#and I'm struggling again just like before

[barcaatthemoon]

respect || alexia putellas x reader ||

You go back to Alexia after taking some space with the hope to reconcile.

You were absolutely fuming. Alexia had a way of acting like a complete dumbass sometimes. What should have been a nice night out with the team turned into something much more complicated. You wanted to have a good time and enjoy yourself, but then Alexia got jealous. She had a bad habit of getting jealous, and you had finally reached your limit.

It had been over a week and a half since the incident, and you were still pissed. You had seen Alexia since then, but you were wildly good at ignoring her at practice. The two of you lived together, but you hadn't been home since that night. Alexia was hurting, and you were also struggling, but you needed to prove your point.

In the time that you'd been away, you had practically flocked to your older sister. Marta loved you, and she would always take care of you, even if it strained her own relationship a little. You and Caroline were pretty close friends, but it was a little overwhelming for her to live with two very outgoing Spanish women. You knew that you were getting close to the end of your stay, even if you weren't quite ready to face Alexia again.

"Nena, I think that it is time you go back home for a bit. Not a single thing you're wearing right now actually belongs to you." There was a teasing lilt to your sister's voice, but you knew that she was serious. Behind her, you could see Caro standing in the hallway. She seemed a bit more anxious than normal, the kind that came with a certain air of guilt. "I can take you back in a bit."

"It's fine, I'll call a cab," you told her. Marta frowned as she watched you pack up your things. She hadn't meant that you had to leave immediately, but you definitely seemed to take it that way. You weren't mad at her, not really, but Marta knew that it would be a good idea to steer clear of you for the rest of the week.

You had always been very passionate, and with that came a lot of different feelings. Marta knew how hard it could be for you to calm down. Something seemingly small would stay with you for so long, and despite all of the work you had done to stop that habit, you could never quite shake it.

Marta sighed as you seemed to be gone before she could really stop you. A part of her wondered if she had made the right decision sending you away so early. She knew that things with Alexia could potentially get much worse, especially if Alexia was mad at you for stepping away for so long. Marta hadn't ever seen the two of you fight, but she had been there to pick up some of the pieces in the aftermath. Things between you and Alexia were generally pretty good, even if both of you were beyond stubborn.

Alexia's car was gone when your ride dropped you off. Your car was in the garage, so Alexia always parked hers outside, despite it being the nicer vehicle. It was just one of the many things that Alexia did to take care of you. You could be a bit tempermental, but Alexia always tried her hardest to take care of you. It wasn't a good thought, but slowly, you began to wonder if you'd be able to find someone else who was willing to do that.

"Why are you sitting outside? You're getting burned," Alexia said as she ran over towards you. For a moment, you thought she was going to pull you out of the chair, but she skidded to a stop before she could touch you.

"I've been gone for a while, and I wasn't really sure whether you'd want me to come inside after everything," you told her. Alexia scoffed at that as she pulled you into a hug. "I'm sorry that I ran away, I just didn't want the fight to get worse. Please forgive me."

"You did the right thing. I was mad at first, but sometimes I forget how we go back and forth. You'd give me space if I wanted it, and sometimes, I need to remember to give it to you too. I was completely out of line for how I acted that night, and I am sorry, so please forgive me," Alexia pleaded with you. She held you in the hug to keep you from seeing her cry, but you could feel the tears begin to soak through the collar of the shirt you were wearing.

"Of course I forgive you, Ale," you told her. Alexia's body sagged down a bit as she relaxed in your arms. "Can we go inside now please?"

Alexia nodded as she wrapped her arm around your waist. You let her stay tucked against you as the two of you went inside. Alexia only let go of you once you were inside to go back out and grab your bag for you. You went straight into the bedroom to shower and change into clothes that were actually yours as Alexia started a load of laundry and called to order lunch for the two of you.

"I know that we kind of made up already, and I do not want to upset you, but I think we need to talk about what happened. Could we try to do that in a calm manner?" Alexia asked you. You nodded as you made room for her to sit with you on the bed. You knew that Alexia really didn't want to fight because she had brought the takeout to you instead of leaving it in the living room for later. "Will you please go first? I'd like to know what exactly happened that upset you so much."

"You embarrassed me in front of everybody. It's hard enough for the team to see me as my own person. I've been Marta's baby sister, then I was your girlfriend, and right when I started to feel like me, you showed everybody different," you told her. Alexia's face softened as she listened to you explain your feelings. She had never really thought about things like that before. You had always just been (Y/n) to her, but as she thought about it, the more she realized that she saw many people refer to you in regards to someone else.

"Yes, you're Marta's sister and my girlfriend, but that's not all you are. It isn't anybody else's fault that the world doesn't understand your value. I forget that not everybody knows you like I do, so I am sorry for stepping in the way I did. You know how I get, but if you're willing to be patient, I will work on being better," Alexia promised you. There was never going to be a world where you wouldn't give Alexia a second chance.

[zyhkoo]

🌼 daisy

fluff, f!civillian, pt 2 of this

( you are his only exception. )

Starting the next few days, there was.. a subtle shift in your relationship with Jason.

The small moments and gestures became more meaningful, a simple brush of hands or a glance held for too long. Jason knows he is absolutely doomed.

He would do things he would never do to his siblings. He would go out on cold nights to buy you the food you liked, just so he could see that little grateful smile on your face. He would let you convince him to try new films that he absolutely had no interest in, to see the way your eyes lit up as you talked about it.

One night, he went in your apartment window again. As he looked around and called your name, there was no answer. You were probably working late again he thought, so he shrugged and sat down on the couch.

His eyes flickered towards your door as he noticed the struggle of it fumbling to get open. He tensed immediately, his senses on high alert. Whoever was trying to open the door wasn't doing it quietly, that was for sure. He stood up, crossing the room quietly as he watched the door.

The struggle continued, the sound of the lock attempting to open echoed through the quiet apartment. Jason hovered just a few steps away from the door, his eyes darting from the doorknob to the small peep hole.

As the robber opened the door, he was met with a very menacing man with a red helmet. Jason didn't give the guy a chance to react. He lunged forward before the robber could even reach for his weapon, Jason had already disarmed him, pinning him against the wall.

The robber let out a cry of surprise and pain as Jason slammed him against the wall, his hands gripping tightly on the collar.

"You picked the wrong place, pal,"

The robber struggled against Jason's grip, his eyes wide and fearful as he found himself at the mercy of the Red Hood. "Please, man, I didn't—" he started to protest, but Jason cut him off with a harsh shove against the wall, shutting him up immediately.

"Shut up," Jason said, his voice hard. “Look, I will give you 30 seconds to get out of his apartment and if I still see you here you’re dead.”

The robber's eyes widened in terror as he trembled in fear. "Alright, alright! I'm going, man, I swear!" he stuttered out. Jason drops him on the ground as he watches the robber scurry away.

He looked to the side and realized you were there watching all along with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Good evening to you too.” you said.

"You're back," he said gruffly, his voice slightly quieter than usual. He took a step towards you, his eyes studying your expression.

“Did you really have to beat him up with your helmet on?”

"Yeah, I had to make sure he got the message," he replied, a bit amused. He approached you, crossing his arms over his chest. "You weren't supposed to see that."

He didn’t want you to see that ugly side of him— he was worried that you wouldn’t understand or if it would scare you away.

“I figured.” you replied “But, at least you kept my apartment safe.” you let out an amused huff as you walked to your door “You break into mine every night.”

"That's different," he rebutted. "I'm not a criminal, I'm just... checking up on you."

On a different night, he came in your window early again. He took a few steps into the room, his eyes scanning the surroundings. You were probably working late again, he thought.

Jason tensed slightly as he heard the door open, his instincts kicking in as he turned to see who was there. When he saw that it was you, he let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing fractionally. "You're back," he said.

You flashed him a warm smile “Hiii.” you chuckled. Jason saw as you stumbled a bit as you closed the door, he crossed the door towards you as he looked at you funny. “You good?”

“M’ kay.” you responded with a slur. Jason’s eyes narrowed as he picked up the slur in your voice, could you be drunk? His hand reached out to support you. "Are you drunk?" he asked as you hummed in response, “Mmmaybe.” you answered “I could be.”

Jason's eyes flicked over you, looking at your slightly dazed expression and your stumbling steps. He sighed, "You're definitely drunk," he grumbled, his hand still on your arm to steady you.

He gently guided you over to the couch, easing you down onto the cushions. "How much did you drink?" he asked, a bit annoyed. You extended out your arms, “This much..” he looks at you deadpanned, “Very precise.” he says dryly.

He ponders for a moment, should he take care of you? Or should he just put you to bed and leave? But then he looks at your dazed expression and thinks that you definitely need to be taken care of.

"What were you doing drinking so much?" he asked, his voice changing to a softer tone. You merely shrugged, “Co-workers invited me dunnoo..” he let out a small scoff, "You should know your limits.” he scolds.

You shrugged, “I drank a lot cause I know you’d take care of m’ anyway.” you said as you poked his shoulder. He exhaled slowly, trying to maintain his usual tough demeanor even though he was secretly touched by your trust. "Yeah, well, don't make a habit of it,"

Jason got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen. He rummaged through the cupboards, looking for a glass. As he poured water in the cup, he carried the glass of water back to the living room, finding you seated on the couch with a vacant look on your face.

"Drink this," he opened your palm and placed the glass in your hand. But your grip was a bit loose so Jason grabbed the glass before it dropped.

Jason sighs as he holds the glass up your lips. His other hand was on your shoulder, steady and grounding. "Sip slowly," he instructed. He held the glass steady as you drank, watching intently to ensure you didn’t choke or spill.

Once you were done, he slowly lowered the glass, his hand still laying on your shoulder.

He took a moment to study your face, checking to see if you were any less dazed than before. Your eyes were still slightly glassy, your movements a bit clumsy. You were still definitely drunk. He let out another sigh, his hand still on your shoulder. “You’re a mess,” you smiled, “Your mess.” you retorted.

Jason's eyes widened fractionally at your response, heat creeping up his neck. "You're not making this any easier," he grumbled. How are you not throwing up yet?

You took his face in your hands, “You’re a pretty handsome fella.” he swallowed, his voice gruff yet soft, "And you're very drunk, sweetheart."

“Mmm, you knoww.. I changed my favorite color into red for ya.” you said as you started to ramble. Jason raised an eyebrow, "Red?”

“Yah, cause ‘Red’ Hood.” What a weirdo.

A huff escaped from Jason's lips. "Is that so?" he asked, "You changed your favorite color to red because of me?"

“Uhuh.” you nodded. "That's…” he started, “That's sweet.” he simply responded. You frowned, “You sound unsure.”

Jason's expression falters. He didn't want you to think he wasn't sincerely pleased. "No, I am," he hastened to reassure you. He reached up, his hand gently cupping the one you had on his cheek. “I’m just surprised, that's all.”

You started to smile again, “Really?” your smile was infectious— even in your drunk state. “Really,” He nodded, Jason thought it was funny how you could barely hold a glass of water yet you could firmly hold his face.

“You got a strong grip, for someone so drunk,” he commented. “Cause if I let go… you might leave for t’ night.” you slurred. Jason's chest tightened at your words. He looked at you, his expression softening.

Well, of course he needed to leave every night. What if someone tracked him and it led to your place? Or who knows whatever people would break in and take you as a hostage.

He shook his head slightly. He had no intention of leaving, not in your current state. “Not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he reassured, “I’ll stay.” your eyes bore into his, “You leave every night, I don’t like it.”

You were right, he did leave every night. It was a habit he had gotten used to. He sighed, “I’ll stay tonight, I promise.” He knew that he couldn’t tell you the reason why he had to leave each night. It was too dangerous, too risky. He had to maintain his cover, both for his and your safety.

But for now, he wanted to give you a little peace of mind.

“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he repeated, “I’ll stay here with you.”

“Promise?” you said softly. He met your gaze, his eyes steady and sincere. He couldn’t look away, not when you were looking at him like that. “Promise,” he affirmed back.

You smiled as you closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his. He tried to keep his cool, but your actions were affecting him more than he cared to admit. “I wanted t’ ask ya that for a while…” you confessed, “But m’ knew you’d say no.” you added as you slightly opened your eyes.

He couldn’t deny that you were right. He would have said no. He would have rejected you, made up some excuse. It was safer for both of you that way, or so he had convinced himself.

