#Quiet Affections

[redsakura101]

Quiet Affections: Silent Sorrows (Part 2)

Jason Todd x Reader

A prologue to Quiet Affections: Dead Roses, but it can be read as a stand alone. Silent Sorrows (Part 1) can be read here

After a fight filled with heated emotions, Jason leaves a posy of flowers for his love. A small gesture, expressing what his words fail to convey. You realise just what these flowers mean.

Word count: ~1.9k

You wake to the light of the early sun as it filters in through your windows.

Rolling your neck loosening as little cracks are heard.

Rubbing gently against the base as the stiffness of sleeping on the couch makes itself known.

Echoes of last night’s fight threaten to seep into your mind. 

But you push it back. 

Back into the crevices of your mind.

You'd deal with it, just not yet. The hurt from the night still fresh in your mind.  

A yawn escapes, as you trudge to the bathroom.

Your eyes glance to the side and notice a glimmer of blues and purples with flickers of greens, peeking from outside your window.

You make your way over as the blur of colours takes shape into flowers as you come closer. 

Pursing your lips before they reluctantly form a small tight smile forms as you slide the window open, grasping the little bundle of flowers.

The beauty of the blues, purples and olive greens are soft and harmonious. 

The contrasting red ribbon, not harsh but complimentary. 

You take in a sharp breath.

They’re from Jason. 

You know they are.

No other indications beside the little red ribbon and yet you just know they are.

Shuffling to the kitchen as the weariness of the morning still settles into your bones, you pluck a small vase from a shelf as you pass it.

In the distance the sounds of the waking Gotham disrupts the morning as beeping horns, the squeal of tires and early starts to construction sites begin to filter in through the window.

The steady stream of water soothes your ears as you fill the jug with water.

You carefully untie the ribbon and twine from around the bouquet with great care.

Doing your best to not disrupt the arrangement as you slide the posy into the vase, retying the ribbon around the vase not wanting to throw it out.

Inhaling the fresh aromas tones of sweet honey and earthiness emanating from the flowers.

Also noting the lingering notes of gunpowder and leather. 

A hint of vanilla. 

It’s intoxicating.

Enveloping you whole with the memory of his presence. 

You miss him. 

But you also knew that you needed to give him space. 

Pulling yourself away from the flowers, you walk off, needing to wash off the night, feel refreshed.

You’d made plans to have your friend over for lunch – and you weren’t about to cancel now just because you were feeling a little lost in your own thoughts. 

A distraction might be good.          

As you move around the apartment after having gotten ready you rearrange pillows, move items, aimlessly cleaning. 

A knock at the door alerts you of their presence.

Opening the door, your friend chatters away entering your apartment. 

They pause, noticing your less than enthused self, instead they see your sunken shoulders and red rimmed eyes, no matter what you did to conceal the trademarks of crying your friend knew better.

They hug you and hold you close, not asking anything.

Just unconditional support.

They insist you sit while they fluster around your kitchen pulling out some mugs and pouring some tea for you both to enjoy. 

You told them of the cakes you’d bought yesterday for the two of you to enjoy, as they pulled them out of the fridge and presented you with a spoon. 

Both of you begin to dig into the sweet desserts, as you begin to talk.

Trying to stay off the topic of why you were saddened, you talk of whatever you can think of even indulging your friend's corny story they had definitely told you too many times already.

But soon it leads back to the fight, the memory of what had happened crawling out from the recesses of your mind.

Your friend was ready to go on the offensive for your sake - but held their tongue as you explained, omitting the more sensitive details.

Neither of you to blame, just a miscommunication gone wrong.

It seems stupid now.

All you wanted was for the fight to be over – they note suggesting Jason feels the same way too. 

This confuses you, as far as you knew your friend and Jason didn’t have each other’s contact numbers.

So how would they know what Jason felt? It's not like they could text each other.

With a roll of their eyes they point to the flowers, 

“I’m guessing these are from him?” 

“Yes, he left them for me this morning...but what’s a bouquet of flowers going to tell me?” Wanting them to get to the point. 

“Well, remember that one summer I took that short course on floral arrangements? – anyways, one of the things I learnt was that flowers have meanings,” 

“And what do these flowers mean oh great and wise one – pray tell,” you humour them.

“Say what you want, but that course was one of the most informative classes I've ever taken. Now do you want to know or not?" Their brow perks with a teasing smile.

"Ok, ok. I'll take your word for it. So what do they mean?"

"This particular choice in flowers means regret and asks for forgiveness. An olive branch.” They point to the particular flowers while explaining their associated meanings.

This makes you perk up, heart melting from the thought, Jason picked those...for you? 

“You’ve got a good one, it’s pretty difficult to find a guy out there who puts thought into flowers. Any other schmuck would’ve just gotten you roses,” your friend sighs – “where can I find me one of those guys, tell me does he have any brothers?” 

Snorting at that, “trust me you’ll find someone who loves you just as much as –” your voice falls short.

“Just as much as what? – as Jason loves you.” A knowing grin slips onto their face. 

You push them away jokingly, “we haven’t said that yet. I don’t want to scare him off, we're taking it slow, remember. That's kind of the whole point of our fight last night.” 

