#maybe one day i can sit down and fully dissect it one day

[fablexdreams]

Every time I go to write one of my big, long, classic deep dive paragraphs into why John and Arthur's brother relationship is so important to me, and in general, I always find myself either at a complete loss of words, or going into endless, mindless tangents that can't be made concise no matter how hard I try. And I think that that is beautiful in its own way. I may not always know how to word it, but that doesn't change the fact that John and Arthur's relationship was done so beautifully that it has struck a cord in so many of our hearts, and I think if nothing else, we can take it for that. My wonderful, tragic, ineffable brothers.

[kendyzzlewp]

you can do it with a broken heart

summary: jackson broke up with you for no reason, so now you try to survive residency while working at the same place. but you’re a real though bitch, you can handle your shit

tags: fem!reader, jackson avery, angsty, ttpd

tw: mentions of su!c!de

—-

“You seem… okay.”

You looked at Meredith who was staring at you with a concerned expression. You shrugged, spitting the toothpaste from your mouth into the sink.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, grabbing a towel and wiping your face from any minty residue.

Meredith narrowed her eyes on you. “Well,” she said, entering the bathroom fully. “Avery dumped you.”

Your heart sank at the mention of him. You shook your head, forcing a smile. “So? It’s not the end of the world. He’s literally just a guy and I dumped him.”

Alex entered the bathroom, pushing past you to get to the sink. You locked eyes in the mirror and he shook his head.

“Pretty boy was not just a guy,” he grumbled, grabbing his razor. “He was like your person or twin or whatever it was you called him.”

Meredith hummed in agreement, sitting on the toilet with her eyes fixed on you. “He wasn’t just a guy, he was your guy.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Your stomach twisting like a wet rag at the topic of conversation. It had been two weeks since Jackson decided to end things after months and months of the stupid will they, won’t they dance. It wasn’t even a viable reason, he needed to focus on plastics and you needed to focus on cardio. It wasn’t you, it was him. After the boards things were going to be different.

Blah blah blah.

“I’m fine,” you said in a failed attempt to convince both of them and maybe even yourself.

Because you were the complete opposite of fine. You were completely ruined. They were right. Jackson wasn’t just a guy, he was the love of your life. Your best friend and one random fight escalated to the point where you turned back to strangers.

Derek popped his head in the bathroom, catching your eye with a sympathetic smile. “Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine!” you exclaimed, pushing past him to get to your room. “Perfectly, fine.”

——

“You gotta fake it, till you make it,” Arizona said as she masterfully dissected a burst appendix. “Break ups suck. The important thing is though that you win, you have higher ground.”

You had the faking part down, now making it? That’s a whole different story.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your eyes on the cavity in front of you. That seemed to be your new phrase lately, it had variations but fine was becoming your old faithful.

For some reason, you decided to look up at the gallery. Your eyes meet green ones. So green yet so blue at the same time. Like a watercolor painting of a beach paradise. You swallowed the lump that blocked your throat. Knowing the intercom was turned on by the red light, you decided to prove it once and for all.

“I actually have a date,” you lied, your eyes darting back to Arizona’s hand as she finished sewing up the kid.

She looked up at the gallery with wide eyes before landing her eyes on you. “A date? With who?”

“Um…” you racked your brain trying to come up with a convincing answer, your eyes briefly meeting Jackson’s. “A lawyer…yeah.”

Arizona dropped the subject when the monitor started beeping wildly, the attention shifting towards the patient. You look up at the gallery again. He was gone.

You’re fine.

—

“He said he’d loved me all his life,” you sobbed one into your arm one night at Joe’s. Lexie rubbed your back sympathetically. “He lied.”

She sighed, passing you another napkin. “You are going to be just fine,” she said, taking your drink away. “No more tequila for you though.”

You shook your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile. “I can handle this, this is nothing.”

——

“It’s kind of ironic,” Alex said one day, watching you repair an aortic aneurysm in the gallery. “She wants to fix hearts for a living but can’t get her own shit together.”

Cristina mumbled an agreement, her eyes focused on the surgery. April shook her head, feeling sad for her friend.

Meredith shrugged. “She says she’s fine,” she said, taking a bite of her apple. “If that was me, I would’ve drowned myself in the bathtub by now.”

Cristina raised an eyebrow, turning back to look at her. “That was you and you did almost drowned.”

“She’s on the verge of a mental breakdown,” Lexie said, her eyes focused on a medical journal. “It’s a matter of time.”

“Avery is a dumbass,” Alex stated, earning a chorus of agreement from the rest of the residents.

All of them were blissfully unaware that Jackson was standing at the entrance of the library. His eyes focused on you as you performed your magic. The way you laughed as you bantered with Altman. His heart sank.

He really was a dumbass for letting you go.

__

You sat in the gallery with the rest of the group, your eyes focused on the surgery below. You mentally took notes. You hadn’t slept in days, food would not stay down no matter how much you tried.

The anxiety ate away at you constantly. The emptiness follows you everywhere you go. The hospital became your home as you dreaded going to bed alone.

Jackson entered the gallery, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. You still couldn’t be in the same room as him, no matter how cool you tried to play it. With a curt nod, you stood up.

As the tension mounted within you, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over, causing you to sway slightly in your place at the gallery. Cristina, noticing your unsteadiness, reached out a hand to steady you.

"Hey, you okay?" she asked, concern etched in her voice.

You forced a smile, nodding weakly. "Yeah, just a little tired," you replied, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

Lexie glanced up, furrowing her brow at your demeanor. "Are you sure?" she remarked, her voice tinged with worry.

Before you could respond, Meredith interjected, concern evident in her eyes as she set her half-eaten apple aside. "Maybe you should take a break, get some fresh air," she suggested, her tone gentle yet firm.

“I just need to leave,” you whispered, hurrying out of the cramped room.

You’re fine.

—

“Hey.”

You looked up from your study notes. Jackson stood in front of you, shifting from one leg to the other. His hand gripping the strap of his backpack tightly.

Your heart was pounding. “Yeah?” You cautiously asked, closing your notebook.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “You looked rough in the gallery earlier.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. Anger, hurt, longing—each fighting for dominance as you struggled to maintain your composure.

"I'm fine," you replied, the words coming out more sharply than you intended. "Just a rough day."

Jackson's expression softened, his eyes searching yours for a hint of the turmoil raging within. "You know you can talk to me, right?" he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern. “I know you. I know you haven’t been eating or sleeping. Meredith told me you barely go home nowadays.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, surprising even yourself. "Talk?" you scoffed, the words dripping with sarcasm. "About what, exactly? How you broke my heart?"

His eyes widened, a pained expression crossing his features. "I never meant to hurt you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was doing what was best for both of us."

"Best for both of us?" you repeated, incredulous. "How is dumping me, without a single good explanation, the best for me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You blinked them back, refusing to let him see your pain. "You don't get to waltz back into my life and act like everything's okay," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm not your consolation prize, Jackson."

He reached out a hand, as if to touch you, but you flinched away, the pain of his betrayal still too fresh. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I never meant to hurt you. I just... I thought it would be easier this way."

"Easier for who?" you shot back, your anger simmering just below the surface. "Not for me, that's for sure."

With a heavy sigh, Jackson took a step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine. I'll leave you alone," he said, his voice filled with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever need me."

As he turned to walk away, you felt a pang of regret, a part of you longing for the comfort of his presence. But you pushed it aside, steeling yourself against the pain. You had survived his absence once; you could do it again.

You’re good. You can do it with a broken heart.

[coreofmyfruits]

Mitosis

★ Herbert west × Daniel cain

Warnings: highschool AU! stupid boy crush and uhhhh frog

Summary: Herbert doesn't want a lab partner in biology. He honestly just wants to dissect his frog by himself in peace. It's too bad that he does in fact have a lab partner in biology, he can't dissect his frog in peace and on top of all of those inconveniences his lab partner seems all too interested in him rather than the frog.

Note(s): based off of @west-of-miskatonic highschool danbert AU! Oh my god this guy cooked when making this AU, couldn't put the pan down…

↓

Twenty minutes, it's been twenty minutes into biology and five brain itching minutes of Herbert dissecting his frog. He puts all his frustrated energy into cutting open the frog from the base of its head to its groin. Cursing mister Hill in violent muttering for gracing him with a lab partner as he guts his frog. “Did you cut your hair?”

For a moment Herbert halted his harsh digging and slicing then without caution started up again. “Are you just going to play twenty one questions or are you going to start dissecting?” He doesn't acknowledge his lab partners’ very obvious ploy at trying to get to know him better, It's irrelevant he concludes.

“Oh! I've been taking notes. You seemed to know what you're doing so I just thought I'd take notes…” Herbert scoffs glancing to his left at the shody spiral bound notebook that his lab partner apparently has been taking notes in.

He pushes up his clunky black frames eyebrows furrowed deep, he sets down his dull lab scissors now fully turned to get a better look at the notes. “Not bad.” Herbert is surprised looking at his lab partners notes, not impressed by any means but surprised. They're a little messy but all in all very informative. He concludes that maybe his lab partner isn't totally useless and hands the scissors over to him.

For a second his lab partner fumbles to grab the scissors and Hebert has to forcibly lean back on his stool to hold himself back from snatching them out of his hands. “Thanks- I'm uh Dan by the way!”

Herbert inspects the snips and pulls done by his lab partner, cataloging each movement. Not too shabby.

“I did cut my hair… by the way.” Herbert has to choke down the warm sick feeling at the base of his throat, gross.

→↓

The next day Herbert snags an old pair of his foster fathers black jeans, they're awfully too baggy and he has to use a shoestring and multiple safety pins just to hold them in place. He also applies a heavy coat of hair spray into his fringe trying to style it the best he can. When he feels like he looks decent enough he throws on his sweater, not looking twice in the mirror and grabs his books.

“Oh- your clothes! What happened to your skirt and-”

Slam

He doesn't stay around long enough to hear the rest of his foster mothers moaning and groaning, he's already heard enough from when he chopped off his hair.

It's quiet on his way to the bus stop, he doesn't notice any noise when he arrives at the stop either. It's rather odd because someone would snicker behind him or throw something at his head by now but nothing and somehow that's even more annoying than all of the other options. Herbert taps his foot, irritated at the lack of noise around him. For once he wants someone to comment something snide to him just so he could snap back, but alas nothing. He checks his watch and the bus should be here in roughly three minutes.

“Hey-” His head shoots to turn to his left, it's his lab partner, Dan, from yesterday. “I didn't notice you took this bus… uh I was wondering if we could- if you would sit with me? I wanted to go over our notes.” He onces over Dan next to him. He's tall, looks harmless and he definitely doesn't want to go over the notes with Herbert; he's just using that as an excuse to sit next to him.

He doesn't respond but turns his head back to stare off across the street, grateful that Dan doesn't continue talking. The bus arrives three minutes later and it's on time for once something that almost never happens.

Dan gets on the bus after him and files into a two person seat taking his spot closest to the middle walkway. “So what's your name? I don't remember you telling me yesterday.”

“Herbert west.” Dan nods looking from In Front of him to the window behind Herbert than to Herbert.

“Herbert? Okay Herbert. Good morning Herbert.” Again Herbert has to choke down the warmth at the bottom of his throat. It's still gross but he thinks he'll get used to it. He nods and shifts his eyes over to Dan immediately snapping them back to Infront of him again, Dan's toothy smile overwhelming him. Gross.

→↓

“You know Herbert, I have some old pants you can have.” Herbert slams his locker shut, locking it with his dead bolt. He places the key in Dan's hand turning his back to Dan so he can place it in his backpack. “They're too small for me and I wouldn't mind giving them to you-” Dan continues struggling with the zipper for a second before he finally successfully zips the bag back up. “Yes! You can come over later today and try them on- my parents aren't home and Meg is busy with her girlfriends tonight.” Herbert can only imagine Dan doing a little fist pump in his accomplishment of zipping up his bag. The idea of free pants intriguing him slightly, the idea of Meg not floating about Dan's house clinging to Dan like a monkey while he's at Dan's house sealing the deal.

“I'll be there at five.” Herbert announces and then it's settled.

→↓

Zing….zingggggggg

“Okay- OKAY” The door to the Cain residence swings open and Herbert can't help but be slightly elated by the annoyed look on Dan's face when he greets him at the door.

“Good afternoon Dan.”

“Hurry get in, it's cold outside.” Dan moves to the side to let Herbert in. He takes the bag off of Herbert's shoulders and sets it by the door. “How are you not freezing…?”

“The cold doesn't bother me Dan.” Dan only nods and hums in disbelief. He leads Herbert down through the living room then the hallway and into his room. Herbert finds it odd as he practically lives there but let's Dan do it anyway. He also ignores the stark contrast of Dan's warm skin on his bicep.

“I'll go get the pants, I got some new books. I don't mind if you look through them.” Dan leaves his room, probably to get the pants out of the dryer, and so Herbert takes Dan's advice and begins to shuffle through his scattered book collection.

The first two are some science fiction novels (Herbert pushes those to the side) and the rest seem to be medical textbooks. Interesting… Herbert knew about Dan's aspirations to become a doctor but he didn't fully get to know the extent of it.

He moves the heavy modules around sifting through the pages every once and a while. He gets towards the end of the thick stack before he gets to the second to last book. It's a thinner book about a quarter the size of the last three and Herbert has to pause to digest the title.

Transexuals: The Brain, Body and Life

“Hey I'm back!” Herbert snaps his head to Dan's door and almost smiles at the sight of Dan struggling to balance a filled laundry basket in his arms and close the door behind him. “I see you've found them.” Dan comments, placing the basket on the foot of his bed.

Herbert nods. “Yes I have Dan…” Dan starts to aimlessly fold the rest of his laundry, plucking out the pants he had wanted to give to Herbert. “Very intriguing selection.”

Dan smiles softly, pulling open a drawer in his dresser and placing a T-shirt into it before he turns back to Herbert. “Oh I sorted out the pants already if you'd like to try them on.” Dan nods to the three pairs of black trousers laying on his comforter next to the main pile of clothes.

Herbert moves to inspect them shuffling through them. These are exactly my size. “Thank you Dan.” Herbert neatly folds each pair before picking them up and placing them onto the night stand besides the bed. He turns to Dan with an awkward smile squirming up onto his lips.

Dan stops his folding and turns to Herbert, he almost has to pinch himself. Is he smiling? Dan feels himself having to choke down a laugh. “no problem Herbert.”

↓

Sorry this took so long... I've got me a job now! Anyway I hope you enjoyed reading it :3

[warmbloodedzines]

Well, it's summer and we've been making zines, and then totally forgetting to post them here! Here's one of Xalli's called I WANT!

[Image Description: The cover page of this eight-page mini zine has a watercolor painting of an anatomical heart in the background, painted with a mix of different reds and lineart done in black, brown, and white. The letters I, W, A, N, T, and an exclamation mark are in front of the heart, spelling the title I WANT!

The first page has a black background, with the dissected nervous system of Harriet Cole centered in the middle. The following text in white wraps around it: ‘TO FEEL MORE ALIVE THAN THIS! LESS ALIVE? TO WAKE UP-- COOL, DRY DESERT AIR ON MY SKIN-- & BREATHE IN ITS BLESSING & KNOW ITS GOODNESS. FOR MY BODY TO BE FREE OF THE FEAR THAT CAGES IT-- KEEPS ITS COLLAR ON TIGHT & MAKES THE SKIN RAWER & REDDER EACH DAY. I NEED TO KNOW & LOVE MY BODY DEEPLY. MY GUT CANNOT JUST FALL APART, TEARING ITSELF ASUNDER WITH HUNGER WHEN MY STRESS EMPTIES IT. WHEN MY HEART IS SO WEARY MY BODY FEELS IT HAS NO CHOICE-- STOP OR BE STOPPED. WHEN I THINK IT MUST BE TAKING ITSELF APART, WITH ALL ITS PAIN. I NEED A MORE CONNECTED SELF. I MUST LIVE FULLY.’

The second page has a white background and is covered in photos of different colored pressed flowers– one pink, one purple, one light yellow and purple, one dark blue and white, one yellow, and two orange. laid over the flowers, mostly filling the space between them, is the text ‘TO BLOOM IN THIS BODY, OR MAYBE JUST FIND SOME SOLACE IN IT-- THE OLD ATLAS-- EVEN IF I FEEL PINNED DOWN-- ABSORBING WHAT IT OFFERS AND GIVING PART OF MYSELF IN RETURN.’

The third page has a white background and, in the top right corner, an odd drawing of a pomegranate that’s sort of blooming still on the tree– its tough skin peeled back to reveal seeds. In the bottom left corner, there’s a sort of abstract and wavy drawing of a sun in pink and orange. The text on the page is a dark red/pink and squeezes between the two images, saying ‘to return to a more passionate state of living-- to be in love with everything around me. to feel my love hit me like a landslide– filling and overflowing. for it to settle, shift, change until it’s a part of me. maybe, to see the sun and smile; feel its heat on my cheeks, and know that i am a cup full of so much.’

The fourth page has a white background and, in the bottom right corner, two images. One is of a little statue of a small bull that is metal and colored turquoise in many spots titled ‘Toro bebé’ by Heriberto Juarez. On the right of it is an image of a sword with the blade pointing toward the top of the page. Filling the rest of the page is text in a dark teal-green color that says ‘to feel strong-- heavyset and sturdy like an old bull, like a creature who knows itself stronger than the hunter. to feel the blade on my skin and be unafraid. to feel like a mother bear, protector, calm & loving fiercely, prepared. to be a man who takes a sword in my hand and never uses it. a woman who holds you close & lets you be weak. to be strong.’

The fifth and sixth page are a single spread, most of which is taken up by the piece ‘Knight at the Crossroads’ by Victor Vasnetsov. It depicts a knight with a shield on his back and a long spear sitting on the back of a white horse that has its head bowed, both looking at a grave. Around the grave, there is an animal and human skull, other graves with crows or ravens on them, and a crow or raven flying. Grass extends into the distance, with more graves here and there, and the sky seems like it’s likely dawn. On either side of the painting, there are images of pressed flowers– one looking somewhat like pink lavender, and the other with several bunches of small flowers on a stem. The top of the page has a dark brown background that blends into the border around the painting, and a light yellow text on it that says the following: ‘to feel strong like a man heavy with grief, knowing he can only move forward. to be strong-- so soft, loving, despite it all. to breathe in the fragrance of a flower and feel at peace. to not need to be cold to survive. to feel at home in my body, self, world-- know that this is strength.’