“I wanna cook ya food, patch up your wounds or.. or.. anything to make you stay.” you closed your eyes firmly, trying not to get your emotions ahead of you.

Jason could hear the longing in your voice and he felt the desperation as your hands shaked on his face. It was more than just wanting him to stay, it was begging him on some level.

But as he looked at you, your face pressed against his, your eyes tightly shut as if holding back more than just tears, he couldn't do it. “Look at me,” he requested.

The moment your eyes met his, Jason felt an odd tug at his heart. “What do you want, sweetheart?” your voice was shaky, “I—I want us.”

Looking at you, seeing the look in your eyes, he knew it was too late. His heart was already in your hands. “Okay,” he said, his voice a soft whisper, “Okay.” you looked at him confused, “Okay?”

"Yeah," he affirmed, "Okay as in... I want us too."

“You’re not agreein’ cause m’ drunk are ya?” you weren’t sure if he was just humoring you. He shook his head slightly, his gaze steady on yours. "No, sweetheart. I'm not just saying it because you're drunk. I mean it."

He took the hands holding his face and placed it in his heart. He looked at you, “Can you feel that?” he asked, “That’s me. That’s my heart. It’s all yours.” as you felt the hard thumps on his chest your cheeks flushed.

“You get embarrassed too easily,” he playfully scoffs, “Just from touching my chest?”

“M’ not embarrassed..” you protested. “Sure.”

“Come on,” he pats your shoulder. “Let’s get you to bed.” He extracted your hands from his chest and rose to his feet. “Can you stand?” he asked, “Dunno..” you responded.

Jason sighed as he picked you up the couch, “Which room is yours?” he asked, looking down at you in his arms, “That one.” you pointed.

He pushed the door open with his bicep, and walked over to the bed and gently laid you down on the soft mattress. Once you were settled on the bed, Jason took a moment to remove your shoes, setting them down neatly on the floor.

Next, he took off your jacket, his fingers gently pulled the fabric and placed it on a chair beside the bed.

As he was about to pull the covers on you, you gripped his hand. “You said ya would stay tonight.” you reminded him. He sighed softly, “I said I would, didn’t I?” he reminded himself, “Right, scoot over.”

Jason settled himself on his back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he got comfortable. From the corner of his eye, Jason could feel your gaze on him. He could practically hear the thoughts in your head, the questions you wanted to ask.

He didn’t look at you, simply laying there, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “What?” he asked, you didn’t answer instead you held his arm— quietly seeking for his touch.

He turned onto his side, facing you. Then he gently moved his arm, pulling you to him. He wrapped his arm around you, letting you rest your head against his chest. He held you close, his hand gently stroking your back attempting to make you fall asleep.

In the morning, you felt an annoying ache in your head. Your throat was dry and your body felt sore, as you sat up you noticed a hand pressing your waist down.

Baffled, you looked to the side and saw Jason sleeping in your bed.

“….?”

Your mind struggled to process the situation, your thoughts a muddled mess. You must still be dreaming, or perhaps you were still drunk—there was no way Jason was actually in bed with you.

Yet, as you stared at him, the reality of the situation became more and more clear. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his face relaxed in sleep. This was real. You were a bit frustrated, rubbing your head as you tried to remember everything.

Jason’s eyes slowly opened as he felt you stirring next to him.

He lifted his head to look at you, seeing the confusion and frustration on your face. “Mornin’,” he yawned. “J—Jason.” you called his name, “If I did something stupid. I’m sorry.” you nervously chuckled, feeling a bit of guilt.

He looks at you for a moment, "You don't remember anything from last night, do you?" he asked. “..No, was it bad?” you asked. "Depends on your definition of bad," he responds.

He sat up in the bed, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked at you. "You were pretty drunk last night," he reminded you. “Oh, god. What did I do?”

He reached out and gently pats the back of your head “Settle down," he reassured you. "You didn’t do anything too crazy. You just had a bit too much to drink, that’s all."

"Do you want me to fill you in on what happened?"

“..would be nice, yeah.”

As he recalled the night, you flushed. Honestly, you wanted to jump off the window and never come back. You sighed as you buried your face in your hands, “I’m sorry.”

Jason reached out and gently pulled your hands away from your face. "Don’t be sorry," he said, "You didn’t do anything wrong. You just said what you felt, that’s all." He looked at you, his fingers still lightly wrapped around your wrists. "For the record, I thought it was sweet.” You scoffed, darting away from his gaze “Don’t say that.”

"And why not?” he questioned, “It’s true.”

"Do you really think I would reject you after you poured your heart out to me last night?" he huffs. “Huh?” you said, deadpanned.

He took a moment to choose his words carefully, his eyes locked on yours. "You want the truth?" he asked, his voice low but firm. He exhales, “Okay look, last night, when you said all that…” he said, "I was tempted to just brush it off.”

You nodded, “Yeah.” you muttered as you listened to him continue.

Jason continued, "But it’s just, you felt so real and I..." he trailed off for a moment, his thoughts churning behind his eyes. “It made me think... maybe I should be upfront too."

He paused for a bit, he was definitely not good with words. But this was for you, and he shouldn’t throw this opportunity.

“When you let me in your apartment while I was sitting injured on that snowy night… it was— I just couldn’t help but be infatuated. I hang around every night because.. you’re good company.” he confessed.

Your eyes soften, “Jason..” he then continues “I knew it was dangerous— for the both of us. To me, it was already dangerous that I was still visiting. But fuck, I just can’t help it because..” his eyes trail down.

“Because I think I'm falling for you,” he admitted. “And I hate it. It’s so damn stupid, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t ignore the way I feel every time I land on your firescape and enter your window.”

He holds your shoulders, staring deep into your eyes. “In short, I love you. I want us.” You stared at him, stunned. You tried to find any trickery in his face, but there was none at all. “But— but what about you? You’re a vigilante, I’m just…”

"I know," he said, his voice rough. "And I know it's risky— for both of us. I can’t lead a double life, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you."

He sighed, his hands slipping down from your shoulders to take your hands in his own. "Look, I'm not good at this. I don't know how to do relationships, I'm not used to being open or whatever... But with you, it feels different. You make me want to try.”

“Are you.. are you sure?” you said as your hands slightly trembled in his grip.

“I’m sure,” he said firmly, his voice steady and unwavering. “I don’t know how we’ll make it work, but I know I want to try.” He lifted your hands, intertwining your fingers with his as he held them tightly. “You’re the only person that’s made me consider this,” he admits. “And I wouldn’t mind it.”

He takes a deep breath, saying his final words “I don’t care about the risks or the dangers right now. I just want you. If you’ll have me… I’m yours.”

You felt a lump in your throat as your heart beat out of your chest, “Okay.. okay, yes.”

Jason felt the tension in his chest ease as he heard your answer. "Okay," he repeated, "We're doing this, then." your eyes softened as you reached out for his cheek.

He reached up, gently taking your hand and holding it against his cheek. With your hand still against his cheek, he turned his head slightly, pressing a light kiss into your wrist.

“I love you.” you managed to crack out. He looked deeply into your eyes, “I love you too,” he said.

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. He kissed back, feeling your lips against his. As Jason pulled back ever so slightly, you could see the uncertainty clear in his eyes.

He looked at you for a moment, as if silently asking for reassurance, for your comfort and acceptance. Your eyes soften, “Are you afraid?” you asked. Jason took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto yours. “Pretty much..” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I'm.. scared of fucking up.”

You let out a soft huff, “I‘m scared too but..” you reached out and placed your hands on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “But we’ll figure it out together,” you said, “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

“Yeah, okay,” he murmured, “Together. We’ll do it together.”

Overtime, Jason started to spend more nights at your place, no longer slipping out in the dead of night. The change was subtle at first, but he began to make your place more like his own. There were small signs of his presence— a jacket draped over a chair, a pair of extra gloves on the table, a stray strand of his dark hair left on the pillowcase.

Jason stumbled into your apartment well past midnight, looking haggard and tired after a long patrol. His suit was scuffed with dirt and small splatters of blood.

Yet, despite his exhaustion, there was a restless energy that seemed to hum beneath his skin. As he entered through the window, he saw you sleeping on the couch, phone laying on your chest.

You must’ve fallen asleep waiting for him again. He found it both touching yet frustrating, he didn’t want you to wait for him all the time— yet appreciated it.

He placed your phone on the coffee table and slowly scooped your frame in his arms, carrying you into your bedroom. He placed you carefully on the soft sheets and pulled the blanket over you before heading to the bathroom.

As Jason flicked on the bathroom light, the sudden brightness caused you to stir, your eyes creaking open and adjusting to the light. You groggily sat up on the bed, rubbing your eyes as you tried to focus on the figure moving about inside the bathroom.

Through the crack in the door, you could see Jason in the bathroom, his reflection visible in the mirror. He was in the process of cleaning up, wiping away any dirt and blood from his patrol. The water in the sink was tinged crimson as he washed his hands, the evidence of his night's work disappearing down the drain.

After a few minutes, he emerges from the bathroom, his hair still with his new clothes. He stops in the doorway, his gaze falling on you. "You're up," he says, "Sorry If I woke you." You stretched and yawned, “It’s fine.” you replied as you placed your head on the pillows, your gaze never leaving his.

“You should go back to sleep,” he said gruffly, "You need rest."

“I’ll sleep if you sleep.” you said. Jason's lips quirked at your response, “You're not gonna let me win this, are you?" With that, he slid into the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

The bed creaked slightly as he settled in, his body relaxing as he lay next to you. You wrapped your around his neck as you shifted closer to him, “How was work?” He reached an arm around your waist, pulling you into his embrace, your bodies flush against each other.

He let out a deep exhale, "It was... rough," he replied, ”Long night, lots of trouble. Same as usual.”

You hummed at his response, you could tell there was something off. “I’m guessing something happened?” he hated how you could read him so well.

Jason's grip on your waist tightened slightly, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns on the bare skin of your hip. He was quiet for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should share what was on his mind.

Finally, he sighed, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "It’s just, sometimes I get tired fighting.”

Your cheek rested on his hair as you listened, “How so?” you asked. "It’s like— it feels like it never ends," he murmured, his words muffled against your skin. "No matter how many bad guys I take down, there's always more.”

You hummed, “Well, the city will never change. But saving a life can still make a difference.”

Jason scoffs, “No it’s not.” he said, you could hear the irritation and frustration in his voice. He paused for a moment, his fingers still tracing patterns on your hip. "I risk my life every night, and for what? The city's just as messed up as it was the night before.”

“There's hope somehow, it's subtle but.. it’s there I guess.” you said. "Hope," Jason said, the word tasting bitter in his mouth.

He let out a heavy sigh, his body sagging a bit as the weight of his thoughts pressed down on him again. "It's just... hard to see it sometimes," he confessed, his voice gruff.

You pulled him closer in his chest, “I guess it does when you’ve seen too much.” Jason buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. He mumbled against your skin, “Yeah.. I’ve seen a lot.”

You gently caressed his back, silently reassuring him. “You’re fine, at least for now.” you whispered. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his voice a soft murmur. “For now.”

The soft melody of the record player filled the room, as the two of you swayed on the floor and dim light from the lamps cast a cozy glow on the living room.

Jason held you close, his hand firmly on your waist while his other hand held your hand. His movements were steady as he led you in the slow dance. You were still a bit clumsy, having a hard time following his steps, “Are you sure I’m doing it right?” you furrowed your brows as your eyes drifted to his feet.

He gently squeezed the hand he was holding, pulling you a bit closer so you would look up at him. "You’re doing fine," he reassured, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Just follow my lead."

You sighed, looking back up at him, “Don’t ever make me attend those Wayne galas or whatever..” he can’t help but lightly huff, "Don’t worry," he assured you, steering you around a twirl. "Wayne galas are the last place I’d want to take you."

You chuckled, “Why? Not fun for you?” Jason shrugged slightly, "Those events are all about showmanship and pretending. I’d rather stay here with you."

You tried to hold back a chuckle, “Wow, the Red Hood can say such sweet words.”

Jason could feel a slight flush creeping up his cheeks. He liked to keep a tough image (most of the time) but secretly he loved being able to show you his softer side.

He mumbled something under his breath, refusing to meet your gaze. “What’d you say?” you teased as you tilted your head.

"I said— nevermind," he grumbled, he tried to cover up his embarrassment by acting like he was irritated. The record player then comes to a halt, you turn your head to the player and back at him, “Fun’s over.”

