#// without having to worry about the carry over

[captain-bubble-wrap]

HELP ME PLEASE

Your quinn is literally my favorite!!!!!!!!!!! Can you write him and reader!girlfriend on the phone after the stars game? Your sweet/sad quinn is the best!!!!!!!!!

Oh, you're WAY TO KIND TO ME...! 🥹🥹 Let's see what I can do!

All you had texted was, "I love you."

Incoming Call: Quinny

Quinn's broken voice in that post-game interview had killed you. The way he had looked down before answering about how he was feeling, his thoughts on Millsy's trade, and how he was handling the noise of the dressing room as the team's captain -- it was obvious how much it all was affecting him. Unfortunately, you were twenty-two-hundred miles away, and you felt powerless to help him in any form.

"Hey, baby," you said upon answering the call.

Quinn's voice was low, and it was obvious he was beyond exhausted, body and mind, "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course." Your stomach tightened like you were about to receive some bad news. You hadn't heard him sound this way before and given how the day had gone, you knew it wasn't going to be a butterfly-inducing conversation.

"Let me get somewhere a little quieter. I need to hear your voice."

To you, he sounded desperate -- like he was at his breaking point. While you waited for him to walk to wherever he needed to be, you couldn't help but worry about him -- about what had caused him pain during the game, how losing JT and the others was weighing on him, and the stress of the upcoming tournament that was just four games away. You couldn't get the sad look of his face out of your mind. When was the last time he had actually had a good day, that he was happy without nagging stresses?

"Hey Mike, I'm gonna step out for a few minutes," Quinn said, obviously not talking to you. You couldn't hear the other man's reply but it must have been favourable as Quinn would finally start his conversation with you just a few seconds afterwards.

He sighed heavily, "I wish you were here. I-- I feel like everything is out of control and I don't know what to do."

The sound of wind was intertwined with his words. You wondered if he had stepped outside the arena to talk to you, somewhere to speak without listening ears.

"I wish I was there, too," you confessed, a pain growing in your heart. "You're trying to carry too much, baby."

"I have no choice, though."

You knew where he was coming from. The title of Captain meant you wore several hats, and sometimes more than one at a time. You knew he had all of them on at once. This season hadn't been easy, and something had you believing it wasn't going to get any better.

"I know," you mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he breathed out, feeling guilty for calling you when he was feeling like he was. "I'm sorry to put this on you. I just don't know what to do. Everyone is looking to me for answers and insight, but I don't have any. I don't know how to fix the team, I'm carrying as much as I can every night. I'm asked about what's going on behind closed doors and the temperature of the room and I'm over it. It's like the media just wants to keep stirring the pot instead of letting us just work it out. Now I'm being asked about if the team rebuilds what that means for my future in Vancouver. I-- I just-- I can't-- handle everything right now." Your heart was breaking hearing him on the brink of tears. His voice was cracking and shaky. "I need you."

"I wish I was there, sweetheart. I'd do anything I could to help you."

"I love you," his voice at a whisper.

"I love you, too, Quinn."

The first whimper made you cover your mouth to keep yourself from doing the same. Quinn rarely cried, at least not when you were around. To hear him finally drop that ultra-reserved demeanour of his was crushing.

"Oh honey, you'll be okay," you tried to reassure him, but they were words without certainty, you knew that. "You're doing the best you can, and you need to realise that you need to put yourself first sometimes. You're pushing yourself too much. It's not on you to solely fix the team, Quinn, though I know you're trying. I've never seen you this way before, and I'm scared it's going to break you."

He was silent on the other end, aside from his muffled cries. You didn't need him to say anything, though hearing his voice would have made you feel better, which made you remember what he had said to you earlier: "I need to hear your voice."

Maybe he just needed you to talk to him.

"One day at a time, baby, please. Be happy where you are, and what you have. You're doing all you can, and I need you to know that it's okay to struggle, but it's also okay to be content with how things are. You know there are things out of your control, and you just have to let them work themselves out sometimes. You'll drive yourself crazy trying to put bandaids on everything. I don't want to lose you down that rabbit hole." You'd pause before adding one more thing, "I just want you to be okay."

Quietly you'd sit there and wait for a sign from him, or whatever it might be. A long moment of silence would follow your words, making you pull the phone away from your ear to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"I miss you," he choked out, breaking the painful silence between the two of you.

"I miss you more, Quinn. I wish you were here."

"Me, too," he said, sharply inhaling, like he was trying to push those emotions back down and get over it. "Thank you for picking up everything -- the call, the pieces...me. I'd be so lost without you."

You'd shake your head, "You never have to thank me, baby. I just want to help you."

"I appreciate that," he sniffled. "I just wish I knew where to start."

"With yourself, Quinn," you said bluntly. "How are you feeling? I saw you take the stick to the head early."

It took him a few seconds to respond but you didn't mind, "I don't know, honestly. Between my hand and whatever is wrong with my leg, everything hurts. I'm tired. I'm drained. I wish I was home with you."

Everything he said carried so much weight and his emotions were so painfully honestly.

That was just Quinn.

He always spoke from his heart; wearing his heart on his sleeve every waking moment of his life. However this had a different air about it -- a nakedness. He was free to share his deepest fears with you, those raw feelings were bleeding from him with no hindrance. You appreciated that he felt so comfortable to open up like he was, and the fact that he was away from you, as well. Quinn didn't give the hint that he shared stuff like this with the guys on the team -- not like he did with you. You were different. He loved you -- you occupied a special piece of his heart like no on else did. That meant something special to him.

"You'll be home soon, baby. Just a little longer, okay?"

Through Quinn's end of line, someone was calling out to him, "C'mon Quinn-- the boy's are packing up, let's go."

You frowned hearing the empty orders, but you knew Quinn would have to end the call with you and head to the airport. There was always a sense of urgency after their games, especially the away ones.

"Yeah-- I'll be right there," he muttered, his voice dropping off at the end while he pretended to have himself together. "I'll call you when we get back to Vancouver."

"Be careful."

"I will," he paused. "Thanks, babe. For all that you do for me."

"Happy to help, Quinny. I love you."

For the first time, you heard his little giggle, "I love you, too."

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt2

Hyungline x Gn! Reader

(sorry this took like forever lmao ive been going through it in life unfortunately💀💀💀 )

Bangchan

The hum of the studio was still present, but now it felt different- less like a comforting embrace and more like static electricity prickling your skin.

The once-warm atmosphere had turned cold, muted, and the silence stretched like a chasm between you and Chan.

He didn’t ask if you needed anything anymore. He didn’t look at you at all.

The first hour after your slip-up had been the worst. You’d sat there, staring at the screen of your phone, scrolling aimlessly to avoid looking at him. But your thoughts betrayed you, circling back to the look on his face when you’d called him clingy- the hurt in his eyes, the faint slump of his shoulders, the way his movements slowed, as though your words had drained the energy out of him.

This is almost unbearable... You thought to yourself. I've never been uncomfortable around Chris before, rather the complete opposite...I don't like this.

You had apologized in your head a dozen times already, running over how you could bring it up without making things worse. But every time you glanced his way, you found yourself frozen, the words dying in your throat.

I was harsh...I'm feel horrible...

Chan wasn’t usually one to sulk, but this was different. He didn’t seem angry-he didn’t snap or lash out.

Although you wished he would have. It may have been better than this thick tension.

But instead of yelling or cursing, he buried himself in his work, shutting you out completely. His usual hums and absentminded muttering as he worked were nowhere to be found. The tapping of keys and the occasional adjustment of a dial were the only sounds that filled the room.

It felt unbearable.

After almost two hours of sitting in silence, the tension was too much. You shifted in your chair, swallowing the lump in your throat as you finally spoke up.

“Chan,” you said softly, your voice hesitant.

He didn’t respond immediately. His fingers paused over the keyboard, but he didn’t turn to look at you.

“Yeah?” he said, his tone neutral- too neutral.

You winced. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh earlier. I-” You rushed out.

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, his voice tight, clipped.

But it wasn’t fine. You could hear it in the way his words came out too quickly, the way he immediately went back to typing as though he hadn’t just brushed you off.

Serves me right...

You tried again. “It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He let out a breath, finally turning his chair to face you. His expression was guarded, a carefully constructed mask of calm, but his eyes gave him away.

“Look,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I get it. I was being overbearing. I just…I thought I was helping. I'll ease up from now on."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. He wasn’t trying to defend himself- he was agreeing with you, accepting blame where there wasn’t any to take.

And you didn't want him to agree.

“You- you were helping,” you said quickly. “I was just… overwhelmed, and I didn’t think before I spoke. I-I don't want you to ease up...I love you the way you are.”

Chan nodded slowly, but the way his jaw tightened told you he wasn’t convinced.

“Sometimes I overdo it,” he said, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know how to…not worry about the people I care about. Or love.”

Your heart sank. He wasn’t just talking about you. He was talking about himself, about how he carried the weight of everyone’s needs on his shoulders, even when it wasn’t his responsibility.

“And I made you feel like you couldn’t breathe,” he added, almost to himself.

“No,” you said quickly, leaning forward. “That’s not what I meant. You’re always so thoughtful, Chan. I just…” You trailed off, struggling to put your feelings into words. "I...uh...damn it..."

He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue, but there was a distance in his gaze now- an invisible barrier you hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing something wrong,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “Because you’re not. I was just having a bad day, and I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted again, standing abruptly. “It’s getting late. I should wrap this up anyway.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone.

It wasn’t angry, but it was dismissive.

Final.

“Chan-”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You should get some rest. I’ll finish up here.”

The dismissal stung more than you expected. You stood up, hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should push further or give him space. But the way he had already turned back to his desk made the decision for you.

“Okay,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

You grabbed your bag and made your way to the door, glancing back one last time. Chan was hunched over his keyboard, his back to you, the soft glow of the monitor casting shadows across his face.

“Goodnight,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond.

As you headed out he called out.

"Y/N."

You turned towards him, hopeful.

"You don't have to come tomorrow. Ji...sung-ah and...Innie-ah are supposed to be here to work on something with me."

You sighed and bit the inside part of your lip. He was terrible at lying.

Then a small rush of unrighteous anger hit you.

"Thats okay, I had plans anyways." You shot back, leaving. You almost missed the surprised look as he lifted his head from his bag.

The walk home was a blur. The guilt in your chest felt heavier with every step, suffocating you until you could hardly breathe.

But now that guilt stemmed from also saying something to purposefully provoke him.

Why would I even say that? I have no reason to be mad- but he...he has all the reason to be.

You thought about texting him, but what could you say? Nothing you typed out felt like enough. Apologizing once wasn’t going to fix this.

And you were too prideful to admit your pettiness.

It's embarrassing...

When you finally got home, you dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. You replayed all the moments over and over in your head, wishing you could go back and choose different words, wishing you could make him understand how much he meant to you.

But then your anger driven words hit you. You just loved digging yourself deeper graves. So, you pulled out your phone and shot a text.

Deciding that if you were at a standstill with each other, you at least wouldn't lie to him.

——————————————————————————

Minho

The next morning, you woke up feeling a mix of guilt and lingering irritation. Sleep hadn’t come easy, your mind replaying the events from the previous night like a broken record. You had lashed out, hurt him, and now there was this gnawing uncertainty about where things stood.

You debated texting Minho to apologize, but the thought of his cold tone from last night stopped you. The memory of his quick, hollow kiss on your temple was like a dull ache in your chest- a reminder of how much damage had been done.

You sighed as you reached for your phone, jumping when you see a text from Minho.

Minho: Dori didn't even wait for me to finish preparing his breakfast before eating Soonie's. Such a menace.

You stared at the text for a long moment, unsure of what to make of it. It wasn’t unusual for him to send updates about his cats, but this felt like an attempt to return to normalcy without directly addressing what had happened.

Should I respond? Should I apologize? You wanted to, but the thought of putting your emotions into words felt daunting.

Instead, you liked the message, telling yourself you’d figure it out later. But as the day dragged on, and you found yourself unable to focus on anything. By the evening, your phone buzzed, breaking you from your thoughts.

Minho: Did you eat?

The question was simple, almost routine, but it held a strange weight. And you were unsure how to respond.

Was this his way of reaching out, or was he just trying to check a box out of habit?

You hesitated before typing back: You: Yeah. Did you?

His reply came almost immediately: Minho: Mhm. Chan-hyung made japchae. Ate while working. Minho: Also, three cups of pudding.

You couldn't help but let out a little giggle. You could picture him in his studio, his face reflected in a the mirrors, as he sat crisscross on the dance floor, scribbling choreo ideas, spoon in one hand and a cup of pudding beside him. The image tugged at your heartstrings in the way only a lover could do.

You: Busy day? Minho: Always.

You sighed and rested your head on the back of your couch.

Short. Not necessarily clipped, but there were no teasing or playful jabs. No emojis. Just facts. It felt so unlike him, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You could feel the awkwardness as if he was sitting in the room with you.

You: I’m sorry about last night. You typed out a response, then deleted it, then typed it again. Finally, you settled on: You: I miss you.

The three dots signaling his response appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. You held your breath, waiting.

Minho: Yeah...

You: I'm sorry.

Minho: It's fine.

It wasn’t fine. You knew that. The lack of warmth in his reply was enough to confirm it.

You: It doesn’t feel fine. Minho: Maybe it’s not...

There it was. The crack in the veneer. Your chest tightened as you stared at his words. You wanted to fix it, to make it right, but you didn’t know how.

