyes waiting for his next move.

"You two need showers," he decides. The boys say nothing in response. Inwardly, Sylus cringes. Is he going to have to do this, too? Have these two ever seen soap in their lives? Ugh, he really isn't cut out for this sort of thing. "Do you two know how to wash?" he asks, eyes narrowing as he looks over their greasy hair and their dirty clothes.

"We're big boys," the quieter one asserts. The other chimes in.

"Yeah! We know how to take a bath!"

Sylus hums, doubtful. Still though, he's not exactly jumping at the opportunity to wash two street kids himself, so he figures he'll let them work it out. At this point, even getting some soap on their bodies, no matter how clumsily, will be an improvement for them.

"All right," Sylus sighs. "Let's go." He turns on his heel once more, waving over his shoulder for the twins to follow him. The pitter-patter of little feet follows him, and Sylus makes a mental note to have the floors in this hallway washed (and get the boys new shoes that aren't so filthy).

He leads them upstairs to one of the many suites that the manor contains, complete with a fully stocked bathroom. Taking a knee by the tub, he turns on the water, letting it run for a few moments and get to a pleasant, warm temperature before he lowers the stopper and lets the tub fill.

""I'm going to leave the room while you two wash up," Sylus says as he begins to pull soaps and washcloths from higher shelves, where the boys would never have a hope of reaching them. "This is for washing your body," he says, holding up a bottle of fragrant body wash, "and this is for your hair," he finishes, gesturing to the shampoo on the tub's edge. He pulls two plush towels from drawers, setting them on the countertop where they boys can reach.

"Shout for me when you are both finished."

Without awaiting a response, Sylus walks out of the bathroom, leaving the two to their own devices. The grout is waterproof and of good quality. His bathroom should be fine.

The two boys begin to chatter amongst themselves, a sound that grows fainter and fainter as Sylus walks down the hallway. He makes his way to the kitchen, pouting himself a glass of whiskey without any real second thought. With a heavy sigh, he makes his way int the nearby sitting room, easing onto one of the several couches there. One arm is slung over the back of the sofa, while the other swirls his whiskey for a moment before he takes a long sip.

And now, without any distracting factors and a glass of alcohol in his hand, Sylus can properly wonder what the fuck he's been thinking this entire time.

An entirely too short amount of time later (though maybe Sylus is being dramatic - he'd had time to make his leisurely way through three glasses of whiskey), the boys begin shouting for him.

"Mister!" comes the yell from the bathroom, decidedly too loud of a noise to be coming from such a small person. "Mister, we're done!" Sylus sighs, groaning quietly as he rises. He sets the wide glass down onto the dark coffee table and begins walking, stopping first at the door where he'd ordered a selection of children's clothes to be delivered, then heading back up the stairs to the bathroom he'd left the two in.

He finds the two wrapped in the towels he'd left, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and giggling amongst themselves as they wait for him. Sylus raises an eyebrow.

"Get dried," he says, turning to the counter and placing the bag of clothes there. He begins to unpack it, pulling out two shirts, two pairs of soft pants, socks and underwear, everything the two might need. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the twins start to shuffle around, wiggling like little bugs as they dry themselves off. He tosses the two stacks of clothes down on the rug they stand on for them to put on when they're dry.

As he flips through his phone, notifying his chef that breakfast the next day will be for three rather than just one, the boys pull on their pants. Sylus sighs to himself, shutting off his phone once the message has been sent off and turning to lean back against the counter with his arms folded.

The boys' hair is still dripping wet. Sylus sighs. Fine.

Sylus stands up straight and takes the two long strides needed to cross the bathroom. He sinks down onto one knee, picking up one of the discarded towels and motioning for one of the twins to come closer. The boy steps up, and Sylus drops the towel on his head.

"It's not good to sleep with such wet hair," Sylus mutters as he towels off the boy's head efficiently, making the kid giggle with the rapid back and forth motion. Once the first kid is relatively dry, Sylus motions for the second, repeating the process.