"Looks like it," he replied, reluctantly letting go of your hand. "Guess we should call it a night then." you held his wrist, “Or.. we can stand here for a while.” you suggested as you leaned on his chest.

Jason's arms circled around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your shampoo.

"Or that," he murmured, "I could stay like this for a while." Jason tilted his head, pressing a long kiss to the top of your head. You hummed as you let him kiss your face.

To him, you made everything so easy to forget. When he’s with you, it just goes away.

“You know it’s like 4 in the morning.” you pointed out. Jason hummed in acknowledgment, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the small of your back. He didn’t care about the time at all.

"You're going to be tired tomorrow," he murmured, "And who's fault is that?" you retorted, poking his chest with your finger. He scoffs, rolling his eyes "Yeah, alright," he conceded, "You got me there."

🌊 my last post got a lot of attention, thank you! heres pt. 2

[sematarygirls]

      BOYFRIEND!RAFE x DEPRESSED!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ depression, rafe gives reader a bath, but it's not sexual, fluff, the teeniest bit of angst if you squint at the beginning

NOTES .ᐟ this isn't my best work, but i'm writing it more for comfort than anything else, and i wanted to post it just in case anyone out there is also struggling and could use it <3

Something was up, and Rafe could tell. You were usually so clingy, wanting to spend every moment with him, and he was not complaining by any means. He loved having his girl at his side, showing her off at every occasion, but it had been almost two weeks since he last saw you, which was so very out of the ordinary.

You would answer his texts at first, always coming up with some excuse for why you couldn't see him. First, you were sick. He offered to come over and take care of you, but you'd insisted that you didn't want him to catch whatever you had, so he eventually acquiesced and settled on checking in on you periodically.

But then, your responses slowly became more and more infrequent. Rafe was at a loss. Had he done something to upset you? Why were you being so cold and distant? He couldn't think of any fights you two had recently. Everything seemed perfect until you started pulling away out of the blue.

He texted you to tell you he was coming over, but you hadn't seen it by the time he showed up at your house, all but pounding on the door. He was a little angry, very annoyed, and more than a bit jealous. Were you with some other guy in there? Is that why you hadn't been answering him.

Those feelings immediately dissipated, however, when the door slowly creaked open and you peeked out. Your hair was tangled and greasy, haphazardly thrown up and out of the way. You had dark circles under your eyes and a small frown on your face, your brows pinching when you saw him.

His expression softened as he softly murmured your name. You stepped back, allowing him inside, and he shut the door behind him, his eyes never leaving your disheveled form. "Baby, what's wrong?" He asked gently, approaching you like he would a skiddish animal.

"You shouldn't have come," you said quietly, your gaze downcast. You were embarrassed that he was seeing you like this. The whole reason you'd been avoiding him was so he wouldn't see this part of you—the part that struggled to get out of bed whenever a major depressive episode hit.

He ignored your words, stepping closer and tilting your chin up, so he could look at you. "Talk to me, sweetheart," he coaxed softly. "Is this why you've been dodging my calls and texts?"

You nodded slowly, feeling guilty. You hadn't meant to ignore him, but texting people had become a chore as of late. You couldn't bring yourself to do it, to have to explain why you were acting so off. You just wanted to shut out the world and wallow in your misery.

He sighed, his thumbs coming up to caress your cheeks gently. He hated seeing you like this. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to take away all your sorrow and make you happy again. "Why didn't you tell me, baby?"

"I just- I didn't want you to see me like this," you said softly. "I look like shit. It's gross and pathetic..."

"Hey, don't say that shit about yourself, alright?" he said firmly. "You're beautiful, always, and you're not pathetic. You're going through a hard time and that's okay. I'm here for you, baby."

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears at his words. He was so gentle, so understanding and patient. He was perfect, and you were... you.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'm gonna run you a warm bath, okay? Gonna wash your hair and get you all cleaned up."

"You don't have to do that," you said quietly. You didn't want to be a burden, for him to feel like he had to take care of you just because you were dating.

"I know that, but I want to, alright? Just-Just let me take care of you, yeah?" He stared at you expectantly, waiting until you gave him a reluctant nod before he took your hand and pulled you toward the bathroom. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to the lowered toilet seat.

You complied, sitting and watching him as he turned the water on, testing the temperature with his hand and adjusting it until it was just the way he knew you liked it before he flipped the drain stopper. He poured in some of your favorite scented bubble bath, waiting for the water to fill the tub.

He turned back to you, kneeling down to take your hands in his. "Okay baby, let's get you undressed and in the tub, yeah? I'll wash your hair for you."

You chewed your lip nervously, looking at him with uncertainty. You were hardly in any shape to be perceived by anyone, let alone your perfect boyfriend. You couldnt remember the last time you shaved your body or did any personal grooming for that matter. You'd just been so physically and mentally drained as of late.

He cupped your cheek, gently using his thumb to pull your lower lip from your teeth. He hated when you did that, always saying you were ruining your pretty lips. "You're always gorgeous to me," he reassured you. "I don't care what you look like. Right now, I just wanna take care of my girl, alright?"

You hesitated but nodded. "Okay," you said softly. You knew he was just trying to help, and you also knew you desperately needed your hair washed before it reached the point of no return. You'd hated how bad you'd let it get, but you couldn't bring yourself to even attempt the attention and effort that detangling and washing would entail.

With careful movements, Rafe helped ease your shirt over your head, revealing your bare skin to his gaze. His expression was non judgemental, his touch reverent as he helped you out of your clothes. "You're doing so good, baby," he murmured, his words soothing the nerves that were bubbling in your stomach. "In you go," he said, once you were finally out of your dirty clothes.

You stepped into the warm bath, the hot water and calming smell helping you relax a fraction. You pulled your knees to your chest with a soft sigh. You were so sensitive and vulnerable in that moment, and Rafe's kindness made your chest tighten and your eyes mist.

He smiled softly at you, the picture of a loyal, caring boyfriend. He would do anything for you. "There you go, sweetheart. Gonna feel so much better after a nice long bath." He knelt beside the tub, running his hand over your hunched back soothingly for a few moments.

He let you get adjusted and relaxed before reaching for your hair tie, gently pulling it out and revealing your tangled hair. You closed your eyes, waiting for some remark about how you need to take better care of yourself or how your hair was a mess, but it never came. "Alright baby, let's get this pretty hair washed for you," was all he said, his tone soft and comforting. "Can you lean back for me?"

You nodded, unfurling yourself from your curled up position and leaning back, letting your hair soak up the water. "There you go," he murmured, making sure your hair was thoroughly wetted before helping you sit back up straight. He reached for the conditioner, coating your hair in an ungodly amount and running it through the strands as best he could to help soften your hair and make it easier to detangle before grabbing a wide tooth comb. "This might hurt a little, baby. I'm sorry, but you'll feel so much better when we're all done."

He worked meticulously, starting at the ends and slowly, carefully working out each knot and tangle, murmuring soft apologies whenever he hit a bad one that tugged at your scalp. He had experience with this kind of thing, having helped Wheezie with her hair a lot when she was a kid. He was so gentle and patient, making sure he didn't pull too hard.

It made you grateful because if you were doing this yourself, you already knew you would've gotten frustrated and started practically ripping your hair out as you roughly yanked the comb through your hair until you were in tears.

The fact that he regarded you with a tenderness and compassion you didn't even award yourself made your heart swell with love, but it also made guilt tug at you. This was the man that you'd been ignoring—this man that was so attentive and loved you so much.

"You're doing so good, baby. I know it hurts, but you're being so brave for me. I'm so proud of you," he said gently, continuing to work through your hair. He didn't show any signs that he was getting frustrated or annoyed, he just continued to hold himself with pure adoration and care for you.

His sweet words made tears well up in your eyes. You didn't understand how you could ever deserve someone like him, someone who loved you completely and unconditionally. His words of assurance were something you'd desperately needed to hear after weeks of listening to your own brain demean and demoralize you.

"There we go, sweetheart. All done. You did so well," he praised you gently as he finally finished up, running the comb through the last of the tangles. He helped you lean back, rinsing the conditioner. He made sure to get all the excess product out before helping you sit back up, reaching for the shampoo bottle.

He squirted a generous amount onto his palm, lathering it in his hands and applying it into your scalp. He washed it out and applied more until it started to froth up, signaling that your hair was finally getting clean.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly as he worked the shampoo into your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp in slow, soothing circles. You felt guilty for a lot of things, for ignoring him, for making him spend his time on you like this, for being this way in the first place. Your brain had convinced you that you were a burden on everyone around you, and you hated the thought of Rafe having to put up with you when he could have any other normal girl.

His hands stilled in your hair, and he tiled your head so you were looking at him. His expression was serious, deadly so, and for a moment, you thought he was mad at you. "Don't. Don't you ever apologize, okay? You've got absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You understand me?"

You nodded, his words and actions meaning more to you than he could ever know. He always knew what to say, what to do to make you feel better. He made you feel important and loved, and you needed that, especially right now. "Thank you."

His gaze softened, a gentle smile spreading across his handsome features. "You don't need to thank me, baby. Caring for you is the easiest thing in the world. I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes—so beautiful, inside and out."

After throughly massaging your scalp, he washed out the shampoo, applying a final layer of conditioner to ensure your hair stayed soft and retained moisture. "Do you wanna wash your body, or do you want me to?" He asked gently. He wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible, and if you would be too embarrassed with him touching you like that, he respected it.

"I can- um- I can do it," you said quietly. He had already done so much for you already, and as much as you loved being doted on and cared for, it didn't erase the nerves and insecurity that were swirling through your mind.

"Okay, sweetheart. Take your time. I'm right here if you need anything at all," he reassured you. You washed up and rinsed the conditioner out of your hair, the water uncomfortably cold by the time you were done since detangling had taken forever.

Rafe was ready with a towel by the time you were finished. "Come on, baby, let's get you out. You're probably freezing," he said, helping you up and wrapping the towel around you, rubbing the material against your skin to help warm you up before grabbing a separate towel to help you dry off your hair.

You let him take care of you, drying you off before steering you to your bedroom to get dressed. He knew your drawer set up by heart, having helped you put your clean clothes away more than once. "You really don't have to do all that," you mumbled, watching him carefully choose some comfortable, clean clothes for you.

"I already told you that I want to," he said firmly, plucking out your favorite pajamas. "Now, we're gonna get you dressed and settle in on the couch because we gotta get you out of this bed. It's not good for you to stay in it all day," he told you, helping you into your clean clothes. You felt a little silly being assisted getting dressed and undressed, but you were so appreciative that he cared enough about you to help you like this.

"Sorry for the... mess," you said, wincing as you glanced around at your dirty room. It looked like a disaster area, and you only just now seemed to clock how bad it was.

"I already told you to quit apologizing," he gently scolded you. "We can clean it up later, together, but right now, we're going to go watch some TV and get some food in you, okay?"

You nodded, mustering a small smile. "I love you, Rafe," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest.

"I love you too, baby, so so much," he murmured. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him as he rested his chin on the top of your head. You inhaled his scent, a smell that was distinctly his and always seemed to calm and relax you, his tight grip on you serving to ground you in that moment, reminding you that there are people who cherish you even in your darkest days.

tags .ᐟ   @starkeysprincess / @cometmultiverse / @iheartjjmaybnk / @all4l0vee / @kissesfrmriri / @xoxohoneymoongirl / @bradshawed / @fallbhind / @rafeslittleangel / @bakugouswaif

[sunofaraven]

Love this post. And also want to mention how much the canary curse means to me. I didn't watch Jimmy before the life series, but I became so intrigued by this goofy guy everyone teased who kept dying first. And I'm so glad I decided to check out his content.

As a content creator, he is SO good at what he does. Truly boundless energy and silliness. You can tell how much he loves being the butt of a joke. And I've seen differing opinions on whether people enjoy how much this man gets mercilessly teased, but I love it. I love it because of how he reacts and what it means in context.

As someone who personally struggles with perceived failure, Jimmy's content taught me that not only is it fine to 'fail' repeatedly, but that it's funny. And a lot of content creators do this, it's true, but the overwhelming resilience and optimism Jimmy shows feels like a whole other level. And the fact that he has embraced the canary symbolism only adds to that imo.

He just is the canary: a golden bit of sun in the darkness singing his heart out no matter what. And now the canary has broken free from his cage, but he'll keep singing regardless.