You: Can we talk? Minho: Not right now. I’m tired.

The conversation ended there. You stared at the screen long after his reply, the words “I’m tired” echoing in your mind. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion he was talking about. He was emotionally drained, and you were the reason.

You: Okay, goodnight. I love you. Minho: Night. I love you too.

Over the next two weeks, things didn't get much better.

You hadn't seen him in person, and only had a few video calls where anytime you tried to bring up an apology, Minho deflected the conversation.

It felt like more of an awkward and intimate friendship interacting rather than a couple. And you needed to change that. You couldn't handle it. You missed your boyfriend.

Minho had always been steady, a constant in your life. You hadn’t realized how much of a lifeline he was until you cut it with a single careless word.

Clingy.

The way his expression had shifted when you said it- it haunted you. Minho, who rarely let his emotions crack the surface, had been hurt. You’d seen it, felt it in the way he pulled back from you. And you wanted to pull him back towards you.

That’s what brought you to his house a few nights later, your chest tight with desperation and dread. You didn’t have a plan, just a need to be near him, to try and fix what you’d broken.

The porch light cast a faint glow as you arrived, the sight of it familiar yet unsettling. You hesitated at the keypad, your fingers trembling as you entered the code. For a moment, you feared he might have changed it, but the lock clicked open with a soft, mechanical hum.

The sound felt louder than it should have in the quiet night, and your heart ached with the thought that you still knew this house so well.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the entryway doing little to ease the chill in your bones.

“Minho?” Dori was the only cat by the door, immediately rushing to you to rub up against your legs. "Min?"

Your voice was soft, tentative, as you slipped off your shoes and into slippers, but it went unanswered.

The faint murmur of voices reached you from the living room. You moved toward the sound, your footsteps hesitant.

And then you saw them.

She was sitting on the couch, her laughter carrying easily in the stillness of the house.

Minho was beside her, close enough that the space between them seemed insignificant. His expression, one that had been so cold and was open-relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in minute.

Your stomach twisted painfully, the scene before you crashing down like a tidal wave.

You must have made a sound, because Minho’s head turned sharply in your direction. His eyes widened, surprise etched across his face.

“Y/N?”

The girl followed his gaze, her expression a mix of confusion and mild curiosity.

You froze, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“I-” The words caught in your throat, your mind scrambling to come up with an explanation for why you were here, standing uninvited in his doorway.

“Y/N-ah, wait-” He said, scrambling up from the couch, tripping over Dori who had decided to join the party.

But you were already backing away.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said quickly, your voice cracking as you stumbled toward the door. You knocked into the cats water bowl, soaking your feet. The lump in your throat threatened to choke you, but you forced the words out. “I’ll just- go.”

Minho reached for you, his movements sharp and deliberate. “Don’t-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, pulling away. The door slammed shut behind you, the cold air biting at your skin as you stepped into the night.

You didn’t realize you were still wearing the house shoes Minho had bought for you months ago until you were halfway down the street, your steps uneven on the pavement. The absurdity of it made your throat tighten, but the tears came before the laughter could.

Your vision blurred as you walked aimlessly, the weight in your chest pressing down until it felt hard to breathe. You could still see her face, hear her laugh. It was seared into your mind.

There is no way he could have moved on in just two weeks...right?

Could he have...no. Never.

But had he?

You didn’t know either way. And you couldn’t bring yourself to stay long enough to find out.

Back at the house, Minho stood frozen by the door. Doongie let out a soft mew, as if speaking.

"I know..." Minho said to the cat.

His jaw clenched as he stared at the space where you’d been, staring at where your shoes were left, your sudden departure leaving a suffocating silence along with them.

“Minho?” the girl called hesitantly, her voice breaking through the tension.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable.

“You should go.” he said finally, his tone flat.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t argue. She gathered her things quickly, giving Doongie a quick scratch, the sound of her footsteps fading as the door closed behind her.

Minho sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. His gaze fell to the floor, and for the first time, he noticed the trail of damp footprints leading to the door- proof of your hurried escape.

You hadn’t even waited to hear him out.

He wanted to chase after you, to get an explanation for why you’d come in the first place.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he stood there in the silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on him; and he was stuck wondering how something you caused had now become a snowballed issue he needed to resolve.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You sat there frozen, the echo of his quiet, defeated tone playing on a loop in your mind. It wasn’t like him to leave like that- without a fight, without reassurance, without trying to smooth things over. He had always been one to want to ease conflict in the calmest manner.

Your eyes drifted to the coffee table where his phone sat, screen dark and mocking in the dim light. He must’ve forgotten it in his rush to leave, and the realization sent a pang of guilt straight to your chest. You couldn’t even call him to try and make things right.

With trembling hands, you picked up his phone, turning it over in your palm. It was a small, insignificant thing, but it felt like the only connection you still had to him.

The weight of Hyunjin’s text was heavier now, replaying in your mind like a cruel taunt.

He had planned to propose tonight.

And you had ruined it.

You pressed the phone to your chest, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. You couldn’t stop picturing the way his face had fallen, the light in his eyes dimming with every word you’d said. The warmth he carried with him, the energy that filled every room he walked into, was gone. And it made you feel terrible.

Your hands tightened around his phone as you leaned back on the couch, your thoughts spiraling. Changbin wasn’t just a boyfriend- he was your safe space, your biggest cheerleader, the person who always knew how to make you laugh when you wanted to cry.

And tonight, you had been the one to make him feel small.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. There was no way you could let things stay like this.

So, you got to work.

--

Changbin’s car coasted slowly down the street, the low hum of the engine the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. His mind buzzed, replaying every moment of the evening- your harsh words, the hurt in his chest, and the sudden shift in the air between you two. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, and your frustration.

He had tried so hard.

Maybe it is my fault...

He wanted to make the night perfect, make it something to remember. A sweet cute, relaxed proposal. Soft and warm and everything that represented the love he had for you.

But now he was left uncertain, second-guessing everything. The familiar streets blurred as his thoughts swirled, mixing with the disappointment and confusion still lodged in his heart. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.

As he pulled into his driveway, he killed the engine but didn’t immediately move. He sat there for a while, the headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was cold, but he didn’t feel it. Instead, his chest was heavy, a knot of frustration and sorrow gnawing at him.

I need to apologize. Maybe then-

Reaching for his phone, he noticed a slight tremor in his hands.

Is that the best thing to do though...what if Y/N-ie is still mad...

He spent the next couple minutes thinking about texting you- even though he hadn’t done anything inherintantly wrong.

But the thought of sending an apology and admitting to a fault he didn’t deserve seemed like the easiest way to get things back to normal.

He swiped the phone screen on, but his stomach dropped when he saw his empty hand. He reached to pat his pockets.

He didn’t have his phone with him.

He trailed his eyes at the empty seat next to him, hoping maybe it was there, as the realization hit him harder than it should’ve.

His phone was still on the couch at your place. He must’ve left it there in the rush to get away.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, the frustration and anxiety rising again.

He shifted the car back into gear, pulling out of his driveway and heading back to your apartment. As he drove, he let out a deep sigh, trying to shake off the weight pressing on him.

He didn’t know what to expect when he saw you again. He didn’t even know what he wanted from the rest of this night.

Back at your place, you were busy, but not in the way you had planned. You paced the living room, biting your lip as you nervously looked over the decorations you had hastily thrown together. You had wanted everything to be perfect for him, the way he’d promised it would be tonight, but now… you were the one fixing things.

You were the one putting the final touches on a proposal- his proposal.

Your heart flipped over and over in your chest, as you adjusted things anxiously.

You had to scrounge through a ton of different leftover decorations from previous events and holidays; and it looked like the spirit of every celebratory occasion had thrown up over your living room.

You had tried so hard to get it right, to show him how sorry you were that your nerves and selfishness had ruined everything.

When you heard the distant rumble of his car approaching, your heart skipped a beat. You quickly fixed your hair and wiped your hands on your pants, as if trying to make up for everything all at once.

You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through how you were going to apologize. You just knew you couldn’t let him walk away- couldn’t let him leave the night without fixing at least a small part of it.

The doorbell rang, and you froze, your pulse quickening in your throat.

You opened it, and there he was. Changbin. Standing there with an unreadable expression, his eyes flicking over your face before he looked down at the phone in his hand.

You didn't know if you imagined his red rimmed eyes.

“I-” he started, but the words faltered. He opened his mouth again, as if trying to say something, but nothing came out. "I left my phone."

You handed it to him, and he stood there awkwardly turning it in his hands.

"Bin, come in," you whispered, stepping aside to let him in.

He hesitated for a long moment, his feet still on the other side of the threshold, as if he were debating whether to leave or stay. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncertainty in his movements.

But then, with a deep sigh, he stepped inside.

You led him to the living room. His eyes stayed on the floor. He didn’t sit down, didn’t speak, just stood there.

"Y/N, I'm sor-"

"You don’t need to apologize," you said, voice barely audible as you walked toward him. You didn’t know how else to start. "I’m the one who messed up tonight. It wasn't you. It was all me."

Changbin shook his head, though it seemed like he was trying to process what he was feeling. He opened his mouth again, his voice hoarse. "No, it wasn't you. I…I didn’t mean for-"

"Changbin, don't fool yourself." You said with a sarcastic chuckle. "You know it was all my fault-"

"Y/N I was the one who was-"

"-I ruined your proposal. Of course it's my fault." You finished.

Your words stopped him. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything hanging in the air between you.

"So you knew..." he murmured, his voice cracking just slightly.

"Hyunjin texted. I saw it on your screen."

Changbin sighed and then looked around, seeing the decorations.

"What..."

"Since I ruined your proposal I thought I could fix it. As an apology."

The air between you thickened suddenly.

"I-I know it's not the best or the prettiest, but I thought—"

His voice faltered as he looked up at you, eyes filled with something unreadable. Shock, confusion… and then something softer, something heavier.

"What…what did you do?"

You froze. Your heart pounded.

He was staring at everything—the decorations, the candles, the careful details meant for him to present to you.

"I thought… I'd throw something together," you repeated, your voice small. "To fix your proposal."

"Fix it?"

And in that moment, you realized just how wrong that had sounded.

"N-No! I meant fix the night. Not your proposal—nothing was wrong, I just—I ruined the moment, and—"

You were scrambling, desperate to explain.

"Binnie, I—"

"I understand, Y/N."

His quiet chuckle sent a chill through you. It wasn't warm, wasn't teasing. It was sad.

"You made another opportunity," he said, his voice steady but distant. "You set up a proposal."

"Yes! An opportunity, not-" But then you saw it. The rapid blinking, the slight shift in his expression. The way he swallowed hard, as if forcing down words he wouldn't let himself say.

And suddenly, it clicked.

He wasn't upset about your wording. He wasn't even upset that you'd tried to make things right. He was upset because you'd taken this from him. Because he had wanted to be the one to do this for you.

When you had called him clingy earlier, you had let your stressors guide you to insult what you loved most about him.

How he wanted to do everything for you.

His love language towards you always tended to be acts of service.

And while a proposal wasn't necessarily though, it made sense that he wanted to do this for you. One of the biggest acts of your two lives.

He wanted to gift it to you, and you took it away.

For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, without another word, he stepped back. His hands curled into fists, then relaxed. He exhaled, gaze flickering between you and the scene you'd set. And then he turned.

You barely processed it as he walked past you, his presence fading with each step toward the door.

"Binnie, wait-"

But he didn't stop. The door opened, and before you could find the right words, the ones that wouldn't make everything worse—

It clicked shut.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

The moment Hyunjin you shut the door, you felt a wave of regret crash over you. You stewed in your regret for a while before you succumbed to it.

You couldn't stand it.

You rushed out the door, hoping to catch up; even if it had already a bit since his departure. But you knew him, and he probably hadn't made it far, taking his long legs for granted and dragging out his journey.

You wanted to stop him, to explain, to make him see what you couldn't say- but your pride had already built a wall too high. The words you had snapped at him stung, but there was a fear settling deep within you, too. Fear of rejection, fear of the misunderstanding spiraling out of control.

Fear of losing him from a quick yet grave mistake.

The street was quiet, and your footsteps echoed in the empty space. You turned the corner, but in your rush, you hadn't paid attention to where you were going.

It seemed you had taken one wrong turn after another, and suddenly the comforting glow of the familiar streetlights was replaced with unfamiliar darkness.

Panic rose in your chest. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you fumbled to pull it out, only for it to die before you could see.

You cursed under your breath. Of course, it died. Why wouldn't it? Your mind was foggy, and you could barely focus on anything, let alone figure out where you were. The tightness in your chest felt suffocating, but you pushed through it.

You wandered a little until you found a cute little convenience store, stepping inside, letting the warmth encapsulate you. You decided to grab a snack while you charged your phone, the clerk so graciously allowing you to charge it behind the desk.

You figured while you ate you could figure out what to say to Hyunjin, to mend whatever crack you had caused.

--

Meanwhile, Hyunjin still felt the sting of your words settled deep in his chest. His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his pockets, walking briskly down the street.

It wasn’t fair. He had done nothing wrong, yet you had pushed him away like he was too much. Like his affection- his need to be close to you- was suffocating.

Me? Too much- HAH. As if.

You were just being bratty because you were in a bad mood...right?

I'm not actually too much am I?

