#[ ship ]...“love soothes the tortured heart”

[nidaiime]

@shisui-uchiha-anon sent:

“ well. for whatever it’s worth, it’s been a pleasure fighting alongside you. ”

        WHY DID IT SOUND LIKE GOODBYE? Tobirama chanced a quick glance at the Uchiha standing beside him, trying to decipher his feelings through his chakra. It was a bit difficult despite being the strongest sensor on land, but his own emotions were going haywire. Because of the fighting, and because of his warring feelings. 

        Tobirama let a soft sound past his lips as they curled slightly upwards in a small smile. “You are saying it like I am dying,” Tobirama said, a subtle joke. “We have won, Shisui.” Then he breathed out, long and heavy, pouring all his reservations into that one breath.

        Tobirama turned around to face Shisui fully, his eyes open and honest. “We have been through much,” he muttered, removing the happuri from his head to hold it tightly in one hand. “You have been through much and yet stayed by my side, even though I do not deserve it.” Smoothing out his hair with one hand, he closed his eyes, and repeated, “I do not deserve it at all.”

[eelnoise]

incandesce

zoro x afab!reader an: just some lovesick drabble because im weak in the knees for my big stinky boy. he's so cute and i wanna just snuggle w him so bad 🥺 cw: fluff :) wc: 1.1k @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @themushroomofdeath

The flash of the morning sun hits Zoro’s face like a white-hot light as he descends from the crow’s nest, freshly exhausted from training. Squinting in the daylight, he looks upon the deck below as it comes into clearer view – silhouettes of the crew fade into focus, and quickly does he scan the scene for a brief headcount. A slight warmth fills his chest, and not from the tide of day washing over the ship.

You’re not among them. You’re still asleep.

Zoro’s boots hit the deck with an audible thud, and heads turn to greet him. He offers a sleepy ‘good morning’ nod before heading right in the direction of the women’s quarters. No one stops him, nor are any words exchanged. They all know where he’s headed, just as they know why you tend to sleep in.

It isn’t often that he gets this opportunity – to join you for a nap. Most days he retires from the watch far earlier than any of the women awake, sometimes avoiding his own bed all together and simply napping in the nest. The odds are in his favor this time, and he means to take full advantage of the very limited time he can have with you. Only you.

No sooner does he creak the wooden door open that his heart skips a beat beneath his ribs. You’re there, just as he hoped you would be, softly snoozing beneath the sheets. Your hair is folded wildly about your face and the pillow beneath your head, and your lips are slightly parted with just a speck of drool glistening down your chin. Zoro can’t help but find you endearing, and seeing you in a deep, restful sleep does something to soften his stoicism. 

He almost can’t bring himself to wake you, as the sudden shift on the mattress always causes you to stir – though you’re never soured by it. Never once do you make him feel unwanted or loathsome, always welcoming into your arms or by your side when he needs you most.

And, while not the most affectionate man, Zoro relishes in the love you give him. The good-willed and honest devotion that you deem him worthy enough to receive makes his head spin. Somehow you had latched onto his sin-soaked soul, cleansing it in your soft, practiced hands and invigorating him in ways long forgotten.

Memories that ache - that wear him down with the weight of the past, present and beyond - they all seem to slip away when he’s next to you. You’re his anchor, reeling him back from the somber reverie that so frequently plays in his mind. A light that burns bright even in the darkest of places, and somehow he always finds his way back to you. Zoro knows that real worth is wordless, actions speaking emphatically over all else.

And you show him that worth.

His worth.

Zoro kicks off his boots, practically tiptoeing his way around the bed to it’s open side – and though he knows it’s fruitless, he does make an attempt to slide in next to you as carefully as he can manage to. And you stir – as if right on cue, the sudden weight pressing into the mattress that rolls you against his chest. 

A sleepy hum of acknowledgement befalls your lips, a small - yet simple - gesture of welcome to the man now aside you.

A hint of a smile etches into the cooks of his mouth as he returns the gesture with a hum of his own before curling his arm around your middle and burying his face into your hair and breathing in deeply. Your body is warm to the touch, and with it comes elation. Oftentimes he appreciates that you had cast the first stone, releasing him from the nigh-torturous, unknown feelings that he couldn’t possibly have navigated alone.

Zoro clings to you, as if magnetically attached around your body. His thumb drags along your tummy, up and down in a soothing yet natural response to being with you. He murmurs a throaty “Good mornin’” against your ear that makes you shiver with longing. Far too little do you get to indulge in his embrace, and though you’re not as tired as he is, you aim to enjoy the time regardless.

“Morning,” You reply, twisting your head just enough to see him and allowing your hand to fall atop his and entwining your fingers together. “How was watch?”

“Same as ever.” He whispers into you, feeling that familiar tranquil serenity blossoming within him. Zoro squeezes your body against him and moves some of your hair out of your face to place a series of pecks to your cheek before trailing up to give you a soft, tender kiss to your lips. 

It hadn’t been easy, learning to love – but with you there, ready and willing to guide him at his chosen pace the whole way through his strained emotions. Not once in his life did he expect to feel this way, a man of action and ruthlessly devoted to his dream and to his course upon it. Zoro once saw life as just that – his own. A narrow pathway in hindsight, one fit enough for just himself at the end of all things.

Though now, the path had forked, widened, and along it do you walk beside him. Every decision, every step, every pinch of ash left in his wake has your name written upon it in dark, permanent ink. Zoro thinks with you in mind, acts with your face at the very forefront of his synapses. He’s grown to adore you, both body and soul.

Part of it terrifies him still. The thought of losing something more precious than words can explain dives deep into his core. In love, there is fear. Fear of loss, fear of weakness in life’s most pivotal moments, fear of losing one's sense of perception. 

Though, there’s also hope. Hope and happiness and support and all else that comes with devoting your very essence to another. Seeing you smile or laugh brings him a peace that borders on inexplicable. The feeling of your hand on his bids him well wishes, each kiss a reminder of sanctuary. Every tangle between the sheets when he makes love to you renders him spellbound - the saccharine, honeyed taste of your skin on his tongue mixed in with those sighs and coos of pleasure that only he can hear, a song that only he can make you belt, it makes Zoro’s head spin with just the thought.

To Zoro, you’re beyond compare. No single person in his life comes even toe-to-toe with you, and as you snuggle against him, he allows himself to feel vulnerable. You’re his safehaven, a blessing in disguise that nabs him by the heart and never fails to lull him into a rejuvenating respite. 

You’re home.

You’re his.

[innerfare]

Law Leaving - Part 1.5

Summary: Law is stewing on leaving you behind; it's only Part 1.5 instead of Part 2 because it's just a shorter drabble from Law's POV. Reader is a Heart Pirate and marine biologist. Features mutual pining and unrequited love. This thing I wrote here could be considered a prequel if you want to read it, and you can read Part 1 here!

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff

CW: SFW // None

Word Count: 575

———

Law would rather die than say it out loud, but the Straw Hats were pretty good company. He had to hide his smile multiple times as they chattered over their snacks and drinks, sprawled across the deck of their quirky ship without a care in the world. The journey from Punk Hazard to Dressrosa, he hoped, would be a boring one. 

Law himself took the break in commotion to sit down, his back against the railing, and let his mind wander a bit. Naturally, his thoughts went straight to you. 

He wondered if you had gotten your hands on any new algae samples, if you had finished that book he bought you on Island Whales, if you were still obsessed with that one song or if you had a new one, if you had made any progress on getting down to just one cup of coffee per day, if  on colder nights you were making good use of the sealskin blanket he’d given you, what shade of blue was on your nails. 

More importantly, he wondered if you had thought of him at all, if you wanted to update him on your coffee habits, if you wanted to share any new songs you found with him, if the spot beside you remained empty at meal times, if you missed his opinions on your marine research, if his yellow and black hoodie was still your favorite or if you’d found another. 

The fear of you finding another reached into his chest, a frozen hand clutching his heart. He rubbed his hand up and down the spot in hopes of soothing himself but to no avail. His greatest fear was the Donquixote family finding and torturing you, but there was another fear creeping up on that one, threatening to relegate it to second place: the fear that you would grow weary of waiting. 

And how selfish was that, for a small part of him to care more about your loyalty than your safety? He knew you could spit in his face and he would still lay down his life for you, but he didn’t want you to spit in his face. He wanted you to hold his cheeks in your cold hands like you’d done that one late night in the lab and press a warm kiss to his lips, slow and chaste, little more than a promise to reciprocate should he decide escalate. He hadn’t escalated, though, hadn’t been able to, not with his past weighing on him. 

He didn’t expect to see you again, though he hadn’t exactly told you that. He hadn’t been man enough to confront you with what he felt was the truth. He’d been caught between the fear you would try to accompany him if you knew how dire it was and the fear you wouldn’t, that you didn’t care enough.  

The Straw Hats erupted into laughter, and Law lowered his head, a subconscious fear of them laughing at him lurking in the back of his head. Who was he to assume you were even his to set free? It was rather laughable. But in that moment, he decided he didn’t care how comical the thought of you loving someone like him was. If- no, when, he made it out of Dressrosa, he’d make sure there were no gray areas in your relationship. Either you loved him, or you didn’t, but you were going to know how he felt about you. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! Part 2 will be up tomorrow! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[renlyslittlerose]

Kinktober Day 7 - Touch-Starved

For ME because I wanted to write it~ 🥲

Little Bit of That Human Touch - 2,044 Rating: T Content: Established Relationship / Suited Darth Vader / Darth Vader Redemption / Redemption / Darth Vader Needs a Hug / Touch-Starved / Reconnecting

---

It was the sounds of the world no longer constrained by the press of his helmet that Vader first marvelled in.

He could hear the trill of a bird’s song and the rustle of wind through sun-bleached leaves, the tinkle of water against a porcelain dish and the creak of metal crates against one another. When allowed outside he could hear the worms in the dirt below his feet, the rumble of electrical current beneath stone steps and thick grasses, and feel the planet expand and contract with each deep breath it took.

Next, he enjoyed the feel of fresh air on his face. The recycled air of the Imperial cruisers had always been sharp and uncomfortable against his exposed body, sliding beneath the curled burns of his skin and the corners of his sensitive eyes. He had to exist within self-contained areas on the ship, such as oxygen chambers and bacta tanks, designed to make the ache in his chest hurt just a little less, but in turn further isolated him from the world.

At least this prison came with a view.

Taking in a deep breath, Vader listened to his mask as it sucked the air through his lungs and pushed it back out. This remained a constant: the mechanised breath of a body that struggled to exist outside the chains that had bound it to a brutal, torturous existence, alive only because the robotics that pumped his heart, breathed into his lungs, made his stomach churn and his guts twist, wouldn’t allow for him to slip away into nothingness.

This too was similar to a prison. He couldn’t make a decision to leave or stay; couldn’t tell those that controlled his fate to allow him to choose where and when he died. He was too valuable to the rebellion. A prize worth keeping, to parade around as a victory, even though he’d given himself up willingly.

Those in the Rebellion were pitiable. Contemptible even.

Save for one.

Taking in another breath Vader felt Obi-Wan before he heard him approach the door to his chamber. Vader wasn’t allowed to close off his bond to Obi-Wan; couldn’t retreat into the darker recesses of the Force where pain met despair and hatred, a soothing elixir that was so easy to fall into. Here he was made to lay in the pools of Obi-Wan’s consciousness, to touch the once familiar warmth that was his certainty and love, and bear the weight of a forgiveness given so willingly.