The canary curse can't be passed on, and even if Jimmy dies first again in the future, it doesn't mean it's back. Because he demonstrated to all of us that even if you're doomed by the narrative enough to die first FOUR series in a row, you WILL break your own curse if you just keep laughing and trying again.

That's why he'll always be the canary to me.

Gang let's leave the Canary Curse behind. It broke in Secret Life. Vestigial traits can carry over, sure, but it's over. Mumbo has only died immediately after Jim twice, and now this one time hes died first- he's not the new canary, and neither is Lizzie, who just had really bad luck and is doing amazing this season. It sucks that has only been happening to them, while Grian died first in Real Life and, by that logic, would also be a canary.

That being said it would be so funny if Mumbo woke up back on Hermitcraft and had to comb some feathers out of his mustache. But let's leave it at that ey? Just a little refrence, a little "ough, you had it rough" symbolism when they wake up in another server- whisked away by the resuscitation device.

I have no idea how Jimmy feels about all the canary symbolism now, but as of Sos SMP he had basically accepted it (a quote where he named his elytra "Canary wings" and said "they're a part of me now, it's not lore", it's worth pointing out this is solidly after Secret Life). Hence I will keep using it as inspiration for his character and for some refrences. However we should take an actual look at canary symbolism.

Well, doesn't that seem like our vagyely unlucky guy. He's always hopeful, very optimistic, worried about his friends safety (even if he isn't allied with them), and can be relatively vulnerable. Most of all, after so many times of dying first (and being targeted in other series), he's kept his head up high, and kept his eyes on the prize, always swearing that this will be his season. He's the most resilient person I can think of. This is how we can still characterize him as a canary.

Remember, the Curse isn't just about laughs and poking fun at an unlucky player, the Curse has been broken, and you shouldn't force the Curse on other players. That's all thank uuuuu <3

[revelboo]

You have mentioned, I think, a few times of the humans trying to avoid being sick. How would the bots react to their human being sick?

I'm just sick atm, you don't have to do anything if you don't want too

Dealing with the Human Being Sick Headcanons

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Pausing in his typing when you make a noise he’s never heard, his helm tips toward your tiny frame. A tendril lifting as you curl into a ball, your little frame shaking as you keep making that violent noise. Drawing your knees up to your body as he loops his tendril about you, feeling those wracking sounds. And he’s bending over you, the side of his helm bumping your head. Because as soon as he touches you, that misery comes through loud and clear.

• Blinking up at Soundwave, even with no expression, it’s obvious your coughing is worrying him. “Think I’m getting sick,” you manage and he bumps you again, tendril curling tighter around you. Whatever he was working forgotten as he fusses over you, his other tendril whipping about to find and bring you every one of your blankets, pillows, any soft thing he’s ever gotten you and piling them up around you. Dragging water and food nearby, his helm lifting to look around like he’s trying to find anything else to give you and it’s so sweet, because he obviously isn’t sure what to do, but he’s trying. Settling yourself against the coil of the tendril, you tip your head to press a kiss against him when he tries to bump you with his helm again, feeling him freeze. “Thank you.”

IDW Prowl x Reader

• “Stop acting like a sparkling.” Hooking an arm around you, he drags you into his lap and grits his denta when you smack a palm against his jaw and try to shove him away. Do you have any idea how much energy mass shifting takes? “Behave,” he snarls, arms tightening around you, chin on top of your head until you finally give up and slump into his warmth. The shivering doesn’t stop, though. Servos finding bare skin, it’s a surprise to find you sweaty and much warmer to the touch than normal.

• “It’s a fever, you idiot,” he mutter, too exhausted to keep struggling against him. Why else would you have stripped down to your underclothes when he knows you can’t stand how cold his quarters are? He hadn’t bothered to ask, just frowning down at where you’d sprawled out on your belly, soaking in how cold his berth is against your feverish skin. And he’d dropped a blanket on you, scowling when you’d immediately slung it off and glared up at him. “I’m fine.” Venting against you to stir your hair, he refuses to let you go, practically wrapping himself around you when you’re already sweating and miserable. Like he’s worried and actually cares. Smothering you. “Some soup would be awesome,” you mutter, and it works. He lets you go, mass shifting to go hunt for a can as you snort. Hopefully there’s none in the Ark and you can sleep while he’s busy searching.

TFP Shockwave x Reader

• “Thirteen?” You’re usually awake by now, but you’re still curled up in the corner of your cage, your blanket tangled around your legs. It’s the rasping sound of your breathing that freezes him in reaching for you, because that sound isn’t normal. Almost wet sounding as your eyes open, head turning to stare up at him. Not smiling for him and his servos begin to tremble, the illogical chaos he keeps so carefully locked away, seeping out. Because something is wrong.

• He’s stuck again, unmoving aside from that faint tremor in his servos and the antenna on his helm flicking. You’ve seen it before, but usually he shakes it off. Covering your mouth as a cough shakes you, it’s an effort to sit up when you feel so awful. His one optic is flaring brighter, servos of his hand now flexing in almost spasms. “Shockwave?” Getting to your feet, you reach for him and he pulls away, that cannon powering up and lifting as his antenna go all the way back, head scanning the room like he’s looking for threats. Like he doesn’t know where he is and your breath catches. “Hey, can you get me some water? My throat’s raw,” you call out, trying to break him from whatever this is, because he’s scaring you. And slowly, his optic dims some and he looks down. Coming back to you as the danger passes.

IDW Starscream x Reader

• Fussing over you, his wings flick as he finds another blanket to tuck around you. “Fragile organics,” he mutters, using scorn to hide how much it upsets him, because he doesn’t know what to do. How to fix this. And you just curl into the nest he’s made you, absently reaching to pat his hand. Like everything is fine. Do you need a medic? Anything he can get you to make this stop? Because he hates feeling useless.

• Squinting up at Starscream as he adjusts your blankets again, you find his fidgeting too sweet, warmth spreading through you that he’s so worried about you. “It’s a cold. I’m fine,” you tell him for the third time, knowing he doesn’t quite believe you as he just vents before scooping you up blankets and all and relocating you to his desk. Apparently intending to sit and watch over you as he props his chin on his fist, optics running over you as he reaches to stroke your hair. So much for resting, but he means well.

IDW Bluestreak x Reader

• “Blue, I’m okay. Really,” you rasp, clinging to his servos as he completely ignores you in his panic, running for medbay with you tangled in the blankets you’d been sleeping in. It doesn’t matter that it’s just a cold, because he apparently thinks you’re going to die on him.

• Cradling you against him, he can feel how hot your skin is and can hear you reassuring him. Knows he needs to calm down, but fear has him by the throat. All those what ifs. Maybe you’re wrong, maybe it’s something dangerous and he might lose you if he doesn’t act right now. And he can’t risk it, needs you. So you’re going to Ratchet, because he needs to be sure you’re okay. You took care of him, now it’s his turn. You have to be okay.

TF Earthspark Megatron x Reader

• He can feel the judgment in Dorothy’s stare as he sits in the modified barn near the air mattress you’re sprawled on. Knows he should have let the Malto’s carry you in the house, but wanted you within sight. Within reach as his servos brush your throat and he watches Dorothy set down a tray with a bowl of soup, firmly telling him that this is the best medicine for a cold. It’s not that he doesn’t believe her, he just hates to see you so miserable, unable to help you.

• Feeling those gentle servos touching your cheek, your hair, you relax. Can hear that deep, rumbling brogue of his as you drift in and out. It’s only a cold, nothing major, but you can’t deny it’s nice to have someone worrying over you, taking care of you. Because it’s been a long time since someone’s worried over you like this, probably since you were a kid.

[peppermintquartz]

Buck/Tommy prompt: Tommy finally realizing he *does* have a family with the 118

It's a Thursday afternoon when he dies.

He's not even on shift, that's the thing; he was in the gym training with a friend, and the next thing he knows five masked figures burst in, shouting at everyone to get down to the ground, and he's shielding Jacob when one of them fires a spray in their direction.

The bullets don't land anywhere fatal so he doesn't die immediately, but that means it hurts like a bitch, and he can feel his extremities growing cold. He sees the five gunmen race out the other door. Jacob is panicking, pressing his gym towel on the stomach wound but not exerting enough strength to hold back the blood loss; Lizzie is screaming at someone to hurry; Tommy thinks, Fuck, on the day I beat my personal best too.

His vision is darkening around the edges. Breathing is difficult. Maybe a punctured lung from shrapnel, who knows?

The coroner will, his brain supplies, a joker to the very end.

He hears sirens. Vaguely, he wonders if who's going to tell Evan.

Sorry, baby. Didn't mean to make you cry. Tommy lets go of the vestiges of the breath he's been struggling to hold onto.

"Tommy?" He knows the voice. Wow, God really has a shitty sense of humor. "Tommy!"

At least that's the last thing he'll hear before he dies. Tommy tastes blood in his mouth, and everything stops.

Death, it turns out, is a welcoming silence.

--

He wakes up in fits and starts.

When he is finally, mostly conscious, he feels someone holding his right hand. And there are two people talking.

"...I think he's back with us again," one of the voices say. "Mr Kinard?"

Call me Tommy. Mr Kinard is my asshole dad.

"Tommy?"

Now Tommy smiles. That's the right name. He blinks, each eyelid approximately seven thousand tons. Dimmed lights, two shadowy figures, one in a white coat and the other in navy.

"Guess... G'd dint like... my crack 'bout. Sense of humor."

"What the fuck," says Navy. He scoots closer and Tommy can see his face clearly. Boyishly handsome, with light brown curly hair, a birthmark. Red-rimmed eyes. "Tommy. Tommy, god."

"Hey." He can't remember Navy's name. "Dry."

White Coat hands over a small cup. Navy puts an ice chip on Tommy's lips, and Tommy draws it into his mouth for the relief.

Evan. Not Navy. Evan.

White Coat comes close, and Tommy wants to protest. He wants to hold Evan's hand and kiss his sad little pout away.

"You can do that later when you're better," said White Coat. He shines a light into Tommy's eyes - ow - and taps him in various places, and then it's just Tommy and Evan again.

Evan stands and leans down to kiss Tommy's brow. "Go to sleep. I'll let everyone know you pulled through."

Tommy wants to ask, but sleep pulls him under.

--

They come to visit, singly or in pairs.

"Glad you're still breathing," Eddie says. He sits on the side of the bed. "Chris says that if you die, he'll hit you with his crutches. And they hurt, let me tell you that."

Hen and Karen visit with their kids that same day. Denny asks if Tommy can teach him and Mara to draw. "I liked yours the most of all the art on my cast."

Bobby comes by, scowls at the bland food, and says, "I'm glad you're still with us, kid." Tommy tears up, and allows himself to cry silently. Bobby only holds his hand and pats the back of it.

Donato and Melton come by with a bunch of balloons, all chosen for maximum obnoxiousness. The bright pink and yellow one that proclaims "It's a GIRL!" is Tommy's favorite.

He gives that balloon to Chimney when he comes by, telling him to give it to Jee. Chimney punches the side of Tommy's leg. "Count your lucky stars it isn't Maddie here. They'd never even find your body."

--

Maddie shows up with Evan the day after to take Tommy home to recover from his three bullet wounds.

"Three shots and you only get three days?" Evan is outraged.

"Flesh wounds except for the one through my lower left abdomen," Tommy reminds him, already tired. "Plus, I signed myself out." Then, taking a nervous breath, he says, "Hi Maddie."

Maddie glares at him. "You're lucky I wasn't the one holding the gun."

Tommy winces, ducks his head. "I'm sorry."

Evan rolls his eyes. "Standing right here, Maddie."

"I warned him about breaking your heart," she says grumpily, but she takes the duffel bag of Tommy's stuff.

Tommy leans back in his wheelchair as Evan rolls him out towards freedom. "How much groveling to make to earn your sister's forgiveness?"

"See how long you'll grovel for mine, and multiply that by ten."

"Oh shit."

"...that'd be about half a hour, I guess."

"For you or for her?"

Evan wrinkles his nose at him, but his smile is still sunshine. His hand lands on Tommy's shoulder and squeezes. "You and I need a good talk. And this time, you can't run."

Tommy dares to touch Evan's hand. "Okay."