And maybe it was dramatic, maybe it was childish, but he wanted you to chase after him. To call out his name, to grab his sleeve, to do something to prove you cared as much as he did.

But the street behind him remained quiet.

His throat tightened. His steps slowed.

You weren’t coming.

Hyunjin scoffed, shaking his head. Fine. If you weren’t going to run after him, then you could suffer.

He would make you grovel, make you look at him with those wide, guilty eyes and apologize.

Beg a little. Then - only then - he’d pull you into his arms, stroke your hair, kiss your forehead, and tell you it was okay.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all he wanted.

To make things okay again.

With a sigh, he turned back around, heading toward your apartment, already playing out how he’d drag this out just enough to make you squirm before giving in.

But when he got to your door, his smirk faltered.

The lights were off, but the door was cracked.

His brows knitted together as he stepped into a completely empty home.

You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to be sitting inside, stewing in guilt, waiting for him to come back so you could apologize properly.

His fingers twitched as he opened your bedroom door. He went to the bathroom and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked, a little harder this time.

Still nothing.

A flicker of unease crept up his spine. He pulled out his phone and called. It rang twice before going straight to voicemail.

Hyunjin swallowed. His throat was dry.

His mind raced through every possibility. Maybe you just went out for air. Maybe you ran to the convenience store. Maybe-

But his gut told him otherwise.

His gut told him something was wrong.

His fingers curled around his phone, knuckles white as he sucked in a sharp breath. His frustration, his plan to make you beg, his need to be dramatic- all of it evaporated, replaced by one single, overwhelming thought.

He needed to find you.

Now.

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

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

taglist specific:

@darling-imobsessed @changbinismymuscledaddy @artist2181 @minniesverse @monbrigh @20staaa @aeri-skzver @noannah @skysole @chanssmiles @depressedarlling @

[revelboo]

Hey Revel, would it be okay to request an one shot fluff of Fort Max comforting reader after a really bad night?

Sure! He’s on my request list, just haven’t gotten to him yet

Fort Max Scenario- Nightmares

Fortress Maximus x Reader

• Again. Can hear you tossing and turning in your little nest. Spark constricting when you make a soft, pained sound. Hurting and this isn’t an enemy he can fend off. And it’s almost every night now, your sleep haunted by something you refuse to share with him. Running a hand over his face, he slides off his berth and crosses the room. You’re curled into a tight little ball, trembling and you gasp when he carefully picks you up blankets and all. “It’s me. Max, remember?” He soothes when you thrash in his grip, his voice making you settle even though he can still feel your heart racing against his servos.

• Shivering, you can’t look him in his red optics as he carries you back to his berth and lays down, settling you and your blankets on his chassis. “I woke you again.” Embarrassed, you curl on your side so your back is to him, because you can’t meet those worried optics right now. “Sorry.” Can still feel the vestiges of the nightmare, the fear so visceral you can’t breathe even now. Wanting to curl up and just cry, but knowing that will upset him more. The urge only increasing when he cautiously runs a servo over your head. The big guy trying so hard to take care of you. To fix what was already broken.

• Uncomfortable with handling you, afraid you might think that he thinks you’re a pet, not a person, it’s the only way either of you will get any rest. Any time you have those dreams, you’ll just toss and whimper all night long unless he intervenes. “My friend, Red, has trouble recharging,” he murmurs. Red Alert’s paranoia disturbs his recharge. He has no idea what bothers yours. You refuse to tell him. “Told me he has this little ambient noise loop going and it calms him right down.” Tiredly telling you stories about Red Alert and rubbing his servo between your shoulder blades until your heart calms. Until you relax against him.

• “Thank you,” you mumble, cheek on your arm as you listen to his deep voice and the hum of his spark. Letting your big protector banish the fear. Because nothing can touch you while he has you, even if there’s guilt for accidentally waking him. For not being strong enough to lie to him that you’re fine. Not that he ever complains about you annoying him, just patiently dealing with your issues without prying. Without telling you that you’re the problem.

• “Of course.” Rumbling softly to you when you yawn and close your eyes. Knows you’ll sleep peacefully now. You always do. Hadn’t wanted to presume or pressure you, but maybe you should just sleep on him from now on if it calms you. Doubts you’d ever ask him to let you, but you might feel better about it if he asks you. Besides, he’s getting used to your warmth, the feel of your heartbeat and the sound of your breathing. “I have you.” Misses them when you try to sleep alone. Getting to where he needs to be able to feel you there to rest just like you need him.

[comflexxed]

june accepted the other end of the blanket without hesitation, pulling it over himself and adjusting it slightly so it covered his shoulder. the warmth was immediate, seeping into him in a way that had almost nothing to do with the fabric itself and everything to do with this*. the closeness, the way hans had thought to prepare for tonight, the way sunny nestled so easily between them, content and secure.

“you really did think of everything, huh?” june murmured, his voice carrying the kind of fond amusement that settled low and comfortably in his chest. his gaze flickered to hans briefly before returning to the screen, though he wasn’t really watching the movie anymore. he could hear it, the dialogue blending into the soft rustle of the blanket and the occasional sound of sunny shifting, but the details blurred.

because the thing about a moment like this was that it held you. it wrapped itself around you like the blanket over their shoulders, tugging you deeper into its warmth. it didn’t need to be spoken about, only felt.

and june felt it.

he exhaled, sinking further into the couch, allowing himself the luxury of letting go. of not needing to be anywhere else. he wasn’t used to this — this quiet contentment, this ease of existing with someone else without worrying about when it might slip away. but hans comment made something tug in june’s chest, a promise he wanted to believe in. “you know,” he started again, tilting his head slightly toward hans, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips, “if you ever need an excuse to have more nights like this… i’m not exactly hard to convince.”

it was a quiet offering. a way of saying i’d stay if you let me.

seeing june leaning back just like he was, hans could almost feel the way some invisible weight had been lifted off their shoulders, the expectations of the world non-existent here in this living room. he gave an encouraging smile to june, the thumb brushing over the back of his hand a very present gesture that filled hans’ awareness. 

“i’m glad we get to do this together, just be ourselves like this,” he replied as he straightened up once more, though still relaxed and feeling carefree. he reached inside the bag of snacks, letting the crunch of the chips consume him as he chewed. “i could get used to this. i could get used to living in the moment.” 

as he took a sip from his own mug of hot chocolate, his eyes following the scene on the tv and fully taking in the details, he found the smile staying on his lips. being present for a movie, being fully present, was a treat he should allow himself to have more often if it felt like this.

he fell silent for a while, not for lack of anything to say, but because he wanted the three of them to take in this moment and enjoy the movie for what it was, its sounds the only ones breaking the silence. the snow outside muffled all other outside noises, letting hans be fully immersed in the experience. as the colors in the screen changed and they laughed and gasped in reaction to the story unfolding, hans couldn’t help but feel grateful that this moment was even possible. 

the weather was dropping considerably by the minute, and hans reached out for the blankets he had set aside this morning for this exact purpose. he handed june the other end, while he draped the other over his shoulder, covering sunny in the middle. “this is important for movie nights too. cozy blankets make it even better,” he said, speaking softly and shifting slightly to a more comfortable position before returning his attention to the movie. 

[jadeshifting]

— WAITING ROOM IDEAS.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

the underwater grotto

the skybound library

the retro bowling alley

— THE UNDERWATER GROTTO: A WAITING ROOM OF SUBMERGED SERENITY

when you first arrive, it’s not with a splash but a weightless drift. the world around you is suspended in a quiet, shimmering blue, as if you’ve stepped into the embrace of the ocean itself—but don’t worry, you can breathe easily here. the water is more like liquid light than anything else, wrapping around you in a way that’s both warm and cool at once. it carries the scent of salt and the whisper of something ancient, like the world has been waiting just for you

THE GROTTO’S HEART. at the center of this space is the grotto itself, an expansive underwater cave sculpted by time and tide. the walls glisten with iridescent corals and bioluminescent algae, casting a soft, shifting glow that dances over every surface. stalactites drip with glowing pearls, and when you run your fingers over the walls, they hum softly, as if the grotto is alive

a large, smooth rock—almost like a natural daybed—rests in the heart of the cave, cushioned with lush, silky sea moss that adjusts perfectly to your shape when you sink into it. little fish, impossibly small and glowing like stars, swirl lazily around you, as if they, too, are waiting for something. the water moves with you but never against you, carrying you into the perfect state of weightless relaxation

SMALL, IMMERSIVE DETAILS

THE WATER’S EMBRACE. it’s not cold or suffocating—it’s soft, intentional. it moves around you like an extension of your own energy, never heavy, never overwhelming. you can float in it endlessly without ever needing to surface

SOUNDSCAPE. no overwhelming noise, just the distant song of whales, the occasional soft crackle of coral shifting, and the rhythmic lull of water moving through unseen tunnels. if you focus, you can even hear the hum of the deep sea’s energy

BIOLUMINESCENT LIGHT. the glow isn’t harsh—it pulses gently, like the heartbeat of the ocean. whenever you move, the water glows around your fingertips, tracing your presence in soft, shimmering ripples

HIDDEN NOOKS & CRANNIES. if you explore, you’ll find small alcoves filled with treasures—polished sea glass, old ship trinkets, and even delicate shells that whisper to you when you hold them close

A PORTAL OF ENDLESS POSSIBILITY. when you decide to be in your DR, a large, glowing veil of water appears at the grotto’s entrance. it doesn’t ripple like normal water—it moves like silk, waiting for you to step through. the moment you do, you find yourself in your DR

CUSTOMIZATION & PERSONALIZATION

GUARDIAN/COMPANION CREATURE. maybe a massive, lazy sea turtle that watches over you with its intelligent eyes, or a pod of dolphins that whistle and chirp excitedly when you’re about to enter your DR

KEEPSAKE. a glowing pearl or a carved piece of driftwood that you hold onto tightly, feeling like it grounds you every moment you’re there and is always waiting when you get back

DRINKS & TREATS. a goblet of glowing, sweet nectar that leaves a lingering warmth in your chest, a pearl-encrusted platter of sushi or sashimi, a crystal bowl of shrimp cocktail

A MIRROR POOL. a shallow, moonlit basin where you can gaze at yourself—not just at your physical self, but at your deeper energy and all the possibilities you can embody

ENTERING YOUR DR

when you feel ready, you don’t have to do anything drastic. when you think about your destination, the water will shift around you, pulling you gently toward the glowing veil. the grotto sighs—a promise that it will always be here when you need to return. as dappled light dances around you, moving towards the rippling curtain of light, you pass through it in only a few moments

on the other side, you realize you’re there

this waiting room is pure immersion, a space where time doesn’t rush you, where the water itself cradles you in preparation for your journey. it’s designed to be peaceful, fluid, and weightless—a soft transition between realities that feels like an extension of your own energy

— THE SKYBOUND LIBRARY: A WAITING ROOM OF INFINITE STORIES

you arrive with a gentle weightlessness, as if you’ve stepped off solid ground and into the open embrace of the sky. there’s no harsh wind, no fear of falling—just an endless expanse of soft, golden clouds stretching infinitely beneath you. the air is crisp and cool, tinged with the scent of old parchment, ink, and something subtly sweet, like vanilla and aged wood. above, an eternal twilight sky swirls with soft hues of violet, pink, and deep indigo, with stars peeking through like distant fireflies. before you, the library reveals itself

THE LIBRARY’S HEART. towering bookshelves stretch impossibly high, spiraling into the sky, growing like trees. made of dark mahogany and golden filigree, their surfaces are inscribed with delicate constellations that shift and realign every time you blink. some bookshelves float freely, drifting through the air like islands, while others form grand hallways and sweeping balconies

the books themselves glow faintly, some pulsing like they contain a heartbeat, others humming softly when you pass by. each one is a portal, a fragment of a different world, holding stories that have been told and those yet to be written.

