#this is a reminder that none of them are okay

[antianakin]

Oh believe me, I DO talk about Leia's relationship to the Organas a lot! This post wasn't focusing on that specifically, but there was a reblog I did from someone else where I bring it up and talk more about what Leia gets from the Organas and how that impacts who she is as a person.

Basically, I think that who Leia is AS A PERSON is pretty much all Organas, none of it comes from her biological parents. But Leia AS A CHARACTER is more often paralleled with Padme, and I think people are choosing to compare her more to Anakin even though the Prequels went far out of their way to emphasize the connection between mother and daughter (especially visually). So this post was focusing more on the ways I think that the narratives in the films really show that comparison between Padme and Leia and the ways that Leia succeeds where Padme fails, but I have an entire tag for posts about Leia's relationship to the Organas and how that impacts who she is and how important it is to her.

One of the things I loved the most in the Kenobi show was that they do have Obi-Wan seeing a lot of Anakin and Padme in Leia for all of the obvious reasons, but the NARRATIVE ITSELF also emphasizes all of the ways that Leia is like the ORGANAS and the ways that Leia CHOOSES to be like the Organas. And the things that Leia is inheriting from the Organas can sometimes be the same things that Obi-Wan is seeing as similar to Anakin and Padme, and that's okay! That's normal! Obi-Wan is going through a lot of emotional healing about what he's lost and what Leia represents to him and a lot of that has to deal with Anakin and Padme, so it makes sense that that's how he's seeing her. But Leia is going on her OWN journey regarding her birth family she's never known and by the end of the story, she chooses the Organas. Obi-Wan gives her several traits that he tells her she's inherited from Anakin and Padme, but she then looks to the Organas and tells him that she doesn't really need to know about them and, if you look at those traits again you can tell that they're clearly deliberately chosen to be equally as applicable to Bail and Breha (if not more MORE applicable to Bail and Breha) as they are to Anakin and Padme. Leia is letting go of any need to connect to her birth parents because she has two parents that chose her and that she is choosing back, and that's what matters to her. It's such a beautifully subtle moment.

I've often pointed out that Bail Organa is not without his own moments of passion and even anger and frustration. He snaps at a fellow Senator in AOTC, and if you want to take Disney canon into consideration, he BARELY holds himself in check when speaking to an in-law about a political issue they disagree on. Breha also tells him in the show after Leia reads her cousin for filth that that's a trait she picked up FROM BAIL. Bail also calls out Obi-Wan when he's trying to convince Obi-Wan to go save Leia. The man is the EPITOME of still waters run deep, there's SO MUCH passion and emotion going on inside of him that he's had to learn to keep tightly wrapped up in order to do his work as a Senator and later his work as a leader of a rebellion. And THAT'S what Leia learns to emulate because she also has so much emotion and passion and anger and frustration and has to learn how to hold it together when she needs to. The few moments we see her lashing out a little are almost entirely with people she already trusts and in situations where she doesn't have to be a picture perfect leader and it's not even real anger but more of just some irritation or frustration at worst.

This is NEVER a trait we see with Anakin. Anakin often tends to just bottle his shit up and seethe until it all comes exploding out in a massively destructive way. And Anakin's passions are so rarely particularly selfless or compassionate or about anyone other than himself, either. Leia's anger, what little exists of it, never ever reminds me of Anakin. But it DOES remind me a lot of Bail.

We know very very little about Breha outside of extended universe stuff, and a lot of it can be very contradictory because there's so little of her in the films that everyone who writes her just takes her in a completely new direction. But if we take the Kenobi show into account again as the only time in a more mainstream piece of media that we've gotten to know Breha and see her relationship with Leia, there's definitely some interesting stuff to analyze. Breha is represented as a GROUNDING presence for both Bail and Leia. It's not that she feels any less passionately than either of them, she's just very very good at holding it together and putting on the right act with the right people so that they never know what she's really thinking. She's fully committed to the idea of the rebellion and fighting back against evil and all of those things, but she knows her role and what it requires of her and how to play it to perfection and THAT'S what she's passing on to Leia. If Leia learns passion from Bail, she learns discipline from Breha. Bail encapsulates all of the morals and goals that Leia takes on, but Breha is the one who shows her how to do it and succeed at it without losing who she is. She can be an Organa without losing what makes her LEIA, but that is a choice that Leia has to make for herself and that no one else can make for her.

I don't genuinely think Leia HAS a lot of inherited qualities from Anakin and Padme. I don't really believe in nature over nurture. I think that the only thing you can genuinely say Leia inherited from her biological parents are her looks and her Force sensitivity. The rest of it are things that maybe are similar to Anakin and Padme, but that are equally as similar if not MORE similar to Bail and Breha.

Bail and Breha were such incredible role models for Leia, especially knowing exactly who and what she was. Much like the Jedi were to the Republic, Bail and Breha were able to be representations of an ideal to achieve for Leia. They modeled all of the very best qualities so that Leia could emulate them and become the best version of herself it was possible to be. I don't personally believe Leia was struggling with darkness at any point during the Original trilogy, and I think that's because of the Organas and everything that they taught her. Leia was not sheltered the way Luke was, she knew exactly what her parents were fighting and the secrets they were having to keep and, if she wanted to help them, she had to learn to fight the same battles and keep the same secrets. Leia would've had to learn how to face her own fears and anger and pain and darkness and let it go and control it much earlier on, so by the time we get to meet her, that kind of thing is easy.

The thing I do think Leia struggled with was figuring out how to BALANCE her own needs and desires with the needs of the rebellion and her cause. And i don't think that this is a result of Bail and Breha not LETTING her balance it or pushing her into responsibility too soon or just failing to teach it to her, but more of a result of LOSING her entire support system at once right at the beginning of the story, and all she has left of her family and her home is the cause they fought for and she throws herself into it. I think that this struggle is, in part, a narrative about Leia's GRIEF (this is a personal headcanon and not something the story itself ever gives us, just to be clear).

Leia is duty-driven, but I imagine she was more able to have a balance in her life when Bail was still running the rebellion and she still had the ability to ask Bail and Breha for help when she needed it and she could go home and relax sometimes. But once Alderaan is destroyed, she has no home to go back to, no one to ask for help, and everyone is now looking to her to fill in the void that her father once filled. And so of course she struggles with letting go of that in order to focus on any romantic feelings she might have for Han, of course she feels like that's the lowest possible priority right now and not something she can afford to add to her list of obligations. It's not until she's forced away from all of that, separated from the rebellion and its fate, that she has no other option but to think about those feelings and allow herself to act on them. For the first time in two or three years, she's willing to let herself act a little selfishly and carve out a little happiness for herself. She's finally able to let go of some of the pain she's been holding on to and accept that just because Bail, Breha, and Alderaan are gone doesn't mean she can't still have a home or a family.

Anyway, I LOVE talking about Leia and her real parents! This post is the one that got really popular instead of some of the ones where I talk more about Bail and Breha, but I promise this is actually a bit of an anomaly and I normally don't tend to compare Leia to her biological parents all that much!

People are SLEEPING on the most interesting Leia & Padme comparisons because there's so much focus on Leia being "like Anakin" because she gets annoyed sometimes and Padme being this perfect moral beacon of truth and justice despite all of her very canonical lies and cover-ups and obstructing of justice.

If Luke is the Jedi that Anakin should've been, then Leia is the LEADER that Padme should've been.