[aventurineswife]

idk if this one is a little too dark or anything

but as a req i liked the idea of a dissociating!reader x aven, who always tries to be there for when it happens. 🤍

i hope in some capacity this made sense 😓 (and i might be calling myself out a bit here oop-)

on an end note-i hope ur doing well and remembering to take care of urselfff!! 💕

I'm With You

Summary: When you experience dissociation, Aventurine stays by your side, offering quiet comfort and patience. Through his gentle presence and soft words, he grounds you, bringing you back to reality and reminding you that you’re never alone in the struggle.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, Fluff, Established Relationship, Gentle Aventurine, Emotional Support, Reassurance, Intimacy.

Warnings: Themes of dissociation, implied mental health struggles.

A/N: It's completely fine, anon! It's not dark at all! And don't worry about it, I enjoy a bit of challenges (not really lmaoo). Remember to take care of yourself too!!

The cool, dim evening has settled, casting long shadows over the room as Aventurine sits beside you, his arm resting gently on your shoulder. You’re barely aware of the world around you—an unexplainable heaviness has clouded your thoughts, and the sense of reality feels like it’s slipping away, leaving only a distant, hollow feeling. You’ve been here before, in this numb, detached place. And though you can barely hear or feel it, Aventurine’s presence grounds you, his hand warm and reassuring, like an anchor in a storm.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low and calm, like a thread trying to pull you back. You don’t immediately respond, but his words have a way of finding their way through the fog. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me be here, alright?”

Aventurine’s presence is steady, warm, filled with patience. He sits beside you without demanding your attention, offering quiet comfort, his fingers lightly stroking your shoulder. Slowly, he reaches over and takes your hand, wrapping it in his. He knows how the dissociation pulls you away from the present, away from him, and yet he never resents it. Instead, he finds ways to help, little reminders that you’re here, that he’s here, that you’re not alone in this strange, untouchable place.

“You know,” he starts, a small smile gracing his lips, “I saw this mooncake the other day that had a little cat face on it. It looked so…well, I thought it was too cute to eat. I even took a selfie with it.” He chuckles softly, and the gentle sound of his laugh breaks through your haze, if only a little. “Imagine that, me, a mooncake, and a cat face. Pretty ridiculous, right?”

You blink, and the faintest hint of a smile plays on your lips. Aventurine notices, and he gives your hand a small, comforting squeeze.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his eyes full of warmth and relief. “You don’t have to come all the way back to me yet. I’ll meet you wherever you are.”

It’s strange, having someone who understands like this, who doesn’t push, who knows how to reach into the quiet, lonely parts of you and make you feel seen, even when you’re fading from yourself. Aventurine is still holding your hand, tracing circles over your knuckles. His touch, his presence—it’s grounding, a small reminder that you’re tethered to something, to someone who cares for you deeply.

After a moment, he speaks again, his voice still low and soothing. “You’re so much stronger than you realize, you know that? But you don’t have to be strong all the time. You have me.” His words wrap around you like a warm blanket, softening the edges of your dissociation. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bit by bit, the room starts to feel more tangible. You’re aware of his arm around your shoulder, the light pressure of his hand in yours, his steady breathing. You turn slightly to look at him, his familiar, comforting smile waiting for you.

“Thank you.” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but Aventurine hears it. His smile widens, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Always,” he replies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “For as long as you need, I’ll be right here.”

You settle back into his embrace, feeling the weight of his arm, the warmth of his presence filling the spaces that felt empty only moments ago. And for the first time in a while, you feel safe, at peace in the comfort of his love, knowing he’ll be there, no matter how far you feel from yourself.

[kittenscookie]

I have been mentally building upon this idea for weeks. The sister has a name now—Ophelia, it means aid/help. ANYWAY

As I was building upon this idea I realized/remembered something—out of 108 people not a damn one of them could string and fire this thing. And Odysseus doesn't count because

1. It was his bow

2. He was quite literally built different. Hell, in the context of this crossover he tortured a God and then had that God's child. Again, BUILT DIFFERENT.

This fact just so happens to slip their minds as they were on a bit of a time limit. But then it dawned on Annabeth, she brings it up, and everyone gets real quiet. Panic begins setting in as everyone tries—and fails—to string this damn thing. Leo? No. Clarisse? Nada. Thalia? Nope. Nico? They looked at him, he looked at them and shook his head, "Be serious right now". The only ones that can even get this damn thing to bend are Annabeth and Will.

After about five minutes of struggle Percy finally manages to string the damn thing. Ten seconds of hope but there's one problem—try as he might Percy can't pull the bow back. Panic once again takes hold as everyone has some version of the thought—"Oh shit, so this is how it happens? This is how we die?" There's the sound of screeching car tires, everyone turns in the direction of it. Ophelia frantically trips out of a BMW. Eyes wild as she rips the bow out of Percy's hands notches the arrow, aims, and fires. It doesn't even sound like a bow—it sounds like a gun just went off.

She's gotta shoot the thing twice more before whatever the hell they needed to kill goes down. She falls to the ground stumbling apologies, just

"I'm so sorry, I'm so damn sorry! I thought they'd send Apollo or Artemis or—SHIT! I thought surely they won't be stupid enough to think one of you could string the bow let alone—"

Ophelia stops, pauses and looks down at the bow in her hands. She stares at it for a good fifteen seconds before slowly looking back at the group, "...Who did this...?" They all turn to Percy, he slowly raises a hand, the woman blinks. "How...?"

"What do you mean?"

"Percy...Percy our father can't string this bow. Zeus, can't string this bow. Ares can't string this bow! The only GODS that can use this thing are Apollo, Artemis, and Athena! Fuck! It took me years to manage to use this thing, and your telling me you manage to string it today?"

"...Yeah"

"How?"

He blinks and shrugs, "Mmhmm!"

Silence for like five seconds before she just nods, "Screw it, I'll question this later when my fingers stop bleeding. Sooooo..." She points to the car, "You guys wanna get ice cream?"

And so they get ice cream

Dear god Epic is slowly pulling me back into Percy Jackson so it's time for a mini crossover idea. (If I get some details wrong please forgive me, it's been a hot minute and I've got the memory of a walnut). Okay, let's say they've gotta get Odysseus's Bow for whatever reason. As the group's contemplating how they're gonna find this thing the gods all just slowly turn to Poseidon.

Poseidon: ...

Athena: You gonna give them her address or should I?

Poseidon: *Groans as he pulls out a pen and post-it note* Okay boys, you're gonna go to this address in Ithaca, knock on the door, ask for [Insert Name Here]. If she's not there go to this address in New Jersey.

Tyson: Who is she?

Poseidon: Your older sister

Percy: We have a sister? Why didn't you ever tell us about her?

Poseidon: ...

Athena: 🤨

Poseidon: .....Go visit your sister

So they do their adventure, escape a couple rough situations, slay a couple monsters. They eventually get to the address, knock on the door, and a young(in terms of appearance) woman with the bluest eyes known to man opens it. She's all smiles, offers them some snacks while she gets the bow.

Nico: Okay, just wondering, why do you have this thing?

Sister: ???

Sister: It's my dad's...Why wouldn't I have it???

Tyson: Huh?

Sister: Odysseus is my other dad

Silence for about a good fifteen seconds before a sly smirk spreads across her face.

Sister: You want the tea?

Percy: Hell yeah!

She pulls out her phone, sends someone a text and not even five minutes later Athena is bursting through the door.

Annabeth: Mom?

Athena: Hi honey. *Points to [Insert Name Here]* You, put the kettle on. *Points to the group* The rest of you, sit down and listen up because I'm still pissed about this shit.

Over the course of the next hour and a half she tells them the juiciest tea they've ever heard. By the end of it they're not surprised that shit never got written down because why would Poseidon and Zeus ever allow future generations know they were fighting that hard—caused a whole second war—for a damn mortal.

[louisferrignojr]

i keep saying i'm not going to pay this show any more attention and I keep coming back with more thoughts and i decided to inflict them on all of y'all so here goes

hot take: the brad/hotshots storyline isn't inherently bad. it was entertaining. it was fun and campy, classic 911. i love it when shows get a bit meta. we stay sillay.

however it all falls completely flat, and here's why:

they butchered the main storylines they had set up at the end of s7 — Hen and Karen vs Ortiz (and Gerrard), the 118 vs Gerrard vs Tommy (don't play, they wrote it out with big block letters), Bobby's suicidal ideation, abrupt resignation and relationship conflict with Athena, not to mention NDE. the only storyline they seem to have spent any time on is Eddie and Chris — thank fucking fuck, some good food for Eddie.

they have disregarded previously established side characters in favour of developing Brad Torrence. where the fuck is Ravi? where's Sue, where's Linda? why is Josh only there as a mouthpiece to deliver a cringeworthy self-congratulatory speech praising Ryan Murphy's previous — and still DEEPLY biphobic — work?

the hotshots storyline of 8x07 and 8x08 should have taken place WAY later in the season: only after spending time giving their existing characters and relationships the focus they so sorely need.

Hen and Karen and their struggles with Mara being with Chimney and Maddie — where was the conflict between Hen and Chimney? blink and you miss it in 8x01. why was everything wrapped up so fucking quickly in 8x04? the pacing of that episode was INSANE. they could have drawn it out until the mid-season finale, and ended it on a positive note of Mara coming home.

Maddie and Chimney have had almost nothing all of 8a — what looked like a conversation about family planning, addressing their past issues, deciding to stick together and make it work this time, it was building up to something so good — and it crumbled before my eyes with the accidental pregnancy reveal. because we're dealing with teenagers who don't know how birth control works, not two grown adults in their 40s with a history of PPD. be so for fucking real.

and then: why bring back a homophobic, racist, sexist character, have him act EXACTLY like his old self — including throwing a subtle slur at his old subordinate who's just come out of the closet — and then reduce him to a cartoonish villain — did they perhaps realise that bringing back Gerrard was a big mistake? that no one wants to see this type of villain anymore? that his return undercut the justice of him getting fired by the LAFD for his bigoted behaviour? much to ponder.

Athena and Bobby nearly died, they lost their house in a fire (hello? ptsd flashbacks? no? okay.), then Athena nearly died AGAIN, but we don't need to linger on any of this. back to work, you two. Bobby, you get your firehouse back. Athena, back to doing bad cop shit, i guess. (they had a nice relationship moment with the house hunting and deciding to build etc in 8x04, and that's about it).

Buck had a consistent storyline between 8x01 - 8x04: struggling being under Gerrard, getting to work with Bobby again, and finally getting his captain back on a permanent basis. then we got 8x05 with Tommy — an episode dedicated on the intimacy and depth of their relationship — which they then completely fucked it up in 8x06. yes, the "past connection" reveal was a terribly done messy retcon of the entirety of s1 if you ask me, and a disservice to all three characters: Buck, Tommy, and Abby. the backlash from the GA following the breakup speaks for itself. but they then went to make a big joke of Buck coping with the breakup in 8x07 and 8x08. because we can't be serious about anything, ever. and again — I get it. it's the weewoo show. but don't tell me they haven't previously done well thought-out, touching storytelling. anyway, this got a little derailed because i'm still so fucking salty — the bottom line is, however they butchered Buck's storyline, at least he's had something meaningful.

the only other main that has had a meaningful storyline in 8a is Eddie. they've shown him struggling with being away from Christopher in almost every episode. i can't say i'm a big fan of the way 8x06 went for him (literally. enough with the movie references. tim minear have a fucking original thought for once). but I'm loving where his storyline is headed. that was a good 'cliffhanger' if you will. go back to your roots baby! go reconcile with your son — own up to your mistakes! talk to him about his mother! go to father-son therapy together! -> so much wishful thinking, y'all. we'd be lucky to get 1/10th of this on the show, but whatever.

tldr: no one gives a flying fuck about hotshots or brad because while we love the silly weewoo show, we need something to chew on before you toss us a half-baked dessert. to quote lou ferrigno jr, i am not satisfied.

[certified-sleep-deprived]

hi! I was wondering if you could do an Agatha harkness x reader comfort fic for self harm? it's totally okay if not!! 🫶🫶

Hiya!! I wouldn't mind at all! As someone who used to struggle with SH, it was kind of nice to write a hurt/comfort for it. If you guys need someone to talk to, my dms are open :')

I have been very slow with this because of tech week, performances for a play, and then getting sick, sorry!! I'm getting to all my requests I promise yall. This one was a bit shorter than I intended but I still enjoyed writing it

°Agatha with a s/o who sh's°

Warnings/notes: mentions and descriptions of self harm, blood, angst, hurt/comfort, soft Agatha for the win

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. You, there on the floor of the bathroom, were mid-way cutting your wrist with a knife as you stared at her with wide eyes. Your arm was covered in dripping blood as it started pooling on the floor. Tears spilled out of your eyes as she kneeled down beside you on the rough, tiled floor.