SMALL, IMMERSIVE DETAILS

THE AIR ITSELF FEELS ALIVE. when you breathe, it fills your chest with a gentle hum of energy, a subtle reminder that this is a place of boundless possibility and knowledge

FLOATING STEPS & BRIDGES. there are no rigid pathways here—if you wish to go somewhere, the air itself solidifies beneath your feet, forming shimmering glass-like steps that guide you. some lead to secluded reading nooks, others to grand observatories where you can watch shooting stars carve their way across the heavens

A DESK THAT KNOWS YOU. near the center of the library, a massive circular desk carved from celestial marble awaits you. whenever you approach, it shifts and rearranges itself, offering exactly what you need—perhaps a blank notebook for scripting, a cup of warm jasmine tea or rich cinnamon-spiced cocoa, or a book containing the wisdom you’ve been seeking ( even if you didn’t realize you were )

SOFTLY GLOWING LANTERNS. suspended in midair, floating paper lanterns illuminate the space, each one carrying a whispered dream or memory from your desired reality. If you listen closely, you might hear echoes of stories that you haven’t been told yet, or lives you didn’t know you were going to live

A LIBRARY CAT… OR SOMETHING ELSE? a small, mischievous creature—perhaps a sleek black cat with glowing eyes, or it might be a tiny dragon made of ink and stardust—wanders the library, curling up beside you whenever you need reassurance. it doesn’t speak, but somehow, you always understand each other

CUSTOMIZATION & PERSONALIZATION

YOUR PERSONAL BOOKS. with your name embossed on the covers, volumes that contain all of your scripts, records of your journey and all of your experiences, so you can look both backwards and forwards

A TELESCOPE. in the highest tower of the library, an ornate golden telescope allows you to see glimpses of your desired reality, as if you are peeking through a tear in the universe. you can feel closer to your special people and look forward to your experiences, while also dispelling any nerves you may have by seeing it from afar ( like dipping your toes in )

A HIDDEN READING NOOK. a space just for you—perhaps a velvet window seat with endless cushions, a hammock woven from clouds, or a grand armchair that shifts to fit your comfort. think of it like your sanctuary within the sanctuary

ENTERING YOUR DR

when you decide it’s time, the library knows. you hold a single book, different every time, in your hands. its cover glows with a faint golden light, and the moment you open it, the words begin to swirl, lifting off the page and wrapping around you like a warm breeze. the ink stretches outward, forming a shimmering doorway in the air—a portal made entirely of words and possibility

you step through, and just like that, you’re there

this waiting room is designed to be infinite yet intimate, a sanctuary in the sky where knowledge, magic, and dreams intertwine. it’s a place that doesn’t just prepare you for your journey—it celebrates it, reminding you that every shift is just a new chapter, and you are the author

— THE RETRO BOWL: A WAITING ROOM WITH OLD-SCHOOL CHARM

the air is warm and faintly scented with buttered popcorn, leather seats, and the sharp tang of a well-waxed bowling lane. overhead, glowing neon signs hum softly, casting a dreamy pink-and-blue glow over the space. a jukebox in the corner spins vinyl records with a warm crackle, crooning out old-school rock, jazzy swing, or whatever tunes suit how you’re feeling. the floor beneath you is that classic checkerboard tile—smooth, cool, and impossibly clean despite decades of history. you can hear the rolling thunder of a strike and the distant ring of an old cash register, as if the place is alive, but waiting just for you

THE ALLEY’S HEART. stretching ahead, the lanes are pristine, their wooden surface glowing under rows of dimmed, flickering lightbulbs. each lane seems to go on forever, disappearing into a hazy golden glow at the far end, like they might just lead somewhere else entirely

the best part? there’s no pressure to play unless you want to. you can roll a ball and watch as it slides effortlessly into a perfect strike, or you can just sink into a booth and soak in the atmosphere. here, everything works in your favor

SMALL, IMMERSIVE DETAILS

YOUR LOCKER. off to the side, a row of old-school metal lockers stands waiting. one of them has your name on it, and when you open it, you’ll find whatever you need—maybe a comfy bomber jacket, a pair of custom bowling shoes, or even just a little note written in looping, vintage cursive that simply says, “see you soon.”

MAGIC SCOREBOARD. even if you’re not playing, the massive retro scoreboard above the lanes flickers with little messages just for you—reminders, affirmations, or even details about the DR you’re planning on going to

A SHIMMERING BALL RETURN. the bowling balls themselves are something special—one is deep violet with tiny constellations twinkling in its surface, another has a swirling ocean trapped inside. when you roll them down the lane, you catch glimpses of different realities reflected inside before they return, waiting for another turn

SNACKS & DRINKS. a cozy 1950s-style diner counter sits to the side, where a friendly ( weirdly familiar and slightly mysterious ) attendant hands out thick milkshakes, warm pretzels, and soda in shiny glass bottles. everything is exactly how you feel like you remember it—whether that’s a real memory or something straight out of a dream

A SECRET DOOR BEHIND THE JUKEBOX. if you run your fingers along the edge of the jukebox and press the right button, the wall beside it shifts. a door, lined with glowing pinstripes, slides open to reveal a hidden lounge—maybe a plush speakeasy-style room with velvet chairs and low jazz, or maybe something even stranger… a back alley leading straight into your desired reality. whatever you’d like, it’s your secret space

CUSTOMIZATION & PERSONALIZATION

YOUR BOWLING NAME. up on the old-school leaderboard, your name is displayed in flickering neon letters. maybe it’s your CR name, maybe it’s a nickname or your name in your DR, or maybe it’s a totally out-of-left-field alias that you only use in this in-between place

YOUR LUCKY BOWLING SHIRT. hanging near your locker, there’s a retro bowling shirt waiting for you. it’s embroidered with something meaningful—maybe the name of your hometown city in your DR, a lucky number, or the initials of your DR name or your s/o’s name

ABSTRACT BOWLING PARTNER. you’re not alone here. whether it’s a comforting but shadowy figure you never quite see or a laughing companion who seems to be made of light and always lands a perfect strike, there’s someone keeping you company. they might even prompt you excitedly, “you ready to go?” just before you enter your DR

ENTERING YOUR DR

when you decide it’s time, the lanes darken slightly, leaving only one lit up in a neon glow. the air hums, the jukebox plays something that feels just right, and a single bowling ball appears at your feet—this one shimmering with a portal-like swirl. your roll it, smooth and easy, and as it glides down the lane, the pins at the end don’t just fall—they dissolve into light. the entire space stretches, the ceiling fades into a cosmic expanse, and suddenly—

you’re there

this waiting room is designed to feel like a warm, nostalgic pocket of time—somewhere that’s both familiar and surreal. it’s a place where the past lingers in the best way, where every sound and detail is tuned for your comfort, and where shifting feels as smooth as rolling a perfect strike

PNG CREDS: @florietas @snailspng @bydollita @ioveartfilm @s4dpngs @treasuregamble

[last-herondale]

You Are Enough Pt. 6

Astarion x Fem!tav

Astarion POV

Fluff. Soft squishy lovely fluff.

Warnings: none?

AN: I needed this. I hope you can also take comfort as well.

Enjoy 🤘🏼

Part 5

I thought at some point I would grow accustomed to you. That I would at the very least stop being surprised by the words that flowed from your mouth, or entranced by the way you carried yourself wherever you went. It’s been months since we’ve met, weeks since you told me…

It’s still hard to believe.

I had an inkling, after the third or fourth night I fed from you. You were sitting there in the grass, recovering from my indulgences as the clouds began to dissipate from the night sky. I was preparing to return to camp, not wanting to linger in the dark, until you broke the silence.

“The stars are out.”

Your voice was so soft that I wondered if you had even meant to speak to me. I turned my head to the sky and saw the twinkling constellations emerging from the clouds.

“I can see the Lady of Mystery,” I mused, mostly to myself. Through the many volumes of my collection, a particular favorite of mine was that of the constellations. I glanced at you to see if you too would understand my reference.

While your eyes held no familiarity, you looked at me with innocent curiosity. I felt myself smile before I realized what I was doing. I moved closer to you, sitting beside you in the grass and tilted your head in the right direction.

You didn’t flinch at my touch. Your skin felt so warm, so soft. I watched as your eyes widened and reflected the stars above.

“Do you see that bright star there? That’s her head, then her body—“

“Then her feet!” You said happily, “She’s beautiful.”

I chuckled and nodded.

“I always found it rather comforting. No matter how many years pass—no matter how many things change, the stars will always stay the same. One constant thing,” I murmured.

In that moment I feared I said too much. Shown weakness in front of you. But you just smiled as me, as warm and as bright as you always did, and said, “Will you show me more?”

I couldn’t say no, even if I had wanted to.

“Well, if you look to the right, beside her is the Harp, then over here is the Dragon of Dawn…”

I spent the rest of the night showing you the stars and rattling on about the stories that came with them. You listened intently, like a child. Totally enthralled with every word that dripped from my mouth.

In the past, I would have felt bitter at my performance. Another soul enraptured with my presence. Someone for me to use and take to him.

But this time it didn’t feel like I was performing. Part of the real me seemed to have slipped out— and you were— enjoying it. How odd. Either I had drained so much blood from you that I had damaged your brain function, or maybe you actually— enjoyed my company. As much as I enjoyed yours.

Even now, with your intentions and feelings for me so clear and out in the open, even now I still wonder if it’s real. I pray that it’s real.

At night, when the camp is fast asleep I can feel you tracing your hands along the scars on my back. At first I was repulsed by them, saw them only as a reminder of who gave them to me. I thought you would too, but then your soft touch changed them forever.

“You seem awfully fascinated by them,” I remember saying the second night you traced them with your finger.

“I am,” you said softly in the darkness.

“Why?” I asked, my eyes looking in the dark. I wanted to face you, but the feel of your fingers on my back was amazing. You touched me as if I was a fragile thing, as if you were afraid your fingers would be my shattering.

“Because, they’re a part of you,” you murmured, “and I love every part of you.”

You said it as if you meant it. Without hesitation, without thought. As if loving me—loving all of me was as easy as breathing. It made me shiver.

“You’d be the first,” I whispered.

At that your fingers stopped tracing for a moment. I was worried I had made you uncomfortable until your arms wrapped around me and I felt your lips on my back. You pressed gentle kisses on my scars, keeping me tight in your embrace.

I had never felt so…warm.

And then just tonight…

A soft rain was falling in these shadowlands. It was strange for such a storm in this land, but the water was pure and a rare occurrence according to Jaheria. Halsin attributed it to our good deeds, more accurately— your good deeds.

I caught you just outside of the inn, near Damon’s smithing table in the barn. You were dancing in the rain with a few Tiefling children. You were drenched, and your skin was prickled up in the cool air. You were laughing.

You were radiant. For a moment I thought the sun had risen against the shadows. Everything I ever wanted seemed so close— just within reach.

I stayed a while and watched. The children eventually ran back inside, but you stayed out in the rain, lifting your head up to the sky.

Gods, she’s beautiful. And absolutely ridiculous.

I found myself stepping out into the rain, wanting nothing but to be closer to you. You must have noticed me coming, because you turned to me, your face lit up with a beautiful smile. You extended your hand to me.

“Dance with me?” You asked.

I took your hand and pulled you close, placing my hands on your waist.

“I’m afraid you’ll catch your death out here, darling,” I said, starting to move with her to her imaginary music. She smiled as we slowly moved together, carving our own path against the rain.

“It’s worth it,” you laughed as I twirled you.

She is beautiful. She is everything.

Rain clung to your hair and it kissed your face as it ran down your cheeks. I was caught up in the awe of you. The resplendent beauty of your eyes looking at me as if I was the only one in the world.

I would burn the world down for her.

I must have been lost in thought because we stopped moving. You looked at me curiously. A hand drifted to your chin and tilted your face up to mine.

“You are absolutely breathtaking,” I said softly.

And then you smiled at me like you always do. As if I was someone you have been waiting your life for. As if I was the light in the universe. It made me feel like I was invincible. It made me believe that I was someone worth loving.

I love her. More than anything. I would die for her.

Those thoughts settled deep into my soul. I couldn’t form my lips to say them. It felt impossible… I hated myself in that moment for my weakness. For all of the missed opportunities I kept creating.

“Hey,” you said softly as you cupped my cheek, bringing my attention back to the moment.

It was as if you sensed my self doubt. As if you knew me better than I knew myself. How strange a feeling.

“Come back to me,” you said gently, “focus on this. On us.”

You laid your head on my chest, and wrapped your arms around my neck. My hands returned to your waist and we just slowly turned and shuffled around in your rain soaked clothes. The scent of you was intoxicating, and I let myself drift off in the high of the moment.

One day I’ll be able to tell her— but for now, I suppose i will show her how much she means to me.

[dchuntress]

—

Subject: Re: Late submission | Where the Red Ferm Grows Essay

Hello Amandine,

First and foremost — are YOU alright? I am tremendously grateful to see that you’ve survived such an ordeal, I hope you’re safe and recovering. Please let me know if you need anything.

I’ve read your essay, and despite everything you’ve been through, I have to say it’s a solid analysis, Amandine. You did an excellent job discussing how Billy’s bond with his dogs reflects the novel’s themes of loyalty and perseverance.

There are some areas where you could strengthen your argument — especially in your analysis of the Red Fern’s symbolism — but I can see the hard work you put in.

I’ve left additional feedback in the scanned copy attached, so you’ll see my comments in red ink along the margins. Take a look when you have time.

I’ve given you a good grade, but let’s set aside some time to workshop your writing when you’re back at school. Not because your grade is in question, but because I want to help you improve your skills. I believe you can push your writing further, and I know you’re capable of it. Writing is a muscle — if you work on it, it’ll get stronger.

No penalty for the delay. Just take care.

Best,

Miss Bertinelli

[ Attachment: where_the_red_ferN_grows_essay_essay(3)_final_(1)_scanned.pdf ]

Helena winces as she carefully sets the laptop back down on the coffee table, no longer bothered about the blood spilling everywhere or the gashes left on her side from a knife fight with Black Mask’s lackeys — the first aid kit can wait.

She needs to ensure that Amandine can get to and from class safely first. Thankfully, someone owes Huntress a favour, and that someone also happens to know a thing or two about shutting up crocodilian bastards. It will be dealt with swiftly.

—

Subject: Re: batman arsonist extension ple ase

Hi Roberto,

I’m so sorry to hear about the fire, I hope you and your family are safe. Is everything okay?

Your well-being is far more important than schoolwork. Take all the time you need, okay? Your grade isn’t going anywhere, and neither is the assignment, do not even worry about it. Right now, focus on what matters: you and your family.

If you need anything — notes, resources, someone to talk to — I’m here, and I’ll do what I can to help. Be safe.

PS: If you’re looking for temporary housing, I strongly advise avoiding the Sionis Foundation Shelter. Just… speaking from personal experience. If you need help finding a safer option, let me know.