“Trust me he looks at you as if you are his whole world, and these flowers show he means it. Even if he doesn’t know how to say it.”   

“Yeah?” your voice is quiet, almost unsure.

“Yeah,” your friend's voice resounds with sincerity and a firmness that makes you believe they’re right.

Soon your catch up ends and you say goodbye.

A promise to let them know what happens with you and Jason is shared as they leave.

You walk back to the kitchen and simply sit gazing at the flowers. 

You don’t know how much time passes, all you know is that the orange glow of the sunset now filters into the room.

A knock is heard at your door.

A quick look in the peephole fills you with joy as you see the familiar raven haired man you call your boyfriend, the wisps of white strands a beloved feature you never fail to admire. 

Your hand pauses at the knob, a little hesitant.

Mind flooding with worry for what's to come - but your eyes flick to the counter seeing the flowers which eases your worries away.

You open the door and simply fling your arms around him causing him to stumble in surprise, but his arms slink around your waist.

Grip tightening as he practically lifts you from the floor in his embrace. 

His scent of leather, gunpowder and the hint of vanilla fills your senses, just like the flowers did.

Similarly Jason takes in your presence – he didn’t know what to expect when the door opened. 

Unsure of whether you were ok.

Worried out of his mind, thinking of the worst. Thinking he'd lost you over his insecurities bubbling out in a destructive form over last night's argument.

But this – this is better than he hoped, more than he believed he deserved. 

He breathes you in, the comfort of your scent calming his beating heart.

He believes the flowers aren’t enough. 

They’d never be. 

Nothing would ever be enough for you, he decided.

You deserved everything and more.

So he’s here.

Wanting to try everything he can to come close to giving you everything you deserve.

Words on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m -,” he goes to apologise, but you stop him, "I know." The finality of your tone buries itself into his heart.

The apology, unspoken but the sincerity of his remorse is felt, you can tell from the way his touch softens as if afraid of scaring you off, from the flowers he left for you, to the way you feel safe and held in his arms. 

You nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck as he nestles his own into the softness of your hair. You slowly slink back lower as your feet touch the ground, still in his arms. 

It's no question, you'd already forgiven him. From the moment he left those sweet flowers on your window sill - you forgave him.

“It’s ok Jay, I know. I didn’t mean to push you last night.” Pulling back slightly his hands slide to grasp the sides of your face gently, the slightly calloused pads of his fingers still soft as they caress the gentle curve of your face.

“Doll, you have no reason to be sorry. I lashed out – I never… Never wanted to hurt you.” His voice cracks with vulnerability seeping into his words, eyes glazed. 

Your hands rest against his own hands tracing slight circles.

“Still I didn’t want to hurt you either, I said things I wish I could take back,” You choke out, tears once again threaten to fall.

He kisses your temple sweetly, then your nose before finally locking your lips against his. 

All other words melt away. 

Silent promises of love and devotion trickle into gentle touches and the flowers that sit on your kitchen counter. 

That evening you find yourselves entangled together as you lay in bed, a comforting embrace.

You're both learning, with the awkward tenderness of people who had never experienced this kind of devotion, and are instead forced to improvise.

Learning how to understand each other, learning how to cherish and love each other in a way no one else ever has shown either of you.

Your eyes closed, listening to the steady beat of his heart. 

“You deserve to be loved Jason. And I will spend every moment we have together making sure you know that,” the whispered promise makes his heart swell – his love for you growing every moment he spends with you. 

You feel a soft kiss placed upon your head as he pulls you closer.

You are his world, and you have him body and soul for as long as you'll have him.

Even if he's not ready to tell you that just yet, it is his deepest truth.

“I am so grateful to have you. And I will spend every moment making sure you know that too,”

The calm of the night settles over you two as you fall asleep in the comfort of each other’s arms. 

And for the first time, Jason stays over for the night in your apartment.

While this won't be the last argument you ever have.

You know that you'll always pull through.

There will be more messiness to come.

Moments of difficulty or misunderstandings - issues you'll face together. But these will be outweighed by the gentle tenderness and care in your actions, unfounded with anyone else.

Even when words fail the both of you.

You'll know what is meant in the silence of your actions.

Part 2 of Silent Sorrows! hope you enjoyed xx The continuation of this and what reader does with the flowers Jason gifts her can be read Quiet Affections:Dead Roses

Who knows maybe I'll find some more inspiration and write another addition to this little idea, I'm thinking of doing one where Jason gifts the reader Forget-Me-Nots? Would love to hear any other ideas you may have

[wanologic]

a man who’s only motivation is to not end up souped in a thermos

[aventurineswife]

Two Hands, One Home

Summary: After an abyss attack destroys your home, Kinich, who values independence and self-reliance, offers you a place to stay. Though he presents it as purely practical, his actions reveal a quiet, genuine care. Over time, you settle into a peaceful routine together, finding comfort in his reserved kindness and the small gestures of care he provides, learning that beneath his cold exterior, Kinich has his own way of showing affection.