Padme is a hypocrite, proclaiming that all people deserve basic decency and the right to safety, but at the same time allowing Anakin to get away with a mass murder with no consequences by covering it up.

Leia doesn't even let Han get away with being a little bit of an asshole, there's no way she'd let him get away with mass murder. She holds everyone around her to a higher standard, believing in the best of them but also but refusing to accept excuses for cowardice and selfishness.

Padme talks so much about wanting the war to end, but then allows one of the opposition's biggest generals go free just to get Anakin back because she cares about him, causing the war to continue to go on for even longer.

Leia lets Luke sacrifice himself because she knows it's possibly the only way they might have a victory and beat the Empire, even though she knows what he is to her and loves him. She knows what has to be done and respects the choice Luke is making and would never condemn their efforts just to keep him with her.

Padme's story parallels Anakin's, she devolves as the narrative goes on, until she's barely a shell of the person she used to be. That strength and moral clarity she showed as a Queen is entirely gone, leaving only a scared woman pleading with a murderer to come back to her.

Leia's story parallels Luke's, she gains more and more strength and clarity as the narrative moves forward. The bossy young woman we first met has become a confident rebel leader who knows she doesn't have to harden her heart to be strong.

[studiogrimm810]

Hate What You Do To Me

// Est. Dean Winchester x you

summary: dean has been unable to understand the emotions he feels when he's with you so he defaults to pushing you away to avoid the creeping ache in his chest, that is until he jarringly realizes what those feeling actually mean and decides to act on that // 2.1k // base content: quick enemies to lovers vibes, protective dean, make-out scene

A/N: pulling this one from the vault cause i’ve got nothing else to post atm😎 (i am completely wrapped up in a series i’m working on heheh)

He can’t do this right now. Watching your lips part to welcome the rim of an icy beer is fucking killing him. He could deck Bobby just for thinking of inviting you.

God, you.

You got under his skin and prickled like barbed wire, anchoring deep into his bones and refusing to escape his subconscious. He hated the feeling, of which he had no name for, that you awoke in his chest. It was his best guess that it was anxiety or maybe a type of annoyance he had never experienced before, whatever it was, he hated it.

Your laugh echoes through the room as Sam tells some joke that makes Dean roll his eyes. The belt of your joy only worsens the ache in his chest and he wonders if a hatred this deep was actually a common occurrence or rather a special instance for people like you.

Your voice is sweet and misleading, as if you were actually as kind and innocent as your tone insinuates. He’s not falling for it. He’s especially not falling for the warm gaze you give him that makes his stomach clench and ricochet like a ping-pong ball in his abdomen. He swears his lungs even cinch when your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

“Well that’s what I tried to tell him, but he was not having it,” Sam shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. You laugh simply out of a polite response, but it seems Dean’s cold glare has affected your mood. He was surprised when the reaction didn’t cause him pride but instead.. shame?

“Maybe next time you just give ‘em my number like you’re s’posed to,” Bobby grumbles, fingering the neck of his beer to bring to his lips.

Voices continue to carry but it’s mellowed down to just Sam and Bobby. The buzz under Dean's skin is almost numbing, like he missed your contributions. Of course, not because he actually liked listening to you speak, but because he didn’t feel like a dick for acting so cold towards you. But that wasn’t his fault. It’s not his fault you irk him like you do. He has to remind himself of that.

A phone chirps and you check your device, your face falling further. If Sam or Bobby notice, they sure don’t say anything about it. The irritation in Dean's chest ignites again, a burning restless feeling that makes him want to know who put you in a sour mood. Who overstepped Dean's effect on you? He couldn’t have that.

His eyes peek at the lit screen but it’s not like he can read anything.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, standing and leaving the room without raising much suspicion, at least not to a common onlooker of the conversation. Dean knew though. He knew your tells and mood shifts, he had to in order to be able tolerate your presence. He had to.

What really irks him too is how little he knows right now. God, you’ve left the room and you still have your claws sunk into him. It killed him to not know what was wrong with you. He’ll claim it’s because to be a hunter, you need to have a level head. All it is is hypocritical avoidance and unrecognizable emotions that he was never accepting of before.

He takes a deep gulp of his beer, trying to wash away the bubbling anxiety you’ve caused him.

And another gulp. And one more. But none of them make the time pass quickly enough and he’s even more restless in your absence. He can’t help himself, he has to know that you’re okay.

He stalls at the thought. He doesn’t have to. He just wants to. He wants to?

Doesn’t matter.

Dean excuses himself and goes off to find you. He follows the flow of an agitated voice and his brows furrowed slightly in confusion. The voice, your voice, leads him to the main entrance of the home. The door creaks open and he can hear you better, as if you just came in from talking with whoever was bothering you outside.

“Just leave me alone, I’m serious,” your tone is demanding and a little scary if he’s being honest- something that’s rare for him as of late.

He rounds the doorframe as soon as you hang up the phone and his presence startles you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, unsure if he actually even cares. He shouldn’t- he doesn't. He’s just curious about whoever seemed to have more of an effect on your state then he did. Dean is just a little cold and annoyed with you, that warrants a sour mood for the recipient, but who the hell thinks they have the right to make you talk to them like that?

“What-, like you care?” You ask in a dull bite, he scoffs.

“Shouldn’t’ve even asked,” Dean rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and turning to leave but he hesitates. “Just-,” he clears his throat, “sorry ‘bout whatever you’re dealing with.” He turns to leave but the sickeningly sweet pull of your voice keeps him put. He holds back a sigh.

“I worked with a hunter a few weeks back and he’s just been.. clingy,” you cringe, looking down at your phone for a moment. Dean didn’t like that.

“Clingy?” He echoed, turning back around and furrowing his brow.

“Yeah…” you sigh, pocketing your phone and glancing back up at Dean. “It’s probably nothing, but he’s just lonely I guess and keeps trying to get me to work these cases with him,” your shoulders slouch, almost like the situation has exhausted you. Dean’s chest tightens again- annoyance, he deems. You turn to face the screen door, letting the breeze kiss past your tired face.

“And you don’t want to?” Dean completes for you, his tone indicating impatience and misunderstanding.

“Of course not, he’s a creep!” You turn back at him, your face contorted in disgust but your eyes glint something that eases the tightness in his chest.

“Just block him,” he says, like it’s that simple. You just scoff and look back out the door. You can’t even find the energy to walk through the whole situation with Dean on why you can’t simply ‘block him’. “Do I need to have a talk with this guy?” Your body stills and brows pull together as you look back at him.

“What?” You ask, completely caught off guard by the offer.

“I said,” Dean rolls his eyes subtly, “do I need to take care of him?” He repeats, staring right at you with a deep rooted anger burrowed towards someone else for once- it makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Why do you even care? Don’t you hate me?” You scoff, trying to remind yourself of the pain in the ass he’s made you feel like to him. He hated you. He did, right?

Something in your snap cracked some capsule in him and infected his veins, all the way to his fingertips, with a cold rush of realization.

“Hate you?” He asked himself as well as you. His chest cinched tightly at the accusation, that he hated. It’s like every memory of you flashed in his mind and in every scenario, he never remembers actually hating you but how you affected him. How you made him feel unnaturally unsettled and antsy, like he couldn’t stand the edge you teetered him on. His eyes watched your expression go from frustration to confusion and then to impatience and even then, as he watched your features melt along its expressive path, he realized that he did not hate you. “How could I hate you?” His words escape before he can filter them, but then he can watch as your annoyingly pretty features contort yet again to something indescribable for him.