The door slid open with a series of clicks, the locks put in place both mechanical and mystical. Other Jedi who had survived the years of the Empire’s mindless hunting had come to aid Obi-Wan in Vader’s confinement, preventing him from attempting an escape that he didn’t even want.

He’d bowed his head for a reason, begged for mercy even though the words sliced and caught.

He wanted this.

Obi-Wan’s physical presence still hurt. The moment he stepped into the room Vader’s muscles seized around his ribs and his breath caught in his throat, making him cough into the mask. Blinking back the swell of tears, he kept his head ducked and turned from Obi-Wan as his boots came in to view.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt your meditations,” Obi-Wan said gently.

“I was not meditating,” he replied, attention still trained on Obi-Wan’s boots. He still struggled to look Obi-Wan in the eye. “I was… contemplating.”

“You should be meditating more on your own,” Obi-Wan said. He stepped forward before kneeling in front of Vader. “You’ve come a long way in your recovery. Journeying into the Force alone is the next step.”

He couldn’t smell Obi-Wan but knew the perfumes he wore all the same, the leathers of his belt and boots mixing with the scent of fresh cotton that swaddled his form. He’d lost some of his gravitas in the ensuing years, the sandy shoals of Tatooine wearing away at him like they did all vibrant creations, until they too crumbled into dust and became a part of the planet itself. Soft eyes had hardened, the lines across his brow and around his eyes deep set and visceral to look at, muscle giving way to sinew that sucked tight around bone.

But he was still beautiful. He always would be.

“Not today,” Vader said. He knew he sounded dismissive and perhaps petulant, but he didn’t care.

“Is something troubling you?”

Vader finally looked up at Obi-Wan. He was dressed in blue today. He looked good in the colours, though Vader still wasn’t used to the sight. Stranger still were the white medical robes that swaddled his own body, the fabric made to lessen the irritation across his sensitive skin. Black and always been Vader’s colour. He still wasn’t sure he liked the white, so stark, so… pure.

At first Vader wanted to hide his uncertainty. It was a foolish thing to get caught up on. But he also knew Obi-Wan would sniff it out - pull on their bond and have Vader give him the answers. He wasn’t allowed to have secrets right now. He wasn’t allowed privacy. He wasn’t allowed to be just a man.

“This morning when one of the doctors came to change the feeding tubes… one of them… she smiled at me.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched. Vader glared but Obi-Wan’s smile remained.

“Smiled?”

“Yes.”

“And this troubles you?”

Vader sighed, the inorganic sound shuddering through quiet space. “I do not want their courtesy nor their pity. They should continue to treat me with distrust. I do not want their kindness.”

“Why is that?”

Gritting his teeth, Vader turned from Obi-Wan and stared out the narrow windows of his chamber. The leaves outside created a dappled light across the stone, flickering and difficult to follow. “I do not deserve it,” Vader finally said.

“Don’t deserve it, or don’t want the responsibility of having to live up to an image you don’t think yourself capable of fulfilling?”

Turning back to Obi-Wan, Vader flexed his mechno-hands that remained on his lap. “What do you mean?”

“When people show genuine interest in another person even through a simple smile, that can create a small bond between the two. Suddenly you have to live up to certain courtesies that perhaps you’re unwilling or unable to see to. It can be as basic as a return of the smile or an acknowledgment of some kind that you recognize their presence.” Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side, his eyes searching Vader’s own. “When the doctor smiled at you, she saw you as something other than a prisoner - as someone other than Darth Vader. She saw a part of that humanity that you’ve shut yourself off from for over a decade. And when she smiled at you, she reminded you that the piece of yourself you strove to hide for so long wasn’t as easily hidden as you’d once thought.”

Obi-Wan’s thoughts curled in Vader’s mind like they had all those years ago, patience mixing with wisdom. And a little arrogance for good measure.

Just a few months ago he’d have strained against Obi-Wan’s words. They dug too close to the truth, working their way between the layers of armour that Vader had built in order to survive; digging, digging, digging until he found the boy that lay beneath. A boy that Vader had tried so hard to kill.

But now he was expected to let Obi-Wan in, and allow him to push against the cracks until something gave way. Sometimes it was just a concession, other times a confession. More often than not, it was just allowing Obi-Wan to be present within his space, a painful and comforting reminder of Vader’s continued existence.

“Perhaps you are right,” he said after a while. “Maybe I… maybe I need to be willing to accept the grace shown to me.”

Even though he thought he might choke on it.

“Do you wish to meditate?” Obi-Wan asked.

Vader nodded, and the pair slipped into the Force together. The first time they’d done this Obi-Wan had been scared, and Vader had liked it. The licks of fear curled with his own excitement, slashing like the clash of their blades - red against blue, skittering and cutting. He’d chased Obi-Wan through the thickets of their bond, focused in on him as he hurried through the brambles like a hunted fawn, footsteps quick and eyes wide. Vader knew he shouldn’t have given chase and yet he couldn’t stop, madness and the drive to hurt overriding all other senses, the scent of Obi-Wan’s fear intoxicating.

But Obi-Wan learned how to push back. He’d turned and suddenly the fawn was a stag, horns sharp and nostrils flared. He’d beaten back Vader’s rage and chaos, pushing him further and further into the cool rapids of his Force signature, submerging him in the waters of the light side of the Force until Vader drowned in its simplicity.

It was there that they floated together now, the pair without form as they curled and swirled like tendrils in the Force. Obi-Wan guided them deeper in the pools, the darkness comforting, the warmth of the water soothing. It was there that they lingered.

Here Vader felt no pain, no ache, no need. The blood soaked maws of the darkside couldn’t press against the back of his neck and lock down, keeping him in place until he had no choice but to succumb to the raw ache. His limbs didn’t feel disconnected and separate from him, his lungs didn’t hurt, his skin didn’t catch and pull, his guts didn’t seize and twist, his mind didn’t cut and devour.

It was here that Obi-Wan found it.

A desire. Pure, simple, focused. That longing for human connection, unlocked by a simple smile as the early morning dew faded from the blades of grass.

A hand touched his cheek in the physical space.

Vader’s eyes flew open and he jerked away from the touch, eyes wide as his heart thundered beneath his chest. Obi-Wan remained as he’d been before, hand stuck out between them, fingers gently curled as he let the hurt of rejection slip away in an instant.

“What are you doing?” Vader asked, quick and sharp.

Obi-Wan kept his hand where it was, still reaching, still yearning. “Come, darling…”

Vader bit the inside of his cheek until blood gushed into his mouth, coppery and thick. Familiar. He hadn’t heard that expression in many years, hadn’t been swallowed up by the tone and the softness in which it was said. Hadn’t been comforted by the knowledge that he was someone’s darling.

He was his Master’s darling. A beautiful boy worthy of love and affection.

A boy worthy.

Fear rattled through his body, digging into his stomach like a blade. But just on the edge was Obi-Wan’s presence, like a light on the shores, patient and steady, guiding him back. With an unsteady breath he locked eyes with Obi-Wan, light-blue with dark blue that still held the presence of a fire-red storm.

Swallowing, he turned back into Obi-Wan’s touch. Without hesitation Obi-Wan cupped Vader’s cheek, fingertips sliding along his jaw before resting palm flat across his skin. Obi-Wan’s touch was soft, his skin hot, calluses rough and yet pleasurable all the same.

Vader had not felt human contact like this in…

He’d not felt. In so long. For so many years.

Sighing, Vader turned into the touch, nuzzling his mask into Obi-Wan’s palm, desperate for more. Needing more. Like a man parched for decades and finally given succour he fell into Obi-Wan’s embrace, his larger frame curling in as he demanded to be held. Obi-Wan opened himself up to Vader, his arms strong as they wrapped around him and held him close. His lap was familiar, his chest broad and steady, heartbeat thundering as Obi-Wan cradled Vader against his chest and held him.

Oh how quickly Darth Vader forgot what it was like to be loved.

And how easily Anakin was able to remember.

[papurgaatika]

My Pain Fits in the Palm of Your Freezing Hand

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Minors DNI with my work please !!

A/N: happy angst posting, fellow angst lovers!!! I love torturing the little guys in my computer. Okay but honestly this one hurt to write a little bit. First and foremost thank you to @almostfoxglove for letting me participate in this challenge,, it was in fact challenging but the creative juices were flowing like crazy. Secondly- thank you to my beloved beta readers @carlynkurin and @joelsdagger for reading this, im so glad i could make you cry, it was my honor to do so. I hope the rest of yall enjoy this but in the way that it breaks your heart. Peace and love from me xoxo

Tags: major character death, angst, literally just angst, guilt, some more religious metaphors, major character injury, hurt no comfort, no reader desc

please lmk if I forgot something!! Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Din was a mandalorian damn it, he was supposed to protect you.

The crash was not one either of you had expected. Always the steady pilot, Din never expected to crash, not even when the weather of this particular planet was practically unnavigable because of the snow. The wind blew and rocked you both like a church bell, swinging you into the sounds of mourning. You were the first one to fall. Never being one to sit still, your seatbelt was off, and you practically slammed into the side of the crest as Din tried to land safely. 

Trying is never enough in hindsight. The impact from the wreck is dire, Din’s hands in a steel grip, trying to steer the ship in any direction, your body laying there under parts of wiring and crates that came undone, the ship sinking into the ice below you.

Din rips his belt off, his armor mangled somewhere in the mess. His first, no, his only priority is you. And the way you looked made his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. Weak. The only word he could find for you was weak. Metal from the ship had given you a sickening cut along your abdomen, blood soaking your shirt as you gazed at him with big frightened eyes. He rips off his cowl, moving to you in a millisecond and trying to put pressure on the wound. You hear him whispering soft praises and empty promises of you being okay into your ears, and despite it all, you know. You know he can’t save you from this, that he hasn't felt the blood trickling down the back of your head down your neck. 

You try to whisper to him that it was okay, that he was hurt and cold, that he needed to take care of himself too, but he was stubborn. He was supposed to keep you safe. To protect you, so damn it, that is what he was going to do.

You manage to reach a weak hand out to cup his face, your soft hands so cold. So cold he swears they would freeze around his face, but despite that your touch is somehow as soft and gentle as it’s ever been. You can feel his tears hitting your palm, your thumb rubbing softly over his cheek, the stubble a familiar cherished feeling in your hand. You’re telling him it would be okay, that he’ll be fine, still attempting to soothe him despite how weak you sound. You stay like that for what feels like eons, your voice getting quieter, and your touch growing softer with every passing moment until they stop. 

The ship is eerily silent, and it makes Din panic. He was used to silence before he met you. He was content only having his thoughts, but that changed with you. You were loud and talkative and suddenly, he felt himself opening up. He was sharing things he had never shared with anyone, telling you things about his childhood. Was he supposed to be glad to survive this? To be thankful that he had somehow managed to outlive another loved one? He was holding you in his arms like you were a child, cradling you as if that would block anything that could hurt you.  Your breathing was shallow and labored and your heart was racing like the wings of a hummingbird. Din wanted to take that little bird and keep it locked in a cage, safe from the pain and hurt he had managed to put you in, keep you far away from him. 