Tags: @m1nella, Kinich x Reader, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Reserved Kinich, Found Family, Quiet Moments, Pragmatic Romance, Subtle Affection, Soft Kinich.

Warnings: Implied Loss Due To An Abyss Attack, Mild Angst.

The aftermath of the abyss attack was devastating. Your home, once a place of safety and comfort, had been reduced to rubble, its walls shattered and roof torn asunder. The shock of losing everything you had worked for in an instant left you feeling hollow, adrift in a world that had suddenly turned cold and uncertain.

But amid the chaos, there was an unexpected offer. Kinich, with his usual stoic expression, had come to you with a quiet proposal. “You can stay at my place while your house is being repaired.” he said, his tone as dry as ever, yet beneath it was something softer, something genuine.

You were hesitant at first—Kinich was a private person, and you knew his past hadn’t been easy. Still, the practicality of the offer, and the simple fact that you needed somewhere safe to stay, won out. You nodded, grateful but unsure of what to expect.

The day you moved into Kinich’s house, you couldn’t help but be surprised by how… normal it was. The inside was modest, a far cry from the grandeur of the mansions you’d seen in the past. But it had a warmth to it, an unspoken coziness. The walls were lined with handmade furniture, small knick-knacks that spoke of a life lived with care and attention, even if it wasn’t a life of luxury.

Kinich showed you around, his gestures efficient but not unkind. “This is the kitchen,” he said, pointing to a simple stove and a small table. “If you need anything, just ask. And, uh… don’t go near the shed out back. I keep some of my… tools there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tools?”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, though it was hard to say. “I’ve got a lot of things to fix. You’ll see.”

You followed him to the living room, where a modest fireplace crackled. The scent of wood and something faintly herbal hung in the air, and Kinich, ever the practical one, was already setting up a small cot by the wall for you.

“Don’t make a fuss about it,” he said as he smoothed out the blanket. “It’s not much, but it’ll do for now.”

You couldn’t help but feel touched. For someone who valued independence so much, Kinich was surprisingly attentive in his own way. You sat down on the cot, still a bit unsure of what to do next.

Kinich cleared his throat and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. It’ll be ready in about an hour. You can relax until then.”

As he worked, you took a moment to look around the room. It wasn’t much, but it was his—his space, his home. The absence of his usual sharpness, the subtle kindness of his gestures, made you feel a little less alone. Even if he didn’t show it often, Kinich had a way of making you feel like you mattered.

Dinner was simple, a warm stew that smelled of fresh herbs and hearty vegetables. Kinich placed a bowl in front of you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was something softer in his eyes, a flicker of something more than just duty.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, quietly breaking the silence. “Let me help with something.”

Kinich paused for a moment, his hand still on the pot as he glanced over at you. “It’s fine,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not doing it for you. Just… don’t let the food go to waste.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. Kinich’s words were as blunt as always, but the care in his actions was something you couldn’t overlook. As you sat together at the table, eating in comfortable silence, you couldn’t help but think that, despite everything, you had found a place here—a place where, for the time being, you could heal

Over the next few days, life at Kinich’s house settled into a quiet routine. You’d help with the small tasks around the house—cleaning up, organizing things—and in return, Kinich would share bits and pieces of his life with you, small snippets of knowledge or skills that he’d learned over the years.

One evening, as the sun began to set, you found Kinich in the garden, tending to some plants in the fading light. You hadn’t realized how peaceful the house could feel when it was just the two of you, sharing this simple life together.

“Need help?” you asked, walking over to him.

Kinich glanced up, his face softening slightly. “If you want. I could always use another pair of hands around here.”

You knelt beside him, taking a small gardening trowel and gently digging into the soil. There was a strange comfort in working alongside him, the silence between you both not awkward but companionable, as if you were partners in something greater than just survival.

“Why do you do it?” you asked, looking up at him. “Tending to all this, I mean. I would’ve thought you’d want to leave it all behind.”

Kinich paused, the question catching him off guard. His eyes flickered briefly, almost hesitant, before he answered. “Because it’s mine. It’s the one thing in this world I can rely on. People… they come and go. But this? It’s real. It stays.”

You smiled at his answer, understanding him a little more than you had before. Kinich didn’t offer grand gestures or flowery words, but in the little things—like the way he cared for his home, or the way he offered you a place to stay when you needed it most—you saw his quiet strength.

And, despite his belief in self-sufficiency, you couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, for just a moment, you could be the one thing he’d allow himself to rely on, too.

That night, as you both sat by the fire, Kinich spoke again, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” he said, not looking directly at you but still offering the words with sincerity.

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Kinich. I… I really appreciate it.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “It’s not charity. It’s just… practical.”

But the warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

[fishcalcart]

Stobotnik Weekday 3 - AU (Selkie Stone!!!)