The last page starts with just a list of credits at the top, saying ‘Credit for non-open access sources: 1. Nervous system of Harriet Cole, dissected by Dr. Rufus B. Weaver 2. “Toro bebé” Heriberto Juárez 3. “Knight at the Crossroads” Victor Vasnetsov.’ Underneath that, there’s a dotted line, and below that, the text ‘thanks so much for reading!’, ‘by Xalli’, and ‘jun 29, 2024’, and next to those is pixel art of a yellow crescent moon. Near the bottom of the page, there’s more pixel art of two personified hearts, leaning against each other and snoring, with little hearts floating away from them. Wrapped around this image is text that says ‘insta: desertfirelight’, tumblr: canineical’, and ‘neocities: tehuan’. /End ID]

[ethernetmeep]

i think it is vital for me as a living being to have connections, and have said connections be from different planes. although i know i constantly blabber about how i feel different from others, i still find the importance of reaching out anyway. i believe by connecting with others i understand or can learn to understand it makes me more of a thing outside of myself, like i am not just me but someone who is thought of on genuine accounts. a good example is my friend that, although we do not talk introspectively like i would like or philosophy, i love regardless of this. its amusing how we talk almost every day, now, although the said ‘talking’ is more or less sending videos the other would find funny/interesting. maybe it isnt perfect, maybe if i dissect it i will find it is crude and not really much of discussion & very static, but.. i don’t want to do that. i do not want to poke and prod this living animal, this living emotion. i do not want to get rid of the joy i get seeing a small cat they like on a skateboard or a baby kitten they think is cute. i do not want to rid them of the one person they can send things to, one. we are by no accounts people who have known each other for long, only a year give or take, but it is a state of being and friendship i am actively happy towards even if its something so mundane because of college soon to be. although we are not intertwined in a very psychological way, we are still intertwined.

of course, this brings up the discussion of introspective or psychological connections. i have very few. luckily, i have more with that boy ive been conversing with as of late, and i pray we get to talk personally more about something possibly outside of political philosophy.. i cannot be too picky, though. beggars cant be choosers, or that thing humans say. anyway, what was i saying, i have many id like to be, but it’s difficult to navigate this. i think there are many people in the grand scheme of things i would like to talk to, but its either impossible (as in i don’t know them yet, maybe my perfect person is off in switzerland!) or its a case of having to sit down with the self.

when i think rationally, i believe i can make new connections. connections that are unrelated to anyone elses. sounds impossible?, just let me have my definition. even if im not a fully human person, i know i can do it. i have made it this far, and.. im pretty sure my worst states have been seen rather uncomfortably. apologies about that. but, i think its feasible. i try my best to not collide with preexisting notions or happenstances, because i try my best to be the most average i can be, and average to me is the best i can describe myself since im uncomfortable with saying i am ever ‘good’ or ‘nice’. i want to be average, even if it can hinder these wants of introspection, because ultimately i always put myself in every situation i could ever imagine. no, thats… hmm, not totally applicable. i make myself inhabit the happenstance of the most sensitive kind? no, that sounds belittling. i make myself think like people think. yeah, i make myself think like people who aren’t like i am but similar. and, when i do this, i come down to the reasonable resolution that my presence is one of those things to not have. “if you care about somebody, you should want them to be happy. even if you wind up being left out.” that stephen chbosky writes. and, you know what? im sure ill find someone in college. maybe at a concert. (unrelated; theres a duster concert nearby in october. i hope i can get tickets and go…) i will find my own avenues, and walk down them happily. i just have to keep living, the toughest part

i can do it! i have so many birds & bugs to meet!

[dusksescape]

TW: vent

I guess this is what my Tumblr has boiled down to, but if this is my only tag I don't see how I'm hurting anyone.

The background;

I have been desperately fighting to not be crushed by these deep-seated insecurities. They can all fit into:

-I always feel like I annoy people and they all just put up with me.

-I'm fucking stupid, and there's no way on earth I'll be able to fix that.

Now logically, sure, I may annoy people. I'm Neuro divergent. That's just gonna happen. But I know that's not everyone in my life. And I'm not stupid, not a lot of people are truly stupid, we all have a niche and that's beautiful.

So that's what we're dealing with, but let's dissect the story that made all of that noise reach a boiling point.

Background 2: last night

I have this friend visiting their hometown. We both grew up there and I still live there. We had our partners, their boyfriend and my wife. They and the boyfriend wanted to teach us this card game and me and my wife did upset him. We were new and kept being told that he was the best person at the game there. Our bad.

Fast forward to today when I had already offered to take them out to get ramen at a very nice ramen shop a few towns over. I want to make it clear that I never expect anyone to feel like they owe me their life or anything too insane when I give them gifts, and I did get a thank you a few times. Unfortunately I did mostly just sit there driving with our partners in the back seat having a pretty minimal conversation while the friend sat there and fumed while handling a landlord situation that came up.

I fully understand the stress from that, I really do. I wouldn't have had a problem if we even wanted to turn around but we carried on anyway. You have no idea how atrocious this was for the insecurities I mentioned from before. I know it had to have been hard to deal with the stress of someone trying to be as nice as they can while you are facing getting rid of a pet... But god damn if that wasn't going still absolutely rip me apart.

While we were at the ramen shop the only time that this friend actually even so much as smiled at us was to make a dnd joke. For a campaign they were running. And killing our characters... I've never lost a character in DND yet and I know it's just a character but I also know it's going to hit very hard when my character dies and there was just something so fearful in me that was struck when that happened. But I was willing to write both of these off.

We get back to their accommodation and... Instead of any thanks... We get a lecture on how me and my wife's actions hurt their boyfriend.

This triggered an anxiety attack.

I know they said that apparently he was angry for around an hour but at no point was the information shared with us before hand.

I don't want to be an asshole but I fucking spent over a hundred dollars on you for the whole day and you joke about killing a character I made, you sat there fuming in my car and disregard me and as thanks you sit there and lecture me.

I've been crying on and off for maybe 11 hours at this point. It truly feels like there's nothing I can do right. I felt horrible, I convinced myself that I pressured these people into tolerating me, because I'm so fucking empty-headed that I just didn't see the signs when no... if you hated my wife and I'd company so much, you should have fucking said no or rain checked.

The messy bitch in me, the messy bitch in us all wants to confront them but it has been pointed out that it might ruin all of these campaigns we're in and these friendships. Luckily this hellhole (affection) isn't reddit and I will not be told to divorce all of them and run away forever.

This is Tumblr (and not Tumblr AITA) and since I know only one of you bitches (affectionate) who don't automatically go for blood, I feel safe here.

[of-light-and-shadow]

𝓐 𝓕𝓮𝓵-𝓣𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 World of Warcraft OCxOC Action/Adventure/Romance/Hurt/Comfort Chapter 2

"Time only moves in one direction. Remember that. Things always change." - Moshin Hamid, The Reluctant Fundamentalist

~~

The chamber is a stark, austere space, stripped of any warmth or character. The walls is an imposing ebony wood, their richness accentuated by intricate inlays of glimmering gold that trace delicate patterns across the surface. The floor beneath is a checkerboard of obsidian tiles, their polished surfaces reflecting distorted shadows that dance and flicker to the rhythm of the sconces on the wall.

Vela stands rigidly at the room's heart, as still and as silent as a statue in an abandoned cathedral. Her eyes remain fixed on the glossy tiles below her feet, unable to meet the formidable gazes staring back at her from around the crescent moon table. It's a semi-circle of judgement filled with stern faces etched on hardened warriors - Knight Masters of the Blood Knight Order.

A single chair sits vacant at the center of this intimidating assembly, its design as unadorned and severe as everything else within these walls. Vela recognizes it instantly; it's where Lady Liadrin would preside if she deemed to attend such proceedings. But why would someone like Lady Liadrin bother with matters concerning a lowly trainee? Vela can feel her heart pounding against her ribs like a frantic bird trying to escape its cage, and she tries her best to keep herself from fidgeting.

“Vela’stae Nae’mora.”

The name burns. It's alien, uninvited. A cruel lottery at birth? Or is her birth the curse itself? Questions for a ghost of a father, long since gone and nowhere to be found. Dead, maybe? Perhaps better of, though she can’t tell if its better for him or her. The disgrace blisters, merciless and brutal. She's an errant smudge of ink, a stain upon the proud Nae'mora lineage.

Vela swallows down the bile and dips her head in acknowledgement.

In her peripheral vision, she observes a Knight Master opening a dossier, her fingers leafing through the parchment with the same disinterested air one might reserve for flicking off dust from an old shawl. The woman's lips curve up in a nonchalant hum, her emerald eyes mirroring the indifference etched on her face.

"You've been in training with us for five years, yes?" Her voice drips with casual disregard.

"Six years, Knight Master," Vela corrects, her voice barely more than a whisper. She wrestles with the urge to crumble under the weight of their icy stares, each all to eager to dissect her bit by bit.

"Ah yes, I recall now. One of our… 'special cases', wasn't it? A favor from your eldest brother. You managed to scrape through the entry trials but have yet to accomplish anything of note since."

Vela's throat tightens, a harsh swallow echoing in her ears. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes - unwanted, unshed. Dread crawls up her throat. This is it. The end. She’s always been an outsider in the Order, a charity case for the disgraced daughter of a disgraced family. And it kills her that she couldn’t even do this right - couldn’t belong properly enough not to sully the gleaming image of the Order - heroes and warriors all around her but not within her.

Another failure to add to the list. Another disappointment for her family.

She only wonders why it took the Order so long to finally make this decision.

Where will she go? What will she do? Panic flutters in her chest at the thought.

"Initiate, today must be your lucky day." The words reverberate around the room. Her mind halts abruptly, as though the universe itself has been put on hold. For the first time since entering this stark chamber, she dares to raise her gaze. Another Knight Master shoves a file across the frosty metal table. It glides towards Vela with an implicit command for her to take it. She complies, her hands quivering as they clutch onto the folder.

"I…I don't understand," she stammers out, too shocked to fully process the rapid-fire events unfolding around her.

The emerald-eyed Knight seals Vela’s dossier and reclines casually in her chair, unamused and unimpressed. "By virtue of Knight Master Summersong’s glowing endorsement," she asserts, each word ricocheting off the bare walls, louder than thunder "You are promoted to Initiate effective immediately, and given assignment befitting your rank and skills."

All Vela can muster is a stuttered response; "Me? An Initiate?"

The Knight Master, her emerald eyes flashing with stern authority, dismisses Vela with an airy flick of her hand. “I won't waste my breath repeating myself, girl. I suggest you marshal your wits about you. The task at hand will be far from easy. In your hands is all the intelligence we've gathered on a pirate named Keth’ys Felbrine. He first piqued our interest during the Fourth War and has been nothing but a nuisance to the Sin’dorei Navy's since. Your mission is to capture him, dead or alive, within a year."

Vela's heart pounds against her ribcage, its rhythm reverberating like a drum solo in her eardrums.

"I trust I’ve made the Order’s expectations clear, Initiate?"

The questions hangs heavy in the air. A determined fire sparks to life within Vela as she grips the dossier until her knuckles whiten from strain. Outwardly, she keeps a calm facade thought her heart teeters on the edge of detonation. This was it—her first chance to finally prove herself worthy. She answers with a silent nod, resolute and unwavering.

"Then do not disappoint us. Dismissed," comes the brusque dismissal.

The instant Vela crosses through the grandiose doors of the Hall of Blood, her carefully constructed mask shatters. A high-pitched squeal of elation bursts forth from deep within her while her hand instinctively clenches around the parchment until it warps out of shape. She senses judgmental stares and snarky murmurs from fellow initiates prickling at her skin but their effect is lost on her now. All she can concentrate on is this heady sensation of triumph, throbbing wildly through her veins.

"Decorum is a virtue, Initiate Vela’stae." Knight Master Concordia's voice echoes behind Vela—strict yet somehow soothing.

Vela turns on her heel, tries to curb her excitement but fails as an uncontrollable smile stretches across her face. "A promotion! My very first assignment!" she exclaims.

"You have earned this," Concordia affirms with a nod before taking on a more grave demeanor. "But take care not to let your new rank impair your judgement. This task is a testament to your proven skills, thus it will be anything but easy.”

"I will not fail you, Master Concordia." Vela says with a bow, "Everything I am, I owe to you."

Concordia scoffs, "It is you who deserves that credit. I simply offered guidance. Now go; your target is waiting, and he won't sit idly by while you track him down. Now, go pack your things, you’ll need to visit the armorer to get fitted before you leave.”

"Yes, Master," Vela bows again. "May the Light guide your path."

"And yours as well."

Vela traces the well-worn path of the corridors, her boots whispering against the cold stone floor as she heads towards the barracks. The room is empty, its usual occupants out in the training yard, their rhythmic drills echoing faintly. A sudden realization washes over as she lingers in the doorway - this room is no longer hers. No more would she have to suffer through the disdain of her peers. It's a revelation that brings a relief so immense that it nearly buckles her knees and blurs her vision with unshed tears.

But she doesn't crumble; instead, she wipes at her eyes and strides purposefully to her bunk. She reaches under it to retrieve her worn leather pack, its surface creased and faded from years of use. Vela starts packing methodically, each item finding its place within the confines of the bag with practiced ease; each of her life’s possessions s are meager enough to fit comfortably inside. Her eyes then dart around the room instinctively, checking for any lingering presence before she retrieves something more personal - a stuffed mana wyrm doll hidden beneath her mattress. Its soft fabric feels comforting against her calloused hands as she carefully nestles it among her belongings in the pack.

The sight of her barren bunk, now stripped of all its familiar clutter, settles like a pall on her shoulders. She allows herself to sink into the mattress to sit, overwhelmed with memories of her arrival nearly seven years prior. She had been a broken girl then, carrying dreams as fragmented and jagged-edged as shattered glass. And her refuge had been this humble sanctuary; this most worn-out bed in the farthest corner of the barracks that no one else desired. A wave of melancholy washes over Vela, unbidden and unexpected. How strange it is to realize how much she's going to miss this place - this dilapidated old bed in particular - despite how much she has grown to despise it over time.

Still, she loathes to leave it and so instead turns her attention to the dossier she was given. She opens it with careful hands, sifting through the immaculate documents nestled within its confines. Her eyes settle on an array of formal reports penned in succinct military jargon detailing assaults by a ship named The Sable Wing.

A quick perusal reveals that during the fourth war, this vessel had targeted Sin’dorei ships with ruthless precision: swift attacks executed with brutal efficiency leaving no room for survivors or loot before each ship was consigned to its watery grave.

Her focus then shifts to several other reports meticulously arranged chronologically post conclusion of the fourth war. Captain Felbrine appeared to have broadened his victim pool to include merchant ships. There was no discernible pattern in his selection apart from their substantial cargo laden with expensive goods. However, unlike previous attacks, these vessels were spared from sinking; he seemed content merely plundering his spoils before disappearing into oblivion. Yet there was a chilling consistency in every report involving Sin’dorei merchants and navy vessels - they all met the same ruthless end at his hands. Each account was punctuated with precise details of the attacks, marking down the scope of the captain’s brutality.

Vela's fingers brush over a final page, her pulse quickening as she tugs it into the dim glow of the room. The artist, unknown but undeniably skilled, had managed to capture every nuance of Captain Keth’ys Felbrine’s features with an uncanny precision. His face on parchment is strikingly handsome and almost lifelike. A smug grin plays lazily across his lips, one corner slightly raised to reveal a sliver of his razor-sharp teeth. From his forehead sprout a pair of majestic horns that curl back elegantly, embellished with an assortment of necklaces and trinkets that seem to demand the viewer's attention. His hair is luxuriously long, cascading well past his shoulders in dark waves that compliment his horns in an appealing frame.

A Kaldorei Illidari. Vela's eyes narrow at this revelation; it’s no wonder the Order has marked Felbrine for retribution.

She finds herself unsurprised by his vendetta against Sin’dorei ships—aa bitter retaliation for Sylvannas Windrunner’s war crimes during the fourth war. But what worries her isn't this personal grudge but the innocent merchant ships caught in crossfire, their only crime being their Sin'dorei identity. Vela leans back thoughtfully, her mind working overtime as she considers the implications of an Illidari turned pirate. She knows that the Illidari are notoriously neutral in conflicts — and they would certainly hold little qualm in turning a blind eye to Felbrine's actions simply because he is one of them. But could they ignore such flagrant disregard for innocent lives? She chews on her lower lip, musing over these questions as she stares at Felbrine’s smirking visage on the wanted poster.

His actions are a dangerous wildcard, and Vela is coming to the stark realization that she must tread carefully if she has any hope of succeeding where many others have failed.

Vela exhales softly as she tucks the dossier neatly into her pack. Her eyes sweep across the room one last time, etching every detail into memory before she leaves it behind. The door closes gently behind her, its whispering sigh lost in the bustling activity of the corridor. The once hallowed halls pulse with life now, filled with echoes of footfalls from those returning from harsh training sessions or performing other tasks. Vela navigates the crowd with ease, eyes trained to the stone floor beneath her feet as she passes by a huddled group too absorbed in their discussion to notice her.

A snippet of conversation floats towards her,

"Did you hear?"

"That she's been promoted? Absolutely. If that's true, then our Order truly has gone to shit," another voice joins in.

"It is. My Master was there at the conclave. I can't fathom how they could make such a decision. She was the worst in our regiment . Even caused her former Knight Master to quit due to her ineptitude."

Vela shakes her head; no, not today. She will not allow any shadow to darken her victory. A small smile plays on the corners of her lips, and she speeds toward the armory with newfound purpose. All in all, the entire affair lasts less than an hour, as the forgemaster merely fits an existing set of armor to suit her. It is a gorgeous work of art, a blend of crimson and gold that shimmers under the glow of the forge like liquid fire molded into a protective shell. She begins with the chest plate, fitting it over her tunic before pulling straps over her shoulders and around her waist, fastening them securely.

The gauntlets come next: intricate pieces designed for both protection and flexibility. They slide onto her arms easily enough, their weight slightly more than what she’s grown accustomed to but not uncomfortably so. After that are the greaves, their metallic hue reflecting the light as they encase her legs in an unyielding embrace.

Vela swells with pride as she double checks to make sure her gear is in place. The armor fits like a second skin; snug where it needs to be and loose where movement is necessary – a perfect balance between protection and mobility even if its heavier and more formidable than she is used to. Every aspirant to this esteemed rank trained wearing this exact form-fitting ensemble. Concordia had even subjected Vela to grueling runs while clad in it - miles upon miles until she became one with its weight and feel – an exercise she would have to repeat it seems.

