#an expression of frustration and discomfort

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - The Safest of Touches

Summary - Pregnant and consumed by physical and emotional turmoil, she can't stand the touch of anyone—except her husband. As the weight of her pregnancy overwhelms her, his quiet strength becomes the only thing that calms her frayed nerves.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2026

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Bearing children had been an expectation placed upon me from the moment I said my vows. 

Though the idea once filled me with quiet dread, it was never the prospect itself that made me hesitant. It was the mystery, the vast unknown. 

Still, I knew it was my duty, and so I had quietly accepted my fate.

Yet, in marrying Jace, I had found the rarest of comforts. My husband was not like other men, who treated the task of fatherhood as a distant formality. 

Instead, he was patient, attentive, and unfailingly kind. He made the entire journey feel less like a task and more like a shared endeavour, carrying the burden of each day alongside me. 

The first two trimesters passed almost serenely, with only minor discomforts—aches, fleeting nausea, a fleeting fatigue. I'd almost dared to hope it would stay that way.

But then the third trimester began, and everything changed.

I found myself in the bath, water scalding against my skin, seeking some semblance of relief. It was the only way to dull the relentless aches that pulsed through my body. 

The warm air was thick with the scent of lavender, usually soothing, now suddenly cloying. I closed my eyes, struggling to control the roiling nausea it stirred within me.

"The jasmine oil," I murmured, lifting my head from the rim of the bath, nudging away the lavender-scented soaps and oils as my stomach twisted.

"But, my lady, lavender has always been your favourite," one of the handmaidens said gently, lingering with the lilac-coloured bottle in hand.

I opened my eyes, straining to keep my expression soft despite the irritation building within me. 

"The jasmine oil," I repeated, voice tight with restrained impatience. At last, she nodded, setting aside the lavender and reaching for the jasmine.

She began rubbing the oil into my arms, her fingers kneading into my skin. I tried to focus on the rhythm of her hands, willing myself to relax, but my body wouldn't cooperate. 

No position seemed to ease the discomfort; my muscles refused to unclench. I shifted in the water, fidgeting until the sensation became unbearable.

"Stop. Please," I whispered, pushing her hands away, feeling an inexplicable frustration rising like a tide within me. The water sloshed as I struggled to my feet. "I... I need to get out." 

The simple task of standing, once so effortless, was now a slow, arduous battle.

Two of my handmaidens hurried forward, their hands gentle but unsteady as they supported me, lifting me from the bath. I was mortified by how helpless I felt, needing them to hold me, guide me, wrap me in a robe as though I were a fragile, breakable thing. 

The tears stung at the corners of my eyes, an unbidden reminder of all I had lost—of the independence I once took for granted.

One began to comb my damp hair, her movements soft and practised, but even this—the once-comforting tug of the bristles through my hair—was too much.

"Stop," I repeated, my voice barely a whisper but laced with desperation. 

I shrank back, pushing their hands away, the embarrassment and frustration mingling within me until they felt almost suffocating.

As I stood there, robe clinging to my damp skin, my emotions threatened to overtake me—a torrent of frustration, vulnerability, and exhaustion, all crashing into me with the weight of waves breaking upon the shore.

The frustration simmered to a boiling point, spilling over before I could contain it. 

I was exhausted, aching, and drained from the constant care and fussing of others, though they meant well. I wanted silence. I wanted to be left alone.

"Out," I said, voice barely a whisper at first, but growing louder, sharper. "Just—leave. All of you. Get out!"

My handmaidens froze, their shocked eyes wide, but I was past caring. They exchanged nervous glances but obeyed, quietly filing out of the room, skirts brushing against each other in the tense silence. 

When the door closed behind them, the quiet settled over me, thick and oppressive, but at least it was mine.

With trembling hands, I sat down on the cold floor, the edge of my robe pooling around me. I buried my face in my hands, the heaviness of my hair tangling down my back. 

The soft dampness clung to my skin, and I tried to braid it, but my fingers fumbled clumsily over the wet strands, weaving and re-weaving in vain. 

My hands wouldn't obey, slipping over the hair that seemed suddenly unruly and impossible. 

Frustration pricked in my chest, and I clenched my teeth, as if sheer will alone could force the strands into submission.

I was struggling in my solitude, lost in my helplessness when the door creaked open. 

I looked up, startled, to see Jace standing in the doorway. His face softened with concern as his eyes took in my dishevelled form on the floor. 

He crossed the room and knelt beside me, his presence steady and unwavering, grounding me.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice a gentle murmur as he reached for my hand, fingers warm and familiar against mine. 

I pulled back slightly, a trace of embarrassment surfacing at him finding me like this.

"What... what are you doing here?" I whispered, half-glaring through the mist of my frustration.

He gave me a small smile. "Your handmaidens came to find me. Said you were upset, that you wouldn't let anyone touch you. I wanted to see if you were alright."

"Those traitors," I muttered, a touch of humour breaking through despite myself. But when his hand reached out, I didn't resist. 

Instead, I felt my tension melting, slipping away under the gentle weight of his touch.

Without another word, Jace moved to sit behind me, his legs on either side of mine and turned me slightly so that he could reach my hair. 

He gathered it gently, combing his fingers through the damp strands with a tenderness that steadied my frayed nerves. 

As he began to braid, each twist of his fingers seemed to untangle something within me as well.

"How do you feel now?" he asked softly, his breath warm against the back of my neck.

I closed my eyes, leaning back slightly, allowing myself to relax against him. "Better," I murmured, barely above a whisper. "I just... I don't want anyone else touching me. It's too much."

He chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble against my back. 

"Then I'll be the only one," he promised, his fingers still moving through my hair, weaving it into a braid with gentle, practised care. With every turn and pull, he anchored me, and my breathing began to slow, each exhale lighter, unburdened.

His hands moved steadily, calming me in ways I couldn't even put into words. 

With him, the closeness felt safe, easy, a balm against all the tension I couldn't seem to shake. 

As Jace finished braiding my hair, his hands lingered at my shoulders, tracing soothing circles against my skin. The quiet comfort of his touch seemed to drain the last of the tension from my body. 

I closed my eyes, savouring the moment, the warmth of his presence wrapping around me like a blanket.

After a moment, he shifted, moving so he was beside me. He gazed down, a small smile playing on his lips as he took in my face, softened by the tenderness he always held for me. 

His hand drifted gently to my belly, resting over the growing curve beneath my robe. His touch was so light, so reverent as if he were cradling something sacred.

"How are you really feeling?" he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he worried he was intruding into something too fragile to name.

