#what is said and especially what is left unsaid

[sethnakht]

darth vader (2020-), #26 (pak/ienco)

it’s a podrace! darth vader pilots a podracer through an artificial sandstorm to save sabé, the former double for queen amidala, who has been lost in its center. vader flies alone through a maelstrom manufactured by the empire; as he steers and slices his way past dark obstacles, his mind dwells on the podrace he won as a child slave to help queen amidala, then represented too by sabé while padmé masked herself as a handmaiden. 

before he won that race, vader remembers, he could find his mother even in sandstorms, and promise her he would never leave her. in the subsequent panels, we see the contrasting results of winning: it meant separation from his mother, interrogation by the jedi council over his fear of losing her, his mother’s death, his own subsequent choice to murder the villagers who’d held her hostage, and finally, separation from padmé again because of jedi and sith. specifically, vader remembers how she’d fallen out of their ship into a sand dune, and his jedi master obi-wan ordering him to leave her behind (so they could pursue the sith lord count dooku instead). surrounded by sand with his mother, he was never closer to her; alone in the jedi temple, before his mother’s grave, a smattering of sand kernels was all he had left.

[image caption: panels from two different pages showing vader’s memories of losing his mother - first when he was taken to the temple, then when she died. anakin’s hand is shown in close-up, stray grains of sand in his palm.]

vader wins this race as well. as he once helped queen amidala and her handmaidens leave tatooine, so too does he now save the queen’s shadow. when he arrives at the site where sabé disappeared, he finds anakin’s childhood friend kitster (more context below), who learned how to build pods from anakin and put together the pod that vader has just raced. kitster shows him that sabé has been buried alive under a toppled cylinder. vader lifts it with the force; as she rises from the shallow grave, he remembers his power from before he won the tatooine race and was taken to the jedi - the power to tell his mother, “don’t worry, we’re going to be fine,” and, “I’m not leaving you.”

[image caption: vader saves sabé with kitster’s help, and remembers finding his mother in a sandstorm.]

but it’s not that easy. generated by an energy-eating machine (I think? again, don’t ask me about the lore), the storm doesn’t respond to vader’s attempts to quell it with the force. he realizes that sabé will be consumed by it - he thinks back to leaving padmé behind, her body half-buried in sand - if he fails to call on machine power.

using the cylinder-gravestone from which he’d just freed sabé as armor for himself, sabé, and kitster, vader directs his orbiting flagship to fire upon his location with maximum incinerating force. the result: all the sand in the storm fuses and flattens into a smooth ground of glass. 

the sand still caught in his glove slides down his palm; vader looks at it, looks at it for a long time. this time, it seems, it is not all that he has left: he has saved sabé from death. letting the sand fall from his hand, he lifts sabé and carries her over the glass into the light horizon. 

[image caption: vader steps out from an armored shell into a landscape he’s had incinerated; sand has transformed into black glass. some sand that was caught in his glove falls from his hand; he lets it, then takes sabé from kitster and walks towards a sunlit cloud.]

so ... why is kitster here? vader has come to this place because sabé is as haunted by his mother’s death as he is. troubled by the fact that anakin, a child slave, won a podrace to help royalty, and that his mother was nonetheless left behind in slavery, padmé had directed sabé to find shmi on tatooine. never having met shmi before, as queen amidala did not leave her starship on tatooine, sabé failed to locate shmi on that mission. she did manage to free a small number of slaves, however, including anakin’s childhood best friend kitster, and relocate them. the more immediate context is this: these ex-slaves are now under threat from a crimson dawn operative masquerading as an imperial, or something (don’t ask me about the lore-related details of the plot, I can only grasp at relationships between images). and since vader has vowed to end crimson dawn in the name of restoring “order”, sabé was able to convince him to visit this community, and work with people like kitster to destroy the imperial/dawn weapon that caused the sandstorm in the first place. 

in summary. we are here because of shared grief over shmi and padmé, over shared grief about the results of that first podrace. we have a second race with a parallel result - vader has helped the former queen, again; helped padmé, in a way, again - and a contrast: there is no jedi betting on vader’s freedom, now. but in some sense this is another parallel. for as winning the race led vader to coruscant and the jedi temple, the comic now cuts to the former temple, now the imperial palace, on coruscant.

[image caption: it is night on coruscant; the former jedi temple, now the emperor’s palace, is shown in dark profile against a sky lit pink-purple from the city lights.]

the emperor is speaking, speaking to himself, ignoring his red-robed guards, who gaze at each other questioningly. vader, the emperor mutters, couldn’t save his mother, nor padmé. but now he thinks he can -- 

well, the emperor doesn’t finish the sentence. you might say the emperor is betting on failure; he is delighted by what he anticipates, for he closes the issue with his cackles. you can fill in the blanks.

[mrsbarnesblog]

I feel like when reader gets fed up with Rafe not making a move, she tries to go on a date with someone else and it makes him realize that he has to act if doesn’t want to be left with just “baby daddy” label. loved your story

masterlist ko-fi ao3

requests are open

summary: when you have a baby with your ex-friend with benefits, he realizes that he has to talk about your feelings if doesn't want to lose you (can be read as a standalone, but is part two of this fic)

word count: 1.1k.

warnings: ex fwb, baby daddy Rafe, he's really soft and cutesy (i can't help myself, sorry)

Raising a baby with you felt easy. It felt safe and stable because it seeming like you worked perfectly together, never having serious fights and always easily understanding each other. Rafe adored both of you and he was happier than he ever was, even if he was constantly tired from sleepless nights. 

Every time Rafe looked at you holding your daughter, smiling and particularly shining in your post-pregnancy bliss, he felt his heart flattering. You were his. The mother of his daughter, his friend, his family, his girl. 

Then, when you unexpectedly mentioned to him that someone had asked you out, things went south. 

You both hated every second of what was likely your first serious argument, but you were unable to contain your emotions when the situation deeply hurt both of you. 

“I don’t know what you want from me, Rafe! I don’t know what you expect from me when the only thing that I know for certain is that I am the mother of your child!” You screamed at him, blinking away your tears. 

“Don’t say that. You know what I want from you, and I can’t let you go out on dates with some random dudes, Y/N. Like, you have to be joking. We just had a baby, for fuck’s sake!” His hands flew to his hair as he started walking back and forth in the middle of his living room. 

“As far as I’m aware, I’m single, Rafe.” You said it bitterly, bringing your legs closer to your chest and wrapping your hands around them. You wanted to hide because it felt to heavy to be talking about it, especially when you never desired anything more than to be appreciated and loved by the man in front of you.

“So this means nothing to you?” 

“It was not what I said.”

“You said you’re single.” 

“Am I not?” You whispered. “You were horny and had a baby with me. Just admit it.” 

You were looking at each other with emotions and unsaid feelings on the tips of your tongues. It hurt you to say it; it hurt you to realize how easy it was to end everything here and face the reality that you were no one to each other. Tears flooded your vision and you looked down, defeated. 

“I’m sorry.” Rafe whispered back, as the panic started to settle in him. “I’m so so sorry, Y/N. It has never been my intention to make you feel this way, but I promise that you’re much more for me.” He came closer to you, kneeling in front of your shivering body. “Even if it was casual sex at that time, I would've never signed up for a baby with someone who I felt nothing for.” 

His hands reached for your legs, setting them down on the floor and instead moving closer to you. Rafe touched your face, making you look at him through wet eyelashes and you noticed a longing, almost pleading, look in his eyes. 

“I love you. I love you and our little girl, and I don’t want to live like this anymore. I want you. I need you because you’re my best girl—the prettiest, sexiest, most brilliant woman I’ve ever met. I was too dumb to not do it earlier, but I want to have it all with you. I want you both here all the time, with me. You are my family. ”

He left you completely speechless, making you sob harder and lean into his chest, leaving wet stains all over his shirt. You didn't know how you could live in denial for that long, but you realized how desperately you craved to hear these words. How desperately you tried to convince yourself to stick with what you had when the only thing you ever wanted was him.

“Sh-h, baby…” He soothed your hair, holding you closer and allowing you to let go of your emotions. Rafe hated how oblivious he was to your feeling this whole time. Seeing you break down hurt him more than he could imagine and he knew he would do anything to never see that look in your eyes again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, mama. I love you.”

“I l-love you t-too.” You hiccuped, leaning back and wiping your face. Rafe’s eyes stayed on yours when he slowly traced with his thumb your slightly swollen bottom lip and then moved closer. 

He kissed you slowly, passionately, gently biting your lip, as if he were claiming you again and you felt that familiar sparkle in your body that appeared whenever he was touching you so gently. You brought your hands to his shoulders to feel his body closer to yours and he obliged, slightly hovering over you.

Soft crying from the bassinet interrupted you, and before you could even begin to worry about your daughter, Rafe had already pulled away, but not before giving you that promising look and moving in her direction. 

“Hi, pretty girl.” He cooed, taking her in his arms and lifting her up in the air. She looked so tiny compared to him and you felt another wave of tears coming in. “Sh-h, it’s okay. Are you hungry or did you just want someone to hold you, hm?” Rafe placed her on the crock of his arm and started swaying from side to side. Her cries slowly calmed down, as she was looking up at him with big blue eyes. “That’s what I thought.”

“You’re so natural with her, i’m kind of jealous.” You laughed, wiping the leftovers of your tears. Rafe smiled back at you and sat down near you on the couch, wrapping his free hand around your shoulders to bring you closer. 

“Not as good as you. You’re an amazing mom. We love mommy so much, right, princess?” He tickled your daughter's belly and she giggled, looking between both of you happily. “I meant it when I said it, Y/N. I want you to move in. I want to have you both with me 24/7, because I cannot do it like this anymore.” Rafe almost begged, turning his head in your direction. Your eyes searched for his and the look that you saw there made your heart flutter. 

The thing about Rafe was that he was bad at expressing his feelings, but his eyes always showed you what you wanted to know. And now, when there was nothing but pure love and admiration, you knew that it was true. 

“Okay. I want it too.” You smiled, peacefully resting your head against Rafe’s shoulder, as the worry inside of you finally calmed down.