With tousled hair, the boys go back to dressing, arguing briefly over who gets which piece from each set. Sylus watches for a moment with a raised eyebrow before standing back up and taking his place beside the wall again. He flips through his phone, reading messages from potential and existing dealers, going over invitations to auctions he's been sent. He manages to get engrossed enough in his work that it's almost a surprise when one of the boys speaks up

"Help?" a small voice asks. Sylus stands from where he'd leaned against the wall, peering over the top of his phone with a raised eyebrow. The quieter of the two twins has managed to tangle himself in the pajama shirt, one arm sticking up in the air and the other stuck against his shoulder. Sylus lets out a sharp breath through his nose, amused.

"How did you manage this?" he asks as he kneels, pulling the shirt into place with a firm tug. The boy shrugs in lieu of a proper answer, plopping down on the floor beside his brother to pull on a pair of socks.

It's at this moment that Sylus realizes he doesn't know the boys' names. He blinks silently to himself for a moment. Sylus always makes it his business to know everything about the people around him. How is it that he let this slide?

He crouches, lowering himself closer to the boys' level. Two little heads turn towards him, two pairs of dark eyes blinking in unison.

"What are your names?" Sylus asks without preamble. "I neglected to ask earlier." The louder twin gives a toothy grin.

"I'm Luke!" he says.

"Luke," Sylus repeats. The boy nods, tugging at the collar of his shirt to fidget with it. Sylus's brow furrows. "Don't do that," he scolds. "You'll stretch out the fabric." Then, right after the words leave him, he curses himself inwardly. Dammit, he's starting to sound like some tender little mother. He's really got to stop doing this sort of thing, considering the boys will be long gone from his life very soon.

"And you?" he asks instead of dwelling on his thoughts, turning to the quieter boy.

"Kieran," comes the soft reply. Sylus nods.

"Kieran," he says, repeating this name as well, committing it to memory. The boy - who Sylus now knows as Kieran - gives a clumsy nod, the kind that small children put their entire torso into. Sylus finds the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

Eagerly, Luke scoots closer.

"What's your name, Mister?" he asks, looking up at the man with wide, curious eyes. Sylus furrows his brow. Right. They don't know his name either. Sylus frowns with a bit of a realization.

These kids have no clue who he is. They just… went with him. Hell, he basically just kidnapped them and they came right along without a care in the world. Does he give the "stranger danger" lesson now or save it for later?

Stop. No. Sylus isn't these kids' caretaker, for heaven's sake. What the hell is he thinking, teaching them life lessons? No, he'll just introduce himself. Courteous and not completely uncaring (they're kids, after all), but still maintaining his distance.

Yes.

He debates for a brief moment, wondering if he should give them a false name. Should he introduce himself as "Onychinus," the feared and almost mythical crime lord? It would be prudent, considering his established interest in keeping his identity secret.

Sylus sighs. Still, these are children, he supposes. They don't even know who he is, past the fact that he's a stranger both rich and kind (or stupid, maybe) enough to help them out.

"I'm Sylus," he says flatly. Then, after a moment, calling on the little knowledge he has about children this young, "And you two need to go to bed. It's late. Children are supposed to sleep a lot." The boys pout immediately, and Luke even groans out loud.

"We're not tired!" he asserts, and Kieran nods, backing up his brother. "Let's look around! This place is so cool, pleeeeease can we look around, pleeeeease?" Luke bounces as he speaks, full of the untamable energy children always seem to have. Sylus frowns.

"No," he says, remaining steadfast. "It's late. You two are going to bed." The twins make their displeasure known again, though a bit more softly this time. Sylus sighs. Maybe offering them at least some sort of choice will make them a bit more amenable.

"You have a choice," he tells them, "between a room with one or two beds."

"Two!" the boys immediately decide, apparently eager to have their own, separate beds. Sylus nods, turning towards the bathroom door and motioning over his shoulder for them to follow.