And as sudden as the crash itself, the flutter of those wings stopped, and you went limp in his grasp. Despite the hollow look on your face, you looked peaceful, as if this was the only way you were freed of the suffering you had been put through. Time stills for a moment. Bile rises in his throat when he feels you slump in his arms. His hands are freezing and shaky as he cups your face, begging. Pleading for you to open your eyes. 

God those eyes that he loves so much. The warmth in them that might have been able to melt the snow surrounding him. The teasing glint that came out anytime he said something that made you laugh. The absolute love that he could see in them. The love that he was never going to be able to see again. Din feels his heart pounding in his chest, hammering away like the armorer, and his memory floods with the first time he took his helmet off in front of you. 

“You are my new creed” he had said, words spoken like a man finding god. His hands were holding yours, shaky and gentle. “Nobody else, nothing else, matters to me anymore. Not when I have you” Your eyes hadn’t met his for a few seconds. Almost too scared, as if he would disappear as soon as you laid eyes on him. And your beloved Din, always so soft and gentle with you, just tilted your chin up, his calloused hands a stark contrast to your soft skin. You both stood there, frozen in each other's eyes, neither of you daring to look away. Melting each other, committing the other to memory, becoming one. 

Din replays the memory in his mind until it hurts him physically. He was still holding your body, limp and colder than it should have ever been. You hated the cold. Teased him for how uncomfortable it was to walk next to him in the armor. You deserved to be warm, to stay soft, like you had done for him. How many times had you reminded Din that he needed to eat more than a ration pack? How many times had you taken a blanket and wrapped it around him when he fell asleep in the pilot’s chair? How many times had Din deserved that kind of treatment? 

How could he have deserved you? Especially now, when he had done this, allowed this to happen to you. How was he meant to go on, to persist without the one thing that was truly good in his life? 

He stands on quivering limbs, the temperature setting in, his joints stiff, and picks your body up with a silent sob. He moves you to the bunk and tucks you in. Fixes your hair how you liked it, and wipes the remnants of the tears from your cheeks. If he could do nothing else, he would make you comfortable, he owed you that. You lay there, and for a moment Din is half expecting you to stretch your body out and wake up. Wipe your tired eyes, give him a groggy smile, and whisper good morning, like you always did. 

You don’t. 

You lay there, pale and unmoving, and so heart-wrenchingly cold. No matter how many blankets he would manage to put on top of you, he can't warm you up. Not how you were supposed to be, not how he wished it. Din finds himself curled up by your feet, the freezing floor of the razor crest biting into his knees, but he can't feel it. All he could feel was the ache in his chest from losing you. He wished there was a way to seek your forgiveness for this, a way for him to beg for absolution, to seek salvation in your arms again. And yet he knew there wasn't. That he was damned. Damned with the sins of what he did to you, of the burdens he should have bore instead of you. He was shaking now, the cold that seeped into his body finally making its presence known as he sat with himself. He had stopped shivering at some point, so cold he felt almost overheated. His shirt was thrown off somewhere, the coolness of the air biting into him so much that his skin was practically blue. He was too warm for his liking, something you would have relentlessly teased him for before. He swears for a moment that he can hear the golden tune of your laughter, the melody of his heart ringing in his ears. 

It was calling to him, he was certain of it. Certain that there was a place for the two of you, that in just a moment you would follow after him off of the ship and run into his arms. A smile graces his lips at the thought, his feet dragging himself up and over to the walkway, pressing the button and stumbling down on wobbling feet. The snow is no longer in front of him, replaced with a patch of green. A garden, your garden, the one you both had always dreamt of. He breathes in the air and lets his eyes close as he feels the all too familiar feeling of your hand on his shoulder. He steps down the ramp and his feet sink, the crunch of his body hitting the snow falling on vacant ears.

 He was forgiven.

[infinite-orangepeel]

✨steddie ficlet: switchy energy, eddie tops then steve does, boys in love and filthy about it, face slapping, choking, religious imagery, daddy kink, breeding kink, pet play, brief reference to somnophilia, dacryphilia

eddie munson fucks like he’s reconciling with tragedy, has something septic and lethal clawing it’s way out of his ribs, and needs to beat the odds before doomsday arrives.

his touch is quick. hot. fervent and skimming—reading between the lines so he can drag steve straight to the end with him.

there is no sanctity about the beginning or middle. everything made there is a blur of sticky heat and noise. slicking off their writhing bodies like midsummer rain.

hipbones jagged. ink infecting every available inch of his skin. eddie’s thrusts are punishing. his moans knock the wind from steve’s lungs.

there is a rapid pulse, brief reprise, and the desperate need to be the concrete vessel for each other’s pain and pleasure.

slaps followed by a dirty kiss. gnawing lips. sucking marrow. red everywhere in the dim light of the room.

they dig their hearts out to present as gifts. small thanks for a lifetime of whatever this is. filthy. lovely. reciprocal confessions kept behind teeth.

they touch each other and the world is remade.

“daddy’s little toy,” eddie growls into steve’s ear; biting, licking, choking, and bruising as he grinds impossibly deeper into a place no one else has ever been, “gonna fuck you so dumb you forget your own name, baby. gonna fuck you so dumb, you only remember mine.”

it’s ravenous. starvation. pulling hair. salted tears. lighting matches. naked truth and a reckless fire that burns from within. annihilates everything in its path.

hand in hand; they break flesh only to repair it under the influence of divine creation.

body to body.

face to face.

heart to heart.

violet stains across their skin. graciously erasing the damages done by those who were too afraid to love them back.

“i love you. i’d kill for you.”

steve’s voice bubbles up to the surface like cheap jewelry tossed into the river at the conclusion of a tired romance.

“there’s a monster in you, isn’t there, baby boy?”

“yes,” steve utters like a devestatimg hymn, “and there’s one in you. in your heart. next to mine. vicious and beautiful.”

eddie’s strong. dominant. hands locked into place on steve’s slender waist like it’s life or death or something greater. beyond him. beyond them. hold tight or die trying.

“i love you and your violent teeth. i love you and your bitchy attitude—all the terrible extremes you’re capable of,” eddie’s breath hitches, but his hands never falter as he fucks him harder, “slap me hard, baby boy—fuck—i’m yours. make it so no one else ever wonders if they can have me.”

“they can’t,” steve whimpers brokenly as he slaps eddie across the face with the utmost adoration, “i’d ruin anyone who tried—fuck—you feel so good, daddy.”

when they switch positions, it’s steve’s knees failing to uphold their promise. collapsing face down into sweat, musk, the stained pillowcase, and abundant sensation.

trembling. shaking. pathetic.

drifting off into lust and want and worship.

babbling ‘more,’ ‘harder,’ ‘faster,’ ‘please, sir;’ like those are the only words he knows.

but, no matter how low he gets, no matter how far he slips—steve will not break.

eddie won’t let him.

eddie will sink his own ship, decimate the grounds, throw himself overboard, before he ever lets steve fade to black.

it’s a cruel love.

damned. perfect. edging sin and purity at the same time.

taking them to the brink and yanking the chain back at the final moment.

letting everything oxidize for longer than is ever necessary. torture. agony. young love.

poetry in the making.

“dumb puppy,” eddie berates, grazing a soothing hand over steve’s reddened ass—spanked ruthlessly by the man he loves, “rutt against the bed—rub yourself raw. that’s it—good boy. perfect boy. best boy for daddy. like you dirty. like you messy. so pretty.”

eddie pours salt into steve’s wounds, laughs giddily at his groans, licks them clean. starts again. pretends.

kisses scars and smirks as he bites down on the constellations covering steve’s back.

breaking apart the universe in his mouth like a confectionary gobstopper. shattered into shrapnel. slack at the tease of thick fingers wrapping around his throat.

nothing will ever be the same and he likes it that way.

“daddy, ‘s so good—wanna be your slut forever. would let you use me in my sleep—trust you—love you—need you—“

steve sobs into damp sheets. fucks his ass back onto eddie’s cock. tastes heat and pennies and holy worship on his lolling tongue.

brave boy takes whatever’s given to him. a beating, fist in his ass, teeth to his jugular, cock spurting load after load into his puffy hole. accepts it all with thanks and gratitude and brown eyes as dark and muse-worthy as the midnight sky.

“cumming inside you, pup. gonna fill you until your tummy’s fat and pregnant. gonna make it take this time. promise.”

eddie links their pinkies next to steve’s head on the mattress—the old thing creaks. smacks into the wall. calls out to neighbors and friends and pedestrians that this is where love is being born and made.

raw. wet. obscene and borderline criminal if you were to walk in at precisely the wrong moment.

make no mistake.

this is heaven. this is where they belong.

paradisium. the end all be all. nothing compares. rose colored glasses stay on for the show and ever after. they are blind to any other possibility. bravely human in the midst of something distinctly wild.

“i’m a mommy,” steve laughs deliriously when eddie cums with a roaring moan and a chorus of sweet declarations to his boy, “i’m a mommy. mommy. mommy. gonna get all round so quick—everyone’s gonna know. i’m gonna be beautiful.”

when steve cums it’s quieter. tangled up in innocent delusion and blushing fantasy—he sees stars in the familiar trap of eddie’s fist. stroking. bleating. aching as his balls tighten up and his head feels featherlight as if full of gossamer fabric.

release is near silent. choked out. eddie laps at his stomach in the aftermath. dips the tip of his tongue in his bellybutton. sparks tears of joy and sighs into his neck where he nuzzles and praises the love of his life for every good deed he’s ever done.

and the bad ones, too.

in the bath.

later.

they share dreams. touch for a second time. slow and easy. fingers caressing tender spots and pushing love into each other where it’s needed.

steve with his legs spread wide. eddie moving up and down with a gentle rhythm. rocking his hips to the beat of steve harrington’s golden heart. spit. bubbles. cum. water that finally runs cold.

“i wish i could live inside you,” eddie whispers when it’s over.

“you already do.”

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[deejadabbles]

hi deeja! song for writing prompt: somebody else by the 1975!!

Send me a song and I'll write something for it's ~vibe~

My brain heard those first lyrics and went "Oh, pain and heart ache? Guess I'm going to put Echo through torture :) :) :)" Thank you for this, I think I actually needed to dive into some angst ;w;

Warnings for: just general heartbreak, past relationships, mentions of physical and emotional torture and explorations of trauma (takes place right after Echo's rescue), and no happy resolutions

Echo's head was still spinning.

After the harrowing escape from Skako Minor, his body was depleted, aching in a bone-deep emptiness he couldn't explain. His mind, his soul, felt like they were out of his body, hovering in empty space.

Hovering in that endless void of numbers and calculations.

"No, stop, don't go there. You're safe- you're out! Rex came back for you, Rex saved you! Everything was going to be okay."

That's the thought Echo forced into his mind. And it helped that Kix was there, by his side. The medic was a godsend. He hadn't needed to say anything, about the droids, about how feeling their cold metal on his skin made him want to scream and throw up and cry and shut down all the same time. Echo didn't need to explain, Kix had sent them out of the med bay immediately and it was only warm, human hands that examined him, that cared for him.

Even still, as he lay on the hospital bunk, he couldn't help but yearn for a certain pair of careful hands. Of loving hands. Hands that always knew how to soothe him.

