#and the constant enduring is exhausting the constant Taking What I Can Get is EXHAUSTING (hence. the february breakdown)

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Six: Endurance

Chapter WC: 8,685

A/N: This chapter was supposed to just be about the boys, but I couldn't help but throw in a little extra treat. Also I'm going to put up a poll about the cover of this fic today, please vote if you can!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

Hyperspace, 21 BBY

After a whirlwind of meetings and introductions, and far too much talking, you were finally aboard the Oracle and on your way to Bothawui. You’d never in your life met so many people in such a short time, and while you were sure some would argue that was part of being a general, you couldn't help but feel drained and exhausted by the constant barrage of faces and names.

Thankfully, Booker was there to help, acting as a buffer between you and the rest of the world. He was surprisingly good at it, keeping everyone at arm's length while still making it seem like you were the friendliest and most approachable general anyone had ever met. It was a skill you had no idea he possessed, and one you were more than happy to take advantage of. The men respected him, and as far as you could tell, they didn't resent your presence. Even if you were starting to become undeniably cranky and snappy.

After a day and a half, however, things had finally begun to settle down, and the routine had started to take hold. You were still meeting and greeting and making friends, but the constant barrage of faces was finally becoming manageable, and the ship's crew and officers had stopped jumping at the chance to shake your hand. And while the men were still eager to introduce themselves, the novelty of a new general had begun to wear off. Which was a relief, considering how little sleep you'd gotten in the last forty-eight hours.

"What about green?" Booker asks, his gaze never leaving the datapad in his hands. "That would look good."

You give a noncommittal hum from somewhere in your chest and shift in your seat, trying desperately to get comfortable. The two of you have been in the conference room for the better part of the evening, discussing everything from supplies to battle strategies. And while you were enjoying his company and the chance to talk, it's getting late, and your body is screaming at you to rest.

“That’s fine,” you mumble, stifling a yawn.

“Or maybe something darker. Black?”

“Great.”

You close your eyes and lean back, the soft whirring of the ventilation system a welcome distraction. You listen to the gentle rhythm, the sound slowly fading into the background as your thoughts begin to drift.

The last couple of days had gone by in a blur, and it was only now that you were finally able to slow down and catch your breath. There had been a dozen meetings, a hundred questions, and a thousand decisions, and it was starting to take its toll. You hadn't realized exactly how much planning went into war until now, and the grey hairs starting to sprout from Obi-Wan's temples are beginning to make a lot more sense to you.

Your thoughts turn to him, and you can't help but wonder how he's doing. The two of you had spoken a few times, the conversation focused more on your respective divisions and the status of the war than anything else. You’d tried to keep the tone light, avoiding the topic of what had happened between the two of you. But even the briefest mention of Rex had caused a flash of sadness to pass over his face, and a twinge of guilt had twisted your gut.

The two of you were struggling, but both of you were trying your best to move past it. That was all that mattered. At least for now.

As for Rex, you'd messaged him a few times since you left, but the two of you had yet to have a chance to comm each other. The men had kept you busy, and he'd had his hands full with the 501st. As much as it pained you to admit, the distance was probably for the best. At least until you figured out exactly what it was that you were doing. Or rather, what it was that you were not doing.

“…And I was thinking I could paint a giant target on my armor and put myself on the front line. What do you think about that, sir?"

You blink, snapping back to the present, the image of Rex's face fading away. You glance at Booker to see he's staring at you, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Uh, sorry, what was that?" you ask. Booker lets out a dramatic sigh and sets his datapad on the table.

"I was just saying how nice it is to have a general who listens," he drawls. "Really pays attention to every single word."

"I'm listening," you mumble, stifling a yawn.

"Right," he replies. He crosses his arms, his gaze never leaving your face. "You're tired."

"I'm fine," you tell him. The lie is weak, even to your own ears, and you let out a frustrated groan, running a hand over your face. "Okay, yeah, I'm tired. Sorry. I just—"

"Need some sleep?" Booker finishes, his voice gentle. You shake your head, rubbing the exhaustion out of your eyes.

"No, no," you mutter. "It's fine. We can keep going."

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, and gives you a look. It’s not quite a glare, but it's close, and it’s so like Rex that it's startling. For a second, you're thrown back to the night in your quarters, Rex kneeling in front of you, the two of you staring at each other as he gently coaxed you into letting him take care of you. Then his words, his reminder to focus on your men and not your demons, ring through your mind. And suddenly, you're feeling a little less stubborn. A little more open to listening.

"Fine," you grumble, crossing your arms. "What do you want?"

"For you to get some rest," he says. You frown, and he holds up a hand, his expression shifting to a stern look. "Sir, you've been up for 16 hours.”

“I haven’t—“

“I’ve been keeping track," he tells you, cutting you off. "And as much as I enjoy your company, the men need you well-rested and alert. Not half-dead and sleep deprived."

Your jaw clenches, the urge to argue rising, but you force it back down. You know he's right, and the fact that he's willing to call you out on it, no matter how gently, is a testament to his character. And as much as you hate to admit it, you can feel the fatigue beginning to creep in, the desire to curl up and hide tugging at the edges of your consciousness.

You give a small sigh, and he flashes you a smile.

"Alright," you relent. "I'll turn in."

You stand and stretch, letting out a soft groan. Your spine pops, and you roll your shoulders, working the kinks out of your neck. You can't help but feel a little embarrassed by the fact that Booker has been keeping tabs on your habits, and while part of you wants to call him out for it, the other part of you is grateful for the concern. And you suppose that a man who's always looking out for his brothers will most likely be just as vigilant about looking out for his superior officers. Just as Rex was. Is. Will be.

The thought of the Captain sends a stab of pain through your chest, and you grimace, forcing the memory aside.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else?" you ask. You gesture towards the datapad on the table. "There's still a lot we have to go through."

"I'm sure. Besides, I'd rather you be well-rested for drills tomorrow."

You frown, the comment catching you off guard. "Drills? Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he says as he stands and walks around the table, stopping beside you. "Figured it'd be a good idea. Get a feel for the men. See how they perform."

"I don't—"

"You're their commanding officer, sir," he interrupts, and he rests a hand on your shoulder. "You need to know what they're capable of. So do I. And the best way to find out is by putting them through their paces. That way, we can make sure they're prepared."

His tone is light, almost teasing, but his words are serious, and there's a glint in his eye that leaves no room for argument. And as much as you want to protest, the truth is that he's right. You need to see the men in action, to test their abilities. To see where their strengths and weaknesses lie. And the only way to do that is by testing them yourself.

You let out a resigned sigh and offer a small, grateful smile.

"I guess I'm gonna need to get some rest, huh?"

"That's the plan," Booker says. His hand slides off your shoulder, and he reaches over, picking up the datapad. "C’mon. I’ll walk you back to your quarters."

The two of you start down the hall, and Booker continues to fill you in on the details, his words fading into the background as your mind starts to drift. You're barely listening, and the only thing you can focus on is the gentle rumble of his voice and the sound of his footsteps beside you.

He seems different somehow, a little more serious, a little more thoughtful. You can tell the reality of command is settling over him, and while you're sure he's struggling with the responsibility, you can't help but be impressed by his composure. It's as if his personality has shifted, the uncertain, reckless cadet morphing into a more serious, responsible soldier. He's taking his role seriously, and the thought is comforting.

As the two of you round the corner, your comm chimes, the sudden sound making you jump. You stop and pull the device out, checking the message.

Rex: Hey. How's it going?

Your heart stutters in your chest, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at the screen. Then, with a sharp breath, you type out a response, your fingers flying across the keys.

You: Good. Busy. Tired. But good. You?

Rex’s answer comes almost immediately.

Rex: Same. Glad to hear it's going well.

There's a pause, and a new message appears.

Rex: Can we talk?

Your heart leaps into your throat, and a flood of emotions wash over you. Excitement, anxiety, fear, anticipation, they all crash over you, a tidal wave threatening to drown you.

You type out a response, hesitating before hitting send.

You: Of course.

Another message pops up.

Rex: Comm me in 15 minutes. Don't forget.

You let out a quiet laugh, and you glance up, realizing Booker is staring at you, a small smile on his face. You flush, embarrassed, and you slide the comm back into your pocket, clearing your throat.

"Sorry," you mutter. "That was a friend."

"A friend, huh?" Booker asks, his tone teasing.

"Yes, a friend," you reply, giving him a sharp look.

"Well, your friend should have waited until morning," he tells you. "You need rest."

"He knows," you say, your voice softer than intended. Booker raises an eyebrow, and he glances at the pocket where your comm is sitting. Then his expression changes, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

"Ah," he says. "I get it."

You feel your cheeks burn, and you turn, continuing down the hall. He's following, his strides long and easy. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head, and the urge to snap at him is strong. But the truth is, you don't have the energy, and you're too focused on the promise of speaking with Rex to care.

You turn down another corridor, and Booker falls back into step beside you. He’s still watching you, but he doesn't speak, and you're thankful for the respite. You need a few moments to compose yourself, to collect your thoughts, to calm the flurry of emotions running rampant through your body.

Finally, you come to a stop in front of the door leading to your quarters, and you turn, looking up at him.

"Thank you," you tell him, your tone sincere. He grins, and he gives a slight nod.

"You're welcome, sir," he says. "Get some rest. Try not to stay up too late."

"What—"

Booker turns on his heel, waving a hand over his shoulder. "Have a good night, sir. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

Before you can respond, he's gone, disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the empty hallway. For a moment, all you can do is stare, and it's only the sudden chime of the chronometer that snaps you out of it. You pull the comm out of your pocket and unlock the door, stepping into your quarters and typing a quick message.

You: I'm here. Are you ready?

A response appears a few seconds later.

Rex: Whenever you are.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding of your heart, and you tap the button on the screen, connecting the call. There's a second of static, and then the sound of Rex's voice fills the room, his tone warm and familiar.

"Hi."

The single word is enough to make you smile, and you settle on the edge of your bed, taking a moment to steady yourself.

"Hey," you say. "It's good to hear your voice."

"You too," he replies. There's a slight hesitation, and you can hear the sound of him taking a breath. Then, a hint of worry in his tone. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," you reply. You let out a quiet laugh. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"You've been busy," he replies. There's another pause, and the air shifts, a feeling of apprehension falling over the conversation. "I didn't want to interrupt. Thought you might be getting tired of hearing from me."

"I'm never tired of hearing from you," you tell him, and the words are out of your mouth before you realize what you're saying. You blush, heat spreading across your face, and you're glad he can't see you. "I mean...it's nice. Talking to you."

You wince at the words, a flash of embarrassment rushing through you. That didn't come out right, either. You've barely said anything and you've already made a mess of things. And if the awkward silence coming from the comm is any indication, he's not taking it well.

But as the moment stretches, a spark of frustration ignites inside of you. It's not as if anything has changed between the two of you. Yes, the conversation is a bit uncomfortable, but that's only because you're trying so hard to keep things platonic. If you'd simply act natural, relax, let the conversation flow naturally, it wouldn't be so hard.

You take a deep breath and let the annoyance fade, replacing it with determination. You're not going to let this become a barrier between the two of you. If he can talk to you as a friend, so can you. And if that's all you can be, well, that's fine.

Besides, there's no reason why the two of you can't enjoy each other's company. Even if it's not quite what you want, even if it's not the kind of relationship you crave, the time spent together is still meaningful. It still matters. It's still something that brings you both comfort and joy.

And if the friendship is enough, well, that's better than nothing.

"I agree," Rex says, breaking the silence. His voice is gentle, and you can almost hear the smile in his words. "Even if you do sound tired."

You roll your eyes, letting out a scoff as you lean down and start to undo the buckles on your boots. "I'm not that tired."

"Sure," he drawls.

"I'm not," you reply, a slight note of indignation in your voice.

"Then why are you taking off your boots?"

You pause, caught off guard by the question. "How did—?"

"I can hear the buckles," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's pretty loud."

You let out a quiet sigh, your cheeks burning, and you set your boots aside. Your armor comes next, then your belt and tabards. The weight disappears from your shoulders, and you lean back, lying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

"Alright, maybe I'm a little tired," you admit. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of the mattress against your back.

"Just a little," he teases.

"Shut up," you mumble, a small grin on your face. "You know you're just as bad."

"I never claimed otherwise," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "How're things? The new legion treating you well?"

You close your eyes and let out a quiet hum, shifting into a more comfortable position. You can hear the concern in his voice, and you're glad that he's checking up on you. Even if it's for a brief moment.

"They're great," you answer, your voice soft. "A little eager, but that's expected. We're working through it."

Rex chuckles. "Sounds about right. Give 'em a few weeks. They'll figure it out."

"I hope so," you reply.

There's a moment of silence, and you find yourself drifting, the warmth and safety of your quarters lulling you into a sense of comfort. You yawn, your body sinking deeper into the bed, the weariness of the past few days beginning to catch up to you. You know you should get ready for bed, should take a shower and brush your teeth and change into something more comfortable, but the thought of moving is too exhausting.

"I can let you go, if you want," Rex offers, and the hint of reluctance in his voice makes you smile. "I know you're tired."

"No, I'm fine," you say. You open your eyes, blinking away the fatigue. "I'd rather talk to you. Even if I'm half-asleep."

Rex lets out a soft chuckle. "That doesn't bode well for the conversation."

"Doesn't matter," you murmur. "I like talking to you."

There's a pause, and you can practically hear the surprise in his voice. "Yeah?"

You let out a snort, and you roll onto your side, pulling the blanket up over yourself. "Yes, Rex, I like talking to you. A lot."

The admission leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you're suddenly grateful that he can't see the blush that spreads across your face. You wince, the embarrassment hitting you full force. Maybe the lack of sleep is affecting you more than you thought. You should have kept your mouth shut. At least until you weren't half-delirious.

"I like talking to you too," Rex replies, his voice soft.

"Good," you say. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, settling in. "Then let's talk. Tell me how the 501st is doing."

Rex begins to tell you about the men, his voice low and soothing. The new men he picked up on Kamino, his concerns about their training, the adjustments he's made to the command structure. He keeps the details light, avoiding anything too technical, and his words drift through the room, lulling you into a drowsy, contented state.

After a while, he trails off, and a moment of silence settles over the call.

"Are you still awake?"

"Mhm," you murmur, the sound muffled by the pillow. "Just resting my eyes."

"Right," he says, the doubt in his voice apparent. There's another pause, and you can hear him shift, his breath catching slightly. "Do you... do you mind if I keep talking?"

You give a slight shake of your head. "No, not at all."

"Alright," he says. Another pause, and the hesitance is back. As if he's worried about saying something wrong. Something that will break the spell. "I don't want to keep you up."

"I'm listening," you assure him.

He lets out a quiet sigh, and he falls silent. For a moment, you wonder if the call has dropped, or if the connection is bad, or if the battery on his comm has died. But just as the thought enters your mind, his voice cuts through the darkness, soft and gentle.

"I've missed you," he admits. "More than I expected."

Your chest tightens, and you open your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. It's strange, how a few words can cause such a visceral reaction, but the feeling is undeniable. It's as if a part of you is waking up, stretching, reaching for something.

It's only been a few days since you've seen him, but the longing is already setting in. The need to see his face. Hear his voice. Feel his presence. It's a need that grows stronger with every passing moment.

"I've missed you too," you reply, your voice a whisper. "More than I probably should."

Rex lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah."

There's another moment of silence, and you find yourself drifting, your thoughts beginning to slow. It's only the sound of his voice that keeps you from falling asleep, and you can't help but wonder if he's doing the same. If he's staying awake just to listen to the sound of your breathing.

"Are you still with me?" he asks.

"Yeah," you mumble, turning onto your side. You adjust the pillow, propping it up, and curl onto your side, hugging the soft fabric. You can feel sleep starting to claim you, and you're not sure how long you'll be able to fight it. "I'm here."

"You should get some sleep," he says, his voice gentle. "You're gonna need it."

You hum softly, closing your eyes and letting the darkness consume you. "Only if you promise to stay with me. Until I fall asleep."

There's a brief pause, and a wave of self-consciousness rushes through you. But before the doubt can take root, he speaks.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, his voice warm. You can hear the smile in his words, and the tightness in your chest loosens, a feeling of calm washing over you. "Close your eyes. Get comfortable."

You let out a quiet hum and obey, snuggling deeper into the blankets, pulling the sheets up around your shoulders. You can hear the soft sound of his breathing, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He's lying in bed too, just as tired and worn out as you are, his comm tucked under his ear.