He felt selfish, extremely selfish, for the way he’s pushed you away and treated you because he knows it’s not really your fault for how he feels. But then, why does he feel such strong and uncomfortable emotions for you? Why the fuck did you settle so deep into his very being that it’s uncomfortable for you to be here in front of him?

Your head tilts and you look so lost. Your tongue peeks out to wet your lips and it clicks.

The ache in his chest isn’t anger or annoyance, it’s a craving. Here you are, dangled right in front of him with your pretty eyes and soft confusion and he’s forced to just stand back and watch as you exist without him. Every time he’s seen you in the past, it washed over him that he’s just been needing something he subconsciously knew he could never take.

“You-,” he tried to start, his hands dropped to his sides as he figured out his next move. He wants so badly to just cross the invisible line he’s made for himself but you think he hates you.

“So you don’t hate me,” you try to state, keeping a suspicious eye on him as he shuffles through whatever is rattling behind his eyes.

Dean only shakes his head, taking a step forward without even knowing he’s moved until your face is just a wish away.

“Dean?” You ask, looking up at him and taking in details you never thought you’d get close enough to notice.

The sink in his stomach as you say his name scares the hell out of him but he doesn’t know if he has the strength to turn away now. Something so cosmic holds him still like he’s stuck in quicksand, ready to drown in you.

It happened so fast, that switch, like seeing your vulnerability as you admitted you felt hated by him made him fix his shit real quick. He couldn’t have that, he wouldn’t allow you to go on thinking he hated you.

“I’m an idiot,” he admits in a whisper that echoes faint beer, from the round just a few moments ago, over your cheeks.

“That’s one word I’d use,” you scoff lightly, your attitude altering the rest of your body towards turning away but you just can’t seem to get your eyes to listen and follow.

“Can I try something?” He asks, his eyes stuck into yours like glue, like he’s scared to rake over your skin and down to your lips, like he’ll jinx himself and lose any shot he never had.

“You’re a free man,” you challenge, narrowing your gaze and starting to expect his next move. But even with anticipation, it doesn’t soften the electricity that sparks as he pushes you against the screen door and directs your lips to his. His hand holds the back of your head so that the screen isn’t split and his other hand, without much planning, hooks just two fingers in your belt loop, unable to wait on finding a more suitable place.

Another fresh breeze falls past the slits of the screen and runs through your hair and over your exposed skin, tickling every exposed nerve that he bloomed under your skin.

With his lips fitting perfectly around yours and taking you in, he pulls in a deep, full breath to inhale your scent. The sweet pine from outside accompanies your signature scent that he convinced himself to hate long ago, but now he can’t get enough. He could actually laugh at himself for how stupid he’s been to think you would be nothing but perfect to him if he just welcomed it.

Because now that he has finally allowed you in, he doesn’t think he can ever let you go.

He pulls out of the kiss, his lungs burning for air but his skin aching for more of you. As you lean back to look at him, his greedy lips follow like a lost puppy, making sure he’s able to latch back on when he needs another fix of your taste.

“I’m being serious, y’know,” he breathes, his eyes still glued to your, now swollen, lips glistening with his spit. Fuck.

“Hmm?” You hum, studying the lazy droop of his eye lids, but your breath is sucked out of your lungs as his eyes snap right back into yours with a contrastingly serious switch.

“That prick that won’t leave you alone, I’ll take care of him,” he says, looking into your eyes long enough to make sure you understand. His hand at your belt loop now snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against him and his eyes melt back down to your parted lips. “Won’t ever have to worry about that again,” he barely gets out before eating you right back up.

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>>check out my other works here

tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere @bejeweledinterludes @funkenniffler @iamaslytherin0

[wordsofwhimsy]

did somebody ask which version of mark is puttin it down best?

guess i'll give my analysis 😮‍💨

main!mark is all about pleasing you, sooo he's definitely giving the other boys a run for their money. his oral & finger game? UNMATCHED. he's not dumb and aggressive about it like the majority of the others. he keeps it slow, intentional, so dedicated, living in your pleasure. the more praise you give him the better. his sex game tho takes awhile to come up to par - he's so scared of hurting you for soo long that he just takes it too easy, or doesn't take the lead at all. once he learns the fine art of blowing your back out without killing you tho? 😏

mohawk!mark is soo aggressively fun, but he's really only in it for his own pleasure. he kinda just assumes (rightly so) that you're gonna feel good either way but he never bothers to actually check in with you, see how you're doing lol it's probably also a MUST for you to suck his dick every time, forcing your head down and then mocking you when you gag or gasp for air. he doesn't care to return the favor too often but if you whine too much he will. it's not really that great tho - he's rushing and careless, just trying to move on to the main event

viltrumite!mark takes some teaching. he's of the mindset that sex is just for procreation, and if this is a scenario where he's taken you back to viltrum he's not going to really feel the need to view it any other way. but if he's staying on earth with you? well, sex sells baby and the influence is all around. he starts noticing things in movies and in songs, stuff on the internet--hell even billboards and magazines. don't be fooled his dickin is good even when it's boring missionary but once he starts coming around to trying all the other fun things? oh lawd have mercy

omni!mark is an interesting mix of dominance without aggression, no dirty talk. all business, really but this man IS in the business of pleasure - for you at least. he struggles to let you take the lead though which is kinda boring sometimes, and anything kinky? like spanking or choking? absolutely not. you're not some scallywag hoodlum (LMFAO) and he's definitely not going to treat you like one. buuut if you start talking dirty and cussing? he might be flustered, and maybe even a little more turned on than usual (he'd never admit it)

sinister!mark is all about HIM HIM HIM. but the caveat of this is he needs to know he's GOOD at what he's doing - which means you need to feel good too. he's so unbelievably aggressive and doesn't do missionary. you are not coming away without bruises and marks every single time. i think he likes to make you dance for him too beforehand. that's his idea of foreplay - something that reminds you both who's in charge and who it's all for. you better hope he's not in the mood to go down on you cause that bitch bites 😭

no goggles/lensless!mark is probably my fav 🤭 is literally 100% about whatever it is you're into. i guess except missionary whoops. like he's fine throwing it in there occasionally but not a chance he's opening or ending in that position. in fact switching positions is HIS personal favorite thing. honestly his oral is so-so. he's just too damn talkative and can't focus on the task at hand. he also doesn't take it well either - the man's LOUD. and honeestly busts pretty quick but that's okay! he bounces back quicker. viltrumite stamina is crazy and his libido just adds to it

shiesty!mark has probably fucked more people than all of them combined so, yeah, he's got the practice and experience. he KNOWS his dick is phenomenal and tbh if he's not really into you he's letting you do most of the work. he thinks he's doing YOU favor by letting you ride it. but if you were hard to get? ohhh he's got something to prove now, and trust he will. this man reaches spots none of the others even knows exist, uses his strength in a way that is just chefs kiss - pinning you without hurting you, playing with your nipples and the other sensitive parts with expert care. and probably my fav thing about him is that he's the only one (except maybe main!mark) who ever thinks to put on musiccc

moustache!mark is 😛 father dearest. TOTALLY showing you what it feels like to be owneddd - unquestionably, but not in the way sinister does. he does it with affection. you know, like a 'pet' and all that jazz. he's got this way of making you feel simultaneously small and like the most important person in the world. and when he goes down on youuu? THE TICKLE?? biiitch stop. he also is the one who appreciates the thickies the most ughh like he NEEDS all that ass in his hands, in his lap, on his dick. the love handles? the tummy? give him alllat - trust ☝️ he can handle it

prisoner!mark is an interesting one. if we're talking straight out the pen? he's an ANIMAL. i'm talking y'all are going at it aaall night long, him painfully impatient through every little break you insist he gives you. he's also physically the strongest of them all, and, yeah, it shows. all that body pressed into you? those arms? 🥴 idk how anatomically that would even work but for some reason i feel like he'd have a thicker cock too. he'd be so deep and guttural with his groans, all in your ear with it. no holding back. after some time though i think he'd be focused on you and learning what you like - buuut at the end of the day, he still is the most deprived and wants it ALWAYS

