#the idea of being able to put my weight on something other than my knees sounds so nice

[tboyautism]

the idea of forearm crutches is. so nice. i feel relief just thinking about them.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

spicy ask 🌶️

Not sure if you’ve answered this but, what do you think are Everlark’s specifically favorite sex positions are? What what does Peeta consider his favorite, what does Katniss? And what do they mutually both just love? 💚🧡

Dear Spicy Anon,

I gave this question way too much thought. And also held onto it for way too ling because I wanted to gather my thoughts on all five of the asks you sent me. But here you go. My thoughts on the matter.

I do think that eventually, Everlark is comfortable enough to try out a lot of different positions. While I don’t think they’d get into hard core kink the way we think of hard core kinks, I do think they eventually grow comfortable enough with each other and with their desire for each other that they’re fairly experimental in the bedroom. And I think that manifests as trying out almost every position conceivable.

Katniss actually starts that trend, once she discovers that there’s more than just missionary and doggy style. Peeta of course has already daydreamed almost everything she comes up with, but he lets her set the pace of experimentation at first. Until he discovers that she actually really gets off on him being demanding and bossy in bed. Then all bets are off and horny Peeta pretty much shocks her with his ideas on the regular… but also she so wants to try that now. And then she makes it a goal of hers to request something that surprises Peeta. Anyways!

Favorite Overall Position: Katniss on top (aka Cowgirl).

Reasons: Having Katniss on top is the easiest, most comfortable position for Peeta with his amputation. It wouldn’t be the first position they try, mainly because I think Katniss would be self-conscious about Peeta being able to see so much of her, and also because this position puts her in control and she wouldn’t have a clue what she’s doing at first. This would bother her, not knowing what she’s doing. But it’s the second position they try after missionary, and that experiment comes rather quick after their first few times having sex. 

Once they do “discover” it, they both freaking love it. Katniss discovers that she gets to see all of Peeta too, if she positions herself at certain angles in relation to his body. Also, the fact that she has complete control means they’re both super focused on her orgasm first, his second, and they’re really freaking good orgasms -- exactly what she likes. Peeta is super into watching her pleasure unfold in her body movements and her expressions, and being able to touch her, help get her there, all while comfortably laying back. Yes, ma’am. He’ll have another helping of what she’s having. Also… eye contact is insane, and when she’s done, Katniss can just flop on top of him, instantly in her favorite cuddle position with the added erotic benefit of him still being inside her.

A Variation They Enjoy (but might not be their Go To): Edge of Heaven. Where he’s seated, either on a chair or more often at the edge of the bed and she’s facing him on top. Hits all the right spots for her and pretty much demands the intimacy of close cuddling. Guaranteed kissing, holding, caressing each other’s face and shoulders and hair during sex? Heck yes! Sign them both up. From here, Katniss can be on her knees straddling him, have her legs wrapped around his hips, dangle them to the side or brace them on the floor for more leverage. All kinds of naughty fun to be had!

Of course, it’s difficult for them to pick one favorite because they’re so insanely thirsty for each other and both of them get off on pleasing the other. So they have several favorites. Here’s a few more I think they really like.

Katniss’s Faves: 

Missionary. She just really likes having Peeta’s weight on top of her, grounding her, feeling him moving inside her so intently. The eye contact! The kissing! The ability to wrap her legs and arms around him and hold him together while he falls apart? Even if she doesn’t always come when they’re here, she loves just existing with him in this state. Bonus tho if they manage to get it just right so they’re in CAT.

Reverse Scoop/Spoon, where they’re on their sides, facing one another. For this one, Katniss actually prefers their thighs to be scissored rather than both of his tucked between hers. It’s more comfortable for her and she can really get him deep inside her that way. Again, the opportunities for eye contact and kissing are rife with this position (noticing a theme here?).

Butterfly, in which Katniss would be on her back, either on the bed or the kitchen table, with her butt right at the edge and Peeta standing, with her legs draped over his chest, his shoulders. While she can’t touch him as much in this one, he can still reach her and she’s willing to occasionally give up the ability to have her hands all over him if it feels this fucking good. And, if he spreads her legs and lowers them, he can bend over on top of her for kisses and other naughty variations.

And finally, one of her unexpected faves. On her stomach with Peeta on top of her. Again, she likes having his weight on her.

Peeta’s Faves:

Katniss on her stomach with him on top. See, there’s a reason I didn’t go into detail on Katniss’s unexpected favorite. 

And honestly, I think he’s especially fond of almost every version of him behind Katniss during sex, be it standing, standing with one of her leaning on the table or the kitchen counter, or the bathroom counter where he can watch her face in the mirror, standing with one of her legs up on the table, her draped over the back of the couch, in the shower, up against a tree, her bent over a warm boulder out in the woods, laid out on a picnic blanket, in bed with her flat on the sheets, on all fours, on her knees while she’s gripping the headboard, in the bathtub, on her knees with her face in the mattress so her body is bent in a triangle. The man has so many salacious variations on this position I don’t even know all the urban dictionary or kama sutra names for them and I don’t have time to look them up. And honestly neither would he. He’d just be like “what happens if I lift her leg like… this?” “Bend her like this?”

Why does he like it so much? Partly because it turns out that she likes it a lot. Now, of course they especially love being able to look each other in the eyes during sex, which is why I think that eventually, once Katniss gets over her self-conscious nonsense in the bedroom, they have sex in front of mirrors quite a bit. There’s a full length one on the back of their bedroom door just so he can position her in a way that they can see each other on the bed when he’s behind her.

Plus, he can get some deep penetration from this angle, as long as his legs are up for it, and also it feels so freaking good that he often winds up fucking his wife like a mad man in these positions… which she freaking loves. A lot.

Also… I have two words for you… hair pulling. Not like super hard, yanking it out by the roots, or anything like that, but man does our sweet baker boy get off HARD when he’s got a fist full of Katniss’s hair or her braid wrapped around his hand and she’s arching and moaning and writhing underneath him. Teenage Peeta would explode knowing what adult Peeta gets to do to Katniss Everdeen.

Two more words for you… reach around. Whether you take that as Peeta reaching around to touch her breasts, her clitoris, or both… or you take it as Peeta wrapping his arms around her to hold her even if she can’t hold him, then you’re correct. He loves being able to do those things.

Spooning. Okay, yeah it’s kind of a variation on the ones listed above, except the tenderness is off the charts with this one. He can’t move as much or as fast because he risks hurting Katniss or slipping out constantly from this angle, but the slow and steady is just *chef’s kiss*. And speaking of kisses, this is another one that with a little contortion allows them to share kisses on the mouth, and he can certainly bathe her neck and shoulders in kisses in this position.

Reverse cowgirl, in all its glorious versions. His favorite variation though is when she places one of her knees between his legs and the other one on the outside of his leg, so she’s basically straddling his one thigh and grinding her clit up against it while he’s inside her. However, reverse cowgirl in general is one they don’t find themselves using all that often because they have a habit of going at it so hard that he keeps slipping out, maybe hitting her at an angle that doesn’t feel so great, or she accidentally bends his dick at an uncomfortable angle… So for them it’s like “we tried it and nailed it a few times, and when we did nail it... oh buddy yes! but the other times we tried were just… no. Not working."

Final Notes: It should also be noted that the positions I listed for one, the other definitely enjoys. They just might not go stupid and glassy eyed when they think about it later. I do think that if they try a position that does nothing for one of them, even if the other really likes it, they don’t really try it again.

I didn’t cover any oral sex positions here because that would’ve just been a whole other dissertation, but basically… yes. To all of it.

And thank you for sitting through my thesis, Spicy Anon.

<3 kdnfb

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Rose, Lemon and Berry from the HC ask game with all three of your boys <3

Thank you for requesting, dear anon! I hope you like what I came up with :)

Rose: What part of falling/being in love do they get the most joy out of?

Ahhh this was a hard one to fill but I really enjoyed it :) I wrote 2 things for each because I’m indecisive! 

Frank

There’s so many things that he enjoys about being in a relationship, this man is not looking for simple notches on his belt. (I know he has had one night stands but CMON y’all. Taking Beth’s kid out for breakfast? If the Amy stuff never happened, he wouldn’t have left.)

I think he enjoys two things most: having someone in his life to protect and take care of, and being able to imagine a future again. 

Frank is obviously an Acts of Service™️ kinda dude, but like he clearly enjoys doing things for others just because! 

If there is a way he can help someone, especially someone he cares about, he will. I think it’s just as much to make him feel good as it is to make you feel good. He wants to do something kind with his hands rather than cause more hurt. 

Also, he just loves being a husband and having a family. (Helping Sarah and the kids, taking Amy in, it’s so clear he wants the family thing again)

I don’t know if this is a consequence of his own tragedy but he’s so willing to play the father figure. I don’t necessarily think he’d want to have more kids of his own, but I think domestic life with a significant other would be so enjoyable for him and allow him to heal. 

Matt

Companionship and trust. 

This is absolutely a symptom of his trauma but he is so overjoyed to have someone who actually enjoys being around him. 

He cannot understand why, but the fact that you keep coming back despite all his flaws makes his heart happy every single day. 

He just enjoys the idea that someone out there is thinking about him, waiting for him. 

Also, the idea that someone trusts him wholeheartedly after finding out what he can do and what he’s done, he can’t fathom it. And once he’s obtained it, he could cry. He’s not used to someone having so much faith in him. 

Sure, you worry about him, but you still want to be with him despite his work after hours. It’s more than he could ask for. 

Mikey

Having someone to care for him and expose him to life outside of his family. 

It sounds really selfish, but we all know he’s anything but a selfish partner. 

It’s been so long since comfort was something within his reach and you just make it seem so simple. Every time you wrap your arms around him, it feels like his knees might give out. 

It’s like you can read his mind, you’re always there to hold him but you can tell when he needs space. If he’s not ready or is unable to talk about something, you never pressure him

It’s a genuine love he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

And the weight of the family business gets heavier by the day, so having someone who isn’t wrapped up in all that constantly is such a breath of fresh air.  

He gets caught up in celebrating the little things with you. Like a good cup of coffee or a pretty sunset. 

Lemon: What is something seemingly inconsequential that can put them in a bad mood for the rest of the day?

Frank

Missing breakfast. 

I think on some level he’s used to it, living in strenuous conditions overseas for so long and everything, but it never fails to piss him off. 

This man is hungry all the time. He’s not picky, but food is a must. 

He also thrives on a strict routine. 

So missing the very first meal of the day is just that much worse than any other meal because it also throws his routine completely out of whack. 

He will be so grumpy, drinking his coffee on an empty stomach with a scowl firmly planted on his face. 

I think he’d be easily appeased though. If you brought him takeout or a snack, he’d get over it pretty quickly. 

Hangry Frank, my beloved. 

Matt

Unseasonably bad weather. Especially snow and big storms. 

He can sense it coming, but that doesn’t make it any less shitty on his senses. 

Snow makes things muffled and I would assume rain is just a lot. If it’s loud to someone with normal hearing, it must be unbearable to him some days.  

As an autistic person, rain, wind, and snow are just the fucking worst to be out in, even for a short little walk to work. I imagine it would be similar for Matt. 

He spends the rest of the day so miserable because of the cold or his damp clothes and it just ruins everything. 

He would definitely give you the sad puppy eyes when he got home and just open his arms for a hug. 

His bad day would be forgotten if you wrapped him in a soft blanket and pet his hair. Hair pets solve most of his problems. 

Mikey

Being forced out of bed urgently. 

This one is a lil generic but hear me out. 

I feel like Mikey’s morning routine has become a little safe haven for him, and it’s a huge indicator of his stress levels as well as a designated time for relaxation so he doesn’t trigger a seizure. 

If he wakes up late or is immediately forced to handle some family BS, it just immediately forces him into an anxious spiral about his own health. 

If it does end up causing a seizure, I think his self-consciousness and justified grumpiness would last the whole week at least. Poor thing. 

I think some comforting actions that he’d appreciate would be assisting with things he didn’t want to do the rest of the day? Maybe refilling his meds or making/ordering food. 

He’s absolutely a quality time and acts of service guy, so showering him with attention and helping him out however you can would definitely get him through his bad mood. 

Berry: What makes them happier than perhaps it should? Do others know about it?

This is peak HC, outta left field shit. But I am so confident about them 😂

Frank:

Seeing a dog get really excited over something silly. Like chasing their own tail, or seeing a shadow. 

Frank just enjoys dogs and their innocence so much. Anytime he sees one of them get genuinely excited for next to no reason, it brightens his day. 

I think very few people get to see Frank’s real smile but his partner definitely would. And he might not verbally express how happy dogs make him, but it wouldn’t be hard to figure out. 

Matt

This man enjoys hearing the birds in the morning. 

This is absolutely me projecting bc I love looking at birds but they have such beautiful and unique sounds, but I think he would love distinguishing between them. 

Any day he gets to walk past a green area with some songbirds is a good day. 

I think he would definitely share this with someone he cared about, but he might have to work up to it. (Y’all know how he is with vulnerability.)

Mikey

Little things that make Michael happy? Romance novels and soap operas

They’re so cheesy and he loves it. His life is so dramatic that sometimes it’s nice to just be dropped into a whirlwind love story that moves at lightning speed. 

Not to mention the drama in soap operas far outweighs his life. At least he’s never fallen down an elevator shaft!

I think he’d be too embarrassed to tell his SO but would love to read/watch with them if they asked.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Nowhere to Run--Ch. 60

Chapter 60

            He wasn’t entirely fond of the idea, but it was a compromise that Jericho was more than willing to make. Hell, he’d known a long time ago that he couldn’t say no to Kat Prince. When she’d asked this of him, he’d had no choice but to agree.