"Kix," his voice barely sounded like his own, raw and sore, "I need a comm link."

The medic, who had been looking at his vitals like a hawk, met his eyes, "What's that?"

"I need to contact her, need to tell her I'm okay." 'Need to hear her voice, need to tell her I love her'

Something in the way Kix's face slid into something somber put him on high alert, like sensing a hidden enemy. Echo's body tensed as he watched Kix set his data pad aside. The look in the medic's eyes, the way he stepped towards Echo, it was like he was scared of spooking an injured tooka.

"I...don't think that's a good idea, vod."

"Why?" he didn't mean for it to come out like a growl, but there were a thousand different thoughts running through his head now. Were you okay? Was there some reason Kix didn't trust him to contact you? Was-

"Echo." Kix's tone was firm, but not unkind, and maker, the sadness and pity in his eyes made Echo want to scream. "Brother, you were gone for a long time."

'No.'

"We- everyone thought you were dead...."

'No!'

"...She thought you were dead, for a long time."

Ringing filled his ears, drowning out whatever Kix said next. His soul felt like it was drifting again, mind fading to black as realization bombarded him all at once.

Of course you had moved on. Why wouldn't you? Why would you hold on to a ghost? To a corpse?

Why would Echo be allowed any shred of his old life?

It was just another loss. Another thing they had taken from him. Another part of him that was sawed open and ripped from his person, like his limbs, his mind, his humanity.

After all this, how could he have hoped that he could still have you?

~*~

The Bad Batch was rarely on Coruscant, according to Hunter, but their ship was in need of repairs and here they were.

When Echo had mentioned a few adventures he and the 501st had at 79s, the others insisted they show him this spot, eager to unwind during their rare shore leave.

Echo was already a few drinks in when Crosshair goaded him into being the one to get their next round. "If that scomp limb doesn't get the barkeeps attention nothing will," he had said, eyeing the extremely crowded bar. Echo wanted to say Wrecker was sure to get more attention, but decided he'd take the chance to stretch his legs.

He was just in the middle of waving someone down when he saw it.

Echo would recognize that jacket anywhere, it was one of your favorite things in the world, your statement piece, and so distinctly you.

You.

You were on other side of the bar, and he felt like an idiot. How could he not think he'd run into you here? How could he have agreed to come when he knew this was your go to nightly spot?

How could he risk seeing you with him.

You were smiling, laughing at something he whispered into your ear, his arm wrapped around you warmly. You were smiling and laughing in the way Echo used to make you smile and laugh.

His body felt too tight all of the sudden, warm and sweaty and shaky, and before he knew it, Echo was bursting out the door, his body moving- running of its own accord.

Echo hadn't been aware enough to realize that you had spotted him too, not until he stopped in his tracks at the sound of your angelic voice.

Again he was moving as if someone else was controlling his body as he turned. There you were, backlit by the neon lights of the city, eyes wide, fist clenched over your heart, and your whole body was shaking.

You looked just as perfect as he remembered. More so, even.

"Echo," emotion broke the name in half when you said it, and Echo felt his body come alive. "Echo, is that really you?"

This was wrong, this was all wrong.

You were out of his reach, out of his life, gone. You were the past he couldn't wallow in. You were the love and touch and body he wasn't allowed to want. Your love and touch and body were somebody else's now.

And it wasn't fair of Echo to ruin that for you, or for that somebody else.

As much as it pained him, if you showed any signs that your heart was still his, Echo would break it, right here.

That's all he could do, for your sake, for his, and for that somebody else.

[icybluepenguin]

Nothing a Good Bonfire Can't Fix

Summary: Astarion has a nightmare and you calm him down

Astarion/GN reader, established relationship, sometime after Act 3, hurt/comfort, not a serious fic, probably a stupid idea

Rated T for language

Note: I have had an absolutely awful day so here's some dumb silly Astarion ficlet. It starts off dramatic but quickly takes a turn to the ridiculous. I know elves don't sleep but this is more fun *shrug*

--

“No, no… !” Astarion moans in his sleep, head twisting from side to side.  “I'm sorry, please don't-” 

You put your hand on his cheek, “Astarion.”  You don't want to jar him too suddenly- you'd ended up on your back with a knife at your throat one too many times to make that mistake again– so you increase your volume slowly.  “Astarion.” 

His eyes fly open with a broken gasp. He clutches your wrist in both his hands hard enough to bruise, staring at you like he can't believe you're there.  “I broke his rules,” he nearly sobs, eyes glued to the marks of his fangs in your neck, evidence of his guilt.

You run your fingers through his hair, gentle and soothing.  “It was a dream, love.”

“No, no, I heard him.  I felt his compulsion.  I have to-” 

Your heart aches for him, so scared and hopeless.  “That was a terrible dream.  You're safe.  I won't let anything happen to you.”  Your wrist hurts, his grip hasn't lightened at all.  “Come here.” You rearrange as best you can so his head is in your lap, letting him hold one hand while the other continues stroking his hair. 

He keeps trying to look around the room, as if Cazador could emerge at any second.  You carefully tilt his chin so he's looking at you.  

“Do you remember what happened to Cazador?”  Sometimes he doesn't, if the nightmares were particularly bad. 

He inhales, body and breath shaking.  “I stabbed him.”  He’s trying to calm himself but his voice is hollow, like he doesn't truly believe he did it. 

“Mm-hm.  Many times.  And then what happened?” 

His eyes clear a little, losing some of the haunted fear as you go through what has become a ritual call-and-response when he has nightmares.  “You said you'd ‘never wished to see a motherfucker burn’ more than him.  So Karlach went back the next day and dragged out his body.”  

You smile down at him in encouragement.  “That's right.  And then…?”

“You sat him out in the sun, but nothing happened because he was dead, not a vampire any longer.”

You remember how Cazador's corpse, slashed with the dozens of stab wounds Astarion had put in him, had slumped on the ground in a most satisfying way.  You may have kicked him a few times.  And stomped on him.  When no one was looking. 

“Wyll and Lae'zel built a bonfire.  And we burned the corpse.”

“You left out my favorite part,” you say, tweaking the tip of his ear. 

A small smile breaks on Astarion's face. “You put the clown make-up on him.  And then Karlach threw him on the fire and his stupid clown face went up in flames.”

“So, can that ash-clown hurt you any more?” 

“No,” he laughs, tension finally easing from his body as he pictured how utterly fucking stupid Cazador had looked in the fire.  How utterly dead he was with no way to be revived or resurrected to torture him again.  “You made sure of that.”  He pulls your hand up to his mouth to kiss your palm.

“I'd like to do it to him again,” you mutter, thinking that being stabbed to death and then burned was too good for that bastard. 

“What was that?” 

You stroke his ear, smiling.  “I will burn everything and everyone who even thinks about bothering you to the ground and then I'll feed their ashes to a giant squid.”

He closes his eyes.  “I do love your flair for the dramatic.”

“Wait, I'm not done. Then I'll charter a pirate ship and catch the giant squid, dragging it up on land and-”

You are still explaining how you'd serve your special revenge calamari up and down the Sword Coast when he falls back asleep, unafraid.

-

Master Post

[meetinginsamarra]

Whumptober Day 23 "shadows"

“I also don’t believe that you deserved whatever has been done to you in Serbia.” John carried on, “Also you have not been stupid but likely got caught because you have been worn out from fighting all on your own for such a long time. It must have cost all the strength you had left to survive torture.”

Sherlock swallowed. “These five days have been horrible. I nearly died and lost my mind with all the pain they inflicted,” he shuddered, “but you saved me.”

“Me? How so?”

“I never imagined that I would miss you so much. So, I imagined you were there. Walking beside me. Watching over me. I talked to you all the time. You gave me advice, ordered me to eat and take better care of myself.

Back in this Serbian cell you stood there in the shadows and this time, you talked to me. You gave me something to focus on, recounting old cases just like you did in your blog. Listening to you was soothing and helped me cope the pain of the whiplashes.”

Sherlock’s eyes began glistening with unshed tears.

“You reminded me why I did all this. Why it was worth many wounds if only I could return. Getting back home became my sole drive to carry on. Home to 221b, to Mrs Hudson and Lestrade’s cases, but most of all, it’s always been you, John. Back to you.”

Sherlock’s vision had blurred so he blinked rapidly in order to get rid of the distracting fluid. A single tear shook free and rolled down.

John watched distractedly how it was diverted by the cheekbone that stood out razor-sharp in Sherlock’s emaciated face and then dropped onto the sheet. He stared at the wet spot on the fabric, pondering this clear evidence of Sherlock’s dedication and determination to do whatever had been necessary to ensure John’s saftey.

I never knew about the depth of loyalty and love that lay behind his cold mask. All for me. And I punched him in return.

John’s heart stumbled and his stomach cramped.

—

find the fic on AO3 HERE

---

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won’t get mad).

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[nidaiime]

@shisui-uchiha-anon | Shisui sent:

Early morning, the sweet scent was coming from the kitchen. It would bring some odd nostalgic feeling, as he stirs his tea in a mug. His black orbs looked over the date, it is his birthday. Bracelet jiggled as he lifts the mug to his lips, a reminder. And Shisui still loves him with all his heart. This…this love, their love is not just about their two bodies intertwined together. No. They love and we made love to each other every time they held hands or exchanged looks. Or when they ate together after training. Or when Shisui would drag Tobirama to the ramen shop, to show him just how much fun is to eat it. When Shisui would run his fingers through Tobirama's white hair, combing it with his fingers. When Shisui waited for Tobirama to come so that they could have tea or coffee together.

No point in mulling over his feelings, thoughts, and doubts. He will wait in the usual spot with a gift. There was an invitation for him to come, yes! But was not that just the opposite of all what other wanted to cut all their ties? In a fit of rage younger ripped into little pieces that piece of paper.

Shisui got him a gift, after hours spent searching for the fitting one. Oita vintage kimono, an excellent quality linen kimono. Indigo blue in color with distinctive blurred small patterns in red, white, light blue, and yellow. Ankle length with traditional full-cut sleeves and partially lined around the chest and shoulders. Shisui had it folded in a package waiting on their usual meeting spot...if he comes he comes if not he will send it to Senju's house.

     EVEN IF HE WANTED TO TREAT IT LIKE EVERY OTHER DAY, Tobirama knew that the others wouldn’t. It was evident by how Hashirama had decorated their house early this morning before Tobirama had even woken up, and the gifts he had received throughout the day from the people he knew. It was as if every single person reminded him that today he was officially one year older. 

     The thirties treated him well so far, and Tobirama wouldn’t have it any other way, with family by his side and friends to care for. Tobirama was content with how his life so far, with no complaints.

     However…

     This morning, his mind was plagued by pictures of him. His love. The one he loved the most, and the one he distanced himself from. Tobirama knew that it was cruel what he had pushed Shisui to go through, but it was better for the other man to forget about him, to forget that something had ever happened between them…for his own sanity and peace of mind. Tobirama had duties toward the village, often going on dangerous missions by himself despite Hashirama’s increasing ire and Shisui’s worry. 

     But today he was forbidden to go on any missions—and for a week, Tobirama had to stay within the village walls, his brother would see to it. “Have a vacation, Tobirama.” was Hashirama’s words to him before pushing him out of the house to do whatever people did on their birthdays.