For a moment, neither of you speak, and the quiet that surrounds you is comforting, a blanket of calm settling over the room. It's nice, being able to simply exist, to be alone with each other, no words needed. And while it's not exactly the same as being in the same place, being in the same bed, it's enough. For now.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice a low rumble. "Can I ask you something?"

"Mhm."

"Do you think..." He trails off, his words fading. You open your eyes and peer at the comm, waiting for him to continue. When he does, his voice is hesitant. "Do you think the war will ever end?"

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is blink, trying to process his words. In truth, you're not sure if the war will ever end. There's a part of you that hopes so, a part of you that wants peace more than anything, but there's a darker, more cynical part of you that's beginning to doubt it. That's beginning to wonder if the fighting will ever end. Or if the galaxy will be trapped in a never-ending cycle of war and destruction.

You let out a small sigh, closing your eyes once more.

"I don't know," you murmur. "But I hope so."

"Yeah," Rex replies, his tone distant. "Me too."

There's a brief silence, and you can hear the sound of fabric shifting. You imagine him rolling onto his side, adjusting his blankets, getting comfortable. Then he clears his throat, his voice barely audible.

"If it does end, though, I..." He trails off, and a slight note of uncertainty creeps into his tone. "I mean, will we...?"

He doesn't finish, and the question hangs in the air, unspoken. Will we still see each other? Will we stay friends? Will we still talk? Will we still care about each other? The thoughts race through your mind, and a knot forms in your stomach, the possibilities making you dizzy. You can't bear the thought of losing him, of losing what you have, and the mere idea of him not being a part of your life makes your chest ache.

The truth is, you need him. You need him in a way that's different from anyone else. A way that's beyond the platonic, beyond the physical, beyond the romantic. You need him because he understands you. He sees you. And the thought of being without him, of not having him by your side, of not hearing his voice, is too much to bear.

The reality of it is enough to snap you out of your stupor, and a rush of courage flows through you.

"I hope so," you whisper, the words barely audible. "I want us to."

A soft laugh escapes him, and you can almost hear the relief in his voice.

"Good," he murmurs. "So do I."

"Good," you sigh. You close your eyes, allowing the exhaustion to finally pull you under, and the sound of his breathing washes over you, carrying you deeper into the darkness.

You're not sure how long the two of you stay like that, how long the call lasts, or if he even stays awake. But the last thing you remember before the blackness claims you is the gentle hum of his voice, the quiet, steady rhythm lulling you to sleep.

Your comm is still on when you wake in the morning. It lies face up on your pillow, and when you check it, the screen is still active, the call still connected. You smile and bring the device closer, and when you hear the sound of a soft snore, your heart stutters. He's still there. He stayed.

For a moment, all you can do is lie there, staring at the comm, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. Then, as carefully as possible, you tap the button on the side, disconnecting the call. The screen goes dark, and the sound cuts off, leaving you alone in the silence.

You set the comm aside, and as you climb out of bed, you can't help but wonder how many more moments like this you'll get to have. How many more late-night calls, how many more stolen hours. How many more nights spent curled up next to the comm, his voice filling the air.

You know the answer, and it's not a pleasant one. You're going to be on the front lines, constantly in motion, constantly fighting. And if the war drags on, as it seems likely to, the two of you will be spread apart, the distance between you increasing exponentially. And even if somehow the universe sees fit to grant the two of you a respite, there's no guarantee that it will last. No guarantee that it will allow you the chance to truly enjoy each other's company.

You stand, shaking the thoughts away. It doesn't matter. What's done is done. And whatever happens, whatever the future holds, the two of you will make it work. You have to. Because the alternative is too painful to contemplate.

And if the only time the two of you can spend together is in the form of a few stolen moments, a few late-night conversations, a few whispered words, well, that's better than nothing.

With a sigh, you haul yourself out of bed, determined to start the day with a clean slate. It's going to be a long one, and the last thing you need is to let the negativity consume you. So, you push the doubts and fears and worries aside and get dressed, the familiar routine calming your nerves.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, and a quick trip to the mess hall, you make your way to the hangar. There’s a commotion as the troops work together to clear out the space, and a flurry of activity fills the air, the sound of metal boots echoing throughout the room.

Booker is standing near the entrance, a datapad in hand. Like most of the men, he’s dressed in the lower half of his armor, leaving the black undersuit visible. He glances up as you approach, and a grin spreads across his face, his eyes bright.

"Good morning, sir," he greets, his voice loud enough to be heard over the din.

"Good morning," you reply, and you give him a tired smile. "You're chipper today."

He laughs and sets the datapad on a nearby crate, crossing his arms. "I'm always chipper, sir. Just like you're always grumpy."

You glare at him, but the look only makes him laugh.

"C'mon," he says, jerking his head towards the open space. "We're ready to go."

You follow him across the hangar, weaving through the sea of troopers, and a moment later, the two of you are standing in the middle of the room, the men forming a large circle around you. There's a hush as the group gathers, and Booker turns, addressing the troops.

"Listen up!" he calls, his voice booming through the room. The men immediately straighten, their attention focused on the pair of you. "Today, we'll be conducting drills. Hand-to-hand combat and weapons training."

You step forward, and you raise your voice, addressing the men. "I know most of you have had basic training, but today will be different. Today, I want to see what you can do. Who has the fastest reaction times. Who has the best accuracy. Who can take a hit and keep going. We'll go through each of the weapons, and we'll spar. Everyone. Even me."

You pause, allowing the men to absorb your words.

"It's important that you're well-prepared," you continue. "Because once we reach the battlefield, there's no room for error. Every second, every movement, counts. So, let's get to work."

The men immediately scramble to various stations, grabbing blasters and helmets and other equipment. You watch as they work together, passing gear between each other. They're efficient and organized, and the sight is enough to ease some of the pressure. At least you know these men will be able to handle themselves.

After a few minutes, everyone is suited up, and the hangar is filled with the hum of blasters and the sound of shouting. You glance at Booker, and you share a knowing smile. Then, without another word, the two of you move, heading towards the nearest station.

It's a good three hours before the first break is called, and by the time it is, the entire hangar is hot and sweaty and exhausted. The men gather around, their chests heaving, their faces covered in grime. And, while some are showing signs of weariness, most are smiling and joking with each other, their spirits high.

You're leaning against the wall, sipping water and watching the troops, and Booker is sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands resting behind his head. The two of you watch as a few soldiers begin to spar, and the rest gather around, cheering them on.

"They're doing well," Booker observes, his voice soft.

You nod, watching as a trooper manages to land a kick, sending his opponent staggering. The sound of their laughter fills the air, and you can't help but smile.

"Yeah," you agree. "They're a good group."

The two of you fall silent, and you find yourself thinking about Rex, wondering how his men are doing. Wondering how he's doing. The image of his face, the soft sound of his voice, fills your mind, and the memory is enough to send a warm tingle down your spine.

"So," Booker begins, pulling you from your thoughts. You glance at him, raising an eyebrow, and he gives you a look. "Still regretting that promotion?"

You roll your eyes and turn, leaning against the wall and crossing your arms. You stare at the floor as you consider his question. After a moment, you give a slight shake of your head, letting out a quiet laugh.

"No," you admit. "Not anymore."

Booker smiles, his eyes sparkling. "Good."

The larger of the two clones lands a solid hit, sending his opponent to the ground, and you wince at the sound of impact. But the men are laughing, and a few seconds later, they're helping their fallen comrade to his feet, clapping him on the back. Blood streams from his nose, but he doesn't seem to care, a wide grin on his face as one of the men steps forward and ruffles his hair.

"Is that Dash?" you ask, pointing at the clone with the bloodied face. Booker glances over, and his expression softens.

"Yeah," he replies. "That's him."

The clone looks over at the sound of his name, and his face lights up, a wide smile spreading across his face. He raises a hand in a wave, and you give a small nod, acknowledging the gesture. You'd forgotten how young he was. You hadn't seen him since the battle of Kamino, and the memory of him standing before you, his hands twisting nervously, is suddenly fresh in your mind. He's taller now, more confident, but there's still a hint of anxiety in his eyes.

"How's he doing?" you murmur to Booker, turning your head so that the men can't see your lips move.

"He's good," Booker answers, his voice low. "He's got a lot of potential."

You nod, watching as Dash takes a few steps forward, stopping in front of the two of you. The rest of the men disperse, returning to their sparring and their shooting, and the three of you are left alone.

Dash's smile is a little less enthusiastic now, and a light flush creeps across his face. He stands awkwardly, his hands clasped behind his back, his feet shifting nervously.

"General," he greets, giving a slight nod. "It's an honor."

"How are you, Dash?" you ask, keeping your tone friendly.

"I'm good, sir," he replies. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and it comes away smeared with blood. "You?"

You give him a smile, trying to hide the concern on your face. "I'm fine. Are you alright? Your nose is bleeding."

Dash blinks, seemingly surprised, and he brings his hand up, pressing a finger to his nose. It comes away red, and he glances at his hand with a frown. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and after a moment, he simply shrugs, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, looking embarrassed.

"Hey," Booker cuts in. "Why don't you take a seat?"

He pats the spot next to him, and Dash nods, sinking to the floor. You settle beside him, your back against the wall, and you hand him a towel. He takes it gratefully, pressing the cloth to his nose.

"Thanks," he mutters, his voice muffled.

"No problem," you tell him. You glance at his face, studying the injury. His nose isn't broken, and the bleeding has slowed, but the bruise is already starting to form. "Who were you fighting?"

"Screwball," Dash answers, gesturing to the clone. The man in question is currently sparring with another trooper, and the two of them are locked in a fierce battle. You watch, impressed, as Screwball manages to knock his opponent's feet out from under him, and a few seconds later, the soldier is on his back, the larger clone straddling his chest.

Dash lets out a snort, and he shakes his head.

"That was fast," he mutters. "He's good."

"He is," you agree, your eyes never leaving the fight. Screwball has managed to pin his opponent, and he's using his weight to his advantage, holding the man in place. After a moment, the soldier slumps, signaling his surrender, and Screwball leaps to his feet, a broad grin on his face.

"You're not so bad, yourself," you add, glancing at Dash. He meets your gaze, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You held your own."

His cheeks turn a deep red, and he ducks his head, a soft laugh escaping him. You give him a gentle pat on the shoulder, and his blush darkens.

"Thanks, sir," he mumbles.

"Just telling the truth," you say, shrugging. "You're leaving yourself open, though."

Dash's eyebrows furrow, and he turns his attention to you.

"What do you mean?"

"Your left side," you explain. "You're leaving it open. If your opponent is fast enough, they'll be able to get a shot in. Like this."

You swing your leg out, and the tip of your boot connects with his ribs. It's a gentle kick, but he flinches, hissing in pain. He doubles over, clutching his side, and you offer an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," you say. "I didn't mean to hit that hard."

"It's fine," Dash says, his voice strained.

"Try again," you instruct, getting to your feet. Dash takes a deep breath, and he rolls his shoulders, shaking out his limbs. He plants his feet, his fists clenched, and he squares his shoulders, ready for the next blow. You take a step back, and you swing your leg, aiming for his right side this time.

He doesn't flinch, and he's able to block the kick, his forearm connecting with your shin. He grunts, and you grin, impressed.

"Good," you tell him, taking a step back. "Better. Now, try the same thing, but switch sides."

He nods, and he plants his feet again, his arms held loosely at his sides. This time, he's quicker, and he's able to deflect your kick, his hand coming up and grabbing your ankle. You yelp as he twists, yanking your foot off the ground, though the maneuver doesn't catch you off guard. You let your body fall, landing on the ground, and you twist your leg, freeing yourself from his grasp.

You leap back to your feet, and the two of you begin a series of kicks and blocks, your bodies moving in sync. The other troopers stop to watch, and a few of them begin cheering, encouraging Dash to keep going. After a few minutes, you slow, and the two of you circle each other, panting. Dash's nose has stopped bleeding, and his eyes are bright, a wild grin on his face.

"Not bad," you pant, a smile on your own face.

"Not bad?" Dash echoes. "I think I won."

"In your dreams," you scoff. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, and you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. "Again. You're still leaving yourself open."

Dash frowns, and he glances down, studying his posture. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head, and after a moment, his expression changes, his face brightening. He moves his left arm, tucking it behind his back, and he takes a defensive stance, his hands up.

"Like this?" he asks, his eyes shining.

"Exactly," you reply, a note of approval in your tone. "Now, try blocking me again."

He nods, and you lunge, swinging your leg. His arm snaps up, and he blocks the kick, a loud grunt escaping him. You pull your foot back, and he takes a step forward, his arms raised. The two of you continue the exercise, blocking and dodging, until finally, you decide to end the fight with a final move. 

You feint, and Dash reacts, his eyes narrowing. He blocks your kick, but his guard is down, and you take advantage, grabbing his arm and yanking him off-balance. He lets out a startled yelp as you twist, using your momentum to pull him over your shoulder, and a second later, he's on his back, blinking up at you. 

The room erupts into cheers, and you extend a hand, helping him to his feet. His face is flushed, but his eyes are bright, and he grins, shaking his head.

"Wow," he says, a little breathless. "You're fast."

"So are you," you reply. You dust your hands off and give him a wink. "Keep practicing, and you might actually stand a chance against me."

He laughs and runs a hand through his hair, his cheeks still pink.

"I'll do my best, sir," he promises.

"Good," you tell him. You glance around, and a small crowd has formed, the men watching the two of you. You raise your voice, addressing the group. "Alright, everyone! Back to work! Let's go!"

The men scatter, and the two of you watch as they return to their training, the hangar filled with the sound of their voices and their laughter. Dash turns too, but Booker catches his arm, holding him in place as another clone emerges from the group, striding towards the three of you. You recognize Wise instantly by the sour look on his face, and you can't help but smirk.

You'd been more than a little surprised to learn that Wise had volunteered to be the chief medic of the 419th Brigade. Not that you doubted his abilities. He'd certainly shown his worth as a skilled healer, his knowledge of anatomy and physiology rivaling that of the Kaminoans, but a part of you had assumed Kamino would want to keep him. It wasn't every day a clone with his talents walked out of the facility.

Yet, here he was. And for some reason, his presence made you feel better. Like maybe if he was here, it meant something. Like maybe you weren't completely screwed.

"You okay, Wise?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Wise shoots you a glare, and he crosses his arms, his expression sour.

"This place is a goddamn zoo," he grumbles. He points at Dash's face, the blood still visible despite the attempt to wipe it away. "What happened to you?"

Dash shrugs. "Sparring."

Wise snorts derisively, and he reaches out, grabbing Dash by the chin. He tilts the clone's head to the side, examining the wound, and his eyes narrow.

"I told you not to do anything stupid," he grumbles.

Dash grins and shrugs again, clearly not bothered by Wise's scolding.

"It was a good fight," he replies, a slight note of pride in his voice. "I learned a lot."

Wise rolls his eyes and releases his hold on the younger clone. He turns to you, giving you a slight nod, and you raise an eyebrow, surprised by his show of respect.

"General," he says. His voice is gruff, and there's a hint of hesitation in his tone. "Can I talk to you? Privately?"

Your eyebrows furrow, and you exchange a confused glance with Booker.

"Sure," you reply, turning your attention to the medic. He jerks his head towards the far side of the hangar, and the two of you start walking, leaving Booker and Dash behind.

As soon as the two of you are out of earshot, Wise stops, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I wanted to apologize," he says, his tone low.

"For what?"

"For the way I treated you," he answers, meeting your gaze. His eyes are filled with regret, and his lips are pressed into a thin line. "Back on Kamino."

You blink, taken aback by his admission. It's not as if you were a stranger to rude behavior, and compared to what you'd endured and dished out over your lifetime, Wise's attitude had barely registered. If anything, it had been a bit refreshing. The fact that he felt the need to apologize, however, is unexpected.

You study his expression, searching for a hint of sarcasm, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. There isn't any.

"It's fine," you assure him. "I didn't exactly make a great first impression, either."

He lets out a huff of air, and he gives a small shake of his head.

"Yeah, well," he mutters. "You're the General. It wasn't my place."

There's a long pause, and you lean against the wall, watching as the troops begin their exercises once more. You can feel his eyes on you, and after a moment, you turn, meeting his gaze.

"How did you end up here, anyway?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Wise snorts and leans beside you, crossing his arms across his chest and resting his back against the wall. He lets out a short sigh, and his gaze falls, focusing on the floor.

"The longnecks weren't thrilled," he admits, his voice low. "But they didn't really have a choice. Commander Booker and Captain Rex had spoken on my behalf, and the GAR had approved my transfer."