[novalyn25]

Nct dream reaction to you making them breakfast

Pairing: nct dream x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life

Word Count: 2,500 words

Warnings: None

Writer note: If your boyfriend isn’t this cute when you make him breakfast, just remind him that fictional men set the bar impossibly high.

Mark

Mark had never been a morning person, which explained his groggy steps as he padded out of the bedroom. The smell of coffee brewing and bacon sizzling lured him to the kitchen, where you were standing in his oversized hoodie, flipping pancakes.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted, flashing him a smile.

He stopped mid-step, rubbing the back of his neck. “You… you made breakfast?”

“Is that a problem?” you teased, sliding a pancake onto a plate and setting it on the table.

“No, no problem! It’s just…” He trailed off, scratching his head as he sat down. “I’m supposed to take care of you, not the other way around.”

“Mark, it’s just breakfast,” you laughed, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. “Besides, I like doing this for you.”

He took a bite of the pancake, eyes widening. “Okay, but seriously, these are amazing. You’ve been holding out on me?”

“Maybe,” you replied with a wink. Watching him dig in with childlike enthusiasm, you couldn’t help but think mornings like this were worth the effort.

Renjun

Renjun’s small art studio doubled as his living space, the smell of paint and canvas usually dominating the air. This morning, however, the aroma of freshly toasted bread and eggs filled the room. He woke to the sound of dishes clinking and found you at the makeshift kitchen counter.

“What’s all this?” he asked, walking over in his paint-splattered sweatshirt.

“Good morning to you too,” you replied, plating up a simple but hearty breakfast. “Sit, before it gets cold.”

Renjun raised an eyebrow but did as told. “This is unexpected.”

“You’ve been so busy lately; I thought I’d surprise you,” you said, sitting across from him. “You can’t paint on an empty stomach, you know.”

He took a bite and hummed appreciatively. “Okay, this is delicious. But you’re spoiling me. How am I supposed to go back to cereal after this?”

You laughed, watching as he ate with a soft smile on his face. “Guess you’ll just have to let me cook more often.”

Renjun reached out to squeeze your hand. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Jeno

Jeno’s weekends were sacred, reserved for morning jogs and quiet breakfasts. But today, the smell of waffles interrupted his usual routine. He found you in the kitchen, a smudge of batter on your cheek as you worked.

“You’re up early,” he said, leaning against the doorway.

You turned, startled but grinning. “Good morning! Thought I’d make you something special today.”

He crossed the room, wiping the batter off your cheek with his thumb. “Special, huh? Looks like you’ve been busy.”

“Sit down. Everything’s almost ready,” you insisted, ushering him to the table.

Jeno chuckled but complied. When you placed a plate of golden waffles topped with fruit and whipped cream in front of him, he whistled. “Wow, this looks amazing.”

“Taste it first,” you said, sitting beside him.

He took a bite and let out a satisfied groan. “Okay, you’ve officially ruined every other breakfast for me. This is incredible.”

“Glad you like it,” you said, beaming.

“Like it? I love it. But next time, we’re cooking together. Deal?”

Haechan

Haechan woke to the sound of music playing softly from the kitchen. Curious, he stumbled out to find you dancing as you flipped an omelet. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows, making the scene feel almost dreamlike.

“And what’s going on here?” he asked, leaning against the counter with a smirk.

You spun around, spatula in hand. “Breakfast! Hungry?”

“Depends. Did you poison it?” he teased, dodging the playful swat you aimed his way.

“Sit down, comedian,” you said, setting a plate in front of him. “I’m serious, though. Taste it and tell me what you think.”

Haechan took a bite and exaggeratedly moaned. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing. Are you sure you made this?”

“Keep it up, and I’ll eat your portion,” you threatened, laughing.

He grabbed your hand, pulling you down into the chair beside him. “Don’t you dare. This is the best thing I’ve tasted all week. Thanks, babe.”

Jaemin

Jaemin’s mornings usually started with him making coffee and oatmeal. But today, he walked into the sleek kitchen to find you arranging a stack of avocado toast on a plate.

“Wow, this is… unexpected,” he said, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Good morning to you too,” you said, laughing as you tried to maneuver around him.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, peeking over your shoulder.

“No occasion. Just thought you deserved a good breakfast,” you replied, turning to face him.

Jaemin grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re too sweet. But you know this means I’m making dinner tonight, right?”

“Deal,” you said, watching as he took a bite.

“This is amazing,” he said with his mouth full. “But I’m warning you, if you keep this up, I might never let you leave.”

Chenle

Chenle’s family home was usually bustling, but this morning, it was eerily quiet. He followed the smell of food to the kitchen, where you were plating up a traditional Chinese breakfast.

“You did all this?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Good morning,” you said, gesturing for him to sit. “It’s nothing fancy, just some things I thought you’d like.”

He sat down, staring at the spread. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I wanted to,” you replied, sitting across from him. “Try it and tell me what you think.”

Chenle took a bite, his expression softening. “This tastes like home. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, smiling.

“But fair warning,” he added with a grin, “my mom’s going to ask for your recipes when she hears about this.”

Jisung

Jisung shuffled into the dorm’s tiny kitchen, rubbing his eyes. He froze when he saw you setting the table with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

“Morning,” you said brightly.

“Wait, you made this?” he asked, blinking.

“Who else would it be?” you teased.

He sat down, staring at the food. “This is weird. I’m not used to people cooking for me.”

“Well, get used to it,” you said, ruffling his hair. “Eat up.”

Jisung took a bite and smiled shyly. “It’s really good. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, sitting beside him. Watching him eat, you felt a warm satisfaction knowing you’d made his morning just a little brighter.

[wandaslittlelove]

Hiiii! Could you do Agatha/Rio comforting r after they wake up because of thunder? (r is scared of thunder because their terrified of lightning)

Thunderstorms

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader Warnings: None I think A/N - Hello, I wasn't sure if you only wanted one of them or both so I only did one. If you want both of them feel free to let me know and I will write another!

The thunderstorm that had rolled in while you and Agatha were sleeping was violent. The wind blew branches harshly against the window with a scraping noise while rain pounded onto the roof. The thunder was even louder. Every couple minutes a violent boom would sound in the sky followed by a bright flash of lightning. 

