#mickey17au

[goodpupboy360]

Moreeee art me don't know heh I love apocalypse m17 au + mob and ritsu.,,,,, yyayyyy

[goodpupboy360]

Doodle for an au where 18 is a ghost truma th8ng that only mickey can see and muckey and nasha live together and nasha is girlboss and powerful and mickey is like small Lil guy and he has a baby his names zilco (ignore the luco thing i forgot which creeper baby died) and he's like 4 anddddddd yeah :)

[goodpupboy360]

Mickey regressing into a small state after everything thats happened. Either nasha or eighteen having to take care of him; making him some soup, making sure that the noise from nashas speaker isn't too loud, etc.

Mickeys sitting on one of the couch cushions one day, tucked into himself and clearly small. Nashas busy -- out doing the yard -- so its Eighteen who sits with him.

They don't really talk to each other. Eighteen hasn't let himself feel comfortable with mickeys regressing -- feels that its too weak of them to do something like that; that mickeys making eighteen, by extension, seem weak -- so they sit in silence for what feels like a bit, until mickey leans onto eighteens shoulder

"Y'nevry," he whispers, quietly, still looking blanky at the TV "quit that"

Eighteen scoffs "Shut up" and even still he doesn't pull away. Because mickey is his partner, at the end of all else -- an extension of himself that he loves to bits, probably even more

So he kets mickey play with his hands when he's small; let's him trace the hard line and carve of his knuckles from grunt work he still does sometimes. Let's him sit on his bed and listen to the sound of his heartbeat; make sure he's still alright and alive after a nightmare had plunged all that comfort outta him

[goodpupboy360]

4 me

Tags i use for short cut so i can keep ysing em

[goodpupboy360]

Whumpee day mickey day

Nasha kisses at his forehead and smiles. "You sure you're alright for this?" She asks, her hand coming down to cup at his jaw. Mickey nods, trying not to winced too much as her hands press against his scarring. Nasha nods and grabs her keys out of her pocket before opening the door and walking out.

It's nice.

It is. Really. The sun's out -- it's not too pushy, not too warm. There's barely any people in the lobby when they get down there, and when they finally do walk out into the street, it's not as busy as Mickey expected it to be. Sure, there's still a fair margin of people, but in all considerations, it's not much.

Nasha leads him down into one of the streets, making sure he sticks close by at every step; not that he'd leave even if he wanted to. He watches as her braids move through the wind, mesmerised, just slightly, at the way the light glimmers off of em. It's beautiful. Nasha, in all ways, is beautiful. An enigma Mickey would've never thought he'd ever be as lucky as to call his girlfriend.

It's nice. A couple streets down, it's nice. They stop by a water fountain, catch a small spot to drink. They pass by a park and Mickey watches as dogs roam on leashes tied to their owners hands, safe and fed and trained.

Thats when it happens.

Thats when the scent hits him.

Him and Nasha are just passing through a streetlight when his brain catches wift of it. Rich and flavoured, like flower drenched in something matelic. It's a nice smell, in all transparency, but already there's blood pooling inside his mouth.

It's a second too long before he bolts.

He tears through the crowd, his sight barred and narrowing into a slim, caged focus. His heartbeat hammers inside his chest, too big even for him to feel, his lungs squeezing and squeezing more as he bumps and shoves his way past people. He knows he's making a scene -- how can't he -- but the feeling is overwhelming.

He can hear Nasha somewhere behind him, calling out for him, trying to push past the mundane, but he's not skidding to a stop. Not right now, at least.

His voice is still inside his head. Taunting. Overlooking. Caging. Wanting every inch of him and beyond that-- wanting his flesh, his being, bis spul. Tapped into one finger, all for him.

Mickeys breath wheezes out of his chest. His eye catches glimpse of an alleyway, and he spins, ducking into it as soon as he gets his feet to part. His back slams into the wall, his chest heaving and uneven as he tries to get himself into control.

Breathe, he tells himself even as his eyes skitter to the crowd and back. He isn't here.

Still, the unease is palarable. He can't help but feel like everybody here is watching his every move. He can feel the itch behind the back of his neck; in the sores of his skin. There's murmurs and glances, and Mickey shrinks, stepping more into the shadows as his shoulders hitch, more and more.

He can't helpit. He starts to cry.