[moonsaurora]

you know. it leaves a very bad taste in my mouth when people bring up the allegations against drake bell when talking about his abuse. it feels like “yeah this very bad thing happened to you, but you did this” ????

it’s like. you see this man disassociate at the thought of what happened to him. it being so horrible he can’t even say it. 11 charges against brian peck for what he did to drake ALONE, including but not limited to sodomy, forcible penetration with a foreign object, using anesthesia, and even filming it…like knowing all if this you still go “he also perpetrated abuse”

idk. i just feel like you can say that you feel horrible for what he went through and talk about that without bringing up his allegations. like imagine he’s sitting in front of you recounting the horrific shit he went through, and then you say back “yes that’s awful, but you did this”

idk how to explain it but it just feels wrong

[ferahntics]

Apparently shutting down anon asks was a good thing cause the silence is beautiful suddenly LOL

Anyways, pretty sure they slipped up and showed their account name, so please block sleepinglover293 and sleepinglover374 cause I got so many gore images in my inbox, alongside tons of death threats and wishing I got cancer and how they'll kill and SA me - all of that just because I wouldn't draw Dragon Fire Kirby sleeping. 🙃🙃

I despise callouts and avoid them, but I feel like this kind of behavior has to be acknowledged, cause throwing those things around so freely should not go without consequence.

Don't engage, don't send hate or anything, just block, report and move on.

[bigmoon-is-bigwife]

Hey why the fuck was Bad so insistent that only he is allowed to kill Foolish and was extremely distressed when Foolish was offering his life up to help Bad's allies? Bad already took Foolish's first two lives with accidents but then declared he'd have to kill anyone who killed Foolish because only he's allowed to do that (even though Foolish is adamantly wanting to sacrifice himself) ...🤨🏳️‍🌈...?

[shaykai]

Thinking about Durge always keeping the people their around in their peripheral- and Gortash noticing the first time they ever turn their back to him without any sort of reflective surface to let them keep an eye on him

(And him wanting to say something taunting and playful and keeping it to himself lest he taunt them into never letting it happen again)

[redsakura101]

Quiet Affections: Dead Roses

Jason Todd x Reader If you'd like to you can Read the Prologue. Quiet Affections:Silent Sorrows

Inspired by the quote Dead Roses: by AK

"Why do you keep dead roses?" he asks “I cherish dead roses as they live between the pages of my books. I believe, a fresh rose is loved for its beauty but the dead one is beyond beauty. A fresh rose is smelled for its scent but a dead one – for the memories. A fresh rose gives the feel of softness but a dead one gives the feel of the past. A fresh rose lives for days but a dead one – forever.”

In which Jason's love keeps and preserves the flowers he's given them over the years of their relationship.

word count: ~1.8k

In a moment of peace as his hand gently rubbed circles into your arm while you laid comfortably with him sprawled along on your couch.

After having spent the last few weeks unpacking, you’d both finally finished and were taking a much needed respite in your now shared apartment, a blend of both yours and Jason’s belongings - filled the space with a sense of home.  

In your hands was a well loved copy of Pride & Prejudice, its pages littered with underlinings of passages and notes in the margins, some were philosophical and others were humorous.

A combination of markings that both you and Jason had made since you started this little tradition of reading with each other, an intimate little book club.

A pastime you’d both come to enjoy since being together.

Sometimes he would read, that was always your favourite, as you’d listen to every word as though it were honey trickling in and soothing your soul. Though seeing his eyes gaze at you fondly while you read made you feel like everything else faded away, his body relaxed as the tension melted away, did come as a close second.  

It was during this time while you read to him that he asked, 

“Why do you keep dead roses?” 

An innocent question, one that had been ruminating in Jason’s mind, since his eyes first traced the pressed flower in your hand and the other ones dotted around the apartment. 

Some were placed in little frames picked up from op shops, while others filled glass jars tied with little ribbons - some even had labels, most likely the names of the flowers. 

He’d noticed in some of the other books that you owned or even some of his favourite ones that there would be little handmade bookmarks infused with pressed flowers. 

Now thinking about it, over the course of your relationship he’d noticed that slowly, but steadily it seemed this collection had grown. All coming to the forefront of his mind seeing them all unpacked and in the open of your shared apartment.

“In fact, why do you have a lot of dead flowers?”

Your eyes flick to follow his gaze as it lands on the pressed rose in hand, he notices that your eyes glaze over as though reminiscing and then sees as they glance to the other flowers in their home, before falling back to Jason. If possible you seem to curl even closer into his embrace turning slightly as you raise the rose before him. 

“Do you not like them?” you tilt your head, never having realised Jason would notice them. But you suppose it's a side effect of dating one of Gotham’s vigilantes, they’re very observant. 

He shakes his head and nuzzles his head into your neck breathing in your scent, “no, just wondering why?”  

You melt under his touch as your smile widens, 

“I cherish dead roses as they live between the pages of my books. I believe, a fresh rose is loved for its beauty but the dead one is beyond beauty.” Your hand clasps his hand that is one wrapped around your waist as you gently rub your thumb against his hand – almost as though inferring the words applied not just to roses but to Jason itself.

“A fresh rose is smelled for its scent but a dead one – for the memories. A fresh rose gives the feel of softness but a dead one gives the feel of the past. A fresh rose lives for days but a dead one – forever.”