"And you're okay with that?"

He gives a noncommittal shrug, his expression thoughtful.

"It's better than scrubbing floors and being under constant surveillance," he says. He shoots a glance in your direction, and his lips twitch. "And as far as generals go, you're not so bad."

You can't help but laugh, and you nudge him gently.

"Well, I appreciate the vote of confidence," you reply, grinning. You tilt your head, giving him a playful look. "So, we're friends now, right?"

Wise scoffs and rolls his eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile creeps across his face.

"Hardly," he mutters, and he turns, his eyes scanning the hangar. He clears his throat, his voice returning to its usual gruffness. "Now, get back to work, General. Some of us have actual things to do."

Wise pushes away from the wall, heading back towards Dash and Booker, and you follow, the two of you falling into step. As the distance between the group and yourselves lessens, the medic's demeanor shifts, and his usual scowl is firmly in place. Dash seems immune to the effect of his glare, too focused on the conversation he's having with Booker. A conversation that, judging by the blush on his cheeks, seems to involve you.

"Green is good, but I think she would look better in yellow," Dash says, his voice hushed. "What do you think?"

"I don't know, kid," Booker replies. "I'm not sure if yellow is her color."

"It's worth a shot, isn't it?" Dash glances over, catching sight of Wise, and he grins. "Hey, Wise, what color would you say the General looks best in?"

"Don't drag me into this," Wise grumbles. He comes to a stop beside the pair, and his gaze lands on you. You raise an eyebrow, silently asking him the question, and his expression is completely deadpan. "Yellow."

He gives a short nod to you and Booker, his gaze lingering for a moment, before striding past, disappearing into the sea of troops. You watch him go, unable to hide the smirk on your face, and Booker's expression is one of pure shock. Dash, meanwhile, looks pleased. Very, very pleased.

"Um..." he begins. He clears his throat, and his eyes dart to Booker, his expression hopeful. "Commander?"

Booker blinks, and his lips twitch. He claps Dash on the shoulder, and the younger clone nearly buckles, a sharp gasp escaping him.

"Dash thinks our color should be yellow," he announces, and Dash lets out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. You raise an eyebrow, and Booker gives a noncommittal shrug. "Personally, I think it's a little bright, but..."

"Yellow's not bad," you concede, glancing around the hangar. Anything would be better than the white and gray you were currently surrounded by. "We could probably do with a little color around here."

Dash studies you for a few moments longer, and his eyes light up, a broad grin splitting his face. He turns on his heel and rushes to the nearest trooper, and he begins speaking rapidly, pointing in your direction. The soldier nods, and a moment later, he's jogging off, disappearing into the crowd.

"What are they doing?" you ask, glancing at Booker.

"Not sure," he replies. "But I'm guessing the kid's got an idea."

The two of you watch as Dash speaks to another clone, this one older and taller. After a brief conversation, the man nods, and the pair begin making their way through the hangar, stopping in front of various squads. They speak to the soldiers, gesturing towards you, and a few minutes later, the men begin nodding, some of them even laughing. When Dash is finished, he hurries back towards you, his eyes shining.

"Well?" you ask, and he flashes a broad grin.

"It's settled, sir," he announces, his chest puffed out.

"Oh?"

"Gold," he replies. He nods, as if agreeing with his own words. "Definitely gold."

A surprised laugh escapes you. The Force must be playing a trick on you. There was no other explanation for it. Because it seemed that, somehow, the universe had aligned itself to bring the clones of the 419th together, all for the sole purpose of giving you a headache.

"Gold," you repeat, and Dash nods, a slight look of concern on his face.

"Yes, sir," he says, his voice quiet. "Is that...is that alright?"

"Why?" you ask, unable to keep the incredulity out of your tone. "Where did you get the idea?"

"It's because of your lightsaber," Dash tells you. He points at your waist, and your gaze drifts down to the weapon attached to your belt. "It's yellow. Or gold, really. We should match."

"My lightsaber?" you echo, staring at him. His cheeks flush, and he clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, yeah," he mutters. He drops his hand, and his eyes land on your saber. "The way it lights up the room...it's like...it's like it's filled with the sun itself."

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Instead, you stand there, stunned, an unexpected swell of emotion rising within you. You don't know why, but his words, his sentiment, touches you. In a way you never would've imagined.

It's a strange feeling. You're not used to it, and you're not entirely sure how to process it. No one has ever compared your lightsaber to the sun before. Your yellow blade is one more thing that's different from most other Jedi. Another piece of evidence to mark you as an outsider. For Dash to see something else, something unique and special, is...nice. Nice and unexpected.

"Okay," you say softly, giving him a small smile. "Gold it is."

A few of the men let out cheers, and Booker claps his hands, raising his voice.

"Alright," he calls. "Back to work!"

The troopers scatter, and the noise level in the hangar returns to normal, the sound of laughter and friendly banter filling the air. Booker gives a satisfied nod before he turns to you, his expression serious.

"You okay?" he asks, lowering his voice. "You look like you're about to cry."

You glare at him, though the effect is lost. There's a stinging in your eyes that you can't quite shake, and you turn your head, pretending to study the troops. You take a deep breath, pushing the feelings aside, and a few seconds later, you manage to regain control.

"I'm fine," you reply, a hint of annoyance in your tone. You turn back to Booker, and he raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. You roll your eyes. "And I don't cry."

He snorts and shakes his head, turning his attention back to the men. The two of you stand in companionable silence, watching as the squad leaders guide their troops through the motions. A short distance away, Dash is practicing his sparring skills with Screwball, a smile on his face.

After a while, you glance at Booker, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I think we'll be alright," you murmur.

Booker's gaze remains focused on the men, but his expression softens, and the corner of his mouth curves upward.

"Yeah," he agrees, and he nudges you gently. "We will."

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees @awkwardwookie

@sugarrush-blush @lunaastars @capricornrabies @champagnejaig @silly-starfish

@veralii @chubbyhedgehog @lordofthenerds97 @meshlajetii

@heaven1207 @808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper

[warriorprincesstramp]

guy who didn't take their stop getting panicked and freaking out at everything and having unbearable heart palpitations and being unable to sleep pill voice guess who's feeling panicked and won't stop freaking out at everything and is having unbearable heart palpitations and can't sleep!! el oh el!

[jungwnies]

under pressure - max verstappen

୨ৎ : pairing : max verstappen x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : a childhood love turned power couple, you and max find comfort in each other, navigating love and pressure together.

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : wc : 838

! requested !

The hum of the engine roared through the grandstand as Max Verstappen crossed the finish line, securing yet another win. The crowd erupted, but his eyes didn���t search for the team celebrating wildly in the paddock. Instead, they darted to the VIP box, scanning for you. And there you were, perched on the edge of your seat, a bright orange scarf wrapped around your neck despite the blazing summer heat. The Wimbledon trophy you’d won just last month had barely left the headlines, but here you were, blending into the world of racing like you belonged—because you did. You always had.

Max’s grin faltered slightly as he caught sight of you clapping. The usual spark in your eyes was dim, the weight of the constant media scrutiny hanging over you like a storm cloud. He knew that look all too well. It was the same one he’d worn after enduring years of relentless pressure, harsh words, and impossible expectations.

By the time he reached the motorhome, you were already there, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed. Your fiery confidence, the one that made headlines and caused commentators to stumble over themselves, was replaced with a quiet exhaustion.

“Another win,” you said, forcing a smile. “Does it ever get old?”

Max chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Not when you’re watching.”

You scoffed lightly but didn’t respond. Instead, you turned and stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Max followed, his brows furrowed with concern.

“You didn’t stay for the celebrations,” he noted, his voice softer now.

“Didn’t feel like it,” you replied, sitting on the couch and burying your face in your hands. “Max, I…” You trailed off, your voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

He was by your side in an instant, his hand resting on your knee. “What happened?”

You lifted your head, eyes glassy but defiant. “Same old story. The media tearing me apart, saying I’m too aggressive on the court, that I’m not ‘graceful’ enough for women’s tennis. They’re calling me a bad role model, Max.”

His jaw tightened, anger flashing across his features. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re the best player out there, and they’re just threatened by it.”

You shook your head. “It’s not just that. They’re saying I’m only winning because I’ve got you as my ‘emotional support,’ as if I haven’t spent years grinding it out on the court. They’re making me sound like I’m nothing without you.”

Max’s heart ached at the bitterness in your tone. “That’s not true. You’re a force of nature, with or without me.”

“I know that,” you snapped, then immediately softened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey,” Max interrupted gently, “it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the hum of the motorhome’s air conditioning filling the space. Then, quietly, Max said, “You’ve been there for me through everything. My dad, the pressure, the times I thought I’d never live up to the expectations. You were the one who pulled me out of it.”

You turned to him, your expression softening. “Because I love you, Max. And I hate seeing you hurt.”

His throat tightened at your words, a mix of gratitude and something deeper threatening to overwhelm him. “And I hate seeing you like this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not just my world champion; you’re my everything.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. But the vulnerability lingered, raw and unspoken. You both understood what it meant to carry the hopes and dreams of others, to bear the scars of relentless ambition.

“Max,” you began, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this—pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. I don’t know if I can keep being strong.”

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me. We’ve been through too much to hide from each other now.”

Tears spilled over as you leaned into his touch. “I’m so tired, Max. Tired of fighting, of proving myself, of… everything.”

“Then let me be strong for you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Let me carry some of the weight. We’ll figure it out together, like we always do.”

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to crumble, burying your face in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. The barriers you’d both built to survive in your respective worlds came crashing down, leaving nothing but the raw, unfiltered truth of your love for each other.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his once more. “I love you,” you said, the words heavy with meaning.

“I love you too,” Max replied, his voice steady and sure.

And in that moment, amidst the chaos of your lives, you knew that love—vulnerable, messy, and real—was enough.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[bamfkeeper]

Blue Helpers.

RQ: 'Can I request reader (established relationship with night crawler) where reader is sick and the barmfs get so worried and try to take care of her, along side hurt' - @lillycore

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader | warnings: Sick/illness themes

a/n: Doing quick little requests because I've been busy, I'm sorry 💔 I hope you enjoy this little drabble. Unedited. ;; wc: 1.0k

You coughed violently, your body shaking with each forceful expulsion of air.

As the fit subsided, you sank back into your bed, pulling the comforter tightly around you in a desperate attempt to find comfort. The pressure in your sinuses was relentless, a constant ache that seemed to radiate through your entire skull. It had been years since you'd fallen ill like this, and the sudden onset of sickness a few days ago had caught you completely off guard. You thought it was maybe food poisoning, but there was no way food caused you to be this sick.

Since then, you'd been confined to your bed, your body too weak to do much more than sleep fitfully and endure the various symptoms plaguing you. The combination of fever, congestion, and overall malaise left you feeling utterly gross, as if your own body had betrayed you.

Your persistent coughing didn't go unnoticed. The little blue imps were curious and concerned, cautiously making their way into your bedroom. They climbed onto the bed, their large yellow eyes blinking rapidly as they observed your weakened state. Their usual energy subdued with worry as they saw just how weak you were, radiating illness from your body. They stretched out their tiny arms towards you, but maintained a respectful distance, unsure of how to help or what to do. The bamfs huddled together at the foot of the bed, their gazes never leaving you as they tried to make sense of your condition.

It was clear to them that you were unwell - your pale complexion, the sheen of sweat on your brow, and your labored breathing were obvious signs. In their limited understanding, they couldn't comprehend why this illness had rendered you so completely incapacitated, so unlike your usual vibrant self.

One of the bamfs chirped softly, its tiny feet pattering across the bed as it approached you. It nuzzled against your cheek, its velvety body held a comforting warmth that provided a momentary respite from the discomfort of your fever. The gesture brought a weak smile to your face, despite your illness.

"Ach, kleine Schätze...bitte, give them some space," Kurt gently admonished, his voice a soothing murmur as he entered the room carrying a steaming bowl. He placed the bowl on the nightstand and lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress. His golden eyes met yours as he spoke softly, "Liebe...you must be feeling dreadful. Your temperature is quite high."

He reached out, his cool hand brushing against your forehead in a tender gesture. A reassuring smile played on his lips as he continued, "But fear not, I've brought something that should help."

Kurt lifted the bowl, wisps of steam rising from its contents. "I've prepared some Kartoffelsuppe for you," he explained, his voice warm with nostalgia. "It's a special recipe, freshly made and piping hot. My mother used to make this very soup for me whenever I fell ill as a child. It always seemed to work wonders."

You lifted your head weakly, mustering a faint smile despite your exhaustion. "It does smell good..." you murmured, the aroma of the soup tantalizing your senses. With some assistance from Kurt, you managed to sit up a bit more, your body still feeling fragile and unsteady. Kurt adjusted himself to sit closer, carefully holding the spoon out for you, his movements slow and deliberate to ensure your comfort.

As the spoon touched your lips, you savored each small sip. The soup was a symphony of flavors, each taste bud awakening to the rich, comforting blend. The warmth of the liquid spread through your body, contrasting to the chills of your fever. You knew you probably shouldn’t be eating hot soup with a temperature, but the soothing heat of the soup in your belly felt like a balm to your ailing body. You couldn't help but appreciate the deliciousness of the meal, a small pleasure in your current state of discomfort.

"Ugh, it's delicious, Kurt..." You sighed, savoring the food and relieved your stubborn stomach was accepting of the meal instead of instantly making you vomit it all up.

The bamfs huddled around you, their large eyes filled with concern as they observed Kurt feeding you. Their tiny forms pressed close, offering what comfort they could through their presence. Their simple minds grappled with the concept of your weakness as they witnessed Kurt carefully spoon feeding you.

If you were too frail to feed yourself, how could you possibly manage anything else? The sight of you in such a vulnerable state clearly distressed them, their usual playful demeanor gone as they made soft whining sounds against you. Their attachment to you was evident in every worried glance and gentle touch, they had become so needy for you ever since you and Kurt became an item, and they hated seeing you hurt in any way.

After finishing your meal, Kurt excused himself to fetch some medicine, leaving you to rest and recuperate. The bamfs remained gathered around you, their concern evident in their actions. With an eagerness to assist after seeing Kurt giving you food, they took it upon themselves to tend to your needs in his absence.

Their tiny hands struggled but managed to lift the large glass of water, offering it to you for a refreshing sip whenever you tried to reach for it yourself. They replaced the cool, damp cloth on your forehead after the rag had become too warm, splaying it on your forehead perfectly each time. The sweet things even attempted to massage your aching muscles with their small, three-fingered hands.

These loyal little imps refused to leave your side, their presence a constant and unwavering. When Kurt returned, he found you curled up on your side, surrounded by a protective cocoon of blue bamfs. They had nestled themselves against your belly and back, with some even perched atop you. Their warm, sleepy bodies provided a soothing heat, carefully balanced so as not to overheat you in your fragile state.

This living blanket of bamfs offered both physical warmth and emotional comfort, even with the few that had managed to weasel their way under your arm like teddy bears.

Thanks for reading <3

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight | Photos on Pinterest, Bamfs from Nightcrawler 2014

[sarawritestories]

You Are Not a Burden

Cassian X Fem Reader

Summary: You have been tasked with going to the Spring Court to check in on Tamlin for Rhys. Though You and the High Lord do not get along and this visit leaves you injured and doubting your abilities in Rhys and Feryre's court and in the Inner Circle.

Content Warning: Angst, Aggression, injury, Stubbornness, Self doubt, barely proof read.

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I hope you enjoy this angsty fic that has some really good fluff at the end.

Exhaustion had been your constant companion in the past weeks. Doing emissary work between Summer and the Day Court had been successful and have been in good company with Tarquin and Helion, who have always loved when you come to visit. Though standing on the dilapidated building of the Spring Court, you wished you could be anywhere else. The territory has been neglected as shown by the dead plants and the Mansion looking like no one has stayed there in centuries in a matter of months. The once rich color of the land had dulled, and the people of this court have suffered just as much as the land.

Rhys had asked you personally to touch base with him as you were already traveling to nearby territories and seeing the exhaustion on his face mostly from taking care of Nyx and not wanting to have Feyre endure going back there you agree. The relief in his eyes made it worth being here though it meant that you would be apart from your mate for weeks as Cassian was at the Illyrian camps handling Devlon and making sure the camps were staying in line. The time apart has left an ache in your heart, but the work has been a great distraction.