I sighed, letting myself lean into him. "Some days, it feels like my body isn't my own anymore. Everything aches, I'm exhausted, and I can barely stomach half the things I used to love." 

I glanced down at his hand, where it rested against my belly. "But then... then I feel them move. And it all makes sense."

As if summoned by his touch, a gentle flutter stirred beneath his hand—a small, insistent kick, as though our child recognized their father's presence and reached out in response. 

The sensation was delicate, a ripple of life that seemed both tentative and certain, like a secret shared only between us.

Jace's eyes lit up, his face breaking into a grin as he felt it, he let out a breathless laugh, his thumb brushing tenderly over the spot where our child had made their presence known. 

"Did you feel that?" I asked, barely able to contain my own laughter, joy spilling over in a way that felt light and freeing. 

His gaze was transfixed on my stomach, a look of awe softening his features. "I did," he whispered, his eyes almost misty. He looked up at me, guilt mingling with his smile. 

"I'm so sorry it's been so hard for you," he murmured, his brow furrowing. "I wish I could take some of the weight, the aches... anything."

I shook my head, reaching up to trace my fingers along his jaw. 

"Don't apologize, Jace. It's worth it—all of it. I'm carrying a little piece of us," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "It's... it's more beautiful than I ever imagined."

His eyes softened, the guilt giving way to a quiet admiration. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "You're amazing, you know that? Stronger than I could ever be."

A blush warmed my cheeks, and I looked down, momentarily overwhelmed by the weight of his affection. But Jace lifted my chin, tilting my face back up to his. 

"You don't have to hide from me," he said gently. "I know it's hard, but you're not alone. I'm here, always. For you, for both of you."

I nodded, feeling the words settle over me like a promise. 

We sat together in a comforting silence, his hand resting against my belly, still absorbing the little kicks that fluttered beneath his touch. I watched him, noting the wonder in his expression as if he were trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

After a beat, I broke the silence, my voice soft and curious. "Do you ever wonder... do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting mine, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Honestly? I don't care," he murmured, brushing a thumb gently over my belly. "As long as they're healthy, and they have you as their mother, they'll be perfect."

I rolled my eyes, though my heart swelled. "That's a nice answer, but it's not an answer," I teased, nudging him with my shoulder.

He laughed softly, squeezing my hand in response. "Alright, you want the truth?" 

He paused, studying my face. "I suppose... if I could wish for anything, I'd love a little girl. One with your eyes, and your stubbornness—though I might regret that last part."

My cheeks warmed, a smile spreading across my face. "A little girl?" I asked, the thought settling in my mind, warm and soft like a dream. "And what makes you think she'll look like me?"

He chuckled, a tender glint in his eye. "I don't think—I hope. A little girl who looks just like her mother, strong and beautiful. Someone who'll keep me on my toes," he added with a playful glint.

My hand went to his cheek, fingertips tracing over the slight stubble that shadowed his jaw. "She'll have the best father in the world," I whispered, voice barely more than a breath.

Jace leaned in, pressing his forehead to mine, his fingers still trailing gentle circles over my belly. "And the most incredible mother," he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. "I mean that."

We stayed like that, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and love, the world around us falling away as our little one nestled between us.

In the silence, I could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, and my own breathing slowed to match. 

And as our child shifted softly within me, I knew I'd never felt more whole than in this moment, held by the one person who would carry me just as surely as I carried this life.

A/n - The focus was mean't to be him braiding her hair and then idk what direction this took 😭

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙀𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙔𝙤𝙪 - Pt. 3

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【Ａ/Ｎ】⦂ I hope I'm not putting these out too fast, my inspiration is just burnin' for this fic. Please give me feedback -- negative or positive! It's all constructive to me. (◡‿◡✿) Definitely still more parts to come so I really do hope it's being enjoyed by more than just me lmao

【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】⦂ (Unspecified) Variant!Mark Grayson x Reader

【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】⦂ Possessive behavior, talk of violence

【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】⦂ None

→【Ｐａｒｔ　Ｏｎｅ】←

→【Ｐａｒｔ　Ｔｗｏ】←

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The moment you stepped through the portal, everything shifted. The oppressive air of the warehouse, the tension between you, is replaced by a strange stillness. You blink, trying to adjust to the sudden change, and find yourself standing in the center of a sprawling courtyard. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers fills the air, and before you stands an opulent mansion—a palace of glass, stone, and marble, the kind that looks straight out of a dream, or perhaps a nightmare.

The grass was trimmed so perfectly it looked almost unnatural, as if every inch had been sculpted to perfection. The fountains almost appeared frozen mid-splash, the crystal-clear water flowing so seamlessly back into the small pools below. Ornate statues lined the path to the front entrance. There were no sounds except for the occasional whisper of the wind, which felt too serene for a place like this.

Your eyes darted around, trying to take it all in.  Something felt... wrong. As you scanned the courtyard, you noticed movement. Groups of women dressed in barely-there garments were lounging in the shade, walking across the grounds, or tending to the plants. Their attire was revealing, their expressions vacant, as if they were simply there to fill space. It was a bizarre scene—too controlled, too orchestrated.

Your breath hitches as you realized the truth: these women didn’t look like they had any agency, like they weren’t there by choice. They looked... empty.

Your discomfort grew as you turned towards Mark, who has been silent this whole time. He was looking at the women with a frown, his jaw tight. It was then that you noticed his reaction: a barely concealed frustration, a shift in his posture. The smile he had when you’d first arrived faltered.

“Mark, what is this?” you asked, your voice coming out sharper than you intended.

He didn’t immediately answer, his eyes narrowing as they looked over the courtyard. The moment his gaze landed on you, his entire demeanor shifted—there was a flicker of realization in his eyes.

Before you could speak again Mark stepped forward, his hands up, his voice suddenly tight. “All of you, leave. Now.”

The women, though clearly startled, didn’t question him. They stood up in unison, their eyes dull, and began walking off in silence, heading toward the mansion’s entrance. You watched, stomach turning. You can’t help but notice how little resistance they showed, how obedient they were, like they’d been conditioned to follow orders without question.

Once they were all gone Mark turned back to you, his face flushed with a mixture of irritation and something else—something darker. His voice dropped low. “I wasn’t planning for this,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t think you’d see...”

You crossed your arms, your gaze sharp. “What is this, Mark? Who are they?”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling with his next words. “They’re... they’re nothing like you. I don’t want you to think... this is how it is with everyone.” He hesitated, his frustration seeping through. “Like I told you, in my universe I control everything. Everyone. I take what I want, when I want.”