Her hand gently placed itself over yours that held the knife, and she softly pried it from your blood soaked fingers. You let her do so, as you know you couldn't fight her.

The knife was placed in the sink, and she took your injured arm in both her hands, not seeming to care about being covered in your blood.

"Agatha-"

"Why...? Why would you..." She cuts you off.

She is at a loss for words as she chokes on a sob, tears of her own spilling down her face. Guilt hits you like a freight train, and you hang your head in shame, and you try to take your arm away from her but she doesn't relent. She grabs your hips and uses them to pull you into her lap so she can have an easier time cleaning up your wounds.

The next ten or so minutes as she cleaned the cuts was full of winces and gasps of pain as wet paper towels and peroxide dragged and seeped into your cuts; it felt like acid was burning at you when the peroxide was used to clean any dirt. As soon as she was done cleaning your cuts, she made sure to press gentle kisses to every single one of them, like a dog would to its own wounds. She wraps your arm in moisturizing medicine and gauze to prevent it from opening or drying out overnight.

As you attempt to get up, she doesn't let you, but instead she picks you up and brings you to the bed you two share. She places you in a sitting position, and you can't meet her gaze the whole time. Noticing this, her voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

"Doll, look at me, please?"

She tilts your chin up, and she sees the redness of your face and the glassy look of your eyes that mirrored her own. All that is in your gaze is guilt and pain, and her heart aches at the sight. You try your best to avoid her gaze, but it's impossible with how close she is holding your face to hers. A thumb gently rubs your cheek, and instinctively you lean into her hand with fresh tears flowing out of your eyes. The same thumb wipes some of them away with tenderness.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but know I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

You nod at her words, and you take a deep breath before speaking to ground yourself.

"Its just... shit has been so stressful lately with my job making me stay later and raising my workload, all the deadlines, and then seeing someone from years ago who I had a falling out with today didn't help."

She looked you in the eye the whole time you were speaking, tentatively listening.

"I haven't cut in so long, but I relapsed just like that" you say with a snap of your fingers.

"How could I let myself slip". You weep for your relapse.

Her mouth opens as if she was going to say something, but no words come out. Not like they could as you spoke again before she could get the chance.