Shaking your mind from your thoughts and sending love down the bond that links you to your General. There was a warmth that took over your body as he sent warmth and comfort through the bond. Taking a breath you raise your hand and ready to knock on the door when the door opens, and your eyes meet Emerald ones. “I could hear your heart rate spike. What do you want?”

You straighten your posture, “I was in the area, I wanted to check in.”

Tamlin scowls, “Consider me checked in. You can go run to your High Lord and your Bastard, like the good little Bitch you are.”

He is about to shut the door when you breach your boot against the frame preventing it from shutting, ignoring how his blow hit his mark and gave a knowing smirk placing the mask Rhys has taught you “Look who got his bark back.” You rolled your eyes, “Can I please come in? The sooner we have an adult conversation the sooner I can leave, and you can wallow in whatever pity party you’re hosting for yourself.”

His claws peeked over his knuckles, “Why do you care, you sure as hell didn’t care when you took Feyre from me? You sure as hell did not care when your High Lord let her come in and destroy my territory.”

You cross your arms, “Tamlin, Feyre, wanted to do that on her own, there was no coercing on our end. As for your territory...you were a ticking time bomb. Your people were getting frustrated with your rule. Feyre just sped up the process. Maybe it’s time you stop blaming others for what happened in your court and take some responsibility.”

In a flash Tamlin tackles you to the ground, your head hitting the concrete at the bottom of the stairs, your vision blurred slightly as Tamlin’s claw clamps around your neck and squeezes, “I want you to listen very carefully,” He snarls and you wince, “You don’t get to judge me when its apparent there is no use for you in that vile court you call home. Rhys and Feyre have no use for you other than sending out and parade around in other territories.” He smirked as a tear escape cascading down your cheek, “I’m sure you are only good for warming your general’s cock and sitting prettily on his lap.” You wince as his blow landed some of your deepest insecurities being confirmed by the person you hate the most. “You are not welcome in my territory and if I catch your scent even in my territory, I will kill you. Leaving your Corpse on your bastard mate’s doorstep.”

He presses his face close to hers causing a whimper, “Get. Out,” he whispered and ripped away from your body the sound of a door slamming solidifying that the High Lord of the spring had slithered back into his tomb. You laid facing the sky the beautiful sight of the sky a stark contrast of what transpired.  For a moment not fully aware of how that escalated quickly, and your hand gravitated to your neck and tears began to pool. You make sure that your bond was locked so your emotions were not flooding to Cassian as he was out checking on his armies.

You stood and the ground began to spin briefly before steadying yourself a sharp pain stung behind your eyes and you touched the back of your head and something wet and warm met your fingertips. You look at your hand and find blood dripping down to your wrist, without a second glance to the manor, you winnowed back to Velaris. You ended up on Madja’s doorstep and you stunned the older Fae healer, “Oh dear, let’s get you checked out” Madja brought you inside and tried to tend to your injuries.

The familiar mental claws scraped your mental shield as Madja had you lay in her cot checking your neck to make sure Tamlin didn’t do any permanent damage as a bruise in the shape of a hand was blooming across your skin. You open your shield enough to let your High Lord come in.

“Home so soon?” Rhy’s voice was a mixture of surprise and concern, “Was your trip constructive?”

You take a steadying breath Tamlin’s words began to bubble up. You tamper it down just enough to keep it from Rhys and replied, “Yes my report, will be on your desk in a few days.”

“I’m glad you’re home, Cassian and Azriel are on their way as we speak so we’re having family dinner tonight at the River House.”

“I’ll be there. I am going to rest it’s been a long journey, and I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Rhys chuckled, “I’m sure Cassian will be more than happy to help tire you out when he sees you. He has already promised to kick my ass for keeping him away from you for this long.”

You smile briefly, and once again Tamlin’s words tried to bubble on the surface causing you stress. Rhys must have picked up on the shift of your feelings, “You sure you’re okay. Tamlin give you a hard time?”

“Rhysand, I’m fine, I’m just tired. I’ll see you at dinner.” You put your shield up before he had a chance to press further on the subject, and let unconsciousness claim you.

~Later That Evening~

You make your way down to the dining room of the River House, your plumb colored gown swishing against your bare feet. The high neckline that has a cut out that compliments your breast is why you chose this. Madja was able to close the wound on your head but the dark purple bruise dawning on your neck was going to have to heal on its own. The sound of laughter flooded your ears and the sound usually brings a smile to your face but this time insecurities run rampant.

They don’t need you.

You don’t belong.

You don’t bring anything to this group. They are better off without you.

You wince at the last one, but you school your features and put on a smile and walk into the dining room. The laughter died out and nerves racked down your body by the silence your lips turning down slightly, “Don’t mind me,” You whisper as you make your way down to the empty chair next to your mate. Your heart stopped at the sight of him as he rose from his seat to approach you. Being out in the mountains in the Fall sunshine his skin had darkened a shade and there was stubble along his face that made your toes curl. He was devastatingly handsome, his hair in a clean bun and his leathers been replaced by a dark button up shirt and dress pants.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Cassian scooped you in his arms and spun you around. Placing you down he steals a kiss from you, “I missed you. I was so happy to hear you were home early.”

His hand grazed down your face and as he neared your neck wiggled out of his grasp and got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek and gave him a small smile, “Me too, General.” You take your seat, and You see Cassian take his, his brows furrowed.  The food appeared and everyone gave approval

Feyre looked at you and gave her smile, “How is Tarquin and Helion, I hope they are doing well and treated you well.”

You are only good at parading to other courts.

You cleared your throat as fiddle with the food on your plate not having a solid “They are fine, warm and loving as always.”

“Rhys and Feyre have no use for you… you are only good for warming your general’s cock and sitting prettily on his lap.” The image of Tamlin snarling in your face and his hand squeezing your neck.

Rhys stilled his head shot up and his eyes met yours, your eyes widened and slam your mental shields up. Cassian’s head swiveled between his brother and you and guilt washes over you as he realizes that you have him locked out of the bond. “How was the Spring Court?” Rhys asked tension seeping into the room. Cassian’s head whipped to Rhys.

Feyre also stilled, “You sent her to the Spring Court?” she whispered her food forgotten. Mor poured more wine and filled Amren and Azriel’s goblets. Azriel’s shadows almost obscured him from view and Amren leaned against her chair and sipped her goblet.

Cassian’s grip on his fork tightened his knuckles turning white, “I chose to go,” I whispered. I reach my hand to grip Ferye’s across from me, “It was fine. I was banned but that was the only thing that happened,” Feyre didn’t return her smile.

Rhys jaw locked, “Don’t lie.”

Cassian through gritted teeth, “Someone tell me what’s going on right now!”  Rhys made eye contact with the General and his eyes went vacant along with Feyre’s. He was showing both yours and his mates the image that slipped. When the connection was severed you saw that the General had tears in his eyes as rage contorted his features. Feyre had tears streaming down her face.

You rise from your seat tears threatening, “I’m fine. I can handle myself. I’m so sorry that I ruined Family Dinner with this.” You fled and could hear Cassian call out your name as you winnowed to the door of the House of Wind and took the 10,000 steps to the top. You are aloud yourself to fall apart and sobs racked your whole body. Emotions swirling, of the pain on Feyre’s face and the pure rage on Cassian’s, the venomous truth that Tamlin spewed to you and when you reached the top. You moved as quickly as you could despite your thighs burning from the trek up the steps.

You reached the bedroom and were greeted by Hazel eyes, and you sniffled, “Cassian,” You whispered.

The General was leaning against the bed post with his arms and ankles crossed his eyes red rimmed, “Why did you block me out?” His voice was quiet and pained, his knuckles were bloody.

You open the bond and worry is sent down to him, “You’re hurt,” you whisper not looking away from his knuckles.

 He looks down at his hands and his eyes meet yours and they soften at your worry and relief shimmers down that bridge between him and you. “The blood isn’t mine. It’s Rhys’,” He shrugged, and you bit your lip, Cassian sighs and pushes of the post and approaches you and you avert your eyes. “He’s fine, he could have fought me off, he let me get the hits in. He felt guilty.”

“Why?” You ask, taking a step away from the door and approaching him.

Cassian stared at you in disbelief as he brought his arms down, pushing off the post to close the distance between the two of you. “Because he purposely put you in danger sending you to Tamlin’s territory. That the bruise your hiding behind that neckline is his fault.” Your eyes widened, “Rhys had stopped by Madja, and she told him she was worried about you.” You nod briefly, “We’re all worried about you. Especially Rhys and myself.”

You shake your head, “It wasn’t. I went willingly. I may have pushed Tamlin’s buttons, and he got the up on me.” You whisper, “It’s not Rhys’ fault it was mine.”

Cassian cupped your face in his hands, “Rhys was aware that you and Tamlin do not get along. He also knew that you wouldn’t say no whereas anyone else would have. As your High Lord and more importantly your friend, he should not have put you in that situation.”

You wrap your fingers around his hands that are still cupping your face, “Tamlin wasn’t wrong though.” Cassian’s face fell at your admission. Tears trailed down your cheek, “I feel like I don’t have a job that is really helping this court, but I can’t fight like everyone else and sometimes I feel like Rhys and Feyre really don’t know what to do with me.” Cassian wipes her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m even a good enough friend to be part of the Inner Circle. Then what he said about you.” You closed your eyes, “I know you love me. I know you value me as a friend, partner, mate and wife, but I think back to the number of times you have had to reassure me and take care of me. I can’t help but feel like a burden to you and this court.”

“Oh Sweetheart,” His voice cracked as he picked you up and led you to the bathroom where he took a moment to change you out of your gown. His eyes were flaring with anger at the sight of the bruise. He puts on one of your favorite night gowns that is red and black. He guides you to the vanity back in the bedroom and has you sit as he begins to brush your hair. “There has never been a moment since you came into my life where I ever found you as a burden. You have been such a bright light in my life, your smile brightens the room and even on my worst day that same smile always melts my problems away. You have the affect on the team too, your easy and calm demeanor grounds everyone even Amren.” He meets your gaze through the mirror with his smile that always settles your nerves. “Your charm is perfect for dealing with temperamental High Lords which is why Feyre and Rhys have you go out and touch base with them every now and then. They like you and find comfort in your presence.”

He kisses your cheek and turns you so that you’re facing him, “I love you, You have never under any circumstances simply been someone who warms my cock.” You give him a small smile and his eyes light up at the upward tick of your lips. “I love your kindness, and your bravery. Most importantly it’s your willingness to drop anything for anyone, no questions asked. People know they can come to you for a listening ear, a shopping spree. You even know when I just need to hold you after a difficult mission, and you don’t pry but you somehow know what any one of us needs at any given moment. That’s special, Sweetheart, you’re special.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I will happily remind you of that, everyday from now until my heart stops beating that you are NOT a burden.” Another kiss to your lips briefly before he pulls away.

You feel tears flooding out one more time as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his neck taking in his scent. “I was nervous, that if you sensed my dread and fear down the bond, you would have shown up in the Spring Court. That’s why I blocked you out and I really wish I hadn’t. I thought he was going to kill me he even told me as much.” Cassian stilled at the admission but did not say anything as you continued, “Then when I got here all I could think about was how I couldn’t inconvenience anyone to help. I was cowardly and didn’t want Rhys to think I failed him. Failed you and began and self-doubt is a parasite that is easy to come in and harder to extract. I just didn’t want to bring the mood down of everyone being home for the first time in weeks. ”

Cassian snorted and you could hear him roll his eyes, “He failed you, Sweetheart. But Tamlin will be dealt with. I promise.” You nod and continue to sob into his neck ruining his dress shirt with your tears. ��“Also, you are more important to me than any dinner or game night we could have. How you’re feeling takes priority for me that will never change. Just because you're not feeling joy all the time doesn't make you a burden, it's normal to have those bad feelings as it is the good ones.”

Cassian tucks an arm under your knees and behind your back and carries you to the armchair looking out at the balcony. Holding you close as your sobs ebb and flow he strokes your back and presses his head against yours whispering sweet nothings.

A few moments go by when the sobbing turns to soft hiccups, you raise your head from his neck to meet his beautiful honey-colored eyes. “Thank you, for being you, Cassian, you always know what to say.”

He presses a kiss to your hand, “Promise me something, Sweet Girl.” You wait to let him continue, “Promise me that you will not block me out like that again, if you think you will be in a dangerous situation or territory, you keep the bond open so I can help. While we’re at it, tell me things. Don’t try to protect me from your dark feelings, or worries, it’s my job as your mate and your husband to help you through them and work on quieting those loud voices. No different than what you do for me.”

You nod, “I promise.” You kiss him, “I love you.”

He smiles and holds you tighter to him, “I love you too, Sweetheart. Let’s get some rest, we have an early meeting with the High Lord and Lady tomorrow.”

You nod and let him carry you to bed. He quickly removes his clothes, apart from his underwear and crawls into bed next to you, bringing your head to his chest and his wing wrapped around the two of you for extra warmth as your eyes droop close you feel lips on your forehead, “My beautiful, mate.” He whispers as you drift into slumber.

~FIN

[eddiesxangel]

Babydoll| Dom!Eddie

Cw: porn with a slight plot, daddy kink, mechanic!Eddie, dom Eddie/sub reader relationship, reader referred to with pet names (babydoll, babygirl) oral (f receiving), lots of dirty talk, p in v, eddie and reader are in their mid 20’s

Summary: You're having a hard week, and your bf knows just the cure.

wc:2.2.k

This week has been challenging. Work had been a nightmare; you had been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. You were drained physically, mentally, and emotionally; you were exhausted. So when you get home to see your man, Eddie, on the couch after work, already cleaned up from the grime and oil he has to endure, you can’t help but crawl into his lap.

You tell him you didn’t have time to breathe these past four days. You told him that everyone needed you then and there and that you didn’t even have time to finish your regular duties. You were at your breaking point…he could see it on your face when you walked through the door.

Eddie knew what he had to do. He had to take control. He usually does, but when you’re in dire need, such as this week, he had to help you relax. He had to help you forget about everything and anything. You needed to have your mind numbed, and he knew just how to get you into that space.

“I’m sorry, baby girl, you should have told me earlier in the week. You know you can always talk to me.” Eddie caressed the back of your head before wrapping his arms around you in a protective hug.

“I know,” you sniffled, “but I didn’t wanna burden you; you’ve been so busy at the shop, and I didn’t want my stress being your stress,” you stressed. This was the problem: you didn’t know how to dump all of your stuff onto others healthily. You usually held it in until you exploded. Usually, you exploded alone in your room, but being with Eddie seemed to make everything better. He made everything better.

“No. None of that. You need to know when you can come to your Daddy, okay?” Eddie pulled back to tilt your chin up and look you in the eyes.

“Oh,” your voice stammered as your stomach did a backflip. So that’s how tonight was going to go.

“Now, be a good girl and sit up.” You obeyed and wrapped one leg over his waist so you could be straddling him.

“There she is, there is, my pretty girl.” You still blush at his praises, even after all this time.

Eddie reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “You want me to make you feel good, baby?” He cooed.

You slightly nod your head. God you needed to let go, to no longer have control. You trusted Eddie with every fibre of your being.

“Words babydoll.

“Yes, Daddy."

“Good girl.” He traced your cheek with his rough calloused fingers. Before placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You could still smell a hit of motor oil permanently attached to his scent, but you didn’t mind. It’s what made him your Eddie.

You leaned your head into his touch; he was so gentle, but you knew it wouldn’t last long. Not when you two played like this.

You watched as Eddie tilted his head so his lips could reach yours. A soft and gentle kiss at first, nothing but PG 13. That was until a small moan left your lips. You wanted and needed more. Your hips were on autopilot as you started grinding back and forth in his lap. His rough jeans felt so nice under your clothed pussy, the friction was just right, especially with his hardening cock coming to life under you.

“Take what you need. Tonight it’s all about you. Take what's yours.” Eddie whispered even though it was only the two of you in the apartment unit. His big hands gripped each cheek of your ass and helped guide you. Your pussy wax throbbing, getting wetter with each of his words.

“Daddy, I want more.” You let out a shaky breath. Yes the jeans were nice but they would never satisfy.

“What does my baby need?” He cocked his head.

“You”

“My, what? Baby girl, use your words.”

“Your everything, Daddy.”

Eddie didn’t push any further. Tonight, he knew you couldn’t take the constant pestering for specifics he usually puts you through.

“Okay, baby, I’m here. Your Daddy’s got you.” With that, he stood with you still wrapped around his waist and carried you into the bedroom. When you first started going out, you were so scared you were too heavy for him, but then he reminded you he lifted tires that weigh hundreds of pounds for a living. So the way Eddie was carrying you now didn't seem to phase him.