Love,

Helena Bertinelli

“You wanna talk to me about my kids—about so-called ‘collateral damage’, you BITCH!” Huntress yells, yanking a bloodstained Killer Croc’s claw from her shoulder and hurling it, aimed straight for Batman’s face. A series of cusses and curses escape her mouth before she storms out of the Batcave as abruptly as she had entered—not without kicking over one of his server racks along the way. Riddle her that for ‘collateral damage’, BITCH.

—

Subject: Re: Hospital + Assignments

Hi Jess,

First of all, do not apologize. I read your assignments, and I can see you weren’t in the best condition when you wrote them. That’s completely understandable, given what happened. Don’t stress about it — we’ll go over them together when you’re feeling better. Right now, you need to focus on getting enough rest and being there for your mom.

Let me know if you need anything. I insist.

PS: Mrs Schmidt works at the Gotham Subway, right? Please tell her to stay cautious, that is a dangerous area especially at night.

Warm regards,

Miss Bertinelli

Jess doesn’t know that Helena was in the hospital too — albeit not by her choice. Doesn’t know that her teacher yanked off the IVF, slipped on her purple mask, stole her wardmate’s jacket, leapt out the window — all without a care.

The subway is only twenty stones’ throws away, where the toxins still linger with an eeriness that was familiar to Huntress only a few hours ago.

Not her best work tonight, admittedly. But she trusts the police to carry on the rest when they come over and find the henchmen tied up in a corner — and antidotes on a counter, or whatever of them she thought she managed to salvage. Jess doesn’t know Huntress is feeling pretty garbage too, and praying Crane chokes on his own spit.

—

Subject: Re: CROC ATE MY HW W/PROOF! NOT CLICKBAIT! IT'S TRUE

Mr Dowd!

God, Remy — what happened to “Hello”, “Good evening Ms Bertinelli”, and “How are you”?

I would’ve fully believed you with or without photographic evidence — I mean it, I did not need to see that right before dinner — but nonetheless you have made a compelling case for an extension, kid. See me during office hours next Tuesday and I’ll see what can be done.

More importantly, are you okay? I don’t like that a rogue got close to you enough for that to happen, it’s worrying even if — and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but — Croc-related emergencies are very understandable in Gotham. Anyway.

Good night and stay safe, Dowd. Don’t let the Croc bite.

Never e-mail me again,

Miss Bertinelli

Helena wordlessly stares at the bite marks on Remy’s paper, then back at her shoulder, then back at Remy’s paper, then back at her freshly bleeding, stinging shoulder, already dissolving the thin layers of gauze.

“Jesus Christ.”

She resists the urge to send back a photo in the name of solidarity, and instead reaches for the wine bottle. Has Killer Croc been attending night school or what?

—

Subject: Re: Basement Situation, Not Good. Lost my book

Hi Miriam,

You absolutely should not go back there under any circumstances, your life comes first. I have granted you an extension, no questions asked, but please focus on staying safe — and far, far, far away from down there. Are you trapped? Are there safer exits? Never hesitate to call for help.

In the meantime, I’ve attached a PDF of the book here, and I’ll also have a physical copy ready for you by Monday. I insist, take no stress and be safe.

Hopefully, you won’t have to worry about the basement much longer.

Warmly,

Miss Bertinelli

[ Attachment: thebookfreepdf_obtainedbytotallylegalmeans.pdf ]

Miriam’s place wasn’t difficult to find and track down over the weekend.

Eyes locked on her target, Huntress cracks her knuckles.

By Sunday midnight, the rogue’s operation has gone up in flames — metaphorically, not otherwise. Huntress isn’t sloppy.

By Monday morning, the building is just a building again. It wasn’t Miriam who had to go down there and retrieve the book — albeit too tarnished for use. Not the worst news of the night, still.

one of helena bertinelli's students emailing her at 12:59 am asking if it's too late to submit their assignment now since their house got burned down due to gotham incidents:

helena bertinelli responding at 1:07 am after grading their work and reassuring them it's fine even though she's literally yet to take care of the third degree burns on top of 500 other fatal injuries she just got from her other job:

[neoraso]

bf things with boynextdoor

03z + 04z

sungho

cooks for you without a second thought. wants his baby fed and even before you started dating he always made extra when he knew you were coming around

sticks up for you always. if he sees ANYONE mistreating or teasing you too much he makes sure to end it there.

thinks you're THE funniest person alive. laughs harder and smiles more when you're around

lots of dates (shopping, cafe, eating, museums,etc.) but also loves to just stay in, cook and watch movies with you, talking and cuddling, he serenades you sometimes playfully >_<

loves to play with your hair and hold your hands- so simple but its so endearing and special to him to feel the back of your hand or your fingers curled in his own.

riwoo

was literally so shy around you before you started dating, now you are the person he feels most at home with. he doesn’t say it all the time but it shows when he’s around other people

carries your bags for you, holds your drink, etc. with no hesitance- even if someone points it out

is quite observant about your moods, habits, likes and dislikes. prides himself on knowing things about you no one else seems to care about-especially when he pulls out the most thoughtful gifts that leave you floored

feels a sense of responsibility for your care and overall wellbeing, but also feels incredibly comforted and safe with you

loves to share food and treats with you, all the time but especially when you look like you need a pick me up

jaehyun

he tries to not hang off of you like a backpack but fails within an hour and especially at night

everyone he introduces you to, coworkers, family members, friends, etc., all act like they know you from how much he talks about you. he thinks the world of you and loves to brag

every time he sees you it's like you've been gone for 6 years, even if it's only been a day; hugs so tight and gives 1 billion kisses, coos at you

an obvious mention: cute aggression that occurs so often it might be like a chronic affliction... srsly... kisses your face and head with a surprising amount of force and ur literally js sitting there, minding ur business

he elevates you. he's a great guy who you know deserves the world and it makes you want to live up to that. he feels the same about you and you guys encourage each other to be your best selves.

taesan

loves to have matching items with you (will spend hours customizing shoes or hats for you both)

loves days in where u just listen to whatever records you picked up the last time he brought you to the shop and lay there or slow dance around

lovessss meaningful gifts and gestures. will buy or make you snacks when you’re stressed or just bc would steal the moon for you if you asked

thinks everything you do is so cute and perfect and wonderful. literally so biased he will choose you to win over anyone

likes to pick you up from work or school even if its just to walk to the bus stop together and ride home (greatest protector award goes to…!!!)

leehan

your rock. soothes all your worries no matter how silly they seem. says really profound things like they're simple and- you guess they are when he’s around.

treats you oh so softly; tucks your hair behind your ears, pulls you into a hug like you're glass

nothing is embarrassing to him, he will wash your hair, shave your legs, brush your teeth for you. just ask and he’s there

likes when you sit with him while he watches his fishies,, you dont even have to be watching too but he feels so content with both of his favorite things to be around

the type where if you fall asleep on the couch instead of moving you, he'll just slip next to you to sleep too <<33

[fadingdaggerr]

sumpta sanguine (18+, mdni)

part 1 | part 2

pairing: agatha harkness x gn!witch!reader

summary: stuck in her ways, lost in your vision | 4.4k

includes: domestic fluff but the red flags are waving, blood magick!reader, angst, more angst

warnings: description of injury (brief), mentions of blood/death, description of illness, brief smut, afab reader (no chest description), fingering (r receiving)

translation: tolle hunc dolorem et restitue hoc corpus (latin) - take this pain and heal this body

note: i literally rewrote the entire last two sections bc i had a dream about this fic. it’s been rotating in my brain for weeks and i suddenly redid 70% i swear

August 1752

Hot air brushes through the trees, finding its way into the stuffy walls of the cottage. Not a single room could spare you of the suffocating heat. With all the windows and the door open, there is a small reprieve in the farthest back room, but most definitely not in the kitchen where you find yourself perched at the window.

Clumsy footsteps smack against the wooden floor behind you, a body toppling into the back of your legs. Turning to look down, a mop of brown curls and big blue eyes peer up at you. Hands grasp at your legs, tugging at the cloth of your rolled up trousers, a grabbing motion directed towards you.

With an exaggerated oof, you lift Nicholas into your arms, leaning back against the counter to sit him on your abdomen. His chubby hands fly to the strings of your shirt, fiddling with them with furrowed brows. Before you can even ask, he looks up at you.

“Mama?” He asks, staring you down as if he is trying to read your mind.

You smile, freeing one hand from under him to push a rogue curl from his face. With a gentle touch, you stroke his cheek with the back of your index finger, “Mama will be home soon, my sweet. Before the sun goes away.”

“When?”

Chuckling at his insistence, you lean into his space. His nose scrunches in time with yours, ever similar, and you cannot help the way your laugh becomes a giggle. “She will come home, Nicky,” you whisper, “she will always come back for us.”

This seems to calm his mind, immediately crushing himself against your chest in relief. The warmth of his body makes you feel woozy, but you refuse to let him down until he asks, or rather, wiggles free. Sweat lines your brow as you stand there, eyes closing as you savor the cuddles as long as they will last. Swaying gently side-to-side, you walk around the house, hoping the passing breeze will cool you.

The rest of the day, Nicholas stays glued to your side. When the heat grows too much for the toddler, he spends his time two steps behind you, watching your every move with his full attention. As you prepare dinner, you let him pick out the prettiest flowers from the bunch to make a new bouquet for the table. His murmurs of pu-ple and bwoo are music to your ears. Every time to try to sneak a peek at his choices, he tries to cover your eyes with his tiny hands.

By the time that you had completed dinner, and were finally able to look at your son’s choice of flowers, the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees. Both of you look at the window every now and then. Pursing your lips, you hope that Agatha returns before Nicky is to go to bed. He will never sleep without a good night’s kiss from both of you, each kissing a cheek with a loud smack of lips.

Worry does not even have a chance to take root when steps come up the wooden deck. The sound is enough to have the toddler whining, begging for help down from his perch. With quick hands, you scoop him up and place him on his feet. Little legs carry him with urgency to the door, breathing fast with excitement.

“Oh, my baby! It’s been ages, you’re practically a man now!” Agatha’s voice rings into the house, a muffled chuckle passing her lips as she tucks her face into Nicky’s hair.

Holding him on her hip, she finally meanders into the kitchen. Finding you leaned over the counter, she wraps her free arm around your waist, cheek squishing against your shoulder.

“Hello, my love,” she whispers, nuzzling her nose against you.

You hum, dropping your head to rest against hers, “missed you today, my heart. I trust it went well?”

“Always does,” she answers through an exhale. “Not a knick or scratch, I promise.”

Her words, no matter how much you believe them, do not stop you from reaching a hand around to check for yourself. The beat of her heart finds you easily, a balm to any anxiety you will ever have, steady and calm. Not even so much as a pinprick can be found, and the breath you were holding is let go.

Agatha stays there for a moment, soaking in the comfort that is you and Nicky. There is solace in your cool skin, drawing the exhaustive heat out of her own body. After a moment of solace, she peels herself off you, taking Nicky with her to change into nightclothes.

You and Agatha listen with small smiles as Nicky babbles on about what his stuffed rabbit had gotten up to today. Fern had fed the goats and fetched water, both of which were obviously not you. Chuckling at his antics, you push his spoon into his hand a little more, urging him to eat. Talking through every bite, he continues on the recount of your day. It was early into his rambling days that you realized why Agatha never asked you about the day, always waiting for your son to share it all.

As the sun disappeared and the crickets began to sing, the little boy had become limp on your lap, barely playing with Agatha’s hair anymore. His weight grew heavy, Agatha sensing it too as his fingers stopped fiddling. Sitting up from her spot resting against your legs, she turns to rest her chin on your knee.

Bedtime? She mouths. You nod, standing carefully and cradling the toddler. Walking to the farthest back room, you gently lay Nicky in his bed. Squatting down on either side of the bed, the two of you press a kiss to each of his cheeks.

“G’night, my sweet boy,” you whisper, walking backwards out of the room. It is hard to look away from him, the same every night. A piece of your soul out there, just in the other room, but still far enough to ache. You keep his door open, letting the air flow and to keep him within sight.

The wear of the day tugs you and Agatha to your own shortly after. Bare against the sheets, a pale leg drapes over your body, the warmth seeping in.

“Must you?” You question with a joking tone, the tips of your fingers dancing over her skin.

Agatha sighs in comfort, “I must. You’re an icicle and I’m sweltering.” Her nose brushes against your shoulder. The coolness once bothered her, fearing the worst of your health, but she realized in time that this was just you. Gone were the warm hands that held her close in that flowerbed, now she has the cold hands that temper the fire within her.

Turning your head, you press a kiss to her head, “perhaps that’s why I melt when you’re around.”

Agatha lets out a snort, nudging closer to you. Reaching lamely, you grab the edge of the sheet and throw it over you both. Turning onto your side, you let Agatha wrap herself around you. Your fingers trail up and down her spine, counting her breaths as they brush your neck. An arm wraps around you, nails circling the jagged scar that sits beneath her hand.

—⛤—

November 1754

The market is the most peaceful this time of year. Cold enough that few dare to venture outside, but warm enough to not yet suffer snow on the ground. Hand-in-hand, you and Nicky trail through the stalls. Small containers of goat’s milk and herbs you collected before autumn ended are all you have to trade. Hunting has never been your strong suit, but dressing the animal is another thing entirely. The pelts had been enough so far to give your son warm clothes for the winter, but none for you or Agatha.