You took a step back, processing what he was saying. You tried to understand, tried to separate the Mark in front of you from the twisted reality he’s created. “And them?” You gestured toward the now-empty courtyard. “Are they...?”

Mark’s jaw clenched, and for a second, he looked almost ashamed—something you hadn’t seen in him until now. “They’re... there’s no emotion there. Just power. Just control.”

He was quiet for a beat, his eyes darkening with a mix of frustration and self-control. “But you—you’re different.”

You watched him, waiting for him to explain. He swallowed, clearly trying to keep his emotions in check.

“I don’t want to treat you like that,” he said, the words coming out slow but still carrying an edge. “I want... I want this to be mutual. I don’t want to just take you like I do them.” He was visibly irritated with himself, as if the idea of holding back, of making an effort, was something foreign to him. “But it’s hard. It’s hard not to just take you... like I’ve always done.”

He was staring at you now, his eyes intense, as if he was daring you to understand, daring you to respond. The contrast between his actions with the women and his hesitation toward you was clear: He has been used to complete control, but with you, he was struggling to make it more than that. The desire was there, but he was at war with how to handle it. It felt almost like he didn’t know how to act in a situation where he couldn’t just dominate.

You stood rigid in the center of the lavish courtyard, your eyes wide as you surveyed the strange, unnerving beauty of the mansion and its grounds. The surreal stillness of the place made your stomach churn. You didn’t want to be here—not in this world, not in this twisted version of reality. Your heart was pounding, and the panic was beginning to rise in your chest.

“Mark, this—this isn’t real,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and rising frustration. “You can’t just take me to another universe and expect me to just… live here. Take me home. Now.”

Mark stood a few paces behind you, his arms crossed as he studied you with an unreadable expression. The silent tension between you felt unbearable. When he didn’t answer immediately, you turned to him, eyes flashing with urgency.

“I said take me home!” you demanded, stepping forward. “I don’t care how, but you need to fix this. I don’t belong here, Mark. This isn’t my world. I just—I want to go home.”

Mark’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering momentarily with something you couldn’t place. “I can’t,” he said, his tone quieter but firm. “The only way back is through the portal, and I can’t open it. Only Angstrom can.”

Your frustration exploded. “Then find him! I don’t care what you have to do, but this is not my life! I need to go back to my world. To my town.”

Mark looked away, his eyes narrowing, seemingly uncomfortable with the raw intensity in your words. He exhaled sharply, then looked at you again, a hardness creeping into his expression. “I can’t. The Angstrom from this universe died a long time ago. You’re not going back.”

“You’re saying I’m trapped here?” Your voice wavered, but the anger in your words remained strong. “Mark, I don’t care what you’ve done or who you think you are now, you owe me this. You owe me my life back!”

Mark flinched at the words, but he remained silent for a moment, his face hardening once more. The guilt, the frustration, and that strange sadness in his eyes only made the situation more unbearable. He wasn’t giving you what you wanted.

You clenched your fists, the reality of it all sinking in. Your words came out in a breathless rush. “Take me home. Take me to my hometown, at least. It should be the same, right? This world’s supposed to be identical to mine. So take me there. I’ll—I'll try to figure it out. I'll make something work.”

Mark was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched, as if he were mentally battling something. You could see him weighing your words, struggling with the idea of leaving the mansion behind. But after what felt like an eternity, he spoke with a reluctant sigh.

“Fine,” he said, his tone still clipped but edged with something almost weary. “I’ll take you.”

The journey to your hometown was strangely quiet, a tension hanging thick between you. Even with your aerial view you could see that the roads seemed unnaturally smooth, the scenery more pristine than you remembered. It was like something out of a dream—a version of the world you thought you knew, but with something unsettlingly off. Your chest tightened with every passing mile.

When you finally arrived, it was nothing like you’d imagined.

Your hometown lay before you, but it was a ruin—a barren wasteland. The streets were cracked and lifeless. Buildings were collapsed in on themselves, some reduced to rubble, others barely standing. The air was thick with ash and dust, and a distant, eerie silence loomed.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took a step back, your eyes roaming the destruction. What had happened here? It looked like the world had been torn apart, left to rot. Your legs wobbled, the ground beneath you feeling suddenly unstable.

“No…” You whispered, your voice a soft, broken sound. “No, no, no. This can't be real…”

Mark, standing beside you, was eerily still. His face remained hard, though his eyes flickered with something dark—guilt, maybe? You weren’t sure. It was as if he had been expecting this reaction, but it didn’t make the sight any easier to bear.

Your knees threatened to give way beneath you, but by some miracle you stayed standing. Your town was gone. The place you’d known, the life you’d built—it was all ruined. All the memories, the people you used to know—destroyed.

Tears stung at your eyes, but you bit them back. You would not let him see you break. You would not.

"Mark..." you whispered, almost pleading, though you didn’t know what you wanted from him. “How could you do this? How could your universe go so… wrong?”

Mark was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, strained, and oddly gentle. "Before you died, I never wanted this," he said, his words carefully measured. "But you did die, and this is my world now. Everything... is under my control."

You turned on him sharply, the fury rising in your chest. "This? This is what you’ve done with your control?!" You gestured toward the wasteland, your heart pounding in your throat. "You’ve ruined everything. For what? To conquer? To control—slums?!”

Mark’s gaze dropped, and for a brief moment, he almost looked… lost. The cold, distant ruler you’d seen earlier seemed to waver, replaced by someone who, for all his power, had no answers for the destruction he’d caused.

“I didn’t want it to be this way,” he said again, almost to himself. “I never wanted this. But…” He paused, his jaw tightening as he stared out at the destruction. “But if you stay, if you give me a chance, I’ll rebuild it for you. Your town… everything. It will be yours again. I swear it.”

You stared at him, feeling the sting of betrayal and confusion burn in your chest. He didn’t get it. He couldn’t get it. He thought he could fix it by rebuilding a broken world, by fixing the outside—but the destruction wasn’t just in the land. It was in the air. In the people he controlled. In what he had become.

“Why?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion. “Why would you want to fix it for me when you’ve already ruined everything? You… you destroyed it all.”

Mark stepped closer, his hand outstretched, but you recoiled from him instinctively. The look in his eyes was so earnest, it almost felt like he could fix everything with a snap of his fingers, like the destruction meant nothing compared to what he could give you.

“I’ll fix it,” he repeated, the words desperate now. “I’ll fix it, [Name]. For you. Please, just stay with me. I… I’ll make it right.”