He placed you down so you stood on your own two feet and let you know he was going to undress you. Once you were entirely naked, he gently laid you down on the bed.

“There you go sweetheart, all you have to do is lay there and look pretty.” The way you were looking at Eddie made his cock stand up even more than it had been when you were on the couch. He couldn't wait to have his way with you. He was so excited to play with you.

Your delicate hand slowly trailed down your body, but Eddie pushed it out of the way before it reached its destination. “Not too fast, sweetheart, this is my pussy, and you know I don’t like to share.” He tutted.

“M’sorry, Daddy.”

“I’m going to let it slide this time, but don’t get used to it.” His tone was stern, you knew he wasn’t fucking around tonight.

“Yes, Daddy.” You bite your lip. You were starting to completely forget about the troubles you had faced merely an hour ago.

“Good girl,” Eddie spoke as he stripped. “Now, where to start first?”

You knew he wasn’t asking you, it was a rhetorical question, but you so wanted to tell him your pussy. Your clit was screaming at you; you could feel your heartbeat down there at this point.

“Please!” you whine.

“Patients darling.”

You pout at his words. You needed him, he knew how badly you needed him. You could feel your arousal seeping out of you as it trailed down your inter thighs.

“I need you now.” You spread your legs ever wider to prove how needy your pussy had gotten for him, so he could see everything.

“Fuck baby, you’re killing me.” Eddie groaned and dove head-first into your pussy. You let out a sigh of relief when his soft warm lips come into contact with your pussy lips. His hands reached up, never forgetting about your breasts. He teased and tugged at each nipple sending a ripple of pleasure through your body.

“You’re always so sweet for me, aren't you, babydoll?” He moved his free hand to stroke your clit with his index finger as he spoke. “Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“Yes, Daddy, only you.” It was so meek, but he still heard it in the silence of the bedroom.

“Good.” Eddie dove back in. His mouth attacked your clit until you were seeing starts. His tongue wrapped around your clit and pussy lips before lapping into your drenched hole. You gripped his hair as your body went into autopilot again. Your brain was finally shutting off completely; you forgot about everything and anything that wasn't Eddie. All you could focus one was the feeling of pleasure building inside of you as you ride Eddie’s face.

“You’re doing so good for me." He praised. "I want you to come on my mouth before you get to come on my cock a few times…. How does that sound?”

“Mmmmhmmpf,” you managed to nod your head, and your hips continued to grind Eddie’s face. You used his mouth to get off and you finally exploded. That’s all you wanted was to feel good, and Eddie always gave that to you.

“I'm coming!” You cried before yelling out Eddie’s name.

“Good girl.” Eddie kissed your clit once before giving your clit a slight slap making your body jerk, continuing to ride out your first orgasm.

"You want to make Daddy feel good now, don't you?” He asked, and you nodded your head dumbly. You needed to have him feel good and you did, you would give him the world if he asked. “That's it, there's my good girl." He smirked as he sat up to align his angry red cock at your gooey entrance.

“You ready for me?” He asked permission like he always does. And you nodded like you always do, as if you would say no? But if you ever did you knew Eddie would roll right off and cuddle you the rest of the night.

“Words, baby, I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes I want you to fuck me, Daddy!” you answered.

Eddie could see your eyes were glazed over with lust. He knew he had you in his favourite place. Cock drunk and needy... just for him.

"Daddy is going to fill your pretty little pussy right to the brim and then keep fucking you until you can’t think anymore, that okay with you baby girl?"

“Okay, Daddy.” You let out a shaky breath in anticipation. His words make your pussy flutter once again. His mouth always made you wet in more ways than one.

Eddie took his cock by the shaft and slapped your very sensitive clit a few times with the head before he ran it up and down your slit a few times to collect your slick so he could slip in smoothly but you still winced at the size of him.

"I know, baby girl, Daddy's cock is so big, but you can take it."

“I can.” You countered back.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He is cock slid in without any hesitation. He made it to the hilt, and you finally felt complete. Like a missing piece of you was found.

Eddie slowly pulled back before slowly pumping back into you, gaining speed with each delicious pump. He watched as his thick long cock disappeared inside of you.

“You feel that babydoll? I’m so deep inside you I can see it in your stomach.” He pressed a hand down onto your lower stomach, and you let out a long, drawn out moan.

“Oh god! Fuck right there!” It was like a bolt of lightning ran through you.

“Ohhh oh, oh yes! That’s it squeeze my cock, you’re going to milk me so good” His eyes squeezed shut, trying not to cum until you’ve had your fair share.

“Please I’m so close!” The feeling inside you quickly built back up.

“I know, baby. Let go for me.” His hand trailed down to your overly swollen clit. He rubbed quick little circles until he felt your walls clamp down on him. Your body was washed over with another wave of pleasure.

“God you squeeze me so good” he gritted through his teeth. Again refusing to cum until he gave you one more. Eddie pulled out before he could bust inside of you too soon. You let out a cry at the loss of Eddie’s contact. Eddie could see your tight hole closing in on its wild again as he pulled out.

The loss of contact didn’t last long as his thick fingers replaced his cock. He watched intently as his fingers stretched you out once again. They swam in your slick before he brought them to your lips.

“Taste how sweet you are, babydoll.” He grabbed your jaw to open your mouth and slipped his fingers inside of your mouth. You could taste the mix of you and Eddie on your tongue.

“God, you have the prettiest lips. Can’t wait until they are wrapped around my cock later.” You swirled your tongue around his fingers and hummed. Eddie’s eyes were full of lust as he observed you. You were lost in your own lust, all fucked out and needy. You hardly were processing Eddie’s words.

"Now baby, you're gonna take all of Daddy's cum, and then we are going to make sure it stays in there all night long. Okay? Gotta breed this pussy so good so everyone knows who you belong to.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned in a daze. The thought of Eddie filling you made your head spin. Having a part of him growing inside you, god, you needed it more than air to breathe.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to manhandle you and flip you over into all fours, and you let out an oomph before you feel his strong hands grip each hip. Your body feels like it’s on fire as his thick cock slams back into your wanton pussy. He then gabs both of your hands and holds them behind your back as your chest falls onto the plush bedding. And then he rides you. He fucks into like there will be no tomorrow.

“Fuckin’ love this needed little pussy, love it so much.” Eddie slammed into you between each word. “Love it ever better when it’s been bread with my cum.”

“Yes!

“You going to let me own this body?”

“Yes, Daddy, please!” You cried. His cock was grazing your G spot with each pump. Having eddies cock stretch and pump into you never failed to make you moan.

“Show me what’s mine baby, yea that’s it arch your back for me.” Eddie loved you in this position because it was when you were the most obedient. You were so playable you would do almost anything he asked of you when he had you bend over like this. It was also when you were the loudest without realizing it. All fucked out and cock drunk, not aware of your noises.

“Oh fuck, scream my name! Let everyone know who owns this pussy!” He cheered as he slapped your ass.

“Daddy!!” You scream because your throbbing pussy can’t take anymore. Your third orgasm is washing over you before you know what is happening. Your whole body felt like it was on fire but like you were also floating simultaneously.

Finally, Eddie can breed your pussy. “Gunna fills this pussy” Eddie lets out a loud grunt as he cums inside you. His cock twitches inside of you, releasing his hot sticky cum inside.

Eddie pumps his cock two more times, making sure it stays inside of you before he pulls out.

Your limp body is flopped on the bed, and Eddie pulls you into his chest.

“Thank you, baby,” you whispered as you returned to reality.

“I’ll always be here for you, baby girl.” He kisses you sweetly before you spend the rest of the evening in bed.

Tagging those who showed interest😈 @take-everything-you-can @reidsbtch @itsfreakingbats @lofaewrites

[anantaru]

Blade comforing s/o from an overwhelming situation? 🥹🥹

・✶ ｡ synopsis — blade instantly sees that you were having a rough day, on the brink of tears and shaking, so he did what every boyfriend should do, meaning to be there for you <3

warnings — none, fem! reader, fluff, established relationship, reader is sad, cute protective boyfriend blade <3 calls you: love, my girl, he kisses your forehead

your entire day consisted of a chaotic swirl enhanced with noises and movements from left to right— people rushing past all directions while bumping into you, their voices merging into a deafening grating that made your head practically spin off your body.

is this really it? you don't think you can escape those masses, in fact, you still needed to fight at the end of your day with something like this even after the suffering you've just had to endure?

you were already having a rough day, yes, from the start, yet a series of small frustrations piled up until you felt like you were carrying a mountain on your shoulders, a heavy weight that was gradually taking all your room to breathe.

and this nasty crowd was certainly the final straw to you.

alas, you wouldn't let yourself get pushed and touched by random strangers and rushed your way through the exit of your work, your heart pounding in your chest, each breath coming faster and faster as you fought to keep the rising tide of panic at bay— it's not like this hasn't happened before but today, even your vision blurred with unshed tears, the world around you becoming an overwhelming blur of emotions that made you want to scream.

"sorry, excuse me, uh," you mumble, not sure if anyone heard you or even cared to let you pass through.

people, who were as eager as you to leave their work were relentless, disrespectfully pushing and shoving, their indifferent faces blurring together in your mind as you've gotten dizzy by the time you were able to move again.

you awkwardly stumble into a corner, desperately trying to catch your breath— although just as you were about to lose your grip completely, a dark, handsome figure emerged from the crowd, yet not walking towards the exit, but you.

blade. your boyfriend blade. the man which could surprisingly find out a solution to yet about every problem.

he moves with a purpose, his eyes scanning the area until they finally lock onto your teary ones. and the moment he saw your tear-streaked face and trembling form just standing there while being surrounded by a bunch of people, his expression softened and tensed in unison.

without a word and wasting more time, he closes the distance between you within a couple steps and immediately pulled you into his arms.

ugh, you can finally breathe again and take in his signature cologne.

his hug was warm, his entire body like the softest pillow, his frame feeling like home and being grounding, his presence too, immediately cutting through the chaos and bringing you a sense of instant safety.

"hey, it's okay, i apologize for being late," he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble against your ear, but he notices the constant trembles on your body before securely kissing your forehead, "i've got you."

you clung to him, it's almost embarrassing by how strong your arms were locked around his waist as you were burying your face into his chest, the first out of your many tears finally breaking free— like your body telling you that it was okay to cry now. blade was here.

hot and in masses, the crystalline liquid soaks into his garments as you let out all the frustration— or panic? more so fear, and the exhaustion that had been building up inside of you for the entirety of your gruesome day.

but blade didn't say anything, nor did he really need to add something— instead, he just held you, his hands constantly rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cried your heart out to him.

blade was gentle with you, always, and he never expected you to be on your upmost, most perfect demeanor whenever you two met up. the way he had everything under control without actually lifting a finger came due to his calm presence which was like a balm to your burned nerves, the solid feel of his strong chest pressed against your face grounding you in a way nothing else could.

minutes passed, and slowly, your sobs began to subside, your breathing evening out as the storm of emotions gradually drowns away.

he didn't let go of you right away, he wouldn't want to— and well, blade continued to hold you, yes, he always will, his hands never stopped their gentle motions around the slopes of your body, his steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm against your ear.

when you slowly pulled back, your eyes emerged with a puffiness and slight redness taking over your eyes— although such really didn't matter now, because the panic inside had receded, fallen off your shoulders and replaced by a warm love.

the man looked down, admiring your puffy cheeks and slightly embarrassed eyes, his gaze soft and filled with an understanding that brought a fresh wave of love which entered your heart immediately.

"feeling a bit better love? i can pick you up more often if you want to," he asks sternly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek.

as a response, you nod shyly before sniffling a little, "yeah, it's okay now, thank you, blade, ugh, this is so embarrassing i just didn't know what to do."

"everything just felt like too much all of a sudden, you know?"

his large palms don't leave your face, his touch always gentle when he held you, "it's okay, it's not your fault," he continues softly.

"don't apologize, it's not your fault and remember you're not alone, okay? i'm here for you love, always, i will do whatever it takes to make it better."

you continue to lean into his chest, unable to let go before taking a deep, steadying breath, "i don't know what i would have done if you hadn't been here."

"i'm sorry you had such a rough day," he returns, kissing your forehead as his hands squeeze your cheeks, "but i'm proud of you my girl, yeah?" as his arms wrap around you like two pillows covering your shaken frame, "for getting through it anyways."

and as you held onto him, as you felt and accepted the strength and love enveloping you wholly, you were aware that no matter how overwhelming life got at times, you would never have to face it alone.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[the-mandawhor1an]

Have a taste - Mand'alor!Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

reader can look however you want her to, there are no physical features mentioned, the images are for vibes only

Synopsis: Din is mesmerized by the changes your body has gone through after giving birth to your first child. He's taking special interest in your boobs this fateful evening.

Words: 1.7k

THIS IS ACTUAL, EXPLICIT SMUT! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS YOUR WARNING!

A/N: I blame unhinged discord convos for this. My first proper smutty smut. This was interesting to say the least. Yeah, the images are medicore photoshop, they display the vibes perfectly, though. Thank you @evolnoomym for beta-ing and encouraging me that this filth is not utter shit.

Tags: explicit language; unprotected PiV; lactation/breastfeeding kink; itty bitty breeding kink; established relationship; reader is afab and has given birth; reader has boobs; reader is a force user;

divider and support banner made by @saradika-graphics; title banner made by yours truly

Having children sounded so hard in theory. Exhausting, long days and short nights with constant disturbances. Long recovery, emotions, pain. In reality, you were fortunate to say, it turned out so much better. 

The physical part was easy. You were a Jedi after all, so your body could bounce back pretty fast – thank the force for healing powers. Although, it was only made possible because of the devotion of your husband to support you where he could. Now that his son was here, he was glued to the newborn whenever you needed to rest, ensuring ‘mama’ was healthy. 

To be fair, Mand’alor Djarin enjoyed boasting about his son and how proud he was of you enduring all of the discomfort during your pregnancy, all of your pains and cravings, and even the birth. You were the strongest warrior he’s ever known. He had told you more than once. 

He loved you deeply and dearly, as he loved the child you had given him. A little mix of him and you. While babies were mostly soft and squishy and their facial features were barely visible, your son had his father’s eyes. And his nose looked suspiciously like your own, just smaller and still a little chubby. Every time you saw Din with your son, how in love he was with this small human, you wanted to do it all over again. 

And you would. 

With the child fed and sound asleep, you and your husband finally had some much needed time for yourselves. Time to focus on the little joys of marital life you had craved for so long.

You sat on his lap, his cock deeply embedded in you, as you rolled your hips against his. He was propped up against some pillows so he was halfway upright, both of your hands on his chest while his held onto your hips. Perhaps it was too soon to return to having sex, but your body was technically healed, no matter how recently you might have given birth. It couldn’t be soon enough, you had been yearning for him ever since your belly had become too big to find any comfortable position to make love in.

As good as it felt to finally get what you wanted, Din’s demeanor was off-putting, to say the least. Usually he was very vocal, blessing you with moans and little praises, which were completely missing this time around. As soon as you had sat down on him and lifted your shirt, it was like he was somewhere else entirely. You had hoped he would fall back into his ways, but no matter how hard you squeezed him, nothing besides a single grunt had escaped his lips. 

Frustrated, you sighed, halted your movements and looked down to his face. »Do I not feel good?« you asked and rested a hand on his cheek. Like he was shaken out of his trance, his dark eyes found you and he furrowed his brows. »I’m sorry, cyar’ika. I’m…« He didn’t finish his sentence, unsure what to tell you.

Something was wrong and it stung a bit that he didn’t tell you. »Do you want me to stop?« you asked. His hands detached from your hip to caress over your skin, his thumbs tracing over your upper belly. »No.« You huffed and tilted your head to the side. »I’m getting mixed signals, cyare. What are you thinking about?« 

His hands wandered upwards until they rested just under your boobs. He lifted them gently, well aware that you were probably sensitive. They had grown significantly now that you were breastfeeding, but the weight that temporarily lifted off of you made you sigh and lean into his touch. 