His shoulders hitch, his face scrunching and burning with the shame as he feels his eyes well and well until he just can't take it anymore. He crumbles, his good knee shaking and his bad one collapsing as he slides down until his ass is on the floor.

Hes shaking. Hes not supposed to be shaking -- hes supposed to be calm; composed; small. But right now, he just can't help himself. He cries, uglier then he ever thinks he's ever supposed to, sniffing and hiccuping and drowning in his own sobs until his lungs feel like they might burst out through his throat.

Because. Well. He's going to die today.

Right now. He -- hell find him, he will, and he'll tear a bloody hole through his head. Might fuck him too, or bash his head against the wall until he blacks out, all for disobey and punishment.

He--

Marshall--

"Mickey!"

Nasha.

He looks up, his eyes big, wartery. He can't help but pour out this anguish through fat, wobbly tears; cant help that the sobs just force themselves out even more as he sees Nashas figure come closer and closer towards him.

Her expression ... God.

"Mickey, holy shit," she gasps. "Fuck -- are you okay? What's wrong? Can you tell me what happened?'

A big, fat hiccup, rolling from his stomach and up to his teeth. Mickey shakes his head, scrubbing at his eyes as he tries to get the hurt away.

Nasha curses, but she sits down next to him instead of trying anything else. She doesnt sit close enough so that her knee touches his, but close enough so that if anything does come out to get him, he know shell be there to help.

And thst, will have to be enough.

[goodpupboy360]

mickey gets fucking kidnapped au

All in all, Dorothy had only accepted this because Arkady had said he'd make her score 100s on the next math test, but she didn't expect this to be it.

She was parked outside of their school, just off the left field with her arms crossed against her chest. Summer had come early this year, the sweat sticking to her shirt like glue as she fanned herself with her hand.

She flickered her eyes to her phone. No text from him yet. She was already running twenty minutes behind shecdule — where the hell was he?

She tapped at the steering wheel, knucklings rumming something up on the beat before she caught movement just in the side of her eye. And, clad in nothing but their sport uniform that clung to his chest in a rather unfaltering way, came Arkady. He was still sweaty from gym, and Dorothy knew that the swell of Midgard sun didn't help.

"Hey!" She called, waving an arm out the window as his silhouette came clear in the afternoon sun.

Yet, Dorothy squinted her eyes.

He was carrying someone. A light, skinny someone, judging by the way the persons legs were dragging against the ground at his side, but someone nonetheless.

Arkady came up to her car, yanking the backseat open as he clambered whoever it was into her backseat. Dorothy whirled around, eyes wide, looking at Arkady before looking at the body he was folding into the seat, buckling him in hastily.

"What the-- Mickey?" She flickered her eyes to the persons face -- Mickey Barnes, she thinks his name was -- slack against the headrest. "What the fuck, Arkady? Wha-- Why the hell is he here?"

Arkady didn't answer, slamming the door closed as he ran over to the passanger, hoping in without even a glance at her. When all she did was stare in shock -- because really how could she not -- Arkady turned to face her.

"What are you doing? Get going!" He barked.

Dorothy scrunched her brows together. "What? No! Why-- Why hace we got him? Why is he knocked out? Whar did you do?"

"You agreed to help me, didn't you?"

"Not if it involves kidnapping!"

"We're not." He leaned back into the seat, his hands coming to thumb at each other as he breathed in deep. "We're just... doing something for a bit."

Dorothy scoffed, placing the car into drive. "Whatever. Be like that. Not my ass thats gonna get caught for this."

With little more then a glare from the other, Dorothy kicked themselves into gear and took off, driving dust in the schools parking lot as she combed through streets. She already had the map memorised in her head, but every other turn, Arkady still gave her instructants like she needed his blambering mouth to do all the talking.

Eventually, though, she drove into a small apartment complex, taking a deep breath as Arkady got out of the car. She watched through the rearview as he gathered Mickey into his arms, slamming the door shut with his hip.

"Coming?" He asked, already halfway to the stairs. "I'll, uh, need some help. He's pretty heavy."

Dorothy sighed. Her chest was bloomed in a sort of panic, unable to help the need for clarfication at what exactly they were doing here. Arkady never mentioned anything about Mickey, let alone doing what he did to him, let alone making Dorothy his getaway driver.

But, ah.

If she didn't, well. She'd probably be out of town by tomorow, hauled into one of those homes for old folk who like to touch and sneeze and waddle.