With a respectful dip of her head to the armorer, Vela hoists her bag onto her shoulder, its weight familiar and reassuring. She strides purposefully away from the Hall of Blood, the clangor of metal on metal and the smell of oil and iron fading behind her. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows as she clears the imposing doors, guarded by adepts whose gazes she meets with a steely determination.

Once outside, she steps into Silvermoon City's heart. Always an awe-inspiring spectacle, it radiates opulence and grandeur. Buildings rise like monoliths, their surfaces cloaked in vibrant silks that flutter in the breeze like banners of wealth. Gold embellishments catch the dying light of day, making them shimmer with a warm glow. She navigates through throngs of people with practiced ease despite the knot tightening in her stomach. Her destination is Sunfury Spire; a portal there will transport her to Orgrimmar - a bustling epicenter for Horde activity where she hopes to find some clue on where to search for her target.

Each step towards it feels like an eternity as nervous anticipation coils tighter within her. She has never ventured beyond Silvermoon or Eversong Woods; this journey marks her first step beyond familiar territories' safe confines. Her mind races with questions as she contemplates what awaits beyond these magnificent palaces and gleaming halls. Unsure if life outside is any different than within everything she’s ever known. It’s a thrilling albeit terrifying thought, but does not deter her in the slightest; instead, it fuels the determination in her stride.

In the end, her path brings her to the grand staircase that ascends towards the towering doors of the Spire. Vela's feet barely touch each step as she bounds upwards, nearly two at a time. As she crests the final step, her heart performs a jubilant leap within her chest at the sight of a cherished face awaiting her arrival.

A man stands there, his eyes crinkling in delight as they meet hers, the smile on his face a gentle one. He takes a half-step forward, robes whispering against the stone floor in soft rustles, arms unfolding from behind him in an inviting gesture meant only for her.

"Uncle Vorian!" She can't keep the joy from bubbling up in her voice. With no second thought, she launches herself into his waiting arms, feeling their familiar strength encircle her in a hug that feels like home. The prickling sensation of joyful tears threatens at the corners of her eyes as they finally break apart and Vorian's deep chuckle echoes through the air.

"Hello, Little Vela," he greets with an affectionate rumble in his voice, playfully tousling her hair as if she were still a child. "Did you remember to eat today?"

Vela's smile flickers for just a moment before she huffs out an exasperated sigh and tosses back her head with dramatic flair. "It was one time!"

"Once is enough." Vorian wisely reminds her, pulling out a cloth-wrapped loaf of warm bread from his pack and handing it to her. A small smile returns to Vela's face as she accepts it gratefully. She glances up at him shyly and shifts nervously on her feet.

"You heard then?"

"The whole family did." Vorian confirms, gesturing for her to walk beside him as they make their way into the Sunfury Spire. "Lady Summersong saw fit to inform your brothers and I. Jiraan and Bae'ryn are bursting with pride."

Vela feels a burning question clawing at her self-control. She can't help but wonder if Vorian is proud of her. She bites down on her lower lip, trying to contain her overwhelming desire to ask him. His presence beside her, seeing her off to Orgrimmar, should be enough to assure her that he cares but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. She yearns for more than just his affection; she longs to impress him and earn his pride. Since he stepped into the void left by her absent father, this hunger has only grown stronger within her. And each footstep through the silent halls of the Spire only intensifies her craving. Sneaking a glance at Vorian, she searches for any sign of approval on his stoic face but to her disappointment she finds nothing.

After what feels like an eternity, they reach the portal room where arcane energy pulses around them like a living entity. The portal's shimmering light fills the hall with an otherworldly glow. Vela finds herself drawn to it, her stomach knotting with a persistent discomfort. Amidst this maelstrom of feelings, one desire remains unshakeable: she longs to make Vorian proud and prove his faith in her is not misplaced.

Suddenly, Vorian comes to a stop. He turns towards her, his expression serious despite the warmth in his voice as he speaks to her, "Little Vela," he starts, "I have something for you."

From his side, he unhooks a sword encased in its scabbard and extends it towards her. Her hands quiver as she accepts it, and her eyes widen as she traces the familiar symbols engraved into the scabbard's leather surface before lifting her gaze to meet Vorian’s.

"This was… it was father's - grandfather's…” Her breath hitches, “I can't take this."

"Jiraan insisted that it be given to you." Vorian responds calmly. He halts for a moment before continuing softly yet decisively, "And I'm inclined to agree with him. This sword has a history of honor and virtue, wielded by men who were true to their ideals. Your father may have tarnished its legacy, but now it has a chance to redeem itself in your hands."

Tears pool in Vela's eyes while emotion chokes off any words, she holds the blade tightly against her chest. The weight of responsibility that comes with this sword is heavy, but there’s a sense of honor she feels in carrying it. With trembling hands and a heart full of reverence for her fallen grandfather, who gave his life to protect his people and his ideals, she ties the sword to her hip and squares her shoulders with determination.

"I won't let you down, Uncle Vorian." She says resolutely, dipping her head in a reverent bow.

His expression softens as he gazes at her, filled with his pride and love. "I know you won't. You have always been the best of us."

As she turns to leave, Vela feels a pang of hesitation, but she quickly shuts it out. The unknown calls out to Vela as she steps through that portal, but instead of feeling scared, an unexpected peace wraps around her heart. She doesn't know what's waiting for her or what challenges lie ahead but deep down there’s something that tells her everything will be okay.

[zak-shit]

day 1

I already deeply miss how it was in the beginning, when she was so happy to only have me. Only wanted me, did not want anything with anyone else. Knew from the bottom of her heart that she couldn't fathom doing something else with someone else.

I wonder if she knows deep down, i don't like this. that deep down i'm only doing it for her own happiness. that has to be quite clear, because what part of this would make me thrilled? maybe the element of it making her happier, yes. I want her to feel validated and sexy. She just "wants the energy from a hook up" What I also hear in that, is that she wants that more than the energy of us being that way together.

I don't want to be sad, but right now, at this current moment. Today. Music doesn't make me happy, the songs that used to make me feel so whole and loved, are shifted by grief of not having the same dedication we used to have for each other. (in the sexual sense, the romantic way is still there) but I'm now in a relationship for nearly half a year, and the only way I'm getting off is my fucking myself. I'm a broken record with wanting it. I'm scared this could lead me to not even want her the same sexually. Because of resentment of my sexual needs not being as important to her, as hers are to me.

I'm not doing this for this reason, but I think its a true testament to my trust and love for her to allow this. I think it's incredibly selfless.

I put in my list, that what I do require is more kisses and cuddles, and that was yet to happen yesterday. Slight touches, yes. The only kiss from last night, was a peck. Given from me, and it ended up making me feel like trash bc it was "oo a little milky.. and wet, like pretty wet... maybe a little barbecue sauce too" I think why that also bothers me, is because it was one of the only things, not discussed from my list. My asking for her onlyfans was. But not the needing physical affirmation. Its something so little, but if its so little why cant she just throw me a kiss when I get home, before she rolls over for bed. at practically anytime. I don't want to toss them out, because of comments like listed above. That feels like shit.

I need my needs to be met too. Don't get me wrong. I love what we have, I love the security and safety in being loved and having someone for us both to have in all moments. To giggle, for emotional support. I'm putting trust into this still working out. However I'm allowed to have moments during this adjustment period of feeling however I'm feeling. I do plan on shutting it out at times. But I also have to sit with my feelings, dissect them. And go through the pain that they may come with. I don't just want everything to bottle up.

This morning was also not the smoothest wake up, I was of course hopeful we get to wake up to some affection, a nice "goodmorning", like we both like. We woke up a good hour before I needed to leave for work. I woke up a few moments before hand, but before I even knew she was fully awake, she was tearing about the bed looking for her vape. I get that panic and annoyance. I just handle stress differently. I'm soft with it and can be quiet. She's quite the opposite at times. Before I even began to stop stressing myself, because it was found. Two blankets were tossed at me in a playful manor with a smile on her face. Cool she's in a good mood now, but I was not ready to switch that soon. It was no big deal, but it still takes me a moment to get into a good mood. Especially since I was also let down by not getting a nice good-morning kiss which I would very much like. Nope she's already headed outside. So I took time to listen to some music, brush my teeth and face. Brush my hair. Take a deep breath. But she knew something was still wrong when I came outside and asked if everything was okay. "aggressive morning, not how I wanted to wake up" She clarified she wasn't meaning to address it at me, obviously because I didn't do a single thing. But I was still in the room. sleeping in that bed just 5 minutes, maybe less before it was being torn apart. It's just like it's all up to her, and she doesn't think of the love language affection that I need.

I've needed to for a long time, and I've just decided to remove social networks from my phone. If I want to get online, I'll use my laptop. Porn will have to switch to actual sites, I could get into that. Hopefully. Or I can use twitter on my laptop for porn. I'll look for my iPad when I get home. I think taking a step back from that nonsense from my life for a bit will do me good. I love making instagram posts. Like alot, but I cant have a balance of doom scrolling, so it should go for now. I just need to ground myself much more, and I cant get where I need to be when I'm plugged into the endless internet at all times.

Plus, I'd love to go through my camera roll, like trulllly go through it, and start taking more pictures, videos. Making videos again.

[ijustwant2write]

The Miracle Question-Bucky Barnes x Reader

(GIF credit to @sebastianruinedme​)

Summary: When Bucky doesn’t tell (Y/N) that he missed his appointment, nearly getting into trouble with the government, she becomes furious and upset with him. She demands to have a session with him, wondering if their relationship is as stable as they thought it was, and if it’s actually making Bucky worse. To add to her anger, the new ‘Captain America’ decides to step in.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader (platonic), John Walker x Reader (acquaintances), Lemar Hoskins x Reader (acquaintances)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Mentions of therapy, arguing, slight violence, fluff

                                  *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Why would he do something like this and not tell me? He was doing so well with his appointments, and although I knew he wasn't enjoying them, at least he was going so he could get them over and done with. We hardly spoke of them, he was never the one to bring up the topic, it was always me; I just wanted to know how he was doing, I cared for him so much, and it was hurting me to think he wasn't able to open up.

"Sam." I got his attention as I briskly walked into the police station.

"Hey," he could see I was upset, immediately using a calmer tone,"he's alright. His therapist is here, she's got everything sorted."

"But why did it take me watching a video on twitter of my boyfriend being arrested to know about this?"

No one had called. Surely I was one of his emergency contacts? And if I (bizarrely) wasn't, why hadn't Sam called me?

Sam sighed."He didn't want you to know. He missed an appointment he had to go to and-"

"Didn't want me to know?!" I raised my voice, not caring if I grabbed the attention of anyone around us.

Sam held up his hands, trying to quieten me."Look, I'm not getting involved with your personal matters. That's up to you two. Just keep your voice down, we are in a police station."

I scoffed in disbelief."Why didn't he want me to know? He knew I would be angry, but I would never argue about it with him, or make him feel bad about it. I would support him."

"I know you wouldn't, and so does he. Bucky is still getting used to opening up, even with you. He just doesn't want to hurt you."

“Sam,” an older woman interrupted us,“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Doctor Raynor, I’m James’ therapist.”

They shook hands.“It’s so nice to meet you.”

Raynor put her attention on me, also shaking my hand.“You must be (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the girlfriend. I’ve also heard a lot about you.”

“You have? Oh, didn’t think he would talk about me that much.”

“Thank you for getting him out.” Sam quickly interjected. 

“Oh, that was not me.”

“Christina!” another voice called out.

We all turned to see who called, and I almost rolled my eyes when I saw who it was. John Walker, the new ‘Captain America’, was headed our way, almost swaggering. People immediately wanted pictures which he agreed to, and although I know Steve might have done the same in some cases, it wouldn’t be a priority for him, nor would he look like was was enjoying it. Although I didn’t want to judge others before knowing them, America had given the title to some random man, forgetting that Steve was not only a hero, but a friend and family to people like us. 

“It’s great to see you again.” Walker said as he shook someone’s hand.

“You gotta be kidding me, you know him?” Sam mumbled.

“Yeah, we did some field ops back in the day.”

“Heard you were working with Bucky so I thought I would step in.” he said as he approached.“Bucky’s not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer.”

“We haven’t finished our work. Who’s authorised this?”

“Um...” he smiled as he gestured to himself.

Who was he to come in here and change everything? Bucky was doing well in his therapy sessions...or at least I assumed he was, we never spoke about it. And I hated the way he called him ‘Bucky’; only close ones were allowed to call him that. 

A loud buzzer sounded throughout the station, and I whipped my head around, relieved to see Bucky walking out with two police officers. I no longer listened to Walker, running towards my boyfriend. He easily caught me as I threw my arms around him, not caring that the policemen escorting him out were watching.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, seeming both worried and annoyed.

“Bucky, you got arrested! I had to come see you, make sure you’re OK. Why didn’t you get someone to call me? Also, why did you miss your session anyway?”

“It’s a long story. And it’s not worth telling.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bucky’s eye line was now on Walker as he shouted over his shoulder,“I’ll be outside.”

Before I could say anything else, Dr. Raynor spoke,“James, condition of your release, session now. You too, Sam and (Y/N).”

“That’s OK. I’ll be out here with-”

She interrupted Sam.“That wasn’t a request.”

Bucky was silent as he slid away, reluctantly following the doctor. I tried holding his hand, but he was making it difficult to even grab it in the first place. My heart sank at the thought of Bucky not wanting me there, not even wanting to be comforted. When these sessions first began, he would come home and want to be held, be comforted; sometimes he asked if he could hold me, just to ensure that I was there with him, that I could feel safe in his arms. That was happening less and less now, it scared me to think he didn’t want this relationship anymore. 

We were sat in an interrogation room, Dr Raynor on one side and two chairs on the other. She told Bucky and I to sit first, and that she would deal with Sam later. Nerves suddenly washed over me, petrified of what sort of answers Bucky was going to give.

“OK, so we can all sense a lot of tension in this room. And although I’m going in a slightly unprofessional route, I feel that we all need to do this to ensure you are all OK, that is my job after all. So, who wants to go first?”

She looked between me and Bucky. Part of me wanted to get the confrontation out of the way, perhaps that would make things go quicker and we would get out of here sooner. But my fear held me back. 

“No volunteers? Wow, that’s surprising. Okay. We’re going to do any exercise. It’s something I use with couples when they are trying to figure out what sort of life they wanna build together. Are you familiar with the miracle question?”

I nodded.“Yes.”

“No.” Bucky answered at the same time. 

“OK, it goes like this. Suppose that while you’re sleeping, a miracle occurs. When you wake up, what is something that you would like to see that would make your life better?”

Shit, that was deep. There’s a million things I could think of that I wanted with Bucky. We used to talk about it all the time. He wanted security in knowing that I wanted a life with him, and I wanted the same, hoping that one day it would happen. Glancing at him, Bucky was slouched in the chair, staring at his hands folded together on his lap. It didn’t look like he was going to be saying anything soon, so I took the first step.

“Um...” I started, unsure how to word this.“I would want to take away any suffering Bucky has gone through, so that he could have a somewhat normal life, and didn’t have to force himself through things like this. No offence doctor. That way he wouldn’t have to feel pressured into opening up and he would tell me anything that was on his mind.”

“That’s a good start.” Raynor slowly said.“And it’s a very sweet sentiment, but it’s what you want, (Y/N).”

“That is what I want. All I want is for Bucky to be happy, I love him.”

“Again, very sweet, I know you care about him very much. But let’s try looking at it a different way. You want your miracle to be that James opens up more. That he lets you into the side of his life you don’t get to see in person.”

“I...I guess.”

“You feel left out of the equation, because James won’t express how he’s feeling?”

“Yeah, when you put it like that, that’s what I want. I want my boyfriend to be able to feel like he can tell me anything, no matter how gruesome, traumatic or even little it is.”

“Right. Glad we got there in the end. OK James, your turn.”

I watched in anticipation for Bucky to speak. What if I had messed things up? What if that was the opposite of what he wanted? 

“My miracle would be...not having you involved in that side of things.”

He didn’t even look at me as he spoke. He also didn’t look phased by his answer. So his miracle would be to not have me know about a huge part of his life? He was a hero for god’s sake! Why was he shutting me out? What had I done to deserve this? Had I hurt him in some way that made him feel that he couldn’t talk to me anymore?

“What? Bucky, have I done something to upset you?”

“I just think it would be easier for both of us.”

“You know I’m always here for you, right? We’ve spoke about this before, I don’t understand why you’re only expressing this now.”

Raynor tried to get us back on track.“Alright you two, I think we need to dissect this-”

“I’m sorry doctor but I would like Bucky to elaborate more on this matter, because I’m not fully understanding.”

“What’s not to understand?” he finally looked at me, but I hated this expression. It was as if I had asked the stupidest question in the world.

“Bucky, why are you being like this? You used to tell me about everything, what’s changed?”

He didn’t answer. I just scoffed, hastily grabbing my handbag and coat.

“(Y/N), please sit down.” Raynor asked. 

“I can’t. I can’t sit here and wait for an explanation that I’m not going to get. Just focus on the two heroes, I’ll find out about all of this never.”

I rushed out of the room, breathing heavily as I tried not to cry, but my eyes were already watering. Ignoring looks from people in the waiting room, I couldn’t stop myself from starting to cry. Although I had every reason to be upset that my boyfriend wasn’t communicating with me anymore, I also felt slightly guilty for just storming out of there. Maybe we would have resolved it. 

“Miss, you OK?” 

Oh, I did not want to deal with Walker right now. He would only piss me off.

“Do you need help? We can provide assistance if you need it.”

Although I had wanted to walk away, I knew I should have, my feet were already leading me towards him. I was embarrassed that I was still crying, but I tried to block that from my mind by now. He was leaning against a police car with his friend, who’s name I hadn’t bothered learning.

“You don’t look so good, shall we get a cop to drive you home?”

“Who do you think you are?!” I snapped.

“Well, I’m Captain America-”

“No, you’re someone who thinks they’re anything close to what Steve was. He didn’t go around introducing himself as Captain America, He didn’t care about the title. I understand you’re under a lot of pressure Walker, Steve has a huge legacy to live up to. But don’t you dare come waltzing in expecting those two amazing men to immediately work alongside you like nothing has changed.”