You felt his cock twitch inside of you when he touched your supple flesh. »Do you like them?« you asked when you finally connected the dots. You felt him scan every last bit of your chest and continued »I’m sorry, I’m a little lopsided. Ad’ika only really latches onto the left one.« »Do they hurt?« His eyes were glued to your breasts while you talked. You didn’t mind as you finally had his attention. »The nipple is a bit sore. And the right one … well. I feel like it’ll burst soon. I’m a little afraid I will get an obstruction if he doesn’t accept that one soon.« 

Din carefully squeezed your breasts, but flinched when you whined. He just wanted to feel them, their weight and how tight they were, it was never his intention to hurt you. Still, that little squeeze made him groan. »Does an obstruction hurt?« he asked. You nodded. »It hurts and I could get an infection from that. Not necessarily life threatening but I’d like to avoid it at all cost.« His eyes were still staring at your breast and you chuckled. »Do you want a taste, my love?« His eyes shot up to yours again, shimmering, reminding you of a puppy. »You’re joking, right?« You shook your head. »I know a hungry baby when I see one, believe me. Besides… if that’s what’ll keep me from being in pain, go ahead.« 

»But… I’m not…« Din stammered, flustered by your offer. Maybe you were a little more relaxed about that than he was. You were terribly horny and if that’s what got him off, why not? It’s not like you would tell anyone. 

You placed your right hand onto his, effectively guiding him to massage your boob until you felt a drop of milk collecting on your nipple. You picked it up with your index finger and guided it to his mouth. »Open up,« you purred and watched in delight as he parted his lips. Your finger slipped past and touched his tongue. You felt another twitch in his cock as you pulled back. A second drop of milk fell from you and dripped onto his stomach. 

»How is it?« 

You were curious. It’s not like your son could tell you what it tasted like. And to be fair, tasting yourself is nothing that had come to your mind until now. »You’re sweet,« he groaned. Undeniably, that turned him on, to have you dripping for him from more than one spot now. He straightened his back to kiss along your collarbone, slowly working his lips down your breast. »Sweeter than your cunt. Intoxicating.« The stubble on his face was a little rough for your skin, but you liked the subtle burn it left. His tongue dragged over your nipple before another drop could fall, and you both softly moaned. 

»Please, fuck me cyar’ika,« he pleaded as he latched onto your breast, sucking until you felt some of the pressure release. 

As if you were distracted by the situation and needed to be pulled back to reality, his hands grabbed your hips again and guided you to move while he growled against your flesh. Now you twitched around him, earning another groan and a »move,« before he practically buried half of his face in your breast. 

Holding onto his shoulder and the back of his head, you lifted your hips and moved as best as you could without making him have to detach from you. Something about him hanging onto you for dear life, holding onto your hips so hard it would leave bruises and growling whenever he feared you’d unlatch him made your heart flutter and your orgasm approach so much faster. 

You weren’t the only one affected by this situation, as his deep moans vibrated into your chest and you felt him writhe underneath you. His hands practically slammed you down onto his cock, the tip kissing your cervix just how you needed. You wouldn’t last long like this, and he wouldn’t either. As much as you might regret the roughness you were subjecting your body to in this current moment, something primal took over. You were too sensitive and feeling every breath he took, every little noise he made, on your skin sent shivers down your whole body. You felt the tense buildup in your core, your breath quickening as more and more noises stumbled from your puffy lips. 

»Cyar’ika I won’t last long,« you managed to press forward in between moans, only hearing grunts from him in response. »I love you so much. So much,« you whined, overtaken by the sensations and tears forming in your eyes. You’ve never felt so overstimulated before. »Please give me another baby, Din. Please,« you begged your husband in desperation, not able to stop the babbling as you feared you would lose your mind. 

That was it. His nails dug into your skin as he pulled you down, reaching as deep as he could, pushing his hip up from the mattress to nudge himself right into your cervix as he pumped his seed inside of you. The noises he made were feral, somewhere in between a growl, a whine, and a muffled moan, increasing in volume with every twitch he made inside of you. 

You didn’t come, but you were fine with that for the time being. Your thoughts raced around the little confession you had made just now. You knew it was too soon to try for another baby and this was the first time you had ever spoken that wish out loud. Judging by his reaction he was on board, but you needed to talk about that in earnest. 

With a pop he unlatched from your breast and looked up at you. It seemed like tears were sparkling in the corners of his eyes as well. »You want another baby?« he whispered. His voice was so soft and fragile, it almost made you cry. »When the time is right,« you replied and cupped his cheeks in your hands, resting your forehead against his. »I doubt I can get pregnant again so quickly.« 

He straightened his back to kiss you. You tasted the remainder of yourself on his tongue, and he was right – you were sweet. When your lips parted, he sounded a little more like himself again, warm and raspy. »You didn’t cum, my love.« 

»It’s okay,« you reassured him and pressed another kiss onto his lips. »But I want you to,« he groaned and pressed more kisses along your jaw, nibbling on your skin in between kisses. »I want to fuck another baby into you right now,« he whispered against your skin. »I’d like to see you try.« »Oh I will try, I promise.« 

little translation for the Mando'a phrases:

Cyar'ika - Darling

Cyare - Beloved

Ad'ika - endearing term for a child

[sunny-mercya]

Sensitive Heart

Poly! Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist

Sidney had become quick to learn, that you're a rather sensible—if not even overstimulated sensitive—boy.

Most things; be it a large crowd, people accidentally bumping into you or someone saying something you had difficulty to understand—hell, even the most mundane compliment; you look really good today—brought you to tears.

And on some days, wether if they are bad or good ones, you would cry for an eternality of hours—exhausting yourself with a sore throat sobbing.

Throughout the school years, you had spend more time in the nursery office thanks to this—whatever and however it's called, Sidney doesn't bother to remember—than being actually injured.

Tatum, who had heard from Stacy—and she had it being told from Mackenzie, who had gotten told it from Helena—the nurses daughter—told Sidney once, that your over sensitivity of personality has been coming from your mother.

Your mother who had pampered you into a suffocating and constant anxious panic. She was a kind soul, with her off shrugging absently affectionate, but treating you well still.

Although, when you were at the age of ten—having been in the hospital again, because of your mother—your father had enough, filled a divorce and complete custody over you and told his ex-wife to leave.

So now, Sidney had to endure your tears filled stuttering jumble of words while accompanying you, yet again, to the nurse office.

Please god, she thought, end me. Holding back a groan, simply nodding along to what you're trying to say. If she's telling you to shut up, you would probably cry a flood then.

~~~

The cold wet washcloth always felt good over your burning irritated eyes. Cooling them off and bringing a sort of pain relief to them.

Mrs. Westbrock had left the office, after assessing you down onto the bed and giving you a glass of water and headache-pills. Nothing new, a normal occurrence for you to be alone—till school hours ended—in the nurse office, when you had another rather server breakdown episode. Then again, every episode brought you to the office.

»Aww, at this point you should ask the Director to let you live rent-free here« Stu did his best to lower his voice, when stepping in. Knowing well how headache prone you would get and he also knows how loud his voice can be.

It must be lunch break or a free period or study all, otherwise Billy and Stu wouldn't be able to visit you. Then again, you wouldn't put it pass them to just skip a lesson or two—and you knew they had done already more than once.

»What was it this time babe?« asked Billy, sitting down onto the chair. Someone would say his tone, when asking you this question, is coming off as annoyed, rude and tutting. It wasn't. It was Billys way of asking you how you are and what the cause was.

You shrugged at him, rubbing your eyes and sitting up a bit—letting Stu prep kisses onto your face.

»I.....don't really remember anymore.«

Billy hummed, knowing well it was lie of you, watching you and Stu, the both of you conserving now over some Cartoon.

»Did Jules brought you here?«

»Nu-uh, it was Sydney,«

Billy nodded, they all were somewhat friends with Sidney, though somehow she always seemed to be irritated annoyed by your mere presence—not that you took notice if it, always busy to greet everyone happily, even when it was hard to do for you.

»[Name]. Tell us, what made you cry.« a bit demanding harsh he sounded, but how would he know if Billy didn't use a dominant force to bring you to speak.

»It, it–it was, someone talked about–about how killing is, is–is something and I got upset over it, because they talked so causally about it, but killing is–is–is bad and taking–taking a humans life is cruel«

You broke into another, new, round of tears. Sobbing into Stu's arms, who cooed at you lovely and giving you sloppy kisses on the cheeks again.

Oh, how innocent sweet you are. Thinking so naively and thoughtful about the world. Aren't you adorable?

~~~

It was weeks after, when Sidney came to the conclusion that the ominous masked—dubbed as Ghostface—killer, who tried to killer her, is Billy Loomis.

Sidney, when she got the chance, pulled you into an empty classroom, cornering you. Doing her best to look as threatening as she could, to make you confess.

She always found it strange how Billy (and Stu) could love someone like you—someone who's a crybaby, skittish and meek in personality. Too Sensitive for a boy to be.

But then she thought, you're the perfect alibi for Billy or perhaps even someone who knows that Billy is the murder.

»You know Billy is the killer, don't you [Name]?«

»What? What are you talking about Syd?«

»It's Sidney. Billy is the killer and you're either good at pretending to play clueless dumb, which you are though, or you're his partner. There aren't any other options.«

Sidney hated it how you pronounced her name so dumbly wrong. It's a simple name, how hard could it be to say it right? Apparently hard enough for you.

»Accusing someone, a friend even, of something so horrific is a cruel thing to do.«

»Oh? I didn't knew you could speak english without stuttering in sobbing.«

Your lips begun to wobble, biting softly onto them to stop the starting trembling—which would soon racked through your whole body. Eyes getting wet, tears ready to spill.

Sidney had no rights to accuse Billy like this and neither had she the right to be this mean to you. You hadn't done anything to make her upset, so why does she say such things?

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, gripping your arm tight when you were about to bold off.

»We both know I'm right. Whether you like it or not.«

You freed yourself from her, jerking your arm out of her grasp and bolting out of the room. At some point colliding with Jules, who was looking for you, scrambling up again and running even faster away.