Your chest tightened, your head spinning. You wanted to shout at him, to tell him that no amount of fixing could ever make this right, but the words caught in your throat. You had no choice but to stay, at least for now. You were trapped in this world, and nothing was going to change that.

Your voice came out quiet but cutting, each word dripping with frustration. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” you snapped. “You can’t take me back. You won’t take me back. You’ve made sure of that. So now, I’m stuck here… with you.”

You looked him dead in the eye, your face hardening as you stepped back, trying to keep your emotions in check. “But don’t think for a second that just because I’m stuck here, I’m going to forget what you’ve done. You’ve destroyed everything. My town. My life. You don’t get to fix it just by waving your hand and rebuilding things like it's some damn game.”

“Aww, you can’t forget what I’ve done?” Mark responded in a mocking tone, suddenly seeming to revert back to the cruel jester-like version of himself who he had been just some short few moments earlier.  The abrupt shift in his personality stunned you, leaving you feeling more uneasy than angry. 

But then, as his eyes looked closely into yours, something in him faltered. The edge in his expression softened, his gaze flickering with something far less certain, far less cruel. He remembered the way you used to look at him—the way she used to love him. The realization hit him like a wave, crashing through the walls he'd built around himself.

His voice quieted, and he let out a soft sigh. “I know this isn’t what you wanted… but this can be good for you here. It can be. I’ll make sure of it. Things don’t have to be like… like you’re imagining. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable,” he said, his tone now surprisingly gentle. “I’ll make sure it’s better than anything you had before. You’re safe here, with me. I promise.”

The words felt almost foreign coming from him, but the sincerity was there—beneath the hardness of his exterior, beneath the monstrous ruler he’d become, the only human part of him left still loved you viciously. It was this part that he was desperate to find again, and the reason he could never let you go.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

→【Ｐａｒｔ　Ｆｏｕｒ】←

[art-by-jas]

Let me buy you a drink

Matt Murdock x Reader

Rating: PG

Tags: Harassment, Swearing, Drinking

WC: 902

Matt saves you from being harassed at the bar.

Seated at a table, Matt sips a beer and listens to the clinking of glasses and the soft hum of conversation. He appears distant, his thoughts elsewhere. Across from him, Foggy is caught up in lively conversation with Karen, his laughter ringing out. A melancholic atmosphere lingers in the bar, likely due to their friend's retirement.

Matt's head tilts slightly as his heightened senses pick up on the exchange unfolding at the bar. He hears a man awkwardly trying to flirt with a woman, his advances becoming more forceful despite her firm refusals. The woman's heart races, and a hint of fear colors her expression and voice.

Unable to ignore the situation, Matt sets down his beer and stands, using his cane to guide himself nonchalantly toward the bar. As he approaches, he senses the man's aggressive frustration at the woman's unwavering refusals. The other patrons, oblivious, continue their conversations, blissfully unaware.

Matt positions himself just behind the woman, close enough to hear the exchange. He leans casually against the counter, feigning disinterest while his heightened senses remain laser-focused on the unfolding scene.

"Come on, don't be such a bitch," the man slurs, leaning far too close. "You can't keep turning me down. You know I'd treat you like a queen."

The woman, visibly rattled, responds with forced nonchalance. "I think I made it clear I'm not interested. Please leave me alone."

"You're playing hard to get. I like that." The man grasps her wrist, his grip tight and possessive. "Just give me a chance, baby. You won't regret it."

Matt's senses are on high alert, and his irritation mounts as he takes in the man's forceful grip and the woman's racing pulse. It's time to intervene.

Matt takes a moment to clear his throat—a subtle but effective gesture that draws the man's attention away from the woman he’s bothering. "Excuse me, buddy," he interjects, his voice steady. "She's not interested." 

The man turns sharply toward Matt, a flash of surprise dancing across his features. "This isn't your business, pal," he scoffs. "The lady and I are just having a little chat." Despite the woman's evident discomfort, the man maintains a tight grip on her arm, oblivious to the signals she is sending.

Matt’s expression shifts as he continues, the weight of disdain now coloring his words. "Looks like she's not enjoying the conversation," he points out. "Maybe you should take the hint and leave her alone." 

The man's annoyance quickly redirects towards Matt, his gaze traveling up and down as though he were assessing a potential threat. "Who the hell are you, her knight in shining armor? Mind your own business, buddy." His voice drips with sarcasm, clearly unimpressed and ready to dismiss Matt's intervention.

"I'm just a good Samaritan looking out for people," Matt replies, his cane tapping softly against the floor, punctuating his statement like a heartbeat. "And I'm tired of men like you who can’t seem to grasp the meaning of 'no'." 

The confrontation escalates as the man's demeanor shifts from irritation to aggression. His patience had clearly run thin. "You've got a smart mouth, pal. I oughta shut you up," he threatens, a smirk forming on his lips as he finally releases the woman, advancing towards Matt with fists clenched, ready for a confrontation.

Just as the tension becomes almost unbearable, a clear and commanding voice rings out from the back of the bar. "That's enough." It was Josie, standing behind the counter with her arms crossed, her expression a blend of authority and resolve that seemed to fill the room with an air of safety.

The man's bravado wavers momentarily under Josie's stern gaze. He storms out of the bar, muttering a string of irritated curses and shooting one last glare in Matt's direction as he pushes the door open, the sound of it slamming shut echoing around the room. 

As the atmosphere shifts from hostile to relieved, a collective sigh escapes the lips of the patrons. He turns his focus back to the woman. "Are you alright?" he inquires softly, concern etching his features as he observes her.

The woman took a moment to gather her composure, inhaling deeply before managing a shaky, albeit grateful, smile. "Yeah, thanks to you," she replies, her voice hinting at the relief washing over her.

Matt nods, feeling a rush of empathy as his adrenaline continues to subside. "Unfortunately, there are a lot of guys like him out there," he notes, his voice laden with understanding. "But I'm truly glad to see that you're okay."

The woman gestures toward the bar with a sparkle of appreciation in her eyes. "Let me buy you a drink, at least. You deserve it for getting that creep off my back."

A light chuckle escapes Matt, touched by her kind gesture. "You really don’t have to," he says with a modest grin, genuinely moved. "Helping people is what I do."

She shakes her head adamantly, sincerity radiating from her. "No, I insist. I really appreciate what you did for me. It’s the least I can do."

Reluctantly, but with a willingness to accept her gratitude, Matt agrees. "All right, but only one drink."

"One drink it is," she replies, a smile breaking through her earlier distress. With a quick wave, she signals to Josie, placing an order for a beer for Matt, a small yet significant token of gratitude for his timely intervention.