Pulling slightly, Nicky tries to direct you towards a table of toys and instruments. Tugging him back to your side, you release his hand to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

“Stay with me,” you murmur, looking over a table of fabrics. The four-year-old sighs, leaning against you with a pout, staring off at the object of his desires.

Hugging your legs, he pleas, “I jus’ wanna look. Can I, please?” He draws out the last word, batting his lashes. His mother’s son, most definitely.

“Look, don’t touch,” you relent. Pressing a kiss to his head, you watch him run off.

Looking back at the fabrics, you pull out jars of milkweed and blue iris. The woman running the table eyes them, then her table. Folding up some, she shoves it your way and grabs the jars from your hands. Wordless exchanges are your preferred mode of conversation, giving the people what you know they need for what you know your family needs.

Rolling up the wool, you shove it into your bag. Clipping the satchel shut, you are disturbed by yelling at the other end of the market. From the toy table, a woman yells, three others running after something. A flash of brown hair and a giddy smile passes by, all too familiar.

Immediately, your feet carry you in the direction of Nicky and his pursuers. Hopping over logs, the boy bolts in the direction of your home, just past the treeline. The women never stop chasing him and neither do you.

Your knee aches numbly as you run, making you want to slow down, but with lost sight of the boy, you refuse. As you crash through the trees, your small cabin comes into view. A flash comes from the windows, a blurred mix of orange, pink, and blue, fading into purple. Scrambling up the stairs, you catch yourself in the doorway.

The bag on your shoulder drops to the floor of the cabin, the one you had only moved into in the early autumn. Three bodies lay on the floor, shriveled and sunken, grey and gone. In front of them all, Agatha. Her hands stretched before her, the purple magick swirls around her fingers. A sickly sweet smile crosses her lips, eyes closed in satisfaction.

Blue eyes pop open, suddenly aware of your presence. Her hands drop, moving to step over a body to close the distance between you. Noticing the worry in your features, she cautiously reaches out, warm hands on your face.

“Are you okay?” You murmur, knowing the answer already. A soft kiss presses to your cheek, lingering for a moment, letting you feel the safety. With the sureness of it, you pull away, eyes searching for the boy.

Sat on the stoop, Nicky’s back faces you. Rounding him, you squat down, hand on his knee. Refusing to meet your eyes, he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, a whistle in his palm. Your thumb brushes over his knee, feeling a small, tacky spot. Pulling away, blood sticks to your fingers. Carefully, you pull his pant leg up, seeing a large scrape across his skin.

Quickly, to not let him see, you slice your palm across a loose nail, letting red tears fall. Pressing your hand to his knee, you close your eyes. “Tolle hunc dolorem,” you whisper, “et restitue hoc corpus.” Repeating the words, you feel your hand warm, and your knee tingles, skin ripping. Holding your breath, you force yourself to not react. Pulling your hand away, all you see on Nicky is a small scar, one that will disappear with time. You place a soft kiss to his knee, rising and ruffling his hair as you walk back into the house.

As you look around the house, Agatha’s refusal to meet your eye is obvious. Taking in a deep breath, you grasp Agatha’s arm, hauling her into your bedroom with crooked steps.

“You made him do this,” you assert. “You used our son as bait.”

She rips her arm from your grasp, “I did not! All I asked is that he tell me if he sees someone, not to bring them to me.”

Your brows furrow, eyes widening, “he is four, Agatha. A mere suggestion from you is as good as a command. He has no place in this.”

“Is he supposed to never know magick? To never know what we are?” Agatha’s hands rest on her hips, making herself bigger. Blue eyes bore into you, a useless intimidation in your view.

“Do not play that game with me,” you step closer to her. “Nicholas is not a toy to draw in those wretches, he is a child. Our child, Aggie.”

The crack in your voice is a shock to you both, not having realized the tears swelling in your eyes. All you can feel is a burn, in your eyes, in your knee, in your heart. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to rid yourself of the thought. Though with every blink, the image of your son being chased is burned back into your mind, hardly fading and ever present.

Defensiveness rolls off Agatha’s back at the sound of your voice, hands dropping to her side. Without a second thought, her arms wrap around you, hand cradling your head as the other rubs your back. You stand stiff in her arms for a moment, but the overwhelming comfort that is Agatha takes you in, and you relax completely against her.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she whispers, lips brushing your ear. “I will not involve him, not even with a whisper. He will know purple, not red.”

Clasping your arms around her, you bury yourself in her neck. Breathing her in, you try to focus on her pulse. The steady thrumming, for the very first time, does not soothe you as well as you had hoped. “Get rid of them,” you murmur, “and don’t let him see.”

In an extra effort to show her apology, Agatha makes dinner, letting you cuddle with Nicholas in front of the fire. Eyeing from her spot at the counter, she watches you twirl Nicky’s hair with one hand, the other hand resting on his previously injured knee. You took it from him so quickly, noticeably hiding a little limp in your step now. The fact alone makes Agatha squirm with guilt, looking away.

When bedtime comes, she does not allow herself within his room and stays in the hall. Pressing a lingering kiss to his temple, she brushes a stray hair behind his ear. The boy stirs, rubbing his head against your shoulder, “g’night, Mama.”

“Sweet dreams,” she whispers, taking a step back. Carrying him as if he weighs nothing, you disappear into his bedroom. Agatha stays for just a moment longer before going to your shared room.

Laying Nicky down, you bring the blankets up to his chin. Rolling over to face you, his eyes crack open, “are you mad at Mama?”

His little voice makes your heart squeeze, fighting the frown that tries to make its way on your face. You place a hand on his shoulder, rubbing with your thumb, “only a little, but that’s not for you to worry about. I will always love Mama, even if I’m upset with her right now.”

“Are you mad at me?” He is even quieter now, as if he is scared to ask.

You take a deep breath. Tears burn at your eyes, and you pray the cover of darkness does not let him see. “Nicholas, I could never be mad at you,” you say gently. “Today, I was scared. And I need you to promise me that you will never do something like that again?”

Sticking your pinky out, you feel a smaller one wrap around yours. You rise slowly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You are my blood and bone, Nicky. All I want is to keep you safe.”

“I promise,” he whispers, voice muffled as he shifts against the pillow.

With a low good night, you slip out of his room, leaving the door open. Walking back to the main room, you scour the floor for any remnant of earlier events. Not a scratch or so much as a hair. Sated, you slowly make your way to your own room.

On her own side of the bed, Agatha tries and fails to nonchalantly fake read her book. Wordlessly, you undress and lay down facing away from her. Reaching out, you cover the flame on your side of the room, shadows filling the corners. They crawl faster as Agatha’s own candle goes out behind you. Shifting in the sheets, you feel Agatha press against you, skin warm in contrast to yours.

A pale arm wraps around your middle, fingers tracing against your stomach. Her lips find your shoulder, trailing lazily with soft kisses. As her teeth graze over your skin, her hand slips lower and lower.

You can feel the tension gnawing at you with fading anger not far behind, yet your eyes shut almost instinctively. The thrumming of her heart fills your mind, beating in time each wet kiss pressed against your neck.

“Agatha,” you say through a breathy whisper, teetering on a moan. Lithe fingers brush over where you need her most, but she does nothing to soothe the growing ache she so easily caused. You attempt, poorly, to sound more stern, “Agatha.”

She shushes you, hand moving to knead at your thigh, trying to manually remove the anger from you. How she can calm you as easily as she vexes you will forever be a mystery. A shiver runs through you, which Agatha acknowledges by nudging you with her nose.

“Please, my love,” she presses her lips to your neck. Her warm hand slides from your thigh to your center, and at the hitch of your breath, she faintly smiles. Another kiss to your neck, “forgive me.”

A firm press against your clit forces you to bite your lip, eyes squeezing shut. Her saccharine words and addictive touch turn you to putty in her hands. Your hips roll against her, searching for more friction as you grow wetter. At your invitation, her fingers move in slow circles. Thighs quivering as they open, you give her control as you lean back further into her body.

Leaving your clit, her fingers slip through your folds, the tips probing your soaked entrance. With the whine that passes your lips, she sinks two fingers into you, palm rubbing deliciously against your still aching clit. Her agonizingly slow pace quickens as your hips chase a different speed. Pumping her fingers, she lets you ride out the pent up tension on her hand.

The soft clench of your inner walls alerts her to your approaching orgasm, lips reconnecting with your neck. Every scrape by her teeth and gentle nibble makes the fire in your belly grow, the curl of her fingers tightening the coil further.

Your blunt nails dig into her arm, all your effort focusing on not making too much noise. Curling tightly, the tips of her fingers reach that spot that makes your vision turn white, hips rutting faster to chase the feeling. Forcing the heel of her palm harder, the pressure sends you over the edge with a silent scream.

Warmth fills you, slowing your hips, closing your legs to trap her there. Shaking pants pass your lips, eyes slowly cracking open. You feel soft pecks against your sweaty neck, barely there, but grounding. Finally letting her hand free, she slowly pulls out of you, and you have the fight whimper that crawls up your throat at the loss

Lolling your head back, you watch Agatha bring her fingers to her lips, eyes flickering shut at your taste. Reaching up, you pull her hand from her mouth, cupping her face. Drawing her down, you whisper, “I meant what I said. Today will never happen again.” She tries to speak, but your hazy glare shuts her down. “Just nod or shake your head,” you command.

With a stiff nod, she tucks herself into your touch. Removing your hand, you grab her own to wrap her arm around you, pulling her flush against your back. Settling against you, you feel her hold you tighter than ever as you fall asleep, anger snuffed out, replaced with a distant longing.

—⛤—

April 1756

Early in the morning, with the sun still hiding, you felt the bed shift. Groaning, you tug the blankets more into your side, subconsciously seeking warmth as Agatha leaves the bed. Tip-toeing around the bed, she presses a long kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” she mutters against your skin, another kiss placed there.

“My heart,” you murmur, slurred with slumber.

You do not hear her shaky breaths, or the creaking of doors. Faintly, you feel two kisses press to your cheek, small and wobbly. But the sniffles do not reach your ears, nor does the crying after the front door shut.

When the sun rises and the birds begin to chatter in the trees, your body stretches under the covers. A grunt passes your lip at the stiffness of your thighs, a pleasant and light ache. Squinting eyes opening to sunlight filling the room and you flop over onto your back, turning your head expecting to see your beloved. What you find instead is an empty bed and cold sheets.

Sitting up, you immediately wrap your robe around your frame, flying through the house. Shoving open the door, your son’s room is empty, his blankets still pulled back. Only Fern the bunny sits on the pillow. The kitchen and sitting room are empty. The yard is filled only with goats and chickens.

Running back into the house, you frantically look around for something, anything. All you find is silence and nothingness. Alone with your thoughts, a bunny, and a piece of paper on the table. Slugging over to it, you read the best you can with tear-blurred vision.

My dearest love,

It’s what must be done to extend his time. We know what is left is borrowed, and we cannot divine when it runs dry. I wish nothing more than to take you with us, but apprehension will not give us more time. And my love, you are too gentle for what is demanded of us.

I’ll pray to the Divine Mother that you shall find me again, for you seem to have a talent for it. It is one of your many, my sun and stars. My heart will forever beat in your name.

Yours in every way,

Agatha

And in messy, but legible, writing below, a message that sits heavy on you.

I love you to the moon and back. And Fern.

Your Nicky

The weeks that follow are filled with sorrow and turmoil. Every township gave nothing, not a sound or a rumor. The nights were nothing but nightmares within short bouts of sleep. Your body felt weaker by the day, feeling similar to a sensation from years ago.

A gnarly cough rips through your throat, unforgiving and sharp. Your chest aches with each one, gripping the counter in front of you as you sway. Looking up into the mirror, you examine your appearance. Skin ashen and eyes sunken into dark circles, you truly looked beyond recognition.

Not once in over sixty years had you been sick, not even an allergy. Your whole body seemed to repel illness and injury, healing and curing with every beat of your heart. The illness that has consumed you in the passing weeks has only confused you. All remedies you knew did not so much as soothe your ailing.

In the market, you force a cough down, not letting it slip. Any sign of illness was assumed to be deadly here, and the people were unforgiving. As you wait for the wave to pass, to eavesdrop on passing strangers, hoping for anything.

Five, ten, fifteen people pass before anything is worth your time. But then, two women walk by slowly, deep in conversation.

“I’ve heard it, it’s true,” the one in a light blue dress says excitedly, “the Witches’ Road. It promises glory for those who dare.”

The one in orange scoffs, “it’s nothing but a song, Violet.”

Standing from your spot, you try to follow. You knew exactly what song they spoke of, it was one of your own, written together through the seasons with a sweet little boy and his captivating mother. Yet now, it was something to sing to yourself in times when grief claws at you.

Stumbling slightly, you catch up with the women. Falling in line, you hope you do not look desperate.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but were you speaking of the Witches’ Road?”

The one in orange speaks first, eyes firm, “yes. And what of it?”

You raise your hands in a show of no harm, “I merely ask where you heard of such a thing? Was it close by?”

Violet interrupts her friend, “it was at a tavern some days back. This adorable little boy was singing of it. Quite well, if I’m to say so.”

Her comment tugs at your heartstrings, a small smile crossing your cracked lips. Your little song bird. It’s replaced by the unsureness in her declaration of time. If they were only speaking of this now, it should not have been too long ago. How close you must be, yet you feel you are far.

“Are you well? You seem…” Violet trails off, concern flooding her features.