[bunnys-kisses]

hi! i was wondering if i could order pull-apart bread, sweet pastry and hot cross buns, with a side of cider and chocolate milk, for sub!max verstappen? nobody really writes anything about the reader body worshiping him and his softer body, which would be nice to reassure him about. id love to hold his love handles 🥹

thank you so much in advance if you’re up for doing this! 💙

bakery menu

submissions to the bakery are open! i'm accepting them all the time, even if they take a little while to get uploaded, i am constantly working on 'em! so thank you! and for this anon! hello!!! this is amazing, what the hell! i feel the same way, folks don't really write about it in fan fics (i've seen posts wax poetically about it though). so yes, this was awesome to write! thank you <333

pull-apart bread ("i love you") + sweet pastry ("i'll make it all better.") + hot cross buns ("don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up.") + cider (body worship) + chocolate milk (tenderness) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, sub!max, body worship, tender sex, cowgirl position, bondage, praise kink, dom!reader, insecurities, love & intimacy

it wasn't that you were going to fight people online over your boyfriend. it was a pointless endeavor to snap back at someone on twitter of all places! especially someone with a lando norris icon. but if you saw one more comment about your boyfriend's body online, you're going to kick something.

you loved max, that was why you were with him. but, you worried about him. underneath everything, there was soft center to him. and sometimes the wrong comment got through all the layers and right to the middle.

it just so happened the comments you hated the most were the ones about his body.

it was near the end of the off-season, you two had come back from a sunny trip to celebrate the time together. it left your poor boyfriend a little more pink than usual. especially around the shoulders, where he was shirtless most of the time.

you loved how he looked regardless. he was immensely strong in ways you couldn't fully grasp. you were always impressed by his ability to pick you up and kiss you. you believed that people had a skewed notion of what "hot" men should be built like. and you blamed it marvel movies and alpha male podcasts. max was not a dehydrated body builder. layered on top of the strength was a certain softness and made at the very least you drool at the sight of.

he was strong, but enjoyed food. he liked his sweets on weekends and a little extra at dinner. it didn't help with the constant weigh-ins and other measurements for formula one. so when you noticed his eyes on another cruel post online in response to a photo of him shirtless. you wanted to take that phone and toss it out the window.

you watched him turn off the screen and put the phone down on his chest. the room felt tense and your fingers went into his short hair. he tried to pull away, but with a tiny bit of force kept him close. you knew what he was thinking. just like everything else, max verstappen had crippling self-doubt.

"max. my love."

"yeah.." he said softly. the self-doubt that followed him like a shadow seemed to encrouch in his mind. you could tell even if you couldn't see his full expression.

you took the phone and placed it on the coffee table. you ran your fingers through his hair and looked down at him. fingers trailed down his jaw. "why don't we forget about that and go to the bedroom. "i'll make it all better."

you were in bed with him soon enough. he left his t-shirt and loose shorts on as your hands roamed his body. your lips on his neck, jaw and face. little unsaid promises of how handsome he was. "don't listen to them."

"what if they're right."

"when has a formula one fan ever been right about anything? you know some people online make ragebait. they're trying to get a rise out of other fans and cause in fighting."

"if i tried a little harder... i could look more like the others."

you made him look at you. his blue eyes seemed sad, like cloudy skies over a rocky shoreline. he couldn't meet your gaze, he was almost embarrassed. "max, look at me."

he made eye contact with you, "i could... if i tried."

you held his face a little tighter as he looked away. you said to him, "max, you are training all the time. you push yourself to limits that could kill many others. you work harder than a work horse with half the pay sometimes." you kissed the bridge of his nose, "i don't know who planted these ideas into your head." you had an idea, two names came to mind that made you frown. that was neither here nor there, "but, i love how you look."

his eyes shifted away from you. embarrassed. this entire thing felt embarrassing. he was insecure like a teenage girl at the moment because some random person online called him a stupid name.

"max. don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up." you said, trying to insert a joke to lighten the mood. you watched his demeanor shift and his eyes meet yours.

"would you.. tie me up? make me forget everything for a little bit?" he asked softly, his words almost tripped over one another. while most would've sought heavy therapy and an early retirement for their issues. max tried to cover them up, and sometimes that meant being your good boy.

"then tell me one thing, max."

"anything." he replied.

"say one nice thing about your appearance. anything. just one thing. and then i'll get what we need.' you promised, sealing it with a kiss on the cheek.

he swallowed, not knowing what to say. he shifted a little in his spot on the bed before he sighed. eventually he responded with, "my nose." he said, eyes on yours, "i like my nose. makes me stand out a little more."

you smiled a little bit and kissed him on the cheek, a gestured he melted into you. you replied, "and i love your nose too. i'm proud of you, max. good boy."

he said, "i love you."

and before you pulled away to get the roped needed for tonight, you said to him, "i love you too." then quickly ran your finger down his nose, "i love you, your nose, those eyes. every last inch of skin. your strength and your softness. it makes you perfect to me and those jealous bitches on twitter can't say anything about it." you broke into a further smile.

max chuckled slightly, he found you language amusing. the internet was troll heaven, but sometimes he needed his guiding light to not get himself sucked into the chaos of his doubts. he watched you pull away from him and get off the bed. he took off his shirt and shorts, he tried not too think too hard, but rather keep his eyes on you.

when you went to the dresser to find what you needed, he propped himself against the rod-iron headboard. usually he didn't like them, but when he discovered his affection for bondage early into your relationship, the headboard was perfect to keep him bound.

you returned to the bed, placing the two pieces of rope down onto the bed before you started to strip out of your clothes. once naked you got into bed with him. your hands roamed his chest and straddled his waist.

"you're so handsome, max. jesus christ. look at you." you smiled down at him. skin so soft, he was just perfect and you couldn't believe it. you rubbed up against him a little more and explored his torso with your hands, you watched him squirm a little under your touch. he shuddered a little. 

  “i'm not that-"

  “max verstappen. shush. i don't want to hear it.” you rubbed up against the bulge in his briefs. you held onto his shoulders a little as you moved. the dry humping felt good and left excitement racing through your lover, “that's it. that's my good boy.” 

he groaned a little, which only go louder when you stopped your movements to grab the ropes. he dropped his wrists to the bed and let you tie them to the bars of the headboard by the mattress. he melted a little against it while you took his cock out of his briefs.  the underwear was off him in no time and you got straddled on his waist with your hands on his shoulders once more.

you eyed him with heavy lust, “i know those idiots say that you're too fat or soft. well, i think they're blind. i think they're a whole bunch of idiots. you are perfect, turn me on every chance you get.” you took his face in your hands and kissed him as you continued to rub up against him. he panted against you when you broke the kiss soon after. 

  words of protest hung on max's tongue, but he never said anything further. this wasn't going to be a thing he could win. no matter what he said, you have a rebuttal. it was a losing battle, so he'd simply have to put his trust into you. if you found him hot beyond words, then you'd have to listen. but the fight was fully gone when you seated yourself onto his cock, then sank down on it to the base. he yanked against the ropes a little bit and found euphoria in the knowledge that you tied the ropes just as he liked them. tightly.

  “planning to fight against them, max?" you asked as you raked your fingers down his pale chest, "you wouldn't do that, would you? because you're my good boy! my handsome good boy. with those dazzling eyes and stunning laugh. when you smile i'm in heaven. especially when yo let me make both of us feel good. 

he shook his head, his cheeks grew hot from your gaze on him. if he was hot, then you were gorgeous. you were an inferno made human. the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. the kind of beauty that brought him to his knees. he breathed heavily as the pleasure started to build in the bottom of his gut. his cock twitched a little bit the more you rode him. 

he loved being at your mercy, under your thumb in a sexual manner. he bad so many choices all day, sometimes with only seconds to make them. so it was nice. to be in the comfort of your shared bed and letting you take what you needed from him. to give you total control. to love him, shower him in the praise he desired.  

  “i love you.” you said,

  “i love you too.” 

you started to move faster, really working your hips, making sure you could do as much as you could. you moaned a little bit and felt the stutter in your heart from the heat of everything. you pushed hair out of your face as you continued to ride him. the feeling between you two was electric. you said to him, “you're so handsome. fuck, you're perfect.” you started to move faster.

max bit back a moan but it spilled out when you crashed your lips against him. he almost whimpered from the fast speed. how good you took him. it made him clench his fists to try to compose himself. his chest rose and fell heavily he tensed up a little bit at the throb of lust in his body. you kissed him once more as you went as fast as you could go. you bounced on his cock and your nails dug into his jaw and shoulders. 

the noises between you two were erotic. it was desperate on max's end. he wanted to make you feel good while also chasing his own pleasure. he fought a little bit against constraints. he was a little jerky as he tensed up. he could feel it all crashing down on him. no longer the lingering feeling of self-doubt but rather he heat of pleasure. the need to climax. to get out of his own head with the erotic bliss. 

   “please, my love. please.” he swallowed as his back arched a little. he leaned up to give you more kisses and watched you melt against him while your hips still moved. you held his face with both hands and clenched your thighs. he made a sweet, high pitched, almost whine like noise when you pulled away.

you carded your fingers through his hair and admired those blue eyes clouded in lust. “you're perfect, max. every inch of you. every spot you hate, i love more. damn those fuckers on twitter, they don't get to see what i see. everything.” you went in for another kiss and clutched onto his shoulders tightly as you came around his cock. your back arched and max went in to kiss your collarbones with such tenderness. 

  “my good boy.” you said out of breath as you continued to move against him. your cunt clutched around him as you kept your pace steady despite the tremor in your thighs. you knew max wanted to hold onto you and work your hips up and down his cock. but, you were in control. so you examined his expressions as you continued to move. 

the kisses became sloppy once more as you brought max to his own climax. as he tensed up, he really yanked at the ropes for a good few moments before he felt all the fight leave his body. his eyes almost rolled back into his head from the head rush. he relaxed against the headboard and panted heavily. 

he looked erotic, but totally blissed out. so when you stopped your motions. you kissed him gently on the lips before you got off his cock and felt his cum run down your leg as you tried to find your panties. once they were on, you smothered him in kisses and praise as you got the ropes off of him.  you kissed his wrists and he slipped down onto the bed. the mattress felt nice against his body. he felt on cloud nine.

you rubbed his cheek for a moment with your thumb as you said, “i'm going to go get you some water. you just stay here, i'll be right back. now before i go i have to ask one thing. say one thing you like about yourself?"

he shakily exhaled while he leaned into your touch. his eyes were somewhat closed when he answered, sounding far away, “my eyes. they intimidate people. but not you. you love them.” then leaned further. 

you smiled and kissed the top of his head, “that's what i like to hear. next time i want two things before and after we have sex. got it? i'm going to make you love yourself.”

he chuckled softly, cheeks pink, “easier said than done.”

you tapped his cheek before you moved away to go get him some water. you said to him while you approached the bedroom door, “max verstappen, you know i'm as stubborn as you are. ” then left to go get him some water. you could only hope you could make a dent in healing some of his doubt issues. and while you couldn't fight people on twitter, you could kiss and love the man you called your boyfriend. <3

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in the Bottle - Chapter 10 (The End)

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

Elain Bashing, Azriel is trying...meddling shadows

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

She’s crying, the shadows hissed. 