You let the words settle in the air before continuing to say, “I always loved that quote. And in a way I always thought that by keeping these roses and flowers it was about preserving our love” 

You will never know the extent of how deeply these words affected Jason, his mind blank with what to say. You never failed to surprise him, your unending love and support despite all the mess he came with. You were always there. Through the thick and thin, you stood by him as he worked through the ghosts of his past and the hauntings that came with them.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve you but he will forever be grateful. 

Before he could even begin to try to express his unending gratitude for you and the peace you offer his soul, you continue on.

“Did you know that you gave me all these flowers. Every single one of these dried and pressed flowers I own, they’re because of you.” 

Now while his brothers may argue to believe that there is not a single bone in his body capable of romance, they would be mistaken. As demonstrated by you and him having been together for almost 3 years. 

Throughout your budding romance, Jason always struggled with conveying how he felt – coming up short as his words would get stuck in his throat. So he had to find other ways to express his love for you, long before he could find it in himself to let his walls come down. 

Little actions, gestures to show he cared for you, like always ensuring you were comfortable by giving you his jacket when you were cold, bringing you homemade chocolate chip cookies when he knew you needed a little comfort, and as you both were getting more serious he would spend more time over at your apartment and would cook for you, he'd fix up things at your apartment like fixing the squeaky door in your bathroom or the leaky faucet in your kitchen, or simply just make your coffee or tea. 

You went at his pace, never pushing him further than he could handle. It was new territory for both you and Jason. 

Sometimes when you had gone through a rough patch or a misunderstanding, you’d find a little posy of flowers either by your door or on your balcony typically of hyacinths, olive leaves with hydrangeas among the bundle.  

You’d carefully placed these in a vase to admire – even without a note you’d always know these were from Jason. It was during this time a friend you had over noted the meaning of these flowers. 

Purple hyacinths and blue hydrangeas are a symbol of sincerity, an apology of heartfelt emotion. The pairing with the olive branches asks for peace and forgiveness. 

This absolutely made your heart melt. At times when you were unsure of how Jason felt for you – you’d remember the flowers, the thought he put into the choices to convey to you what he couldn’t with words. 

This is where your little hobby began.

With each little posy, bouquet or flower he’d gifted you, either by being left for you to find or he had handed them to you directly –  you’d try to learn the meaning behind them. From endless dives into google, to eventually buying some books about the meaning of flowers. 

It felt like discovering a secret code. 

Honeysuckles for devotion and affection,

Sunflowers for adoration and joy,

Canterbury bells for gratitude,

Freesias for trust,

Baby’s breath for sincerity and hope,

And an array of many more beautiful flowers, made even more lovely through their meanings.

As your relationship grew and evolved so did the meanings behind the flowers he’d gift you.

Your most treasured were the forget-me-nots he had given you, just a gift for no particular reason, neither of you had said it aloud but could both tell you were falling for each other. This was cemented for you with the forget-me-nots as you learnt they symbolised true love and respect. 

So with each gifted flower you took great care for them, and when they eventually wilted you would find creative ways to preserve them. 

Placing them in jars, pressing them in bookmarks to even framing particular ones that meant a great deal to you. You kept them all. A love preserving. 

It became second nature to you, a habit you had no intention of breaking. 

The revelation that you had found a way to keep all the flowers he’d given you over the years, that you took the time and care to cherish each little flower. 

His body freezes at learning this as he blinks a little shocked by the tenderness of your words, you had taken the time to learn all the things he couldn’t say, decoding every meaning behind his flowers.

He thought it was a quiet secret, one that remained unnoticed by you, not that he minded. But now knowing you had always known what he meant, what he felt. It made his heart speed up. 

His arms hug you a little tighter, his eyes pool with love, kissing your cheek tenderly as a little smirk forming upon his lips. 

“Didn’t realise you were so sentimental, doll” 

“And I didn’t realise you were such a romantic, what would your family say? The rough and tough Jason Todd giving flowers with such a deep and thoughtful meaning – they’d never believe me,” you both fall into a fit of laughs over imagining his family learning how thoughtful he could be. 

“If you tell them, I promise you there will be no cookies for you” he playfully reprimands, you just look at him with big pleading eyes, to which he sighs a reluctant huff. He could never resist you. 

His mind drifts back to the flowers, his eyes soften “I didn’t think. I never thought that you knew what they meant. I just - ugh, it was always tougher for me to say what you meant to me, what you mean to me, it was easier to just silently tell you through flowers” your hands continue to glide soothing patterns against his as he speaks. 

“Sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them in”

“That’s Jane Austen isn’t it?” you state recognising his words for the ones of one of his favourite authors. 

His smile simply widens as he begins to pepper kisses along your cheek, trailing your jawline and neck. Showering you with love.  A laugh bubbles from within you as you turn into his embrace to hug him properly.

His lips finally touch yours, slow and deep – conveying his feelings through another unspoken language. His hands gently trace patterns along the curve of your back, grounding him in this moment.

You pull back as you lean your forehead against his, eyes holding his gaze as the quiet timbre of his voice fills your ears once more “I will always be here for you, even when words fail me and I can only show you with my actions or with flowers, I want you to  know that I love you”

“I love you too Jay, always, even when words fail,” you words dripping with complete devotion that rivals the adoration found in his.