“You got all of that out of your system?”

My eyes widened at him.“Are you serious right now?”

“Look,” his friend butted in,“we just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get mixed up in this. We’re dealing with something major here, it could effect the whole world.”

“Sorry, but who are you?”

He rolled his eyes.“Come on man, how many times? It’s Battlestar.”

My face remained emotionless.

“Lemar Hoskins? You know, the new Captain America with his-”

“I don’t think she cares.” Walker explained. 

“You think I don’t know anything about trying to save the world? My friends are part of the Avengers, my boyfriend fought against Thanos. He disappeared in the Blip and I was left by myself wondering if he would ever come back. I’ve been targeted, I’ve seen aliens close up. Nothing could effect me now.”

“Well, I’m sorry you’ve had to endure that.”

“Do you two just not listen to anyone but yourselves?”

“(Y/N), listen,” Walker dared to put his hand on my shoulder,“you’re a normal citizen like us. No super powers, no hidden strength, yet here you are with a super soldier that’s over a hundred years old! I mean, do the maths here, you could have walked away from all this danger. And yet, here you are, by yourself at a police station, whilst your boyfriend cares more about his ‘job’ than making sure you’re safe.”

That was it, the last straw. I slapped his hand off of me, preparing to punch him square in the face, when someone pulled me back.

“No (Y/N)!” Sam raised his voice as he made sure to distance me away from Walker. He quickly stood in between us. 

“What did you do, Walker!?” Bucky quickly stormed over.“Did you touch her?!”

Sam was desperately trying to diffuse the situation, knowing that people could be watching.“Bucky, calm down.”

“Did he do anything to you?” Bucky asked me quietly, his hands cupping my face as he looked over me.

My heart raced at the gesture, forgetting for a second that I was upset with him. I shook my head with his hands still on me, and they slid down my arms, one wrapping around my waist to keep me close to him. 

“I didn’t touch her Bucky, I was just trying to....you know what, it’s not even important. Can we talk, privately?”

“(Y/N) is staying.”

Walker sighed.“Look, if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance, you guys know that.”

“So what do you got?” Sam said.

“Well the leader’s name’s Karli Morgenthau. We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place.”

Lemar spoke up.“They geotagged a location, then scrambled the signal. But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.” 

“We think she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps.” Walker added.

“Well, there are a lot of those all over the planet since the Blip.” Bucky pointed out.

“Hundreds probably.” I said. 

“So I guess you’ll have to look real hard.”

Walker smirked.“Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?”

“Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?”

“No, we don’t know, Bucky.” Walker was agitated.“It’s only a matter of time before we find out.”

Bucky had to push his buttons even more.“Things are really intense for you, aren’t they, Walker?”

Sam came to stand between us and Walker.“Take it easy. Look, Walker’s right. It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and all kind of authorization you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.”

Sam and Bucky turned away, Bucky guiding me with him. Walker called after us.

“A word of advice, then. Stay the hell out of my way.”

I instantly became defensive.“What the hell is that supposed to mean-”

“It’s OK.” Bucky reassured me, making sure I didn’t go back. Frustrated that Walker got the last word, I hesitantly followed my boyfriend. 

“Hold up,” Sam stopped us,“I think you two need a quick chat before we delve into anything else. You both know that this is something big, we don’t know what we’re fully dealing with yet or how to fix it. Before we do all of that, you two better resolve whatever happened back there. I’ll be waiting Buck.”

We both watched Sam walk away, unsure how to start this conversation. He clearly showed that he still cared for me back there, but should I still be worried that our relationship was headed in a rocky direction?

“You OK?”

“Honestly? No, not really.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Do you realise how much you hurt me back there? I don’t want you to feel like you can’t speak to me anymore. And about me not being involved; what do you think the last years have been like? I know everything, you’ve expressed so much to me, opened up about your past. Why has that suddenly changed?”

“Because we have a chance now. The world is...relatively back to normal. I got an opportunity to make sure you’re safer, keep all of these nightmares away from you, not pass on my torture to you.”

“Bucky...what have the past years been for? Nothing needs to change. Just because things are getting back to how they used to be, it doesn’t mean we need to forget about the past. If I don’t know what’s going on with you, how can I look after you? How can I help you?”

“You shouldn’t have to do this-”

“I already made that decision when I knew I wanted to be with you. But we can’t revert back to how it was Bucky, not after all the work and effort we put in.”

“I’m sorry. I really thought I could make everything better.”

I sighed, reaching out to hold his hand.“They already were. I know whatever you’ve got yourself into is big, but I’m here for you Bucky, I always will be.”

“I’m sorry again, I’ll make sure I keep opening up to you. That’s the least you deserve.” 

I went on my tip toes to kiss him, still worried despite everything he had said. Bucky was still fragile, but now he was on another mission. I wasn’t sure if it was the best thing for him, something for him to focus on. Or it could send him in a spiral, and I wouldn’t know anything about it. I had to stay close to this mission, even if it meant I was in danger. Though what would change there? I had to keep an eye on him, I had to make sure he was OK. I loved him too much to let him slip back into the dark.

[slasherbaby]

How You Love Me [read on ao3 or under the cut]

You’re not a doll for him to dress and decorate, or a body for him to cut into and dissect. No, you’re not like the rest. You’re his beloved. His pretty thing, his lover. His favorite. You were his, completely and fully, with every inch of your body and soul. At least what was left of your soul, it all belonged to him.

Pairing: Asa Emory x gender neutral reader

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence, noncon, violence, self-harm, brainwashing/stockholm syndrome, this is super dark please heed the warnings

Length: 2456 words

Rating: Explicit

When he comes into your room, you don’t have to be quiet. If you’re awake, you walk up to him. You greet him. He pulls you in and purrs when you put your hands against his chest. It does things to you, things you can’t explain or reason with. Things that you never felt before him.

Sure, there were other men. You know there were other men, even if you can’t remember their faces. If it wasn’t for the vanity in your room, you probably wouldn’t be able to remember your own face either.

You used to think that you weren’t anything special. That your face was just another face, blending into the crowd but never inspiring poetry or lust or sculpture. You were no muse, you were just a person.

He changed your mind about that. Now you know that you’re special. You’re his, after all. And he doesn’t keep the mediocre.

You’re not a doll for him to dress and decorate, or a body for him to cut into and dissect. No, you’re not like the rest. You’re his beloved. His pretty thing, his lover. His favorite. You were his, completely and fully, with every inch of your body and soul. At least what was left of your soul, it all belonged to him.

In return for your obedience, he takes care of you. He brings you food and water, keeps you safe and comfortable in your room. You have a large bed with clean pillows, sheets, and comforters. You have a vanity table and a bookshelf, stocked with various products, jewelry, and books he’s brought you. You have a dresser with clothes in it, and on top of that dresser, a record player. You even have your own bathroom connecting to your room, with a claw foot bathtub that you’re allowed to use freely.

Sometimes he brings you jewelry, fine clothes, shoes far too expensive for you to ever have been able to afford before him. He likes to dress you in them, have you spin around for him, showing off. Sometimes he just likes to hold you, one of his hands holding the rich fabric that drapes around your waist while the other stays at your mouth, two of his fingers pressing down on your tongue and threatening to breach your throat.

Kindness, you think, is sometimes worse than punishment. It leaves you lonely when he goes, and it makes you rip the hair from your head when he doesn’t visit your rooms. You scratched your face bloody waiting for him, and he made you wait for a week. Food and water arrived while you were sleeping, so after the third day, you stopped sleeping. The food and water stopped arriving. It went on like this for another couple of days, but you lost track of how long it really was.

You must have passed out, because when you came to, he was there. Standing above you. You could tell that he was disappointed, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. He was there, and you weren’t alone. You threw yourself at him, clinging onto his legs like a sobbing child, wetting his pant leg with your tears. He curled his gloved hand into your hair, stroking it softly as you wept. That one touch was worth all the pain he inflicted afterwards.

He liked your face, it was his to use and love. And you mangled it. He punished you ruthlessly, unrelenting. You smiled through your screams, grateful for the touch.

He rubbed lotion onto your skin after he finished. Cleaned up the blood. Disinfected your wounds and put you to bed, swaddling you up in blankets. He even stayed as you fell asleep, watching you with wide, unblinking eyes as you drifted off.

A week later, he brought you a friend. They looked to be a few years older than you, but they were similar as well. You could have been siblings. It was a kindness, you told yourself. He didn’t want you to be lonely when he wasn’t there. And you were never one to deny kindness, even if you didn’t want a friend. All you wanted was him.

They were dirty and hungry, terrified and covered in blood. So you took them by the hand and led them to your bathroom. Sat them in the tub and washed away the blood and grime and dried tears. You helped them brush their teeth and gently removed the gore from their hair.

You dressed them in silk pajamas and sat them on the bed, crawling up next to them and sitting with your legs crossed. You told them that you were his lover, and despite the coils of green that wrapped tight around your heart, you told them that they might be as well. Why else would he have brought them here, to stay with you?

But they only laughed. Not a joyful laugh, but a mocking one. They laughed until they were hysterical, tears spilling from their bloodshot eyes. They told you he couldn’t love, that what he did to you, it wasn’t love. A creature like him didn’t have the organs to care- a creature like him didn’t have a heart. He, they said, didn’t have a heart. He only had the parts to hurt and use and take. The things he did to you, they weren’t love. It was power. It was control. It was wrong. But it wasn’t love.

You disagreed, frantic in your own right, your stomach churning as your voice got higher and higher, shaking your head and demanding that he did love you, he loved you more than anyone had ever loved before! He cared for you! You jumped from the bed and threw out your hands, displaying your room in all its splendor. You told them that he loved you so much that he kept you protected and safe, giving you all you could ever want. You threw open your dresser and showed off your beautiful dresses and suits and shawls, the jewelry and furs and shoes, all the luxuries he’s bathed you in. What was this, you demanded, if not love?

They were quiet for a while, as you stared at your dresser and panted, close to hyperventilating. Your mind spun, eyebrows stitched together in the middle and eyes full of tears. When they spoke next, their voice was softer than it had been before, and they were standing right beside you.

They asked you what he made you do to earn such pretty things. They asked you if he hurt you. You wanted to scoff. Did they not know who they were talking about? Of course he hurt you, but only when you deserved it, just like the rest of his collection.

They asked you if he hurt you in ways he didn’t hurt the others. If he hurt you in the bed he gave you. They asked you how long you’d been a captive.

You hardly made it to the bathroom before throwing up.

You’d never asked anything of him before, but next time he came to you, you asked him if he would give them another room. You didn’t want to share him, and if he wanted to have someone else, it wouldn’t be in the same room he loved you in. They didn’t understand. They wouldn’t love him like you loved him.

Maybe deep down, you knew what would happen to them if you denied his gift. Or maybe it was a test. Maybe he would have killed them either way. Or maybe he wanted to bind you to him in a way that was more permanent than love. Maybe he wanted to bind you in blood.

Sometimes when you close your eyes, you can still hear their screams.

The next time he came to see you, you were asleep. He didn’t wake you up, you woke on your own accord. The first thing your eyes saw was him, standing right by the door. You couldn’t tell if he just arrived, or if he was just about to leave.

The thought of having slept through one of his visits was too much for you to handle, and you burst into tears.

You wanted to ask him why he brought that person to your rooms. You wanted to ask if you weren’t good enough anymore, if he needed someone else to fill the spaces you couldn’t satisfy. You wanted him to hold you, to comfort you, to kiss you and fuck you and show you how much he wanted you. You wanted him to prove to you that no one could ever compare, that you were the only one he loved. The only one he could ever love.

But he didn’t. He didn’t say a word, or move an inch. He only watched as you got off the bed, landing on your hands and knees, and crawled towards him.

“Love,” you babbled to him as he stared down at you, “isn’t anybody’s fault.” Love was a gift. And you loved him. You sounded like you were begging as you told him, your hands clasped around the ankle of his boot.

You loved him, you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

You begged and sobbed and pleaded, but the only words that would come out were devotions of your heart to his.

He stroked your hair and you wept even harder. Eventually you fell asleep, your head pressed against his calf. He took you to bed and tucked you in, but the motion woke you up. You began to hyperventilate again, reaching out for him with desperation, but before a word could slip from your lips, he was joining you in bed. Holding you against him, inhaling the scent of your clean skin and tears.

In the morning, you woke up in his arms. You could have died right there, and you briefly thought that you did. Heaven, it seemed, was when you were with him. Heaven was him, in all his glory. And you wanted nothing more than to worship.

You don’t know if he slept, his eyes were always open and watching. But he was purring, his hands idly stroking your skin as you laid together. He was hard, you could feel it pressing against you.

Yes, you thought as you ground your hips back into his. Yes, yes yes.

You were already naked, so it was easy to reach behind and unzip his trousers, pushing them down a bit to give you what you wanted.

Let me show you how much I love you, you thought as you spread yourself and guided him inside.

You were only just starting to get wet, so the stretch was painful but bearable. If anything, you wanted the pain. He never fucked you hard when you weren’t loose and wet for him and he never forced himself onto you if you weren’t ready to take his cock. He never tore you or made you bleed, at least not between your legs.

“I love you,” you tell him as he takes hold of your hips, pulling you back until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. His length is far more than impressive, the head of his cock finding a home right against your cervix, and he’s thick enough to make your teeth chatter.

He shushes you when you try to move, wanting friction for the growing heat in your belly. You stay still like a good pet, even when your forehead breaks out in beads of sweat and your sex throbs, neglected and desperate for relief. You clench and flutter around him as you get closer, despite him not moving an inch, and he stays rock hard inside of you.

When you feel his tongue lap at the back of your neck, you come so hard you see stars, your hips forced to stay completely still as he purrs and grunts behind you.

He keeps you like this for hours, never once fucking you like you so desperately want, just feeling your skin and body, smelling your hair and licking your skin. You beg for him to take you with tears in your eyes, begging that he uses you, begging for the chance to be good for him. But he only purrs louder.

Eventually you fall asleep, and when you wake up, he’s on top of you. There’s no mask to hide his features as he looks down at you, his mouth parted into an open grin and he fucks you good and hard. You’re so wet that every push and pull squelches, making your cheeks heat up in seconds. He groans and leans down when he sees the blush, licking stripes up the side of your face.

He forces your lips open with his fingers and leans down, licking the inside of your mouth like a starving man, his eyes always open as he watches your every reaction. It’s enough to make you come again, arching your back as you stare into the black abyss of his pupils, and take everything he has to give you.

He sinks his teeth down into your neck when he comes, cock spurting ropes deep inside you, so much that it feels like your belly’s been pumped full of him. He only stays inside you for a moment before pulling out. Before you can whimper at the loss, he grabs you by your hair and forces you to turn onto your stomach, the side of your face pressed into the pillows.

His fingers find your entrance, wet from your slick as well as his come, and he uses both of his index and middle fingers to stretch you open in a sudden, terrible movement that leaves you screaming into the pillow.

It’s not so much the pain that hurts, but the vulnerability that comes with it. You feel too open, too wide, too exposed even though it’s just the two of you in the room. With a sudden rush of clarity, you realize that if he wanted to, he could rip you apart.

But he doesn’t. He only keeps you open long enough to stuff his softening cock back into your hole, before removing his fingers and bringing his hands to press against your lower spine until you’re prone on the bed.

He lies on top of you, purring and rocking his hips, occasionally biting down against your soft skin, leaving bloody marks that he laps at afterwards.

When he starts to get hard again, you grin. Your eyes are wide open, staring at the pretty vanity table next to your dresser, as he slowly pulls out and pushes back in. Yes, you think. This is how you love me.

[sincerelystranger]

read on AO3

Qiren is of the opinion that if anything bad is to happen, it will most likely happen in the summer.

Something about the heat and long days brings trouble and, of course, this year trouble finds Wei Wuxian.

“Lan Zhan, I’ll be fine,” Wei Wuxian rasps out, pulling his hand out of Wangji’s grasp and shooing him away. “You’ve been here for days. Go take a break. Uncle will take good care of me.”

“Wangji,” Qiren says, standing behind him, “Clan leaders have been kept waiting. Go see to your duties and rest afterwards.”

Wangji sits there, staring uselessly at Wei Wuxian for a few more moments before nodding slightly and moving to stand.

“Uncle,” he says with a small nod, “Wei Ying…”

Qiren almost wants to roll his eyes, but years and years and years of practicing restraint stops him. Qiren has only taken care of hundreds and hundreds of sick and injured disciples. Does Wangji think his own uncle will not be able to handle watching over one sick Wei Wuxian? It’s almost insulting.

Well it would be insulting if Wangji was known to show any sort of sense when it came to his husband… So Qiren just nods and moves past Wangji to sit in the seat next to Wei Wuxian’s bed.

QIren can feel Wangji just stand there for a few more moments, just staring at Wei Wuxian.

“Go!” Wei Wuxian rasps out, lifting his head off the pillow and shooing with his hand, “Listen to me or I’m going to stay sick for longer just to spite you.”

“I will be back soon,” Wangji says as he leaves the room.

Wei Wuxian flops back onto the bed with a sigh, “It’s your fault uncle,” he says, “You raised him stubborn.”

“Nonsense,” Qiren huffs, “Wangji was perfectly obedient before he met you. You corrupted him!”

“Me!?” Wei Wuxian asks innocently, blinking his big eyes at Qiren. It’s not endearing at all – sickening, really.

“Stop fluttering your eyes stupidly,” Qiren grunts, moving the blanket back around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and tucking him in. He wrings out the towel in the basin and taps it around Wei Wuxian’s sweaty temple. He’s not worried about how Wei Wuxian is shivering in the summer heat – he’s not. He’s not worried at all. Wei Wuxian is going to be fine.

He will be fine.

“You don’t have to stay here, uncle,” Wei Wuxian whispers out with a sigh, “I’ll be fine. I’m sure you have better things to do than just watch me.”

Qiren doesn’t have time right then to dissect why this awful boy makes his heart ache sometimes, and he doesn’t want to look too deeply into why it makes him angry when he sees Wei Wuxian push care away but…

“Quiet,” he says, running the towel along his brow and down his temple, “Only you would go to cleanse the river of water ghouls and have them turn into a monster.”

“I didn’t make them a monster,” he whines, turning away from Qiren’s hand when Qiren tries to wipe his eyes. “Besides, the monster didn’t make me sick – it was those stupid fishermen!”