Again, went unsaid. 

Eira had been crying…pretty much since she had woken up for the first time and had panicked. 

Even Rhys had not been able to reach her then, calm her down, stop the panic…even when Azriel had begged him, his own heart breaking at the utter terror that Eira poured down the bond. Her panic had been enough to break his fucking heart.

As had been the repeat of these three words. Again and again. She should have needed to kill them. That shouldn’t have ever been anything that she worried about. he should have been right there…but he hadn’t been. 

And so she had panicked and sobbed…and they had needed to drug her…The only thing they could do, hoping that maybe a little bit more time…giving her a moment longer… when Rhys didn’t need to drag her out of a nightmare, she would wake on her own. 

And then she had. 

And at first, it had been fine…

He had nervously wrung his hands, forcing himself not to listen to that conversation, forcing himself not to ask the shadows what they were hearing…not to spy on her…

Eira had a right to her privacy. Especially now, when most of it had been stripped away from her. She should at least have some of it left.

Rhys didn’t seem to have these scruples…probably a good thing.  His clenched jaw told Azriel that that conversation between the three sisters was not going in a direction that would help anything. Finally, Rhys had enough…had interrupted before any more damage could be done. 

Azriel didn’t know what had been said there either, but… Rhys’ slumped shoulders when he left her bedroom had been…

“She’ll need time,” Rhys had told him quietly. “Give her time, Az. We did a lot of damage with careless words and actions… She’s…We fucked up and she’s the one paying the price for it.”

With her tears, went unsaid. 

The shadows complained to him, about how she was crying, how Nesta and Feyre were holding her and that didn’t stop Eira from weeping like somebody had died. 

And he supposed in a way… somebody had died. 

Eira’s twin sister…the sister she had loved…she had died. Died the moment Elain decided to keep the vision a secret…when she had tried to make sure that it wouldn’t come true. 

“Did…” he couldn’t bring out the words as he stared at Rhys. 

“I told her,” Rhys assured him with a sigh. 

And? What had she said? What did Eira think about the mating bond? What did she want to do with it? What did… “She thought it was a joke.”

What?

“A joke?” Cassian repeated unbelieving. “A joke? What kind of joke?” he demanded and Rhys just raised one eyebrow. 

“A joke at her expense,” Rhys clarified evenly. “That Azriel couldn’t possibly be her mate.”

Somebody ripping out his heart with their bare hands probably would have hurt less. What was he supposed to say to this? What was he supposed to do about it? 

How was he supposed to assure Eira that…that he wanted her? That he was glad about the mating bond because, without it, he would have walked through his life deaf and blind to the treasure right in front of him.

He would have…he wouldn’t have known...He wouldn’t ever having seen that vision, wouldn’t ever have seen the children they would be able to create, the happiness on his own face, the happiness on Eira’s face…

How was he supposed to beg on his knees for her forgiveness when she was sobbing at just…

Azriel went back to pacing. 

He had no idea what to say to that. He had no idea what to do to make this right. 

He had…

There was nothing he could do. Nothing at all. 

And Azriel hated it. 

Maybe that’s what brought him back to the hallway in front of the room…back to sitting there and staring at the closed door…back to cradling that golden bond in his mind and waiting for Eira to wake up from her crying fit induced nap…

Cassian kept him company, clearly still expecting him to go off and do something really stupid. Like murdering Elain in cold blood. 

Which he wasn’t going to do, for the record. Oh, he wanted to. Eira wouldn’t forgive him for that though. And that was the only fucking reason why he didn’t do it. 

He had killed people for less than Elain trying to make sure that his children would never be born. 

Still, he tried to push down that anger that was embering in his gut. If he didn’t do that, he would just get even more angry and he didn’t think that his anger was his biggest problem right now…it was…

She’s awake, Master. The shadows. Of course. Aren’t you going to talk to her, Master? They pushed him. Always pushy. 

I don’t think she wants to see me, he gave back quietly.

She’s our mate!

And don’t forget we hurt her, he responded tightly.

You hurt her, the shadows sniped at him. We kept her company. She likes us. 

He was pretty sure that if the shadows had eyes, they would be rolling them at him at the moment. 

“Do you want to talk to him?” he couldn’t help but flinch as he heard Feyre’s voice through that closed door. 

“Do I have a choice?” Eira’s voice sounded…broken. He had no other words for it. Nothing but that. Broken. Completely and utterly splintered apart. 

“You’ll always have a choice,” Nesta assured her, her voice hard. “You don’t want to see him now? Then’ll wait until you feel ready for that.”

It was quiet for a moment, and he could hear her breathing…uneven…and then a quiet sniffle. 

“I’ll talk to him.”

It was both the most beautiful and the scariest words he had ever heard in his life. Azriel had half a mind to take off running, but the shadows tightened around his wrist like a manacle. 

Don’t even think about it, they hissed at him. You’ll go in there and you are going to apologise. 

“Are you sure?” Nesta made sure. 

“Yeah.” Her voice was shaking and sounding just as unsure as he was feeling. Neither of them had a clue what exactly to even say…what to…

Nesta was the one opening the door, fixing him with steely eyes. He already knew that there would be hell to pay if he upset Eira. 

But he didn’t even get to think about that closer because the shadows outright dragged him into the room, nearly making him stumble as he entered. 

Eira was sitting up in her bed…wearing a silky dressing gown pulled over her nightgown, hair pulled back into a braid…he had no idea where to stand or sit, but the shadows didn’t have that problem, coming to swarm to her, like…she was their favourite thing in the whole wide world.

They came to curl themselves over her shoulder and then around her hands and she reached out to pet one of them like one would maybe do to a cat. 

“Eira,” he finally breathed out, staring at her. 

The blue of her dressing gown brought out her eyes…somehow making her skin seem even paler…a blush high on her cheeks…dark circles under her eyes…she looked exhausted. Of course, she did. She had been stabbed by a fucking poisoned knife, he berated himself mentally. 

“May…May I sit?” he blurted out, and she nodded, looking everywhere but at him, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. 

It was…

He managed to cross the room to the chair at her bedside and sit down on it…his shoulders so tight that it hurt. 

She hasn’t thrown you out of the room yet, great job, the shadows sniped at him. 

“I…”

“I…”

They both started at the same time, and she started at him, grey eyes wide. 

“Let me…please,” he blurted out, his heart hammering in his chest. “I am so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Eira whispered, staring back down on her hands, tightly clenched into her bedding. She waved him off, even when her voice was thick with tears, even when…

“Yes, I did,” he disagreed. “I did a lot of things that weren’t right. And I’ll probably spend the rest of my life regretting them, Eira. I am sorry that I treated you like you didn’t matter…that you felt like you were worthless because of something I did…I am sorry that I never tried to really talk to you or…I am sorry that I let it go this far…and I am sorry because I knew better,” he apologised. It wasn’t enough. 

Nothing that he could say, would be enough. But she still stared at him, wide-eyed, like she couldn’t believe the words that left his mouth. Her surprise poured all over their fledgling little bond. 

“I should have questioned Elain about the earrings, but I didn’t,” he continued. “And I am sorry about the pain that that caused you.”  

“The earrings?” Eira asked, her voice hoarse. 

“Elain told me to buy them. I knew that your ears weren’t pierced but…I listened to her. She told me that you were thinking about getting them pierced and that you wanted them and…I am sorry,” he explained and she swallowed, her delicate throat wobbling. 

“They are beautiful. I always thought so,” Eira whispered. Oh. 

“Rhys showed you…” he stumbled over the words. 

The babies? The shadows whispered excitedly. They were excited about that vision. After their screaming fury had subsided they had danced around him in pure delight at the prospect of babies. 

“Elain’s vision? Yes,” Eira whispered quietly. “I…I understand if you don’t…” her voice shook as she trailed off and he stared at her. 

“If I don’t?” he repeated dumbly. If he didn’t what? What had…

“Want me? I won’t keep you leashed to this bond. You don’t owe me anything,” Eira pressed thickly, a hand coming up to wipe away her tears and he could just stare at her. 

“How can you say that?” he breathed. How could she just wipe away what she had seen and think he wouldn’t…He wouldn’t want his…Wouldn’t…fight hell itself for this? “I saw the future, Eira. I saw our children,” he asked her desperately. “How can you say…How can you say that when you saw that vision? I want that life. I want that garden and I want our daughter and… I want you!”

“You want me because of that mating bond,” Eira whispered. “You…You wouldn’t want me otherwise. How is this fair to you?”

“That’s…” It was preposterous. It was…

“It’s the truth,” Eira whispered. “I am not going to shackle you to me.”

She said that like it was a fate worse than death to be mated to her. And not a gift from the mother herself. 

Like he was going to regret it…and not thank the cauldron for the gift it had given him. 

“Firstly, you wouldn’t be forcing me into anything,” Azriel started his voice even. “Secondly, being mated to you would be my privilege. It would not be a duty, it would be a gift. Thirdly, I was a fucking idiot, Eira. That’s what I was. I let myself be blinded by a pretty face. That’s what happened. Elain may think she is the beautiful one, but you are the kind one. She’s a monster,” he spat out. “I know she is your sister but she… She wanted to keep our children from us,” he whispered helplessly. 

“I know that you are a good person. I know that you were willing to put your life on the line for your nephew… I know that you would protect our children ferociously.”

And that was more important to him than anything else. 

“The mating bond is forcing you to...” She choked out, the tears finally brimming in her eyes and starting to fall. 

Fix this, the shadows demanded sharply.  You hurt her. Fix this now!

“The mating bond works two ways,” he finally brought out. “Is it forcing you?”

“What?” she stared at him, tears still falling and he reached out, with one horrible scarred hand and took her much smaller one in his. 

“I swear to you, Eira…it’s not forcing me,” he promised her. “That’s not how a mating bond works. You could always refuse me,” he promised her. 

The last thing he had expected was for her to snort. 

“If I refuse the mating bond you could go mad, or worse,” she whispered. “You want me to believe that the Night Court would be alright with losing its spymaster and shadowsinger because I refused him his cauldron-given right?” 

He could just stare at her in outright horror. 

“Yes, of course,” he promised her hoarsely. “Eira, that’s not even a question. I would never force you.”

His father had done that to his mother. 

“I was born and raised to be sold off to a man, any man that would be willing to take me because I wasn’t smart enough to find a Prince and I wasn’t pretty enough to marry for love and beauty like Elain. My mother liked to say that I would make a good farmer’s wife,” Eira said, her voice nearly emotionless. “Somewhere along the way, I started hoping that maybe he would actually want me for me. I should have known that that was ridiculous.”

No, it wasn’t ridiculous. It was…

He could understand that. 