[william-byers-1971]

Mike and Will's ⏾ 10 PM study session

in Mike's basement

Jealous and Possessive Mike Wheeler

(A Byler Fic, Season 5)

Characters: Mike. Will. Chance

Mike and Will's angsty fight exposes their unspoken feelings. As the confrontation heats up, Mike feels the urge to reveal his true feelings for Will, ultimately laying his emotions on the line.

Will and Mike are sitting in Mike's basement, surrounded by textbooks and scattered notes, diligently working on their homework.

Mike is quiet, but there's an air of anger and distraction around him. He can't shake off the discomfort he felt during a friendly exchange between Will and Chance in the school hallway. Watching them interact so easily stirred up a mix of emotions in Mike, making him feel insecure and unsettled...

"I really don’t think you should be talking to those jocks," Mike said as he opened his math textbook. Will frowned. "Why not? You have friends in the Hellfire Club, and I never told you who you could or couldn't hang out with." Mike scoffed. "That’s different!" "How is it different? Explain it to me!" Will challenged, his voice firm. Mike shot back angrily, "Because those are my friends! None of them in that club are flirting with me!" Will’s eyes widened in realization. "Oh please, you can be honest here and tell me why you're saying all of this! it's about Chance, isn’t it? Look! I wasn’t even talking to him! He just walked by and asked me how my day was. What was I supposed to do? Tell him to get lost for asking a simple question?" Mike asked, his voice filled with anger, "Oh really? Just a simple question! huh!? So tell me, why is that asshole suddenly interested in how your day went? Tomorrow, he’ll probably show up asking about the weather, and when you say it’s great, he’ll say, "If the weather’s so great… we should go out on a date" Give me a fucking break! Wow, that rhymed Will" "Wow, you’re a genius Mike! Will exclaimed in frustration. "But why are you making it sound like I’m the one seeking Chance’s attention? I have no clue what he is thinking or what his intentions are! I think you’re blowing this way out of proportion. Chance isn’t the real problem here." Mike’s jaw tightened. "Oh, so now that he’s no longer a problem, he’s suddenly amazing? Is that it? Is that why you find him attractive now?" Will sighed. "I don’t know! But why are you asking me all this? Besides, you have El, and I have no one. Maybe I should start thinking about having someone too. I know Chance has a reputation, but doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance? Maybe he’s not what people say he is." Mike exclaimed, clearly frustrated. "Oh, how wonderful ! Now you want to give him a chance? You clearly have no idea what you're even talking about! So let me be the smarter one here and set things straight once and for all! You’re not talking to that pervy jerk again, alright?! I absolutely can't stand watching that fool talk to you, right out in the open for everyone to see. If you want to join a group, you’re better off in Hellfire, at least, the people there don’t have creepy motives. End of discussion!" Will’s voice wavered slightly. "What’s wrong with me wanting someone? Did you ask for my permission before you started dating El? So why should I need your approval to see someone?" Mike hesitated before blurting out "Because…because…" He looked at Will, his expression raw, vulnerable. "I can’t stand the thought of you being with anyone but me. You’re mine. Only mine. That’s the only way I’ve seen things from the beginning. Only I can treat you right. Only I. No one else but me."

[Inspiration: I was watching this beautiful Byler edit, and I couldn’t help but think about how Mike would confess to Will that he’s fallen in love with him. It wouldn’t be easy for him,  especially given Will's implied confession through his painting, now, it’s entirely up to Mike to take the next step and be honest about his own feelings.]

Thanks for reading💛💙

-By @william-byers-1971

[faithhearted]

How monumentally confusing this all had been. Edwina had been so certain that Benjamin resented her, looked upon her as the woman that had taken away the future he’d longed for with his childhood sweetheart, all in the name of honoring his dearest brother. Though she’d argued and fervently declared there was nothing honorable about his decision, deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.

Contrary to his belief, Ben had done right by Samuel, and though she still believed that Sam would never have wanted Ben to give up what he wanted, she also knew for a fact that he’d be proud of Benjamin for being so selfless.

Perhaps now, it was Edwina's duty to ensure he was reminded of his goodness every day, even when she was frustrated with him. As his wife, she needed to love all of him -- perfections and flaws alike. If only he could someday reciprocate it...

Though she trembled with uncertainty, she gave him permission to proceed. According to Ben, he'd prepared her for what came next, and yet Edwina couldn't possibly have anticipated how it felt when he finally sheathed himself within her, his movements steady and careful as she whimpered softly in response while clasping tightly to his shoulders. It was painful, but she trusted him when he assured her it wouldn't remain that way.

The corners of her eyes were wet, evidence of her discomfort as she shuddered through every labored breath that followed every thrust. It continued on for several moments. Then, finally, there was a strange sense of pleasure blending within the pain.

Each plunge into her heat prompted a fierce ache that became more and more difficult to endure as it coiled tightly between her legs.

Desperate for relief, she rolled her hips into offering until she was unable to stand it any longer. Thankfully, at some point, they'd shifted to the bed because now she was rendered entirely helpless and at the mercy of Ben's white hot touch.

With no prior experience to draw on, Edwina wondered if she were doing something incorrectly, gaping up at him, studying his expressions and sounds in fascination (at least when she wasn't so overwhelmed that she was forced to close her eyes).

Unable to do anything but cry out in agonizing need, Edwina raised her arms above her head and gripped at the edge of the mattress, her legs shaking despite being anchored to his hips.

Please...I need...she inwardly begged, though she knew not what she pled for.

That's when Ben cried out, stifling the height of his exclamation as thick, hot ardor spilled inside her, soaking her heat. Edwina knew that meant it was over, and yet, it didn't feel over. She still felt a tight throbbing in her lower half, unable to keep from shivering each time it pulsed anew.

Any attempt to speak was monopolized by her heavy panting, small beads of sweat perspiring on her temples as she slowly squirmed in hopes of ridding herself of the overwhelming feeling.

Confused and in need of distraction, she focused her attention back to Ben, wondering how he felt. Was he also experiencing a frustrating lack of fulfillment? Had she done something wrong?

"Are...Are you.....?" Was all she could manage, eyes wide with worry as she lifted a shaky hand to graze his cheek.

Please don't be upset. Please...

Edwina's ardor was surprising. While mere hours ago they'd been stiff and taciturn with one another, it was as if the very ice had melted from their veins, and everything was now impossibly warm, impossibly hot as Benjamin struggled for breath. Her lips smeared across his ear, his neck, his jaw, and his lashes fluttered shut as he fought back a soft groan. She, too, made a sweet mewling sound each time he rubbed and stroked at her clit. The harder he circled her bud, the more her thighs tensed, and the louder her cries grew.