You were laying curled up in Agatha’s arms when it all started. Sleeping peacefully as her breath hit the back of your head. You had been scared of thunderstorms since you could remember. The loudness of the thunder hurting your ears and causing your heart to race while the bright lightning sent you scrambling for a hiding place. When you were younger your parents had found it cute but as you got older many people found it annoying and even childish.

As you were laying fast asleep a particular loud boom of thunder sounded from outside. The force of the boom seemed to shake your whole body and you woke up with a startled gasp. You sat up quickly, Agatha's arms falling off of you. Sensing your movements she sat up quickly as well. Her eyes scanned the room from threats while her hands glowed purple. Another boom of thunder sent a whimper through you and you pressed against her as you covered your ears. Agatha understood in an instant. Her hands collapsed over yours on your ears as she whispered to you. 

For a while you both sat there. The more the thunder boomed the further into Agatha you curled until you were sitting sideways in her lap. Moving her hands from your ears she wrapped them around you as she started rocking slightly. Whimpers continued to leave your lips as rain splattered onto the window and roof. 

“Its okay. I’ve got you. The thunder can’t hurt you” She whispered with her lips pressed against your temple. “Nothing can hurt you. Your safe in my arms. Listen to my heart” Her hands guided your ear to press against the steady beat of her heart. The rhythmic beats slowly eased you until the trembling over you body turned into small shakes. The thunder continued outside and with it your fear stayed. 

“Remeber when we were in the woods and you asked me to shoot my purple at the ground? Imagine that's what the booms are my love. Not scary thunder. Just my purple” Closing you imagined every boom accompanied by her magic. The way it wrapped around her fingers before it shot towards the ground. The sound it made when connecting with the earth. Agatha continued to rock you and press kisses to your temple until your shaking stopped. Gently she laid back down. Your ear still pressed against her chest and eyes still closed imagining things other than the storm. 

Even with your eyes closed you could see the bright flash of lightning that lights up the outside. A startled whimper escapes you and for a second you try to wiggle out of her arms to hide. She doesn’t let go of you though. Instead she uses her magic to draw the black out curtains tightly. Bringing her hand to your face she lets her magic wrap around her fingers. You stare memorized at the light. 

“That’s it. Focus on this light. Not that one” her words were soft. Not judging. Just protective. She let her magic extended from her hand to wrap around yours and a soft laugh escaped your lips.

Thunder and lighting was something that would most likely always scare you. But with Agatha here, with the way her fingers rub up and down your sides, the rhythmic beating of her heart, the way she swirled her magic in her fingers to show you. This all of this would remind you that you were safe. Always in her arms.

[eggplantwaffles]

Who I think the Batfam’s Spotify Wrapped artists are:

Dick Grayson:

1. Queen

2. Daft Punk

3. ABBA

4. Black Eyed Peas

5. *NSYNC

Barbara Gordon:

1. Taylor Swift

2. Muse

3. Tyler, The Creator

4. Phoebe Bridgers

5. Florence + The Machine

Jason Todd:

1. Slipknot

2. Limp Bizkit

3. The Notorious B.I.G.

4. $uicideboy$

5. Ke$ha

Tim Drake:

1. Radiohead

2. The Killers

3. Snow Patrol

4. The Bleachers

5. Green Day

Stephanie Brown:

1. Nirvana

2. Paramore

3. Boy Genius

4. Foo Fighters

5. The Notorious B.I.G.

Cassandra Cain:

1. The Beatles

2. Queen

3. Foo Fighters

4. Florence + The Machine

5. Lemon Demon

Damian Wayne:

1. Radiohead

2. Queen

3. Glass Animals

4. YUNGBLUD

5. My Chemical Romance

Duke Thomas:

1. The Notorious B.I.G.

2. Childish Gambino

3. Tyler, The Creator

4. Kid Cudi

5. Mac Miller

[faunandfloraas]

Look, I don't believe in preferential treatment, it's not right.... BUT ☝️ if we're gonna have changbin saying sydney is skz's second hometown I just think maybe australia could not be charged things like 60+ dollars shipping.... or 75 dollars for a normal album at the most prominent music retailer when other places pay 15-20 for the same thing.... lol

[headcanonsfromthecabin]

ooh! okay I can try and explain as best as I can :] this may not all be 100% scientifically accurate or use like the most precise terminology but I'm gonna try anyway :D i'm not exactly the best at phrasing things like this so like I hope this makes sense </3 also when I say "defense mechanism" I mostly mean that imo each Voice seems to be a different method of keeping LQ safe to some degree, not necessarily clinical defense mechanisms, although I do still view them as separate characters and entities. [also I am not a psychology expert so like don't quote me on this] Hero: rationalization primarily, but I think the way he tries to ensure morality even in situations where morality shouldn't/doesn't apply is also noteworthy. Keeping LQ safe via doing what's "right". he's the most flexible when it comes to most situations, so he switches methods a lot, albeit in subtle ways. Stubborn: I feel like I barely need to say it, but aggression. He believes that, no matter what, violence will protect LQ so long as LQ doesn't give up, regardless of his physical condition. Smitten: a really interesting case, i'd say something to do with his idealization of most situations, as well as a sort of obsession with a "happy ever after" no matter how unrealistic that seems. Skeptic: I'd say either intellectualization, or just his general need to know the answer to everything? not sure what the term would be, but it defo catches my eye as some sort of defense mechanism. I do think his occasional black-and-white thinking is also worth noting. Cheated: he's. kinda hard to narrow down tbh, given that he seems to stem from pessimism and a feeling of unfairness, as well as a sort of belief that the world is against him. In his case, a lot of that shows up as aggression, and in some routes avoidance, but its a bit hard to be specific without leaving out important details. Cold: Isolation of affect I think would be the most accurate one, but his entire role in most routes kinda speaks for itself. He embodies a belief that LQ just needs to "move past" his emotions and physical pain, even when that's not necessarily helpful. Contrarian: oh he has SO much going on but to keep it brief I'm gonna say denial and humor primarily, although he doesn't seem to care much about protecting LQ, on account of a belief that none of his actions have meaningful consequences. Broken: okay this is so hard for me to phrase but he reminds me a bit of nihilism as a defense mechanism, as the belief that giving up and accepting things is "safer" than fighting back, but I'm not sure what that would be called </3 Hunted: I think he's less of a psychological defense mechanism and more of a yknow survivalistic defense mechanism, he doesn't care much about emotions or feelings, just survival. he's real interesting to me and I can't quite find the words to explain what I think he represents. Opportunist: ahh the two-faced people pleaser himself! pretty self-explanatory imo, representing a conscious effort to appeal to the greatest authority in an attempt to gain their protection or at least escape any wrath they might express. Not sure what you'd call that, tho </3 Paranoid: I think anticipation fits him the best, obvious answer aside. Most of his actions are motivated by a desire to circumvent problems or threats before they happen, even if said things are borderline impossible.

i REAALLYY hope all of this makes sense cause some of this was kinda hard for me to explain but tldr the Voices all seem to fill a narrative role of "protecting" the Long Quiet, all in wildly different ways, even when it seems like they're acting against LQ, they do all think theyre helping in some way

augghh holy yapfest </3

So, Moment of Clarity route,

I have a headcanon — and is CONVINCED that this is the case — that Cold's influence (with being unfeeling and all) might've gotten so strong that it caused dissociative amnesia to the Decider/Long Quiet, whether it was intentional or not. Hence why we do not remember the events of the other loops during MoC while the Voices remember. (The Voices even insisted that we were there every single time, yet we do not remember any of it.)