Your eyes close and just take in this moment., “One would think you’ve gone soft Jay” you lightly tease.

“Only for you doll, only for you.” He punctuates with a delicate kiss to your temple.

You spend the afternoon entangled in each other’s arms taking in each other’s warmth and presence, book now laid forgotten on the coffee table, the page marked with the dried rose that sparked this revelation.

As he hears your gentle snores, his eyes trace your features taking in detail and committing it all to memory. In this moment Jason makes a note to give you all the flowers in the world for as long as you’ll have him, if only to show you just how much you mean to him. 

This was just a little thing I had playing around in my mind, I've never really written anything for Jason Todd before but it felt like this kind of worked. Could definitely see him be a more actions speak louder than words kind of guy. I wrote a prologue if you want to read more, Quiet Affections Silent Sorrows (Part 1) & (Part 2)

Also updated note: I did not think this little story would get this much attention…it’s actually wild to me, thanks for loving it 💕

[melverie]

Love how there are four main reasons why Lucifer is as avid a Demonus Connoisseur™ as we know him to be, and how all of them hurt to think about

There's the obvious, of course. All the seraphs go out drinking together. It's a little keepsake to his time as an angel, in a way. So Lucifer sits in his moonlit study down in the Devildom, only the shadows of leaves gently swaying in the wind keeping him company, pouring himself half a horn of the finest Demonus in his collection. All to honor those he once called his brothers and sisters as they fill up each other's cups and bask in the warm sunlight of the Celestial Realm

Ah, but he's not just drinking to mourn days lost to the past! He also has reason to celebrate every once in a while! Any small improvement to his and Satan's relationship is deserving of a generous reward, don't you think? See? That's a perfectly normal reason to treat yourself to a few more horns!

A couple of bottles into his system, and all the things that usually plague his mind seem so distant all of a sudden. It all turns into nothing but hazy fragments, and it's hard to piece it all back together. Although it's not like Lucifer would even want to in the first place, not when it finally makes all the things he craves to forget about slip from his mind. About the sister he failed to save. About the brothers he damned alongside him. And the crushing guilt that accompanies his every waking moment...

And then finally, there's this one glaring issue that everyone always seems to overlook when it comes to Lucifer—"his" Pride. That awful, wretched little sin, everpresent as it dictates his tone of voice, his every gesture, every word he utters, every single little facet of his personality. Lucifer—"Avatar" of Pride and the morning star himself—is nothing but a prisoner of his own mind, a mere puppet for "his" Pride to control

And so, he drinks. Drinks until even the cheapest bottles in his collection are empty. Not that it matters much to him, at least he can finally free himself from the constant pain and heartbreak that is looming over him, even if it's just for a handful of insignificant hours in this sheer endless torture that is his immortal life. After all, he can't drown in his sorrows as long as he keeps the Demonus flowing

By the time only one last bottle is left, Lucifer stares straight into the darkness of his study, his hair completely disheveled and tears cling to his face. He has long since collapsed on the ground as he brings the very last bottle of Demonus to his lips, not stopping until he has gulped down every last drop

Right now, the Avatar of Pride is nothing but a shadow of his former glory. But oh, is there a better escape from drowning in his sorrows than to keep this sweet, sweet Demonus flowing?

[aventurineswife]

“Reqs are open and my inbox is empty‼️‼️”

Not for long. (Now I sleep, ehe.)

—I’d absolutely adore you to write a scenario for Dan Heng, Sunday, and Aventurine (Possibly Shadow if you feel real extra tonight.)

How would each character react towards their partner falling asleep against them? Whether it’s late at night, early morning, they’re simply too comfortable to keep themselves awake.. and this would dawn on our dear characters. Feeling a sense of warmth, knowing their presence brings such a high level of comfort n’ security, where we—the reader fall asleep with ease no matter where we are so long as we have them. 💙✨

Anchored in Stillness

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Comfort, Quiet Moments Softness, Vulnerability Gentle Affection, Bonding, Emotional Reflection, Introspection, Slow Burn, Established Relationship.

It was late in the quiet hours of the night, the gentle hum of the Astral Express barely audible as it sailed through the endless expanse of space. Dan Heng sat in a corner of the lounge, eyes scanning a book that had long since lost its grip on his attention. His focus, though steady and disciplined as always, was elsewhere now. The warmth of the room, combined with the soft whirring of the train, created a sense of peace he rarely afforded himself.

It was then that he felt it—soft pressure on his shoulder. His eyes drifted to his side, and he froze for a moment. There, resting against him, was you, your body relaxed in a deep, untroubled sleep. Your presence, warm and quiet, was almost a contrast to his own habitual distance. Dan Heng’s gaze softened slightly, the weight of the moment settling over him.

His lips parted, but no words came. He didn’t want to disturb you. There was something deeply comforting about this—how, even in the quietest, most vulnerable moment, you trusted him to be your anchor. He didn’t feel the need to say anything. The connection was unspoken, but it was real.