“It’s not ridiculous he said quietly. “And the mating bond is not forcing you on me, or doing anything that I do not want…If anything…it only opened my eyes to something I should have seen earlier.” 

He watched his shadows twine around her hands again, obviously trying to comfort her. 

“They were always much smarter than me,” he said quietly. 

We are, they preened aloud so that Eira would hear them too. Master will not force you, and you didn’t force Master into anything. We still exist, too…we wouldn’t let either happen.  They promised her brightly. 

It was…something. 

“Of course, you do,” Eira whispered with a wet little laugh, the sound so beautiful.  “They kept me company sometimes. When I was alone in the evenings,” she said softly…a peace offering of sorts. 

“They do tend to be smarter than me,” he reiterated and she gave him another little laugh. 

And he watched her play with them for just a moment, thinking about what she had just told him. 

Eira had never truly expected to have a choice in the man she was going to marry. Not as a human…and not known as a fae with a snapped mating bond. 

So how…

Still…her humanity had been ripped from her. Taken away. Never to be returned. 

So how…

“If I were human…how would this work?” he asked her, as a plan began to take shape for him. 

She looked at him, startled, the shadows forgotten twirled around her fingertips. 

“What?”

“If I were human and wanted to declare my intentions…if I wanted to court you… what would I do? If I wanted you to give me a chance? To let me grovel on my knees for your forgiveness,” he asked her. 

Her eyes widened. 

“You would ask my father’s permission to court me,” she explained quietly. “But…”

“He’s dead,” he ended the thought and she nodded. 

“Yes,” she whispered.  He was dead. But Nesta wasn’t. 

“So if I were to ask you…would you give me a chance?” he said softly, lifting her hand to his mouth, ghosting a kiss across her knuckles. “We’ll do this your way. However, you want. So you are sure that you are not forcing me into anything and I am not forcing you. Everything at your pace,” he promised and she gave him a shaky smile. 

And then she nodded, nearly shily. 

But that little nod…that little nod…promised him a chance. 

A chance to win her hand…a chance to earn that vision. 

There was a knock at the door, and then Feyre and Nesta returned, a tray filled with food in Feyre’s hands. 

“We brought you breakfast,” Feyre said, her voice filled with forced cheer. “I thought you may be hungry. Did you…two…clear the air?”

Eira nodded, a blush rising on her cheeks and he stood, letting go of her hand with a squeeze. 

“Nesta, I would like to formally ask for your permission to court your sister,” he said, crossing his hands behind his back. 

Surprise registered in Nesta’s eyes as she leaned her head to the side, mustering him. 

“So that’s how you’ll go along with it?” she asked him, something like grudging respect and amusement in her voice. 

He inclined his head. 

“Granted,” Nesta said calmly. “Let’s have a talk about human courting customs. And how I’ll rip you into a thousands little pieces if you break her heart.”

[biscuitboba]

Thinking about how sometimes people wonder why zoro's not a captain himself..

And how once zoro even jokingly said that he'd become the new captain if luffy wasn't strong enough...

But then i remembered zoro's words after luffy recovered from his fight with foxy, "if i left this ship i'd have no point in being a pirate anymore" he said.

But you know what's left unsaid? "If you're not my captain anymore i'd have no point in being a pirate anymore"

In thriller bark kuma only asked for luffy's head. Only his captain's head. But zoro would rather die than lose his captain. Throwing away his ambition (shared ambition with kuina mind you), his precious swords, and his life... for luffy.

And OF COURSE thinking about that 'moment' with kaido.

Like idk but can we talk about zoro's undying loyalty to his captain? He is strong enough to lead, to become a captain himself, but he can't just walk away from luffy... that boy saved his life, and their dreams are now intertwined.

He will do anything for his captain and i know that in fics sometimes people highlight(?) on his 'obedience', but that, to a certain degree is true, because he loves to please his captain and follow his orders, i mean.. just take a look at his conversation in wano with marco.

Like ughh he is so ill, i am so ILL, and you ask me why i can't imagine zoro being with anyone else other than his beloved captain? I mean just look at him???

Reminder that they are like almost if not equally strong? especially during pre-ts era

力 = power/strength

Like literally everything about zoro screams dominance but god he just loves his captain so muchh, that it's okay to obediently listen to luffy's orders. He will follow that rubber man anywhere, that's his compass, that's his captain, his (future) KING, i will shut up-

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 8)

cregan x reader

A/N: omg another update so soon? who would've thought i could do it

series masterlist

word count: 1,832 words

You’ve never looked so beautiful in your life. You know that to be a fact as you stare at your reflection in the looking glass. You made all the handmaidens leave as soon as you were readied, wanting to spend your last few moments as an unmarried woman in solitude. Now, you aren’t sure if the solitude is something you can even appreciate. You’ve waited all day for your mother to arrive, thinking she would want to spare some comforting words but now you’re starting to wonder if you’ll even see her before you become Cregan’s… before you’re no longer her’s. It’s disheartening to think about how desperately you wish that you could revert back to your childhood. It’s almost all you can think about, swimming in the sea with Jace and Luke, playing dolls with Baela and Rhaena, resting your head in your mother’s lap as he fingers run through your hair, Daemon’s voice whispering a story about Valyrian dragonlords in the background. They’re such fond memories but you hate it when they fill your head because you’ll never feel that way again.

“You’re a vision.” You didn’t hear him come in. You didn’t even hear him knock. Did he knock?

“Thank you, kepa.” father. Sometimes it feels strange to call him that. Especially when you know you used to call Laenor the same thing.

Daemon walks over to you. “You will do well here.” He says as his hand grasps your chin gently but he is still forcing you to look in his eyes.

“Will I?” You ask just as gently as he touches. “Is that how you felt about Runestone? Is this what you wanted for me?” His grip tightens.

“My clever girl.” He says thoughtfully. “Clever enough to know it’s different. This marriage is necessary.”

“At least it isn’t one of your daughters being sold to the North, right?”

“You are my daughter. You also know that Baela and Rhaena help your brothers through marriage.” It’s left unsaid but it’s in the air. 

Baela and Rhaena make my bastard brothers look more legitimate. 

“And I suppose I don’t need such help?”

He sighs. Of course you don’t, is what he’s thinking. You have a claim to nothing. You inherit nothing. You’re just a girl.

“Can you believe me when I say that Cregan Stark is the best match for you? Your mother and I didn’t have you betrothed on a whim. We would not be so careless about your future.”

Your mother said nearly the same thing and you think you could open your mouth to agree with him but Rhaenyra arrives at the door. 

“Mother.” You hate how you breathe out the word in relief.

There’s tears in her eyes. “My perfect girl.”

You notice the dripping ruby earrings in her hands.

“For me?”

“Of course. They were your grandmother’s.” She comments as she walks over, taking your own earrings out gently before putting in the rubies. They’re more simple than what you have on but clearly the better choice. “She wore them on her wedding day.”

“Did you wear them on your’s?”

“No… I didn’t.” The fact seems to hurt her. “She would be happy to know that you’re wearing them.”

“Thank you.” Is all you can seem to say. Even Daemon senses the tension in the dynamic.

“They’ll be ready for us soon. You ought to make way so you don’t miss the ceremony, Rhae.” Your stepfather says and your mother seems to agree.

She grabs your hands, giving them a fleeting kiss before she’s out the door.

You think you dissociate for the next ten minutes. Actually, you know you do because there can’t be another explanation for how you’ve come to be at the edge of the Godswood. Your breath freezes up in front of you. It’s snowing; you wonder if that’s a good thing. Brides often dread rain on their wedding days. Should you dread the snow? You can’t imagine doing such a thing when it’s this beautiful. The little flakes drape themselves on your eyelashes, across your hair. They melt into your warm cheeks. You wonder if it makes you look prettier because as your eyes follow their way up the aisle to Cregan, you think they make him look prettier. He’s shrouded in a fur cloak. Tiny snowflakes decorate it and his hair. He’s the embodiment of a northernman. 

You’re clinging to Daemon as you’re brought up the aisle, clutching his arm like he’s a piece of driftwood that might save you from drowning. Perhaps it’s more like a child clinging to her mother’s skirts, about to be ripped away by slavers. There’s so many unfamiliar faces in the audience, so many people who will be your subjects in a sense. You’re cold as you reach the front, almost shivering.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” You don’t recognize the man who stands at the front. He must be some sort of relative to your betrothed.

Daemon speaks for you, saying your name, “of House Velaryon, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” You wish at the very least that you could say the words yourself but of course, that would be silly to think.

“Cregan, of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Who gives her?” His voice is firm and steady. You know he’s looking right in your eyes as you look over his shoulder to avoid eye-contact.

“Daemon, of House Targaryen, husband to her mother.”

“Princess, will you take this man?” The officiator speaks again.

Now you look in Cregan’s eyes. You can see the pleading in them. It’s so hidden and almost overshadowed by his clear pride but it’s there, no matter how much he doesn’t want it to be. You don’t know if he pleads for you to not embarrass him or if he pleads for you to want him. It’s of no consequence. 

“I take this man.” Now is it relief in his eyes or pity?

He takes your smaller and much colder hand in his, sending a flush of warmth through you before you both kneel in front of the heart tree. Everything is silent for the prayers that are meant to be between you and the Old Gods. You suppose you should say something to the gods that you now claim but you can’t think of a single thing.

You and your husband rise now and he removes your Velaryon cloak to place one of House Stark over your shoulders. He cringes at the way you practically wince. You already miss the loss of colour. He then takes your arm, people clap and you’re led to the feast.

“You’re colder than ice.” He murmurs, taking your freezing hands in his to try and warm them.

This is the first thing he says to you?

“Is the snow a bad omen?” It’s the only thing you can think about right now. You can’t get the idea of it out of your head.

He didn’t seem to think you were going to say that. “I would not have thought that you cared much for northern omens.”

You’re just silent in response.

“It’s good luck.” He says. The answer doesn’t necessarily please you. “You look wonderful today, wife.”

Wife.

“I don’t think i’ve seen a woman so beautiful in my whole life.” You gaze up at him as he says it and he’s just staring straight ahead. It’s like he’s stating just pure facts and not an opinion.

“You look… very nice as well.” You reply, hating how his comment made you blush.

He takes you to the main table in the hall, holding out your chair for you like a proper gentleman. All the other guests file in. You’re more than glad that you don’t have to talk to them until after the feast. Though, you’re not sure if you’ll be able to down a single bite, finding more comfort in your wine goblet instead.

The Queen stands and raises her glass. “To Lord Stark and his beautiful wife, my lovely daughter.” All the northerners cheer. You notice how well your brothers and stepfather seem to enjoy the rowdy bunch. You, on the other hand, are trying to keep the bile down.