He walks down the hallway once again, with the two following him loudly. He makes a mental note to make sure that bathroom is cleaned and that the clothes in the bag are moved to the closet of their temporary room. Once he reaches an appropriate room (both close enough to his own that he can easily keep an eye on them, and far enough that they won't disturb him), he opens the door, swinging it open and holding out a hand.

With quiet exclamations, the boys scramble in, claiming the two beds on opposite sides of the room. They look remarkably small, almost comically so, as they scurry under the covers of the two queen-sized beds, both seemingly very pleased with the blankets and pillows.

Sylus watches them for a moment, debating. Then, in the interest of keeping both the kids and his residence relatively unharmed, he whistles sharply. Luke and Kieran watch in awe as Mephisto comes soaring into the room, landing neatly on Sylus's shoulder.

"If you need anything," Sylus says, "just tell Mephisto." The mechanical bird flaps, taking off from Sylus's shoulder and landing on the nightstand between the two beds. Immediately, Kieran silently reaches out, little hand petting Mephisto's head. The crow turns to look at Sylus, a remarkably displeased look in his red eyes for something that's nothing but metal and lines of code. What have you gotten me into? he seems to ask, as he's gently pet.

Sylus raises his eyebrows, letting his bird know that yes, in fact this is his new duty for the night. Mephisto lets out a dejected caw, prompting a giggle from the boys.

"He talks!" Luke says, grinning. Sylus hums.

"Indeed he does."

With the boys apparently engrossed in Sylus's crow, the man decides that it's time for him to make his exit. They'll be safe, and Mephisto is sturdy, for all that he complains. With all parties distracted, Sylus leaves the room, closing the door smoothly behind him.

Once he's out in the quiet solitude of the hallway, he sighs heavily, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

What the hell has he gotten himself into?

Well, Sylus supposes, he'll figure that out in the morning.

nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby

summary: the aftermath of what happened in skyhaven with pre-relationship sylus. hurt/comfort, exploring mc’s trauma.

A simultaneous sigh blooms from both of your lungs as the last wanderer crumbles into oblivion. The dust of its essence floated up to the polluted night sky of the N109 zone, painting artificial stars for the pair of victors below. Sylus lifts his gaze to you after he scrapes what’s left of the aftermath from his fingernails. He looks infuriatingly unaffected. You, however…

“You look like shit.” He remarks playfully, his eyes softening as he holds out his hand to help you up. You, like he anticipates, softly slap it away and get up on wobbly legs. “Fuck off.” You retort, still trying to catch your breath, and he simply smiles- striding next to you and subtly offering you his weight to lean on. You tried stubbornly standing on your own, but found yourself surrendering to his quiet help as you walked back to his bike.

“I’m not letting you ride back to Linkon like this.” He huffed, handing you his spare helmet, the one that is practically yours at this point. “Spend the night at the base.” Coming from him, it sounded more of a purring command than a gentle suggestion. “Get some beauty sleep.”

You had felt your muscles tense and your heart clenched as you were rapidly reminded of the last time you stayed over someone else’s place. The sound of doors locking, the pills, the confusion, the breathing man that you still mourned. Before you could refuse, though, a traitorous yawn escaped your throat. You knew he was right, that you were in no shape to travel home, and it’s not like he could exactly traipse into Linkon at the moment to accompany you. Besides, you’ve been fighting alongside him for a while now, and while he has little weaknesses, you’re willing to exploit them if need be. “Alright.” You breathe your surrender as you put the helmet on, bracing yourself for his driving skills.

Luke and Kieran greet you at the door like eager puppies. What happened, boss? Boss lady? Did ya kill something? How many? How bloody? Any guts?

Sylus held out a commanding hand and answered for you, thankfully. “Don’t ambush the poor girl, she’s beat up.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “I’m not beat up-”

“Come.” He holds his arm out for you, and you defeatedly take it, blindly following wherever he deigns to go.