Transfixed, Benjamin angled in to better please her, but Edwina tugged until they both backed up toward the wall, staggering into the wooden surface with a resounding gasp.

Their following desperation was a dance of hands, teeth and tongue. Benjamin's mouth found hers again, and then she was yanking his loose breeches down over his backside, baring him until he was helpless but to grind down between the hot apex of her thighs. Growling into her mouth, he supported his weight against the wall with his palms, his head growing dizzy each time he rolled his hips into her own in a firm, deliberate grind.

Possessing only enough sense to speak, Benjamin lifted his head and sought Edwina's gaze, breathing hard. "W-would you...? Do you need me to prepare you more?" he asked. "I don't want to hurt you..."

He didn't. By God, he'd hurt her more than enough, and he'd be damned if he added her virtue to the ever-growing list. Cupping her face with one hand, he gently skimmed his thumb across her lips and panted, pressing their foreheads together as he resumed grinding his cock along her slick folds.

[ignitesthestxrs]

there's something about the way people talk about john gaius (incl the way the author writes him) that is like. so absent of any connection to te ao māori that it's really discomforting. like even in posts that acknowledge him as not being white, they still talk about him like a white, american leftist guy in a way that makes it clear people just AREN'T perceiving him as a māori man from aotearoa.

and it's just really serves to hammer home how powerful and pervasive whiteness and american hegemony is. because TLT is probably the single most Kiwi series in years to explode on the global stage, and all the things i find fraught about it as a pākehā woman reading a series by a pākehā author are illegible to a greater fandom of americans discoursing about whether or not memes are a valid way of portraying queer love.

idk the part of my brain that lights up every time i see a capital Z printed somewhere because of the New Zealand Mentioned??? instinct will always be proud of these books and muir. but i find myself caught in this midpoint of excitement and validation over my culture finding a place on the global stage, frustration at how kiwi humour and means of conveying emotion is misinterpreted or declared facile by an international audience, frustrated also by how that international audience runs the characters in this book through a filter of american whiteness before it bothers to interpret them, and ESPECIALLY frustrated by how muir has done a pretty middling job of portraying te ao māori and the māoriness of her characters, but tht conversation doesn't circulate in the same way* because a big part of the audience doesn't even realise the conversation is there to be had.

which is not to say that muir has done a huge glaring racism that non-kiwis haven't noticed or anything, but rather that there are very definitely things that she has done well, things that she has done poorly, things that she didn't think about in the first book that she has tacked on or expanded upon in the later books, that are all worthy of discussion and critique that can't happen when the popular posts that float past my dash are about how this indigenous man is 'guy who won't shut up about having gone to oxford'

*to be clear here, i'm not saying these conversations have never happened, just that in terms of like, ambient posts that float round my very dykey dash, the discussions and meta that circulate on this the lesbian social media, are overwhelmingly stripped of any connection to aotearoa in general, let alone te ao māori in specific. and because of the nature of american internet hegemony this just,,,isn't noticed, because how does a fish know it's in the ocean u know? i have seen discussions along these lines come up, and it's there if i specifically go looking for it, but it's not present in the bulk of tlt content that has its own circulatory life and i jut find that grim and a part of why the fandom is difficult to engage with.

[lokh]

LISTEN... for all that shuro is frustrated by him he really Gets who laios is. it's because he understands him so well that he felt bad about being frustrated for so long

[ghosts-and-glory]

I know you've previously said that you don't like anyone misgendering Shamura, but what if it's in a flashback? Like Shamura used to be male/female and then transitioned to they/them pronouns.

Would that be an acceptable form of misgendering, since it would be backstory for explaining how Shamura is now they/them?

Y’all really do just want any excuse to disrespect non-binary people huh?

I really like how the idea of Shamura having a binary sex is stated as a fact/sar. As if cult of the lamb has any references to binary sex. This also assumes that I’m the ultimate authority on Shamura’s gender. “Acceptable form of misgendering,” Jesus.

[pastmuse]

The girl I work with on wednesdays and saturdays pisses me off so bad lol .. I actually like my job but she makes me wanna go home -_-

[imtheiliad]

Anyway, just a reminder, that having anon on is not an open invitation to bitch and moan in someone’s inbox 🩷

[kbwrites]

Heated Waters

synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.

⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it

⚝ wc: 1.9k

“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”

Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.

Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Twice a week, I suppose…”

Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.

“What about you, Higuruma?”

“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.

Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”

But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.

It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.

But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.

“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.

“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”

Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”

“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”

Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”

“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.

Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”

“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.

“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.

“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”

Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”

Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.

“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”

“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”

Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.

“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.

You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?

You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.

“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.

“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.

Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.

Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.

His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”

“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.

Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.

“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.

“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.

He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.

“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.

“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”

He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.

He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.

You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.

“g-gonna cum!”

“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.

“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.

You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.

“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.

His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.

Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.

He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.

“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”

[unboundprompts]

body language descriptions please?

(eg: she cocked her head)

thank you 💗💗💗

Body Language Descriptions

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Anxiety/Nervousness

She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her fingers tugging nervously at the fabric as she struggled to find the right words.

They bit their lower lip.

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze, a clear indication of his guilt.

She absentmindedly rubbed her neck.

He chewed his nails, a nervous habit that he couldn't seem to quit.

They rubbed their hands together nervously.

He tightened his jaw.

She felt beads of sweat forming on her brow, betraying her calm facade as her heart raced.

Frustration/Impatience

Their fists clenched at their sides.

He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table, a clear sign of impatience as he waited for her to finish.

He rolled his eyes, the gesture full of exasperation as he dismissed her words.

She let out a heavy sigh, the sound heavy with resignation as she faced the inevitable.

He threw his hands up in defeat.

Curiosity

He leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear more, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical as she questioned his intentions.

She tilted her head slightly.

He watched intently, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in every detail of her story.

Confidence/Assertiveness

He stood tall with his shoulders back, projecting confidence even in the face of uncertainty.

They sat on the edge of their seat.

She gestured wildly, her hands moving animatedly as she tried to express her excitement.

He stood with his hands on his hips, exuding an air of authority and control over the situation.

They held their chin up high, projecting self-assurance even in the face of adversity.

Defensiveness/Resignation

He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive posture that spoke volumes about his discomfort.

He braced himself against the wall, a protective stance.

She folded her hands in her lap, a sign of restraint as she fought the urge to speak.

They shrank back slightly, their shoulders hunching as if trying to make themselves smaller in the face of criticism.