"I'd understand if you want to leave or anything. I won't judge or blame you."

~~~~~~

...what?

Her expression changed from that of a gentle one, to very confused as her nose scrunched up. Before you could get on a rambling train, she pulls your face to hers for a gentle kiss. It didn't last long before she pulled away and made you look her in the eye.

"Now why would I do that? You think I would really leave you, especially in a time where you need me?"

She continues holding your face in her hands, rubbing your cheekbones with her thumbs in a gentle caress.

Your gently pushed down on your back, and she lays on her side, facing you. A hand places itself on your bandaged arm and lightly strokes the length of it.

"I'm here for the long haul, no matter what happens. Im going to be here for you in your highs and your lows, darling. I won't leave because of you... harming yourself like this."

Your heart swells at her words, and you can't help the guilt train that hits you in the face, because she's staying with you even with your flaws. Agatha seems to have noticed the shift in your already guilty expression, as she cups the underside of your jaw, forcing you to look at her.

"Dont let anything eat away at you. Everyone had their was of... destressing, I guess you can put it. It isn't a way I endorse, but I can help you find a better way. That's why I'm here."

She looks at you with glassy eyes, brushing some hair out of your face tenderly. Your gaze flicks down to her lips and back up. She does the same and smiles, catching your gaze again as her lips find their way to yours. Her usual rough nature is pushed aside in this moment, a soft side reserved only for you as she tries to ease your pain.

"Let me be your shoulder to cry on. Don't do this when you have a bad day, come to me. I feel like such an awful girlfriend for not even noticing how you were feeling. I've been so wrapped up in mentoring Billy lately that I haven't even spared any of my time for you..."

She traces her fingers along the underside of your jaw as she talks. You grab her hand and you trail kisses from her finger tips up her arm before speaking again.

"Don't feel awful. I know how much he needs your help. The boy is just finding out who and what he is, so I understand. I'm just used to hiding my feelings and masking them, so that's likely why you didn't pick up on anything initially."

You look eachother in the eyes before embracing again, occasional sniffles and sobs escape you two before you separate and Agatha gently pushes you to lay down on the bed.

"Let's get some sleep, bunny. It's been an emotional night for us, so let's rest."

All you can manage is a nod as sleep starts to creep up on you like a fox. Agatha slips into the bed beside you and pulls you close so she is spooning you. The last thing you hear before you fall into slumber is a soft 'goodnight' from behind you, and then a tender kiss on your head.

[barcaatthemoon]

chills || patri guijarro x reader ||

You really did wish that Patri would listen to you more.

"Ugh, why is it so hot?" Patri complained as she flopped back onto the bed of your hotel room. Spain could get pretty hot, but it wasn't the same heat that you had grown up around. You had assumed that Patri's time spent with you on your little road trip would be fine, but she was really starting to struggle the closer the two of you got to your hometown.

"Patri, you only just turned the air on. It takes a little while to cool the whole room down," you told her. Patri didn't listen and continued to turn the temperature down. "You probably need to change your clothes. That fabric traps in body heat, and you've been sweating a lot."

"Whatever, I'm going to take a shower," Patri told you. You sighed, turning the temperature up a bit so that Patri didn't get cold when she got out of the shower. You felt like the room was at a nice temperature, but you could tell that Patri disagreed by the way she huffed and puffed when she got out of the shower.

"Patri, what are you doing?" you asked as you watched her go for the AC again. "You don't want to turn that down right now."

"I'll be fine." It wasn't like Patri to just dismiss you. You knew that she had expected things to be cooler with the time of year. Still, she was being a bit more snappy than what you were used to.

"Patri don't set that too cool. You just got out of the shower, and you're gonna make yourself sick," you said. Patri just groaned as she flopped onto the bed, not even acknowledging you. "Patri, did you hear me?"

"Yes, and oh my god, I'll be fine," Patri grumbled. You forced yourself to stay calm and ignore her for the time being. You started watching whatever crime show was being marathoned on the TV while Patri watched game highlights on her phone and texted her teammates.

You weren't sure how long had passed before Patri eventually just fell asleep. You were pretty tired as well, but you waited until after you turned the AC off to take your shower. Patri didn't stir, only moving to cuddle with you after you'd gotten back into bed. It was as she began to snore a little that you realized that she was starting to get sick.

To anybody else, it would have seemed like nothing, but you knew Patri didn't snore. The only time she ever snored was when she was sick. You hated that you were right and wouldn't even be able rub it in her face because Patri was absolutely awful whenever she got sick. You loved her, but she turned into the absolute biggest crybaby whenever she came down with a common cold.

…

"Amor? Mi amor, please wake up," Patri whined. You had no idea what time it was, but you could clearly see that it was still dark. Patri was pushing at your shoulder and shaking you out of your slumber.

"Patri stop, I'm trying to sleep," you told her. Your words were slightly muffled, but you knew that Patri heard you.

"Mi amor, I don't feel good. Will you go get me some medicine please?" You didn't have to look at Patri to know that she was pouting at you. Grumbling and muttering angrily under your breath, you shuffled out of bed. "Oh, and something to drink."

"Oh no, I'll be fine. It's too hot, I have to make our room feel like Antartica. Don't tell me what to do, I know what's best. I don't care that I'm wet, it needs to be practically freezing or I'll throw a hissy fit," you muttered as you made your way out of the hotel room. You continued on your rant as you went out to the car. Patri texted you a little list of things that she wanted from the store, but you only really grabbed the essentials.

You grabbed a couple of things for yourself, mainly snacks because you knew Patri wouldn't let you get away for the rest of the day. She seemed to always need twice as much affection as usual whenever she was sick. You knew it was because you wouldn't kiss her, so she tried to make up for it by holding you with a death grip in her arms for most of the day. It was a struggle to get her to let you go long enough to use the bathroom most of the time.

"Did you seriously turn the AC on again?" You felt like you were gonig to lose your mind with Patri. "How the hell do you think that you got sick?"

"I ate that chicken tender off of the floor of your car," Patri guessed. You had momentarily forgotten about that and the small argument that had come from it. In all honesty, it could have been a mix of things, but you were pretty certain that it was from the shower incident.

"No because if that was the case, I'd be sick too. I am not, and that's because I didn't freeze myself half to death after taking a shower," you said. Patri pouted, ready to rant about you being mean to her while she was sick. "I know that it's the morning, but you're taking the PM medicine and we are going back to sleep."

"But I wanted a cup of coffee," Patri tried to tell you. You weren't having any of it. You got her the pills she needed and opened her drink for her as you climbed back into bed. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"You're welcome, now close your eyes and don't wake me up unless you're actively dying until 9," you told her. Patri let out a sad sigh as you turned your back to her. "I can't kiss you, you're sick."

"But then I can take care of you," Patri said sweetly. "You love it when I take care of you when you're sick."

"Baby, I have to be healthy to get us through this trip. I promise that once you're better, you'll get all of the kisses that you want," you told her. Patri seemed happy with that as she took the position of big spoon. You hadn't planned on spooning with her, but it was definitely a happily welcomed surprise.

[inbabylontheywept]

@unfavorabledit

Touching on it after getting home - today was a long day!

My experience was that Mormonism doesn't really know how to handle negative emotions well. It's not anger that they're specifically afraid of, it's just anything harsh. A very Mormon failing is this refusal to deal with grief directly and just cope it away by saying things like "God will restore all that was lost given time" or "All part of His plan."

And that includes anger, but I'm not sure when that started. Like I said before, part of being a Mormon (before 1930) was swearing a literal oath of vengeance on the US government.

I have two theories about the suppression of negative emotions and how it began as a cultural feature. The first theory is that it's just part of being in a closely knit community - there's this weird emotional blackmail everyone participates in, where no one feels like they're allowed to feel sad, because it would make other people sad, so everyone has to be happy. My second theory - and I feel like this is more plausible, but I don't have a lot of proof - is that Mormons started burying their negative feelings as a way of mainstreaming themselves. Hard to be accepted into a country that you are furious at. I kind of buy this theory because it ties in with the weird Mormon tendency of handwaving their own history.

Then again, that might just be that learning too much about Mormon history kind of inevitably puts people at odds with their orthodoxy. Avoiding talking about the past, even their victimhood, makes it easier to talk about the rougher stuff, like the struggle to find a successor after JS himself died. It's... messy. It's very, very messy. And it's funny, because that's always been my favorite thing about it.

Would you mind sharing the psalm and why you felt that person was the most humanist Mormon? I'm not religious at all but I find these sort of things very interesting.

In exchange I could offer the reason for my url ?

I'm warning you, this is kind of a mega essay, and it's fucking unhinged. Click at your own risk.

(Alright. You clicked.)

Psalms 137

By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept

when we remembered Zion.

There on the poplars

we hung our harps,

for there our captors asked us for songs,

our tormentors demanded songs of joy;

they said, “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”

How can we sing the songs of the Lord

while in a foreign land?

If I forget you, Jerusalem,

may my right hand forget its skill.

May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth

if I do not remember you,

if I do not consider Jerusalem

my highest joy.

Remember, Lord, what the Edomites did

on the day Jerusalem fell.

“Tear it down,” they cried,

“tear it down to its foundations!”

Daughter Babylon, doomed to destruction,

happy is the one who repays you

according to what you have done to us.

Happy is the one who seizes your infants

and dashes them against the rocks.

———

Mormonism has layers. Different cores of believers, cultures within itself. The largest group of Mormons also dominate its image within the larger culture. You know them as the nerdy, cheerful, bubbly dorks on South Park, or the hopelessly naive childlike weirdos from the Book of Mormon musical. Strangely sanitized, "wholesome" people that are, clearly, unwhole. Missing some essential part of the human experience.

(Pain, maybe?)

I think that embracing this image is letting Mormonism view itself as what it wishes it was. A group with all its rough edges sanded off, all its raw and desperate humanity scrubbed away. A clean and godly and slightly unsettling image of joy.

That isn't how it started.

Now, most people know the story of Joseph Smith. Fourteen year old farm boy starts a cult because the whole world if full of idiots, I won't repeat it because you've probably already got it from South Park. But at some point that weirdo cult did become a religion, and I would point to that moment as the Mormon War of 1838.

I don't know how far after the founding that was. Enough that Joseph Smith was a grown man. Enough that the Mormons had around 15-25 thousand members. They'd moved to the Illinois-Missouri area and were establishing settlements.

(They creeped the locals out. Of course they creeped the locals out.)

Eventually, they got pushed out of the county they'd claimed. Jackson County, it was. The state couldn't actually take that county from the people that expelled them, so to try and make the Mormons "whole" for the land they'd bought (ignoring the houses and farms they'd already set up) it gave them a new county.

Next election that came around, that county was sieged. Voting was blocked. Now, the people of the state were terrified that this weirdo voting block was going to take them over. They probably weren't wrong. Some former Mormons had straggled in from the county revealing a frankly corrupt land dealthat the early church had used to transfer resources to itself, and that served as a tipping point. To prevent their state from becoming a religious basketcase, a mob sieged the Mormon county during the next election.

The state tried to return order by sending the militia in to break up the siege, but the militia mutinied. They joined the siegers. A ground of strange, extremist violent Mormons known as the Danites rode out and attacked local settlements that were known to house the families of the militia members.

The Governor at the time - Lilburn Boggs - sent out an executive decree. The Mormons were traitors, and were to be killed on sight. It is the only religion in the US to have ever had such an order made against it.

The Mormons surrendered their county and went to Nauvoo, Illinois. There were again expelled from that city in 1846, and traveled west.

They died in great numbers and they never forgot the homes they lost.

———

I tried to tell the story as sympathetically to the people of Missouri as I could. The Mormons made messes wherever they went, and they unsettled everyone they interacted with. But they were attacked as well, and had a history of violence against them. It should not be totally surprising that they became insular and strange.

Many (most?) Mormons that learn all of their history wind up leaving the religion. It has twists and turns and knots and it is incredibly, overwhelmingly human. I think that's where the facade of Mormon perfectionism comes from - the shame of that. The desire to be something else. But being human is all I've ever wanted. And occasionally, there are people faithful in the church - layers upon layers deep - that know their history.

And they are angry about it.

I think it's more common than people realize. Did you know that until 1930 Mormons swore literal religious oaths of vengeance against the US government for the deaths of Joseph and Hyrum Smith?

I always felt like these were, in some way, the real Mormons. They knew their history, and they loved their church, and they hated what it had suffered all those years ago.

They scared me, those people. But they seemed complete. More complete than the people that had carved out everything that didn't make them smile. They'd walked into the mirror, and touched their shadow, and danced with. Melded with it.

And I knew a few like that. I was taught by one. And he didn't convince me, but he interested me. Gave me some respect for the people I left behind.

———

In the game Fallout: New Vegas, there is a character named Joshua Graham. He's a Mormon. Not like the silly children in adult bodies that they always use on TV. He has gravitas. He has put away his moral compass before, to pursue the dream of one powerful man. Poured his soul into it, helped that man conquer the whole west in piecemeal. He's a somewhat on the nose analogy of the Mormon people themselves, following Joseph Smith. And when he finally failed, when he fought a battle he could not win on the gates of the Old World Hoover Dam, he was lit on fire and thrown into the Grand Canyon to die.

But he did not die.

He says he survived because the fire in him burned brighter than the fire around him. And it seems that way when you speak with him in game. There is something compellingly bright to him. Not shiny like a new toy, or a Utah teenager that hasn't seem just how grim the world can be. He's something blinding, compelling.

But that brightness casts shadows.

He is vicious. He was saved in the canyon by the family he left, the old Mormons of a new world. And he's trying to find that part of him again, regain the soul he lost pursuing someone else's vision. But that old vicious animal part of the covenant is with him. I see Joshua Graham and I see the animal that the Mormons became to survive the West.

And in the game, there is eventually a choice given.

You can lead the tribe Joshua has joined up with out of their Zion. Their Jackson County Missouri. Peacefully and perfectly and inhumnanly transcendant, the way the Mormons wish they actually were about everything. You can give him the chance to be what Mormonism has always wished it could be. Or you can fight with them and help them reclaim their paradise, but get your hands stuck deep in the muck of this world.

Joshua Graham knows his history. He knows all the homes his people lost. And whatever brightness he's trying to regain, whatever soul he's trying to win back from the world that takes and takes and takes and takes - he wants to give it all up again to let these people keep their home.

He knows his past and he is angry.

And as the player, you help him make peace with one of two things: Being human by being fallen, or keeping his soul at the cost of reliving the ancestral trauma of losing Zion yet again.

Both were pretty visceral decisions for a Mormon teenage Babylon to make.

(Tagging @boonebignaturals in this because I need a witness to my madness.)

[dalliesque]

I'm On My Knees . . ! ! >//<

random things that make riize weak on their knees.

꒰ png ot7!riize x fem!reader , fluff , sillies , headcanons , established relationship , lower case intended . cw kisses, pet names . wc — (not proofread) ꒱

yu notes: MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT HC AAAA, NOT GONNA LET OT6 RUIN MY DAY 🫵

shotaro — your gaze

• it doesn't matter how long you have been dating him.

• your gaze would always melt him away, never failing to make him weak on his knees

• the way you stare at him loving, so warm, so comforting.

• he swears he'll always get hypnotised by it

• and at the end of it either staring back with a pair of lovesick eyes,

• or suddenly blurting out his dramatic plans of marrying you.

• well it could be both

"what do you want for dinner? it'll be my treat" a giddy giggle escape your lips, looking up from your phone to catch him staring. your gaze soften as you call for him in a small voice, "taro?" you tilt your head slightly. not receiving any reply back, you ask once again. "taro"—"let's get married."

sungchan — your voice + petnames

• there's just something so alluring about your voice

• it doesn't matter if your voice is sometimes soft, sometimes deep, raspy,

• even when you're not talking at all and just simply breathing

• it will always be a sweet treat to his ear.

• especially if you add in some sweet new names for him in your sentences

• he'll be kicking his feet like a highschool girl

• he's so obsessed with it, he will refuse to start a day without calling you or atleast receiving a voicemail from you.

• and obviously sleep calls when he's away are a must !!

"hello?" you utter sleepy, yawning and laying back down to your bed. you can hear shuffles through the call, confusion arising when he's not replying to your words. "pretty boy?" the call goes in one long silence as you can't hear him shuffling around on the other side anymore. "sungc"—"did you just call me a pretty boy??!!! KAKSJDJWISJSJSN WAIT I NEED A MINUTE"

eunseok — your caring nature

• idiot grin on his face

• like his smile is huge everytime your personality traits starts to show up

• the way he observes your attentiveness, your caring and kind nature

• his eyes will legit turns to hearts !!

• loves to watch as your caring mode turns on everytime you see animals, people or simply seeing,, him.

you drop down to a squat gently pushing the can of tuna towards a cute little kitten. "look at you.." you coo, offering your hand cautiously watching the way the kitten reacts before gently stroking it. eunseok smiles warmly, staring down at you and the way your expression soften whilst gently carresing the poor animal. "eunseok" you call softly breaking his trance. "yes baby?" eunseok's smile widens crouching next to you, you giggle gently reach out to fix the stray hair on his face. "can we adopt her?" eunseok swears he's fallen in love twice.

wonbin — your warmth

• wonbin lovesloooooves hugging you

• or cuddling you on top of a comfy mattress

• whether it's him spooning you or the other way around it doesn't really matter for him.

• what matters the most is your body pressed close against him at all times!

• he won't be able to function without the warmth your body provides, even if it's in the middle of summer 😵‍💫

you struggle in his embrace, trying to let go as the heat of summer slowly seeps through the window. feeling you pry open his arms, wonbin let out a whine pulling you closer as he hides in the crook of your neck. "it's so hot wonbin" you pout still trying to breakfree from his embrace. "i know im hot" a groan leaves your lips hitting his back gently. "atleast let me grab the ac remote??" wonbin sigh letting go slightly, his hand still perfectly wrapped around your wrist "fine, so this is how it is huh? you don't love me anymore." "oh shut up." you roll your eyes while chuckling softly turning on the ac before spooning him back in your arms, sighing in content.

seunghan — your touch

• blushing mess everytime your hands touch

• people might assume it would be the other way around, the way he acts most of the time proves that he wouldn't be the one clinging right?

• oh how wrong that is

• he'll make sure to keep you close 24/7

• it seems everytime you touch send such an electric feeling in his body

• and he'll never get enough of it, he will alwaaays be so flustered by it

you lean in slightly, your thumb brushing over his lips. "you got chocolate on your lips" you clarify, leaning back to your seat. sipping on your hot chocolate. seunghan quickly reaches out for your hand, placing it back to his lips. "seunghan..?" "i like your touch."

sohee — your smile

• this boy have the sweetest most beautiful smile and guess what?

• his weakness is your smile.

• he's such a tease about it too :(

• would do anything to see you trying to hold in your smile, looking away while blush crept up your skin. all because of him

"so pretty." he whispers softly, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. his eyes finding yours as you try your best to keep your composure, your eyes wandering everywhere but his pair. sohee holds back a giggle, seeing your flustered state. he gently touch your chin, forcing you to look his way. "baby.. pretty.. look at me."

anton — your kisses

• your kisses are his BIGGEST and i mean BIGGEST weakness ever

• most especially a kiss on his cheeks.. oh and his lips aswell !

• he will literally drop everything he's holding and drop down to his knees

"antoooooniooooo" you call fhim in a singsong voice, running giddily towards him. anton gives you sweet smile, pulling you in for a hug. "i missed you so much" you pout, soon pulling away. "i missed you too baby"— chuu! you lean in and gives him a big kiss on his cheek and another one on his lips as soon as he finished talking. your lipgloss staining his face. anton gasps, touching the places where you leave those kisses. feeling his knees weakening. "oh my—" "anton!!" you laugh keeping his knees from hitting the ground.

2024 ©️ dalliesque

@ :: @intakstars @taroddori @reenfludfmarshmallow @enhacolor @sftsohee

[dissapointu]

A Steamy Encounter with You (ekko Nsfw)

Your fingers trace the contours of Ekko's body as you kneel beside him, your breath hot and heavy against his skin. His eyes are closed, a mixture of pleasure and concentration etched on his face as he leans back against the cool surface of the wall. The room is dimly lit, shadows dancing across the rough stone walls, casting an almost ethereal glow over the scene.

You lean in closer, your lips mere inches from his cock, already half-hard and throbbing with anticipation. Your tongue flicks out, just barely grazing the tip, and Ekko's breath hitches. A low moan escapes his lips, and he opens his eyes, locking gazes with you. There's a raw intensity in his gaze, a hunger that mirrors your own.

"Take your time," he rasps, his voice thick with desire. "I want to savor every moment."

You nod, giving him a slow, seductive smile before you finally close the gap between you. Your lips wrap around the head of his cock, your mouth warm and wet as you begin to suck gently. Ekko's hands instinctively reach for your head, his fingers threading through your hair as you bob your head up and down, taking more of him into your mouth with each movement.

Your tongue swirls around the sensitive underside of his shaft, sending shivers down Ekko's spine. He groans, his hips twitching involuntarily as you work your magic. You can feel his control slipping, every ounce of his being focused on the exquisite sensations you're eliciting from him.

"Gods, you're amazing," he breathes, his voice strained. "Keep doing that."

You oblige, picking up the pace ever so slightly, your hands now working in tandem with your mouth. One hand cups his balls, gently massaging them as you deepthroat him, causing Ekko to gasp and arch his back. The other hand strokes the base of his cock, ensuring that every inch of him is covered in your saliva, glistening under the dim light.

Ekko's grip on your hair tightens, his fingers digging in as he tries to steady himself. "Fuck, I'm... I'm getting close," he warns, his voice tinged with desperation.

You pull off him with a wet pop, leaving a trail of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. "Not yet," you whisper, your voice dripping with lust. "I want you to last."

With that, you take him back into your mouth, this time focusing on the head, your tongue flicking furiously over the sensitive spot just below the tip. Ekko curses loudly, his body trembling as he fights to hold back his orgasm.

"I can't... I can't hold back much longer," he pants, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrenders to the pleasure.

You decide it's time to change things up, pulling off him once more and moving down to his balls. You take one into your mouth, sucking gently before switching to the other, your tongue running over each in turn. Ekko's moans grow louder, his hips bucking up towards you as you lavish attention on his sensitive sac.

"Please," he begs, his voice cracking. "I need... I need more."

Satisfied that you've pushed him close enough to the edge, you move back up his shaft, taking him into your mouth again. This time, you don't hold back, swallowing him whole until your nose presses against his skin. Ekko cries out, his hands gripping your hair tightly as he feels the impending climax building within him.

"I'm... I'm coming," he gasps, his voice strained. "Don't stop... please..."

You increase your pace, knowing he's right on the brink. With one final, powerful thrust, you deepthroat him completely, your throat contracting around his cock as he reaches the peak. Ekko's body tenses, his hips thrusting up one last time as he spills his load deep into your throat.

His release triggers your own, your body shuddering with pleasure as you drink down every drop. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ekko collapses back against the wall, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

You pull off him slowly, licking your lips as you admire your handiwork. Ekko's cock is still semi-hard, glistening with a mixture of your saliva and his semen. You look up at him, your eyes filled with satisfaction.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Poly!plastics x Skater!reader

While skating reader ended up breaking their wrist doing some dumbass trick and comes to school with a cast, and the plastics are integrating reader (mostly Regina and Gretchen), mf just says “oh yea i broke my wrist doing a trick” like it’s the calmest thing in the world 💀

What The Fuck

|| poly!plastics x nonbinary!skater!reader

|| Warnings; injured reader, swearing, Regina pissed at reader, short drabble

|| Summary; when reader shows up to school with an injury, the girls are concerned. More so than reader, it seems.

Requests closed!

Started; November 19th

Finished; November 19th

~~~

It happened so fast you barely had time to react. You were out skating. Just rolling down the street on your skateboard, popping tricks and testing out various things. As your board landed, you caught a pebble the wrong way and it suddenly stopped. Causing you to go flying forwards. Of course, you just had to land right on your wrist. Pain immediately shot through your body. An almost whimper like sound escaping your lips. Fuck. That's definitely broken.