“My head…” You groaned at the harsh overhead kitchen light being flicked on, rubbing your temples. “Does the big bad mob boss happen to have ibuprofen?”

“I’m not headache proof, believe it or not.” He exhaled a small chuckle. “Sit down.” He ushered you to the sofa across from the kitchen table. You obliged, but not because he told you to, of course. You were achey, dirty and exhausted. He held a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other, and you hesitated slightly as you let him give them to you. Turning the pills over in your fingers with a squint of your eyes, you looked for the label etched into the chalky red circles to identify that it was, in fact, ibuprofen.

Sylus noticed. Of course he noticed, he always does. “What?” He tilts his head, confused, but his tone still holds a hint of safe and familiar teasing. “You think I’m slipping you something?”

Swallowing back those nagging memories again along with the medicine, you force a chuckle. “Can never be sure with a lawless scoundrel like you, can I?”

He grinned, one of those rare smiles of his, toothy and reaching for his ruby eyes. “I may be a lawless scoundrel, sweetheart, but I’m not a monster.”

Not a monster, because a monster would do that.

Your best friend in the whole world would do that.

A deep breath left you, ready to be rid of this conversation topic. “Can I take a shower?”

His wide grin melted down to his signature smug smirk once again. “In which wing?”

Sylus’s living situation was fucking ridiculous. Four bathrooms with showers, three of them with tubs. For, what, three people? You shake your head in disbelief as he leads you to a guest room. Just as lavish as the rest of the place, the first thing that stares back at you is the neatly made king sized bed. A leather futon sits across it, right next to an enormous closet. Before you can gawk at any other evidence of luxury in the room, he shuts the door behind you. Your gaze instinctively flies to the knob, the phantom click still ringing in your ears. Your shoulders hunch, posture stilling as you find yourself waiting for it— but the door remains unlocked. If Sylus noticed, he gave you the grace of ignoring it and deciding he teased you enough for now. He opens the closet, unhooking a hanger from inside, draping a plush back bathrobe from it. “This should fit you.” You ran your hands along the fluffy material, unable to stop touching it. “And could I wash my clothes after-“

“I will.” He assures you with an interruption. “Leave them outside the door. I’ll find something laying around for you to change into so you don’t have to wait for them to dry.” You nodded, not expecting this level of consideration from him. It brings an irritating, fond heat to your cheeks. “Right. Thank you.”

“Just being a good host.” He smirks, opening the bathroom door. The bathroom was, of course, also fucking ridiculous. Dark marble walls, spotless black tile floors. A black Japanese bathtub next to the spacious shower stall. Woody, spicy potpourri wafted through the air from a bowl on the sink. He moves to shut the door, and you turn. “Um…” Swallow. “Is it okay to keep the door unlocked?” He frowned in confusion, and you quickly added, “It’s the steam. Too much in an enclosed space, I get a headache and I already have one, so I-“

“Okay.” He simply agrees, leaving you no room to over-explain and lie further. You’re almost taken aback with the ease he’s treating you with, but if you think about it, he’s always just accepted. He may question once or twice, but always nods his head without judgment.

You showered all of the blood and grime off your skin, but the reminder of Skyhaven clung under your fingernails no matter how much you scrubbed. It was something you had been pushing away from the forefront of your mind for weeks, almost a month now.

It’s not what you think it is, you remind yourself as you clench your fist, watching the hot water droplets roll off your knuckles. It’s Caleb. He was trying to protect me…

“No, we’re not doing this right now!” You mumbled aloud to yourself. Think, think, think of something else. You abruptly turned the valve to the wall, the water turning freezing cold. Your breathing seemed to slow down with the ice hitting your veins, and by the time you caught two chills, you stepped out and toweled off. The robe felt nice against your damp skin, the fuzz of it all absorbing the water droplets quickly. Opening the door, you see the clothes Sylus left for you in a neat pile: two items. A black satin button down with an “S” monogrammed into the breast pocket with golden embroidery, and grey basketball shorts. A dry snort found its way out of your nose. What a look.