A lie. It's a complete conspiracy bullshitting lie, what Sidney had said to you. It wasn't true, Billy isn't a killer.

~~~

»I'm home!« greeted Billy once he had open the front door and stepped in, closing if afterwards. Getting out of his jacket and hanging it up on, he made his way towards the kitchen.

Leaning against the frame of the kitchen-door, Billy watched you, smiling at the sight of you cooking today's lunch—dancing slightly to the music which the radio plays.

»You need help, darling?« he admits, spooking you up like this was—the way how you jerked together into surprise—always a fun thing to do.

»Oh, Billy! How was work? Sure sure, you can set the table and please get Stu« you pecked his lips, when he leaned down, snatching a piece of bacon from the cutting board.

»Where is he?«

»Upstairs, doing the laundry.« you had long returned to the cooking, resuming with what you had stopped.

Billy passed through the living room, stopping at the commode in the hallway, next to the stairs.

Photo frames over photos frames filled the commode, telling their own stories—from their graduation, first house, to marriage, to their honeymoon and then to their Kids and their first kindergarten and school day to the here and now.

There was one photo in particular, which both Stu and him are very found of. It still confuses the kids, who couldn't figure out why a photo of you crying was a found memory to keep and share.

To the kids they had told a story of how they always found it adorable, just how bunny like you were and wanted to capture the moment.

In truth though, it was the moment when the broke you—your spirit of will—and had you forever to love.

It was after Sidney had inflicted your pure heart with self-doubt and questionable unbelief towards Billy. You confronted him, breaking out in hysterical when Billy bluntly admits it with a shrug and when you were about to call the police—Stu stepped in, holding you tight in his arms as you trashed in his hold and shouting words at them you never wished to say again.

They had to break a few of your bones, scaring and threatening you completely in submissive—because if they don't, you wouldn't be able to continue with going to school with them and enjoy life, if they didn't had done it this way—they had to kill you and that would be a shame. After all you're their precious little darling.

It took a few years—after framing someone else for their killings and making Sidney an implausible witness in the polices eyes—to shape you into what your are now; a good submissive husband, who showers them in unconditionally love.

»[Name]'s adorable, isn't he Bills?« Stu trotted down the stairs, flashing a grin at Billy.

»You're right, he really is. I was just about to get you, laundry-boy«

»Funny, man. Urgh, my back hurts. I never do laundry again«

After lunch, when the kids had retired into their rooms or going out to spend time with friends. You and your husbands sat on the couch, cuddling against another and watching another round of romance movies.

Even after all these years, you couldn't stop your sensitivity and the spilling tears from your eyes.

Billy and Stu wouldn't have it any other way. They adored you how you are, in their eyes you're perfect.

»Have I told you, just how–how much I love–love you two?« you asked them in between sobs, romantic movies always made you so moody.

»You do plenty of times, precious. We love you just as much in return.«

Both Billy and Stu pressed a kiss against your lips, tasting your salty tears.

You're their little bunny.

[bat-mom-writer]

Rage and Redemption Part 7

Bruce Wayne X (fem) adapted (age 12) reader

Summery: you go on a run with Bruce

Rating: slight angst

Note: It is a shorter

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8

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

"This is stupid," you pant, your lungs burn as you continued jogging.

Bruce had pulled you out of your library sanctuary the next day, insisting on taking you for a run. At first, you'd been reluctant, arguing that you weren't dressed for it, but he'd simply handed you a pair of running shorts and a sports shirt. Now, you were both out on the manor grounds, the crunch of gravel beneath your sneakers the only sound between the two of you.

"You call it stupid," Bruce says, his breathing even despite the brisk pace he's setting, "I call it healthy. It's a way to burn off that excess energy and clear your mind."

You glare at him, sweat dripping down your face. "Clear my mind?" you huff. "All I can think about is how much I hate this."

But despite your grumbling, there's something about the rhythm of the run that starts to soothe you. The wind in your hair, the burn in your muscles, the pounding of your heart—it's all a distraction from the constant ache in your chest.

"How much longer?" you finally ask, the question hanging in the air like a desperate plea.

"Until you can't," Bruce says, his voice firm but not unkind. "When your legs give out, I'd say."

You scoff, but there's no real bite to it. You know he's pushing you, trying to get you to find some semblance of peace.

"Why are you doing this?" you ask, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to keep up. "What's the point?"

Bruce's eyes don't leave the path ahead of you. "The point," he says, his voice measured, "Is to discipline your body so you can discipline your mind. When you learn to push through the physical pain, it'll be easier to push through the emotional kind."

You snort, the sound of your exasperation mixing with the heavy breaths you're taking in and out. "If you're trying to make me less angry," you manage to say between breaths, "This isn't helping."

Bruce glances at you, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners despite the sternness of his expression. "Trust me," he says, "it's a process. And sometimes, the things that are best for us are the hardest to endure."

You grumble something incoherent in response, but you keep running, the stitch in your side growing with each step. The manor's grounds are vast, stretching out like a sea of green, and as you run, the trees start to blur together. You feel your anger giving way to something else—exhaustion.

"Can we at least take a break?" you finally ask, your voice strained. "My side is killing me."

Bruce slows down, his eyes scanning the area for a suitable resting spot. He nods towards a large oak tree with a sprawling canopy. "This will do," he says, stopping to catch his own breath.

You follow his gaze and nod, your legs feeling like jelly as you come to a halt. You lean against the tree, the bark rough and comforting against your sweat-soaked shirt. Bruce joins you, his eyes on the horizon as he takes deep, even breaths.

For a moment, you're just there, the two of you panting in the quiet embrace of the forest. The leaves above whisper secrets to one another, the branches swaying gently in the breeze. The pain in your side starts to subside, replaced by a dull ache that feels almost welcome.

"You okay?" Bruce asks, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

"No," you grumble, not looking at him. "This sucks."

Bruce sighs, his hand briefly tightening on your shoulder before releasing. You know he's trying to be patient, but his frustration is palpable. You can feel his eyes on you, assessing, and it makes your skin crawl. You don't want his pity, his concern, or his guidance. You just want to be left alone with your anger.

But he doesn't leave. He sits beside you, his back against the tree, the two of you leaning into the solid warmth of the wood. The silence stretches out, filled with the distant sounds of the manor's life—birds singing, the occasional car passing by on the road.

"Couldn't we do anything else?" you finally ask, your voice small and defeated. "Something easier?"

Bruce looks at you, his expression a mix of understanding and determination. "Running isn't meant to be easy," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's about pushing through the pain, about finding strength when you think you have none left." His words hang in the air, a challenge and a comfort all at once.

You roll your eyes but stay put, the cool bark of the tree seeping into your back. "Fine," you mutter.

Bruce stands, the muscles in his legs coiling like a spring as he pushes off the ground. He doesn't force you to stand with him, doesn't even look at you expectantly. He just starts stands, waiting.

"I'm thinking of putting you in school," he says, his voice breaking the silence like a rock thrown into a still pond.

You jerk your head up, eyes wide with surprise and a hint of fear. "What?" The word escapes your lips before you can stop it, the very idea of school sending a cold shiver down your spine.

Bruce nods, his gaze still on the horizon. "It's important for you to have a normal life," he says, his voice firm. "To make friends, learn things outside of these walls."

"But, I haven't been in school since…" You trail off, the memory of the fire that took your parents still raw and painful. The thought of stepping back into a classroom, surrounded by people who don't understand what you've been through, feels like a prison sentence. "Everyone's going to be so much smarter than me," you admit, the words sticking in your throat like a mouthful of ash.

Bruce turns to face you, his eyes filled with understanding. "We'll work on that," he says, his voice a gentle promise. "You're not going to be thrown into the deep end. We'll get a tutor, catch you up on what you've missed."

You scoff, the idea of a tutor sounding as appealing as a mouthful of bitter medicine. "What's the point?" you ask, your voice filled with doubt. "I'm not good at school stuff."

Bruce's gaze sharpens. "You're more than good," he says, his voice firm. "You're smart. And you have a lot to offer. But you can't learn everything here in the manor." He gestures around at the sprawling estate, the mansion looming in the distance. "You need to experience the world beyond these walls. And school is a part of that."

You shake your head, the stubbornness in your heart growing stronger. "I'm not going," you say, your voice firm. "I don't want to go."

Bruce's eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he looks at you. "It's not optional," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You need to learn how to function in the real world. It's a part of growing up, and I'll make sure you're prepared."

You stand up, the anger in you flaring up again. "But what if I cause trouble?" you spit out, your hands balling into fists at your sides. "What if I get suspended, then everyone will think you're a terrible guardian, that you can't control me!"

Bruce turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable. "That doesn't matter," he says, his voice firm. "And if you do get in trouble, it's not about what others think. It's about learning from your mistakes and growing."

You glower at him, the anger in your stomach a hot coal. "I'm not going."

Bruce sighs, his hand running through his hair in a rare show of frustration. "Look," he says, his voice tight. "You can't stay here forever, hiding behind your anger. You're going to have to face the world eventually, and school is a safe place to start."

You cross your arms over your chest, the sweat from the run sticking uncomfortably to your skin. "I'm not hiding," you snap, the anger in your voice clear. "I just don't want to go back there."

Bruce's eyes never leave yours, his expression unwavering. "You're not hiding," he agrees, his voice calm. "But you're not growing either. And that's not what your parents would have wanted for you."

The mention of your parents hits you like a punch to the gut. You swipe at your eyes, the sting of sweat mixing with unshed tears. "You don't know what they'd want," you say, the words barely audible.

Bruce's eyes soften, the edges of his mouth tilting up in a sad smile. "Maybe not," he admits, his voice gentle. "But I do know they'd want you to live a full life, to have friends, to learn, to grow." He takes a step closer, his hand reaching for yours. "I know it's scary," he says, "but I'll be with you every step of the way."

You look down at your sneakers, the dirt and grass stains a stark contrast against the white fabric. His words cut through the anger, reaching the scared, lonely girl hidden beneath the layers of defiance. You've been so wrapped up in your own pain that you forgot there's a world outside the manor, a world where you could belong.

"But what if I don't fit in?" you murmur, the question more to the ground than to him.

"You'll find your place," Bruce assures you, his grip on your hand firm. "You just have to give it a chance."

You look up at him, the anger slowly draining from your eyes, replaced by a hint of doubt. The thought of fitting in, of being a normal kid again, feels as distant as a forgotten dream. But the warmth of his hand, the belief in his voice—it's a siren's call that you're finding hard to resist.

"Fine," you murmur, not looking at him. "But if it sucks, I'm not going back."

Bruce's grip tightens on your hand for a brief moment before he lets go. "Fair enough," he says, his voice a mix of relief and determination. "Let's finish up this run."

You take one last deep breath, filling your lungs with the cool forest air, and start running again. This time, the anger feels a bit less heavy, the weight of the conversation leaving room for something new to grow.

Part 8

[solbaby7]

(For the blurb bar thing)

*sits on one of the bar stools and leans against the counter)

Can I have a frozen vodka cran with a sugar rim, and add lime please

Oh and here *slides a ten dollar bill across the counter*

oops, i may have added too much lime 😭🫣but it’ll still taste good i swear😬, bottoms up 🍹 alsooo idk what cave you cassian girlies crawled out of but when i tell u my inbox is flooding with cass requests. here yall, you get a beefcake, you get a beefcake, everyone gets a batboy beefcake

[ “why do you even care?” “because i do” + fluff / angst + cassian ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

It is what it is.

That’s the only phrase that keeps you going after countless hours spent hunched over bloodied bodies with their entrails held in their hands. Deep slashes from sharpened blades that leave skin flayed and muscle severed, tendons plucked out of place until sensitive nerves are screaming in agony. “I know it hurts,” You croon softly, care oozing out of every pore as healing magic pulses from you. “I’m sorry, it’ll be over soon.”

Dab with disinfectant there. Pressure to staunch the bleeding. Fire to cauterize. Magic to smooth it all over.

It’s an exhausting process, one that leaves you aching and has your head swimming as you shut the curtain for patient privacy but this isn’t the place to complain about that—not around all of these tortured souls as they endured a pain you couldn’t dare comprehend. “You should get some rest.”

You can’t fight the roll of your eyes at the sound of his voice. “And you should go back to your friends.”

Cassian keeps up with your stride with ease and while you refuse to acknowledge it, you walk a little slower when you catch sight of the neatly wrapped dressings around his thigh. “My friends are fine. You made sure of that. Azriel wouldn’t have made it if you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, well that’s my job.” You don’t bother hiding the irritation in your tone. It’s not normal for exes to be this present. But, you’re certain you catch the scent of him by your window every morning; sandalwood and eucalyptus, crackling embers and oak. A perfectly annoying blend of masculinity and comfort. It haunts you—follows you around the shops when collecting groceries for the week and lingers in your blind spots when treking home after a little too much to drink. Quiet but constant; an unspoken rule that Cassian was definitely breaking. “Something I really need to get back to so if you’re finished—“

“Don’t think I’ll ever be finished with you, peach.”

You hate that charming cadence. Despise the handsome grin that’s flashed your way because he knows how much you (love) loved it. “What do you want Cass?”

“Want you to take better care of yourself.” That’s a lie. At least partially because Cassian knows that what he really wants is to be the one to care for you. He knows he’d do it well—dedicate himself to the roll because there had been a time where it had been his only desire. But Rhys had come back after fifty years and Cass had a High Lady to protect now; had duties to uphold—responsibilities that wouldn’t allow the freedom necessary to take you on picnics in flower fields or to remember anniversaries. “You haven’t been eating enough and you’re always working. You barely even sleep.” He says it oh so gently but you can hear the underlying worry there. Can see it in the way his wings rustle and gaze scans the length of you, most likely noticing the way you resemble a deadman walking.

“You stalking me or something?”

“You promised.” His stance straightens out a little, syllables carrying a little more conviction as he tries to get his point across. “After everything between us, you at least promised that you’d be safe and take care of yourself.”

“You left me, Cassian.” His throat rolls under the shame, chest constricting as he’s forced to witness the way your eyes go glassy. “You walked out on me so what I look like without you shouldn’t matter.” Emotion holds thick in your voice and it takes true effort not to let tears fall down your cheeks. This was too confusing, the back and forth too exhausting, the hope too draining. “Why do you even care?”

A million possible answers claw to the forefront of Cassian’s mouth. Ones that scream, ‘because I love you! Because you’re everything to me.’ So badly he yearns to just let it out and confess how your safety was everything he thinks of when suiting up for battle and drenching himself in the blood of others with no regard for his own life. “Because, I do.” He says instead and he knows it’s not enough—can see the way the light in your eyes die out when you’re left hanging yet again. “Please peach, just get some rest. For me.”

He almost wishes you’d resist; to give him another reason to seek you out and darken your doorstep even if meant just a glimpse at you.

Your shoulders fall too low to be gearing up for a fight and the furrow of your brow wobbles with the effort it takes to keep you from crumbling all together.

Gauze patches at your battered heart. Dab with disinfectant there. Pressure to staunch the bleeding. Fire to cauterize. Magic to smooth it all over. “Fine.” You nod stiffly, the picture of professionalism. “And thank you, General, for your service.”

It is what it is.

[drdemonprince]

i'd like to say sth abt the x gender marker thing. i've just started getting the paperwork done for it myself, and although its an exhausting grueling bureaucratic pricess, it's filling me w the kind of joy i last felt when i got my first hrt prescription. i know i will have constant difficulties in a system of institutions that have no official way of dealing w nonbinary identities, and i fully expect the openly white nationalist party in my country to become a significant influence in national government within the next 10 years. i also have an escape plan of sorts, but i'm fully expecting that i may be legally detransitioned again. i would still be betraying myself fundamentally and stealing joy from myself, something that i get to have very little of, if i didn't do it anyway, bc i already cannot access plenty of services including healthcare bc i'm simply too dysphoric and institutionally traumatized to show up and be misgendered. there is no such thing as stealth or passing for a nonbinary person in the society i live in, only erasure; i might as well exercise this tiny amount of power i have been given for a brief time to force them to acknowledge me as who i am. i agree that having one's gender be irrelevant to one's personhood, including legally, would be vastly preferable, but i don't see how me getting an x in my id detracts from or otherwise influences that. my government already has plenty of ways of getting lists of trans ppl if they ever want one. i may be painting a target on my back, but as far as i am concerned, it is already there bc i am already incredibly vulnerable and restricted as a trans person for whom passing or stealth is not an option. i might as well get marginalized for who and what i am and make them look me in the eye at a doctor's office while they awkwardly tell me they don't have the infrastructure to process me as a patient than cringe and stammer while i tell them that actually i'm transgender and i would prefer for them to address me as this or that while knowing damn well they just see me as a quirky woman that they may or may not humor for hashtag diversity's sake. they may still do that ofc, but for all the risks and trouble i am incurring, it also corrects the scales of institutional power just a tiny bit in my favor by giving me legal grounds to argue. i'm also terrified of the police for good reasons, but i'm more terrified of them as a misgendered and scared but not out trans person unsure if and how much to advocate for myself than i am as someone confident enough to at least get hurt for who i am, rather than for who i am not and hiding out of fear of worse punishment. i am not advocating for anyone else to do or not do the same bc it is a subjective and highly varied set of risks and rewards that must be personally evaluated, and above all i'm very aware that as a white (not us) person, for all the institutional violence i have previously endured, i would be risking far worse if i were not, but as far as i am concerned, it feels like one of the best, most powerful things i can do for myself right now is to get the damn papers even if in the worst case they end up taking them away from me again.

Thanks for sharing your experience. I remember that when I was nonbinary and not medically transitioning, I felt much the same way. I was ready to really throw myself on the pyre for the sake of just actually being seen as not the gender I had been forced to be, for once. And honestly? Nothing short of medical transition did that. All the changes to my personal style, hair, comportment, voice training, the pronoun pins, the asserting myself, the putting pronouns in my email signature, the changing my medical forms and documentation at work to make me nonbinary, none of it made what felt like any lick of difference in how i was treated, because nonbinary identities are so thoroughly erased. The ONLY thing that got people to start treating me as gender ambiguous or to they/them me was to begin to transition as a trans man and use he/him pronouns, lol. (And eventually, most people did switch over to actually gendering me correctly as a guy, tho I still do get the they/them once in a while which annoys me and it's always VERY telling who tends to do it).

I don't know your situation or if you have medically transitioned in any fashion or not, or if you even want to, and our stories are different, but all of which is to say, I know how immensely frustrating it is and how confining it is to interpreted as your assigned gender seemingly no matter what you fucking do, and that sensation of being willing to take on serious risk to be seen. if anything that was part of what tipped me over into self conceptualizing as a gender nonconforming man rather than outside the binary altogether. different risks that i chose to take on, but still, the decision to take on risk rather than be locked away inside how people saw me.

I think structural nonbinary erasure runs so deep that very few individual level actions can make a dent in it and it's maddening. Of course there's all the intersections with transmisogyny that also impact who is visible as trans and who is not and who finds themselves yearning for greater visibility and those for whom visibility is nothing but massive vulnerability that itself cannot be escaped. But I understand that you've considered everything carefully and are aware of the risks in what you're taking on, and I hope that it does mean you don't feel that confined unseen feeling anymore. Because as much as I'm qualifying things I do know how fucking awful that sensation is and how few avenues there are for doing a damn thing about it that people will take seriously.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Sickness

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Anonymous asked:

Season four Sihtric, when the group are passing through the fields during that plague and the river. Reader is the lover of Sihtric and is sick. Her sickness gets worse after the run in with Eadith’s brother Eardwulf. Very angsty with the rise on emotions everyone is dealing with. Eadith tries keeping the reader alive with her medical abilities but it’s to no avail. The reader and Sihtric have what they think are their last moments before she is kidnapped along with Stiorra, Aelswith and Aethelstan. She gets better and reunites after the siege.

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: This is the request I took over from @sihtricfedaraaahvicius It is the first part, the next will follow hopefully soon.

Warnings: a bit of fluff and angst, quite a load of angst