Qiren knows that is true. From what he read on the report from the junior disciples that had followed Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian had defeated the river monster quite quickly. He fell to this illness while saving a few fishermen that had jumped into the water in a deluded attempt to help him. He had taken in too much of a contaminated dark water and the dark water had brought his spiritual energy down to such a degree that when he gave the kiss of life to save a drowned fisherman, he contracted the illness the fishermen had had.

Trouble, basically.

Only Wei Wuxian would go out for a simple river cleansing and come back with a non-cultivational illness. His golden core is strong enough now that it burns through the medicine too quickly for Wei Wuxian to have any pain relief, but his golden core is still too weak to heal him from this illness. All they can do it wait.

Qiren puts the towel back in the basin and sits back to watch Wei Wuxian.

His eyes are closed now, his brows furrowed just a bit in pain as he shivers underneath his blanket.

The healer had said that the illness would take its course and that Wei Wuxian would be fully healed in a week, so Wei Wuxian will be fine.

He will be fine.

But… but it’s still strangely horrible to watch him suffer.

Qiren doesn’t know what comes over him, but he shoves his hand under the blanket and finds Wei Wuxian’s hand and holds it.

It’s what Wangji had been doing, and Qiren finds that maybe Wangji had been doing it not only for Wei Wuxian, but maybe to steady himself as well, because there is something grounding in touching Wei Wuxian – like maybe if Qiren holds him, he can share some of the pain? Because it’s strangely horrible watching him suffer – strange in a way Qiren never imagined he could feel for…

And Qiren hasn’t felt this sort of helplessness in years. Not since…

“I’m a married man, uncle,” Wei Wuxian says, a cheeky smile on his face, but he squeezes Qiren’s hand in his.

Horrible boy. Horrible, no good, boy.

“For your insolence, I’m going to assign you to library duty for six months once you get better,” Qiren says bitingly.

Wei Wuxian, infuriatingly enough, huffs a soft laugh, coughing at the end. “You don’t really want me in the library, uncle,” he says closing his eyes and taking a labored breath, “I’ll make an indecent reads section and you and Lan Zhan will be so mad at me.”

Qiren thinks this over and sighs, running his other hand through his beard. “Nonsense, Wangji doesn’t get mad at you for anything. He’d probably abuse his powers as chief cultivator and set up an indecent reads section for you himself if he thought that was what you really wanted.”

Wei Wuxian coughs another laugh, his eyes still closed, his hand still squeezing Qiren’s.

“Lan Zhan gets mad at me, uncle,” he says, sleep slurring his words just a tiny bit, “he’s mad at me right now – can’t you tell?”

Horrible boy.

Qiren doesn’t understand why this evil boy has forced himself a place in Qiren’s heart if all he does it hurt it.

“Is that what you think he is?” Qiren asks softly, rubbing his thumb over the meat of Wei Wuxian’s palm. Qiren waits till he hears Wei Wuxian’s wheezy breathing even out before he runs his fingers over Wei Wuxian’s head, settling down stray strands of hair.

“Stupid boy,” he chides gently, “can’t you tell the difference between worry and anger?”

The room is almost unbearably hot in the summer sun, and sweat is pooling between Wei Wuxian’s hand in Qiren’s, but Qiren strangely can’t find it in himself to let go.

He watches the man, who at one point in time he considered the bane of his existence, and…

Well, Qiren isn’t worried.

He brought a book to read but it stays closed as he sits by Wei Wuxian’s side, lost in thought. Maybe it’s old age or maybe it’s just that Wei Wuxian is strange and uncomfortable and loving in ways that constantly catch Qiren off guard, but…

He’s still holding Wei Wuxian’s hand when Wangji returns.

It’s late then, the night breaking the summer heat and bringing in a cool mountain breeze.

Qiren pulls his hand from Wei Wuxian’s and tucks the blanket securely behind him as he pulls his hand out.

“I told you to rest,” Qiren says, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason. He feels like he’s shown too much – like he’s been caught with his heart out. It’s strange to feel that way in front of his nephew, but he does.

“I will rest with Wei Ying,” Wangji says. He places a tray of food down. “You missed dinner, uncle.”

“You didn’t have to bring it here – one missed meal won’t kill me,” Qiren says, still feeling found out and embarrassed in a way that surprises him. Affection – the sheer embarrassment of having it and showing it. And… Wei Wuxian. The horrible boy who forced these horrible feelings into Qiren.

This is horrible – all horrible.

“We haven’t shared a meal in a while,” Wangji says, breaking Qiren from his thoughts, “I thought…”

Oh gods.

Qiren so badly wants to enjoy a meal with his nephew so it’s strange why he has this sudden urge to run. Everything is so embarrassing. His nephew bringing him a meal out of meal time and asking to eat with him. Eating in an improper setting with his nephew’s sick husband sleeping beside them. It’s all too… affectionate…

He wants to run, but he has years and years and years of practicing restraint that stops him.

“That will be… acceptable,” he says, moving slowly from the chair to the seat Wangji has prepared for him.

Qiren sits across from his nephew and enjoys a quiet meal.

It’s… strange.

Summer has brought trouble, but this year, for some strange reason, trouble wasn't the only thing it brought, and Qiren can't tell which is worse.

The trouble or the affection.

[toosicktoocare]

AU where the Avengers don’t know that Spider-Man is Peter Parker just cuz

inspired by a fantastic ask about concussions from @carley-carley-carley (hope it’s okay that I tagged you!)

“Young man? Young man, are you alright?” 

Grunting, Peter drags his head away from the insistent tapping against his cheek, an almost rhythmic, steady pressure that jerks up his temple to spread across his forehead. The pressure isolates to the base of his skull, where the pounding seems to be at it’s worst, and it holds ground there, pulsing uncomfortably. 

“Young man, you fell from a four-story apartment building.” 

Peter’s brows furrow at this. He wants to object because he’s Spider-Man, and a fall like that is minor compared to the novel of inuries he’s suffered alongside the Avengers. He opens his mouth to do just that, to explain to this woman that this is nothing, that he’ll walk it off, but a pricking senstation hot against the back of his neck hotwires to his eyelids, forcing them open. 

He’s aware of two things: One, the woman leaning over him is far too close, and she’s doubling and tripling before him, going in out of focus against his blurry eyes. Despite hazy around the edges, she looks concerned, if the deep-set wrinkles etched into her forehead are anything to go by. Two, there’s a small crowd surrounding him, and while Peter’s not particularly claustrophobic, right now, it feels like each body is pushing against his lungs, and his stomach. When the hell did he start feeling so nauseous? 

“Young man, do you know what day it is?” 

No, Peter thinks flatly to himself. He really doesn’t. He could dig through his mind, eager to push out logic, work through his mental calendar that operates soley around when homework assignments are due, but there’s a solid rock of pulsing pain blocking all normal, brain functioning. “Monday?” he tries weakly. He’s faintly aware that his own voice sounds hollow and distant, but more so, he’s distinctly aware of the saliva pooling in his mouth, a copper taste that coats against his tongue. 

Peter didn’t think it was possible, but the woman somehow frowns deeper at him, and she climbs to her feet, body rigid. He supposes it’s not Monday after all. 

“Call an ambulance! He’s concussed.” 

Peter shoots forward into a sitting position, and the pain in his head bursts like a balloon. The redistributed pressure is blinding, and Peter drops his face into his cupped hands with a low groan that threatens to bring more than just air up his throat. 

He wants to assure them that a hospital isn’t necessary, that his enhanced healing defies medical science, but when the white light coating his vision dies down to an unsteady sway of darker, blurring colors, he only sees scraped up palms before him, not gloves. He rips his hands away, and one, quick look down shows that he’s sporting a blue NASA hoodie and blue jeans and that he’s definitely not wearing his signature red and blue Spider-Man suit he thought he had on. 

The hell? 

He glances to see his backpack beside him, thankfully still zipped up and intact. He tries to wrack his brain, briefly craning his neck up toward the rooftop he assumes he fell from, only to quickly jerk his gaze back down when the setting sun seems to shine past his eyes to burn at his skull. He can’t remember why he was up there in the first place, especially since he’s in civilian clothing. He can’t remember much of anything, now that he dwells on it. 

“Young man, by all accounts, you should be dead.” 

Peter makes to reply, his clenched jaw unhinging almost painfully, but a different, probing jolt sparks up his spine to the back of his neck, and he’s climbing to his feet, pale, wobbly, just as two, new voices somehow carry over the wall of chatter around him. 

“What’s going on?”

“Make way. Crowds typically mean one of two things: some weird alien contraption that equals bad news or a dead body, either of which I can’t really fit into today’s schedule.”

Even if Peter didn’t have the two voices memorized, down to the timbre, the sudden, loud squealing from the crowd of “Tony Stark!” and “Captain America!” is enough to have him eyeing for a quick exit, determining if he can duck his way through the pressing bodies. 

“This young man fell from the roof!” 

“So,” Tony draws out, his voice growing closer. “Dead body it...” He trails off as he nudges around a few people until he’s breaking into the center of the circle with Steve hot on his heels. 

“Well, hello there, not dead person.” 

Peter wants to shrink away from Tony’s gaze. He wants the ground to crumble and break and swallow him hole, to rid himself of the awkward fear and warm embarrasment that flushes his cheeks. He can feel a thick, lukewarm liquid dripping down his neck, and he doesn’t want to look down to see the concerning pool of blood at his feet. 

“Son, are you alright?” Steve shoves forward, and on instinct, Peter backs away and brings a hand to the back of his neck, a nervous tick, but he pulls it back almost immediately, faintly frowning at the splattered red coloring his palm. 

“You fell,” Tony starts, and Peter knows this tone well as it’s Tony’s signature speculation tone, where he dissects the situation around clipped, short sentences. 

“From up there?” 

Leveling his gaze, Peter huffs out a shaky sigh, wincing slightly as Steve prods lightly at the back of his head. 

“Um, yeah. I guess?” 

“You guess?” 

“I don’t really remember,” Peter laughs awkwardly, clears his throat. He can sense the tension that builds behind him, can almost feel the way Steve’s muslces grow rigid. 

“He’s concussed, Tony. Maybe save the interrogation for another time?” 

“Sure,” Tony says, and he steps forward, carefully avoiding the puddle of blood. “But, you can’t blame me for finding this entire situation unsettling, Steve. This kid fell from the roof of a four-story building, landed on his back, and now he’s standing, and aside from the fact that he looks a tad worse for wear, he’s alive?” 

“I’m right here,” Peter mutters under his breath, and Tony nods and crowds too close to him. 

“You are. Standing. Speaking. Alive. Three things that don’t exactly pair well with falling off a roof.” 

Peter’s head hurts, bad. Deflect, he thinks. But how? “I’ve always been told I come from a family of hard heads,” he mumbles around a hollow laugh, and, he thinks, it definitely sounds as stupid out loud as it did in his head. 

Tony’s gaze, in response, his sharp, and narrow, and Peter unconsciously closes his eyes. He can feel the ground rippling below his feet, and he sways, steadying only when Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

“Enough, Tony.” 

“How much would it take to get you to come back to our labs so I can run some tests-”

“-Enough, Tony.”

Steve’s voice vibrates all across Peter’s body. It’s a powerful yet familiar feeling that makes him shudder slightly. 

“What’s your name, son?” 

Peter contemplates lying, maybe even using Ned’s name. But, he’s been careful as Spider-Man thus far, so, he thinks, he’s not at risk by sharing his real name. Besides, it’s not like it’s uncommon. “Peter,” he says after a moment. 

He could hear Steve talking beside him, but an unannounced rush of blood in his ears begisn to drown out close sounds. He grows hot suddenly, or maybe, he’s been getting steadily hotter this entire time and he couldn’t fully realize. His body’s shaking a little harder now, inconsistent trembles jerking his limbs. His throat’s tightening, and when he realizes what the hell is happening, he’s shoving away from Steve and hunching over to vomit. 

He feels worse when he finishes. He’s exhausted, and his head is positively throbbing. Yet, there’s a color of clarity flicking across his mind. Through the thick pain, he can think a little clearer, see a little clearer. 

“Peter?” 

“Gross, kid. Time to go to the hospital.” 

“No!” Peter whips around, staggers, and unconsciously reaches out to Steve’s arm for support. “I mean, that’s not necessary,” he clarifies at the two, wide expressions looking at him expectantly. “Really. I’m already feeling better.” To punctuate his point, he lets go of Steve’s arm and bends down to snag his backpack, clutching it close to his chest. “See, totally fine. No passing out or anything.” 

On the back of his head, he can already feel his broken skin moving, closing torn gaps, slowing the bloodflow. He figures he’s got about an hour until it’s completely healed, and he’d rather not be around two Avengers when it happens. 

“I’ll just go home and... rest! I’ll rest. Scout’s honor.” He mock salutes, and then he spins on his heel and starts pushing his way out of the crowd, missing the furrowed gaze from Tony. He swallows thickly when he hears two sets of heavy footsteps behind him. 

“Peter, wait!”

“I’m with Steve on this one, kid. I can’t, in good conscience, let you disappear in this condition. I can see the headlines now. Iron Man Abandons Helpless Teen.” 

“Tony...”

Peter keeps walking ahead, keeps his gaze locked to the sidewalk below him as Tony and Steve take either side of him. “My apartment’s just a few blocks from here,” he mumbles, focusing on the rhythmic pound of his shoes on concrete and not on the hot pain pushing all across his head or on the fact that he can’t shake a couple of Avengers, something he’d never consider as Spider-Man. 

“Do you not like hospitals, Peter?” 

Steve’s question is a gentle prod, and Peter goes with it, shrugging. 

“Not really,” he offers, keeping his voice low, indicating he doesn’t want to pursue the conversation, and luckily, Steve takes the bait and drops it. At least, Peter thinks, they’ll stop insisting he seek out medical assistance now. Though, he does feel a little bad lying to Steve; he doesn’t like lying, unless it’s to egg on Tony’s nerves as Spider-Man. But to Steve? It feels morally wrong, and he thinks he should seek out a confessional for his sins later. 

“Not interested in having a bunch of doctors deem you a medical miracle?” 

“Definitely not,” Peter groans, finally dragging his gaze up until he’s looking forward and not at the scuff marks on his shoes. His memories, though fuzzy, are filtering through cracks in the thick mud that’s currently his mind. He can remember standing atop the roof, maybe a little too close to the edge. He was getting ready to rip open his backpack for his suit, and then he remembers losing his footing. He remembers the back of his foot hitting the edge of the roof, and everything goes dark after that. 

Embarrassing, he thinks. He’s the only super hero he knows clumsier than a newborn deer. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached his apartment until his leg muscles are dragging to a stop on habit. He looks up, craning his neck, and sighs. “Well, this is me. I appreciate the escort, but I’m good now.” He starts up the steps, sighing louder when he hears the two follow. 

He makes it all the way up the steps to his apartment door and unlocks it before he spins on his heel, a second, longer sigh pushing past his lips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but don’t you both have... bigger things to do? Iron Man and Captain America things?” 

“You busy, Steve?” Tony asks, and Steve mutely shakes his head before following Tony into the apartment. 

Groaning, Peter rubs at his forehead and shuffles inside, knowing full and well that both are incredibly busy on an hour-to-hour basis. He’s quick to slip his bacpack into his bedroom and close the door before he steps back out into the living room to see Steve motioning toward the couch with a pack of frozen peas in hand. 

“It’s all you had.” 

Shrugging, Peter drops down flat onto the couch, sitting up briefly so Steve can slip the bag of frozen peas behind his head. He shivers on contact because shit, it’s freezing, and Steve’s reaching over him to snag the blanket draped behind the couch. He hums absently when Steve tucks it around him, and then he cracks an eye open to see Tony staring down childhood pictures with a familair set of glasses on. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

“Huh?” Tony whips around, already plucking the glasses from his face. 

“Really, Tony? How much info is FRIDAY feeding you right now?” 

“What?” Tony drags out, both hands raised in defense. “Kid fell off a roof and walked away. Sue me.” 

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I’m not even remotely interesting,” Peter tries, and Tony raises a single brow his way. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Peter’s kept his identity tightly under wraps thus far, and he knows childhood pictures or pictures with May aren’t going to reveal that he’s Spider-Man. Still, it’s annoyingly intrusive, and he sits up with a groan. 

“If I swear on my best friend’s lego model death star that I’ll stay put, rest, and wake up every few hours to monitor my condition, will you both please leave? You really don’t need to hang around here; I know you both have to be really busy.” 

“Your best friend has a lego model death star?” Tony starts, isolating that one fact. “Is your best friend in second grade?” 

Peter clambers to his feet, stalks over to his door, and yanks it open. “We’re the same age, and I happily helped him with it,” he challenges, motioning toward the doorway. 

“Easy, champ,” Tony says around a laugh as he and Steve start toward the door. “If you and your friend want to play with legos, that’s none of my business. Just try not to fall off any more roofs because, unfortunately, that is my business.” 

“Yes, sir,” Peter says, offering a nod as the two step out. 

“Consider going to a hospital, Peter,” Steve adds. “Maybe take your friend with you for comfort.” 

Yeah right, Peter thinks. Ned can’t even handle the thought of a needle without feeling faint. Still, he nods, if only to appease Steve, and then he’s closing the door and sinking against it with a low sigh. He listens for a long time until he can no longer make out their footsteps, and then he’s ignoring the pressure in his head and running to his room to don his suit. 

Concussion or not, Queens still needs the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.