Cold has always felt like a defense mechanism to me. He reminds me of how some people, when experiencing or having experienced a stressful or traumatic event, will block out their own feelings or straight up detach themselves emotionally from the situation.

Of course, Cold is actually the result of us killing the Princess in cold blood and all that, but yeah. Headcanons.

— the moth anon

oooohhh this is such a good take actually :0 I think Cold is kinda multifaceted in a sense, being apathy as a result of boredom/immortality, intentional apathy/denial of ones emotions, as well as complete detachment from both body and mind, so seeing him as a defence mechanism still seems pretty accurate to me! I think all of the Voices are defence mechanisms if you look at em the right way LOVE this hc btw!! MoC makes me so so very sad but I also love thinking about it </333

[amaconcha]

i actually need to fight the judges for crunchyroll anime awards bc WHY THE FUCK IS IT THE SAME SIX ANIME???

[aeide-thea]

truly just SUCH a typical tumblr experience but like.

Familiar Tumblr Name makes a post that's like: 'you know how fast fashion perpetuates itself by selling us clothing that gets dingy and grody really fast, so we have to replace it yearly?'

me: uh, no, actually—historically i've found that the few fast fashion pieces i acquired long outstayed their welcome, and were perfectly wearable long after i was heartily sick of them! but go on, i guess

FTN: 'let me tell you about this traditional domestic wisdom (implied: that's been lost because of, uh, capitalism) that will fix this problem (that you, too, definitely have) for you!'

me, googling: okay so this residue that FTN said was somehow a Fast Fashion thing is apparently generally caused by like. fabric softener and/or hard water. using discount detergents that skimp on active ingredients. using too much detergent so it doesn't wash out. letting your bedding go too long between washes. letting your washer go too long between cleans. etc. anyway. lots of specific factors here, many of which may in fact not apply to you in particular!

but like. why get specific when instead we could assert You Know This Problem, Right? This Lost Traditional Wisdom Will Definitely Help You Personally!!

[beatx-mavie-archangelx]

rip corellon larethian, you would've loved they/them as a gender-neutral pronoun option

[panther-os]

til none of the three main Reyes family actors are mexican

everybody knows Rafa's Brazilian, but Roxana's Peruvian, and Benito's Guatemalan

I didn't look for the kids because they're kids but Ana's actress is Cuban-Mexican! And I can't find Luisa's actress' ethnicity, so she could be Mexican - but if she is Latino, then based on her last name she's most likely French Guianese or Brazilian. Also, these characters only appear in one episode - at the funeral and the wedding.

I'm kind of just resigned to this kind of thing at this point, and i do love the actors and their work on the show - I couldn't imagine anyone else as Carlos for sure - but also i just wish white people would Stop

[flaynbestgirl]

thinkin about how ive seen edelstans say she doesnt want to get rid of nabateans completely but just dethrone them from power, even though she literally says in CF that she wants to "obliterate them"

[constellation-sapphic]

I want to thank the people in my real life who make me feel like a human person

[silent-sentinels]

hkjgh NONE OF US CAN DECIDE CORE'S COLOR. we went for like? a near-black at first. and then switched to a light purple. and then a gold color, and then lightened that gold into a shade of cream? and then a deep, dark blue. and now we've settled on some light cerulean shade.

it doesn't help that Ceres is like. perfectly pliant and complaisant about anything we choose for them hkjhg like!! do you have any opinions on this our beloved core??? our dearest main??? the one that all of us orbit??? no????? nothing??????

[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Zayne

Summary: It was your anniversary with Zayne. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Zayne Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Also I don't think any of these men would ever be the type to actually willlingly forget it. Especially Zayne. So I had to adapt the request a bit. Content Warning: injuries, panic, insecurities, self worth issues, Zayne POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

Zayne’s apartment smelled like him—clean, crisp, and faintly of the eucalyptus-scented candles he kept on the shelves. You sat on the edge of his couch, smoothing the fabric of your dress down your thighs, nerves making your fingers tremble slightly. The dim light of the chandelier cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the carefully planned surprise you had for him —flowers, his favorite treats, elegant scarves, and jackets you had spent weeks picking out. The final touch was the flexible weekend getaway tickets, somewhere warm and far from the sterility of hospital walls. A place where he could finally rest.

You had gone all out for tonight. The garden-themed restaurant was supposed to be the perfect setting—a quiet, intimate place where vines curled around twinkling fairy lights, and the soft scent of fresh blooms would fill the air. And you had dressed accordingly with something elegant, something that made you feel beautiful for him. The deep navy-blue dress you wore clung to your form just right, the intricate lace details at the sleeves soft against your skin. You had taken your time getting ready, styling your hair to perfection, slipping on a pair of delicate earrings he once admired absentmindedly. A spritz of white jasmine perfume, the one he once said reminded him of spring mornings. You wanted to look like someone worthy of being by his side. You wanted to be beautiful for him, for the man who had somehow, impossibly, fallen for you.

Because, truth be told, there were times you weren’t sure you were.

you still didn’t understand how this happened—how Zayne, the prodigy, the man who could save lives with his hands and mind, had chosen you. He was brilliant, disciplined, and deeply compassionate. And you? You were just… you. Ordinary in comparison. He never made you feel small, never belittled you, but standing beside him you felt you were just lucky to be there. His world was one of brilliance, filled with extraordinary people—Lina, the fearless Deepspace Hunter; his late friend Caleb, a DAA pilot whose loss still lingered in hushed conversations; his esteemed mentors and fellow doctors who spoke in a language you could only ever grasp at the edges. Compared to them, compared to him, you felt so small.

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, was supposed to be about the two of you.

You had fallen for him in the quietest of ways—through the gentle cadence of his voice, through the moments he noticed things others didn’t. How he’d pull a chair out for you before you could do it yourself, how he’d check the temperature of your tea so you wouldn’t burn your tongue, how he’d listen, really listen, to your ramblings even after a 48-hour shift. He had nestled himself into your heart without you even realizing it.

And tonight, he had insisted he wanted to be with you, even with the chaos of the hospital weighing on his shoulders.

The call came two hours before your reservation. You already knew what he was going to say the moment you saw his name flash on your screen.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Zayne’s voice was warm, familiar, but there was an edge of exhaustion to it. “I’m so sorry. I can’t make it tonight.”

Your heart sank, but you swallowed it down, forcing your voice to remain even. “It’s okay, Zayne. I know you’re busy.”

“It's been a long shift, and the surgeries…”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cancel the reservation. Take some breaks and rest, okay? You sound tired…”

“I am fine, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “I swear.”

"It’s fine, Zayne." you whispered, even if it wasn’t. “We’ll just celebrate it another day. No big deal.” Even though it felt like one at the moment.

Still, you weren’t upset. Not really. You understood. You always understood.

You hung up and exhaled slowly, pressing your palms against your lap. It wasn’t his fault. He was working back-to-back shifts, saving lives, doing what he was meant to do. And yet, you couldn’t quite keep the disappointment from settling in your chest.

You exhaled slowly, stripping away the dress you had so eagerly put on just hours ago. You slip into into one of Zayne’s oversized sweaters instead, the one that still smelled like him, the sleeves swallowing your hands. You wear leggings underneath and slip on your shoes. You took your time packing the gifts back into the car, moving slowly, as if dragging out the moment would make it hurt less. Maybe when he was finally done, you could pick him up from the hospital. At least you’d get to see him and surprise him. This was what occupied your time for the next three to four hours.