“Come with us,” the other says. “You’ll be among your own. I’m Margot, that’s Violet.”

Nodding, you walk in line, letting them practically hold you up on either side. They lead you through town, to a cottage at the edge. Neither ask many questions, just speaking quietly among themselves as they work around you.

Nightfall comes, and you tuck yourself into the small sofa, graciously accepting the several offered blankets. The warmth of the blankets and dying fire tug you into a reluctant sleep, tearing at your sickly mind. Slowly, the rubbing of the stuffed rabbit ears ceases, your hand going limp at your side. Dreamless and dark, it is a heavy slumber.

A dense, ice cold feeling rips through your veins, seizing your heart. Eyes flying open, you sit up to grip your chest, fear flowing as you wake in confusion. Struggling to get up, you fall onto the floor, scratching at your shirt to reach your skin.

Pressing your palm to your neck, you feel your pulse, steady and normal. It is a jarring difference from the pain and unsettling feeling around you. Your heart breaks as you come to realization. Hollow. You feel hollow.

Looking up towards the window, over the hyacinths on the sill, you are greeted with the sight of the moon. Your only companion stares back, capturing your entire attention. A ringing in your ears replacing your ragged breaths. One voice, many unified, echoes behind the static.

Only one, they said. No other.

title translation: sumpta sanguine, latin - the blood taken

note: as always, feedback is appreciated! especially with something like this because it’s not like my previous works. let me know if y’all would be interested in me continuing this <3

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Maybe some autistic reader and Mick or Estie Bestie headcanons?

-💙🩵

How about head canons for both of them!

Both Mick/Esteban with an autistic partner

They both would be amazing,kind,understanding,loving and patient with you!

Have a problem with a texture that makes you wanna peel off your skin? No problem because they would ban it from your home!

They both are the type to Immediately do research on autism and stimming/fidget toys after learning that your autistic

Loose your earbud/headphones no problem they both carry an extra pair so you don’t have to worry about anything.

Have a favorite meal you wanna eat everyday till it wears off? No problem they’ll gladly make it for you. Even if they can’t eat it due to their dietary restrictions the still would be glad to cook it for you.

If you have specific clothes that feel good (soft fabrics, tagless shirts, specific brands), they’ll buy multiples so you always have a backup.

Mick, in particular, would keep an eye on when your favorites start wearing out so he can replace them before they become uncomfortable.

Esteban is very mindful of loud places and will always make sure you have your noise-canceling headphones or a quiet escape plan before going anywhere overwhelming. If a place is too loud, he’ll immediately offer to leave with you, no questions asked.

Mick would find quieter activities, like nature walks or cozy cafés, so you never feel overstimulated.

If deep pressure helps, both of them would love to cuddle you! Mick would wrap you in his arms under a weighted blanket,

while Esteban might surprise you with a new compression vest or a soft, heavy hoodie for extra comfort.

They know social situations can be exhausting, so they always make sure you have time to recharge. If you need alone time they respect that without feeling offended. If you want quiet company they’ll sit with you in comfortable silence.

If someone talks over you dismisses your needs, or makes ignorant comments about autism they will step in. Esteban has a more direct approach calling people out immediately

while Mick would pull them aside and educate them patiently—but both of them will make sure you’re never disrespected.

If you struggle with verbalizing things when overwhelmed they’re super understanding. Mick would gently encourage alternative communication (texts, gestures, AAC if you use it)

and Esteban would quickly pick up on your body language and help translate what you need to others.

Now onto separate head canons

Mick

Mick is incredibly gentle and never rushes you. He understands that sometimes socializing or change can be overwhelming, so he always checks in on how you’re feeling.

He immediately knows something is off if you’re overstimulated

Holds your hand 24/7 it’s comforting for the both of you Mick is more about gentle, reassuring touches and quiet support

When your feeling overstimulated and nothings working mick will read to you’ve

Want to leave an event early? No problem with that the two of you have a code word say it and then he’ll drop everything and and the two of you will go home

If someone makes an ignorant comment about your autism, he won’t get aggressive, but he will firmly shut it down with a polite but pointed response. If it really upsets you, he’ll comfort you afterward with soft reassurances and maybe your favorite snack.

You could talk for hours about your special interest, and he would listen so attentively, asking thoughtful questions because he genuinely loves hearing you talk about things that make you happy.

Mick respects your need for predictability and is happy to adapt to your schedule. If you have specific rituals (like eating the same breakfast or needing a quiet moment before talking in the morning), he fully supports them.

Esteban ocon headcanons

Esteban is the type to hype you up and make sure everyone knows how amazing you are. Either way, they love you completely.

If you have happy stims, like flapping your hands or bouncing, he adores seeing you excited. If you need to stim when anxious, he’ll gently hold your hand or help you find a calming one.

Esteban is great at stepping in when conversations become overwhelming. If someone asks you a question you don’t know how to answer, he smoothly jumps in and redirects the conversation without making it awkward.

He carries extras of everything—your favorite fidget toy, noise-canceling headphones, sunglasses for bright lights, and even an emergency snack if you struggle with food textures or low energy.

The moment he learns you’re autistic, Esteban does research, but more importantly, he listens to you about what makes you comfortable or overwhelmed.

[random-blurbs]

𓆪Jealousy𓆩

caleb x mc

obsessive lowkey

“God you suck.” Playfully pushing your coworker you guys walked closer to your apartment.

“Do I really? I helped you carry all this from the office!” He chuckled fixing the boxes in his hands as he was obviously struggling. “Jeez and here I thought you worked out.” You rolled your eyes as you got up to the steps to your apartment. He was close behind you finally catching his breath as he set down the boxes on the floor. Looking for your fob for the apartment you didn’t realize how antsy your coworker looked. “Hey y/n?” Grabbing your keys you finally looked up noting his sweaty figure.

Tilting your head in confusion you were worried that maybe it was too much for him to handle those boxes. In a way you were used to Caleb being able to carry anything you wanted without breaking a sweat. “Yeah what’s up.”

“I just wanted to know if later today you want to grab a-.”

“What’s going on?” Feeling like your body got nudged lower as an arm rested on the top of your head haphazardly. Knowing who is way too comfortable treating you like this in-front of your coworkers you sighed. Looking up at him his playful smirk was all you can see. “Jeez can’t you say hi like a normal person.” With minor annoyance you spare an apologetic glance at your coworker. “I’m sorry about him what were you saying?” Your coworker was watching the interaction unsure if he should actually continue. But with one look up at the looming man beside you he saw all adoration in his eyes leave when they made eye contact. His smile never left but his eyes had no emotion for him, making him feel uncomfortable.

“Y’know what. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Be safe y/n.” Confused you waved him goodbye as he kept it way too short. Looking up at Caleb he was looking down at you with that playful smile that you want to wipe off. “Really! You totally made him uncomfortable!” Shrugging his shoulders he reached out for the boxes your coworker left at the front. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me?” Mumbling something under your breath Caleb watched your figure as you opened the door to your apartment motioning him to follow.

You knew he hated whenever you didn’t ask him for help.

“I can carry those too.” He confidently he said as you chuckled opening your apartment door. “Whatever you always want to show off.” You finally dropped the boxes in your living room as Caleb followed suit closing the door behind him. “What? You think you’re stronger pipsqueak?” He already knew not to be shocked by your obviously wrong statement. He’s used to your delusion and want of always being right. I mean…that’s the thing he finds so endearing about you.

He wonders how long you can keep that up for.

“Ew why are you staring at me like that.” You finally said as you took in his expression letting a shiver go down your spine as you grabbed your box cutter starting on the boxes. “Can I not stare at you?” Already giving him a look he chuckled as he sat next to you seeing what you took out. He leaned his head on your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck. “You still have this?” Swiping it out of your hand before you can react he was flipping through the pages. “Caleb! Stop give it back!” Thankfully he was still sitting down as you straddled his hips reaching out for the book he now has over his head. “I’m going to drop us I swear!” You threatened trying to put all your weight into him as he stayed unmoving. “You don’t want me to see all love letters you wrote me or something?” He teased as moved the diary away from you even further.

“You wish I was talking about you.” You spat out as you shoved him over now being on his waist as your hand gripped the book. “Ohh c’mon you’re gonna make me rip it.”

He was looking at your struggling expression as you tried tugging it back. The determination in your eyes as your lips were pursed focused simply on that book. It excited him as every moment made him want to tease you more and more. He didn’t want you falling as one of his hands were on your waist the warmth of it exciting him more. You didn’t seem to notice as he finally let you have the book as you smiled happily. Finally getting off of him as you held the book close to you.

“I let you have it.” He nonchalantly said as his confidence never changed. “Why can’t you ever let me have a win in peace.” Before he gets another word in your phone let out a string of pings which was conveniently next to him. “I’m not going to even bother fighting you for my phone can you just tell me what it says.” Tired with the idea of even fighting you went into your room to find a hiding spot for your book, leaving him behind looking at your phone.

He practically knows everything about you considering he read you like a book. Holding the diary closer your cheeks burned in embarrassment imagining what could’ve happened if he had read it. He wasn’t too far off with the love letters idea as you wrote any significant moment that happened between the two of you. Moments that childhood friends shouldn’t share and would lead to something more. Knowing that the feeling is one sided is already killing you. If he confirmed it you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. Can you even go back to normal?

Unfortunately you already know the answer to that.

Yelping as you heard the loud noise come from your bedroom doorframe you looked over to see Caleb with a smile. You wouldn’t have thought anything was wrong until you see your phone in his hand. Holding it with a crushing grip as his smile seemed less kind. His expression reminding you of when he had caught you in a middle of a confession in middle high school. “What happened?” You cautiously asked putting the diary behind you at your nightstand. He chuckles as his eyes followed every movement of yours. “Is that who you’re talking about in your diary?” He asked almost in a desperate manner. It confused you never seeing Caleb like this.

“What are you talking about? Did you see something on my phone?” He shook his head in disbelief as he realized maybe playing the long-term wasn’t the brightest idea. He never had bright ideas.

“Are you really into guys like him? Were you just teasing me just for the fun of it.” He was reminded of the many drunken nights you two shared as you guys teetered the edge of more but always staying true to your guy’s relationship.

Childhood friends.

Nothing more. He hates the confused look on your face as you tried sputtering out a response. He hates that he's feeling these things. Hates the lengths he might go to if it means having you. "Are you talking about Victor? What did he say?" Your curiosity in his vision was morphed into excitement.

He felt like he was going to die. Every idea of you is swirling through his mind defiling the innocent relationship you guys had. A one-sided innocence as your image was always plaguing his mind, morning, noon, and night.

"Are you that excited about him asking you out?" He said with a strained smile as he tried seeing a positive around here. "W-what?" Your eyes widened in disbelief as you realized what your co-worker was trying to ask you earlier. Blushing in embarrassment you couldn't believe he thought there could be something. How can I see him at work now?

"Should I keep you here?" He asked innocently as he realized what he might need to do. "Everywhere you go somehow someone follows."

"Not everywhere....."

It’s like you want him to react. He took a step forward and by instinct you took one back. Each other’s eyes stuck on one another. Not letting a movement slip past.

“We’re going to need a restart here.” Motioning to your phone, before you can react he had thrown behind him with no care as you hear it land with a thud.

“What the hell!” He was tired of your antics. Tired of the games you loved playing. “You know damn well I’ll buy you a new one.” Closing the gap between the two of you, your breathing quickened. Looking away as you feel his warmth right infront of you. Stalking you.

He looked angry but the gentle lift of his finger to your chin made you realize he wasn’t mad at you. Making you look at him he caressed your cheek as he scanned your face.

“Did you really think I would go out with a guy like that?” He let out a quick laugh as he carefully pushed you onto your bed letting yourself sink into it. “I don’t know y/n you’ve been doing this I wouldn’t approve of.” He said with half lidded eyes as you see his expression change back into distaste.

“You are always so sweet. Even to those who don’t deserve it.” Being careful to not put his body weight on you he caressed your face his other hand lingering by your waist. “I wasn’t kidding earlier.”

About to ask him what he meant you let out a small whimper as you felt his soft lips graze your neck out of nowhere. Your body at high alert wanting to feel everything. “I should just keep you here. And never let you go. I can do everything for you y’know.” He finally pressed solid kisses on your neck as you wrapped your hands around his neck pulling him in. Accepting him.

“Too bad for you I have a life outside of this.” You quietly said making him lift up his head staring directly at you. “We can make a life for you here.”

You didn’t have time to think about how it no longer sounded like a joke as he finally did what you always wanted. Pressing his lips against yours it was desperate, needy, something you both longed for. Pulling him in closer you wanted to melt into him as you hear him moan feeling up your body.

Everything about him was yours.

And everything of yours was his.

He tugged your head back making you let out a whine in pain giving him access to your neck once again. He knew how sensitive you were there and he wanted you to enjoy every second of it. Littering kisses down to your chest as he heard your breathing quicken. “Don’t you get it y/n?”

Your mind was hazy as you felt his fingers go past your skirt and underwear. And without so much as warning shoved his finger in your pussy making you moan. Grabbing his shoulders tighter he quickly inserted another not giving you time to adjust relishing in your blissed expression.

Excited that he was the one pulling this look out of you. And he wants to be the only one that does so.

He’s heard these moans before but knowing he’s the one causing them he can’t help but go faster making you moan louder. Your body was craving anything from him as you pushed yourself deeper into his fingers making him grin. “I can always do this for you. Anything of me available to you at any time.” He reasoned but you were beyond reason as you wanted more. You wanted him desperately and he saw it clear in your eyes.