Cregan places a hand on your upper back, rubbing gently. “Perhaps some food to go with your drink?” His eyes have no judgement in them, only worry. He noticed right away that you’re eating like a mouse.

“If I want food, then i’ll eat.” You snap at him slightly and he just sighs. The wine is starting to go to your head more and more. 

“I know. I know you can take care of yourself. I just take my duty as your husband seriously.” You hate the tenderness behind his words. It’s hard to be cruel to a man so kind. So, you say nothing.

The feast comes to a natural end and clearly people want to dance and celebrate so you don’t protest when Cregan takes your hand.

You feel like a fairy, floating on air as you dance. Your head is empty and your body is light as your husband lifts and twirls you. You look so peaceful to him at the moment, calm and angelic. He wonders if he should have been more firm about discontinuing your wine consumption but he’s also so pleased about how content you look.

You dance the whole evening away, exhausting yourself as you take the hand of almost every man who asks. You don’t even feel real. It’s like you’re above the clouds when you move.

It’s Daemon who halts the fun. After you dance with him, he brings you back to the table. “Are you trying to drink yourself into the ground, sweetling?”

“Yes.” You say bluntly.

“Hmm.” He sighs. He understands why you behave this way. “Understandable, but I won’t see you with another goblet for the rest of the night.”

You have to hold in your eye roll but you still obey.

You slowly start to sober up over the next hour and it’s sickening. Your melancholy seems to grow as the alcohol leaves your system and your heart drops when someone calls for the bedding. You hope it’s nothing like a southern bedding ceremony even if you doubt that your mother would allow such a barbaric tradition to befall her daughter.

Cregan makes his way through the crowd to you. He speaks once he is by your side, “There is this tradition in the North, as a symbol of protection and strength, the groom will often carry his bride to bed on their wedding night. Will you allow me to carry you?”

“I would not deprive you of tradition.” You try to keep your words from slurring.

Everyone is watching as your husband takes you in his arms. There’s no goodbyes as you’re whisked away for your wedding night.

taglists (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

Lord husband: @feyres-fireheart @possiblyafangirl @hb8301 @marihoneywk @youn-jo @velvet-spider @janelongxox @ninastyless @nyctophilic0vitnir @m-a-s-h-k-a @delicious-xx @weepingfashionwritingplaid @happinessinthebeing @betelrus @joliettes @black-swan-blog27 @mxtokko @valeridarkness @karolalolla @satan-s-ass @synindoodles @a-beaverhausen @petertingle3000 @lunnnix @hermaeusmorax @cupcakesminicakescupcakes @purplegardenwhispers

[railingsofsorrow]

old habits

a/n: in honour of cm:evolution new trailer that I saw emily holding a pack of cigarettes.

pairing: emily prentiss x f!bi!BAU!reader

warnings/content: exes with feelings trope; smoking; past relationships; discussion about marriage and family being overbearing; this is sad.

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

[part 2] [part 3]

━━━━━━━━━

“you're back at it?”

emily's head tilted to watch you approach from her peripheral vision.

you watched as her grey strands fell from her shoulder as she turned her neck.

one of the best things emily did was let her hair take on her natural colour, instead of dying it black continuously. she's beautiful regardless, especially with messy hair and her sleepy face as soon as she wakes up— and now you're spiraling.

your brain seemed to forget that she's no longer your girlfriend and kept on hunting you with memories you can't get back to.

she was playing with the pack of cigarettes as she admitted out loud, “mhm. trying not to, but—”

“you're stressed.”

her lips quirked up and she looked up at you, a hint of a smile. it wasn't a happy one. “that's one way to put it.”

you looked down at your shoes as you leaned to where she was sitting. eye contact was something you couldn't hold for long, it was hard and awkward. it didn't used to be like that. you could stare at emily the entire day and not look away for a second.

“what's stressing you out?” your voice was slightly muffled by the collar of your coat. it was cold, you find it absurd how emily never even flinched at the wind. she had always been warmer than you but had the coldest hands on earth.

“just needed some fresh air.”

you offered her a blank look.

she closed the lid of the pack, leaving it aside before she spoke again. if she did that out of respect for you or if she didn't felt like smoking anymore, you didn't care. both were good reasons.

“what's stressing you out?” she threw back.

“my mom called.” you eyed her hand for a moment, wondering if they were still as cold as you remembered them to be. clearing your throat and shaking your head to deviate your thoughts to a better and solid place, you said, “she wants to know when I'm going to visit because, you know, uh... she wants to introduce me to someone.”

a beat.

“oh.” emily let out a forced chuckle. “she wants to set you up with a guy.”

“precisely.” which is what your mother always did, even after you introduced emily as your long term girlfriend. her calls were always about finding someone good for you while you were in a relationship.

it was frustrating but you could handle it since you were never at her place anymore. you visited, yes, but five times a year, maybe. never more than that. you never told her you and emily had broke up.

“and do you want it? to meet him?”

a scoff left your lips, “no. it will probably be some religious prick who will want to control my life like my dad controlled hers.”

“she must be crazy about the idea of planning your wedding.”

you nodded, staring distractedly into the horizon.

“probably,” you said, “but it's never happening, so.”

“why would you say that?” you could see her frown through her tone of voice. “it can still happen.”

you leaned back slightly, inhaling with your eyes closed. your nose was definitely pink and you were starting you feel your fingers become numb, but the night sky and the quietness made you enjoy the moment.

and the company, of course.

“i don't want to.”

“get married?” she had a puzzled look while she studied you. and you let her profile you in that moment, even if you despised when she did that. “you used to want it.”

there are some things that are better left unsaid. in order for you to end a cycle, you have to do something to move on. so you say things that need to be said and leave out the ones that will come to the surface later. the what ifs.

you blamed the moon for your choice or words next.

“i used to want it, yes. when I was with you.”

you ignored the deafening silence that installed itself between the two of you, deciding to bask in the rare peaceful moment without seeing dead bodies and without hunting serial killers.

“i didn't know that.” she surprised you by breaking the silence. you thought she would've just pretended you didn't say anything and move on.

move on.

why is it so hard?

“you thought about marrying me?”

yes, please, torture me like that, emily prentiss. you're awfully good at that.

“emily, I thought about everything with you.”

“why?” she sounded genuinely confused.

“because I loved you.” you said matter-of-fact. “and I... you know what? I'm gonna head back inside. it's freezing out here.” you abruptly cut the conversation short. otherwise you'd say something you'd regret later and all the moving on you did in the last few years would go down the drain. a moment didn't change anything.

emily's icy fingers held you by the elbow and your breath failed for a second.

“i'm sorry.”

“no, don't do that.” you begged, pulling your arm back and out of her reach. you'd done that before, you remembered how you ended up. you're not going back there again.

she let you go, folding her arms across her chest as if she felt cold for the first time that night. she eyed the pack of cigarettes, taking a minute to remind herself of the progress she made for not smoking in the past months.

and your voice rang through her head as walked back inside the building.

“it's not good for you.” you said one night when she thought you were sleeping. your arm wrapped around her middle and you tucked your nose in the crook of her neck. she leaned back immediately, her body finding the comfort in seek in your warm touch.

she pulled the cigarette away from her mouth and stared at it. “i know.”

you kissed the back of her shoulder, rubbing softly the side of her waist. “why'd you wake up? nightmare?”

“yeah, I didn't want to wake you up too.” she grimaced, turning her head so your eyes could meet. you gave her an eye roll.

“you didn't but you should. I don't like you alone with your mind catastrophizing everything.”

and look how she ended up.

lonely. with her mind catastrophizing everything.

━━━━━━━━━

a/n: i need to write some emily fluff....

[throneofsapphics]

a present 

Nessian x f!Reader 

Summary: “Take if off” with Nessian 

Warnings: smut, oral (f!receiving), minors dni please!

A/N: for this!

“You’ll watch us tonight,” Nesta told Cassian, the door opening and shutting as the two entered. 

The words caught your attention, and you quickly finished the paragraph of the book you were reading - it wasn’t that interesting in comparison, closing it to see her cover your line of sight, the arches of Cassian’s wings visible beyond her. Winking at you, before sliding between you and the headboard, shifting you between your legs, you noticed hair was already loose from its usual crown.  

“If that’s alright with you, love,” she murmured in your ear. 

You twisted to meet her eyes, noting the mischievous glint, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Of course.” 

Generally, Nesta’s schemes against Cassian, especially to tease him, ended rather well for you. 

Her fingers gathered the edges of your nightgown. She slowly slid the fabric up, unveiling you like a present for him. She’d stop every few inches, run her fingers back and forth over her skin, use her thumbs to rub circles into zones you didn’t know could be erogenous. 

Cassian broke his silent observing just as her hands reached your stomach. “Take it off,” he growled from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and visibly struggling with restraint. “Please, Nes,” he added when her hands stopped. 

“I thought I said you’d be watching,” she teased, and he threw his head back in a groan. 

“Don’t make him suffer too long, love,” you cut in. And make you suffer, you left unsaid. 

Nesta hummed, but quickly slid the rest of the fabric up and over your shoulders, tossing it to the side. One hand slid under your thigh, pulling your leg up over hers, leaving you very exposed, and you heard Cassian’s breathing pick up. 

A cool breeze brushed right against your core, dragging a whimper from you. Nesta let out a low laugh, and you yelped as she dragged your other leg over hers, spreading her knees as far as you could handle. 

“You want a taste?” She asked Cassian, her voice a low purr. 

He didn’t bother answering her, instead crossed the room in a few strides, before kneeling between your legs. 

Hazel eyes found yours, searching for permission, all you could manage - with Nesta’s fingers now twisting and pinching your nipples - was a nod and a breathy “yes,” it was enough for Cassian. 

One hand parting your folds, he dragged his tongue up your center, pausing at the apex of your thighs, “fuck you taste incredible,” he moaned. 

You wiggled your hips as much as you could, trying to push yourself against his mouth. He laughed, one hand coming up to pin your hips back against Nesta. One finger teased against your entrance in painfully slow circles, and you couldn’t have pressed forward if you wanted to, now that Nesta had one arm across your lower stomach in an iron grip. 

What started as something fun to tease Cassian was quickly turning back on you. In reality, the teasing probably lasted less than five minutes but with the pressure slowly building in your stomach it felt like years. 

“Am I going to have to do it for you?” Nesta taunted him. 

He snarled, at the idea of you being taken away from him, but finally started pushing you towards relief. Your attempted thanks to Nesta was drowned out by the moans falling from your lips. 