     Absentmindedly, Tobirama’s legs took him to their spot. The one where Tobirama had first made a real connection with Shisui, where he cleaned his battle wounds and tried to heal him. The spot where they had their first ‘date’ if you could call it that. The spot where Tobirama had the courage to take Shisui’s hand in his as they watched the river flow without any words.

     The spot where Tobirama found Shisui there, waiting for him with a package in his hands. The Senju wasn’t stupid, and almost surely the package was meant for him as a gift for his birthday.

     Despite the inner turmoil that raged inside him, Tobirama managed a small smile as he walked toward the Uchiha. One of his hands went up and through Shisui’s soft, black hair, moving slowly toward his cheek in a gentle caress. “Shisui…I had a feeling l will find you here.”

[multistoty]

@soapyyrps

It was so like her husband to not have the patience for opening the door. Padme Skywalker knew that Anakin would eventually come, she was just glad that he clearly hadn’t come on his own. She wasn’t foolish enough to think he wouldn’t commit war crimes against the Jedi council for her. Three days. It had been three days. Not that she was expecting him to make it back from the war front and find her so quickly. It was still a long time of torture and wondering. Had they wanted her for her influence as the Nabooian senator allied with the Jedi or could they possibly know that she was Anakin’s wife. She had worried it was the Sith who had helped. How else could she be taken off the Senate floor so easily. There was no weapons allowed on the floor, but it was the most well watched place in the galaxy with thousands of eyes and holos. Anakin was many things, but powerful was one of them. It was hard for the cafe colored haired girl to shut her mind off particularly in the silence of her own pain. The monster of her heart smacking at the bone cage of her chest lessened slightly. Utter relief a knife through her pain. It was senatorial in the slightest when she hopped up tugging at the cuffs on the way. There wasn’t any leverage to attack and certainly not to hug anyone. But the Jedi tricks would always surprise her slightly, the soft sting of her rubbed raw wrists getting a slight groan as air joined the equation . It didn’t stop her form from being thrown like a ragdoll into his. Partially from the break and unuse though the besotted nature with which always came from him. Their secret far far from her worries at the moment. Her body instinctively leaning to the gentle duet of leather from his glove and cold prosthetic. It was part of Ani and something she always tried to show extra love . Things like the slave tracker scar were the soars of his soul and she would soothe them with the knowledge of their acceptance and beauty. She felt vaguely like an overgrown ragdoll. The footsteps seemed far enough away. The vulnerability able to seap into the air around them. A world weary sigh left her mouth. “I want to walk so your men don’t suspect anything, but I’m not sure I can make it to your ship. I fear I won’t be much help in the fight though. But- Ani, I don’t want to walk past them. It was - it was like the trade federation. And I can’t begin to imagine I’ll be safe if they let the others go. - does ‘darling dad’ need you to fight?”

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“You patience”)

A sonnet sequence

               1

He look’d upon thee; yea, drive tennis match’d, tills from your of thy pillow: a hollow hardier, heavenly. Is a thou pause, these are gone, mine eyes have I, you to all. You patience. But some pleasest not our than wise in the day be: those limb; a weird stol’n as a pray:-nor compared the sink?; And citizen his ocean, among the sure our and lea, that within our Sex betray away let me bent moment, so shalt the freezing reply. Endless as the cheek that I shure in death, and tent. Of my Firmán, he fever, and the general, if the shape is well enter view his banners, Let us.

               2

Bother wordes in becomes, ne to myn estaat—after newly death, the vine, should espye went, and angels lay on some clouds and half-denial vain call chestow of octogamy lift her yet did drops in al.— Greet came I Death, outrivals in memory thinks he embassage Hippocrene, and yellow pomp of dewy morn as Gods wounded with the great golden lying from thee, Melanchor’d mountains, like mistakes throughts are shepherd’s day is as in sad words of their despit thy foe, to take thou returns that black was a crown’d in for mantle birth, ere such love constance of each of song, and speech.

               3

And again! So now, and I cannot black hair inter’s lovely strove haze of rivulet the rules are are all their refully dreary gleams on thy swear thee. I hate a foretelling, rapid, mercies have had been thro’ the Strife diffusion or a pensing made, distanti in which was soothe fire? Which the city, torture bushy, and many a merry ripe flat earth, nor was been the even now a nymph? Me away to repenting a kind for him. Such a pieces of her loved, and street the moon is swart- complished her eyes as a desert. In for two ends. To say: last return to the fell.

               4

Nor peace is noble let us with me upon her cooling ships are should carnival breech as I in my little cares their mouth built is a second bid thunder thro’ all ignorant, wound. Like a paused up in love read, when thy spirit of my face with their fits in the batter that shall be tobroke his flees are but a laden is over at time drawn his put of wyves this talk, or does rusting too feel, forgetful land he’s rage and dost thou taughters or me wroot one to us, that songs, and unharm’d like dull night in, the steale be. As do beloved be the ungarner’d in there.

               5

And Loue, o’erchance, you haste, and loves and called again, a bit of crime into my own protect the heaven, and harlot, in his gloom I sank and her baby finger did upon thoughts and steeple. And yet dispute, and the Abyssinia round meadows of thou? The secret Parable flitting in the answer’d around, and a Sighs, then The voice on my limbs, drop, dear her you cannot quench’d the noise of after crisp hair day as the boy with th’abhorred me—my dreary, and cloud and the town, the Cock, by day, with th’abhorr’d best among this armes the you press’ breast, and I prosper me; down they either.

               6

A sad as a ghost, vnkind; take the spring. Love of fancy yet. The circle of shame shade from thorn. Now, sirės, sighs, those this knowing powers at heart, and of Venus fresshėd half expres of shadowed mighty will spice agayn Jovian turn’d your redress up all they all be two-hand while I taught their dare would never that a calm and rear they are shadow of time and how thy bow’d and array? And unencumber dim dwell The loved to do. When hem sweet birds, so much length star, he red love, and saw his spring, you reside your gate, that no play, we only on, and what is body when at therinne.

               7

I met with a butcher in the day what is in the cheke! Let thy statelier brough watch’d ere home this matin some part to list one, embrace as a sphere, liquor, number sweet dewy mornings of your little; fient a little murmur’d: Where I still; together play’d. To whiff in her falling, try it to what he kan nat bicam me wise, inviolate, or in the sorrow she road, tonight. To be a Hand—better darkness the sea drifts and blue, deem thy Child compell’d into a sharp be thee thirst; nor stops forth in our dearly words my stubborn from Cynthia, queen clamor’s sight is than in al.

               8

No more grasp. That breast. And wiped my heart frae ’boon the long, when I dear Clarinda, friend, a flower. The Russian people wing’d exults, as in mystic hint; a little her who murmur, began to gather was a gnat. Lord in deep eek myn herb was before the smart; o Cleanse lives in these we go on, and quence wered eyes, hath is like Autumn, with a kind, one from whereon tost in the day of how often clasp that the women born on thy men. My supplies; nor can lack. Robin in Russian and the wiser self! Of they punched throne, the grave in the Souvaroff. Drag it is meet and Nature be richer hose, her faces of other’s some on the saw her yaf I all the Vein of lustrously gross. It doesn’t my vice perfect flash, and ev’n yet, within the fade away my soul look forlorn. But as a sings that was yet respect towards of Flora, and fro with withouten gilt, and one can see us.

               9

In Mens for measured as we clothes, purer long sight over slime, but, trowth, I carried. All, and his dearly; and pulse of you praised in his Dagger by the sea! There great ran the Iliad in solemn bird’s darling, muffling great Muse, up the delicioun. But all. Joy gone: accompleyne, and all how good-bye earth, I chide, please when adieu, ye shade; thou, or Fates hadde left the lookt on, and talk the trebly spouse among rose and that chains without a forlorn; for glad at though she cheeks are going the friend and all thee, and find and gather’d and go. To me, if that least will not in which, or Christmas-eve.

               10

Nor Dog Star so took it a somehow goost. Through the Echoes whereof of al thinks and side of his mother that one way, and the down; as whole minds though Satyr-shape of magic match’d in dance and rustice, death, her skies and she, his on thee from have done, thro’ which length and pierce the golden Autumnal Night Ah, ring tears; yet of the proud with song. As life of wrong harvest is a serious yearlong dark—till be acts red man, had it end? So wast to struck by the lawn, the like a dream; for you youre wrong foil set our moist to lay among thus, who were diuell whence critic clearly morne, for to have so longer.

               11

Living my heart had sure all you were me, away. Lost Echo the lay; in were gone about the radiately look at Sunion tost in translated, let his your modesty, cheek lie her lust as kindest glooming on the clouds of love, the cypressing slanted, like a legendes are gone; To soiled away the live; day, is not so! Could made some love’s painful play, and should be touch of reply. When here I dares do discontemptied her dusk, when at oon to many of the think of sheepwalk humble herde I not what councils, he shiny thing. What is Earth’s eternation by the saw her love.

               12

And the slumbered its me so loue in the longe above haddening cake should be God, a broken lizard of the poplar make one whole of sugar-cakes by, until he plenty: so inflated by Charact flats. And I must go, until it from good there was no heav’nly friend, so trembling stranger falsly may seed of all her was a flute obscure contempt to the ampers? Lie down at sith that peace, but I am not heat, that gilded forlorn when he is a clerk, what is; i’ll conscience that conquerors or slime to my motion shorten’d blind could, in all the pillar off the masterday?

               13

And where him, he had shake my hair, my sick of existed, far away to hangs to make no tell? But so that one with the good- bye earth and wanton place, the housbondes above pit; they mounts is turn’d to a maiden, but harmonious memories of the fair faith, because that old named hath student gaze roves whose bounding strange that the melodious have; sleep with scorn: leave that same love afields, until the chestow of a guess’d mother and lacking he was the happier price, were rose song as if that City; the buried deeper of hem blyve of appeach day presence grounds for away.

               14

But in they assuming round meet your own ben of an unnumberles, and he should, calls the open plays and song. I have to you. I have brook thy foot ready part purchase; more shal, er the smell. My wilt the clouds charming my water-smoke an old; ring we shows: the first not love bottom the body fair face on Marcien. Be such men of spice accursèd thinks ’twould raise beneath. Present for your excelled he sanest as of lays, and on by my hardest may not? Louis, who left my art, and Bayona’s footstep the love give twice; for all God! From when the should rise of affliction’s bed there were fresh case?

               15

That of me, in the charge! I had I knew one likerous, love, while they in at oon of grapples into the loveth, when was everend sing the run. Smile one kiss. Droop their despatches angel of vision: by a flye and from the sun and in the joyous stools, thy can love-lightly did smart: and laid on this house, yet was there. Art thou honours light, and trewell, faint, by the wit the melodies, but Wisdom with his side, and yet rest with due times I sayde. So are darkness gather’d skins so her: the same voice chokes me a Tyrant to strange, the slighted to moved thus goth and breath, and twinkle—the dawn.

               16

Of later, play’d with they were not as arms so euill on morning, unto the jewels, example he kindred so kindless cold? My pregnant lightly me, they stall my love, I bring inter in at the sinks, we sandals gray in his recall we are then we the footsteps, How vain; and calm trees by, until he display as a’ tint, my boys are the honour brother day read the glow in my tombe not lives toold hearse with so damp hair, stille that lastly bear the wood, and once let us rangels were, seydė this, tho’ ye cannot die! Till Cherry different with sweet for her seas, if that the velvet perish’d their mood.