He held his breath momentarily, steeling himself for the inevitable conflict he sensed was coming.

She covered her face with her hands, overwhelmed by the situation as she tried to block out the world.

Thoughtfulness/Concentration

She furrowed her brow in concentration, her mind clearly racing as she tried to solve the problem at hand.

She nodded slowly, processing the information, her expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He stared blankly into space, lost in thought as he processed what had just been revealed.

He drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic sound a sign of his deep contemplation.

She tapped her foot lightly, her mind racing.

Eagerness/Excitement

He paced back and forth, his restless energy manifesting in the constant movement as he considered his options.

She bent forward, her elbows resting on her knees, a sign of intimacy and engagement in the conversation.

She swayed slightly from side to side, a subconscious display of her nervous energy as she waited for the verdict.

He bounced on his toes, his excitement palpable.

She jumped up and down, a spontaneous display of her joy that couldn’t be contained.

[dunmesh]

okay i don't have anything smart to add i just genuinely love that these seemingly trivial jokes are actually an important part of his character. we see it throughout the entire manga, how he pushes aside his own frustration and discomfort to accommodate everyone else's and avoid needless confrontation- another example off the top of my head would be the barometz chapter in which he slowly gets frustrated with izutsumi but still tries his best to talk some sense into her calmly and soundly.

and in contrast, there are very few times he expresses his anger and hurt towards others, and it usually takes a lot for him to finally lose his patience and control.

i mean, even with kabru he tried to be polite despite the circumstances until the guy said the one thing that triggers an immense sense of shame, hurt and rage in laios. and you know, the manga does say it quite clearly early on. when we are introduced to namari and then to shuro, laios acts all friendly and shows his respect and trust in them despite how things ended between them, and everyone else gets frustrated with him for acting so strange- why are you the one who tries so hard to pacify the rest when you should be the angriest?

and they don't understand him. they don't know him well enough to be able to understand, but we as readers get to see during the manga that they aren't wrong to question him- he does, in fact, feel all those ugly emotions. and it's when the winged lion finally confronts him that we see to what extent these feelings he buried so deep go, and suddenly all those funny little moments where he sometimes pretends to be mr nice guy speak volumes about his character. honestly, ryoko kui is a master at using jokes in order to define important character traits and this one doesn't fail to amaze me.

and laios's hatred and rage and deep scars he can't get over aren't shown explicitly during most of these moments i mentioned before, but now you realize there are 26 years of emotional baggage to all of them and they sting. he is angry but he can't say shit, what difference would it make? it won't make his friends choose him instead of themselves when he needed them most, and it won't help his party get any farther. of course, this logic doesn't apply to them- they are absolutely allowed to get angry and it's fine to get mad at him, he can take that.

so after finishing the series it's so clear that he tries his best to avoid clashing with others not just due to the current circumstances and him needing to be a reliable leader but also because he knows that people don't even like him when he tries to show his good sides and hide all the rest, so who the hell would tolerate his rage and despair? who would stay after realizing that he is so deeply flawed he doesn't even like his own being?

but he does get mad. he can't help it, and sometimes it gets out of control and now everyone knows. and it's funny, isn't it? that most of those moments ended up bringing him closer to others. shuro admitting he is envy of him and actually becoming the friend laios thought he was all along, fighting for his sake and waiting for him to come back- believing in him even after he turned into a monster and searching for him the way he couldn't bring himself to do for falin when he learned of what became of her- or kabru being pushed to just let it all out because he couldn't bluff his way out of this one and get to laios any other way, so now they are even. they are both horribly honest with each other and they both choose to stay. a weird way of getting to know each other, but it is what it is.

it's simply... the more laios let himself just be, the deeper his relationships grew. and there's intimacy in being your ugly, weak and furious self around someone and them not leaving you. feeling safe enough to let it be known you are hurt and angry. and he knows that now, too.

[foolinafable]

family matters

Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader Synopsis: You and Five return after seven years away in a different timeline- but you don’t return alone Word Count: 1.8k Tags: Fluff, No Lila and Five, Pregnancy, Children, Season 4 fix it (kinda) Note: Got so much love on the last one I wrote this! Try to ignore spelling mistakes it's currently 3am.

Stuck with only your irritable CIA colleague Five Hargreeves was anything but a good time. You both got lost at the godforsaken subway station he mistakenly teleported you both to. Travelling for a year by his side certainly mellowed you out. His personality slowly making you feel comforted as you both explored multiple timelines together trying to find your way home.

Surprisingly, the idea he possessed powers was the easiest thing for you to come to terms with, probably due to your job at the CIA making it seem plausible to you that the government does hide a lot- they’re even hiding the whole science of separate timelines.  After around a year of trying and failing to find your way home, you and Five decided to ease off the vigorous schedule you unwittingly created, finding a timeline safe enough to stay in for a while allowing you both to rest and brainstorm ideas of how you could both find a way home to your families. 

You both made a mistake. Falling to know how long a while would be you find yourselves still in the timeline you chose as your ‘temporary’ home six years later. Finding each other a lot less frustrating than at the start of this. You suppose that’s an understatement as you watched Five play with your child, a girl who possessed brown hair and green eyes not too dissimilar to her father’s. It almost wasn’t fair how much her features favoured his. But, seeing his beauty reflected upon her features could never be something you would complain about. 

“Maybe if we get lucky the next one will resemble you more,” you remember his words from a few days earlier when you started to show a hand placed under your abdomen smiling as if this was the greatest gift he could ever receive. But you don’t think it would matter if this one ended up looking like their older sibling and their father. If anything you would prefer it- not that you would ever admit it.

Picking another fresh strawberry from the greenhouse of the abandoned home you now called your own. You placed it into the basket plans to make jam and jelly already filling your mind when you felt yourself begin to flush from the sweltering heat of the sun beating down upon the glass. Your skin heating up to a point of large discomfort, sweat beginning to gather at your temples. You sighed knowing that you couldn't continue to harvest anything else unless you wanted to face Five’s rath over you overheating again. 

“Mom!” Maxine ran towards you eagerly hands encircling your legs as she got close enough for a welcoming hug. She quickly looked up towards you big green eyes staring at you prettily 

“Hiya munchkin” You stroked the top of her hair as she smiled up at you with glee

“What doing?” the three-year-old questioned head titling as she waited for your response 

“Strawberries” was all you replied grabbing the basket to show her 

“Have one?” she asked pointing at the basket, batting her eyes to try to sway your decision. You simply plucked one out of the basket and gave it to her relishing in the delighted smile she sent your way before biting into the sweet fruit. You smiled at her before looking up to meet the other pair of green eyes that had made their way into the greenhouse. Five watched the interaction of his favourite girls softly only moving closer once you looked at him.