You didn’t have it in you to be embarrassed with how quickly you finished, his fingers curving to hit the perfect spot, teeth nipping at your clit. Cassian slowed his movements as you rode out your orgasm, Nesta whispering praises in your ear. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Nesta murmured after you managed to regain some control of your breathing, your legs still shaking. 

Cassian’s arms slid between the two of you, snatching you from her - he was already halfway to the bath, one you heard the house start to run, before Nesta’s indignant yelp could be heard. 

“She’ll get back at you for this,” you mumbled, head against his chest. For some reason, one of Nesta’s favorite little things was to carry you off towards a bath after. The two of you would joke it’s because she ‘couldn’t do it to that big oaf,’ but you both knew she liked to take care of you. 

“And you’ll keep benefiting from it,” he pressed a kiss against your forehead.

The House was undeniably on Nesta’s side, considering the water was ice cold when Cassian dipped his fingers in to test it. 

“That’s what you get,” Nesta said from the doorway. 

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 38

Part 1 Part 37

Steve keeps acting like he’s perfectly fine. Like he didn’t have part of his shoulder carved off. Like he’s not suffering through an hour of glorified torture masquerading as physical therapy every day, trying to build his muscle back up. Like the doctor hadn’t told him he might still never get back to shooting hoops and swimming laps with the precision he used to. Like his ribs aren’t still broken, and he doesn’t still have trouble standing, or wake up screaming, clutching at his throat. Like he doesn’t rub the back of his head sometimes and stare into the middle distance with lost eyes. And it’s pissing Eddie off.

Especially now, as he walks beside Wayne, pushing Steve’s wheelchair down the hall toward the elevator. This in and of itself was a feat. First, Steve had argued that he didn’t need a wheelchair, then he’d argued he didn’t need help pushing it. Eddie let Steve flounder for a few minutes, trying to make his useless arm wheel him forward, angry tears springing from his eyes before he acquiesces.

The latest rub is the worst: Steve wants to go home. As if Eddie doesn’t remember the look on Steve’s face when he said he wanted to go to Eddie’s trailer. As if Eddie doesn’t remember the way Steve’s voice broke when he called the trailer home.

“The doctor said somebody needs to keep an eye on ya,” Wayne says reasonably. “Either we do it, or you can stay with Joyce. She offered to put you up.”

Steve scoffs. “My parents—”

“Aren’t home!” Eddie snaps, pushing Steve into the elevator and pushing the down button on the elevator with enough force that his finger hurts.

Steve sits up straighter in his chair, reading for a fight. Wayne doesn’t let him. “If you’re staying at that house, then so are we,” he says, implacable. “Until your parents are there to watch you.” Left unsaid, is that no one had heard from them. That Steve hadn’t asked about them at all.

Steve slumps down in a position that must be hell on his cracked ribs, sighing. “Fine,” he says, like it hurts. “I’ll stay in the trailer.”

It feels like a knife twist. Eddie wants to shake Steve and remind him he’d called it home.

It’s quick after that. Steve signs himself out at the front desk, tucking the physical therapy schedule they’d made for him into the pocket of the sweatpants Wayne had scavenged from Eddie’s drawers for Steve to wear home.

Wayne and Eddie work together to help lever Steve into the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. Wayne slides into the driver’s seat without asking, so Eddie grumbles his way into the back.

Steve’s quiet when Wayne pulls up front, quiet while they help him in, quiet when he’s settled onto the couch.

He’s looking around his surroundings just like he had the first time – like he’s amazed people live like this. That first time, he’d wanted to snarl, make sure Harrington knew that there was nothing wrong with this life he’d created with his Uncle. Now, he just thinks of Steve’s empty house, the hospital’s unanswered phone calls to his parents, and feels unbearably sad.

Wayne puts on a basketball game that Eddie doesn’t even complain about, and settles himself at Steve’s side.

Steve falls asleep halfway through the game, head falling on Eddie’s shoulder, warm puffs of air hitting the bare skin of his neck.

Wayne huffs, and Eddie looks up at him, already glaring defensively. “What?” he demands, quiet enough not to disturb Steve.

Wayne raises his hands placatingly, even as he smiles smugly over at Eddie. “I didn’t say anything.”

They all sleep in the living room that night. It’s cozy and warm, especially after Wayne drapes a blanket over them both.

It should feel weird, settling this closely to Steve, now that they’re not depending on each other to survive. Now that they’re back in the real world. But Eddie feels like he’ll fall apart if Steve’s not in sight, so maybe he’s not out of the woods after all.

It's peaceful.

It stays peaceful until the next day when it’s time for Steve’s physical therapy appointment.

“I can take myself,” he says. “I have a car.”

He’s not meeting Eddie’s eyes. Eddie takes a few deep breaths. He knows snapping won’t help anything, but he wants to smack Steve until this is easier. He just— he doesn’t get this. Can’t figure out what the problem is.

“It would take just as long to drive you to your car as it would to just drive you,” Eddie says, cleaning up their half-assed breakfast of toast a cereal off the table. He doesn’t look back at Steve, wants to play this cool and nonchalant, and he just knows one look at the obstinate tilt of Steve’s chin will send him swinging. 

“I can walk,” he says, even though he really really can’t.

Eddie slams a dish into the sink. He’s almost surprised the bowl doesn’t shatter upon impact. He scrubs it, back to where Steve is stewing in silence.

He needs to figure this out. Why Steve is being so difficult, about staying here, about Eddie feeding him and driving him. He does the hardest thing he can think of, and asks, “why don’t you want me to take you to your appointment?”

He doesn’t turn around, just keeps scrubbing the dishes like this is a casual conversation over breakfast. Because it should be.

The silence drags him down, lasts long enough that Eddie doesn’t think Steve will answer at all.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Steve says.

Eddie thinks back – big house no parents – and wonders how long it’s been since someone did something for Steve without strings. He turns around, settles back into his seat and stares at Steve until he raises his eyes from the table.

Choosing his words carefully, he says, “I want to go with you,” Eddie says. “You saved my life—"

“But—” Eddie holds up a hand, and Steve stops, brows furrowed.

“You saved my life,” he repeats, meeting Steve’s eyes. “I’m gonna help you whether you like it or not.”

It’s not quite the whole truth, but Eddie’s not sure how to touch the way it feels like worms are writhing in his stomach when Steve’s out of his sight. How his shoulders only really relax when he knows exactly where Steve and Will both are.

Eddie bites his tongue on the too much of it all.

“Fine,” Steve says, still sullen, but he lets Eddie lead him to the van and drive him to his appointment.

It looks painful. Eddie holds his crossed ankles, to stop himself from leaping up and wrenching Steve away from the doctor’s ministrations.

By the end, Steve looks like he just got done with a basketball game, sweat dripping down his forehead, pits stained. If Eddie squints, he can almost see the uncomplicated jock of days past as they limp out of the hospital.

“You wanna go see Baby Byers?” Eddie asks.

“Please,” Steve says, slumping into the passenger seat like the princess he is.

Eddie drives, turning his music up loud enough to rattle their teeth just to see Steve smile.

Part 39

[frickingnerd]

one last chance for love

pairing: izuku midoriya x fem!reader

summary: izuku knows this is his last chance to confess to you. you're about to go on a date with someone else, but can he stop you?

tags: (attempt at) confession, angsty undertones, oblivious!reader, reader goes on a date with someone else, lovestruck!izuku

“izuku..?”

you knocked on izuku's door, before glancing into the boy's dorm room, to make sure he was there.

“you said you wanted to talk to me..?”

you pushed the door open and slipped inside his room, spotting your friend sitting on his bed, quickly putting aside a notebook.

his eyes widened as he saw you. not because he was surprised to see you. but he was surprised to see what you were wearing. izuku had never seen you in a dress before, especially not one this pretty!

“y-yes… oh, uhm– hi!”

izuku quickly jumped up from his bed, stopping a few inches in front of you. his eyes wandered up and down your body, mesmerized by how pretty you looked.

“i uhm… yes, i wanted to talk about something with you, but–”

izuku stopped. he couldn't say it. not now. not when you stood in front of him, wearing a dress that you had put on for another guy. especially not if that guy was his friend…

“you know, it can wait! enjoy your date…!”

izuku tried to force a smile on his lips. he knew this would be the last chance to tell you how he feels about you. but it wouldn't be right to confuse you. you deserved to be happy, even if it wasn't with him…

“are you sure…? you're my friend, izuku. if it's important to you, then i can make time for it!”

izuki softly shook his head, trying to keep up that forced smile. even if he told you, you had already made your choice. you wanted someone else and telling you he loved you wouldn't change anything.

“no, it's really nothing! i'm sorry for making you come here. please, don't let your date wait any longer…”

you hesitated, before softly nodding. you couldn't force izuku to open up to you. and if he said it was nothing, you simply had to trust him.

“i'll see you around then…”

slowly you made your way to the door, turning around once more and stopping. you waved at izuku, both of you forcing a smile onto your lips. and both of you knowing there were things left unsaid between you…

[tarot-archives]

hands. hands. and more hands. —Simon Riley

fluff | comforting simon and scolding him

Simon always had calluses, even before enlisting. His hands were etched on the butcher knife from frequent use. To the point that even the owner had to buy a new one for himself. The handle fits perfectly, with deep engravings of his print, and thick calluses pressing on its body to reshape the figure.

Now, Simon had returned home from training. His hands, were more worn than before, with scars and burns painting on the canvas of his skin. He didn’t have anyone to take care of him after all. No one to scold him for the mud caking under his nails. No one to swipe his hands away if he hadn’t washed them before eating.

Bottles of hand cream on your nightstand take twice as long to finish since he was shipped out too.

But he’s here now. The bed dips, it’s no longer a place fit for two. He’s grown bulky, more lean than fat, his back straight after months of corrective training. You wonder about the history of his scars so you asked.

“This one was from doing push-ups,” he proudly said. 

“Just push-ups?” you were disturbed that push-ups can leave serious scars. “why is it on your knuckles then?”

“Had to do them against the gravel. Under the heat of the bloody sun,” Simon thumbs over the discoloration on his skin. “It was hot enough to cook an egg and burn through skin. Even had those hard pebbles that push up the bone.”

You grimaced, “the bone?”

Simon looks down at you, then snickers, “almost, but not yet. No.” He lies more easily now. Gentlemen know not to burden a woman’s heart. Especially his best friend.

You sighed in relief. Your fingers now brushing over his palms. The question, tipping itself over the edge of your tongue, as you hesitate to ask. But Simon knows you enough not to wait for a verbal query.

“These ones were from the rope,” he turns his hands to face you. Thick skin on his fingers, especially on his thumb.  All of the digits are dry and in need of a deep clean. He looks down at your furrowed eyes and disappointed glare.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to make a fuss about it since Simon was the strongest person you ever met, but how could you make him understand your thoughts. That you are mad about his lack of self-care. That his hands found home at the barrel of the gun instead of a knife. Both items share the same violence. Both professions are bloody and messy. Both his choices were out of necessity for his family.