"Yeah," she called back, unbuckling her seatbeat. "I'm coming."

[goodpupboy360]

mickey incest au idk TW SA

Its an au where mickey fled with his little brother, Eighteen, from his abusive fathers place after he got asexually assaulted by him. They end up in a shitth little apartment and couch surf for a while until they settle down somewhere a bit more secure, but it requires a whole bunch of rent, so mickey picks up extra jobs to support them, like s3x work. There he meets jemma, and they have a friendship with benfitis thing going for a while and eighteen treats jemma like a big sister almost before something happens and jemma is like hey its too dangrous for me to stay with you anymore, good luck. Mickeys bummed out for a bit before he goes bsck to work, a few months later he meets nasha, who treats him different from everyone else, even jemma, and they get together like later in the story :)

Anuau, fast forward couple of years and eighteen is in LOVE with his brother, like obsessively almost. And he shadows his car at work, keeps showing up at his apartment even when he knows nasha doesn't really like it,. Mickey doesn't have a clue that his baby brother likes him "like that" lol . Eighteens really possessive over mickey and won't let anyone take him away , he's fine with nasha tho because that is mickeys wife but other then nasha he doesn't want ANYBODy touching mickeh everrrrrr. And mickeh keeps telling and treating eighteen like he's still a kid and eighteen gets so peeved abt it lmao

Ill add more later hehehehe

[goodpupboy360]

whumptober 2025

Mickeys pressed into a too tight suit, and his neck is killing him, skin itchy.

The place they'd bring him to was big, massive, with the sort of air that came from under the desk pay and deals that people didn't want the public knowing about. All these men that he passed smelled of tabbocoo, or of too much cologne, as if they tried scrubbing the scent off of them before coming. Marshall led him through the crowd with a firm hand on his back, never letting him leave his grip for even a moment.

Whenever someone tried to talk to him, Marshall would bring his hand up to his collar, making his status known as something less, as something unable to have a conersation. A couple glanced their way and continued, as if unaware -- but nobody really was, not at this sort of place -- yet after a dozen more of those, and people seemed to get the memo.

They were led down onto a back table outlooking the whole venue -- even the windows, which spanned floor to ceiling high -- which, on mickesy part, thought that was a bit cruel. He was seated down next to one of the more covered seats, marshall sliding in after him, clearly making a statement that if he tried to run, there'd be dire costs for it. They ordered drinks. Marshall, a cocktail , and Mickey, a wine. Mickey didn't drink. He never drunk, really, but Marshall didn't seem to care, pressing a glass of it into his hands anyway.

"Drink it," he smiled, all polite with no real teeth. "Its quite an artifact, really. You'll need it for later."

The tone of his -- that smile -- it made something deep and hot and awful crawl into mickeys gut. He obliged, because what else was he supposed to do, take a swig of the liquid as if his false hope of it being good enough to order brung any sembalance of peace.

.. nope. It stunk of chemical, and tasted of acid, the rotten flavour stinging in his mouth as he forced it down.. He looked over to Marshall, who laughed.

"Bitter, ay?" He chuckled, already reaching for the bottle. "Don't worry. You'll get used to the taste eventually. "

He didn't, actually.

Before he knew it, he was stumbling into a stall, half-assed, throwing up into the toilet bowl as his throat worked against him. The lights above him bellowed out money, the sourness of it all so thick he felt like he couldn't breathe. Didn't help that the sting of this bastard thing was worse then anything else he'd tasted in his life, nor the fact that his stomach seemed to be actively trying to tear itself out of his body.

After a couple dozen coughs or so, Mickey -- through his haze, through this manta of get out get out get out -- felt something press down onto him from behind. Not like anything crude, but something more then that -- something that stared until you gave it what it wanted.

He glanced risky behind him, and Kenneth Marshalls boots stared back.

"Well," he said, his hands coming around to yank him to his feet. Mickey was dizzy with the chance, and Marshall smiled, patted him on the back. "You'll get used to it. Now come on. Can't have you ruining tonight already, can we?"

The look in his eyes was beyond anything he'd ever seen before. His throat was still sore, and his stomach still rolled, yet he allowed himself to sink into Marshalls hand -- to only think of him, and of nothing else. Not his time here, not his friends, not the eyes and mouths geared his way.

Just him.

Just him.