            It surprised him how much being away from Kat and the baby made his heart constrict with worry. They were literally a few dozen feet down the hallway, yet it still felt like they were on the other side of the country. The memory of the aching longing that he’d felt every time he had to put Kat back on a plane to California settled in his chest so strongly that it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

            Jericho stopped outside the door to Kat’s room. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t like this one little bit. “Go on,” he grumbled, jerking his head toward the door. As Jack Perry shuffled past him, he couldn’t help but murmur, “Stubborn ass woman.”

***

            Déjà vu hit Jack hard as he closed the door behind him. The flood of memories almost took his breath, only this time it was Kat in the hospital bed. She had been his best friend for years. Without her, he wouldn’t have been able to weather the pain of losing his father. He’d loved her fiercely and wanted nothing more from his life but to wrestle and marry her. But that last one had fallen apart not too long after they laid his dad to rest.

            God knew that he still loved her in many ways. He’d been protective of her since the day they’d met. He remembered moments between them that were best put away and forgotten. But he would never doubt the fact that he loved Kat Prince.

            “Are you going to be an asshole?” Kat asked out of nowhere, steel in her voice.

            Jack couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “I’ll try my best.”

            There was silence for a moment before an answering grin crossed Kat’s face. “Come here.” She held one hand out to him. With the other, she cradled a bundle of blankets against her chest.

            His knees felt like water as he crossed the room to stand by the bed. Kat took his hand and tugged him closer, tilting the bundle closer to him. Jack looked at the little girl that he’d been the first to hold. She was awake, her wide blue eyes watching him with a knowing look. Her dark hair looked just like Kat’s. She had round little cheeks and chubby little fists that waved toward him every now and then.

            Jack was wholly unprepared for the rush of feeling that crashed over him.

            “Thank you, Jack Jack,” she said softly as she squeezed his hand. “Without you…”

            He sank down on the side of the bed and ran his free hand over his hair nervously. “Is she okay? Are you okay?”

            Kat turned her attention toward the baby and smiled. “She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

            Something like a heavy weight dropped off him. He hadn’t realized how much fear he’d harbored for the safety of both of them. “What about you?”

            “Sore as fuck. Mildly traumatized,” she laughed. “But I’m okay. Because you were there and did everything right.”

            He sat there in silence for a moment, looking between the two of them. The same sense of protectiveness that he’d always felt for Kat poured into him as the baby watched him with those wide blue eyes.

            “Here,” she said, pulling her hand away and holding the baby toward him. “Hold her.”

            Jack’s heart thundered in his chest as he took the baby from her. He held her carefully as he bounced her gently. She looked up at him, waving her fist in the air. Without hesitation, he leaned down and kissed those chubby fingers.

            Kat looked at him with her dark eyes. Eyes that reflected a strange mixture of hope, worry, and confusion. All of it overlaid with a cautious fear. Jack couldn’t blame her. The words he’d said to her, the way he’d acted for the last two years… he was ashamed of the way he’d behaved. He’d been so caught up in his own feelings that he hadn’t stopped to think of how she felt.

            “Kat… I—” Jack stopped and took a deep breath. His guts churned as if he were going to be sick. The baby wrapped her hand around his fingers as if to give him support. “I don’t know why you want me here. After everything…”

            She closed her eyes for a moment. He could see the memories of everything running across her face. That day in her apartment ran through his mind. He’d been drunk, but it didn’t excuse what he’d said. The rage that had rushed through him at the news she was with Chris Jericho had overwhelmed everything else. Even his love for Kat.

            Because that’s what it had been. He loved her. He was still as in love with her now as he had been that day in the hospital when his father passed. When he’d realized that she was happy but not happy with him, it had nearly broken his heart. But he’d promised himself that he would be her friend. That he would do everything that his father had asked of him. To help Kat be happy.

            The thought struck Jack hard in the chest. He felt like he was choking.

            Luke would have been so ashamed of him.

            “I’m sorry, Kat,” he said at last, his voice coming out in a gravely rush. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. I still…”

            Kat gave him a faint smile. “I know. So do I. But—”

            “He’s better for you. You love him more.”

            “Differently,” she whispered. “You’re my best friend, Jack Perry. And you always will be. Chris can’t change that, and I really want my best friend back.”

            Adjusting the baby in his arms, he reached out to take her hand. He squeezed her fingers tightly. “The day Dad died, when I went into his room after you, he asked me to do one thing for him when it came to you. He asked me to help you be happy. The last two years… I’m let him down so much. Because I’ve been so fucking selfish.”

            Kat turned her hand over and threaded her fingers with his. “I want my friend back. I need him back.

            Jack squeezed his eyes shut, tears brushing past his lashes and slipping down his cheeks into his beard. “Can you forgive me, Kat? For everything I said and did. For letting you down.”

            She took a deep breath and set her eyes on him. Her face changed as if she were having an argument within herself. For a moment, he thought he could hear her heart beating.

            “Will you be her godfather, Jack?”

            “What?” He felt absolutely stupid. “What? Jericho…”

            “Don’t argue,” Kat said firmly. “Otherwise, we have a big problem.”

            His brown eyes met hers. “Why?”

            “We’re going to have to change her name.”

***

            It was so hard to hold back the laughter at the look on Jack’s face. It was like he’d been slapped. The expression on his face was the same as he’d had that day in my apartment, but this time it was kinder. Gentler in his surprise.

            My heart felt heavy and light all at once. Hearing Jack apologize for everything he’d done was enough to make me feel like hundreds of pounds had fallen away from my shoulders. I couldn’t necessarily forget the hurt he’d caused, but I could try to move forward until they became a faded, fuzzy memory.

            “What?”

            I rolled my eyes and smiled. “Her name, dumbass. If you don’t say yes, we have to change her name. And that’s going to be really annoying.”

            Jack’s eyes glittered. I realized he was about to cry.

            “We named her Louise.” I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Louise Jacklyn Antonia. For you and Tony. For Luke.”

***

            Jericho walked away from Kat’s hospital room, one hand on his hip and the other pushing his hair back from his face. He was tired. There was a fatigue settled into his bones, and he couldn’t explain why. Old worries came rushing back to the surface. Could he be a good father? Was he too old to be a father? Would he be able to be there for their daughter? For Kat?

            And he hated the fact that he worried that Kat would change. Not physically—it didn’t matter to him. But what if she didn’t want him in the same way anymore? What if she didn’t want to go back into the Playroom? Jericho loved Kat Prince for every single thing about her—her intelligence, her tenacity, her focus, her laughter, her beauty—and the idea that he couldn’t love her this way anymore made him feel sick.

            “Chris!”

            He looked up at the sound of his name. The Inner Circle sat around in a circle in the waiting room. Santana had called for him, waving him over toward the boys. As he walked over, Jericho looked around. Members of the AEW staff and roster had filled up the small lobby. Tony Khan sat in the corner on the phone.

            “How’s mamí doing?” Ortiz asked as Chris sank down into a chair facing them.

            Chris couldn’t help but smile. “Sore, but good. They’re both amazing.”

            “Then why the long face, boss?” Jake asked quietly. It was something that very few people ever knew about the big man. He was smarter than he looked and more observant than most knew.

            “Worrying about fatherhood. About how things are going to change.”

            Santana leaned forward to look at him. “Yeah, things are going to change. You’ve got this new being to look after. Kat’s gonna be a little different for a while. Let her adjust to being a mother.” He cracked a smile. “And you might be old as hell, but you’re going to be a good father, Chris.”

            He laughed despite himself. “That’s not the only thing I’m worried about.”

            He looked down at his hands. At his fingers. He took a breath.

            An idea came to him.

___________________________________

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[cloudninetonine]

I LOVE anon’s idea of Player being a sort of guardian Angel type figure! The absolute audacity of unseen forces tearing away their one true shred of hope in their bleak world, and then having their minds wiped squeaky clean of their existence? Even more brutal than the OG chain.

Here’s that but with only one of the evil boys

—

The crackling light from the fire danced at the edge of Link- Hyrule’s vision. He had turned his back to the flames in favor of staring at you, their little prisoner, you who had decided to sleep as far away as possible from the campfire to stay away from at least (as some slept far off, not trusting their team members) the bulk of their ragtag group.

He narrowed his gaze, dark circles pronouncing themselves as they crinkled under the weight of his sneer.

Hyrule had asked for first watch that night, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get much sleep after a few things- regarding his… wingless condition- got brought up by yourself.

It wasn’t something he wanted any of his peers to be privy to, the more knowledge they had of him the more they could exploit. It was your fucking fault they even knew that he had a fairy form. At the very least, they didn’t know it wasn’t just his magic, and that he had actual fairy blood.

He grumbled as you shivered, curling in on yourself with your thin blanket. With a slight glance Hyrule noted that everyone was asleep, his keen sense of hearing confirming their even breaths, aside from the occasional flutter due to frequent night terrors.

Quietly, he stood, slowly moving across the dry, dead grass. He squatted beside you, hunching over you with a disgruntled countenance.

“I’m sure that dark creature won’t mind you having a blemish or two…” He whispered, pulling out his sword. “Just one little cut, a bit of discomfort to start your tomorrow with, think of it as a warning to leave my past in the past.”

Despite your slumbering state not being able to process his words to their fullest meaning, you shifted in a show of slight fear, lip quivering as sweat began to bead down your face. Your breathing kicked up a notch, and you began to mumble.

“Shh, can’t have you moving now, I might make a mistake, and the wound may be… a bit bigger than wanted.” He tried to gently put a hand on your shoulder to quiet your movements, which worked, but in response your mumbles turned to words.

“Link… Link it’s okay…” You muttered, faced creased in worry.

The sound of his real name sent a slight shudder down his spine. It shouldn’t even phase him, you were dreaming of those other versions of them, of him, it shouldn’t effect him at all.

“Link- Link you don’t need to fly… you’re still perfect to me…” Now that surprised him.

The other… the other him still had his wings, given what you had said today. Why would you be dreaming up such a scenario?

In his hesitation, his wrist was touched. He startled, noticing your hand gingerly grasping it. Despite himself, he felt no need to pull away, no burning rage at the sudden touch, no coursing fear that he had been caught and this was it.

“I’ve got you, I can’t hold you, but know that I’ve got you…” You whispered, wiggling closer to him despite being unconscious.

A numb film drenched his brain as his limbs seized up, goosebumps from the night’s chill melted back into his skin as sense of feeling drove away for comfort, and a wave of memory crashed over him-

“I’ve got you- it’s okay Link, I’m here.” You rapidly whispered to him, a warm brush caressing his cheek.

He pressed his knees further against him, sobbing violently into his legs. “T-they’re GONE! They clipped them gone! I-I didn’t e-even get a choice!”

He had slipped into his fairy form after jumping onto a desk so that he could drop into a small drawer, unable to simply fly up and into it like he normally could.

“I’m not even a fairy anymore, am I? What kind of fairy doesn’t have wings?” He cried, fruitlessly wiping at his red eyes.

“The one I hold dearly, Link.” It was like gentle tendrils of warm, golden mist curled around his legs, arms, hands, wrists, and entire body. A shield made of love and support in his dark world.

He hiccuped, “That’s stupid.”

You hummed, twirling your gentle feelings through his hair, like fingers carding through his wild locks. “Not to me it isn’t, not to me.”

Hyrule blinked furiously, tears marring his face. He pulled his hands away from you, throwing his sword as far as possible from your vulnerable body, it fell silently in the grass nearby.

He looked down at you in a whole new light, eyes sparkling as more and more came back to him. The noise of crickets and owls buzzed out of his hearing as you became the only thing in the world that mattered, the only thing he cared about.

Oh- wow, oh gee- you were even lovelier in person. How did he not realize that? How could he not realize that? How come he didn’t remember you? You were all he cared for, fought for!

No wonder he couldn’t remember where he found the motivation to keep moving, keep alive, keep going even when he craved death over all else. You were what kept him going- living! If not for you he wouldn’t even be here, he would’ve been dead if not for you.

You were right here, in front of him, and he had almost harmed you.

Hyrule scrambled back, not trusting his own hands. He had almost wounded his light, his wonder, his world. All for what? Your horror over his well being? Stupid stupid! He couldn’t, he couldn’t conceive the idea of ever hurting you-!

‘They might,’ a piece of him whispered. ‘They’ve already drawn weapons against them, threatened them, scared them’.

He looked back at the group, sleeping not-so-soundly as nightmares attacked their minds.

He could kill them now, just one little slice to the throat and they’d be too busy choking to scream, just one little slice…

‘They wouldn’t like it thought, they’d feel even more disgusted by you…’ a small part of his brain mumbled, referring to you.

But who cares? You wouldn’t be awake to know it was him. Besides, even if you had guarded the rest as well, you clearly didn’t recall. You hadn’t remembered him, given your surprise over his wings, so what reason would you remember the rest? If you hated them as much as you currently hated him, then it’d be a damn blessing that they had all mysteriously died in the night.

He has never been happy once in his life, and here was his happiness, sleeping on the floor, in danger. It didn’t matter that the rest may soon recall like Hyrule, or like your goody two shoes versions of them, couldn’t he be selfish just this once? Doesn’t he deserve to be selfish by now?

‘You once promised them a world where everything was better, you know…’

“…”

‘You said to be better, things would have to get better, and now, with these… people like you… that’s possible…’

“…”

‘If you’re selfish about this… will your guardian miss out on happiness too…?’