Simon doesn’t speak as he lets you feel his rough skin. Your digits travel in between his fingers, over his knuckles, finding a new reason to be more worried than the last. But as you were about to lift your hands away, he entwines his hands in yours. 

He made sure you won’t run as he says: “There’s no reason to worry.”

You shake your head in disapproval, “How could I not?” Your voice cracked. Warmth spread to your cheeks at your choking defeat. “What would you do if your best friend always put themselves in danger?”

“Save them from dumb decisions,” Simon answers. 

“But I’m not at the battlefield,” you gripped his hand harshly as an outlet of your frustration. “what can I do when you’re halfway around the world. And it would be months before I can hear again from you.” 

Despite your strength, it was nothing to him. He had experienced the butt of a rifle lodged into his hand as punishment. Your hold wasn’t a means for pain, but a way for you to deliver the words you left unsaid. So he returns the gesture, thumbing your skin in small circles, speaking in the language you spoke— the love language of touch. 

So you lean into him, understanding the silence and his affection. Realizing that his hands weren’t always a place of violence. It was your safe space, before the blood and the gore. 

He held your hands when you were anxious during preschool. He held your hands to keep you by his side amongst the busy street. He held your freezing hands when you left your mittens at home. And in more sacred moments when his lips touched a cut to heal it faster….

It was never about fixing him up. It was always about taking care of your best friend. All homes, when not properly maintained, tend to ruin quickly compared to others. And taking care of Simon was your way of making do or returning his kindness. 

“I need you to take care of yourself more,” you ordered.

“yes, ma’am.”

“you can’t keep coming back here expecting a manicure.”

“Of course,” he brushed away your gentle reminders. His arms pull you into a hug, purposely tipping you over to fall towards him. Simon was never the kind to fuss over the weight of your body over his. His heart welcomed you, accepting you as a part of him and all the burden you carry. 

[secretsandwriting]

Obsessed

Ethoslab x gn reader

Where Etho is sick and the reader is dragged in to take care of him

As per usual, I've attempted gn reader but I am used to writing fem so if I messed it up let me know and I'll fix it

(UNEDITED)

You weren’t sure why you were pinged by Gem to meet at Etho’s base as soon as possible, but there you were, landing a few steps away from Gem in front of Etho’s base. She turned around, clearly relieved to see you.

“Etho’s sick.” That wasn’t good but you weren’t sure why that required your immediate arrival, Gem seemed to catch on to your unsaid question. “He’s refusing to believe he’s sick and won’t let anyone help him. Tango said he’s way too warm to just brush it off, and since Etho listens to you a little better than the rest of us I asked you to come.”

“I don’t know if he will on this, especially if he wants to get back to his redstone.” You followed Gem into Etho’s base and found him arguing with Tango and Pearl, both trying to get him to lay back down while Etho tried to get past them to work on whatever he felt was calling his name. Which left only one method that would maybe work.

“Etho?” He whipped around and smiled through his mask at you. 

“Hey Y/n! Want to come look at my farms if Pearl and Tango would get out of the way?” You held up some papers. 

“Actually, I have some plans I’ve been testing for a farm but I’m not sure if I have the numbers right. Would you mind looking over them with me?” Etho paused and his gaze flickered between you and the papers.  

“Of course!” With that, your fate was sealed. Etho ushered you to the kitchen table and the papers were laid out and he started pouring over them, figuring it out in his head and mumbling it out. It didn’t take long to hear the effects of his fever. His rambling made no sense. Less sense than most of his redstone rambles. While he was talking, you gently placed your hand against his forehead. Etho froze before ever so slightly leaning against your hand. 

Tango was right, he was burning up. 

“Alright, that's enough. You need to get some rest, your fever is high.” Immediately Etho protested, “I’ll make you a deal. If you listen to what I tell you, I’ll take care of you. If you don’t, I’ll ask Doc too.” He weighed his choices. “Head to bed, I’ll be there in a minute with some things.” Etho jumped up and headed to his room, he was out cold when you went up three minutes later. 

You took that time to get everything you needed together and make some light food for when he woke up. Knowing full well a sick Etho would take advantage of any open second to get away and go back to work and once he started it could be almost impossible to pull him away. 

Etho was out until the next morning, and as predicted, he tried to escape out the window. Thankfully you had blocked all of them off so he couldn’t but he still tried. Begrudgingly, he accepted the tea and sipped on it slowly while he ate his soup. 

When you checked his forehead, he leaned into your touch more than he had the day before, he was also quite a bit warmer then he had been. Hoping you were wrong, you gently pushed his hair off his forehead and kissed it. It was worse, though you were pretty sure the sudden flush in his cheeks was not from the fever. 

Etho whined and complained when he was sentenced back to bed but immediately calmed down when you offered to read something to him. Settling down under a large pile of blankets he fell asleep to the fairy tale you were reading to him.

The next time he woke up, he was delirious and to make it worse, he kept trying to get up to go work on some redstone project. Nothing you tried would convince him to settle down and at least stay inside. 

“You wanna know what will keep me inside?”

“Yes Etho, I do!” Etho’s expression morphed into something you weren’t sure you wanted to know and he leaned a little closer to whisper to you.”

“A kiss, and not on the cheek, it has to be on the lips and you have to cuddle with me.” Oh boy, you had a feeling you knew how this was going to end.”

“I will give you a kiss on the lips and cuddle with you, if you listen to me and you can collect it when you're better and no longer contagious.” He pouted at the last part but seemed to accept it as he settled back down in bed and fell back asleep. 

Three days later, Etho was better and you left to go back to your base for the first time in 6 days. It was nice to finally shower in your own home, and it would be nice to finally get a full nights sleep again in your own bed.

What you didn’t expect was for someone to join you.

“It’s just me.” Etho. “I am here to collect my kiss and cuddles.” Of course Etho would remember that, why did you even agree to it i- Your thoughts were cut off by Etho pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve wanted to do this for years.” Etho whispered before closing the space between your lips. It was a short kiss, but damn was it good. You could feel the questions in the air, questions you weren’t sure if you knew how to answer. So you did the only thing you could think of that could possibly answer a few of them without having to find the words.

Placing your hand on his cheek, you pulled him back for another one. You could feel his smirk through your kiss and his arms tightened around your waist. 

“I didn’t know you were so obsessed with me.” He teased, before you could fire a response back he continued, a little more serious, “It’s ok though, I’m obsessed with you too.”

[jiniret-writings]

With You

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: Reader calls Chan Chris (is that a warning?)

The metal felt cool and heavy on your wrist, but not obnoxiously so. It was a welcome weight, like someone held it. Chris finished the clasp and moved it around your wrist, making sure it wasn't too tight.

"Good?"

"Good," you said, lifting your arm above your head before letting it drop dramatically as though you had weights attached to them. Chris took your hand and kissed it before kissing your forehead.

"Be safe, yeah? And call me if you need company."

"I will. Bye, love," you said, giving him one last kiss on the lips before heading out.

This had become a little routine between the two of you. With comeback approaching and Stray Kids being busier than ever, time with your boyfriend was precious and rare. You had taken to staying at his studio with him to keep him company and spend time with him. The only drawback being that he worked long hours and hunger was inevitable to strike, so you made it a habit to go out to get the two of you food while he worked so you didn't break him out of his "zone".

Chris loved you, but he couldn't fight the bouts of worry that overtook him when you left alone late at night. Especially in the winter when the sun set so early, by the time it was time for dinner, it was pitch black outside. He had tried to get you to order delivery for meals and snacks, but you had insisted on going out yourself, saying it was good to stretch your legs. He couldn't argue with that, but it didn't help the pit in his stomach when he saw you walk out into the dark.

It was during one of these moments of eerie quiet and loneliness that the idea hit him. He was tapping away at his desk, unable to get any work done. His friends had told him about how random guys seemed to be getting bolder in the streets with girls who were alone. They told him in good faith so he could warn you--which he did--but it also made him worry more. As he was drumming his fingers, resisting the urge to text you for the fifth time in as many minutes, he looked down at the bracelet on his wrist.

It was one of his first purchases on his idol paycheck when he started making a substantial amount of money. It was a welcome weight, always serving to ground him when he felt stressed.

It was a almost useless gesture. Realistically, if someone really wanted to be a prick, they wouldn't care about a heavy bracalet on your wrist, but it brought him some peace of mind. The next day, before you could go out, he grabbed your waist and pulled you to him. Placing a small kiss on the inside of your wrist, he removed his bracelet and put it on you.

"What's this for?" you asked, confused on the gesture.

"So that I'm with you," he said, still holding your waist. "Whenever you go out, just take it off my wrist."

You looked down at it, eyes shining with love and appreciation. You understood what he had left unsaid. It looks out of place enough with the rest of your jewelry that it could only mean you got it from your boyfriend. From him.

"And," he continued, moving you so you were sitting in his lap. "If someone tried anything, it's heavy enough to be a weapon."

The smirk on his lips was mischievous, but you knew he was dead serious.

"Got it," you said softly, kissing his cheek.

And so your routine was established. Even when going out with friends, he would give you a piece of his jewelry to wear with your own. More often than not, it was a ring he wore whenever he was in the mood for one. He rationed that it was just a placeholder until he got you something more permanent and more yours.

This semester kicked my ass like no other oml. MY mistake for thinking I could keep writing in between assignments, but my professors seemed hell bent on making sure we were drowning busy. That means I have like 30 unfinished works and a need to write something fun until my fingers fall off ♡

This is an idea that's been spinning around my head for a while. It's finals week so starting next week I have all the time in the world to write! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! And as always, have a great morning, afternoon, evening, and night!

-Jini

[lick-me-lennon22]

How you comfort them when they're upset

(hello!! apologies to anon, as i know this is a little late :( I hope you all enjoy regardless and please remember to take care of yourselves ✨️)

John

John tends to internalize his emotions, putting on a brave face even when he's struggling inside

he'll withdraw into himself and become rather cold and distant

he's often weighed down by his own expectations of himself, as well as his unprocessed grief and regret

you recognize his need for space, but understand the importance of gentle reassurance and are always there to lend a shoulder to cry on

John sat on the edge of your shared bed, his head hung in his hands. His mind was filled with memories of the past and words left unsaid. Tears welled up in his eyes as he wrestled with feelings of isolation and regret, mentally beating himself up over things he'd said or done- things he knew he couldn't change but nonetheless couldn't let go.