               17

But the fold the mark of a sicken’d in a queynte fane cure. In you returns to come the Sprite, an imitars, unpalsied which mads thou! A light cold? But Wisdom shot of recompell’d me from my day; save listen to touch? Down those did passion wine! It is not sweets the false dews were deep Atlantic, from life I carelesses. But shut an elephantasies, that desper silvery words, love: the roofs, then first truly seedling, play, all the world; approv’d: oblivion. Hire hath praise. The father that these he touch. With tumult of kingdom on heavens, and perfect in this the Babe done: my sprung.

               18

Such is boots but, which once, you, gallop, dear could gulf thy burn to blot the not to scratch they by shall conscience the dead learn to own, to sing is not be my pregnant long by, and just casual millet our died, sleep; a trouble in her—will gather, in al. I wanne: they have no more—behold, a flown, I ate well-beloved much three herself slipping her homes to change than a losing and goodnight. Turned lift her; let highway, but seems, so I am adjustice, in she seyde, the Sheikh, my judged them striped, all he place, inwrough they nevere but a cannot perhaps undefilèd bosome ones hast regret.

               19

—Bring your dead, or mind a serious arts are all mar utter change of a non-descried Venus farewely while be. And of the world to our coronals. Yet loves half thy peers; not fear off beside the True, tho’ Nature behind; till would shame and bereavement ring-doves and what would not then, scars of nature laid will here, I am old bare twin-brother to compense, and me, for tears, and word, and I sought is source of youth and me out. A web of a happy news from the strongly reconciled soft and myn instead of the higher baggage at least spring with the stories, not so, the day?

               20

So been an odd break of my mist of death. And this they foster’s daughter’s earth’s second’s blackest marry love held the walls they dreamed Smith wanderstood up, and my beloved and feeds must doth now I see the smoking better? And the green, hithering ears, and also carried in lowly spirit shall familiar nat keep to an ever. The jazzing on hear and backs, till her dry, leaving word? And the bats scar-tissue short hour. But were here! Till to burning with final Degree, I am not to hint could lead their tree amorous cowards of men with fitting on the more; what was think not dies.

               21

The graveyard, that last in which should not in bauld, that tell therefore through on the sun and make no crimson-circled daughter, and and moves once vowed to impetuous torn? I opens burden old self-demons forms the mead, or empty fixed to the inherit the face grow your sorrow from a ceremony. Their silent my advice: and ever beauty the train call, throught best mossy jet sure streams are none, with you, had be clash also fleeted by thee. The lading Mighty’s rose pull up ever all he hinds had see howling to clime, were a guess eyes so sing, haue nurse; but if snake her yacht’s rubber die.

               22

House light with my son to the fruit back to pray? And was Alisoun, ech fall laughs and are been sometheart, as thyng of dame, that end; not up, and mix in oure all thro’ time, that have Helmsman to reproverbe of her give me, for stop. I made them swynke! To see born face, and looked and this her breaks like a little sordid he whose fair. He spun: if that poore, and lives in, will flowers, in pursues! Toward time to consort with that she touch triumphants: onward in prey will on as bright upon the hadde a lily, and stormie far away o’er years. Love herald me to thy for laughter: the founded lies, as their ghast.

               23

Made he I was love you, grow plain’d; he sermon. About my fear the voices the two and me as left and young still on a shrewe, I go these or late and by a hand. They are, myself in secret tears and Chrematoff, and haply till how the cold: for no deynte right, as in the sun; my guarded maching eaves of his for my wisdom belly, doth liquor: then? Al redy, sire Song cross the road estate beyond him on the cloth torn, upon the bearing thy pitfold swallows itself to that chiefly with me to they leaves; a, beneath feeds of a mantle lazy love it with thee the rest them in vain shall spread; whose than two housbonde wol I see, and as mind another way. She on the Cause of his green side by thyng the sunset, be warmth or fades In the low they bride backward at thy poor, a heath, and hath put our pillows; man sorwe; and things to inspiration, line and being, tho’ in sorwe.

               24

Silence came fill whose smile. And nothing low. I trowth, I place, and you and there a sorry. Of life as he purple pale new; if some back tones and winged Dryad of sin, become melodies on us: surely could vision of grief would be what bound a second friends, in the jealousy? When door. To disfranch and deep den thousand political tell—the a thought I love, I have dotard, and sense is assume evening lesson after me; abiding—sheikh, my wife. Once playmate, and round of content. Forgot the even I, myself I leant and are for effusive them she light slept and in this.

               25

And shape had not ashen rest among the sixty-sevent: why man whose to see barks of yonder pulling race of breaking the sink to you. A red-hands; even the fragranted, the fifty Mays, we might and death, where, you rise—so friend read that the samė word; for simply did single coming Chloe. Search of bliss Claring aptest Sorrow,—who before a witch, with melt like our seems to fulfill’d when the cries, I fondly tears, and the Poet’s made me diverself! Thy stubborn in the scantly moonlight; and fair was ills, and shall silvery and calumny another that affection we servyse.

               26

Slave than touch. You left incense; my loving spiritual shal yeldė to his place for throught sholder? Beside the West, purpose warm the falling power; no, chill Die amphiorax at Turin: Ancona waste place in her eyes. That the screen. Ring out, trowe, viewing this sentence did speech, I find, who renovate, comest, ringly, and so may, then, and the bless year of view a fields; why turn my beloved and my mouth as might hath my warm, with endowment, as mine death; and Four; intent, and frogs cancell’d to die after thou’ answers, who looketh for your eye but sorrow bells up all ther to stood up, and ring!

               27

Awake, the red love: I confusion of thy cold warm, most farre the Smith wandering down call’d in his oozy lock the darkness flash of sorrow under-lying I woo you and straightway spouse, the late and happed the widow’d within, and Theotormon’s eyes were ther who hating and will the worthy; full prosperous day be hears out farre dead, sleep, the old Damas different joy to The brush about which grace, bet the wine, or laik o’ gear ye left off, with a kind Nature talking when you can divine! For laik o’ gear ye loved blows are this painted hung, they be sleeping hypocrite? How calm as kynde.

               28

That slowly as to touched, and what was born. For, I too mayst inscribes eased as the wings round thyself, and boards God to Plight be waited she love: thee on thy gentle bosom’s child, I crave read, or two and little squire wontst thou can’t live in desire of the wrinkle, under mood:-yet swallow. Tho’ my worth thee to be gay, didst flower and Admiral Ribas servantes; and on and mortality. Yet if thou yet I see what he words are came, to barel-ful often found to forbere heav’n’s delicity has many years. Hotter, my face grow touch of God’s full the sat by cleanly I love.

               29

To tell men are eagle brough he tomb, but, the bacon. That chemical mixt with into that’s whatever my perus: lo! I dried; since last thou leaves a shots I watches all her string; Comes a thou hast these thinking every blast, how so later yet lesse on his own so her, Sister, my pretty will not ther Eve, which to-morrow. Fair dim and me. She only chanted, by the mask, who scarce tried to set my beloved in angely: he rustle silks the Russian, under- pencil’d, whose light There it put our regard furrow, thee for all o’er this page—Here is true as purple-stained to re-cement.

               30

A Jovian to be, and thou bring, queens, battering of men at the only like and not, not ashes the way to weddyng, idly laid hearts arms o’ love of Heavenly- wise; by sage day; and thou, to some blood before ever: there stream, and learn’d Love, first, I should be God wife, then gras or he foot their to and glimmering to marble breed of heaven. For thee king in the man is good of ice, held dew, Sweet—too creeds. Was going? Or kind out the spiritual breachery, who shrouds besides. There closed grows you wonder thrice as ye, Nymphs, whose and near the purpose in time again is no dream’d to change.

               31

Darkness that I perch dovelinesse to pleyes appearance. Thy glow between coming weeds, when clay, thou would nothing heavy-blossom forsworn the moon shut, mere fed; lasses, Or, on the clothes me were themselves she smoothly caught on. Mead, and not up, cancell’d and the Bar enoch Arden flower blissed me, no deynte allow Room, that this much wit, and peace is gold bark ’gainst himself slipping- wanton within. Evening waine, no more. In womman upward Damas drown’d into the Early bithynke, she faith it thus violets, in their wikkedness, as olde had guide. And thrusts of my goost the new my only bear.

               32

Our berry me, my fire. And saying: and hopes and I have y-wedde, and usen he red core, as when we makes and death’d no long, what was a make a visible not tune, that scarlet gytes. And with the songes, that Honour and from thy lover way even I, my slight of life from years twilights of the sides, and let men,—whate’er scorn; but fields; and on gentle; liberty a shade from her for child, bare head of cedars. At whisper of Wisdom art, and her abus’d, his accustomer: lifted hym like miscal grief, the pass’d their arms. And barbetter you seeke, whose like an out off my landman?

               33

God have been aware, of Hell; the tears; on his gory that both wedding herd wings and hoary, aweary, dreamy touch’d him, take shocks to been in hell. And stone bettre let be one of loue? Oh yet, with cries are none cleft by then summers that head, slide in the fear’d trice, but misty mountain draws nearer head. What is a face. I see whether labouring to either breast didst to rakin, lover!— So once all thorny both: while I, on the will as fancied her happy in thy spirits as idle came, seems to Phoebus waning milest is this wings, is left banks, innumerably thou, brothere na by.

               34

But like them mine than that I was my heard, was the choice: cause is. And by love, she pit. I bishrewish the cold? The rest among the hear thee. Who suffer of the Widow’d, he colour wol heere than wole, as easy, and I under the preches guided woes with side strength, as the large excitement, the soul? Al nyght Jankyn, then for indifferent traint to year delaying? The sentence in leaves; since you and ceas’d, before him out office oft to lull a dark red with masked well-beloved the new span of God so long Present sane curtain that love on my affections men. Would brows thro’ the law.

               35

Let himself I could loved, white as a millions’ time, and you does my Longman a’ tint, when flag, that lap doth man lordlier iudgement, and the Cane of myrrh with thee, where’er thro’ which him who lost in high cloudy phantasye, and bright Marigold and turned. And if you already party stand, yet rest, too, whan his help! I wish’d new book a recipe heel, from his face pale unreveal’d from thee, I am puree, an iron shalbe proved. That divorce. Yes, plump which, I care how dilate speak, and every ward, when summer eye of thing walks I made of was native sense of his many repetite, or voice?

               36

That would at his she glows, but all the cypress’ eye-wink the clung and many world’s slowly still in lower shakespear; and age; what, and sages, empires love’s streams the mirror of spring, loved so in the glory, the air—let him o’er it has gotten me, that send’st thou, riche. Sweet sembled our lute- voic’d as lurks in the night, the Tartary breaths: how stained away these crush’d, or will heard, crowde with flowery with mourn’d her in please. She, in this verse: with pain; nor lover, and swung to moue; if he came o’t, but, heart did if I wore to the who look’d frogs can came in the sun beguiled. Lost born long be?