“…What if they hand them over before then…?” He whispered out loud to himself in abject horror, looking back at your rising and falling chest, needing reassurance that you were still breathing and alive.

‘…’

‘…Then we’ll cut, and cut, and cut, until their are no more pieces left…’

—

Inspiration hits when it hits, and it hit fucking hard.

I just want them all to cuddle and kiss and smooch and THESE VILLAINS ARE BAD, WHY DO I LOVE THEM SO MUCH?!?!

(I chose Hyrule because his OG counterpart was the first as well hehe)

ALSO! Do the villains and yanderes go by their new nicknames or by by the same ones? Or is stuff like ‘Conflict’ and ‘Shards’ and ‘Abyss’ out of world stuff? Or maybe later things? I need to know, it makes writing much harder not knowing

OIWEFHPIUERGRI FUCKING LOVING THIS LIKE USUAL BB, IT'S FUCKING AMAZING

[octochick]

Biggest regret

Cw suicidal thoughts and attempt, blood, ooc

It was raining. Maybe it was surprising, or maybe not. It doesn't really matter.

Bagi's shoes squelched in the mud, dripping with water and blood. She walks, dodging the fallen bodies, white stained with a vivid red and the ashen mud.

She knows what she is looking for. It is right there, laying down in the mud. Dumb ass, that tank top is white, he'll never be able to get the stains out. At least use something darker, stupid head.

She squats next to him. Now, more than ever, she can feel every single raindrop falling on her. It rolls down her face, mixing with her tears, and fall warmly on the cold ground.

"Hey, can you walk?" She asks, shaking him lightly. He clenches his fists, but otherwise doesn't react.

Still, she gets him up. She puts one of his arms around her neck, and hugs his body onto hers. She starts dragging him, at first slowly as she carries the weight of two, but soon after faster, when he gets tired of being dragged.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll get a cold if you stay in the rain. I'm just taking you to somewhere with cover."

A second, just enough for him to comprehend her words, and then she was thrown to the mud, back connecting with a sharp rock with a sharp crack, one of her hands perforated by a knife and the wrist of the opposite hand broken, a silent scream trying to get out. He is over her, eyes maniac, giggles escaping from his lips.

"Why?"

"...I don't want you to get a cold." She answers, like it makes all the sense in the world.

He laughs, cruel and cold, and twists the knife in her hand. A whimper escapes her.

"When I needed you, you went to the other side, but now you come to me like nothing happened? What are you planning? Do you think I'm stupid?"

A small silence is settled over them. She looks at his eyes. Desperation.

"Yeah, a little bit." His knee meets with her shin, but she doesn't feel anything.

"Aren't you afraid of dying? Why did you suddenly decide to play with the monster?"

If possible, her eyes gets even more teary, fat tears rolling down her face and falling into her ears, making everything feel blurry and muffled, the pain dulling into the background from the pain her heart released upon her.

"You are my biggest regret." This somehow manages to surprise him, the emotion passing by in a second before being hidden by a scowl, but before he could talk, Bagi continued. "I love you so much," her voices breaks, and her breath comes out in small bursts. It feels like hyperventilation. "the only thing I want is for you to have a happy and healthy life, but you are my biggest regret."

"Since you disappeared, you are my biggest regret. You don't understand how much I love you, all I want is to see you happy and healthy, but you also don't understand how deep my regret is."

"Since the first day without you, I wanted to forget you, I wished you were never born. I wished I were never born."

"But I love you so much, that I kept searching. No matter how much my regret said that I should give up, I still kept going."

"You don't know how many times I wished to have been a single child. You have no idea how many times I wished I was dead. You have no idea how many times I thought of going to the Federation and asking them to forget everything about myself, to be reborn just like you once were."

"But I couldn't, I couldn't, I couldn't!"

"Because I love you. I hate it, but I love you."

It was silent. Bagi felt faint, like she would pass out at any moment. She couldn't see what face her brother was making.

"I'm weak. I suffered so much less than you, and I'm so weak. I'm so weak, that I can only beg to my biggest regret."

"Please, kill me. Kill me permanently, kill my regrets and my love, please, kill me and free me from my suffering. I'm weak and can't take it anymore."

Bagi was long hyperventilating, violent sobs wrecking her as she finishes ranting, but just now she closed her eyes.

A moment of suspense, and she felt knife's edge at her throat. She sobs, and her blood drowns her. She feels it in her lungs as they desperately try to work, she feels the rain, she feels her broken spine, she feels her stabbed hand, she feels her broken wrist, and she doesn't feel her brother hovering over her dying body.

The moment her body gives up is the moment she respawns.

And she doesn't feel nothing.

It didn't work. She's still alive. Her love is still alive. Her regret is still alive.

[aeoki]

Tri-Lights - The Tower: Chapter 5

Location: Ice Rink Characters: Sora, Natsume, Tsumugi & Madara

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< A few hours later. >

Tsumugi: W–Woah…

Look at me – I can skate again!

Sora: Haha~ You’re looking a lot better than when we first arrived!

Natsume: It looks like your knees are still buckliNG, but I guess you’re doing an okay joB.

Madara: Yup. Well done, Tsumugi-san. I see you’ve regained your skills.

Tsumugi: Yes. It’s all thanks to you, Mikejima-kun.

I still can’t skate as well as the others, but I feel a bit more confident now that I can skate on my own.

Natsume: I suppose this would mark the very first step in finally being able to draw out our sporty sidES.

AlrigHT, let’s take a break for noW.

Sora and I bought some snacks while you two were skatiNG.

Sora: HiHi~♪ You’ll get hungry after moving around so much, right? Let’s fill our bellies and skate more afterwards!

Tsumugi: Oh, when did you buy all these…?

Madara: It seems you were so focused on your skating you hadn’t realised they’d left to get them.

They did call out to us when they were about to get off the ice, but you must have been having quite a good experience for you to be so focused.

Sora: Yes, Senpai was super concentrated! That should be very helpful in demonstrating the sporty side to “Switch”~♪

Tsumugi: I suppose so. I hope I can make good use of my experience here for our performanc–

Woah… I ended up losing my balance when I lost focus.

Let’s share our findings as we eat. I’d like to hear your perspectives as well, Natsume-kun, Sora-kun.

I’d be happy if we can find things that can help us discover a new side to us.

Natsume: AlrigHT, now that we’ve all warmed up with a hot driNK…

Let’s share what we gained through this ice skating experienCE. You can start firST, Senpai.

Tsumugi: Umm, I was able to skate again after continuously working hard at it without giving up.

That’s the same feeling idols have when performing, right?

We want to be better and to make our fans happy – The hard work we desperately put in doesn’t feel difficult if we keep those things in mind.

Maybe trying to become a better version of your past self and living up to those expectations is what makes sports so appealing.

Natsume: I suppose that’s an acceptable answER. I’ll give you a passing scoRE.

Was there anything else you feLT? Like any movements you think that could be used for the performanCE?

Tsumugi: Hmm. I don’t think I thought that far. I was able to regain the basic feeling of weight shifts and my sense of balance, but I didn’t think much about them apart from the fact that they could be used in our dance.

Madara: In other words, you were able to gain a skill, but you weren’t able to understand how an athlete would feel. Is that right?

Tsumugi: Yes, I suppose so. I did enjoy the actual ice skating, though…

Sora: That’s true. Senpai’s “colour” feels calm and peaceful.

It’s hard for Sora to explain the “colours” Sora sees, but people who do sports feels more dazzling, like they’re full of life~

Natsume: I don’t know if it’s because you’ve neglected your own health every day and it’s gotten worSE, but you don’t have enough vigoUR, Senpai. Something might feel different if you have more of a fighting spirIT.

Sora: HuHu~! That’s a great idea!

Something might change if you get your fighting spirit on and then perform! Can you show us?

Tsumugi: What!? That’s impossible!

It’s true motivation is important, but I think it would be hard to intentionally change the “colour” Sora-kun sees.

Natsume: HmPH. You’re saying you can’t do what Sora asked of yOU?

Sora took a courageous step forward and decided to challenge himself with something new and yET, you won’t even show an example despite having lots of experienCE? I think that’s downright cruEL.

Sora and I are filled with sadness seeing how unreliable you aRE.

Tsumugi: O–Okay. I’ll do it so stop trying to guilt-trip me…! It can be pretty painful mentally!

Natsume: GreAT. I see you still have the ability to feel paIN, Winter Mophead.

Tsumugi: What’s with that name!? Anyway, of course I feel pain~!

Oh, geez. Which of your remarks should I be commenting on!?

Madara: Hahaha. I’m having a good time just watching “Switch” get along so well ♪

But what Sora-san said about being full of life and a “dazzling” feeling is true. I also felt that it was somewhat lacking.

Maybe we should check and see if Tsumugi-san can show Sora-san that “colour”.

Tsumugi: Check…? I guess so. Alright, please watch me.

♪  ♪  ♪

♪~♪~

…H–How was that? Did my “colour” change, Sora-kun?

Sora: Hmm~ It still looks like a calm “colour”~

Sora can feel Senpai’s kindness and it’s a lovely “colour”, but Sora doesn’t think the person from the company would be happy with that.

No. It’s not just Senpai but Sora and Master too…

Sora doesn’t think we can show something “realistic that refines yourself and makes you shine” just yet~

Natsume: HmM. That means there is still room for improvemeNT.

What should we dO? Should we have another think about it after doing other sporTS…?

Tsumugi: Yes~ There are a lot of different types such as track and field or ball sports. That might be a good idea.

Madara: Right. I think it’s important to enjoy the sports you’re doing.

You begin wanting to challenge yourself with something more difficult because you enjoy doing it. Putting in all the hard work without an ounce of love would just be suffering.

Sora: HeHe~ That’s the same as video games and parkour for Sora~♪

Sora likes going for high scores and aiming higher and further for new parkour routes…

Maybe we’re getting further and further away the more we think about it.

Tsumugi: It’s just like the “bluebird of happiness” story. Buf if that’s the case, it would be very difficult to show a new side of “Switch”.

What would be the perfect environment that would make us want to genuinely improve ourselves…? 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[xoxoauntscripty]

Hiya! I know you don't work in EMS anymore but I was wondering, do you have any tips for someone hoping to get into the field? I've been interested in emergency response pretty much forever (see: since about six) and I'm now in college and eyeing the EMT course with an ultimate goal of paramedic. Thanks for all you did on ScriptMedic over the years, it's a goldmine for both writers and medically interested peeps! I love clicking through the archives and reading everything, it's such a great resource.

Happy new year!

Hey! I'm going to give you the unsexiest advice you will ever get, but it's all things I wish someone had drilled into my head before I started:

The money will suck. The money will ALWAYS suck. It will probably suck more over time, because I've never ever had raises that kept up with inflation. That may not matter to you now but may matter A LOT down the road. And if that's something you can't live with, choose another path NOW.

Take care of your body. Lift weights. Do push ups. Maintain a healthy weight. Your career length depends on your body.

Never, ever, EVER lift with your back - ALWAYS with your knees. I've seen too many careers end from back injuries.

People will be ASSHOLES to you more often than you can possibly believe, and you will have no recourse but to sit there and take it.

No patient can be as abusive as the system.

EMS is, above all else, a customer service job. That means you will need SO MANY soft skills you probably won't have yet. Diplomacy. Getting along with people who won't shut up about topics you hate. Working with jerks or people who don't care about the job the way you do. Putting up with abuse.

EMS training will make you believe the job is supposed to be about intervening in life and death events. This will make up about 1% of your calls. The other 99% isn't a waste of time but it can feel like it if you lie to yourself that your job is about saving lives. (It's not.)

You won't necessarily be broken by the times you try to help and failed. You WILL be broken by the BS admin in the system. By knowing there's a better way and not being able to behave that way.

Your job is not to fix anything, your job is to try. Set your standards of 'I did better than last time.' Because the chances to make real lasting interventions are VERY rare.

Most of the time the most value you can bring to a situation is kindness and compassion. It's also the first thing you want to abandon when you're tired, exhausted, and overwhelmed. This is the hardest work.

Me, before We, before Them, but only in an emergency.

ABC - Ambulate Before Carry.

Mindset, mindset, mindset. Decide who you want to be and what values you want to live by. Because you can survive mistakes, loss, horror, violence, ANYTHING, and live with yourself after, if you can honestly tell yourself you lived by your value system.

Get comfortable with the idea that you will see more death, disease, and horror than any of your non first responder friends. That means it will be hard to talk about what you see. Don't talk about the WHAT, talk about how it makes you feel - "This call made me feel really sad and helpless", not "We went to this house and did CPR and...". Learn how to transmit your experience without transmitting details that keep people trying to understand rather than listening to your experience.

Make a point to seek out and celebrate the good. "Today I was nice to someone who no one has been kind to in a while." "Today I got to help a mom who was really worried about coming home to her kids." "I got to help people sleep easier knowing someone like me was out there for them." Because the negative stories - abuse and hate and neglect and sorrow and loss and pain and fear and just plain exhaustion - those stories are POWERFUL. Counter them on purpose.

If you're hoping helping enough people will make you feel like a Good Worthwhile Person.... It won't. That's one of the hardest lessons I've ever had to learn. Liking yourself doesn't depend solely on doing good things.

Learn something from every call, even if it's something tiny.

Ask old people about their lives when you can. They're fascinating, and usually pretty neglected.

Ask happy married people how to make it work. They love it and you'll love them for it.

Fall in love with your patients, just a little bit.

Your coworkers will fall into 3 categories: naive, burned-out, and burned-in. Aim to be the last, and be VERY careful what you learn from the other 2 groups.