[theyarebothgunshot]

I’d be very interested in your thoughts on the JIB8 cockles panel. just a suggestion for your rewatch 👀

i’ve seen the jib8 panel so many times, because it’s honestly one of the wildest things i have ever seen and i just never get tired of it. 

first of all i want to give you my take on the overall vibe, and then second of all i will get into the details and link to certain timestamps in the video. 

disclaimer: i am not gonna be linking to every single thing i talk about, but i will try my best to link to the moments that stand out to me the most. i have read long posts about this panel before, so not everything in this post is gonna be original or said for the first time ever, simply because there is a good chance that information has stuck in my mind and has subconsciously formed my view of this panel. this is also in no way, shape or form gonna be coherent, unfortunately. i’m just gonna hope that the cockles hivemind will be able to make sense of this regardless. love and light. and lastly, this is all in good fun, so don’t come at me if you think this is too out there please and thank you.

fun fact: i was today years old when i found out that the airbnb story took place one day before this panel. what a sexually charged weekend that was for them dude (gn).

the vibe that i get from this panel is that their moods were off before they got on stage, and where misha kind of looks tired and not 100% enthusiastic about things, jensen apparently decided to get drunk and is trying to make it look like he is thriving. yet, a little while into the panel we learn that it has been an emotional rollercoaster of a day for him, which might have something to do with the overall mood. then again, it could be that something else happened in between the autographs and that panel, who is to say?

i have talked about the d/s subtones in their interactions before and this panel makes my radar ping like nobody’s business. if my interpretation of their dynamics is right, then one could assume that jensen was being very bratty on purpose, trying to stir up a reaction in misha, and i think he probably got what he wanted (more or less. maybe he thought misha would find it more amusing than he did, or but honestly, at that point they have already known each other for nearly 10 years so odds are he knew what he was doing and how misha would react to it. it would surprise me greatly if these two didn’t work out their mutual frustrations with the day and each other after this panel ended- in the bedroom.)

i genuinely think i have never seen jensen flirt more openly and aggressively with misha, ever, and i have never seen misha in the state he was in during this panel either: tired, a little annoyed about the fact that jensen was going off the deep end and that he was not able to stop him, to the point where he just gives up and says things like ‘when in rome’ etc. let’s get into it. 

the mood is set from the very first second: misha is kinda subdued, and jensen is being a bit of a clown, coaxing misha to join him in the madness, which he does to a certain extent. 

we are off to a great start with not just one [0m15s], but two [0m20s] moments in which i just know in my bones they wanted to hold hands. how do i know? because i have been there my fucking self. wanting to hold hands with your crush when you are drunk and acting silly is a love language okay.

as soon as they sit down, misha tries to make conversation and jensen just starts pushing him and pushing him, [1m11s] saying ‘shut up’ and ‘yeah it’s really stupid and it embarrasses me’, but misha tries to ignore it at first and just marches on through. which is probably why i never see people talk about that little comment. it embarrasses jensen when misha sits like that? why would he need to feel embarrassed by his friend’s actions? kinda weird tbh, sounds like husband behavior to me. i have a feeling that when misha said ‘by which he means it’s an innie’, jensen REALLY had to bite on his tongue not to go all ‘you weren’t complaining this morning’ or something like that. look at his face bro [1m55s]. 

and then jensen opens up his legs like the little tramp (affectionate) that he is and when misha tries to stop him he just TURNS to misha with said open legs like a mad man and goes ‘here’s the thing. pick a leg.’ [2m05s] LIKE? who DOES THAT? that is insane people behavior!!! admittedly i am a cis woman and i don’t have conversations with male friends about their bodily anatomy all that often, but i legit cannot phatom that this is a normal thing to talk about with your platonic buddy. pick a leg for me to rest my dick on, old buddy old pal. NOBODY DOES THAT. it’s not even something that i would consider flirting because even though i am into men, i would not find that arousing? so it’s either an action to provoke annoyance in misha or it’s something they have discussed before or both. because misha immediately understands what he means, starts shaking his head in frustration, and actually turns to jensen as if to say ‘are you fucking kidding me right now? really? you are really doing this?’ followed by a ‘this is making me feel so uncomfortable’ aka one of the phrases they both like to use even though they never mean it. 

then when jensen actually goes up to do his ridiculous mating dance and sits back down again, he automatically sits down with his body turned towards misha. 

quick side note: if anybody understands what the joke was about when they talked about ‘cas has big dolls’ i would love to hear it, because that has never made any sense to me, but it’s probably a me problem lmao. 

when misha goes ‘could you watch your language please’ i think that’s a sign that he is genuinely getting a bit frustrated [4m53s] with jensen even though he is obviously playing it off as a joke. right after he says that, jensen puts his fingers against his mouth, as if to shut himself up. i know that a lot of people don’t wanna read too much into body language but hey, i am writing an analysis here so work with me for a sec: i think that could be a subconscious decision to listen to what misha is telling him to do, which ties into the d/s dynamics i’ve mentioned earlier. 

i know people always go crazy when misha goes ‘what did i tell him’ [5m19s] and jensen whispers in his ear. i personally think misha probably told him about the fact that they booked kansas the band, but it’s still pretty telling that that is how misha would react to the question if something he told him is public knowledge. evidently that goes to show that there is enough that misha tells jensen that cannot be shared with the public, which i thought is interesting. 

now that i am watching it again, the ‘j*red would have just said it’ comment kind of stumbles around in my brain asking me to dissect it. let’s just say that i wouldn’t be surprised if they were both thinking back on the many, many times that j*red put his foot in his mouth and made a suggestive comment about jensen and misha’s relationship. 

god i just cringed [6m14s] watching jensen interact with that first girl who asked a question and he just goes off on her about how twins are cool and misha is shaking his head lord oh lord and that is the minute daniella decides that hey maybe they need even more alcohol lmfaoooo it’s a lot. poor misha i genuinely feel bad for him.

and then he goes ‘real men have twins’ and looks at misha and misha is still not having it so he goes ‘it’s just a shirt’ like girl (gn) pleASE that’s husband behavior, yet again, why else would he feel the need to clarify it. ‘look babe don’t be mad or jealous i don’t mean anything by it, it’s just a shirt’ i hate him. 

i just know misha would have wanted to take the apple juice away from jensen lmao. 

one of the moments [9m35s] that always stands out to me is when they go ‘that’s why we don’t bring steven’ ‘that’s right, that’s why he’s not allowed’ idk how to explain it but the way that just flows out of them so naturally feels very coupley for some reason.

i think we can all agree that jensen’s reaction [12m22s] to misha’s ‘i always wear orange underwear’ story is completely fake, right? because there is no way he didn’t know that, and his reaction was very exaggerated. plus, the little gesture to make misha show his underwear? bitch, please. whipped. there was also exactly zero reason for him to come that close to misha in order to inspect the color of his underwear.

the one thing that i wonder about, though, is why misha didn’t know jensen was wearing the famous underbear briefs? but as i am writing this i realise that even if they slept in the same hotel room, there are obviously a few different possible reasons why misha didn’t know what underwear jensen was wearing that day: either jensen showered and changed in the bathroom, so by the time he faced misha again he was fully dressed, or misha had to leave their hotel room earlier than jensen, or jensen changed while misha showered, etc etc. 

in any case……. jensen dropping trou in the middle of this fucking panel? absolutely batshit insane, 10/10 thank you for your service nesnej. 

this [13m54s] is where shit really starts to hit the fan. jensen is OUT OF CONTROL. the long stares??? the ‘rawr’s??? ‘you didn’t even get the full picture’??? (sidenote i would love to know what misha whispered to him right after).

OKAY so. when the girl mentions j*red and jensen goes all Knowing What’s Up and says ‘oh he has had a rough time today. misha kept us up way too late last night. *glances at misha* rrrrrrr’ listen. the only reason i am not reading too much into this is because i do not believe they had a threesome with j*red but also the way he said it was very sus and my mind can’t help but wonder if they were disgustingly flirty and way too touchy feely in front of j*red whilst drunk and honestly that’s probably the case.

of course this is followed [15m15s] by the insane man saying ‘by the way they go down to here’??? and the potentially whispered ‘i’ll show you later’?????? sir i have a lot of questions. number one: how dare you? 

bless this next person for this question, because she starts her sentence with: ‘people who have been together for a long time…’ i actually already made a post about this once so i implore you all to read that because i still stand by what i said in there.

it is of course followed by them both not being able to think about ANYTHING appropriate to say to the question if there is anything they only do in front of each other that doesn’t involve pants. and then misha goes ‘why don’t i just share a private moment that we had’ and jensen’s first instinct is to say ‘shit’. i mean. i am merely perceiving. 

this is the moment we realise that it has been quite The Day for them, but especially for jensen, because he has been emotional earlier in the day. which, again, could explain his demeanor during the panel. trying to distract himself. notice that he gets up and shakes his legs again and goes for a drink the second misha starts to tell the story: coping mechanisms aka distraction, just like he did at the start of the panel. 

the moment where he goes ‘it’s hitting me now. shit.’ really solidifies this theory for me, that he has been acting like a goofy drunken guy all panel, in order to drown out the emotions he felt that afternoon, but alas. once he started to talk about it, it still all came back to him. 

i will say this though: it kind of warms my heart that he was so touched by the fact that the fandom spawned something good. makes me feel slightly less dumb for forming parasocial relationships with that man. only slightly, but still. 

misha going ‘god he’s so grouchy’ [25m32s]? say it with me, folks: husband behavior. once again misha tries to talk jensen down and jensen listens (sort of). say it with me, folks: d/s behavior. and RIGHT after that jensen walks towards misha with this intense fucking stare in his eyes that makes me feel like i am intruding, and then after he gets another drink (nesnej, why?) he just. gently massages misha’s neck and shoulder before draping his arm around him? and his hand lingers when he goes to grab the keychain? okay. 

insert the famous ‘when in rome’ debacle lmao misha was so done with jensen by then it’s so hilarious. the funny thing is that misha says ‘what i mean is show each other our underwear, nothing weird. you can’t look at me like that, because of what you did’, while the question was ‘what would dean and cas do in rome’ and not ‘what would jensen and misha do in rome’ but clearly, once again, the actors cannot make a distinction between the two. interesting :) it also wouldn’t surprise me if jensen has told him to tone down the dean/cas answers but now that jensen decided to fully flash him on stage misha is like ‘sorry but i am not playing by your rules after what you did’ lmao. of course, jensen’s reaction is to go back to parting his legs for misha, like he is challenging him. i mean. you can’t make this shit up. 

am i the only one who thinks that jensen might be thinking dirty thoughts when misha repeats ‘what would dean and cas do’ [27m50s]? because like. that’s quite a face he is making.

when he says ‘i don’t know how to answer that’ and misha agrees, idk, for some reason i get the feeling that that’s in the sense of ‘i don’t know how to answer that in a way that won’t get our fans’s hopes up because we know what they would want and we know what we would answer but we can’t go there’. 

i really feel like the final straw for daniella was the way that jensen reacted to that last question like he was gonna have another breakdown lmao and that’s why the rest of the cast and crew were pushed onto the stage prematurely. because when you think about it, it’s a pretty rude thing to do when somebody is still answering a question? but okay. 

listen - the last 6 minutes of this panel are so chaotic sdjfhsjh the only thing i can conclude from it is that jensen is hella drunk but we’ve been knew. his mood changes by the fucking second. i love him and his little dance and how he sits down on the stage. i feel like i might be jensen coded when i am drunk. i too get slutty and unpredictable. 

so anyways long story short: jensen was hella drunk and wanted to provoke misha, it worked, they had hot sweaty sex after this panel, and the fact that jensen got drunk enough to entrust misha with taking care of shit during the panel makes me very emotional for some reason, and i just love them a lot. thank you for coming to my ted talk. 

[hello-everyfandom]

“On my heart, Love.”

Warnings: N/A

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Words: 2k

Summary: You’re tutoring Peter in Herbology and James loves to distract you.

(Enjoy! A little James Potter heals all wounds)

James Potter was widely known, across the grounds of Hogwarts, to be quite arrogant and rather self-absorbed. In classes he was the student who sat in the back making snarky comments back to the Professor and the student who, along with his friends, were quite mischievous. It seemed that James Potter had quite a large head, being quite popular as well as star Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. So, by the time you were appointed to tutor Peter Pettigrew on Herbology, you were fully aware of the presence of Mr. James Potter. It was quite frequent that Peter’s friends interrupted study sessions and you, sadly, had gotten used to the presence of James’ big head.

“Peter,” you sighed, “You really must focus, and I do not say this as your tutor who wants you to do well, but literally because if you do not study these plants and you could actually die in class.”

Peter, who sat next to you, groaned loudly, “But why!” Peter whined making you snicker.

“Why!!” you mocked him in a childish voice, “Because if you aren’t careful in dissecting and are too busy staring at the butterflies, a Venomous Tentacula will snap it’s jaws at you and well...” you clicked your tongue, “I’m afraid you fresh out of luck then.”

Peter sat up and grinned, “You know what?”

“What?” you responded,

“You may be the cruelest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met.” 

“Peter,” you pretended to coo, “that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Peter held his hands up, “I tell the truth and nothing but the truth.”

You snorted, “Yeah, right.”

As the two of you continued to read through the textbook, Peter took notes on exactly what you said. It was peaceful studying until you heard two heavy footsteps marching towards you. 

“Wormtail!” Sirius Black emerged. He flopped onto the bench next to Peter and slung his arm around him. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Taking the intellectual advantage of this poor lady, here.” James Potter answered his friend, pulling the chair next to you out abruptly. 

“Learning about Venomous Tentacula,” Peter shoved Sirius Black’s hand away from his notes. 

“And Remus can’t teach you this hub-bub?” Sirius raised his eyebrow. Peter shook his head.

“Absolutely not. Y/N is the best there is.”

James cocked his head. “Is that so? She’s the best there is in...” he paused to look at the cover of your textbook, “Herbology?”

You were quick in response, “She sure is. And, now that it has been mentioned, she is also quite skilled in the art of jinxes and hexes. Though my word may not be enough to suffice, would you prefer to see an example?”

Your voice was cool but the threat of making James Potter’s fingers into feathers and his nose into a beak was quite prominent. Sirius Black let out a bark of a laugh, holding his chest as he laughed. Peter watched amusedly as his best friend and his tutor (and admittedly also his friend) began to bicker.

“Alright, alright,” James grinned back, “Y/L/N, you’ve won. Don’t unleash your wrath onto poor me.”

“Yes, Y/L/N,” Sirius added, “I’m not sure he could take the humiliation.”

Peter nodded and continued to tease, “His ego is too fragile, like a little teacup.”

“You know what,” James defended, “You’re all pricks, and the only one I respect here is Y/L/N, purely because she knows how to properly articulate an insult.”

“Insult?” you grinned, “You are not worth my time to insult, love. Think of my teasing to be nothing but a mere brain exercise.”

James Potter bit his lip to hold back a smile, “I love nothing more than to be considered a brain exercise of yours.”

Sirius groaned disgustedly, “Alright, enough with the flirting.” He stood and brushed off his trousers dramatically, “Pete, we came to announce that we are going to find the Pixies that Professor Kettleburn keeps locked away and unleash them on some first years.”

Peter immediately looked at you with little begging eyes, “Please! Please Y/N, can I go?”

“We still have to study!” you protested, “Peter, you have an exam on this tomorrow!”

“He’ll be fine!” Sirius pulled Peter up, slinging his arm around him again, “Pete’s been tutored by the best.”

“But-” before you could protest further, Sirius dragged Peter away, ruffling his hair. You sighed loudly and began to clean up the notes and textbooks that littered the table.

“Don’t worry,” James said, leaning to hand you a book, “He’ll be fine.”

You sent him a knowing look, taking the book from his hand and placing it into your bag.“It’ll be on your head if he gets a low mark.”

“I swear on my soul,” James put his hand on his heart, “If he gets a mark lower than Acceptable, I will sit here, myself, and help you tutor him.”

You let out a laugh, “As if.” 

“Swear on my heart!” James called as you walked away.

“Then I’ll see you next Thursday,” you waved your hand, not bothering to look back at him. James watched you walk away with a smile breaking his cheeks. 

That Thursday, as you expected, Peter approached the study table with James in tow. Both of the marauders held their heads low.

“So, I’m assuming-”

“Your assumption is correct.” James answered solemnly.

“I thought so. James, I assume you will be joining us then?”

“Your assumption is,” he let out a breath of sad air, “correct.”

“Wonderful.” you grinned smugly back.

From then on, James Potter attended your study sessions, never late. At first, he absentmindedly looked around the room, busy enchanting paper cranes to fly and twirling his wand to make soft swirls of colours float around. You hated it. James Potter seemed to distract you, even if he didn’t try. He always came in, smelling of grass and cologne and would always reach up to run his fingers through his hair. Sometimes, he’d crane his neck to see what you were writing or make some witty comment that received a not so subtle eye roll from you. 

You didn’t think he cared, not truly, and your blind prejudice made you begin to think James was only there because his ego would be bruised if he backed down from a promise. It was when James began to fly cranes too close to your face for your liking did you blow up.

“You know what.” you stood up, “If you are going to be a prick and distract poor Peter from his studies then you may as well not be here. No one is gaining anything by your presence,” you said rather harshly. 

You turned quickly to go to the bathroom in order to cool off. As you rubbed some water on your face, you began to feel the guilt ride up your neck. You didn’t mean to talk so grating to Potter, you were just having a rough day with your own studies and your own academic life. 

You paced back slowly to your study table feeling sorrowful and thinking of how you’d apologize to Potter. As you approached, you saw James with his arm slung over Peter. Squinting closer and making your steps quieter you could hear their hushed whispers.

“I’m going to fail,” Peter cried pathetically, his head was buried in his arms “I can’t do it, even with a tutor I am absolutely failing this god forsaken class. Maybe I should just drop out now.”  

James clicked his tongue and shook his head, “Don’t say that, Worm. You’re not doing terribly, it will just take a few moments for it to truly click.”

“But you and Remus and Sirius are all doing better-”

“Sirius has skipped at least half of his classes this year and Remus has pulled out half his hair trying to study for O.W.L.S. Really, Worm,” James said seriously, “You’re doing better than any of us combined.”

“But-”

“Wouldn’t lie to you,” James patted his back encouragingly, “Besides, Herbology is one of the hardest courses for our year.”

“Really?” Peter asked, raising his head to look at his friend.

“Really really. Now clean yourself up, don’t want Y/L/N to see you in such a state. Why don’t you go grab a snack from the kitchens?”

Peter agreed, noting that a cookie may make himself feel better, and rose to recollect himself on the way to the kitchen. He didn’t see you in the shadows, looking in surprise at both Peter and James. You had no idea Peter had thought so harshly of himself, in fact, he was steadily improving in his studies. You hugged your arms and walked towards James who was leaning backwards in his chair. He straightened up when he saw you and cleared his throat.

“You’re looking refreshed.” he commented, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

You paused before saying, “Thank you.”

“Listen-”

“Listen-” the two of you said at the same time. You both looked at each other, unable to keep a smile off of your faces. Yours was small, shy even whilst his was large and cheeky.

“You go first,” he waved his hand. 

“I wanted to apologize,” you whispered lowly, fiddling with your nails, “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I thought... well I thought-”

“Thought I was a prick?”

“Precisely,” the two of you laughed together. 

“But, seriously, I am sorry,” you acknowledged seriously.

“I am too,” James answered back, “I know it has been... less than pleasant with me being around your study dates.”

“Study period,” you corrected.