The following day, you walked into school with a cast around your wrist. People glanced at you and gave you strange looks. Wondering what could have happened to you. They knew who you were. How couldn't they? You were part of the school's infamous poly group with the plastics. Everyone knew you. It was hard not to.

You made your way to your locker, struggling a bit with your lock as you could only use one hand. Once it was opened, you set your bag inside and got out whatever books you needed. Just as the plastics walked over to you. Gretchen was the first one you heard.

"Oh my God!!" Gretchen's voice rang out throughout the hall, startling Karen who looked at her. Confusion and concern on her face," Y/N, what happened to your wrist?!" She ran over to inspect you. Quickly followed by Regina and Karen.

"Seriously, what dumbass stunt did you pull this time?" Regina asked, eyes looking over your cast before landing on you. You glanced at it, then at them.

"Oh. Yeah. I broke my wrist doing a trick," you replied with a shrug. A shrug. You just... shrugged it off? Gretchen was gonna lose it but Regina got it first.

"I'm sorry, what the fuck?" She stared at you. Mixes of concern and anger at your chillness about it in her eyes. You shrugged again. Karen seemed to have finally caught up with what was happening, because she suddenly gasped and looked at your cast.

"Can I colour it?!" Karen beamed, you couldn't help but laugh and dug in your locker for your markers.

"Sure, baby." Once you got them, you handed them to her and the three of you made your way to class. Not before you closed up your locker though, obviously. Karen drew as you walked, she was actually a very good artist. You couldn't help but watch. Regina was still annoyed at you, sending you glares and giving silent treatment. How were you so calm about a broken wrist? Why didn't you tell them? She was mostly upset you never bothered to say anything last night and just let them find out. Cause what the fuck.

Gretchen noticed you carrying your books and immediately took them from you," let me get these. You're hurt."

"I'm hurt but not helpless, Gretchen." You sighed, but the determination and seriousness in her eyes kept you from arguing further. She carried your books, Karen decorated your cast and Regina seethed in silence. However she would yell at you more later, when they had the time. You were saved by the bell.

[revelboo]

I'm soooo obsessed with 'Skin and Bones' it makes me look stupid. I daydream about it at work lmao. Honestly fantastic

For me, it’s as fun to write soft Megatron as it is to write feral TFP Megs. Mass displaced mech 18+ 🌶️

Skin and Bones Pt 9- extended cut

IDW Megatron x Reader

Servos trembling as they curl into fists, he shrugs off Soundwave’s hand on his shoulder. Knows the communications officers is concerned, but the energon splattered on his hands and chassis isn’t his. It rarely ever is.

“Leave me,” he growls, wishing he could gentle his tone. But that fury is a living thing inside his spark. Another failed coup to put down. It’s not like it’s anything new, but he’s just so tired of it and violence is the only way to keep his throne. The only thing his followers respect and he hadn’t been able to temper his blows, because betrayal always brings out the worst in him. Those memories always too close to the surface.

Drags him right back to the gladiator pits, struggling and clawing just to survive, because one wrong move will cost his life. Never being able to relax, not even during recharge. Being the strongest had placed a target on his head. Made him plenty of enemies.

And finally alone, that rage shakes him, sinking into his spark. Because everything he’s done has been for them. Fighting for freedom, to not be leashed by the aristocracy ever again. Dragging his chair away from his desk, he slings it across the room. Wants to tear the walls down around him, but it’s the sharp cry from his berth that freezes him. Chains that fury.

Spark constricting as he realizes he’d forgotten all about you. Head turning, he finds you pressed against the wall on his berth, eyes wide with fear. Seeing the real him for the first time, the angry mech who’d fought so hard just to survive, who’d grown bitter and determined. And you’re terrified.

“Little one,” he growls, voice too rough still as he approaches. The chair didn’t land anywhere near you, but he’s been so careful to not show you the worst of him, because around you he can relax. Remember that there were times before the fights that weren’t easy by any means, but were almost happy. Companionship found with the other miners, a sense of family that had been taken from him. Reaching out a hand, he doesn’t try to touch you as you flinch back, little hands curled against yourself. Afraid if he tries to touch you, it’ll send you running. And he’s afraid of what he’ll do in turn if you reject him. He’s just so tired of it all, but you give him comfort. A little spot of trusting warmth.

Eyes shiny, you look from his outstretched hand to his face. Slowly letting out a breath and coming to him to lay a warm palm on his servo. Still trusting him even if you’re scared.

“Everything okay?” You ask, looking up at him as a single tear slides down your cheek and you reach up to scrub it away. Afraid, but asking him if he’s okay and your concern aches in his spark.

Knows how dangerous it is after the brawl he’d just had. If anyone comes looking for him, if they get past their fear and come at him together? Knows he shouldn’t risk it even as he places his ped on the berth, leaning forward and mass shifting. Closing the distance between you as he shrinks and seeing your eyes widen as he carefully grips your little hand. Even like this, you’re so much smaller than he is, fragile. But as you look up at him, he’s snared by those eyes, the little flecks of color in them he’s never noticed.

“You’re little. Smaller,” you whisper with a soft, awkward laugh, eyes dropping to stare at his hand gripping yours. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

He needs to see those eyes again, his free hand reaching to cup your soft cheek and tip your face up. Feeling when you lay your palm on his hand as he slides a servo along your cheek. Accepting his touch despite the faint tremor he can still feel, those trusting eyes seeing him. The good and the bad, and not running. Venting sharply when his touch leaves a smear of energon on your cheek, marking your skin with his sins.

Because that’s what he’s always done, isn’t it? Every time he reaches out, he just ends up destroying what he’s trying to protect.

He’s frozen, those red optics fixed on his servos against your cheek as you try to calm your racing heart. That had been the other side of the coin, the vicious warlord that the Seekers had whispered about. Feared. Red optics glowing, denta bared as he’d seized his chair in energon wet hands and thrown it. That hatred twisting his face mixed with despair, cutting you so deeply, piercing the fear.

Those wet servos are touching you, dampening your skin. And he’s just staring, venting raggedly like he’s about to lose it all over again. That’s what makes you catch his hand between both of yours when he tries to snatch it away. Eyes dropping as he hesitates and you pull, turning yourself so your back is to him, his arm under yours and pinned to your body. So you can examine that big hand. “I like when you touch my cheek or play with my hair,” you begin, unsure of how to say what you need to, what he needs to hear. Playing with a servo to curl it slightly and amazed that he’s letting you. “These hands don’t scare me, they’re warm against me when I sleep. They’re strong, but they keep me safe.”

“They destroy, too,” he murmurs.

He’s so close he’s almost touching you and you feel the warmth of him when he vents and it stirs your hair. “Mine can, too.”

He huffs out what might be a bitter laugh at that, but he would think you’re too little, too fragile to do any harm. Giving in, you lean back into him. Soaking in his warmth and safety and realizing how attached to him you are. That you like that rumbling voice, like those big, gentle hands. It’s not like you’d ever deluded yourself into thinking he was safe, but he’d made you feel seen and cherished. He’d felt safe even knowing what he was and what he’s capable of.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Tugging his hand up, you press a kiss against the center of his palm. You can’t look at him, can’t risk seeing the surprise or worse, the disgust on his face. Cause to him, you’re a pet. A weird little alien he adopted as his. So you brace yourself when he turns you, those red optics searching your face.

“You should be,” he says, cupping your face in those warm hands. “I terrify myself.” And his head dips, his mouth brushing against yours.

More of a question than a kiss, a warm stroke of his lips against yours and he’s lifting his head. Going up on tiptoes as warmth spreads through you, you catch his helm and drag him back so you can mold your own mouth to his. Wanting this, him even though it’s crazy. You’re two very different species, but being held by him, drowsing to the thrum of his spark under you, it feels like coming home. And you want all of it. Want to hang on with both hands so you’re not left alone again, because after him? You might not survive that loneliness.

His glossa slides against the seam of your lips entering when you part for him. Those big hands sliding over you, dragging you closer as your feet leave the ground. His mouth moves against yours in a hungry demand and one of his arms cages you to him.

Your mouth is all heat and hunger against his, those soft hands clinging to him as if afraid he might stop. Even if he’d wanted to, he’s not sure he could now. Because you’d reached out, taken what you wanted and given him permission to do the same. No, there’s no stopping until he takes everything he can, loses himself in whatever comfort you’ll allow him. Because you? There’s no conniving or plotting in those warm eyes. Pinning you to his frame, he goes down on his knees and lays you down under him, head lifting slightly so he can find those eyes. Reassure himself that he can have this without destroying what little he has.

“Don’t go,” you whisper, face flushed as you reach for him and how can he deny you?

Slowly do he doesn’t scare you, he finds the bottom edge of your shirt and slides it up to reveal soft skin. “I’m here,” he says and you smile faintly, little hands moving to help him strip you. And only then, bare underneath him, do you avoid his optics as he surfs a palm against you, mapping you out with his servos. “Look at me.” It’s a demand and not as gentle as he’d meant, but you hesitantly meet his optics. “We’re very different.”

“I know,” you say, reaching up to skim your fingers over his chassis in barely there touches. As if not sure if you’re allowed.

Catching your wrist, he presses your palm more firmly against him. “I like those differences.” Shifting slightly, he continues his slow exploration. Finding where he can touch you to make you shiver, squirm away, or gasp. Then his servos find you, cup you and stroke that wet heat. Realizing that as different as you are, it feels like you’re made for him as he presses a servo inside you and you arch. Primus, help him as he frees his spike. Needing to be buried deep inside you even as he strokes that servo deep.

“Don’t stop,” you protest when he pulls his hand away and he laughs softly. He can’t even if you asked him to as he shifts to cover you. Little eyes widening as you feel his spike slide against you, then slowly press inside. “Oh.”

You’re so tight and wet wrapped around his spike as he sheaths himself. He can feel you clench on him before you relax and soften as he cups your cheek. Rocks himself against you with a growl, savoring the feel of you. “I love those differences,” he snarls, beginning to move against you. Hips driving urgently against yours, still wound up with that anger from earlier. Taking that frustration out on you, claiming you rougher than he intended. And you hold onto him, murmuring against his neck. Right there, please, his name, falling almost mindlessly from your lips against the mesh of his neck. Accepting him even like this when you deserve gentle and soft.

And when you cry out and tighten on him, he keeps rutting against you. Denta bared as he thrusts and chases you over that edge. Feeling you milk his spike as he buries himself deep and releases. Claiming you as his. Needing you and those soft hands that had reached out, those eyes that had seen him and not turned away. Knows he doesn’t deserve you, but wants to hold onto this as long as you’ll trust yourself to him, because you feel more like home than anywhere he’s ever been.

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