You can learn as much from a partner you can't stand as you can from one you love. Learn who you want to be, AND who you don't.

Learn motivational interviewing. Your job will be SO MUCH EASIER.

Get a shrink BEFORE you start, and ignore anyone who thinks you "shouldn't need help" coping with what you'll see and experience. Seriously. Your mental health matters even more than your physical health.

That's about all I can think of.

I can't in good conscience recommend EMS as a career, but don't let that stop you from following your heart and your dreams.

And if nothing else, you will learn SO MUCH about groups other people ignore - the sick, the elderly, the disabled, the homeless, the lonely. Listen to them. Learn from them. Be with them.

Good luck.

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

[madllamamomma]

To all that it may concern:

Hi. It’s me, ya Mad Llama Momma.

Yes. It’s been a very long time, and I am sorry.

Since the start of this year I have been unfortunately going through, well, a lot. Mentally and physically.

Now that I am where I am today, in January of 2023, I see that I was at an all time low and just didn’t know it. 2022 was a year of me kick staring my healing journey of my mind, body and soul. And let me tell you it has NOT been easy. Between new multiple physicians and even going through two therapist (holistic therapy was kinda a joke for me personally), a liver surgery scare, coming to realized that I had an eating disorder, and stopped drinking because of said liver surgery scare, it has been a fucking exhausting year. (Note: I had a kind of contusion on my liver from some unknown trauma 🤷‍♀️. Yeah, my doctor didn’t even have a clue.)

Turning 30 also was very mind boggling to me, and I literally mourned my 20s for almost half the year and was crying about the fact I wasn’t where I thought I’d be by now.

I wanted to be knee deep in a blossoming career and making the world brighter and better. As last month, I officially quit my job and do not have plan to go back to the medical field at all.

I wanted to be wearing a size 12-14 and somewhat fit. But I’m currently a size 22 and the biggest and most out of shape and unhealthy that I’ve ever been.

I wanted to be a mother by now. But due to my overall health, it just wasn’t in the cards at that point.

I feel like all of our young lives we are told that we are supposed to be in a certain place by a certain age or we are failures, freeloaders, lazy, etc. But I’m coming to terms that this isn’t true and that 20s aren’t the official end of my fun youth nor the end of my life.

This entire year also sparked something in me. Sometimes we need to think hard about where we are at in our lives and evaluate if it was even worth it. Sometimes, things happens and makes us question who we really are and makes us think if we really are truly happy.

I realized I was using the Arcana and my fanfics to heavily disassociate and a way for me to escape our crazy world and in a very unhealthy way. It was great when it was working, but when it wasn’t, all my depression and anxiety came flooding in without any remorse, and I couldn’t even muster myself to write anymore despite having so many ideas.

I am happy to say that I’ve been in regular therapy session, I started ceramics again (where I make a lot of crazy sub par mugs and other functional pottery), my liver is almost all the way healed, I started back to yoga, and I’ve been losing weight safely for my health.

After being restricted all of my young life, I am feeling like I have been able to be my most authentic self than I have ever been and I feel like for the first time in my life, and I am finally thriving. I was afraid of entering my 30s feeling lost and feeling bad that I wasn’t a hot young 20 something year old, but instead I’m entering an era where I am focusing on me. And it feels great. It feels amazing.

I have a lovely husband who is my best friend and soulmate and that loves me and supports me, I have a wonderful set of found family that loves me for me and never ask me to change or to be anyone else other than myself, I feel like I can be creative without being restricted. And it feels great. I’m figuring myself out and I am so happy I am able to do it.

(TL;DR) For all the people out there who feels stuck, who feel like they can’t be themselves, who feel like nothing is ever going to change—please just know, it does get better. People are out there to help you, people who want you to be your best self. Sometimes it takes medication, sometimes it takes lengthy therapy sessions, sometimes it takes putting up boundaries with your family and limited the time you spend with them, and sometimes it takes just you admitting that you need help.

Please don’t give up on your healing journeys even if you family doesn’t support you. Please don’t think you are alone.

Please. Please. Do not give up.

Happy New Years my lovely hungry trash pandas,

❤️

Your Mother Llama.

[splodge04]

📝Share a snippet of an unposted WIP, with or without context.

My Dr Quinn/BSG Crossover is a world of its bloody own hahaha

-------

The back and forth between Laura and Bill would have been entertaining if they’d had an audience, the pair of them battling over the best way to place Laura if they were to get the wagon back into town in one piece. Bill insisted that she be up on the horse with him, allowing him to lead the wagon, with her horses tucked up behind them. The idea of being that close to him had Laura feeling queasy. It made more sense to have her at the back with the other supplies to help keep the wagon weighted properly for ease of movement. 

“I can’t trust you to keep still enough for the balance to remain right,” Bill shouted over his shoulder as he hitched the horses back up to the wagon now that it was balanced and level with the supplies in the right place. “I also don’t want you to rock it and hurt the horses, yourself, or damage one of the remaining three wheels.” 

Laura just watched him in complete silence, her face scrunched up like paper as she remained perched on the floor with her knee getting darker by the minute. What was difficult for her was his sheer stubbornness. It didn’t seem to matter what she said, he had an answer for everything like an encyclopaedia. It was as if his stubbornness won out to any other sense he had, which was potentially why he went from hot to cold so quickly. Perhaps he was heavily driven by emotion? Laura knew something about that.

Sometimes it’s easier to hate someone than give them the benefit of the doubt because then it would mean that you were wrong in your assumptions. It was ridiculous how he was able to rub her up the wrong way without doing a single thing, and even as she sat there watching him, she could feel her heart hammering in her chest and he wasn’t even saying a thing. The conflicting thing about it was that he would occasionally show a side to him that piqued her interest, as if there was a depth to him that she wanted to understand. The man's soul was hurt. How did she even know that? It wasn’t fact but a feeling, and it was something she could relate to. What if people gave up on her so quickly? Without giving her the time to show who she really was? Not that she knew who that was anymore.

“Did you hear me?” Bill exasperated as if he was talking to a child. 

Hearing his tone, Laura followed him with her eyes which were so narrow she could make out the shadows of her eyelashes. “It’ll be easier for me to be there,” she pointed aggressively to the rear of the wagon, watching as he limped around the horses. “You don’t seem particularly steady on your own feet, actually, are you sure it’ll be easier the way you suggest?”

Exhaling sharply in annoyance, Bill limped towards her, grabbing an empty sack that he’d spotted strewn on the wagon floor. “I’ve had to deal with this limp for many years. I can handle myself. Now,” he paused to squat down as he ripped the sack down the seam, “I’m going to wrap this around your knee to help keep it straight, and put these sticks on either side.” 

The idea of him touching her knee made her feel nauseous and she braced her hands on the hot dirt floor behind her in anticipation. The pain throbbed horribly down her whole leg and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to take it if it got any worse. What choice did she have, though, either? It’s not as if she could trust him to take the wagon back and get help. Considering that she thought she’d rather dry up like a prune than be in his debt, she wasn’t doing a very good job of not needing his assistance. “Either way you have to get me up,” she stated. 

“Is there a please with that?” 

Did he just actually say that? She thought to herself as her eyes bulged in their sockets. When she caught his eye she could see that same playful expression on his face she’d seen not too long before again. There was hot and cold and then there was boiling and freezing. Apparently he’d caught her out nice and sharply. Checkmate. Laura couldn’t help the blush that worked its way up from her throat and into her cheeks; she was irritated and humiliated at the same time. 

It took a few moments, but she then swallowed and conceded defeat. “Please.”

[hellmouth-manor]

By My Power || Eli & Raoul || FINAL

Eli is a very careful person; historically, he aptly avoids putting himself in harm's way, despite finding himself in the blast radius of calamity quite often.  In fact, for the duration of their stay in the manor, he's somehow avoided injury altogether up until this point.

His mental reflexes tell him that the white hot searing is anything else.  Denial, however, is no match against the reality of warmth– no, blood– fighting to drip past the claws in his chest.  It digs past every mental defense, aggressively and urgently reminding him that this is pain; that there is no beauty or purpose in it.  It is simple in its demand for action, forcing Eli to move frantically, jaggedly away from Micah; simple in how it drills past every excuse and attempt to repress, digging further than any psychological torment could.  It digs, and digs, until it finds purchase around something long forgotten, left behind in a cold and worn down Michigan apartment.

Something that Hell itself, with all its torture, couldn't drag out of him until now.

“Do– do you… have any idea…”

He moves his arms, slowly, numbly, to wrap his hands around the digits of the wing.  And, before his knees can buckle…

“HOW EXPENSIVE THIS TATTOO WAS?” 

He rips it in two.

“YOU BOORISH MOTHERFUCKER?”

Along with any remaining veneer of restraint.

The sound of Eli’s sudden outburst is the thing that snaps Raoul to attention— Raoul, who struggled to adequately communicate just how much he hated being trapped in the form of a demon, suddenly thrust back into the body he entered the manor with and finding himself thrown off-kilter up til now by the lack of a tail, the absence of weight from two horns tipping his head back, the softness of his fingertips against his palms with no talons to pierce.

But even when he was at his lowest, there were still people who saw past the fanged smile he kept on his face and stretched their hands out to him. A lesson on internet slang here, a bodacious Build-A-Bear there, an offer to talk things over or do something to distract, so many people who scarcely even knew him but wanted to see him well regardless. It’s meant the world to him, more than he could ever express, even as someone who has never shied away from expressing how much he cares.

He dared not intervene with those tending to Micah, entrusting them with the task of saving him. He’ll pay his debt to the man later. But perhaps now he’ll be able to repay another favor to someone who has, for a while now, been far beyond anything he could possibly do to help.

“-- AND YOU WILL RECEIVE IT, RIGHT IN YOUR FUuuuc–”

A hand on Eli’s shoulder causes him to freeze, pulled abruptly from the throes of blinding rage.  He realizes that his arms are glowing again, and the energy accumulating in his hands is taking the form of a familiar weapon.  But more than that, he realizes that Raoul isn’t stopping him.

“Would you care for an assist, my friend? Because I daresay I shall be able to offer you something far more substantial than a mere arm…”

Raoul’s soul has returned to him, but instead of manifesting in his hands or some other appendage, it seems to have melded into his suit, each individual sparkle reflecting brighter and brighter off of each other. It glows with a vengeance, until light breaks through each and every heart on it, beaming outwards like a disco ball— and from within, a flurry of sparkles emerges, dazzling as they rush to gather around Eli and the weapon in his hands.

“Hah– thank you.  I believe I will need it.”

There’s still rage, of course.  There’s still the claws, hanging limply from his chest, and all the ire that such a sensation inspires.  But now it has a direction.  The energy in his hands forms a bow, glittering and radiating as it seems to almost nudge him forward.

He knows now, more than ever, watching the others, that violence can be an expression of love.

[♪♪♪]

While Hisashi may have said it flippantly, Eli took such a notion to heart, as he does with most things Hisashi says.  A beacon of wisdom, he’s decided; a lighthouse, a signal of what to avoid, yet illuminating the darker parts of life that Eli was content to ignore.

One arrow forms, and Eli pulls the bowstring taut.  Then another arrow forms, and another still.  Three arrows, poised and ready to strike.

The first is for Micah.  It surges with a righteous anger, a vigilance that seeks to sever any remaining threads between him and Alou.  Micah is his own, and his sacrifice– their efforts to save him– none of that will be wasted today.

(One foot in front of the other.)

The second is for Mirai.  A sister, someone who always brought him home, who watched over him even when her own circumstances were similarly dire.  The least he could do is save her from one more scrape.

(It almost doesn’t hurt anymore.)

The third is for Minami, pushing him aside to take a punishment that should have been for him.  It’s for Hibiki, trying in vain to scream sense through his skull.  It’s for Kamiya, who died trying to save him.  It’s for Miori, whose sorrow he could never pierce despite his best efforts.  It’s for Poppy, whose death he failed to handle with care.  It’s for Arisa, who selflessly stayed in his lounge to keep him company after the worst day of his life.  It’s for every person who had to guide him through bloody crime scene after bloody crime scene.

This final arrow is redemption for every time he’s burdened those around him with inaction.  Yes, this arrow is for Eli Nassar, who did NOT die, despite all odds, thanks to the efforts of those around him.

And he has no intention of missing the shot. 

He aims, briefly stunned as he notices that he is looking down at Alou.

(He doesn’t realize that his feet have left the ground.)

But the shock dulls against the flame of purpose, as a smile quirks at the corner of his mouth.

“... You did say that you would trust me at the lever.”

As soon as he releases the bowstring, all three arrows fly with supernatural precision toward their targets, blinding Alou's left side.  There’s a persistent shimmer that obfuscates the impact, serving more to irritate than anything.

The bow vanishes from Eli's hands, and he finds himself descending with surprising gentleness.

As Eli returns to the ground, Raoul turns towards everyone else with a smile on his face that radiates everything he’s done his best to embody during his time here. Kindness. Understanding. Empathy. Support. Belief that there’s goodness in every single person here, some part of them that proves they deserve to walk out of a hell that would chain them down with arbitrary sin.

And as he smiles, even more sparkles than before rush out of the hearts on his suit— that fucking eyesore of a suit he picked up from Party City but still loves so much— towards everyone else, showering them in dazzling warmth that shines bright as the stars, as the sun itself, but still somehow never hurts to look at.

It can’t hurt. That’s your light reflecting off of it, after all.

(What, did you really think glitter could shine all on its own?)