You swam in them, of course, but in a cozy way. You folded the waistband of the shorts until they would aptly rest on your hips, and you didn’t mind the way the shirt’s sleeves hung past your fingers. The shirt smelled like him. Like his stupidly nice cologne, the familiar scent of spices and leather on the collar.

You let your exhausted body drive you to sleep.

The door is locked.

The eyes you used to seek comfort in refuse to soften.

You blindly take his sleeping pills.

The door is locked.

He pins you down on the sofa, next to a photo of the two of you in a frighteningly similar position, play-fighting and laughing.

He threatens to wrap a collar around your throat.

Your pleas fall on deaf ears.

The man in front of you is breathing, but he is long dead.

The door is locked.

Your heart drops you awake, out of breath and eyes watery.

You are not in your bed.

Where are you?

You push the covers off you before you could even remember, rushing to swing the door open. The force of the mahogany hitting the wall got the attention of your gracious host.

“Sweetie…” A deep voice rumbled up your spine. Sylus.

You’re with Sylus.

The pet name lacked all the familiar playful condescension, more of a brace, a concerned approach to a wild, wounded animal. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer at first, your clouded mind still assessing the situation. Your shoulders relax a fraction as you register your surroundings, Sylus’s base. You spent the night here after a hunt. You’re with Sylus, you want to be here, and the door was unlocked. Your grip on the doorknob loosens. Sylus slowly comes out from behind you and into your field of vision. “Sit.” He ushers you back into the room, sitting on the bed and patting the silk sheets. You slowly obey, perching on the bed with your knees hugged to your chest. A gentle expression paints his face, something you could’ve sworn you’ve never seen before. “I’m going to ask again.” He urges softly, slowly, the brisk command his tone usually carried melted away.

You can lie to anyone in your life. You could have said it was a bug in your blankets. A noise, he thought of an intruder. Even a nightmare about something else. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man in front of you who looks worried for the first time you’ve seen it. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man who seems to know your very soul despite only knowing you for a handful of months.

You don’t even try, clenching your fists so tight you’re sure your fingernails would draw blood out of the meat of your palm.

“I can’t tell you…” You murmured, holding back the flood. “Because if I do, it becomes real.”

He frowned, his head tilting to the side slightly. He pushed a soft smile out of the corner of his mouth. “I won’t tell reality if you won’t, sweetheart.”

You exhaled out of your nose shortly, an amused puff of air followed by a sniffle. “No, I’m…it’s serious.”

“I know.” He sat back on his elbows, blanketing the atmosphere with a sense of leisure and ease. That was something you had to admit he was good at. “I’ve noticed.”

You turn to him. “What?”

“You checked the pills I gave you.” He started. “I thought that was a one off, maybe you being extra careful, but then you announced you were gonna shower with the door unlocked-“

You scoffed shakily. “Okay, I didn’t announce-“

“The point is…” He interrupted. “You’ve been…off tonight.”

You don’t know how to answer. You know that at this point, if you open your mouth, the tears will start free falling.

“You don’t have to explain.” Fuck him for always reading your mind. “But you just need to tell me you’re alright. No guest feels unsafe under this roof.”

“It’s not you.” You assure shakily, resting your chin on your knees. “It’s…a long story.”

He nodded, accepting again. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Um…” You suck in a breath through your nose. Here we go. The tube of toothpaste is squeezed. Your voice is slow, measured as you continue. “Remember about three weeks ago I went to Skyhaven?”

You began to unload. From the top. He knew of the explosion, the one you wrongfully blamed him for. The reminder of that moment brings a flash of mortified heat to your cheeks, expecting him to bring it up. You pause for it, the tease, the coy ‘Yes, kitten, I’m so bad,’ but it doesn’t come. His eyes just pave a delicate path down your face, waiting for you to continue. You watch them widen slightly when you tell him your childhood best friend survived, and that you found him up there. Your words shake and choke in your throat when you get to the next part, tears pricking the back of your eyes. You squeeze them shut, and feel a feather-light weight on your hand; his covering yours. A soft affirmation, a silent I’ve got you. The action is so tender, it pushes even more tears to your waterline. You purse your trembling lips at the gentleness of it all, the opposite of the force you two exuded over one another when you first met. You shoot him point blank in the chest, and he holds your hand like it’s precious gold.