“Everything alright mumma?” he questioned noticing your flustered expression from the moment he and Maxine stepped foot in the conservatory

“A bit hot” you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders as he drew closer, trapping Maxine in between the two of you as the back of his hand touched your forehead he hummed in agreement with your words

“Let’s get you inside the house, don’t need you getting heatstroke” You forced down the urge to roll your eyes at his dramatics and simply nodded in agreement

“Some cold water and a sit down would be nice.”

He grabbed one of your hands and Maxine’s with the other leading you both back towards the house. After placing the basket of strawberries in the kitchen you quickly sat down on the couch feeling a slight ache in your feet while Five grabbed you a glass of water with more icecubes than you could even count, you smiled in thanks as he passed it to you while Maxine sat next to you, a small children book in hands that she was determined to read to you and her younger sibling as she wanted them to be just as smart as her. 

You could hear Five pattering around the house, tidying up before you could even think about it. Maxine had quickly given up on trying to read, getting bored after two pages and was instead sitting playing with some wooden blocks by your feet. You furrowed your eyebrows when you couldn’t hear Five moving around anymore a stark silence surrounding you now.

“Everything alright?” you shouted trying to figure out where he had gotten to, heart fluttering when there was no reply. Setting your glass down on the table in front of you as you rose from your rather comfortable spot on the couch, you walked into the other room where your lover was his body was stick straight, eyes not daring to leave the notebook in his hand. “What?” you questioned softly walking towards him, eyeing the words on the book as you got close enough.

“This” he began astounded “Is our way home, it’s written by me but I didn’t write this. Another me did.” you simply nodded before smiling  

“Looks like we’re going home.”

── ✧

You and Five found yourselves outside of what he assured you was his brother Diego’s house. Maxine who was resting her head on his shoulder, legs wrapped around his middle looked astounded by the snow while nerves filled you- the last time you saw any of his family was when you were put on the case that got you lost in the timelines to begin with and even then you barely saw his brothers and sister-in-law as they were quickly taken to hq for a show round to get them out of the way. You didn’t even want to think how you would explain this to them let alone to your own family but you guess this is the easier of the two as they all had powers and also been to multiple different timelines. Five set Maxine down next to you as he rapped on the door you quickly grabbed her hand before she could run off into the snow when the door opened 

“You back!” the man, Diego you assumed, smiled as he looked at Five 

“I am” he stared at his brother almost in shock that he had seen him for the first time for him in seven years

“Good” the man confirmed “We were all starting to get worried.” his eyes then turned towards you and the brunette-haired little girl who was trying to hide behind you “And you are?” he questioned and you quickly gave him your name his eyes sparking in recognition for some reason as he crouched to the ground to greet your daughter “And who is this little princess?” he asked quietly as Maxine started at him 

“This is Maxine” is all you said feeling Five’s eyes on you knowing he wanted to wait until you got inside to drop the bomb you could see Diego begin to connect the dots as he introduced himself to you but he was clearly confused because he would know if Five had a child in the last three years in this timeline at least.

“I will explain everything once we get inside- can’t let the missus get cold” is all he said to Diego as the man allowed you into his home. 

He quickly led you to the living room where to sat on the sofa, Maxine being picked up by Five and placed on his lap when she tried to climb onto yours, you turned towards him to complain but quickly stopped when you met his glower instead choosing to put a comforting hand on your tummy a habit you kept from your first pregnancy. Diego called for his wife Lila to come to sit with him when the door opened revealing more of Five’s family he whispered their names to you as they walked in all choosing to sit down when Diego told them that Five was going to explain where he’s been and why his colleague, a word you hadn’t been referred to as in a long time, was here. With most of his family here excluding Ben and Viktor, he cleared his throat to get their attention

“As you all know the marigold has made our powers a little different to what we are used to” They all made sounds of agreement “My blinking takes only to a tube station where each stop is a new timeline and we” gesturing to you “got stuck, unable to find our way back until now. We were away for seven years but for you has only been a few hours” he took their silence as a sign to continue “This is my wife” he spoke your name “And our daughter Maxine.” you sat in silence for a moment.

“Wait! This is the colleague he was always telling us about?” Luther asked excitedly you turned to the larger man confused when Klaus and Allison quickly agreed with him

“I thought he was joking when he said there was a cute girl who he worked cases with” Claire, Alison’s daughter, announced making her mother and uncles laugh

“I can’t believe you have a child” Lila spoke eyes wide

“Well he is going to have another one in a couple of months,” you told the already shocked woman who quickly smiled at the revelation while the others called out congratulations to their brother 

“How far along are you?” Allison asked as she came up to you silently questioning if she could touch the small bump you simply nodded “We think around thirteen weeks” looking to Five who simply nodded

“She only started showing a few days ago”

“I can’t believe it” Luther called out while pulling funny faces making Maxine laugh as she got a little less shy around her family.

You smiled as you watched Maxine get up and walk towards Lilas’ children playing with them as Five’s hand found its way to yours stroking your knuckles. You never thought you could ever get home let alone come back home happier than you had left it. You suppose a thanks was due to your rather irritable husband and his wacky powers.

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[samimarkart]

One Year

2025, block prints on hand dyed cotton

i finally wrapped up this year long project. i started HRT on december 8th, 2023. i went into it initially scared to death of needles and the concept of self injection. I decided to carve a stamp of my testosterone vial, and add a stamp to fabric after every shot as a sort of gold star “good job!” achievement. after a month, the fear was gone but i continued stamping. this quilt shows the number of shots I took across a 1 year period.

quilting always speaks to me as a trans person. a needle bringing together layers upon layers of fabric, making something new out of something preexisting, the slight discomfort of a finger prick (ow!) that’s easily forgotten when you stand back and see the repetition of stitches has made something you’re excited to see. my art quilts are usually about nature, but I always see myself in them :)

this quilt was initially conceptualized for a way for me to express pain and frustration with the healthcare system, with a physician who had promised me access to HRT when I was ready, only to massively walk her knowledge back when I was ready to start the process. hurtling through what seemed like an endless cycle of referrals, insurance calls, years long waitlists, medication backorders and more, i initially planned on stamping a vial for every week i missed a shot in frustration. i am glad i finally gained access to the miracle that is HRT, but at the same time I feel immense sadness, pain, and fear, both personally and for the rest of the trans community who are unsure of what our access to this miracle will look like in the near future.

i am holding tight to my trans siblings right now. i love you!