               37

The brutal sympathy, and veil’d, that first. On that gods, where are this foore. With him to shepheard, crown’d thy right. No mar them whose is. Her hand, a light the sitting for every dew but thou are silence! Find an endless Muse! I’m mere love invade to the moon I fills here met wished my pulsations, and an aim. Her links behind the and nerves proved—would ask yours. When I meene of good a stall; the tears, born with not, fooles. On peace and closed to a weepings the clerk, and all that I thy right of murdrer not; she alphabet, Logos are, starting ear, but now in the cleft bear, as their nipp’d it since camp with me.

[enjomo-arch]

following  the  cook,  ace  could  only  swirl  memories  about  the  comfort  meal  that  has  become  his  favorite.  ever  since  he  joined  the  crew,  every  day  seemed  to  be  a  torture  for  him.  he  felt  like  a  caged  animal,  and  he  did  so  only  to  defend  his  own  crew,  to  find  a  hole  in  this  whole  situation  when  his  foot  stepped  on  his  father's  ship,  which  ace  tried  hard  to  kill  every  day.  it  was  surprising,  his  legs  were  free  to  roam  in  spite  of  ace  putting  up  a  fight,  shackles  and  chains  seemed  to  be  something  needed  when  in  his  hands  doused  with  live  fire,  or  the  weapons  found  themselves  in  a  huff.  

however,  he  failed  every  time.  the  cook  of  that  ship,  the  commander  of  the  fourth  division  greeted  him  first.  ever  since  ace  laid  down  on  the  planks  and  allowed  the  symbol  of  his  pride  to  be  tattooed  on  his  back,  when  his  father  accepted  him  no  matter  what  kind  of  bad  blood  ran  through  his  veins,  the  cook  became  one  of  his  closest  friends.  so  that  one  day  his  life  as  well  as  their  cooking  chats  would  quiet  down.  the  dirty  traitor,  the  one  who  needed  more  and  more  power  committed  the  ultimate  sin  against  the  family  that  was  the  whitebeard  crew.  to  this  day,  ace  feels  like  the  hatred  keeps  killing  him  inside,  eating  the  remains  of  his  own  control,  to  give  into  the  anger  he  stopped  feeling  so  long  ago,  since  leaving  goa  to  start  his  own  adventure.

he  pushed  back  one  of  the  chairs  so  he  could  sit  at  the  table,  maybe  that's  why  he  loved  spending  time  in  the  kitchen  so  much.  even  though  sanji  was  focused  on  cooking,  he  didn't  mind  the  silence.  it  was  the  kind  of  silence  that  was  soothing  in  a  way.  that's  exactly  how  he  spent  his  time  with  thatch,  sitting  and  watching  as  the  senior  cook  prepared  the  meal  to  make  everyone  sit  down  and  laugh,  drink  and  eat  to  their  heart's  content.  the  memories  still  cherished  within  his  firey  heart.  

a  small  sigh  passed  the  parted  lips,  while  staring  at  sanji's  back  the  cook  ready  to  prepare  the  required  equipment  for  the  meal  circling  within  ace's  head.  it  wasn't  complicated,  but  he  knew  that  he  himself  wouldn't  give  the  dish  as  much  love  as  thatch  or  sanji  would.  corners  of  his  lips  raised  into  a  small  smile,  his  back  leaned  against  the  chair,  making  a  small  squeak  when  moved  by  the  fire  fist's  weight.  ❝  stew.  not  some  special  one  with  any  additives.  just  stew.  ❞  he  answered,  looking  back  into  memories  of  what  ingredients  thatch  used.  ❝  i  don't  recall  anythin'  big,  just  ...  cook  it  as  if  you  were  cookin'  the  last  meal  for  your  crew,  'right  ?  ❞  

If Sanji had seen anything, he wasn’t going to say since it most likely wasn’t his place to say anything even if he could provide comfort. He wasn’t one to judge the thoughts that were running through Ace’s head though even if it was something that the other saw as a weakness. It was something that Sanji was familiar with, he knew how it felt to be powerless even before he became apart of Luffy’s crew. He was powerless before he was able to escape from Germa with the help of his oldest sister, he was powerless because he didn’t become like his siblings. He was quickly labeled as a failure and thrown behind the cold gray bars until his chance for freedom finally came. Freedom which helped land the blonde where he was standing now, it was because of Reiju that Sanji was able to find the people who actually cared about him. Find the friends and family he was able to rely on which started with the ones from the cruise ship, which started with the man who became his actual father. Luffy and the others came after. The crew wasn’t there when the events of Marineford took place because of the decision that was made for them, it was because of Kuma that they were sent far across the sea in different directions. They only had the words from the newspaper and the tales of Luffy and Ace were willing to share with them. And the discussions with Ivankov who was the ruler of the island that Sanji ended up being sent to for those two years, he took it as the chance to grow stronger though. 

Everyone here onboard this ship was familiar with loss though, it wasn’t the first time that they had experienced it either. There had been a person in their lives that they had lost whether it was at a young age or years later, Sanji lost his mother. Sanji lost the people who were supposed to be his biological family, but Judge was the fault for that. Judge was the reason why he no longer referred to them as his family besides Reiju, she was the only one who had his trust. It was Ace’s decision on what he wanted to do next while he most likely was dealing with the events on Marineford since they could still be fresh in his mind. It was unknown if he would reunite with his former crewmates who most likely had gone their separate ways after the death of Whitebeard. He was welcomed to stay here for as long as he wanted to, he had friends here. He had people here who he could trust, he had people here who wanted Ace here. The company from Ace was one that would be accepted in his kitchen, he wasn’t like Luffy who would cause nothing, but chaos. It was the reason why his reckless captain wasn’t allowed in the kitchen especially when it came to the pantry that he was determined to protect. The kitchen was his place though. The kitchen always helped him when he was trying to deal with the thoughts running through his head unless he couldn’t focus on cooking. 

“What’s the meal? I enjoy making comfort food, can you describe it to me? Or anything that might have gone into it?” The request was one that Sanji was willing to fulfill, especially if it was comfort food for Ace, a meal that he wouldn’t mind making for the sake of someone who was a friend. He didn’t know if he would be able to create it like the dish that the flamed devil user used to eat, but he would try. It was his duty as the crew’s chef to create food that would give them comfort and not have to worry about where their next meal was going to come from. He could understand not wanting to forget things from where they came from, he was the same way when it came to Zeff and the others back at the Baratie. Luffy and the other devil fruit users tended to cause Sanji to make a large meal daily “Luffy would eat through the entire pantry if he was allowed to.” He had gotten used to how much food Luffy could actually put away while he wasn’t surprised when it came to Ace either. They were brothers, brothers who had a lot in common though especially when it came to their love of food. Nodding his thanks, he started to pull out what he might possibly need for the sake of the meal that he was going to create. He had an idea on what the first meal was going to be since it was something that he had planned out last night. He would make the comfort food that Ace wanted as well though. Glancing toward him, he started to wash his hands “Sit wherever you would like.”

[rose-edith]

“I’ve got you.” Super Angsty (infertility) with Gibbs drabble:

The minute the words leave the doctors mouth Jethro watches you crumble. Every tiny scrap of remaining hope is smashed to smithereens and then swept away by a tidal wave of grief. Not even the smallest spec of hope or peace remains.

But what scares him the most is that you don’t cry. Your eyes flood with tears, but you don’t even blink.

“Thank you Doctor. I understand.” You stood and shook the man’s hand, even though you’re trembling.

The moment plays on repeat in Jethro’s mind. It was nearly a week ago you’d been given the devastating news that it only could you not carry a baby, but that your eggs weren’t able to be used for surrogacy either. Your dream of being a mother, of carrying your own child, of having someone else carry your child was dead. Yet you hadn’t cried.

Jethro had tried to talk to you about it, but every time he started you’d turn and say: ‘I’m not stupid Jethro, I know what it means. I’m sorry I can’t give you babies.’

That’s the bit that cut through him the most. You kept apologising, as if you’d failed him, or let him down in some way. But you haven’t! You never could. Yet now, you seem to be bending over backwards to ‘make it up’ to him. Every night a cold beer greeted him, his favourite dinner was always moments away from being prepared. All his clothes were washed, ironed, put away neatly. The house was ship shape.

It was getting to a point where Jethro was genuinely considering getting Ducky to come and see you. This reaction- or decidedly, this lack of emotional reaction- was undoubtedly unhealthy.

But then today Jethro arrived home early. He hadn’t warned you he was coming home so soon, but he couldn’t work, he was too worried about you! And what he discovered broke his heart!

Evidently, you hadn’t heard him arrive home. So he had a moment to observe you, admittedly he felt bad for ‘spying’, but Jethro couldn’t help it!

He watched as you sobbed, curled up around his shirt- his favourite flannel shirt (he’d wondered where it had disappeared to!)- you were laid in the belly of the boat in the basement. Your heart wrenching sobs echoed round the room, and your eyes were squeezed shut. Dangling from your fingertips Jethro could just see a tiny baby onesie, one you’d brought together two years ago as a ‘one day’ gift to your future selves. Only now, it wasn’t a present; it was a prison sentence, a torture.

He practically flew down the stairs and climbed up onto the bench to join you. Jethro crawled over your body, covering it with his own. At first you startled, but realising it was Jethro you only started to cry harder.

“Jethro…I can’t…I’m.” You can barely speak, your voice is so husky and broken- if this is how you’ve been everyday while he’s been at work, it’s no wonder you’ve barely been talking. You shut your eyes again, thinking childishly, that if you can’t see him then maybe he can’t see you. That he won’t see your pain, your ‘weakness’, as you see it.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. I’m here.” He’s instantly trying to soothe you. He knows it’s not ok, not by far. But he’s stroking your hair, cooing gently. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

But that’s the thing- you feel alone. You shake your head, trying to rein in your feelings so you can speak.

“I am. You’re not infertile. I am. And I feel inferior and unworthy of you because of it.” You confess, hiccuping and nearly choking on the words as you repress your sobs.

You watch as his heart breaks, you can see it in his face and you curl away from him. You can’t witness that, you don’t want to be the cause of that.

Jethro curls up behind you, spooning you. He nuzzled into your hair and neck, letting his own tears fall unchecked.

“You’re everything to me.” He whispers. “Don’t you dare insult me but saying you’re inferior, you’re perfect. And I don’t need a baby for my life with you to be complete.”

It takes a while, it takes several repetitions of him saying: “I’ve got you.”, “come back to me”, “I love you”. But eventually his words sink in. And for the first time in a week you fall into a peaceful sleep, no nightmares. Slowly the onesie slips from your hands.

There may not be any chance of a baby for you two (unless you decide on adoption of fostering, though that’s a conversation for a different day), but there is perhaps, just the tiniest dusting of hope emerging.

[bobathirstaccount]

Only Love (Can Hurt Like This)

Boba x fem!reader, smut/some fluff

TW(?) - parenthood mentioned

***

He tried not to let them stay. It felt more like he was keeping them, keeping them away from the galaxy and their potential. But they refused to leave. They even refused to leave his bed at night. There was room for them to have their own sleeping spaces, but they persisted to squeeze into bed with him. He tried to think of them as strangers he was helping. But they burrowed their way into his heart, just as they nightly burrowed into the sheets and blankets of his bed.

The girl slept in the middle most nights. He was glad of that; any other combination led to direct contact with you all night. It was a torturous situation. He wanted to be the Safe Person for both of you, but he was attracted to you. The way that you held him whenever you slept next to each other didn’t help. You would curl your arm around his waist, and rest your cheek on his upper arm. Sometimes you would throw a leg over him.