Once everything was back in the car, you plopped yourself on his plush but ergonomic couch. You scrolled through your phone while waiting, mindlessly tapping through social media, until one post stopped you cold.

Lina’s story.

A picture of her sitting across from Zayne in a small restaurant outside Akso hospital, the caption lighthearted:

When you have to drag out your doctor because he won’t follow his own advice about resting. (-_-)

Zayne looked amused in the photo, tired but still composed, his lips slightly curved in a small, rare smile. He looked… content. His gaze focused on her as if she had just said something ridiculous.

Your fingers trembled as you stared at the screen.

It was stupid. It was so stupid to feel like this. Lina was his childhood best friend. She had never given you a reason to be insecure, and yet, the sting of it hit you like a slow, creeping ache. He had time to go out for a meal with her. He had time to smile like that, even after canceling on you. You knew you were being irrational, that he had only stepped out for a quick bite in his busy shift, yet you felt betrayed.

Tears pricked at your eyes before you could stop them. You wiped them away quickly, but they kept falling, silent at first, then turning into quiet, shuddering sobs. You felt pathetic. Childish. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. You knew he wasn’t. But it hurt anyway. Because you would have taken anything—just a few moments, even just a simple meal at that tiny restaurant, if it meant spending time with him today.

It hurt in a way that made your chest feel tight, made the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. The sting of it crept under your skin like a wound you hadn’t realized was open, raw and aching. The disappointment bled into something uglier, something heavier. Why, after everything, did it feel like you were always on the sidelines of his life? No, Zayne never made you feel that way. It was your own spiraling thoughts.

A loud sob choked its way out, your hands gripping the fabric of his sweater as if that would somehow ground you. You wanted to hate yourself for crying over something so petty. He was saving lives. He was exhausted. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it hurt.

You needed to go home. You needed to collect yourself before the ugly thoughts swallowed you whole. You stood up, tears streaming down your face, as the weight of it all seemed too much to bear. You didn’t want to sit here anymore. You didn’t want to wait. You needed to go home, to clear your head, to get away from the overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

You sniffled, grabbing your keys and heading out. The highway would be the fastest route home—less traffic, a straight shot. You rerouted, pressing your foot on the accelerator, trying to breathe through the tightness in your chest. You wiped at your tears quickly, trying to focus on the road.

The road stretched out before you, a wide expanse of concrete and asphalt that felt like it would swallow you whole. The tears wouldn’t stop, and you wiped them away, trying to steady your hands on the wheel, trying to focus on the road ahead. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you understood, that you were rational about his work. The reality of it, the empty seat next to you, the disappointment of seeing Zayne happy in a photo with someone else, it all felt too much.

And then—

Headlights. Too close. Too fast.

A car jumped the signal, trying to merge into the highway.

You slammed the breaks, the scream of tires against pavement rang in your ears.

The impact was instant. A violent, sickening jolt that sent your body forward, the seatbelt snapping against your chest, the airbag exploding in front of you. The windshield cracked, splintering into a spiderweb of broken glass. Your vision blurred, the world spinning.

Pain.

Your chest burned, lungs straining to catch a breath. Your limbs felt heavy. You reached for the seatbelt, your fingers fumbling, but it was jammed.

Fuck.

Your head lulled forward, resting against the deflated airbag. Your head was heavy, your thoughts slipping away like sand through your fingers. The distant wail of sirens reached your ears, but they felt so far away.

Your vision swam, the edges darkening.

I hope the other person is alright.

The thought barely had time to settle before everything faded into black.

ZAYNE'S POV

The fluorescent lights of the hospital buzzed faintly, casting an artificial glow over the chaos of the emergency room. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the undercurrent of blood—familiar, almost routine, yet tonight it gnawed at Zayne's nerves in a way he couldn't quite shake. He hadn’t left since he stepped through those doors, yet somehow, the guilt weighing on him had nothing to do with the lives he saved today. It was you.

He was tired. God, was he tired. His body screamed for rest, his temples throbbed from the strain of back-to-back shifts, but the hospital was understaffed, and there was no room for exhaustion when lives were at stake. As a cardiologist, his expertise lay in the intricate mechanics of the human heart, but duty demanded flexibility—especially in the ER. Cardiologists weren’t meant to be dealing with blunt force trauma and lacerations, but tonight, none of that mattered. They needed doctors. He was a doctor. So, he worked.

Even through the fatigue, his mind kept drifting back to you. He could still hear your voice from the call earlier, soft and understanding despite the disappointment laced beneath it. You didn’t deserve this. You had every right to be upset, to be frustrated that he had broken his promise, yet you didn’t even complain. That hurt more than if you had yelled at him

God, he loved you. And he hated himself for testing that patience again and again.

His hand tightened around the pen he was holding. He had plans—plans to make it up to you. The necklace in his office drawer, nestled in a velvet box, had been meant for tonight. Something small, perhaps, compared to everything you did, but a token of his devotion nonetheless. He could still salvage this. Maybe he could call you later, ask if you were still awake—

His device beeped, pulling him back to the present.

MVA on the highway. ETA: 5 minutes.

Multi-vehicle accident. Paramedics on site, victims en route.

Zayne exhaled sharply, shifting into work mode. He stepped into the ER just as the first stretcher was wheeled in. The radio chatter from their comms filled the space.

"Female, mid-to-late twenties, restrained driver, T-bone collision from a vehicle that ran a red light. Airbag deployment, but impact trauma to the chest from seatbelt. BP slightly low, likely from pain response. Tachycardic at 112. GCS is 14. Possible wrist fracture, mild concussion. No signs of internal bleeding from the ultrasound, but needs further imaging to rule out any complications."

He nodded briskly, slipping into the detached, clinical efficiency that had been drilled into him for years. It was only as he stepped forward, pulling the curtain aside, that his breath caught in his throat.

His world stopped.

There, on the hospital bed, was you.

Lying on the hospital bed, your hair disheveled, your skin pale against the stark white sheets. His breath lodged in his throat, the world narrowing to a pinpoint focus on the rise and fall of your chest. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. There was dried blood at your temple, your lower lip swollen where you must have bitten down upon impact. The sight of the IV line in your arm, the faint bruises forming along your collarbone—he couldn’t breathe.

No. No. No. No. No.

"Dr. Zayne…" Yvonne’s voice cut in, sharp and urgent. A warning. He was frozen. This wasn't just a patient. This was you.

He blinked, his hands suddenly trembling as he reached for his gloves. Breathe. He had to focus. Had to push past the sheer, gut-wrenching fear threatening to paralyze him.

This is her. She was waiting for me. She—

"Dr. Zayne!!" Yvonne pressed, handing him the updated chart. "She needs you."

That snapped him out of it.

The moment his hands touched you, they were steady again. His voice was even as he examined you, the motions automatic, controlled. He checked your pupils, gently palpated your ribs to assess for fractures. He was a doctor. He was your doctor right now. He had to move. Focusing, he reached for his stethoscope, pressing it against your chest to listen for abnormalities. The rhythm of your heart was steady, but your breathing was just slightly labored—likely from the seatbelt trauma.

"You’re going to be fine." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

You were stable.