It’s invigoration of the soul itself, flooding you with energy, with hope, with the power to fight this towering enemy before you. The faith that you can go home— wherever home is for you, wherever you’ll find it if you don’t already know. It takes the strength you already have and amplifies it, light bouncing all around, multiplying into a near-blinding brightness within, empowering whatever you do next. And for those who have suffered injuries, you feel it gently siphon away the pain— not all of it, but enough for you to find your footing once again.

Raoul looks on, positively beaming. He’s never been a violent person. Even now, he can’t bring himself to raise a hand against Alou. But he knows what must be done, and he knows there’s no one else in the world better to trust with the task— no one better to lend his support to as they carry it out.

“Now, my dear friends, in the words of a wise man…”

He’s never believed in anyone more than he’s believed in you.

“Get his ass.”

[from-1-to-90]

New Beginnings - Day 1 of 90

It’s been a few years, but I am starting this up again in mid-2023 because I want to keep track of my fitness again and I also need some motivation. 

I injured my knee a year and a half ago, and so exercise of any kind (aside from physical therapy) has been fairly limited. However, I want to get back to properly exercising again, for mental health purposes if nothing else. I also need to get back to doing physical therapy again, because even though my knee is doing quite well, that leg is still just not as strong as my other leg due to the muscle atrophy post-surgery. 

The place I’m living in now has a gym, which helps a ton. Back when I did my first 90 day journey, I was living in a different apartment with a gym, and the convenience of being able to pop into that space to work out really helped me stay consistent. However, in the intervening years I moved out of that complex and lost my gym access. But now I have that convenience again and I hope to take full advantage of it. 

So here are some things that are different this time around vs first fitness journey back in late 2019:

Weight - I no longer own a scale. I've moved a couple of times in the past few years and my scale didn't make it. I know I tracked my weight quite a bit back in 2019 but I honestly don't know if it's a helpful metric anymore. I've seen posts from other people that showed before-and-after pics from their fitness journeys where they weighed almost the same before-and-after, but looked totally different. This was just due to muscle replacing fat, and muscle weighs a lot. I don't think I'm currently in a place where I need to focus on fat-loss - I'm mainly just wanting to build muscle, tone up, and get my surgical leg back to the same level of strength as my non-surgical leg. Also, even though I know all of the stuff I mentioned above, I am concerned that I might still have an emotional reaction to the number on the scale, if I do start weighing myself frequently. There's just so much emotional baggage attached to weight that I'd rather not deal with it this time around. So this time, I'm not going to set a weight goal. Instead, I'll be focusing on measurements as a means of tracking progress. (Will talk about that more down below.) At the same time, it would be nice to have a general idea of what a "healthy" weight for me is - as in, what weight my body sits around when I'm maintaining healthy habits. So I might still purchase a scale, but just really limit the number of times I weigh myself (like maybe keep it to once a month or something, and purely for the purposes of knowledge). I don't know, I can still see myself potentially getting upset if I weigh in at a certain month and the weight is higher than the month before - it's just a data point that's really difficult not to attach emotional significance to. So we'll see. I'll think about it.

Food - Last time around, I was pretty focused on weight loss, so I was a lot more careful about what I was eating. I kept track of each of my meals, and I think I did calorie-counting for a bit there. I am absolutely not calorie-counting this time around. First of all, I hate it, and second of all, it's not sustainable for me. It also causes me to attach a certain amount of emotional baggage to food (i.e. feeling like I was being "good" or "bad" if I ate clean or not on a given day). I don't think that's a healthy mindset to have. At the same time, I know that food is an important element of health, both mental and physical, and I have a tendency to treat it as an afterthought. So I will try to put more effort into planning healthy meals for myself as a way of addressing my health holistically. If I had a problem with consuming too few calories I might address this differently, but that's not really an issue I have.

Physical Therapy - I really want my surgical leg to get back to the same level of strength as my non-surgical leg. I can walk around just fine, but I tried doing the Blogilates "Shape of Your Thighs" squat challenge video a few weeks back, and I could tell the difference between my legs. I was only able to get about 30-ish seconds into the video before I felt like my surgical leg was about to give out. So staying consistent with my physical therapy regimen is going to be an important part of my new fitness journey.

Alright, so now that I've discussed what's different this time around, let's set some goals.

Goals

Workout for 30-60 mins 5-6x per week - I might end up having to scale back on this to more like 4-6x per week, but I might as well shoot for what I'm really wanting. And I do remember that the last time I did this in 2019, my mental health really improved from working out that frequently. So let's give this a try.

Physical Therapy - I want to do my physical therapy exercises at least 2-3x per week, with the goal of getting my surgical leg up to the same strength as my non-surgical leg. A example metric would be the ability to do the full "Shape of Your Thighs" workout, feeling like my legs are equally capable the entire time.

Healthy meal-planning - I want to be more mindful about what I'm putting into my body and at what frequency. I have a tendency to wait too long to eat meals because I get absorbed in what I'm doing and I don't want to focus on making myself food, so then I just end up eating whatever snacks are around the house hours later. I know this isn't good for my body or my brain, so I want to do a better job of planning out meals for myself and eating them every 4 hours.

Blog at least once every other day - This is a rather lofty goal, so I might need to scale this back. But blogging about my experience helps me stay motivated, so I think it will be beneficial. Also, it's really helpful to have these details recorded so that later on I can see what worked for me / what didn't. I specifically want to record how I felt and what I did for exercise that day. I can throw in some info about food if I feel like it.

Self-care r&r once per week - I hope I'm not taking on too much by adding this, but I think it's important for me to remember to approach this holistically. Clean eating and exercise are absolutely forms of self-care, but I don't want to neglect the rest and relaxation side of self-care. To this end, I will try to do something like taking a nice, relaxing bath, or going on a walk in a beautiful part of nature once per week to keep myself rested and rejuvenated.

So without further ado, here's my tracking for Day 1.

How I felt

Normal? I guess? Today was the first day I worked out in months, so any changes will be more evident in the upcoming days / weeks. I'm very happy that I felt motivated to work out and start this whole process up again. Weirdly, I think the motivation came because I wore a sports bra yesterday (not to work out, I was just wearing one). And somehow my brain made the mental link between wearing exercise clothing and wanting to work out. (Currently making a mental note of this - wearing exercise clothing motivates me to work out. I should take advantage of that. It seems silly, but hey, whatever works, right?)

Also I should mention that it's been a while since I've taken a tolerance break for my ADHD meds. In an ideal world, I'd take a full week off my meds every few months to help reset my brain's tolerance to the medication. However, in practice, it's actually been about 8-ish months since I took my last full tolerance break, and I can definitely tell. It feels like my meds aren't working as well, and that's because they aren't (because my brain has gotten used to them over the past several months). Given that I don't want to increase my dosage any more than I absolutely have to, I really need to take a tolerance break soon to reset. However, I have a lot of things coming up over the next few weeks so I don't think I'll be able to do it soon. I did take off Saturday (a couple of days ago), and it helped a little, because I was definitely a lot more able to focus on Sunday. Even taking off a day or two here or there is better than nothing - I have to remember that. In any case, maybe that one break day was also helpful in getting me motivated to start doing this again.

But this actually brings me to another key reason why I'm starting this up again - exercise helps a TON with medication tolerance. Back when I did this in 2019, I was on the verge of needing to increase my dosage because my dosage at the time just wasn't cutting it anymore, despite taking tolerance breaks. But after exercising so regularly, I ended up not needing to increase my dosage for another year! Exercise helps to reset your neural receptors so that your brain doesn't grow tolerant to the medication as quickly, and so the medication ends up working better for longer.

I also felt so much better mentally when I was exercising regularly. I remember thinking that I couldn't believe the difference it made in my mental and emotional health. So that's the other big reason why I'm doing this. I need all the help I can get with focus and motivation in my daily life, and I know that exercising will give me a significant boost in that arena.

Workout Session

50 minutes (including short breaks between sets)

Elliptical machine - 10 mins, quick pace, going back and forth between level 3 & 4

Block A PT exercises

Treadmill - 10 mins, 0.48 miles

Measurements (in inches)

Chest: 36.5" Waist: 32" inches" Left bicep (unflexed): 11" Left bicep (flexed): 11.75" Right bicep (unflexed): 11.5" Right bicep (flexed): 12.5" Left thigh (3 inches down): 23" Right thigh (3 inches down): 24"

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Friends with benefits situation and Daryl accidentally got Reader pregnant (oopsie!). One time she overheard his conversation with someone so she confronted him saying: why do you feel the need to specify we're just friends?

And yes, feel free to do angst.

Love love love love love. I didn't do so much angst because I couldn't imagine a situation where he genuinely meant it in a confrontational or mean manner so I hope this is okay :) Plus it's really late and I'm so tired.

Everyone citizen in Hilltop knows the reason why I'm so moody and swollen and that it's due to the man who stops by our settlement every other week just to check in on me. They've watched my belly grow over the last few months, my legs beginning to waddle as I make my way to the farm every day to salvage any of the usable crops, barely being able to bend over without the supervision of someone else there with me.

I think that, at first, every assumed that I had a husband or a partner, especially with how confident I've felt about my pregnancy this whole time. But over time, people watched Daryl and I interact and realized that he was indeed the daddy and their gazes switched at some point from something resembling pleasant shock to naive judgment.

I can see the wandering eyes, especially from Maggie and Jesus, as Daryl and I greet each other awkwardly at the gate every time that he stops by, sharing a weird and uncomfortable side hug. It's weird to answer questions about the baby and our future especially when there was never an intended future between us. We were having fun- a bit too much fun- and now we're stuck with something that'll bond us together forever.

It's not the worst idea of a life for me, but to him? To him it's probably comparable to prison.

We've been friends since his old group found me at the quarry, broken and scared as can be. He was strong and protective, something and someone that I found comfort in and he found the same in me. We didn't actually start sleeping with each other till we settled in Alexandria and realized how much more we could actually find in one another. It was more than sex- it was comfort and passion in an otherwise pretty cold and unforgiving world.

"W-Well who is she to you? She takes up a lot of time and energy with our doctor, barely pulls her weight-" Gregory starts but I hear Daryl grunt under his breath and the hair on my neck sticks up, my eyes fluttering shut to hear their words through the wooden door.

"She ain't n0thing special to me- a friend." My heart drops, my eyes opening as my whole body droops in disappointment, my frown deepening as I continue to listen. "That's all. If you need the man power, I'm willin' to help out. Jus' stop giving her trouble." There's still a sense of protectiveness in his voice, regardless of the friend zone that he just put me in, and in fills me with the same sense of comfort, knowing that he'll always have my back when I need it.

Suddenly, the door creaks open and I trip into it, sending me into the room and down onto my knees in front of the two men. I look up at them, winded, with a bashful smile, trying to think of a way to get me out of this without telling the two of them that I was eavesdropping.

But there's no getting out of it, especially when Gregory just scoffs and Daryl's head tips back with a small smirk on his lips. He knows full well that I would never just let two men decide my fate in where I live and what I do, especially if it's revolving around a pregnancy that I could've done nothing to control.

"I was eavesdropping but only because I hate men talking about me behind my back." I force myself to my feet, holding the underside of my belly as neither men make any move to help me to my feet. I frown at the both of them, watching Gregory just fall back into his seat with a small sigh.

"I'll talk with Maggie and Jesus. Maybe they can shift your skills elsewhere, somewhere other than the garden." Gregory mutters before waving Daryl and I off, silently shooing us out of his office. I watch Daryl hesitantly as we step out of the office and into the privacy of the hall and I don't waste a moment before speaking my mind.

"Why do you feel the need to specify we're just friends?" I ask with a small pout and his back stiffens visually at the comment, his hand reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, my eyes following his every move.

"Gregory ain't gotta know our business. Doesn't matter what he thinks." He shrugs simple, taking a step closer to me as my chin tilts to gaze up at him through my lashes, still, a disappointed frown on my lips.

"Are we just friends?" I ask nervously, swaying on my swollen feet as Daryl laughs a bit under his breath, hair falling in his eyes as he shakes his head.

"You havin' my kid, aren't you?" He asks and I nod, my hands still soothing over my aching stomach, catching the way his eyes flutter down to look at my hands. "Then how 'bout you answer that question." He whispers, voice comfortingly low as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against mine.

"I'd say we're more than friends." I chuckle, thinking back to all the times that we've passed the line of typical friends and how quickly we've slipped back into just being and acting like friends for the sake of those around us.

"Then we're more than friends." He shrugs simply, as if I just clarified our whole relationship in one simple sentence, defining our relationship as 'more than friends' which would be obvious to anyone paying the slightest bit of attention to the two of us. "Don't know where you got the idea that I've got any say or any opinions about this." He laughs, reaching out to pat my stomach gently before pressing a gentle kiss to my temple as he makes his way past me. "You're in charge."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi

@crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee @storytellingwitht @savageneversaw

[treysimp]

Stuck Forever (GN!Reader/Deuce)

GN!Reader/Deuce Spade

Twisted Wonderland One-Shot:

Tags: Slight angst, but mostly comfort and fluff. Implied violence, but not towards the reader. Reader's body is not described, nor are pronouns used.

Working thru some stuff so I wrote Deuce being a cutie. This is entirely self-indulgent, haha.

Want more TWST? Here's my Masterlist!

The first time you saw him, you thought that your breath had been sucked  directly out of your lungs.

His dark hair, bright eyes, how he put his hand to his chin when he was thinking… you might have fallen in love at first sight. 

Then you got to see more of him, and it didn't go away.

The first time he saw you, he wasn’t entirely sure what to think.

Someone had popped out of a coffin, accompanied by a bratty fire-monster, no magic, and yet more guts than he had ever seen in his previously-delinquent life. 