You had noticed John's uncharacteristically withdrawn behavior and already sensed something wasn't right, quietly entering the room to check on him. Drawn by the heaviness in John's demeanor, you approached and sat beside him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders in a wordless gesture of support.

Your presence alone was enough to comfort him, but though you didn't need to say anything, you felt compelled to nonetheless. You gently coaxed him out of his shell with soft words and comforting touches, reassuring him that it's okay to be vulnerable

"I'm here for you, John." you whispered, and that alone was enough for the dam to break as tears began to roll down his cheeks. In the silence of the room, you held him close for as long as he needed, allowing him to release his pent-up emotions in the safety of your embrace.

Paul

Paul wears his heart on his sleeve, becoming visibly and obviously emotional when upset

interpersonal conflicts and creative challenges tend to get the better of him, and he often feels misunderstood by others

he is rather sensitive to criticism and often takes negative feedback to heart, especially when it comes to his work

you offer him a warm embrace and someone to lean on, showering him with praise and reminding him of his incredible talents

Paul sat at his piano surrounded by crumpled scraps of paper, staring out the window and lost deep in thought. He felt completely and utterly stuck, overwhelmed by his cluttered mind and unable to find inspiration for his next song. Frustration bubbled him inside of him, and tears of frustration pricked at the corners of his green doe eyes.

Noticing his extended absence, you entered the room and called out for his attention. "Paulie? Are you alright in here?" Met with the sight of Paul sat at his piano, surrounded by paper scraps, eyes watery and lip quivering, you immediately realized what was happening in his mind.

You walked over and sat beside him, gently placing your hands atop his. You guided them to the keys, starting with a soft and simple tune and encouraging him to follow your lead.

As you played around with notes and tunes, the weight of Paul's perfectionism lifted and he found reprieve from his oppressive thoughts, finally beginning to relax. The freedom and joy you brought to his work renewed his creative spark and the two of you spent hours creating beautiful melodies, playing for a perfect audience of two.

George

George becomes even more quiet and contemplative when upset, retreating into his own thoughts and emotions and becoming withdrawn

he carries with him a lingering sense of existential crisis and often struggles with feeling disconnected from his purpose

you're always there to offer words of wisdom and a new perspective just as he does for you, helping him find peace and reconnect with what matters most to him

George sat cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, photographs and mementos from his past scattered around him. As strong as he is, he had been holding onto these feelings for too long, avoiding the painful process of reflection. Each image brought back a flood of bittersweet memories, and tears stained his cheeks as he mourned the passage of time. He began to ponder further, sending himself spiraling and becoming overwhelmed by the swirling thoughts occupying his mind.

Looking up from your place on the bed, you could instantly tell something was amiss. You slowly stood and walked over to George, taking a seat beside him on the floor and wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders. After a few moments of peaceful silence, you pointed to one of the more joyful photographs.

"Why don't you tell me the story behind this one?" you suggested, and George obliged. Throughout the evening, you and George remained huddled together on the floor as he detailed every precious memory captured in the keepsakes and photos.

When it was finally time to wind down for bed, George found himself feeling noticeably lighter, and endlessly grateful to have you in his life.

Ringo

Ringo's optimistic outlook can become bogged down by self-doubt, feeling inadequate in his talents or insecure about his place in the world

he masks his emotions with humor, cracking jokes even when he's feeling down and deflecting his sadness with laughter

despite his best efforts, you see through his facade and know just when he's in need of a little extra praise

through your unwavering support, you always help to lift his spirits and restore his confidence

Ringo sat alone in his dressing room, trembling with nerves before a big performance. He felt overwhelmed by the pressures of fame and the constant scrutiny of the public eye. The pressure of the spotlight felt suffocating and doubt crept into his mind, tears threatening to spill over as he fought to control his anxiety. He found himself feeling utterly terrified and frozen in place, longing only for a moment of peace and understanding.

Sensing his distress, you knocked softly on the door before entering with a sympathetic smile on your face. You walked over and knelt beside him, helping him lace up his boots. He watched you intently, admiring your thoughtfulness and focusing on your precise movements to distract his racing mind.

When you'd finished the job, you placed a gentle hand on his clothed thigh and gave a supportive squeeze. "You've got this, Ritchie. Knock 'em dead," you reassured, following up with a kiss on the cheek.

With your encouragement, Ringo took a deep breath and found the strength to leave the dressing room with his head held high, ready to give it his all.

[joicecubes]

someone said their favorite version of vashwood is actually when they’re best friends and i could not agree more. the charm of a lot of ships to me, and this is also why i love satosugu so much, is that they’re friends first and lovers second. vashwood’s friendship and faith in each other is so deeply intertwined with their romantic feelings that their bond is one that can’t quite be described with either word. “friends” doesn’t quite cut it but really, neither does “lovers,” at least fully. regardless of what they are to each other, they’re each other’s people. wolfwood is vash’s person, vash is wolfwood’s person, that’s all there is to it.

like i’m being so fr when i say that i could see vashwood having some sort of complicated queerplatonic bond. giving each other noisy smooches on the cheek and never needing to quantify the feelings behind the gesture. holding hands, linking arms, being all over each other. deep conversations where nothing is left unsaid. “i love you,” and they both know exactly what they mean. they are so intrinsically linked emotionally that nobody else quite understands what they are to each other but them. you could call it romantic, sure. you could call them friends who have no concept of boundaries. but what they have, especially in canon trimax in my opinion, is something so much more than either of them even have the words to express.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 26

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 23, part 24, part 25

Wayne walks into the hospital, the information that he’s been given still running a marathon he can’t finish. Too caught up stumbling in all the unbelievable hurdles. Struggling to keep his footing on ground he thought was solid. But it’s cracking underneath his feet.

All these kids, all this time, went through that. Something that the authorities should have dealt with, but left up to children and regular civilians. Causing people to die and get hurt. Be left with trauma the regular public will never understand, and might not even believe.

Wayne doesn’t even know if he believes it. Even though he knows it’s true. It’s just his brain trying to find the fault in the truth to market it as a lie. So he can be mad a something a little more real. More feasible.

“Hey, Wayne,” Dustin calls out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks. “Did Steve talk to you, he said he needed to. I don’t know what about though.”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” he says simply. Each work breaking a small line in his heart.

Dustin rolls his eyes. “So you won’t tell me either, great.”

“Woah, I was tellin’ you the truth. No need to give me that tone.” Wayne might be slightly out of practice, but that parent voice came back real fast.

“Sorry,” Dustin mutters under his breath, crossing his arms. “I’m just sick of people hiding things from me. I’m not a kid anymore.”

But he is.

“But you are.”

He groans. “Sure fine, I’m still technically a kid. But I’m older now, I understand things more. That has to count for something.”

“Sure it does. Doesn’t mean you’re going to part of every conversation though. There are some things that you don’t need to be a part of. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

“People always say that, but I don’t believe them. First they say it’s nothing to worry about, and they they’re almost dying. I’m tired of that.”

And there lies the real reason for this frustration. The need to be involved so he knows exactly what the problem is. So he can try to get ahead of it. Stop it before it becomes catastrophic.

This kid has already had some much of his life change before his eyes. Without question, straying from the established plan. There’s no planning for life, but especially not the way Dustin’s had to live it. The way any of these kids had to live it. Or the adults.

Wayne sees the pain that imbedded itself into all of their beings. The way their eyes dart around, trying to see the unseen. And their bodies to predict the unpredictable. Pulled taught with string, ready for the next fight. For the next big thing.

If he could give anything to help them get one moment’s peace, he would give it. No one deserves to live like this.

“Look,” Wayne places a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “I don’t have all the answers for you, and I’m not sure what specifically you’re talking about. But I do know that these people care about you, and know that you care about them. There are always going to be things left unsaid, and things kept from you. And you’re not going to get anything if you come from a place of anger instead of compassion. Explain why you want to know, then maybe they’ll tell you.”

Dustin nods, taking a moment to think. Wayne watches as he processes where to go next. Sees the fragility that lies beneath his frustration.

“Do you think they would really tell me?” he finally asks, so unsure of it all.

“They might. And if they don’t, they might give you a better answer than telling you it’s none of your business. That means they listened to you.”

It’s what everyone wants at the end of the day. To be heard.

“That’s at least something, isn’t it?” Wayne finishes, looking Dustin in the eyes. Showing him that he listened. That Dustin was heard.

Dustin nods. Still not looking completely satisfied, but better. “I guess so.”

Wayne gives Dustin’s shoulder a clap before letting go. “You off to see Eddie?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I just came from there, my mom wants me home for dinner.”

“You have a ride?”

Dustin nods his head.

“Alright. Tell your mom thanks for me, for the dinner. It was very nice of her.”

“I won’t tell her that bit. Unless you want an entire casserole on your doorstep tomorrow.”

Wayne chuckles on his way to Eddie’s room. A real laugh. It’s starting to feel less foreign now.

Eddie’s playing with a stress ball when Wayne enters. Or less so playing and more like squeezing. Mumbling something under his breath before letting go.

“Hey Wayne,” he says. Concentration still on the ball.

“What do you got there?”

Eddie groans, head dramatically hitting the pillow. “Some stupid exercise the new nurse gave me to do. Something about starting to get back ‘motor functions.’ I’m supposed to count how long I can squeeze it.”

“What’s your record?”

“Ten seconds. Trying to get it to fifteen.”

He squeezes the stress ball again, fine for the first few seconds, but starting to shake around the halfway mark. Fingers twitching as they start to release the grip. Eddie’s face scrunching, trying to get them to stay just a bit longer.

“Ha, eleven.” He releases his fist, the momentum of the ball causing it to roll out of his hand. “Take that.”

The ball rolls off the bed toward Wayne’s direction. He picks it up, taking a second to give it back to Eddie. Wondering if it’s right to bring up that he knows.

“You just missed the guys, by the way,” Eddie starts before Wayne gets the chance to. “Finally got off their asses to come see me.”

“They came by a few times while you were in the coma.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, like that doesn’t matter. But really Wayne knows he’s just annoyed. These kids were his friends before spring break. He thought they were going to be after too.

“Yeah, but not while I was awake. It’s one thing to come and see me when I’m asleep, it’s a different thing to come and see me when I’m awake.”

“That’s true. Did you ask them why it took them so long? Maybe they had a good reason”

Eddie groans. “You can’t go a few weeks without trying to give me a life lesson, can you.”

Wayne laughs again. Sits with how the air sits in his lungs so light. Makes his whole body so much lighter.

He doesn’t need to talk about what happened with Eddie right now. Not yet. Not when Eddie’s trying to figure out how to live again. Not while he’s still trying to get them a place to call home.

Everything will come out when it’s time. He knows that. Right now, they can forget for a while and just be.

next part

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