"Her left shoulder—check for AC joint separation," he murmured, voice steadier than he felt. "Get a CT to rule out any internal injuries. And…" He swallowed. “Get me images from the crash site.” He needed to see how bad the collison was. He had to.

The hours blurred. He monitored your scans, adjusted your IV, checked your vitals more times than necessary. Each time his eyes drifted to you; his chest ached. He had seen the accident reports—your car, your windshield shattered, the crumpled hood. And the contents scattered across the scene…

You had planned everything.

For him.

And he wasn’t there.

Zayne clenched his jaw. Flowers were scattered, crushed against the upholstery. The pastries you must have picked out for him were ruined; their boxes torn open from the force of the crash. And gifts. There were so many gifts. He hadn’t even known you had planned all this.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

You had so much waiting for him. And where had he been? At a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, eating with Lina because she forced him to take a break. He had been smiling in that photo while you were—

God.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily as he sat by your bedside. He should have been with you. If he had just—

The monitor beeped steadily, a quiet reminder that you were alive.

Now, he sat beside you, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, fingers curled into his palms to keep them from shaking.

"Wake up, sweetheart." he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just wake up."

And for once, Zayne—brilliant, composed, always in control—felt utterly powerless.

The beep of the heart monitor was steady, rhythmic, but Zayne found himself gripping the edge of his chair every time you stirred, waiting for that moment when your eyes would finally open. His body was stiff from staying in the same position for hours, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to miss it.

Then, a small shift in your breathing. A twitch of your fingers.

Zayne leaned forward just as your lashes fluttered, your eyes cracking open, only to squeeze shut again at the harsh fluorescent lights. You groaned softly, shifting against the sheets. Instinctively, you tried to sit up.

"Hey—stay put," Zayne said immediately, pressing a hand against your shoulder to keep you down. His touch was gentle but firm, his fingers warm even against the hospital gown. "Don’t move too much yet."

Your body resisted for a moment, muscles tensing as if you wanted to argue, but the disorientation dulled your fight. Your gaze finally settled on him, hazy with the remnants of sleep and confusion.

Then you frowned.

“…You look tired,” you murmured, your voice soft, still groggy. “How long have you been here?”

Zayne’s heart clenched so tightly it hurt. Even now, even when you were the one lying in a hospital bed, barely recovered from an accident, your first thoughts were about him.

His throat felt tight, but he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. “You should look at yourself first, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flickered down, taking in the IV in your arm, the bruises along your wrist, the faint soreness that no doubt ached across your body. Zayne exhaled sharply and reached out, his fingertips tracing the side of your face before cupping your cheek fully. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, as if grounding himself with the warmth of you. His eyes were moist, though no tears fell.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, raw in a way that stripped away every layer of his usual composure.

You parted your lips, breath hitching as if you were about to reassure him—to do what you always did, to let him off the hook, to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

But he didn’t let you.

“No,” he cut in firmly, shaking his head. “Not this time. This is the one time you shouldn’t be so understanding.” His jaw clenched, something bitter twisting in his expression. “I should have been there. We should have been celebrating our relationship. End of discussion.”

Silence settled between you.

After a beat, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair before looking at you again. “Why didn’t you demand my time?” His voice was quieter now, tinged with regret. “You had every right to.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “…I didn’t want to bother you.” Your fingers twisted into the hospital blanket, grip tightening slightly. “You’re important, Zayne. You save lives. I didn’t want to pull you away from that.”

Something in him snapped.

He let out a sharp breath, then reached for your hand, gently prying your fingers from the blanket. His grip was warm, grounding.

“Shh… And you think you’re not?” he murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t ever say that again.” His gaze bore into yours, unwavering. “You are important to me.”

"You’re important to me," he repeated, voice steady but almost desperate. "Just like my work makes demands of me, you are more than entitled to make demands of me, too."

Your eyes searched his, uncertainty flickering beneath the lingering haze of exhaustion. But Zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

"I know I should have been there," he said again, quieter this time. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before brushing a thumb over the edge of your jaw, tilting your face slightly. “When I saw you on this bed when I entered the ER… pale, unconscious… I haven’t felt fear like that before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not in all my years of doing this. Not like that."

You didn’t say anything, but your hand came up slowly, resting over his.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

This—this was what he almost lost.

His jaw clenched, then loosened as he exhaled. “I don’t want to ever feel it again.”

Another pause.

Zayne inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin, as if reassuring himself that you were still here. That you were warm. That he hadn’t lost you.

“I know I say I’m sorry a lot… and it probably has lost meaning to you.” he murmured; his voice rough with emotion. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if struggling to put his feelings into something more tangible. “I should have been there. And I will be. Every step of the way until you’re fully recovered and after....”

His eyes flickered downward, scanning you like the doctor he was, but this was different. This wasn’t just clinical analysis—this was personal. "You got lucky," he admitted, exhaling through his nose. "Blunt force trauma to the ribs, a mild concussion, and a broken wrist. Some lacerations on your arm and leg, but nothing deep enough to require surgical intervention. The worst was the head trauma, but the scans came back clear. No bleeding, no swelling. That’s the only reason I’m not having a complete breakdown right now…" His fingers ghosted over your arm, careful not to apply pressure. "Nothing life-threatening or with lasting consequences. But still… you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone." His jaw tensed. "Not when you have me."

You gave him a small, tired smile at that, and something inside him twisted.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to reach into his pocket, his fingers closing around the small velvet box. He’d gone to his office to clock off for the day to be beside you when he picked it up from his drawer. The very box he wanted to give you today. The one that was supposed to be given in a far more joyful setting. This was supposed to be today. A night spent celebrating the two of you—not this. Not hospital beds and IV drips and the hollow fear that had nearly swallowed him whole.

But none of that mattered now.

What mattered was that you were here. And this… this was still yours.

His throat felt thick as he flipped it open, revealing the necklace inside—a delicate silver chain holding a white jasmine pendant, smooth and polished, its petals carved with intricate detail. And behind it, barely visible, were his initials.

His fingers trembled just slightly as he took it out.

"I was supposed to give this to you today," he admitted, voice lower now, almost guilty. "Before all of this. Before I let my own priorities get in the way of what really mattered." He glanced up at you, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable. "I don’t want you to ever think that you come second. Because you don’t. You never have."

Gently, he reached around your neck, his touch featherlight as he fastened the clasp. The cool metal of the pendant settled just above your collarbone, resting against your skin. His fingertips lingered there, just briefly.

Then he let out a slow breath, tilting your chin up just slightly with his knuckles. His mind still reeled with everything that had happened, with everything he should have done differently.

"I love you," he said, and this time there was no hesitation, no wry smirk to mask his emotions, no half-hearted deflection. Just honesty, raw and unguarded. "Even when I do a crappy job at showing it." He didn’t need you to say it back—he just needed you to know.

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, his lips quirked, just slightly, into something softer. "And since I’m apparently on mandatory bedside duty, I hope you’re ready to be completely spoiled. I’m talking fresh coffee, extra pillows, a ridiculous number of medical advices—"

A small, breathy laugh escaped you, and Zayne felt something in his chest loosen at the sound. Then, slowly, you lifted a hand, brushing your fingertips over the pendant before reaching up to cup his cheek.

Zayne leaned into your touch instinctively, exhaling softly. He smiled, finally, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "We’ll be just fine. I've got you sweetheart... I'll always be here for you."

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

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