“Sweetie…” He looks at you as if the sight of your face twisted in tears makes him violently ache. “Don’t cry.”

Which of course, makes you cry more. He closes the distance between you within a second, pulling you into his side. “I’m trying not to.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He whispers gently, rubbing his thumb over your bare shoulder, the collar of his shirt hanging off of you. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

It takes a few minutes to gather the words, because how exactly do you say, I think my best friend held me hostage in his home and slipped me pills but I think it’s not really him based on zero evidence?

His thumb stopped its soothing rhythm. “He what?”

You cringe and stammer. You feel caught, for some irrational reason. “I-I know what it sounds like, but-”

“No.” He shook his head, his tone still soft but firm. “No, you don’t have to protect him.” He has to bite back the snarl in his voice, fight to keep his words gentle. “Not after he does this…” He wipes a tear from your cheek, his fingers lingering on the skin for a moment. “Not after he does this to you.” His voice shakes alongside yours, for different reasons. “You don’t need to tell me anything more, but you don’t protect him, either.”

You look up at him, drawing in a deep breath. It makes you realize that’s exactly what you’ve been doing all this time, refusing to acknowledge it. While he was ruining you, you were protecting his memory. At the same time, though, what you know about the professor and Caleb’s abnormal behavior flipping like a switch makes you doubt it was fully him that did this to you. Even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t mean it didn’t affect you so deeply that you’re crying into the arms of the person you’d least expect. You watch his fists clench. “He didn’t…” A hesitation. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

You vehemently shake your head and you could hear a small breath of relief. “It wasn’t like that.” You go to explain again, to defend him, but stop yourself. “It was so scary.” He breathes a deep sigh, tightening his arms around you.

“I know.” He whispers. “I know, sweet girl, but you were brave.”

You scoff tearfully. “No I wasn’t.”

“You’re here.” He pointed out, brushing his hand through your hair. “Not there. I know your prowess firsthand.”

A pathetic half-laugh exits your chest, followed by more sobs. He holds you even tighter as you cling to his grounding familiarity. He does that for as long as you need it, waiting patiently as he assures you you did the right thing, that you’re safe with him, that he could walk into Linkon and take you home right now, bounty be damned; whatever it is you need to hear.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers into your hair. Your head is atop his chest, laying down now. Your eyes are closed, and he can tell you’ve cried yourself to sleep. “Always have. Always will.”

When your breaths turn steady, he moves slightly to get his phone from his pocket. One hand on your back, the other on the keyboard, he types a message to Luke and Kieran.

Farspace Fleet Colonel. Lives in Skyhaven. Name’s caleb. Need any and all information there is to know ASAP.

Another message.

Boss Lady will not let you hurt him, as much as I am dreaming the different ways I could make him hurt right now. Do not go after him. Just watch.

Two pairs of thumbs up from the twins follow the message, not needing any further instruction or explanation. He locks his phone and leans his head against the pillow, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. It’s quiet now, the only sound surrounding him are your soft breaths and Mephisto’s caws into the night as he suddenly takes a trip up north.

Tamaki Suoh from Ouran High School Host Club

Is an age regressor!

I'm feeling generous today. Reblog for a compliment from the king of the host club!

OOC: I'm looking for more fluffy RP stuff for a change (TamaRP slander is fun, but I need a change of pace). Other RP accounts, please interact! /lh, nf

Trust….we’re doctors 🧠

OHSHC WILL ALWAYS BE MY COMFORT ANIME, OMG I LOVE THEM SO MUCHHHHHHHH