Dan Heng shifted subtly, ensuring his posture was just right so you could remain comfortable. He could feel the steady rhythm of your breathing against him, each inhale a small reassurance. It was in these moments, in the quiet stillness of the night, that he allowed himself a brief reprieve from the guilt, from the weight of the past that clung to him so tightly. Here, now, in the silence, he felt something akin to peace. He wasn’t alone—not anymore.

And as you continued to sleep soundly, his own eyes fluttered closed, the faintest trace of a sigh escaping his lips. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t running from something.

The moonlight outside cast a soft glow over the Astral Express, and the cabin was bathed in a tranquil, almost ethereal light. Sunday sat at the edge of the couch, a book forgotten in his lap. His eyes wandered to the window, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere. The gentle rhythm of the train’s movement was lulling, but it wasn’t what held his attention tonight.

It was the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing beside him. He turned, and there, curled up against his side, was you, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. Your body was relaxed, the weight of your head resting against his shoulder. For a moment, Sunday merely watched you, his eyes softening as he observed the vulnerability you showed in your sleep.

His wings fluttered slightly, as if subconsciously reacting to the warmth you exuded. He felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest—a sense of duty, yes, but something deeper, too. A connection that went beyond his usual capacity for empathy. It was the kind of bond that, despite all his doubts and internal struggles, felt undeniably right.

He felt your presence, steady and grounding, and it soothed him in ways he couldn’t quite describe. The idea that he could be someone who provided comfort—that he could be the source of someone else’s peace—was something he had never fully embraced before. Yet, here it was, real and undeniable.

Sunday’s breath caught for a moment as he allowed himself the luxury of simply being in the moment. He was so used to thinking of others, to sacrificing for the collective good, that he often forgot how to simply be for himself. But with you here, asleep and safe, he felt a strange sense of ease. It was a quiet reassurance, like a whisper in his heart that reminded him of the small, beautiful connections that made life worth living.

His hand shifted slightly, resting over your shoulder, fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He wasn’t sure if you were aware of his touch, but it didn’t matter. The warmth between you was enough, and with a soft sigh, Sunday closed his eyes for a brief moment. There, in the stillness, he allowed himself the rare indulgence of peace.

Aventurine, ever the master of managing his surroundings, sat in his luxurious chair, surveying the quiet room with a calculated detachment. It was well into the night, and the flickering light of a candle danced across the polished surfaces of the cabin, casting long shadows on the walls. He should have been focusing on the many schemes, the next move in the game, but something about tonight felt different.

He had thought he was alone in the room, but as he shifted slightly in his chair, he felt a warmth at his side. Looking down, he saw you, your head gently resting against his shoulder, your body soft and relaxed as you drifted off to sleep. Your presence was unexpected, yet it wasn’t unwelcome.

Aventurine’s eyes narrowed slightly, the usual hint of calculation in his gaze replaced by something softer. He had never been one to let his guard down, not even for a moment, but here he was, caught off-guard by the intimacy of it all. His mind raced as he quickly calculated the right course of action—should he move? Should he speak?

But then he paused.

Your presence, your comfort, filled the space around him. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the warmth radiating from you—it was an unexpected peace, a momentary break from the endless games of strategy he played with his life. For all his calculated risks and meticulous plans, he hadn’t anticipated something as simple as this.

He allowed himself a rare, almost imperceptible smile, his eyes flickering with a touch of vulnerability—just for a moment. His gloved hand moved almost instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the harshness of his demeanor. He hadn’t realized how much he had longed for this kind of closeness, this kind of warmth.

The silence was heavy with unspoken words, the tension of his past and his ambition swirling just beneath the surface, but for now, Aventurine let it all fade into the background. Your presence grounded him, and for the first time in a long while, the thrill of the gamble didn’t feel so urgent. With a quiet sigh, he allowed his body to relax, his hand resting on the armrest of the chair as he let his thoughts drift, your warmth a silent reminder of the connection he never quite understood but desperately needed.

In the soft silence of the night, Aventurine let the game rest, just for a while.

[theplushiefox]

I'm so sorry, I can't find it to link here, but I saw a post where someone pointed out how at the end of the movie, Raph, Donnie and April kind of stare at Leo, surprised to see as him acting silly and then Raph smiles because his little brother acts like himself

And they also pointed out that Leo acts differently after the extremely traumatic Kraang invasion, so I thought about how he'd never really return to being the silly goofball he was before and it made me sad so here, you get to be sad too!

Please, if someone has the post, send it as a reply to this post so I can link it! Thanks!

[salty-an-disco]

it's honestly so insane how much of an impact I had on this fandom kamskksmdmdm

Like. wtf do you mean I'm not just a shadow moving about and my words actually have an effect on the space I inhabit????

[pistachiofiasco]

bathtubs, haircuts, storms

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader Genre: fluff, soft hours Words: 736 Warnings: n/a

Also on AO3!

here's another little thing for my beloved little menace man. fun fact but i wrote this before the forever with you story event but i wasn't sure about the characterisation. I cannot describe the vindication I felt at the discussion Gilbert and MC have about trust lmao

"I should learn how to cut hair, so I can trim yours when you need it." He gave a quiet hum, unresponsive for the most part.