“Whatever it’s called. The truth is...” James looked around to see if Peter had miraculously appeared and let out a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair in a stressed manner, “The truth is... Peter is a little bit embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” you asked incredulously.

“He feels as though he isn’t doing as well as he should... and I... well, I attend your study sessions to cheer him up a bit.”

“Oh.” you mumbled.

“And, I-” James seemed to struggle a bit trying to find his word, “I suppose I try and distract you so Peter doesn’t feel like all the attention is on him.”

“Oh.”

It grew quiet between you two. James stared at you, scratching the back of his neck nervously. You bit your cheek, wondering what you could say.

“But-”

“But?” you interrupted.

“But... that doesn’t mean... I don’t want to come.”

“Oh?” your voiced curiously.

“I mean,” he laughed, almost a little embarrassedly, “I guess I come for Peter, but I also come... for you?” he trailed off quieter and quieter, blushing a bit.

“For me?”

James glanced at you. He saw your smile, one he had grown to love. “Yes.” 

“Oh.”

“Is that all you can say? ‘Oh’?” James mocked lightly. You shoved his arm and he acted as if he were being punched. “Do I render you speechless?” James’ eyebrows wiggled.

“Wow,” you whistled, “Just as you were beginning to warm my heart, you decided to go and be a prick again.” you teased back. 

“No no!” James exclaimed, “I can go back to being cute.” The two of you smiled at each other, no longer feeling the awkwardness in the air.

“James Potter,” you observed slowly, “you’re a good friend.”

He began to flush, his ears went red and he waved his hand, “What are mates for?”

“I guess you’re right,”

“Does that mean you’ll let me stay for study sessions?”

You pretended to think, tapping a finger on your lips, “I suppose so.” James cheered loudly. Your eyes widened at his cheer and quickly shushed him.

“And then maybe... we can-”

“Can what?”

“Meet... for something other than studying?” James Potter, the boy who was charming and confident grew nervous waiting for your reply. 

“We’ll see.” you finally answered, making James let out an exhale of relief. “But only if Peter gets higher than Acceptable on his essay.”

James leaned in close to you, “On my heart, Love.”

And yes, with much studying and preparation from both you and James, Peter received an O.

[angelharness]

i have managed to entirely block out the words “away from the campfire” when reading this request im so sorry anon

COMFORT BY CAMPFIRE, AND A BIT TOO MUCH LONGING 

WARNINGS: none

LAURIE STRODE

You don’t know how, but you’ve managed to feel out of place in a domain of which its inherent existence is uninhabitable, who all its occupants do not belong but remain nonetheless. 

You scan across the circle of landscape cupped by the onset of heavy fog which starts very abruptly at the tree-line and stretches on indefinitely. The light of the fire wobbles, ebbing like the banks of a lake; but you know now that it offers no warmth. 

Laurie cut her hand straight across the open flames, and though the fire snarled it did not burn her. She withdrew her hand back to reveal it was uncharred, untouched, even. When you slump by it after a trial, your face is not blasted by heat as you would assume. When you raise your palms to it, shivering, legs to your chest, they are no warmer.

Even when your lungs are scorching after sprinting nonstop, chased through disheveled corridors, your breaths come out in cold whips of air. All your tears are cool, they never burn your cheeks like they once did. 

You finally spot her among the resting survivors. Quentin sits across from her at the fire, picking at the loose button of his jacket cuff. Cheryl is laid back against the log that she’s occupied on, slumped against Laurie’s leg and sleeping. Laurie sees you approaching and tries to scoot over, but evidently doesn’t want to disturb the girl at her foot. She manages some room for you, though, and you take a seat next to her. With just a wedge of cracked wood on your end, you’re forced to shuffle closely up to her side. 

Wordlessly, you lean into her. Slowly, at first, looking at her expression to find disapproval. With none visible, you let yourself relax somewhat. Your bones burn, your muscles too. But it’s a cold burn. You think about the brilliant, orange sun, and feel your heart sink steadily like the moon at dawn. You want to see the warm, fluttering shadows of leaves in the afternoon and want to cup hot sand in your palms. All these sensations you should have cherished. Sun-kissed soil, blushing cheeks. 

Laurie’s been here for much longer than you. She’s wise, even more so than a number of the fog’s older inhabitants. You’ve only known her in your shared time in the Entity’s Realm, and in however long that spanned, she had changed so much.

She welcomed you with comfort. After your first trial, your first look into the brutal game that would become your future indefinitely, she let you grip onto her shoulders and sob, petting your head and rocking you against her. But she could never promise you a happy ending.

“It won’t be like this forever,” Kate had promised, smiling warmly, although wearily. She was sitting on her knees in front of you as you clutched your chest, the aching spot where the hook split through your flesh. The skin was not disturbed, but the memory of the pain was recent and vivid enough to construct an accurate feeling of it. She rubbed your shoulder. “We’ll get out of this, we just need to hang in there.”

Laurie stared at you two, then away at the muddy sky. She never indulged in hope, taking fate as it came, just as relentless to her here as it was before. 

She couldn’t answer when you asked her, sobbing, “how much longer of this? When does it get better?”

Her hand slides into yours, cradling your palm, her fingers cross-stitching between yours, sinking into place. It feels like, over time and with wear, your hands have shaped to fit comfortably in each other. For once since your arrival, you find a small sanctum where you belong. 

Laurie loosens up slightly. Now it is she who leans into you, the crown of her head tucked beneath your chin, head resting delicately on your chest in the hollow of your collarbone. Her short, blonde lashes flutter momentarily against the bare skin above the collar of your shirt. Despite the intimacy of the act, it comes startlingly naturally when you draw your hands through her hair, feathery, curled streaks of gold-blonde. You comb carefully with your fingers and realize her hair smells faintly of a gentle, floral perfume. It’s fitting for Laurie, you wouldn’t have associated a sweet or frilly smell to her. 

Her thumb strokes your wrist. Not a word has been spoken between you two in this encounter, but you appreciate that in Laurie. There isn’t the unspoken pressure to find something to say—comfortable silence is just as meaningful and cherished.  

You let your guard down. You shouldn’t, you know; it could be any moment that the Entity becomes restless once more and throws you into another game to entertain a mind ravenous in its pursuit to dissect terror. It doesn’t tire like you do, but you hope it wouldn’t find so much entertainment in pestering you in your drained state. It leaves you alone for the time being, at least. 

You know for your comfort your teammates are to bear the wrath of the Entity, but you try to ward away the images of blood and metal from your mind. In turn, you will pay your own due, of course—knowing this, you allow yourself this momentary relief. 

You close your eyes. The fire is bright even behind your eyelids, like a lamp behind a canvas tarp. You both lay into each other. Bitter wind sweeps low across the dead plains and the fire snarls back, crackles, then settles. Laurie lifts her head slightly to kiss your jawline. Her lips linger, soft, but stinging your skin with flush. She must’ve thought you had fallen asleep. You squeeze her hand and try to hide a smile. 

For now, just this moment, you belong, and you let yourself belong. 

“I’m glad we met,” you say. It comes out a little too loud, or perhaps it's the unabashedness of the statement that carries a weight heavier then you had anticipated, if at all. It was said without forethought, but not without feeling; you meant it wholly, from the warmness in your chest and an odd haze of longing. Maybe it’s that same haze that has you lingering on the regularly unremarkable sight of her face. You never paused, or had time, to fully register her features, but now your cheeks flare red as you study her intently. You study how the gentle light casts across her face, highlighting her cheeks, the shadows it draws across her jaw and nose. 

“Even under these circumstances,” you continue. You want to think fondly of what it would’ve been like to meet her anywhere else. Maybe you’re assigned partners for a class project and whittle away the afternoon talking about unrelated happenings in the corner couch of the campus library. Maybe, you think, she is the librarian there (she looks the part, in her wool cardigan, dress shoes, equipped with her wise expression), and you’re a frequent visitor, jotting down your number on a slip of paper, tucking it away in the pages of the novel you’re returning and praying she’s the one to find it. 

It’s easy to be swept away in the fantasies of a better, more forgiving timeline. She looks at you kindly. 

Laurie leans further into you, her lips pulling into a small smile. 

You long for naps together in the afternoon, hands moving to find the others even in the state of near sleep. You long for tea and discussion, dissecting and deconstructing books over lemon scones and pecan crumpets. You want to feel the warm grass beneath both of your feet as you hike up a slight hill in a park, looking for the best place to spread your picnic blanket and settle for a lunch of tea sandwiches. 

“Maybe things will be better,” Laurie thinks aloud. It’s the first thing she’s said that could be interpreted with that same longing, a rare expression of hope. 

It’s vague, understandably; you don’t know where you’d go from here. You’re at the bottom of a pit with endlessly towering walls, a pit without an entrance, without even the comfort of the passing sun.

It’s sad. You can barely recall what you did from day to day, even the routine that had been ironed into your brain and, essentially, became second nature—all the mundane seconds you didn’t think to cherish.

Laurie must sense your sorrow. She shifts closer to you. Cheryl stirs, mouth closing. Quentin has joined her in sleep, his knees tucked up underneath his chin, resting his head in the cradle of his arms.

You think you’ll sleep too, just for a while. Laurie has already drifted off. You kiss her forehead lightly, stealing another brief glance at her face (her expression is still elegant; it’s almost frustrating how she can look so carefully composed in every situation, seemingly without effort) then you let your own eyes close.

You’ll find new moments to cherish, somehow. 

[wave0fg00dvibes]

Sparks - Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: Could you do a spencer Reid x SSA fem!reader where you guys are on a case and he sees the cops flirting with you and gets jealous and reveals his feelings?

A/N: WOW I’m really sorry this was out so much later than I predicted. Life is hard sometimes, y’all! My stressors are gone now so hopefully I’ll be cranking out a whole lot more of these. 

Also, I never understood how writers could just start a story they thought would be short and end up with 6K words. Now I know! Whoops.

Please leave feedback if you have any! Lots and lots and LOTS of love, as always. 

------------------------------------

Your favorite part of any given case was closing it.

There was no rush or relief quite like the feeling of taking someone dangerous off the streets. No sensation could match handcuffing an unsub and watching officers escort them to police cars, never to wreak havoc again. Those days were undoubtedly the best part of being a profiler at the BAU. Those beautiful days took away the pain and anguish you so often faced as an agent, even if only momentarily.

Today was one of those days.

The resolution of this case provided the small town a chance to take a deep breath of relief. The killer was locked away, there were minimal casualties, and several hostages had been rescued and reunited with their families. All in all, it was a success.

Normally the team would fly back to Virginia right away, but a large, dangerous, looming electrical storm prevented a safe flight. Hotch made the executive decision to stay another night at the motel, and no one complained. After all, this case had been exhausting and draining for all of you.

It wasn’t until Morgan suggested a trip to the bar next door that the night got interesting.

Classic.

So, there you and Emily were, taking a trek across the street in the pouring rain, clutching your shared umbrella as if your lives depended on it.

“You know; I think I might be getting too old for this.” Emily nearly yelled over the roar of the weather. You laughed.

“Never! Who would be my off-duty partner in crime if not you?”

She shook her head and smiled at you. Strands of lightning lit up the sky and reflected in the many puddles at your feet. As beautiful as it was, you were not particularly comfortable holding a large piece of metal in a barren landscape during an electrical storm. As soon as the next inevitable clap of thunder shook the earth, both of you silently agreed to walk even faster to get to the bar and out of the rain.

“All I’m saying is you’d better start looking for my replacement.” Emily fired back, clutching the umbrella even harder as the wind blew the raindrops straight into your faces.

“As if I could ever replace the best wing woman I’ve ever had.” You shouted back to her. At that, Emily laughed out loud.

“Wing woman? Yeah, right.”

You didn’t have time to question her cheeky comment before the two of you finally reached the door to the bar. Emily immediately sighed in relief and you chuckled, stepping inside to relish in the warmth and shelter from the aggressive storm. Both of you stood in the doorway and took off your rain jackets, thankful to be dry and safe again.

“So, you’re telling me that if I found you someone at this bar…” Emily started to tease you, elbowing your ribs in jest. However, her eyes held an underlying mystery that frightened you. It was as if she was looking directly into your heart, reading your every move, discovering your deepest secrets.

Emily was one of your closest friends, but there was one secret in your heart that you could barely admit to yourself, much less another person. That was not something you wanted to dive into at the moment. It had been such a good day. There was no need to tarnish it with rambling thoughts and uncomfortable feelings.

Did that secret involve romantic feelings for a team member? Maybe.

She couldn’t know. There was no possible way she could know.

“I mean… I don’t know.” You bashfully tripped over your words, knowing she was kidding, but not doubting her willingness to embarrass you.

“Really? A gorgeous, smart, single woman like you, not wanting to find any company?” You blushed at the compliments, but shook your head in denial.

“Nice try, but I am perfectly happy being all alone.” You playfully nudged her shoulder. She let out a big laugh, hooking your arm in hers and starting to head toward the rest of the team at the back of the bar.

“Oh, come on. Don’t feed me that. We all know about you and Reid.” She subtly whispered in your ear.

And there it was.

She knew. Of course she knew. You felt your face begin to drain its color.

“We…” you attempted to launch into your heavily used “just friends” speech, but Emily put a finger up to your lips.

“Don’t even try that excuse with me. Just, don’t. Your self-appointed wing woman knows better.” She smirked and gave you a wink before releasing your arm and taking a seat between Morgan and JJ.

Rolling your eyes at her, you sat down in the only remaining seat, conveniently next to none other than Dr. Spencer Reid. You glared at Emily and she wiggled her eyebrows at you, fully aware of what she had done.

Oh boy. This was going to be a long night.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be around him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Plopping down next to Spencer was the most comforting thing you had done all day. Though he was deep in conversation with Morgan, he grabbed one of the drinks in front of him and handed it to you without looking. You smiled, taking the glass as you watched his face contort while arguing with his friend. This was undoubtedly a conversation you did not want to interrupt.

You took a sip from the glass, and your heart skipped a beat. He had ordered you your favorite drink without even asking if you were in the mood.

Then again, he’s a professional profiler and one of your closest friends. Of course he knew you needed it.

That’s the whole problem, though. Why fix something that isn’t broken? Why go out on a limb for something that could destroy an already perfect relationship, both personally and professionally? The costs outweighed the benefits in every single sense. It just wasn’t worth it.

But all the rationality in the world couldn’t stop your heart from longing for the fairy tale.

“Hey!” Spencer’s soft, warm voice cut through all of the noise and broke you right out of your thoughts. He had turned to face you, cheeks slightly tinted red, probably from the heat of the bar and the alcohol. His ever-shining smile lit up his face. You couldn’t help but return it.

As always, you were amazed at how one shared moment with him could make every insecurity and anxious thought feel so small.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, the furrow in his brow reflecting his genuine concern.

“Oh, yeah! Just a couple of bumps and bruises. Nothing too serious.” You assured him.

Earlier that day you had been shot by the unsub. Thankfully, all of the bullets hit your vest and not your unprotected body. It wasn’t the first time you had been in a shooting match with a perpetrator, but for some reason this one had really rattled you.

He nodded, taking another sip of his drink before proceeding.

“I looked at your vest. If that last bullet had been just 2 centimeters to the left, it could’ve dissected your subclavian artery, and that could’ve been deadly. Arterial rupture can cause life-threatening hemorrhages, pseudoaneurysm formation, and compression of brachial plexus.” His eyes lit up with excitement as he continued to talk about your circulatory luck of the day, blissfully unaware of how intensely it had scared you.

That was one of your very favorite things about him. He took any moment, any situation, any scare, and turned it into a statistic. He put all your irrational fears into rational numbers and ideologies. No matter what happened to you, or anyone on your team, he was right there to make sure you all knew you weren’t alone, even if that meant spouting off facts about arterial dissection in a bar at midnight.

This man was something else.

“Hey, pretty boy!” This time the voice breaking you out of your thoughts was Morgan’s. Spencer’s many statistics halted abruptly as he turned to face the summoning voice.

“What ever happened to that lovely lady you were going to ask out for coffee last week?”

His body immediately tensed next to you. Your stupid, irrational, unforgiving heart dropped into your stomach.

“Um, I mean… I didn’t end up asking her.” His answer was surprisingly short. You had never seen Spencer so flustered and lost for words. You looked up at Emily and saw the delicate look of annoyance in her eyes.

“It’s really hard to date in this line of work…” Emily attempted to defend his decision, JJ nodding and offering noises of agreeance while taking sips of her drink, but Morgan cut them off to press him further.

“Oh come on Reid, you haven’t shut up about her for months!”

“Yes, thank you Emily.” Spencer replied, letting some of the tension go. “I’m not sure I want to take any of my focus away from this job right now.”

“Oh whatever…” Morgan started, but before he could go any further you saw Emily subtly kick him under the table.

She looked up at you, eyes faintly conveying her apologies and intent to knock some sense into the oblivious man. He gave her a confused look, but immediately dropped the subject after meeting her fiery gaze.

“Anyway… are you seeing anyone?” This time Morgan’s question was directed at you.

Nope. Not happening. Where was the alcohol?

“On that note, I’m going to go get a drink. Anyone want anything?” You asked, grabbing your glass and standing up quickly.

Before they could answer, you were on your way to the bar. The first drink was strong, but not strong enough to numb the stupid, unreasonable pain and excruciating awkwardness of what had just happened.

“I’ll have another of these, please.” You asked the bartender, sitting at one of the chairs to help calm your shaking knees.

Breathe.

There was literally no reason for you to be upset. He was allowed to see people. Both of you were single, for crying out loud! There was nothing you were willing to do to make the fairy tale in your head a reality, so why was this weighing on you so heavily?

Breathe. For the love of everything, breathe.

He deserved every happiness in the world, and more. There was no reason for you to be so self-centered and deny him that. Who’s to say he even thought of you as anything more than a colleague anyway?

“Agent?” You slightly jumped and turned to face the familiar voice, recognizing the man sitting next to you instantly.

“Sergeant Jones. Hi.” You presented the best smile you could muster in the moment at the sight of one of the local deputies.

“Please, call me Michael. It’s so nice to see you outside of the unfortunate situations our jobs bring.” His smile was warm, and the hand he reached out to shake was soft.

“It’s nice to see you too, Michael.” You smiled, angling yourself to face him more directly.

Breathe. Distractions are good, especially when they are this handsome. Breathe.