Pulling you into one more deep kiss as you let his tongue have his way and his fingers play with you. He knew this was the way he can keep you here. And he wasn’t planning to let you go.

[grayson-gutierrez]

Grayson tried to keep his focus as Zara’s playful teasing hit him from every angle. There was something about her, the way she spoke, the way she carried herself—he couldn’t quite place it, but it made him feel like he was constantly on edge, trying to navigate the space between casual conversation and flirting. “You’re always full of surprises, Zara,” he said, his voice lighter than he felt. The teasing about socks and covers had him chuckling. "Yeah, don't worry, I'm too much of a neat freak to have had other girls things left behind." Whatever had happened in the past, was gone and left in the past. He couldn't remember the last time he'd invited a girl around to his. "Finals week is more important than me?" He was teasing. Finals were important. His grades meant a lot to him. His professors couldn't say anything to him because he studied whenever he had the chance too between part time work and the classes that he attended. He was studious and knew what he was talking about. "Only joking, I'm the same. I wouldn't be in this position without studying and revising. It all helps out in the end." When her phone went off, the moment was broken, but Grayson couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. The girl's annoyed whisper had him raising a brow before he realised she hopped over to his desk to answer the phone. His breath caught slightly as she picked up the phone and spoke to her mom, and when she turned back to him, the mischievous glint in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t done with him yet. He still had the mental image of how she slept running through his mind which made him bite onto his bottom lip to refrain making a comment about it as she spoke to her mom on the phone. "I guess I am," he replied, his tone teasing. He grabbed his coat from the back of his wooden chair before slipping it over his shoulders and over both of his arms. "You got everything you need before I lock this office up for the night?" He didn't want Zara accidentally leaving anything behind in his office - just in case he was in class tomorrow morning and couldn't get back to his office in time. "Also, you tease, stop explaining how you sleep to me. I couldn't stop picturing you like that the whole time you were on the phone to your mom."

zara wasn’t the type to feel this kind of connection with just anyone. Sure, she was bold, straightforward, and confident—anyone who had crossed paths with her in the hallways or talked to her knew that. But grayson? He was different. She couldn’t quite pin down if it was his age or just who he was, but she loved teasing him and watching him get all nervous about her words. It was cute, if she was honest, and it made her want to push the boundaries even more. "you can always forget about that control," she teased with a smirk. "at least for now. during finals week, though? sorry, gutierrez, but i’ll need to focus on passing my classes." her playful tone didn’t match the fire in her gaze, which practically dared him to lose his cool. still, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to keep her hands to herself either. that tension between them? it was addicting. "oh, i know," she said with a smug grin. "it’s my superpower. but you don’t have to behave—why would you?" she chuckled softly, leaning closer, loving how the air between them practically crackled. moving in together had her more excited than she could put into words, though she didn’t want to come across as too head-over-heels. "as long as it’s just socks and not some other girl’s underwear, i think i’ll survive," she teased, raising a brow to emphasize her point. "besides, i was thinking about sleeping with you—no need for separate covers." her smile turned sly as she added, "though, full disclosure, i’m totally the type to steal them. i usually sleep in a big shirt and underwear." her wink made it clear she wasn’t kidding, and she knew exactly what kind of picture she was painting. when his hands found her waist, her breath hitched for just a second. he had a way of breaking through her composed exterior without even trying. "all at once?" she echoed, her voice soft but teasing as her gaze flickered down to his lips. "nah, maybe just this one." she started leaning in, feeling the world narrow down to just them—when her phone blared to life. "fuck me," she groaned, reluctantly pulling back and hopping off his desk to grab her phone. "my mom," she explained quickly before answering. "hey, mom?" her voice shifted into something softer, though the hint of annoyance lingered. "yeah, i’m at the library. i got distracted, but i’ll be home soon." her eyes met grayson’s, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "a friend’s driving me... yeah, love you too. go bug your son instead, okay? sure, bye." hanging up, she turned back to him with a playful glint in her eyes. "you’re driving me, right?" she asked, already knowing the answer. sure, she had lied to her mom, but she wasn’t about to let this moment with grayson end just yet.

[schnaf]

day 23 aka THE COUNTDOWN IS OVER - jungsu's past birthday brrrr ppoppos

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[classyrbf]

thinking about husband!toji who becomes overly affectionate and possessive when he sees some other man eyeing you down like a piece of meat. Of course your pretty self doesn’t even notice, too worried about showing him the dresses you think are cute and he sees the guy just down the aisle staring at your ass, sizing you up and stripping you naked with his eyes. So what does Toji do? He’s already extremely intimidating no matter what, with his broody nature and muscular build, most people won’t even dare to look your way, but some do. Toji simply stares at the guy, full on stares like a psycho and if that doesn’t scare them away, he grabs you by your ass, im talking ass in hand, squeezing it and pulling you towards him. “Toji!” You’d whine with a giggle, pressing a kiss to his lips. “What was that for?” You question, smiling up at him. “Oh nothing, mama, just some fucker keeps staring you down like you’re his.” He pressed another kiss to your lips only this time he didn’t pull away, making out with you right in front of the guy who rolls his eyes and walks away.

And when you and Toji go out to a party or the club, he swears he can’t step away from you for one second without some asshole trying to hit on you. He goes to the bar to grab you both a drink and the moment he turns his head, some guy is dancing up on you, ruining your vibe. “I have a husband.” You point to the ring on your finger, the diamond glistening in the light. “So? He don’t gotta know—” Toji throws his drink in the man’s face and throws a punch right to his jaw. “Fuck man!” The dude drops to the floor in pain. “Get the fuck away from my wife, you understand? Piece of shit.” Toji holds you by the waist, taking a sip of the drink he didn’t throw at the man before tossing it on him. “Let’s go, baby.” He whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

And when you’re back home, all you do is smile at him, pulling him in by his jacket. “You’re so sexy when you get all protective and possessive.”

“Oh, yeah? Does it do something to you, mama?” His lips curl into a smirk. You nod at him, biting on your lower lip.

“Ah!” You yelp with a laugh as he tosses you over his shoulder and carries you to the bedroom which will be occupied all night.

[littlelamy]

boat scene with rafe

requested by @gibson-g1rl l <3 😘 part 2

credits: oysters png from @saizun , and amazing gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs

The boat rocks beneath you as you step toward where Rafe sits bound against the wall, looking both furious and oddly vulnerable. You catch his eye as you enter the room, holding a small packet of aspirin and a plate of food. His eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, but his cocky smirk returns almost immediately.

“Look who’s here to take care of me,” he drawls, his voice dripping with that familiar teasing tone, though there’s a flicker of genuine relief in his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to your words. You set the plate down next to him and hand over the aspirin, glancing away to avoid letting him see the small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “Thought you’d need this. Can’t have you passing out on us.”

Rafe takes the aspirin from your hand, holding your gaze just a little too long before he swallows it dry. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting room service,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t know you cared this much.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “You should know by now I don’t want you dead, Rafe,” you say with a wry smile. “But don’t expect this to become a habit.”

He chuckles, the sound low and a little smug. “We’ll see about that,” he says, shifting against the ropes, clearly enjoying the attention. He nods toward the plate. “So, what—are you gonna feed me, too?”

You blink, taken aback by his nerve, and then raise an eyebrow, letting sarcasm color your voice. “Would you like me to? Or do you think you can manage?” You narrow your eyes, daring him to keep pushing.

Rafe’s smirk wavers, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink as he quickly looks away. “I can handle it,” he mutters, clearly flustered but trying to play it off. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to.” But you can’t help the grin tugging at your lips as you settle back, watching as he tries to pick up a piece of food from the plate with an awkward, fumbling grip, struggling against the restraints.

You stifle a laugh as he tries to eat without making a mess, and he catches you smiling, his jaw tightening. “Something funny?” he snaps, though there’s a hint of embarrassment in his tone.

You shrug, biting back your amusement. “Nothing at all. You look perfectly in control.”

Rafe grumbles under his breath, focusing intently on his food to avoid meeting your eyes. Another wave rocks the boat, causing you to steady yourself against the wall, and you look back to find him watching you, something almost like concern flickering in his gaze.

“Be careful,” he mutters, his voice softer, dropping the bravado for a split second.

For a moment, you just look at each other, the storm outside and the chaos around you fading into the background. His cocky expression softens, and he gives you a small, grateful nod. He won’t say it, but you know he’s thankful.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on you a beat longer.

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, crossing your arms as you lean back against the wall. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

Rafe grins, his cockiness slipping back into place, but now it’s warmer, less of a wall and more like something shared just between the two of you. As he reaches for another bite, he murmurs, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” And as much as you try to resist, you can’t help the small, reluctant smile that crosses your face in response.

The storm hits hard, the boat rocking violently beneath your feet. You’re barely able to keep your balance as you make your way through the narrow, dimly lit hallway. Waves crash against the hull, each one sending a jolt of panic through your body. But there’s something else clawing at you—something that won’t let you ignore the sound of Rafe’s voice, sharp and desperate, calling from another room.

“Come on! Cut me loose!” His voice cracks, the desperation in it too raw to ignore.

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. Rafe. He’s still tied up. The ropes are holding him in place as the boat teeters precariously on the brink of capsizing. You can hear Pope and Cleo yelling from the kitchen, their voices overlapping, trying to convince you to leave it alone. To save yourself. But you can’t. Not this time.

You grip the knife tighter, your fingers cold and trembling from the anxiety rising in your chest. There’s no time to think. Rafe’s call keeps echoing in your head, and that voice—the urgency, the fear—pushes you forward. You make your way toward the room where you heard him last, the sound of the storm growing louder as it pounds against the sides of the boat.

Before you even get to the door, Cleo’s voice rings out. “No! Y/N, No!”

Pope’s voice follows, sharper. “Y/N, stop don’t let him out!”

But you keep moving. You don’t stop. You can’t. There’s no way you’re going to let Rafe stay there, helpless and bound, when you can do something about it.

When you reach the door, you shove it open, and the sight of Rafe tied up against the far wall hits you with a jolt. He’s slumped slightly, sweat slicking his forehead, his face drawn with exhaustion and frustration. His eyes snap to you, and for a split second, they soften with something almost like relief.

“Cut me loose, come on!” He says again, his voice strained, but louder this time, more insistent.

His hands are bound tightly in thick ropes, his legs spread out uncomfortably beneath him. The ropes seem too thick for him to break on his own. You can see the tension in his body, the way his muscles twitch from the strain, and the panic that flickers behind his gaze. There’s no time to waste. You don’t think twice. You crouch in front of him, the knife in your hand glinting in the low light.

Rafe watches you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “Don’t make me regret this,” you murmur, feeling your heart beat faster as you cut into the thick rope that’s holding him in place. Your hands are shaking, the knife slipping slightly as the boat tilts again, but you focus on the task at hand.

“Come on, hurry up.” His words are clipped, desperate, and you push aside the nervous tightness in your chest as you work faster, cutting the ropes.

You’re close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, a stark contrast to the cold, wet air from the storm. The boat groans as another wave slams against it, and Rafe’s eyes flicker to the window, then back to you.

“Please,” he breathes, and it’s that one word that makes everything else fade away—the roaring storm, the panicked shouting from the others, the ticking clock of time slipping away.

The last thread gives way with a sharp cut, and Rafe’s hands are free. His arms immediately reach for you, grabbing hold of your wrist with a surprising amount of force, pulling himself upright.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his voice rough, but there’s something deeper in it, something like a sense of vulnerability you’ve never seen from him before.

You don’t have time to say anything, to wonder if he’s really thankful or if he’s just grateful to be free. The boat shudders violently, and you both stumble as the hull groans beneath you. The wind howls outside, whipping against the windows, and you know there’s not much time before things get worse.

Rafe doesn’t wait for an invitation. He grabs your arm, pulling you toward the narrow hallway. “We need to get to somewhere safer,” he says, his tone not leaving any room for an argument.

You’re both moving quickly, though the boat keeps pitching wildly. The wind screeches, and water sloshes against the floorboards. Every step feels like a risk, like the boat could capsize at any moment. But Rafe doesn’t let go of your arm. He pulls you behind him, guiding you toward a small corner near the engine room, the only place that might offer even the slightest bit of shelter.

You slide into the corner, pressing yourself against the cold wall. It’s not the safest place, but in the madness of the storm, it’s all you have. Rafe follows, wedging himself beside you. There’s barely enough room for the two of you, but you don’t mind. You’re not focused on that right now. All you can think about is how the boat is rocking, how you’re both on the brink of disaster, and how Rafe’s body is so close to yours.

He leans into you, his breathing ragged and uneven. For a moment, he pulls away, but then his hand is at your waist, his grip tightening. It’s almost like he’s afraid you might slip away from him. He presses his body closer, his face now inches from yours, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart.

Rafe places his head on your neck, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder. The warmth of his breath on your skin is both comforting and unsettling, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you place your hand on his back, the pressure of your touch grounding both of you as the storm rages on around you.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if you’re trying to reassure him or yourself.

Rafe doesn’t respond, but you feel his muscles relax, his tense body unwinding little by little. He’s not just holding onto you for stability; it feels like he’s holding onto you for something more. You can’t explain it, but there’s something in the way he leans into you, something raw and vulnerable that you’ve never seen before.

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