You couldn't see his face from this angle, had expected more of a reaction, maybe one of those delighted smiles for when you showered him with attention. Rinsing his hair, letting hair as black as obsidian (hah) slip between your fingers, you frowned lightly at a sudden thought. "Nevermind actually. You probably wouldn't feel comfortable letting anyone bring anything sharp near your neck."

You'd said it mildly, as lightly as the real un-offended feelings behind it, but as you turned to reach for the next bottle, you felt him shift beneath your fingers. Glancing back, you found him leaning his head back over the rim of the bathtub, mismatched eyes locked on you.

Oh, we're veering into sulking territory.

You raised an eyebrow at him, smiling softly at the pout on his lips.

"Do you think, in this situation, that you're just anyone, little rabbit?"

"I'm not," you agreed, settling back into your seat and cupping the back of his head against the cold porcelain. "But you still don't trust me as much as you love me."

The pout slipped off his lips now. His face had the blank mask on again, the one where you always got a little too close, a little too quickly. His eyes were still locked on your face, and by now it was so easy for you to see the whirlwind behind them. He'd turn the tables soon, re-establish his control over the situation, redirect your attention, lock down the fear with a genial smile, like he has done for so many years.

It didn't bother you most of the time; you knew it for what it was. And you'd already promised to spend the rest of your lives proving he didn't need to with you. In this moment, it felt like as good a time as any to remind him of that.

Before the maelstrom could pick a direction, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his wet forehead. Lingering, you smiled against his skin as your noses bumped lightly.

"Maybe I'll learn anyway." One hand still holding the back of his head, the other brushed back the strands sticking to the sides of his face. Another kiss to his nose, you sat back up. He was still looking at you (he was always looking, always, long before you ever even knew). "So that when I prove I'm right, you'll be comfortable enough to let me."

It was like being in the eye of the storm, a momentary pause in all the chaos and confusion. You'd managed to surprise him (you were quickly becoming hooked on the thrill you got when he looked at you like that, wide eyed and lips parted, especially when what followed it was that boyish grin that you knew hadn't changed from the past, even if you'd never seen it). You smiled, grinned really. Red and blue eyes had settled. This one was your win.

You gently tipped his head back up, fingers lightly working through the soft black to scratch at his scalp, just barely grazing his ears. The slightest flinch and a hand shooting up to grip your fingers. You froze, wondering if you'd pushed just too far so soon. But he simply tugged your hand forward, pressing it against his lips in an approximation of a kiss. You took it for the acquiescence it was, smiling wider. This close, leaning forward, you laid another few kisses on his head, against his cheek, finishing with just the lightest, mildest little nip at his shoulder.

The regret was immediate. You yelped as his teeth sank into your finger, a sharp "Gilbert!" ringing out, and you saw just a flash of his grin over his shoulder, mischief in his eyes, as he pulled you bodily into the tub, clothes and all. Spluttering, spitting soapy bathwater and your own (now very wet) hair, you could hear him laughing, the sound clear as a bell, echoing in the room. Not bothering to bite back your own grin, you splashed him, trying to stand, complaining loudly as he wrapped his arms firmly around you, dragging you back into the warm water, pressing his cold nose against your neck.

And the storm came and went, like it usually did these days.

the man has trust issues and we need to work on them, slowly but surely. I just wanted to give him some pampering, maybe during his recovery period, while he's still having small fits/bouts of weakness

[binah-beloved]

What if we saved queequee (I just finished canto 5 and I’m going to start crying/nsrs)

she needs time to rest. the Pallidification leaves deep scars even as it withers, hand grasping yours tightly to keep her from falling to her knees. a boat, a ship. how long has it been since she stood on the deck of a real ship, made of wood and rope instead of flesh and sinew? Queequeg looks down at your joined hands and rises them to her face. silently. a plea to be held, to be comforted and loved by you. she exhales slowly when you comply, cupping her cheeks in your palms, allowing her eyes to slip shut as she trembles, just barely. anyone else would think she's the same as ever. strong, quiet, unmoving. not breaking apart at the seams, the few tears that fall gently whisked away by your careful hands. she's so tired, and practically falls onto the bed you lead her to

but her hand doesn't loosen when you turn to leave, merely tugging you back and down onto the mattress. don't leave. she needs you here, or else this will all just be a blissful dream and she'll wake up corrupted and decaying under a madwoman again. Queequeg's lips twitch briefly upwards as she tucks you closer. your gaze is warm, awed, staring up at her and all her scars and tattoos. warmer than the quilt resting over her, than the pillows cradling her head. the harpooner's fingers caress your cheek gently, flexing and gripping in air to test the motion, no longer confined by pale tendrils. she pauses, hesitating. thinking for a moment. then leans in and gingerly brushes the tip of her nose against yours

you return the nuzzle, pressing your foreheads together, and Queequeg finally feels safe

[thatneoncrisis]

disability as a deterrant aside, it is Really interesting to me how many people who want to get into writing just. do not want to read. at that point you have to ask yourself do you actually want to write, or do you just have a story in your head you want to get out, because there are multiple different mediums for that. you could do black out poetry honestly