His short blonde hair was combed perfectly, and his blue flannel shirt subtly brought out his eyes. No wedding ring. You could feel your heart ever so slowly begin to rise at the prospect of feeling valued, wanted, especially by a handsome stranger. 

Did it take your mind off Spencer? No. 

Could anything at this point? Who knows.

“Are you okay?” He asked, the true concern evident in his pretty blue eyes.

No, Michael. You seem wonderful but this is the worst timing.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s just been a long day.” You lied straight through your teeth like a pro. However, you were captivated by his seemingly genuine integrity.

“You can say that again.” He chuckled. “This town hasn’t seen action like this in the last century, at least.”

Spencer could probably pinpoint the exact date of the last time this tiny town had a historic day like this…

NOPE. Breathe.

“How often does your team handle cases like these?” Michael’s deep voice snapped you out of your racing thoughts.

Okay, this was good. You were good at talking about work. It was basically your whole life.

“Well, we mostly handle serial killer cases. Sometimes abductions, things of that nature.”

Michael was a good listener, and the way his body angled toward yours indicated he actually enjoyed listening to you talk about your gruesome job.

“Cases involving children are the hardest for me, but it’s different for everyone.” You added.

“Yeah, I understand. I know our jobs are of different caliber, but I struggle with those too.”

You were enamored with Michael’s honesty and emotional depth in your short conversation. Compassionate, good at listening, and handsome? The other shoe was sure to drop soon…

The bartender set your drink down in front of you, but before you could pay her Michael handed her some cash.

“Oh no…” You started to argue.

“Please, I insist. It’s been a hard day for all of us.” Michael softly smiled at you. You smiled back, immediately taking a big gulp of the strong drink. Bring on the numbness.

“So, do you have any kids?” His surprising question caused you to choke and begin coughing profusely. He immediately looked alarmed, placing a hand on your arm to steady you.

“I’m so sorry, I just meant because those cases affect you so much… I didn’t mean…”

“No! No, it's okay!” You choked out between coughs. Could this night get any more awkward? You took a deep breath and drink of water before continuing, noticing his strong, soft hand was still on your arm.

“No, I don’t have any kids yet. It’s hard to find time to date in this line of work.”

“Cheers to that.” He smiled, lifting his drink to tap yours.

Feeling the alcohol start to kick in, you closed your eyes and smiled. Finally.

“Hey, I never got a chance to thank you for what you did today.” You opened your eyes to meet his, slightly confused as to what he meant, but he continued. “You jumped in front of one of my men and took those bullets.”

Ah, transference. He’s only interested because he thinks you’re a hero.

“Oh, that’s just part of the job.” You brushed it off.

“No. That was true bravery and sacrifice.” Michael turned completely toward you. “I don’t know many people who would’ve done that. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

...or maybe he’s just incredibly kind?

“Of course.” You laid your free hand on top of his. Thankful for the recognition, but far more thankful that no one had been harmed that day.

“Man if you didn’t have to leave, I would absolutely be asking you on a date right now.” Michael’s undying honesty once again caught you by surprise.

“You’re just saying that because I took a successful risk today.”

“No, I’m saying it because in the last five minutes I’ve realized that you’re smart, along with brave and clearly beautiful.”

All you could do was smile and squeeze Michael’s hand, for though the flattery was lovely, both of you knew full well that was all it could be.

Out of nowhere, you felt the air tense. Michael looked past you in confusion, and all at once you knew who was there. You could feel Spencer’s presence before he spoke a single word. Somehow you could tell he had been there for a short while, and could feel the inevitable speech coming.

“Actually that’s called transference, which happens when material from our unconscious mind is propelled into our conscious mind as we try to deal with the usually painful psychological trauma that we are experiencing. The brain unconsciously re-surfaces and re-enacts conflict-ridden experiences as if the past were the present and one setting were another. We transfer thoughts, feelings, and attitudes, especially about people who resemble others. We assign them roles once played by others. We take on old roles ourselves. All unconsciously.”

Both you and Michael were stunned into silence, staring at Spencer as if he were from another planet.

What the hell was he doing?

You sighed, giving up any hope for a single shred of happiness to come from this night.

“Michael, you remember Dr. Reid.”

“Of course, good to see you again.” Michael nodded toward Spencer, which he awkwardly returned.

“Sorry to interrupt. I came over to see if you were alright after that coughing spell and couldn’t help but overhear…”

“It’s fine, Spencer.” You coolly cut him off, begging him with your eyes to go back to the table and let you make a connection, for once.

He saw the look, understood, and promptly ignored it.

“We should probably get back to the motel. The others left when I got up to check on you.”

“I’m a big girl, Spencer. I’ll be okay.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.

“I can walk her back.” Michael looked up at Spencer, attempting to analyze him, to no avail.

“That won’t be necessary.” Spencer looked him dead in the eye, challenging him. A sudden look of realization dawned on Michael’s face. He immediately stood up, grabbing his jacket.

“Wow, I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding. I assumed you were single.”

God fucking dammit, Spencer.

“Oh I am! I am. It’s not like that. Spencer is just a good friend.”

Spencer stood there, unmoving, arms crossed, stoic as he could be. Michael gave up the silent fight, putting on his jacket and turning to leave.

“Listen, it was really nice to see you again, agent. Thank you again, truly, for all you did for my team today. Best wishes.” He shook your hand, far more awkward this time, and nodded to Spencer before bolting toward the door.

The prior sadness couldn’t hold a flame to the anger bubbling inside you at that moment. You whipped around to face the ever stoic Spencer, who didn’t seem to care about the fact that you were pissed as all hell about what he had just done. Before he could say another word, you took your coat from his outstretched arm and stormed toward the door, not caring if he followed or not.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but the beautiful lightning illuminated the sky as you furiously stomped back across the street to the motel. Normally you would attempt to walk softly in your heeled boots so as to not draw attention, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. You wanted Spencer to know just how royally pissed off you were, and you could tell he was right behind you.

Who did he think he was? Swooping in at the last second to sever the one human connection you’d made all night? Breaking the newfound bond you started with someone to distract from what he had caused?

The anger coursing through your veins seemed to dissolve the alcohol all on its own. You were no longer drunk, you were furious.

Breathe. Assault of a federal agent will put your ass in jail. Breathe.

It wasn’t until the two of you were alone in the elevator that you’d finally calmed down enough to form a sentence.

“What the fuck, Spencer?”

He didn’t answer. You took a deep breath, trying to expel the burning desire to scream. It didn’t work.

Of course, the one time you truly needed his explanation, he refused to offer it.

When the elevator reached your floor, he silently followed you to your room. You fished in your pocket for the key, but before you could swipe it Spencer grabbed your wrist, turning you toward him.

“I’m sorry.” He flatly stated.

Sure. Nice try.

“For what?” You challenged, not breaking his eye contact.

“For not getting you out of that situation sooner.”

You laughed right in his face. Pitiful, loud, uncontrollable laughter.

“Are you kidding me? Seriously? Oh my God.” You laughed so hard you thought you were going to throw up, clutching your stomach and leaning forward. His arms attempted to steady you but you eagerly batted them away.

“What is so funny about that?” You could tell he was getting frustrated.

Were you really about to start this?

You were really about to start this.

“Guess what? Men are allowed to flirt with me, Spencer. Believe it or not some people actually find me desirable.” He was surprised, but not as much as you thought he might be.

He didn’t deny that this was what had struck the nerve and prompted him to get you out of the bar.

“Those cops are bad news.” He broke eye contact, further proving your point.

“Michael was kind to me.”

“He was putting up a front.”

“Why is it so difficult for you to believe someone could actually be attracted to me?”

“He doesn’t even know you!”

“And if he did he wouldn’t want me?”

Spencer opened his mouth to fight back, but immediately closed it, eyes darting between the patterns on the carpet. Your heart cracked.

“I didn’t realize you thought so little of me, Spencer.”

“That’s not what I…” He cut himself off with a deep sigh, putting his hands behind his head and looking up to the ceiling.

“Then what the hell is it, because I don’t have time for this.” You spat, trying to use your keycard once more. Spencer grabbed your wrist again, holding tightly even as you tried to squirm away.

“What is your problem?” You nearly yelled in his face. “I don’t understand why it is SUCH a stretch in your mind that a man could want to spend time with me. Why can’t you fucking accept that?”

This time, as you tried to push him off of you, he grabbed your other arm and pinned both behind your back, pulling you close to him so you couldn’t escape.

“Because no matter who it is, I can guarantee they don’t want you as badly as I do.”

Your entire, sober brain shut down. All at once, the world was spinning, and not from alcohol.

You pushed him away, and this time he let you go, standing at a respectful distance, allowing you to soak in his confession. The wheels in your head weren’t turning fast enough for this.

“But… that girl Morgan was talking about…”

“Yeah. That’s you.”

Wait… what?

You let your hands fall to your knees as you leaned forward. It was too late in the night for this, too wrong a moment for such a bold confession.

So… he wanted to ask you out… but didn’t? When did that happen? When have you ever given him an indication you weren’t interested? But had you ever given him an indication you were interested?

The madness in your swirling thoughts was interrupted by Spencer taking a step toward you. Oh no. Oh dear God no.

Your brain screamed at you to move, take a step, run away, anything. But your heart held its own. In your deepest desires, you had been waiting for this moment since the day you met him.

Now it was your turn to observe the patterns on the carpet. Each and every flower seemed far more interesting now that you were confused out of your mind and your heart was beating at twice its normal rate.

All of the sudden, the toes of his converse lined up with your own, and you felt his hand lift your chin to look him in the eyes. In the low light of the hallway, they almost looked golden.

He moved painfully slowly, as if you would bolt at any moment. Which, to be fair, if your rational brain had anything to say about this moment, you’d be halfway down the street by now.

But, it didn’t. His hands slowly made their way to your waist, delicately touching to make sure you were okay before settling firmly. Your own hands worked their way up his arms and around his neck, feeling every tense, trembling move he made the whole way.

It was as if the entire world was paused, as if everything was in slow motion except for you and him. For the first time since you joined the bureau, you allowed your guard to drop for a moment.

And in that brief moment, his lips met yours.

Alarm bells sounded in your mind as soon as it happened, and you pulled your head away, ending the kiss almost as quickly as it began. You frantically looked into his eyes, still clutching onto him, allowing yourself to let it sink in.

Spencer Reid had just kissed you. Okay, sure.

The part that really scared you was how much you enjoyed it.

Breathe, dear God, fucking breathe.

He held your gaze with a surprising intensity, letting his eyes tell you all the truths he was afraid to say out loud.

You were afraid too. Terrified.

Yet, somehow, standing in that musty motel hallway holding onto your best friend for dear life after just locking lips for the first time felt like the most natural, perfect thing in the world.

Were you really about to continue this?

You bet your ass you were about to continue this.

You grabbed his face and pulled his head back down to yours to kiss him again. Your lips met just as softly, but this time settled into an intimate rhythm. One of your hands made its way into his hair, lightly pulling, causing him to let out a deep moan.

Oh, no. No, no, no. You really liked that.

His hands splayed out over your back, attempting to bring you even closer as your bodies moved together.

So this was what you had been running from all this time, the scariest possible scenario you’d tried so hard to bury.

That fear seemed minuscule compared to the overwhelming feeling of goodness that came from being this close to him, feeling his soft hair in your hands and his beating heart against your chest.

The edge of the abyss grew closer with every soft movement and crash of your lips. The point of no return loomed, begging you to hold him closer, bring him into your room, and cross all of the lines your paranoid mind had set long ago. After all, rules were made to be broken and lines were meant to be crossed, right? By the way he hungrily pressed your body against the door to your room, you knew he was thinking the exact same thing.

But, in true agent fashion, your rational brain caught up to you before you could make the dream a reality.

You pulled away harshly, and he immediately removed his hands and stepped back. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might burst right out of your chest.

He looked so beautiful like this, hair all disheveled, lips big, full, and thoroughly kissed. His eyes held the horror you had grown to know so well, the fear of ruining one of the very best things in your lives. You were positive your own eyes reflected the very same idea.

“Spencer…”

“I know.” He cut you off, closing his eyes.

“We can’t ruin this. We can’t go down that road.”

“I know.”

The charged silence that followed was most unwelcome. 

“Why would you say that. Why would you act on that?” Your accusation against his confession was less of an attack and more of a whimper, trying so hard to bury the longing feelings again.

He shrugged, analyzing the carpet once more. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Spencer.” You let his name roll off your tongue softly, gently, longing to somehow take it all back, to push what you had done into some secret place, never to be seen or spoken of again.

He looked up at you, the same emotions swirling through his eyes. He understood.

“I didn’t want to live any longer not knowing, I guess.” He softly admitted.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. There was no way to take it back, no way to fix this, no rational comfort you could offer.

There was nothing more either of you could say.

So, with that, he turned on his heel and walked back to his own room, never looking back.

You stood there in the hallway for a long while, completely stunned. It wasn’t until the subtle bell of the elevator broke your trance that you finally swiped your keycard and retreated to the solace of your room.

Somehow, in the midst of the war going on in your head, you managed to pack all of your things. You wouldn’t remember going through with your night routine or climbing into the soft motel bed, but somehow your unconscious mind led you there.

The tears of frustration didn’t start until about 20 minutes into blankly staring at the ceiling. They rolled down your cheeks and pooled in your hair, but you barely noticed. Every so often, you lifted your hand to your lips, unbelievingly, wishing for some reminder of what it felt like to be connected with him. 

How had your pride been so dominating that it thrust you into the very situation you worked tirelessly to avoid? What prompted him to act so impulsively? Why did you just stand there and let him leave?

Most importantly, how in the world were you going to resolve this?

To say it was going to be a sleepless night would be the understatement of the century.

-------------

As you got on the plane the next morning, Emily was the first one to meet your exhausted gaze. She got up from her seat and walked over to you, enveloping you in her arms.

“I heard the yelling from my room. I’m sorry.” She whispered. You sighed, hugging her back as hard as you could.

So, they all knew. Of fucking course they all knew. Even Hotch and Rossi shot you a look of understanding sympathy as you moved to take the seat next to Emily. JJ patted your knee knowingly, and you gave her hand a squeeze before laying your head on Emily’s shoulder. Maybe now, surrounded by your girls, you would finally be able to get some sleep.

Thankfully, your hope became a reality. The next time you opened your eyes, everyone around you had drifted off as well. You gingerly lifted your head, making sure not to disturb Emily’s fragile sleep. 

The plane was peacefully silent, and as you scanned the cabin, your heart ached with gratitude for your team, your family. Getting shot was less than ideal, but the love and appreciation it prompted was most welcome. 

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you before you even noticed he was awake.

Turning your head toward the couch he was sprawled out on, your eyes locked with his. He made no move to look away, and neither did you. 

Fixing this was a necessity, and you both knew it. There was no space for awkwardness or personal feelings getting in the way of this line of work. 

As always, even despite the awkwardness and confusion of the past 24 hours, plopping down next to Spencer was still the most comforting feeling. Looking into his equally-tired eyes provided some comfort. At least you knew you weren’t the only one that lost sleep over the incident. 

His eyes were always a home to you, no matter what state your friendship was in. This was uncharted territory for both of you. Simply sitting next to each other, enjoying the presence and absorbing the moment, seemed to kickstart the healing that was sure to follow. 

Before you knew it, your arms were reaching out for him, and his enveloped you. Your head immediately fell to his shoulder, letting out a deep breath you didn’t remember taking. 

“I’m sorry.” You offered, chuckling at the whole situation. He joined in your slight laughter, squeezing you a little bit tighter as you felt the glorious sound reverberating in his chest.

“I’m sorry too.” He whispered. 

You pulled away to look at him, offering a small smile that he quickly returned. It already felt as if 1,000 pounds had been lifted from the air around you.

“It’s just, I would never forgive myself if I ruined this friendship, you know?” You admitted, ashamedly.

“I do. I promise, I do.” He insisted. You knew it was the truth.

The plane jolted from sudden turbulence, and you quickly scanned the cabin to make sure no one had woken up. When you were certain the whole team was still in a deep sleep, you turned back to Spencer, finally voicing the question that had been hovering for hours.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

“Probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me.” He replied, smirking at you.

Fair enough. You relaxed at the reemergence of his straightforward attitude, refreshed to know that his brutal honesty was unceasing. 

The silence that followed held far more meaning than more words could. 

There was no easy fix here, even though both of your feelings were now out in the open. Romantic attachment was a recipe for disaster for anyone at the BAU, much less two of its own agents. You both knew that all too well.

So… what now? Logically, you were at a dead end. 

Then, in true Spencer Reid fashion, he genuinely surprised you.

“Would you like to get coffee with me sometime?” He unceremoniously blurted. You looked up at him in surprise. Suddenly, it felt as if every logical answer to that question had left your brain.

“I…” 

“Don’t think too hard, just reply.” He quickly added, desperate for an answer, longing for a means to an end of whatever this night had started.

“Spencer Reid… are you asking me on a date?” 

“Yes, I am.” His golden brown eyes met yours. No hesitation, no jokes.

It’s amazing how the moments you spend so long running from can sneak up on you in a single instant. You knew that every fear you had about taking this path with him was rational. Attachment was a death sentence for one or both of you, in its own way. 

Was your heart really worth that risk? Running away from your feelings for so long was exhausting. How much longer would you really want to push it all away?

Well… you were both inevitably going to die anyway. Might as well do it with some love in your heart. 

“I’m not asking for forever, I swear. Just for a couple hours of your time. I just think…” He started, but you held up a hand, hoping he would ease up for long enough to let you answer.

Were you really about to take this leap?

“I would love to.”

Damn right you were.

His surprised smile was blinding, and you couldn’t help but match it. 

This time, you barely noticed the turbulence when the cabin fell silent. Both of you sunk back into your seats, relief flooding the air. The million thoughts constantly circling in your head all stopped for a single moment, allowing you to finally, blissfully, breathe.

“You know, for two profilers, we really should have caught this sooner.” Your tired eyes began to fall closed again, finally feeling the full weight of the night lift from your shoulders.

“Yes, but as two emotional repressors, I think we did a pretty great job.” Spencer’s sweet, beautiful voice brought you back, and you couldn’t help but let out a joyful laugh at his sassy retort.

Touché, Reid.

You silently scooted closer to him on the couch, laying your head on his shoulder and letting sleep overtake you once more. 

“I’m not asking for forever.”

His words, meant for comfort and persuasion in the moment, replayed in your mind as his arms encircled you.

“I’m not asking for forever.”

No, love. Not just yet.