The gleam in your eye when you had an idea, the grimace you made when you skinned your knee on a bad broom landing in gym, the way your eyes crinkle in delight when you saw him. It might not have been love at first sight, but it was love at every consequential sight since then, surely. 

“Deuce?” You asked, jogging him out of his reverie.

“Yes?” He replied, pushing a stray strand of dark hair behind his ear. 

His strands were a little dry, a bit more like straw than he would like. Those couple of years of bleaching his roots every two weeks had done a number on his ends. He was very proud that it was almost grown out at this point, though. Maybe a month or two more and all that hair would have been untouched by the old-Deuce. The blood spatter that he despirately tried to scrub from his yellow hair had finally left his body. The heartbreak he felt at seeing his mother sob when he came home late from another fight. When he came home smelling like the cigarette that had been put out on his jacket sleeve before he had taken out another guy's front teeth in recompense. It would be gone soon, it felt like a weight would lift and he would be able to finally become who he wanted to be.   

“What do you want to do when you graduate?” You asked, resting your head on the knee you had propped up next to you. 

Deuce noticed that you said ‘you graduate’ and not, ‘we graduate’. 

It scared him, he felt awful for wishing that you’d never leave, but it felt like every interaction he had with you contained that little whisper that kept repeating: ‘maybe this is the last time’. Maybe that future he was imagining for himself would be missing you in it and that thought terrified him more than most.

“Is it bad that I want to keep going on like this?” He replied, gaze pulling away from your face and instead forcing himself to watch over the beautiful courtyard that you both had chosen for today's study session. 

Both of you were situated on a charmingly vine-encrusted stone bench, enjoying the first sunny day after a week of rain. Everything smelled fresh and clean, and the bite of the cool air kept him awake when he otherwise might be tempted to fall into a history-reading-induced sleep.

You looked at Deuce’s profile thoughtfully. At the moment, you weren’t sure if you agreed with him or not. Did you want to keep going like this? Wanting to go home was something that hung heavy in your heart, but it seemed like every day it ran away further. 

You tried to summon thoughts of those you cared for in your own world. You weren’t sure if you could imagine their voices anymore. It scared you. 

You could recognize bits and pieces of those you loved in yourself. In the way you said certain syllables, the foods you craved for comfort on difficult days and the stories that you couldn’t properly tell other people because having to explain the backstory alone would take hours and you just didn’t have it in you. 

With a sigh, you leaned your forehead on Deuce’s shoulder. His body stiffened at the contact. 

“You’re not okay, are you?” he asked softly, resting his gloved hand on your shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I’m not sure how.” You said after a long pause. Trying to hide the tears that wanted to spill out of your eyes, you nuzzled further into the smooth fabric of Deuce's blazer. 

Hoping that he hadn’t noticed the tears that had already fallen on his sleeve, you tried to hide your face. Looking absolutely wretched from crying as well as being horribly depressed was the last thing you wanted to do today. It was on the list after 'talk to Grim about his shopping habits' you just didn't want to.

A thumb slowly swiped under your eye. The leather slightly squeaked as it removed the single tear that had escaped. Despite your efforts to disappear in the wool-blend of your friend's sleeve, it seems like you were seen anyway. Of course you were, that's what you liked about him.  

Starting from the action, you jerked your head up to look at Deuce, who had a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. 

You both sat in silence for a moment, seemingly at a loss of what to say. His hand drifted back up beneath your eye to wipe away another tear. 

They stubbornly kept coming, and each time he would wipe the new one away before it could reach your chin. Deuce pulled off his gloves with his teeth and stowed them in his interior jacket pocket. Once the gloves were out of the way, he resumed pushing the tears away with his softly calloused hands. 

It was hard not to look at Deuce's hands, you rarely saw them after all. 

His knuckles had lots of small scrapes and white-moon scars peppering his skin, showing that despite how he looked now, he used to be a different person. 

“This one was from a guy’s front teeth!” He had told you proudly one day, pointing out a particularly deep jagged line on his knuckle. 

Deuce was embarrassed about his past, but he still grinned when retelling particularly satisfying fights and spats he got into when he was younger. It was only after he got wrapped up enough to almost yell out the details of the tale that he would snap his trap shut and flush a pretty crimson at his own antics. You loved seeing him that way. You loved how he would be so passionate and headstrong one moment and meek at embarassed the next. 

It’s hard to change, you knew that more than anyone. You had so much respect for him wanting so badly to change. You didn't know if you would be able to do the same in his shoes.

Your lip quilvered at his kindness in continuing to mop up your tears, him quietly whispeing 'it's okay,' and 'you're okay,' to you on repeat. It felt kind of pathetic, really. So many people at this school were so overflowing with pain that it quite literally flooded out of them in a gush of magic and hatred, but you only had small salty tears for your own catharsis. 

This sucks. 

Meanwhile, Deuce was distracted by how soft your skin was under his touch. The puffy swelling of your lids did nothing to hide how your eyes gilmmered as they looked at him. It felt almost like he was fighting the tears to keep looking at you. He was willing you to keep looking at him, keep thinking about him. Please keep thinking about him. 

He would do anything for you to keep thinking about him. 

“...hey.” Deuce said hoarsely, clearing his throat to start again, “If you’re stuck…” he shook his head, no, no. That’s not right. 

He deeply inhaled through his nose. 

“As long as you want me… as long as you want me with you, I mean... I won’t leave, okay?” He finished firmly. 

Deuce's scarred hand moved to cup your cheek in comfort and you couldn’t help but lean into its warmth and close your eyes. 

“You’ll regret that,” you say with a tired smile, “What if I say that I want you forever?” 

You’re joking. If this goes bad… then you can say that you’re joking.

You basically just confessed to him but maybe it’s better for both of you if you are joking.

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me forever, huh?” You could hear the mirth bubbling out from his chest from the statement. 

What?

Your eyes snap open and stare at Deuce in surprise. 

He had moved closer than he had been just a moment ago. A petal-soft warmth on your cheek swiped away the final tear that his hands had missed. 

Deuce slowly separates from you and gives you a close eyed smile. 

“I won’t let you change your mind on that one. No matter what. You can't get rid of me now.”

Just wanted to do something a little sappy and cute. Don't worry, not abandoning any of my many WIPs, haha.

Thanks for reading, love you!

[drxwsyni]

show me heaven, take me to hell︱okkotsu yuuta x f!reader

“Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore. He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.” a/n: this is my part for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab! i was really excited to write a fic with this prompt, and this collab was super fun so pls go check out the other writers involved!!! words: 3.7k warnings: ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP 18+, noncon, somnophilia, virginity loss, rough-ish sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering, choking for a quick moment, creampie, a little praise, heavy stalking & obsessive behaviour, gen. yandere themes

Yuuta liked to think he had control over his emotions—but peering down at you, he knew that was far from the truth. How those emotions manifested was what he could control, because if it weren’t for the steely expression cemented into his face, he’d be sure you’d know of all the debased things running rampant throughout his mind.

And yet, he doesn’t fear the falter in his masquerade right now.

You’re fast asleep, none the wiser to the looming figure of your boyfriend, locked onto the way your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic manner. How his eyes nearly gloss over as they travel down the curves of your body, half exposed as you’ve only pulled the sheets up to settle around your waist.

Yuuta reminds himself to breathe, exhaling a little too shakily, wondering to himself how he’s made it this far. He was a damn good actor, and he knows that fact currently stood as the only thing that’s gotten him to where he is today.

If he thinks back, it’s hard to even find one moment out of all the time he’s spent with you in which he’d shown you his genuine self. Hell, the very first time you spoke to him wasn’t even honest. He remembers asking you your name after introducing himself, lying through his teeth because he already knew what your name was. Yuuta knew what rank you were (well below his), your cursed technique (too weak to really protect yourself), how long you’d been working alongside Gojo (two weeks―starting the day after Yuuta had gone overseas). But he still asked, enamoured with the way you bashfully looked down at your feet when he praised you for being able to put up with the white haired sorcerer so far.

Another lie―how he claimed he’d love to team up with you and show you around, when it was just to keep you as far from any real danger as possible.

But you didn’t know that, going along with each and every falsehood that left his mouth. Lie after lie, he’d draw on the knowledge of you he’d spent months gathering, gradually molding his character into whichever form earned those soft little gifts of affection. Becoming the person you wanted, the person you needed, slowly until you recognized him as someone special. Yuuta did everything right—only to be completely overwhelmed now that he had you alone.

Because of course suppressing himself wouldn’t work out in the long run. Burying the desire that felt goddamn near insatiable, ignoring the feeling of it festering, growing into something ugly and uncontrollable—the kind of thing he saw in others, and exactly what he was trying to protect you from. But Yuuta wouldn’t let himself believe that what you really needed protecting from was him, even though standing over you now, proof of that reality was finally beginning to surface.

Just for a second, maybe not even that, it crossed his mind—just a taste couldn’t hurt, right?

The bound passion he could never let see the light of day unraveled in the dead of night. You were just so tempting, blissfully unaware of the danger towering over you, a vulnerability that tore away at the seams of his self control.

Yuuta felt the first thread snap, a barely there fracture to spur his irreversible descent into self-destruction.

Moving without really even thinking of any future consequences, long fingers that were calloused from battle and endless training reached to where the sheets atop you rested. White, silken and gleaming under the moonlight, he carefully, calculatedly pulled them down your body. Letting it pool at the foot of the bed, he slowly appraised your sleeping form.

An almost inaudible curse left him, whispered under his breath—he didn’t even notice the way your sleeping shorts were discarded onto the floor before peeling back the sheets, but he couldn’t miss it now. Maybe...you wanted him to find you like this?

No...he knew you weren’t that daring. The two of you might be dating, but all those past insistences of not wanting to move too fast, dancing around intimacy like it was the bane of all evil alone told him that this naivety was genuine.

There was that, and the fact that you were staying in his guest bedroom. Too shy to sleep in the same bed, how cute. He was all too understanding just a few hours ago, leaving you for the night and planning on retiring to his room. Only he was drawn right back to where you lay, realizing it was yet another subconscious lie to tell you he was fine with taking things slow, giving you your space.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in this room—there was absolutely no way you planned on Yuuta finding you like this.

A voice in the back of his head warns him, tugging at his subconscious to leave you be. Yuuta ignores it for the first time, crossing a new boundary, knowing that it won’t be the last.

You’re sprawled on your back with the hem of your oversized shirt riding up just a little.

A little too much, he thinks, eyes travelling lower and lower until they land on the lace trim of your panties. Thin, adorned with a small bow at the top. His fingers itch, wanting to feel the fabric for himself, likely soft in comparison to his rough hands.

Yuuta props one knee up onto the bed, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight. With one more glance, just to make completely sure you’re still fast asleep, he allows his fingers to trace up the inside of your leg. Gliding along your calf, then meeting the soft plush of your thigh. Your muscles don’t even twitch, unmoving as his hand gradually creeps higher, higher, higher.

All he needs is to be closer, something to tide him over until you’re willing to let him in. He wants to know just what it feels like to have you under him, little weaknesses you hold that nobody else knows of.

Just a taste, he reminds himself.

Yuuta peers down at you, relieved and on edge at the same time when the tips of his fingers brush against the cotton fabric of your panties. Ever so lightly, his ring finger dips lower, gently pressing against your clothed slit.

The heat between your thighs makes him shiver, warmth pulling him in impossibly closer. Your legs are spread just enough for Yuuta’s hand to fit perfectly in between them, almost invitingly so. He feels like all of his nerves are standing on end, vibrating as just the simplest touch has such a large effect on him.

It’s a familiar feeling, despite always looking at ease, he frequently had to mask these turbulent emotions inside him so that he didn’t scare you away, just as so many others did. This new sensation, not having to worry about constant control, it was unimaginably refreshing. He didn’t want it to end.

You don’t seem to be stirred in the slightest, which is good, because he’s not quite satisfied. The both of you did have a tiring day to be fair—now making you a heavy sleeper. Yuuta deems it a saving grace, curiosity unquelled in wanting to know how far he could push his luck.

That same singular finger travels along the dainty fabric, gently dragging up your folds until stopping at your clit. Experimentally pressing into it, Yuuta spots the way your brows just barely draw together for a moment. The sound of your breathing meets his ears, turned airy as your lips part when he begins rubbing back and forth, a light friction that makes your sensitive, untouched body react unconsciously as you continue to sleep.

Yuuta thinks for a second of how you touch yourself when you’re alone—if you do as he is now, teasing your clit, making you squirm at the light stimulation. You’re not waking up, but your body is still reactive even in this state. With how your panties hug the curves of your body, how he presses them into your heat, it’s not hard to see the small patch of your arousal already leaking through.

It’s cute, you’re so much more honest when you’re asleep.

An idea strikes him, coming more as an intrusive thought than anything helpful, but it’s dangerously enticing nonetheless—if he could make you cum without waking you up. Earn a glimpse of what he hoped you’d let him see eventually.

You look like you want it, chest rising and falling a little heavier, and when he pointedly nudges your clit with the smallest increase in force, your breath hitches.

It would be cruel to leave you like this—Yuuta isn’t a cruel man.

He’s doing this for you now, not himself. It’s repeated in his head, words reassuring as he slinks onto the bed. His grip is delicate, pushing your thighs apart a tad bit more, just enough to make room to lower himself between them.

Eye level with your heat, the scent of your arousal washes over him. He can’t help but place a few ghosted kisses on your inner thighs, a quick nip at the supple skin that leads to a trail of the same before his lips hover over the seat of your panties.