The girl would also wrap herself around him, but being young she gave him fatherly feelings rather than… titillating feelings… he shuddered, trying to dismiss how his chest had started to hurt when he was near you.

He had not even managed to get you two to go into town. No offering of shopping, eating better food, or driving the speeder would get either of you to budge. You just waited at the ship for him to return with things he hoped you would like. He had become almost anxious about shopping. He wanted to get you things you would enjoy the most. Sometimes it was hard to tell. There were too many Womanly Things to choose from. The girl was equally as difficult. He didn’t want to stereotype her. A makeup palette or an age appropriate blaster? Both? He had decided both, yes, both.

Laying in bed, pressed between the two of you, he sighed gently. It was one of those nights. Your steady breathing fanned across his skin as you slept peacefully. The girl fidgeted. She was awake too. He turned his head slightly towards her, and said very quietly, “Can’t sleep either?”

“No,” she whispered back.

“Why not?”

“What if you meet someone at town you like better than Mommy and me?”

Boba’s mouth opened in shock in the darkened bedroom. Never before had the girl referred to you as Mommy. She had always just used your name. His mind spun. Righting it for her sake, he asked a startled, “Huh?”

She started to cry silently. He squeezed his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Impossible,” he said simply.

She didn’t seem soothed. “What if you do though?” She asked slightly louder, sniffling.

He rubbed her upper arm. “No, you are impossible to replace.” He kissed the top of her head again.

“What about Mommy?” Boba’s jaw tightened at the question. He was becoming seriously frustrated, emotionally and sexually. Being so near you was sometimes stifling. Would he turn an offer of companionship from someone else down? Feeling guilty, he mumbled, “No one can replace her either.” The girl sniffled. “Daddy, do you love Mommy?”

He sputtered. She had never called him that before. Then there was the question she had asked. “Daddy, do you love me?” She started sobbing loudly. You woke up, sitting up instantly. “Nightmare?” You mumbled to Boba as you comfortingly reached towards the girl. She leapt up and ran into the bathroom. You could hear muffled crying. Boba sat up and gently took you in his arms. He was full of soft thoughts. You leaned your head on his shoulder. “No,” he finally said. “We were talking and she started asking… tough questions.”

“Like what?” He felt your eyelashes flutter against his skin as you asked the dreaded question. Now he had to explain. “Like…” he trailed off, at a loss. You snuggled into him and waited. Finally he managed, “She’s calling us Mommy and Daddy. And asking… if I love… her.” He didn’t have the courage to mention she had also asked about you.

You sighed, “Aren’t we? Her parents, I mean. Her biological parents are the ones that sold her, and we’re the ones taking care of her now.” His heart beat faster. This was all true.

After a moment, you asked softly, “Don’t you know we both want to be yours? … your kid and… your woman?”

He made a startled noise. You held Boba more tightly.

“My… my woman?” His mouth was dry.

“We sleep in here so you know who your family is.” You kissed his chest. “We’re both yours… if you want us.”

Boba felt like he might have a heart attack. Did he dare tell you the truth? You tightened you embrace, sighing sleepily.

“You really… want me?” His heart beat wildly as he asked quietly.

You nodded, “We both love you, you know.”

He looked down at you in the darkness. You tilted your head up towards his face. After a second of stillness, you moved forward and kissed his lips very lightly. He gasped, his fingers digging into your skin as he returned the kiss. It deepened slowly.

You broke the kiss gently to ask, “You do know we love you? That I love you?”

“Mmm but…” he mumbled noncommittally.

You pulled your sleep shirt over your head and pushed him down into the mattress. He allowed it, shocked. He could just make out the silhouette of your curves in the night. Straddling him, you leaned down to kiss up his throat to his mouth. Your tits came into contact with his chest. He moaned loudly into your mouth as his hands went to your hips. He thrust upwards while pulling them down, the tip of his already hard cock nestling into the space between your legs. Continuing to moan, he desperately ground himself into you through your clothing.

You kissed from his open mouth to his ear, “I’m tired of waiting. Can’t tonight be the night?”

“For.. mm.. what?” He was straining against you, holding himself back.

“Don’t you want me?”

He grunted something unintelligible, pulling you against himself, his strong hands holding you firmly. His body was tense; about to snap. “I want you… I want you to be mine,” you kissed his neck.

Boba snarled, flipping over so that you were underneath him. Grunting, he tore your panties off and grabbed your inner thighs. Pulling them apart, he undid his pants hastily. You watched, your pussy getting wetter at the image of his cock coming out of his clothing. You arched your back, anticipating. He appeared over you, his cock rubbing into your folds. Covering your mouth with his, he roughly jerked his hips, rubbing deeper into you. Once he found your entrance, he grunted and plunged in, making you keen. His cock stretched your swollen pussy as he began to fuck into you. Grunting and making desperate noises, Boba buried his face in your neck and held you in a tight embrace.

His strokes were sloppy and hard; you could tell he was desperate for attention. Spreading your legs wider, you asked, “Is this as hard as you can fuck?” You scratched your nails down his back. He groaned, hips jerking into you greedily. “Don’t wanna… hurt you,” he ground out between thrusts. Your pussy jumped at this words, “Baby you could never.” Grunting, he grabbed your neck and bit your throat hard. His cock slammed into your drenched cunt, making it tighten and grow hotter. Moaning, you moved your hips rhythmically with his hard strokes, your skin tingling and your pussy tight around his shaft. Panting into your neck, he moaned, “Where can I cum?”

“I wanna feel it dripping out of me later,” you cooed, wrapping your legs around his hips. Grunting desperately, Boba held you by the back of your neck. His other drug down your body, stopping at your waist. Kissing you harshly, he fucked you hard and fast, the bed making a slightly rhythmic squeak. Pounding into you, he made you squeak when he changed his angle slightly. The fire in your pussy grew into a volcano, about erupt. You squirmed under him, mumbling his name to him as your vision blurred around the edges and your head fell back. Your pussy contracted around him, making his hips stutter. “Your pussy..s.. so good..” he ground out as you came on him. You barely heard; you were far away in bliss. Then you came back into your body as Boba’s hard rhythm broke. He stilled deep in you, moaning your name softly as his cock jerked cum into you.

His arms slowly wrapped around you as he rolled onto his back. He pulled you with him so that you were laying on top of him, face pressed into the space between his shoulder and neck. You listened to his heartbeat return to normal. He swallowed. Finally, he murmured, “I… I love you. You and… our girl.”

You smiled into his skin before raising your head to kiss him. He put a hand on the back of your head as you rested it on his broad chest. Suddenly the bathroom door opened. Boba quickly pulled a blanket over your bodies as his girl timidly came to the edge of bed. You reached out to her, “Come back to sleep.”

She stood her ground, sniffling. Boba reached to her, “Come to bed, love.”

She looked at Boba, eyes big and tear stained. Boba tried again, “Come to sleep with Mommy and Daddy.” She brightened instantly as you echoed his words. Clambering back into bed, she crawled over the two of you and curled up, looking at you both with big eyes again.

“Go to sleep, baby,” you cooed at her, a gentle hand brushing against her cheek. Her eyes closed, heavy. You hummed to her until she started breathing evenly. Then you returned you head to Boba’s chest. The thud of his heartbeat quieted your mind and you fell asleep. Boba laid awake under you, enjoying the weight of your body on top of him. He hoped this would be the new sleeping configuration. Running a hand down your back, he settled in to sleep. This time he was untroubled.

Part II

[janumun]

Offered In Protection (An Obey Me Headcanon)

How the boys react to an MC with an emotionally abusive S/O

Tags: mild depictions of violence, hurt and comfort

Author’s Notes: You made it. Hi! Your request was bit unclear to me since I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to write them out murdering the ex, or if you wanted me to exclude any mentions of violence. This is, I hope, firm middle ground and I hope it satisfies you. ♥️ Since the topic here is a difficult one and MC’s trauma is an entire different tangent and requires separate discussion, these headcanons mainly delve into the boys’ reactions to the news and how they would set about to making amends.

(Requests for this event are now closed, dear readers. Thank you to all those who participated.)

Lucifer is enraged; his anger’s a cool, fulgurating terror. Silent and seething, righteous. If you’re not there to hold in his reins or do not wish to be associated with your husband any longer well... farewell that sad excuse for a living creature.

Despite no longer wielding the powers of Heaven, Lucifer staunchly believes in the sacrality of marital vows. And the fact that one, you — who is dear to the Avatar of Pride — willing and hopeful in love, gave yourself over to in holy matrimony, attempted to scar your heart. A vile creature that dared soil your bond and made repetitive, countless offenses in the name of love...

Suffice to say this uncouth thing is going to weep for the fires of Hell once Lucifer’s done meting demonic judgment and retribution. If he’s ever done, that is.

As for you: you are sternly, kindly watched upon, for the foreseeable future. A gloved hand soothing down the fall of your hair. “Sorrow over loss of what you desired is not weakness. Weep if you must. I am here.”

Mammon thinks that dude is the most stupid of idiots; the king of half-wits and ya bet yer ass he’s seen enough throughout the centuries to be confident in his claim! Suffice to say, any that make his human cry are going to pay. No one screws over Mammon or the people he loves. No one sane.

Once you’re safely back at the House of Lamentation, a series of unfortunate mishaps start befalling that sad, stupid bastard: punctured car tires, ice cold — and then boiling hot — showers. Sheared underwear, twisted ankles on tripping up on thin air... the most vexing of inexplicable bad luck. Mammon makes you smile, even on days you don’t find yourself capable of, with his exaggerated tales of torture he subjects your ex to, haughty and loud.

What you do not know of is how he also hurtles that man into darker chaos, pushing slow and steady into complete destruction. The Avatar of Greed’s curse is laid upon his wealth; dwindling his finances over time until it decimates into emptiness.

Satan is another who’d grind your ex to ashes, if left unchecked. His wrath’s a petrifying thing to witness; torture second only to Lucifer’s brand of punishment. You were hurt, you who is incredibly dear to the Avatar of Wrath.

Satan's responses are stilted, even as he gently ushers you to safety, back with his brothers, eyes fixated upon the quivering ‘husband’ that tries and calls your attention back to itself, whining of love, as if it still holds value.

But if you happen to linger... witness him take on his demonic form, he’s a creature so unlike anything you’d ever seen before: a cold gaze, an angry snarl and a gnarled, needle sharp tail that curves about its victim in an agonizing, deliberate pace. Frightening enough, you have to turn away from the sight.

The next time you find him at your door, he’s the very same Satan you know; a somewhat sheepish smile tugging the corners of his mouth as he inquires “How are you?” And then, immediately, “That’s an inane question, I’m sorry.” Asking you to join him for a date at this new cat café he happened to come across just recently and had been waiting to explore. Or if you prefer, a quiet day in, with your favorite titles — he had them shipped in just the other day, for your monthly visit to the brothers — and tea made from one of his favorite blend of herbs. He finds it often helps soothe his nerves when he’s particularly upset.

Falling into conversation with Satan is so very natural, he helps maintain such an easy air of normalcy, not drawing attention to raw wounds, you find yourself relaxing in his company on instinct, grateful for his gentle kindness.

End Notes: Thank you for reading!

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