Through long lashes, he focuses on your face, almost shuddering with you as his tongue comes into contact with the patch of wetness, dampness growing as he licks a slow strip up over the cloth. Yuuta repeats the action—once, twice, three times, then loses count. His movements are slow, soft and steady, taking what he can get but soon becoming frustrated with the barrier in his way.

The hands placed on your thighs twitch, and it only seems logical that if he wants to finish what he started, he needs to make things a little easier for himself. An unnatural strength imbued with cursed energy flows through his palms. He’s eager, doing it without thinking, not realizing the force he puts behind his actions until the seams of your panties tear with almost no resistance.

Yuuta’s eyes widen slightly, because his plan was to merely push the fabric aside. But that problem can wait, especially when he can’t.

The offending fabric is casted aside, and Yuuta knows he wants to take his time. Testing the waters, his thumbs come up to spread apart your soaked folds, taking in the way your hole clenches around nothing as he gently blows cold air against it.

He’s not shocked to find your muscles twitching so easily now, reacting to every little thing he does. Not shocked, but it does make him greedy. It makes him want to abandon caution entirely. Taking his time turns out to be a lot easier said than done—when his tongue places a few kitten licks onto your clit, the near sinful whimper that escapes you has his lips latching on and sucking instead.

You’re always so quick to flee from him, Yuuta can barely get a lasting kiss in before you push him away. To hear that leave your mouth, intentional or not, it’s dangerous. He’s starved for intimacy, starting to lose sight on why he’s worked so hard to become close with you, drowning in the thoughts of why he instead wants to rip that safety he provides from you entirely just to see the things you keep hidden from him and everyone else.

There’s his own personal heat building, hips grinding into the mattress now and then to relieve the ache you don’t even know you’re causing in him so quickly. It doesn’t do much, if anything it only makes his resolve weaken, low groans making their way up his throat and sending soft vibrations onto your sensitive nub.

His tongue darts back out, flattening as your hips buck against his face, trying to gain more friction.

And all it tells him is that you want this—just as much as he does. You’ve never told him, but you don’t need to. Your body speaks for itself.

The wet muscle pushes past your entrance, Yuuta’s nose bumping your clit every time his head jerks when his tongue curls against your walls. From how your body tenses, the feeling unmistakable under his large hands, he can tell you’re getting close.

All the breathy sighs and whines leaving you, the overwhelming taste of you on his tongue and in his mouth, it clouds his judgment more and more as each second passes.

Yuuta forgets about the hard work he’s put in to keep you safe, to make sure you ended up choosing him over everyone else. You’re intoxicating, and he can’t get enough. There’s no such thing as just a taste, not when he’s stopped trying to hold back and instead starts trying to devour you.

You deserve more, he thinks, coating his ring finger with your slick, teasingly swirling it around your entrance before letting it sink into your heated pussy. It reaches far deeper than his tongue, and with a few thrusts, curling his finger inside you, Yuuta finds what he’s searching for as you tense hard around the slender digit. His mouth returns to your clit, sucking and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Yet no matter what he does, it’s still not enough. He wants to watch you finally fall apart, wants you to stop pushing him away.

And he realizes, it’s not a want, but a need. One that can’t be satisfied as easily as he thought when he first removed the sheets from your unsuspecting body. Going so long ensuring that you wanted him and nobody else ended up having adverse effects, all this time spent putting you first had turned him selfish, and he didn’t quite care anymore.

He needs you—all of you, anything less for any longer and he might just go mad.

Yuuta can’t think straight to save his life, he’s hooked on the way your body shakes beneath him, adding another finger pumping in and out of you, groaning against your clit as he desperately ruts against the bed.

You’re responding so well, it only confuses him more as to why you haven’t let him take care of you sooner, as clearly you needed him like this. He can practically hear his name fall from your lips, airy and begging him for more.

His eyes are screwed shut, and yours are open.

“Ahh—Yuuta...wh—ngh”

Those calloused fingers know just how to make you shake in pleasure, not relenting as you suddenly cum around them. He feels your swollen clit throb, over and over against his tongue.

When you start to convulse, near pained whimpers leaving you, he finally stops.

He’s frozen for a moment, your full awareness dawning on him.

A sheen of sweat clings to you, chest heaving, heartbeat going a mile a minute and hammering against your ribcage. You were falling back down from the high that made you see stars, the closer to reality you got, the more you understood what had happened.

The fear would hit you first, and it’d be fast—you’d scream, fight, try to leave him.

Yuuta knew this, he knew you, and so he moved faster.

Before you could make another sound, panic rising in your throat, a firm hand clamps over your mouth.

And god, you look fucking terrified. Both hands flying up to push him away, nails biting into his wrist while tears begin to well in your eyes. Irises swirling with fear, confusion, betrayal.

It should make him feel guilty, it does—but it’s not enough to stop him from wanting to make it worse.

His palm stays cemented over your mouth, muffling your cries. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It’s not, all your squirming does is grind against his aching cock. And he’s so far gone that he might as well go further—he doesn’t even try to stop you. The hand over your mouth pins you down well enough, your body so much weaker compared to his.

“M’sorry, just—fuck…”

You’re not calming down, struggling harder with each second that goes by while Yuuta fights to hold you still.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re okay.” With everything running through his mind, the only thing consistent and true is that he has to be inside you. 

His free hand grips the waistband of his sweats and boxers, hastily pulling them both down at the same time. He hisses when the cold air of the room meets his cock, slapping against his abdomen. He’s already in between your legs, and you’re still trying to get away, hips lifting off the sheets as your legs helplessly kick. Your movements are uncalculated, frantic—it’s an accident when his cock brushes against your heat.

You squeal at the contact, but there’s nothing you can do to stop him from rutting against you, length sliding between your folds and coating him in your slick. A slight shudder runs through you as the tip of his cock catches on your puffy clit, repeatedly nudging it with each thrust.

It’s not enough. Not before, not now, he can’t seem to satisfy whatever want inside him has broken loose, and you’re forced to deal with it all because he couldn’t keep himself in check.

“Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good...promise you—”

Yuuta practically chokes on his words, lining himself up with your entrance, unable to stop his hips from pushing himself inside you all in one go. Blood rushing behind his ears drowns out the sound of your whimpers, lost in the way you keep sucking him back in when he goes to pull out. So goddamn tight—Yuuta’s glad he’s made sure he was the first to get to you, despite the circumstances.

He’s a mess, you’re a mess, it’s sloppy and it’s perfect, because the quick back and forth of his hips goes so deep that he’s grinding against your clit with each thrust. Your whines are in tandem with his movements, pain mixing with the building warmth spreading throughout you.

The body draped over yours is so much larger, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight as Yuuta keeps himself propped up above you with a hand beside your head. The one over your mouth disappears, lightly wrapping around your throat for better purchase instead.

It’s too easy to lose himself now, letting his guard down—and you jump at the chance.

There’s a shove to his chest, and then he’s being kicked down the bed. The door is on the adjacent side of the room and so to make quick time you scramble across the bed sheets. Of course, a hand too cold clamps around your ankle, and it feels like he’s about to crush the bone beneath when Yuuta drags you back.

All your pleas go ignored, and he’s suffocating as your body is pinned against the bed by his own.

A lanky yet toned arm snakes around your waist, lifting your hips to meet his. “Just a bit—” there’s a pause, groaning as he drives his cock right back into your pussy, “—bit longer…”

Yuuta hasn’t completely forgotten why he decided to take things this far, his free hand reaching down to toy with your clit. With the new angle, his cockhead hits that soft, spongy patch that has your walls fluttering around his length.

Your fighting spirit diminishes more and more, not much strength to begin with in how you were woken up, only worsened by the way the coil in your stomach keeps tightening. When you go to shove the arm wrapped around your body, it’s not genuine, not completely at least. You’re overwhelmed just as much as him, and letting it happen doesn’t seem all that bad.

Slick is dripping down your thighs, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room alongside his grunts and your airy moans.

There’s a shake in your body, legs unable to keep themselves up as your voice breaks through the noise. “Yuuta...p-please…”

It doesn’t matter what it is you’re begging for exactly, but he tries to console you anyways. “I’m right here, baby. Just let go for me…”

The pads of his fingers press harder circles around your clit as the cant of his hips picks up.

You’re reaching your end, unmistakable in the way you tighten around his length, your muscles contracting and releasing. Yuuta is right behind you, thrusts growing erratic, barely pulling halfway out before sinking in again.

“Ah—that’s it, cum for me, good girl—”

There’s a moment where you go quiet, body locking up and mouth opening into a silent scream. It’s enough to have Yuuta’s body reacting much the same, a harsh ‘fuck’ leaving his lips before painting your walls white. There’s no thought to pull out, just that he wants to relax with you in his arms.

You’re trembling, aftershocks washing over you in waves, especially when he slowly drags his cock out and past your g-spot before leaving you empty.

Yuuta finally releases you from his hold, watching as you slump pitifully into the mattress. There’s a trail of his cum leaking down your slit, a little pool of it forming on the sheets. You look absolutely ruined, face turned and smushed against the bed—he can see the tears heavily wetting your cheeks, mouth agape as your chest heaves.

And he just...stares. Somewhat out of breath himself, hunched over, unmoving otherwise while realization crashes down on him.

You’d never forgive him, you’ll leave the second you get the chance. What Yuuta’s done to you is irreversible.

...As far as you know.

It’s always been like this, he thinks. Yuuta keeps you endlessly in the dark, meticulous pre-planning to make sure you’re protected always. And so he steps away, tucks himself back into his boxers, pulling up his sweats and grabs his phone. It looks like you’ve pretty much fallen asleep, which makes his job easier.

Plan A through Z, Yuuta has something to fall back on no matter what.

The screen illuminates his face, fingers swiping until Inumaki’s contact shines back at him. The cursed speech user owes him a favour, and there’s no time more perfect in Yuuta’s mind than now to cash it in.

A deep sigh from him sounds throughout the room—you won’t remember this happened, none of it. Yuuta will clean you up before Inumaki arrives, use reverse cursed technique to handle any wounds you may have, and then he’ll have his friend make you forget anything past going to bed.

While he still wants to keep you safe, keep you pure—it’s no longer for the same reasons. 

Darkened eyes land on your weakened form, and Yuuta knows this won’t be enough for him. You’ll push him away, he’ll get impatient...the rest is predictable, to say the least.

His message sends, phone turning black. 

Somehow, he’ll need to find a way to earn more favours.

[wearywinchester]

Tender

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When hiding an injury from Dean doesn’t go to plan, he’s there to give you the comfort you need.

Requested by @latenight-daythoughts: “Hey! I have a request for a Dean one shot please, could you do one where she gets hurt on a hunt and tired to play it off until they get back to the bunker and when dean patches her up it hurts more then she thought, so she starts crying and Dean comforts her and is all cute and sweet? I love your writing btw!!”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, fluff, comfort, kissing

Hurt. You got hurt on that hunt and you weren’t quite sure how you talked yourself out of it with Dean. Maybe you actually did, but a part of you told you that was more than likely impossible. Not with the look he gave you or the glance he spared down at your leg. But he seemingly took your word for it at that very moment.

Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as you took a breath, trying your hardest to make it to the Impala sitting just a few feet away. Every ounce of pressure on your leg made it ache all the more as you walked, walked like you insisted you could do to a persistent Dean the moment he saw the look on your face. But you told him you were fine, staving his worries with a smile and a witty counter that had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was fine, so long as you kept your weight off of it as much as possible until you could clean yourself up, it’d be fine. At least that’s what you’d told yourself.

You were relieved once you’d slipped in the front seat after Dean suggested you sit up there with him, Sam in the back, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you slumped back against the leather seat. The fabric of your jeans over the wound on your thigh had been frayed on the brink of being ripped, but not enough to draw your eye should you be anyone but yourself or Dean Winchester. Stains of crimson hadn’t been visible on the dark denim material, but you were sure it’d be obvious the moment they came off.

As you sat, you felt that ache on your leg begin to lighten some, that pain shooting down it dissipating now that you hadn’t been standing on it.

It shouldn’t be that bad, not really, you’d snagged it along the edge of something sharp when that demon had thrown you with so much as a flick of her hand. You were sore overall, something a hot bath might help with when you make it back to the bunker. But you’d yet to see your leg, to see just what damage lay beneath your jeans.

“You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, pulling your attention from your thoughts.

You looked to your left, Dean’s gaze shifting from the road to look at you for a moment or two before looking ahead.

“‘M fine, De,” you murmur, that aching burn on your thigh threatening to spill over your emotions and give you away in an instant.

He looks at you again in a lingering glance, his lips pursed in disbelief, brows furrowing at the way you looked down at your leg with a frown, or the way you brushed your thumb over that very spot you said was nothing. He saw how your lips twitched downward in a deeper frown for only a mere second, quickly brushing it off with a sigh and a bite to the inside of your cheek before he looked forward once more.

You knew, by the light tension in his jaw and the crease between his brows, you knew he could see there was more to it than that.

After a moment or two you scooted a little closer to him, your hand grabbing his own. He felt the way you brushed your thumb along his knuckles in an absentminded habit, your gaze fixed out the window in an attempt to set your attention on anything other than the burning feeling that simmered on your skin.

It was okay. You were fine.

Your hand hadn’t left Dean’s nearly the entirety of the trip, something he noticed and something he didn’t mind, something that had him smiling softly at the mere thought of it. But something that was just as quick to steal that smile was the very look on your face each and every time he glanced over at you, a slight frown on your lips that you weren’t even aware you had, and that crease between your brows very much there.

You sighed when he parked in the bunker’s garage that night, getting out before he could come and help you do it. The look on his face was evident that he wasn’t happy with that, those dimples appearing by the corners of his mouth as he looked at you over the roof of the car.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, meeting him and Sam at the trunk where you’d grabbed your bags.

“You say that every time, sweetheart,” he counters.

“Maybe this time you’ll take my word for it,” you say, brows raised as you put your bag over your shoulder.

He chuckles then, head shaking as he closes the trunk. You tried your best to be convincing, and so far he hadn’t pried, but that very same feeling was back now that you were up and walking around, pressure back on your leg seemingly worse than before.

You found yourself grateful that Dean had chosen to walk ahead, Sam beside you, making it just a little easier to hide the change in the way you walked. Just enough to get you to your shared room without being terribly obvious. But it hurt, it hurt more and it was becoming increasingly more apparent to you.

You were home, and that’s what made things a bit better for you. You weren’t in some motel anymore, weren’t in the Impala anymore, you were home in the comfort of your familiar place with your room, your bed, and Dean. Despite the nagging pain wearing away at you with every movement of your leg, you tried not to think about it that much, and tried not to think about how it’d feel upon taking your jeans off. How it’d look given that you haven’t even seen it yet.

Dean dimmed the lights in the hall and bid Sam a goodnight like he always did, twisting the knob to your shared room and pushing the door open. Everything was as you’d left it just three days prior, the bed still made and ready to climb in and Dean’s slippers still tucked halfway under the bed, his pajama pants still slung over the back to the small desk chair.

“There’s no place like home,” Dean chuckles, sighing as he drops his duffel bag on the floor at the foot of the bed right next to yours.

You watched as he untied his boots and stepped out of them, unease settling over you as you took your own boots off, fighting the urge to scrunch up your face at the way your jeans pressed into your leg as you bent down.

You couldn’t hide this from him forever, you don’t think that’s possible when you really think about it. But you still weren’t willing to give it up, you could see the look on his face already if he knew. So, you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged off your jacket, eyeing him with a soft sigh.

“I’m gonna go shower before bed,” you say, smiling when he turns to face you.

He simply hums, dipping down to kiss you.

“Don’t be too long,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back with a grin.

“Is it ‘cause you’ll miss me too much, Winchester?” You ask, brow raising in amusement.

You watch as the corner of his mouth quirks upwards, a laugh leaving his lips as he nods to himself, tugging back the blankets on the bed. It very much was the reason and he knew it, no matter how much Sam picks on him for it all in good fun, he just can’t help it.

“That’s exactly why,” he says, tossing a clean flannel of his your way along with a pair of boxers because he knows just how much you love to wear them to bed. Doesn’t even need you to tell him that very fact because he sees you snag a pair from his drawer every night without a care that he’ll see you stealing them either.

You stand there for a moment more as you look at him, your smile soft and fond as you hold the clothes in your hands. After that moment, you find it in yourself to turn on your heel and step into the hall, heading towards the bathroom. Your heart was bursting with the very thought of him sharing his clothes with you, of the very idea that he’d been so thoughtful, but the wound on your leg was making it awfully difficult to think about anything other than that.

You switched the light on and closed the door behind you, setting the clothes down on the counter. You turned the faucet on and stuck your hands under the tap, the water cold as it splashed across your face. It was a little more refreshing than you felt before it, soothing the fatigue that’d been settling over you only temporarily.

Dread simmered in the pit of your stomach at the thought of having to take off your jeans, but it wasn’t doing you any good to keep them on.

You exhaled a sigh, eyes squeezing shut as you hooked your fingers in your belt loops. It was fine until you got about halfway, and you found yourself fighting the urge to let out the cry that’s been sitting in the back of your throat, the feel of the rough material scraping over your thigh making it all the more difficult to stifle it.

It was then that you saw it, the blood smudged over your leg and the scrape that ran across your skin, angry and red as it tapered just above your knee. You ran your hands down your face at the sight of it, having been less than ideal but you knew it couldn’t have been good.

You kicked the dirtied jeans to the side in frustration, sighing as you opened the cabinet below the sink. You snagged the first aid kit and the bottle of peroxide just next to it, grabbing a clean wash rag.

This could have been avoided, maybe, but at that moment you were struggling to figure out just how it could have been. Demons were unpredictable, able to sense a trick with ease, able to tell when someone’s lurking with the intent to leave one less demon in the world. They give ample opportunities to be outsmarted, though, but this didn’t seem to be one of those times. There was no match for a human against the powers they hold save for the weapons that served you no use that day. You were thrown clear across the room without a beat of hesitation, something done with ease.

So maybe, just maybe it wasn’t avoidable this time.

You knew Dean saw it, he had to. It was more than obvious that there’d be repercussions to being thrown a good seven feet into a less than unforgiving cabinet. He knew you better than to believe that you were as fine as you say you were. He knows you like the back of his hand, can see your stubbornness from a mile away because he’s the very same.

You wet the wash rag at the sink, taking a seat on the bench by the showers. You began to blot away the blood, nose scrunching and eyes squinting as the burn of the jagged scrape worsened from it.

It was then that there was a knock on the door, a more than familiar voice on the other side.

“Sweetheart? ‘M coming in, I forgot to—”

Your eyes widen as the door opens, gaze meeting green eyes before his stare shifts downwards to the rag in your hand, splotches of a pale crimson staining it. They bounce to the source, to the irritated and red scrape dragging along the outside of your thigh, nearly classifying as a cut but not quite.

“Y/n.”

“Dean, it’s not—”

“What, ‘it’s not a big deal’?” He says, anger seeping into his tone. Not at you, never. It was when he thought back to that hunt that has him angry.

“Dean,” you sigh.

He’s quick to cross the tiled floor, kneeling in front of you. He nudges your knee with his hand gently, the tips of his fingers brushing along your skin. You saw the crease between his brows deepen, lips parted as his eyes bounced over the entirety of the wound on your leg. You can see the way his jaw tenses, tight and unwavering and if it were possible, steam would be coming out of his ears at that moment.

“Damn it, Y/n,” he says quietly, a frustrated huff leaving his lips. “You didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out,” you reason, brows furrowing as you tilt your head to the side slightly.

His gaze narrows up at you in disapproval, your reasoning something that was near laughable to him, you even knew it was ridiculous too the moment the words fell from your lips.

“You can bet I’ll freak out,” he says, his chuckle humorless as he runs his hand down his face. “This is exactly why I didn’t want us to split up.”

“Well, we did.”

He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at you, breathing out a huff through his nose. He was upset more than anything, with himself you could tell, could see the frown on his lips as he grabbed the wash cloth from your hand and picked up where you left off.

He was gentle as he wiped away the dirt and blood smeared around it, more so than you despite the white-knuckled grip he’s got on the tattered cloth. You tried to keep your attention on anything else, anything other than the way your leg had been so sensitive even the most mild of touches as hurt. You tried to keep your gaze on him, distract yourself with the abundance of freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks.

They were easy to distract yourself with on any given occasion, on times where you didn’t need to be distracted, when you shouldn’t be. But for the life of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to get lost in counting them this time, not with the numbing pain serving as a painful way of keeping you fixated on just that.

“You should have told me,” he says quietly, residual anger still wrapped around his tone with the softness of his words. But he was more concerned than angry.

You puffed out a humorless laugh through your nose, your grip on the bench you sat on tightening some. “I’m not exactly jumping at the idea of running to my boyfriend every time I get hurt on a hunt.”

Your tone is frustrated, embarrassment simmering in the pit of your stomach over the current situation you were in, not to mention the way it happened. You’d never get taken seriously if you ran and cried to Dean each and every time you got hurt. You barely felt like an adequate hunter as it is, you didn’t want to add to it. You would have been fine if he hadn’t seen it.

“Y/n, this isn’t some puny little paper cut, okay? This is way different than just slapping a bandaid on it and kissin’ it better.”

“I said I’m fine, Dean,” you say, jaw tensing as you look away.

You hated the way your voice was beginning to falter, swallowing thickly in hopes to push down the persistent lump in your throat. Now was not the time to cry, not in front of him. That would only make matters worse and you don’t think you could handle that.

“It doesn’t make you weak to ask for help, not even a little bit. You don’t have to play the tough guy act all the time.”

You stay quiet as you continue to look away from him, the pressure building behind your eyes. When you glance down you see he’s got that dreaded bottle in his hand, popping the cap open with his thumb. He’s hesitant as he tips the bottle, the clear peroxide having poured steadily over every inch of the wound on your leg, bubbling and stinging the moment it touches the damaged skin.

You felt your lip begin to quiver, near uncontrollable as it throbbed and burned, the pain worse than you thought as you bit down on your lip. It was almost unbearable, a numbing kind of pain that brought heat to your cheeks and quickened your heart. That pressure behind your eyes increased then until you just couldn’t handle it, lip free from your teeth as you hid your cry in your shoulder.

But it turns out, you’re not that good at hiding, not from Dean Winchester. Not that it was very hard to notice either.

He stopped immediately, gaze flickering to you, cheeks wet with hot tears and lip quivering in a way that tugged at his heart. His hand settled on your cheek, a gentle nudge to get you to look at him.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, the fond nickname something that makes you cry all the more in that moment.

You wrap your arms around him and he settles back a bit as he holds you closer, brows furrowed and jaw tense because seeing you so upset is one thing he can’t handle. Seeing you cry is something that tears him to shreds every time.

His grip on you is tight, his stubble pressing into the side of your neck. He’s cautious of bumping your leg, his throat clearing to try and stave off that pressure constricting around his throat from that very same lump forming as it did you. You could feel the kiss he pressed to your cheek, one to your temple, lingering and sweet. Dean Winchester could be the gruffest man anyone’s ever seen, but he’s got the softest heart, and if there’s one thing he can do without fail it’s comfort.

He finds himself pulling back when you loosen your grip, lip still wobbly as ever as you look at him with glossy eyes. You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, cheeks that burn with embarrassment for crying even though he didn’t mind it in the slightest. He didn’t mind the tears on his shirt, didn’t mind the snot to go with it. That’s the least of his concerns, they all pale in comparison to you.

“It hurts,” you whisper, your gaze shifting to his at the feel of his hand on your cheek, calloused and warm.

“I know it does, baby. Hell, I couldn’t even imagine what that feels like,” he says, smiling softly. “But ‘m almost finished and the ugly part is over, I can promise you that. You just gotta let me take care of you, okay?”

You nod, the patience in his words having set you at ease as you sniff, wiping your tears once more when his hand falls from your face in favor of sorting through bandages. He comes up with a few cotton pads, laying them over the length of the freshly cleaned wound as you sit there, still sniffling from having cried.

He’s more than careful as he takes the roll of gauze and wraps it around your thigh, securing the bandages completely with care to not make it too tight before he tucks in the loose end.

“You’re good as new, sweetheart,” he says, looking up at you.

You flash him a look, biting the inside of your cheek as you laugh softly, not quite humorous. “I’d hardly call it that.”

You’re grumbling, but he takes that hint of a smile as a good thing, standing halfway to press a kiss on your cheek and one to your lips, another to your forehead as his hand brushes over your cheek before he stands fully and swipes the clean clothes from the counter.

You stand with a look of unease, trying your best to keep the pressure on your good leg before that dreadful pain can jolt up your other. You shrug off your shirt in favor of his flannel, the soft material hanging loosely from your shoulders in a heap of warm and fabric softener and a hint of his cologne. It’s a simple thing that amounts to more comfort than you can express, the mere feeling of it putting you at ease.

He helps you with your pajama bottoms, trying not to fuss over you as you did it yourself, instead offering his arm for your balance that you found yourself needing more than you thought.

Your bed was more comfortable than you’d imagined coming home to, leaps and bounds better than that motel mattress. The sheets were soft and they too smelled like Dean, the blankets warm and hefty as they rested over top of you.

Dean brought you close enough to nearly share a pillow, the events transpiring earlier that day on the hunt having sunken deep in the pit of his stomach and simmered there, bringing with it that anger that hadn’t quite left. It made his stomach twist and churn each and every time you got hurt, the blame he put on himself having picked at him every single time without fail. Especially when it brings you to tears, especially when it’s got you so bothered it’s got you crying into his shoulder.

He hates it, he hates that part of hunting.

But regardless, those kind green eyes meet your gaze as he looks at you with a soft smile, his fingertips brushing along your cheek. He’s got that look on his face, one that’s telling of something humorous sitting on the tip of his tongue just waiting to be spoken.

“What, De?” You sigh, feeling the residual tension of your tears beginning to dissolve just a little more.

He chuckles, looking down for a moment as he shakes his head. “If I were you, ‘think I might’ve cried way sooner than you did.”

You roll your eyes then, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Dean, that’s a lie and you know it.”

“Is not,” he insists, lips pursed to stifle his smile.

You look at him, tired and amused as you make no effort to hide your smile. He’s got that smile, that one that makes your cheeks burn and your heart flutter every time he looks at you like that.

“Whatever you say, Winchester,” you sigh, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips.

You find yourself lying atop his chest as he turns the tv up a little bit more, his chuckle rumbling against you. He tossed the remote down, the very tip of your finger tracing over his chest. Your legs tangle with his own, your injured one on top as you turn a bit more on your side. He’s got reruns of your favorite show on because he knows you’re too tired to watch the new ones, knows you like to have it on when you fall asleep.

“Goodnight, De,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his chin before sinking back down on his chest.

He smiles in that moment, soft and sweet as his thumb brushes back and forth over your shoulder lightly.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You’re fine. You’ve got him and you’re okay.

—

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