Word Count: 4,6K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

Uhtred's heart pounded in his chest as he spotted the soldiers on horseback emerging from the road bend. There was no time to waste.

"Run!" he shouted urgently, his voice leaving no room for questions. Finan and Osferth quickly grabbed Aethelstan by the hands, while Uhtred swiftly turned and scooped up Aelfwynn in his strong arms. Without further ado, they darted off the road into the tall grass of the meadow to their right. Eadith, Stiorra, and the young Uhtred, followed suit. You hesitated for a moment, bending over with your hands on your knees, desperately trying to catch your breath as your gaze locked with Sihtric.

"Come on, there's no time to waste," the urgency in his eyes turned into worry. "Are you okay? Can you run?" he asked, taking a step in your direction and extending his hand.

You had been relieved to escape the woods and feel a solid road beneath your feet again after the exhausting days you had endured. A nagging sense of discomfort had slowly settled into your body, initially dismissed as the expected toll of running through fields and woods on foot, and sleeping under the open sky with moss and fallen leaves as your only mattress and blanket. It had started as a subtle ache in your joints, as if they were encased in lead, protesting every movement and sending sharp, shooting pains through your body. Gradually, this discomfort had escalated into a more pronounced pain, and this morning, you had woken up tired and weak, your skin hot to the touch. 

But the last thing you wanted was to reveal your weakness and become a burden or an obstacle to others. You held responsibility for the children – Aelfwynn, Aethelstan, and Stiorra, though she pretended to be grown up already. You had been caring for them in Saltwick for over a year, and your bond had deepened in ways you never could have anticipated. You loved and cared for them as you were sure you would for your own children, should you ever have any.

Aelfwynn, with her bright eyes and insatiable curiosity, had a remarkable talent for bringing warmth even to the coldest of days. She was a quick learner, possessed a genuine thirst for knowledge about the world, and you found yourself marvelling at her growth. Her laughter was as sweet as a melody, and her hugs felt like a soothing balm for the soul.

Aethelstan, the thoughtful and introspective one, had a heart overflowing with kindness. His gentle spirit served as a constant reminder of the goodness that still existed in the world, even during the most challenging times. His trust in you warmed your heart.

Stiorra, the spirited and adventurous one, injected an element of excitement and unpredictability into your lives. Her infectious laughter and boundless energy were both exhilarating and, at times, exhausting. You embarked on countless adventures together, and with every scrape and bruise she earned, you felt it tug at your heart. 

You loved these children unconditionally, celebrating their victories and providing comfort during their moments of sadness. You worried about their futures and dreamt of the wonderful lives that lay ahead for them. Your heart had expanded to encompass these precious souls, and you couldn't fathom a day without their laughter, quirks, and love. So when Uhtred and his men insisted on fleeing, you didn't hesitate for a moment—you were determined to accompany them.

And then, of course, there was Sihtric, the handsome Dane with the most unique haircut you had ever seen in your entire life. You couldn't deny the initial unease you felt around him when he was assigned by Lord Uhtred to guard the children alongside Finan and Osferth in Saltwick.

His quiet demeanour and the way he observed you had initially sparked suspicion. Sihtric's deep and enigmatic eyes seemed to track your every move, their intensity sending a prickling sensation across your skin. It was as if he could see through you, discerning something you couldn't quite grasp, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

However, as the days passed, Sihtric's presence transformed from a cause for suspicion to a source of reassurance. His reserved nature concealed a kind heart and a readiness to lend a hand whenever necessary. He frequently offered assistance with the children, whether it was helping Aethelstan carve his wooden horse or taking Stiorra on playful adventures in the woods. Aelfwynn, in particular, had taken a liking to him, finding solace in his company. 

Your initial unease gradually faded as you witnessed Sihtric's interactions with the children, noting his patience and caring nature. Imperceptibly, you grew quite fond of the gentle and kind-hearted man hidden behind the rugged exterior of a fierce warrior.

You vividly recalled that evening, as if it had occurred just yesterday. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over the tranquil garden where you had found your moment of peace and tranquillity. The children were fast asleep, their dreams filled with the day's adventures.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, you received a pleasant surprise when Sihtric quietly joined you, taking a seat beside you. His presence was a welcome one, and the two of you relished the serene beauty of the fading daylight.

For a while, you enjoyed each other's company in silence, with only the gentle rustle of leaves in the evening breeze breaking the stillness. Sihtric's gaze lingered on you, and you could feel his eyes on your face. It was an intense scrutiny that made your heart flutter, and you couldn't resist stealing a glance in his direction.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sihtric broke the silence, his voice low and sincere. "You are truly remarkable," he began, his words carefully chosen. "The way you care for Aelfwynn, Aethelstan, and Stiorra, it's... inspiring."

Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "I appreciate your kind words, Sihtric," you replied, genuinely touched by his compliment. "But I'm just doing what comes naturally. They've become like family to me."

Sihtric nodded, his gaze still fixed on you. "It's more than that. You have a gift, a way of making them feel safe and loved. It's a rare quality, and I admire it greatly."

A sense of warmth enveloped you as you listened to his words. There was a vulnerability in his expression, as though he had revealed something deeply personal, and you appreciated his openness. As you gazed into Sihtric's eyes, you saw a sincerity and warmth that had been hidden beneath the surface.

The moonlight bathed the garden in a soft, silvery glow, casting enchanting shadows on the two of you as you sat side by side. Touched by Sihtric's words and captivated by the way the moonlight highlighted his handsome features, you found it difficult to tear your gaze away from him. He appeared so strong and reassuring in the tranquil evening light, and you couldn't help but feel a flush of desire as you imagined his strong arms around your waist and his full, sensual lips against yours.

As the thought danced through your mind, your heart quickened, and you couldn't help but let your hand fall gently onto Sihtric's, a subtle invitation that carried a world of unspoken desire. Your pulse raced as you leaned in closer and inhaled his breath, your faces just centimetres apart. You were so close that you could sense his muscles tensing and his breathing becoming more strained. The moment seemed so perfect and you closed your eyes, anticipation hanging in the air.

Sihtric shuddered, his body tensing under your touch. With a sudden, trembling voice, he stammered, "I... I should excuse myself. It's getting late, and I should check on the horses."

His sudden withdrawal and the tremor in his voice took you by surprise. Confusion and disappointment washed over you as Sihtric hastily retrieved his hand and stood up, his gaze avoiding yours.

In the space of a heartbeat, the enchanting moment was shattered, and you were left sitting alone in the garden, the echoes of what might have been hanging in the air. Sihtric's abrupt departure left you feeling both bewildered and disheartened, wondering what had caused him to recoil so suddenly.

The next day, an awkward tension between you and Sihtric hung in the air like an unspoken barrier. His once-warm presence had become elusive, and you couldn't shake the growing sense of embarrassment stemming from the events of the previous evening. You certainly didn't want to ruin the budding friendship that had developed between you, especially considering the deeper feelings you had begun to hold for Sihtric.

As the next day proved to be no better, you found no recourse but to approach Finan.

"Finan, may I speak with you about Sihtric?" you began hesitantly, unsure how to start the conversation.

"Lady, you have a question? Just go ahead and ask," Finan replied tersely.

"I'm not sure how to put it," you admitted. "It seems I've upset Sihtric, but I'm at a loss as to what I've done wrong. We had a pleasant conversation about the children last night, and then he abruptly left. Now he's avoiding me."

Finan set down his sword and turned to you, his eyes scrutinising your face with a stern expression that made you slightly uncomfortable. Your cheeks flushed, and you averted your gaze, beginning to regret initiating the conversation.

"So, he finally mustered the courage to speak to you," Finan remarked with a chuckle. "I don't believe you've done anything wrong. Lady, that lad has a heart of gold, and he's been smitten with you since the moment he laid eyes on you. But, let me put it this way - he struggles with recognizing his own worth. It's not for me to share his story. Perhaps he will, when the time is right." Finan continued to fix you with a penetrating gaze, and you began to feel increasingly uneasy. Thinking the conversation was over, you turned to leave.

"Lady," Finan called out quietly, the mischievous glint in his eyes replaced by a stern and earnest expression. "Please, don't give him false hope if you're uncertain or not serious. It would shatter him, and believe me, he doesn't deserve to have his heart broken again." 

You lifted your eyes to meet Finan's, and the genuine care and concern emanating from him filled you with profound appreciation for the bond that united these men.

"I promise I won't," you whispered.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the estate, you decided it was time to address the issue directly and made your way to the stables, a place where you knew Sihtric often sought solace and solitude. There, you found him leaning against a wooden post, his gaze fixed on a distant point, his expression holding a mixture of contemplation and melancholy. Seeing him in this state tugged at your heart, as you approached cautiously.

"Sihtric," you began softly, "is there something I did or said that disappointed you? I can't help but feel like something has changed between us."

He turned to look at you, his eyes full of surprise. For a brief moment, silence hung in the air, as if he was struggling to find the right words. You took a deep breath, moved a step closer, and gently placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Sihtric," you said softly, your voice brimming with sincerity, "I genuinely like you, and I don't want any awkwardness between us."

The instant your hand made contact with his shoulder, Sihtric visibly flinched. His eyes widened in surprise, and it appeared as though he had momentarily forgotten how to breathe. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that mirrored the quickening of his heart.

A medley of emotions flitted across Sihtric's face, but most of all a complete disbelief.

“You like me? No, lady, that can't be,” his response caught you off guard. You blinked in astonishment and then, almost instinctively, asked, "Why wouldn't I like you, Sihtric?"

He let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm a Dane," he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "A bastard. A man without a future, without a place in this world. Certainly not someone deserving of being liked, especially not by a lovely Saxon lady like yourself. I apologise if I overstepped the previous night," he continued sincerely. 

"It won't happen again," Sihtric added, turning as if he intended to leave.

Surprised by his words, you stood there, gazing at this grown man who appeared simultaneously strong and fearless yet vulnerable and lost, like a small child. At the last moment, you extended your hand, grasping his arm.

"Sihtric, please, wait. Why are you saying this? I don't care that you're a Dane. And, by the way, I'm not a lady. You are so much more than your heritage. You're gentle and caring with the children, always respectful and ready to help. You have a kind heart, and that's what truly matters. I like you. I like you a lot, and not just as a friend…" Your voice lowered, and you felt your cheeks flush crimson as you whispered the last words.

If anyone was overstepping, it was unquestionably you. However, in this moment, all you wished for was for this incredibly sweet man to see himself through your eyes—worthy of admiration and affection, regardless of his origins or the challenges he faced.

The weight of the conversation lingered in the air as Sihtric processed your words. There was a quiet pause between the two of you, with the gentle rustle of hay in the stables the only sound. Then, as if compelled by an unseen force, Sihtric's hand reached up to cup your chin, gently tilting your face upward until your eyes met his. In the dim light of the stable, his gaze held an intangible twinkle of delight as he tenderly caressed your face with his thumbs.

"You are so breathtakingly beautiful," he whispered. "And you're so kind and sweet…so loving and caring. You don't understand… there's nothing I can offer you in this life… you deserve something better."

You gazed into Sihtric's mismatched eyes, a tentative smile spreading across your lips as you took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before pressing his palm against your cheek, nuzzling into it.

"Sihtric, please don't feel compelled to make a decision on my behalf," you said with a warm smile, and in a sudden rush of emotions you lifted yourself onto your tiptoes and gently pressed your lips against his.

A deep sigh escaped Sihtric as he felt your lips brushing against his own. He cradled your face in both of his palms, pulling you slightly back, his eyes wide open, scanning your features with a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment in them. Your heart quickened, threatening to burst from your chest. You feared you had made a fool of yourself, that he was about to reject you, and tears welled up in the corners of your eyes.

With a soft, lingering touch, Sihtric leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a gentle and tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with sweetness and delicacy, infused with awe and adoration. You had never been kissed like this before. The gentle, hesitant touch of Sihtric’s tongue, the way he held you in his arms, the soft moans of delight escaping his lips, his trembling fingers cupping your cheeks – every small detail, every motion of his body spoke of hope and unending love, promising something more—a connection you had never before experienced but were willing to embrace. It swept away your breath and set your heart racing with an unseen intensity.

This was just the beginning of what felt like a fairytale for you. Later that night, as you shared your bed with Sihtric, revelling in his passionate yet gentle and affectionate touch, as he worshipped your body, you silently pondered whether to thank God or the Devil for bringing this handsome and kind-hearted man into your life. Even if loving him meant being condemned to eternal flames, you were ready and willing to embrace it.

—-----------------------------------

Panic flickered in Sihtric's worried gaze as he noticed your distress and rapid breathing.

However, the approaching sound of hoofbeats spurred you into action. With a determined effort, you summoned all your strength and began to run. You grasped Sihtric's hand for support, and together, you followed the rest of the group into the meadow.

The rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins fueled your determination, urging you to push harder. You sprinted up the hill and down to the riverside, maintaining your pace alongside Sihtric, whose firm grip on your hand served as a silent source of strength and encouragement.

The cool breeze against your face and the rhythmic thud of your footsteps helped you push through the weakness and nausea that threatened to overwhelm you. You knew you had to keep moving, to remain with the group and ensure everyone's safety.

Upon reaching the riverside, it became evident that crossing it was not an option. The riders pursuing you drew nearer and all eyes turned to Uhtred, awaiting a command, a solution, or even a miracle if need be. However, there was no easy answer he could provide. Despite the seemingly insurmountable odds against the armed horsemen approaching, Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, and even Osferth instinctively formed a protective barrier before the children, Eadith, and you, ready to defend you all against any impending threat.

The riders closed in, and suddenly the physical and emotional strain of the sudden sprint and the overwhelming events of the past moments took their toll on you. Your strength reached its limit, and with a gasp, you collapsed to the ground, your legs no longer able to support you.

Your vision blurred as you lay there, the world spinning around you. The sound of Uhtred's voice, commanding his men to protect the children with their lives, grew distant and muffled.

The ground beneath you felt cool and unforgiving, and as darkness threatened to engulf your consciousness, you desperately clung to the unreasonable hope that Uhtred and his men would see the children through this.

Sihtric's eyes widened in panic, his heart aching as he watched you collapsing to the ground. Every muscle in his body tensed with an overwhelming desire to rush to your side, but before he could make his move, your gaze locked with his, and you vehemently shook your head. With the last remnants of your strength, you whispered urgently, "Children, you must protect the children."

The pain etched on Sihtric’s face as he continued to watch you, torn between his instinct to run to you and your final plea to safeguard the children, was palpable. He nodded in understanding, your words echoing in his mind, just as the first arrows from the approaching riders sliced through the air. 

You heard a sound of someone falling to their knees near you and closed your eyes as you felt two small gentle hands, you unmistakably recognised belonging to Stiorra, cradling your head and placing it in her lap. And then everything went black. 

—---------------------------------------------------

As you slowly stirred from unconsciousness, you found yourself lying in a bed, your body aching and feverish. Memories of the riverbank and the perilous encounter with the riders rushed back, leaving you wondering how you had ended up here.

Turning your gaze, you saw Sihtric sitting by the bedside, his eyes fixed on you with a mix of relief and concern. Weakly, you attempted a smile, wanting to reassure him despite your own discomfort.

Sihtric's expression softened as he noticed your effort. "You're awake," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine relief.

You nodded, your throat dry and raspy, making it difficult to speak, the pain in your body serving as a constant reminder of the ordeal you had endured.

"How are you feeling?" Sihtric inquired, his concern deepening.

With a faint, reassuring smile, you whispered, "I've been better."

Sihtric let out a relieved chuckle, the tension in the room slightly easing. He reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and caring.

"You gave me quite a scare," he admitted, his voice filled with gratitude. "But you're strong, and you'll recover."

You wanted to reply, but your head began to spin, and a thick fog enveloped your thoughts, pulling you back into oblivion.

“Hey, stay with me,” Sihtric's voice broke into a silent whisper, laced with anguish and concern, but you no longer heard him. He grasped your hand and lifted it to his lips, placing soft kisses all over it.

“You are strong. You have to keep fighting. You can’t leave me now. I just found you, the missing part of my heart. Don’t you dare to leave me,” he murmured, his voice choking. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness threatened to engulf him. He wanted to protect you, ready to fight an army if necessary to ensure your safety, willing to give his life for yours. And there he was sitting at your bed, unable to ease your suffering, to shield you from the illness that had taken hold of your body, slowly sapping your strength and vitality.

Sihtric remained seated, his unwavering gaze fixed on your face, his hand gently resting on your forehead, sensing the heat of your fever. From time to time, he leaned in to plant soft kisses on your hot forehead, his fingers caressing your hair, whispering his plea softly into your ear, repeating it over and over in the hope that somehow, in your unconscious state, you could still hear him. “Please, don’t give up. I need you. I need you to stay with me… please.”

As hours passed without any sign of your awakening, and your fever continued to rage, Sihtric mustered the courage to step away from your bedside and seek out Eadith and the others.

"Tell me how bad is it? And how is Aelfwynn?" The anguish etched across Sihtric's face, his eyes desperately searching Eadith's for a glimmer of hope, made her heart ache.

Eadith had witnessed it—the love-stricken look in Sihtric's eyes each time he cast a glance in your direction. Still struggling to fully believe that you reciprocate his love, he savoured every smile, every affectionate word and every gentle gesture you extended toward him. It was a love that bordered on adoration, a sweet madness that granted him purpose and strength.

Now, he was on the verge of losing you. You were slipping away. You were dying. Both of you, as Aelfwynn's condition was no better. Eadith recognized the subtle, almost imperceptible shift when the body ceased its resistance and surrendered. You both had crossed that threshold.

As much as she wished to offer some glimmer of hope or reassurance to Sihtric and the others that everything would be alright, it had long surpassed her ability to provide relief for you and Aelfwynn. It was now in the hands of God, and she envied Osferth, whom she knew was currently praying in the small chapel. His unwavering faith in God's benevolence gave him strength, whereas she had lost her own faith long ago.

Eadith slowly shook her head, averting her gaze. Words that had begun to form on her tongue froze, unable to escape her lips. To tell Sihtric the truth would mean killing him too; to cut the last, tenuous thread of hope that kept him going.

"I've been doing my best to care for them," she finally said softly. "Their fevers are high and show no sign of abating. Their strength continues to wane. They require rest and proper care."

At least it was not a complete lie, but it was far from the whole truth. It was as close as Eadith could bring herself to utter.

A faint glimmer of hope flickered within the depths of Sihtric's eyes. He clung to those last words like a drowning man clutching a small piece of driftwood, hoping it would carry him to shore, even if that shore seemed impossibly distant. They require rest and proper care - and they will manage it – those were the words he wanted to hear and thought hearing them, even if they never left Eadith’s lips. 

There was no way to tell him that it no longer mattered, that the battle was already lost. 

Eadith nervously chewed her lower lip, her hands aimlessly tugging at her dress. The room was filled with suffocating silence. Her gaze wandered to Uhtred, who paced around the room like a caged beast, his steps heavy and agitated. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white from tension. Several times, he raised his fists to his mouth, biting down on his index finger, his brows furrowed, and his jaw clenched tightly.

She knew he was angry; it radiated from his every pore. He was angry at Edward for his weakness, his premature and ill-conceived actions driven by the fear of losing power. While Edward's intentions were to reunite the realm, his actions were actually tearing it apart. The young king's feeble attempt to resolve his problems by burdening unprotected children with them angered Uhtred more than anything else.

But among that Uhtred was angry at himself. He was furious with himself for not foreseeing this, for failing to anticipate the chaos that had unfolded, and for lacking an immediate solution. He was desperate to shake off this unreasonable feeling of being responsible together with the overwhelming need to take action, to do something, even if he didn’t know what. But he couldn't. He was a man of action, a man of solutions and inability to provide for one drew him to the brink of madness.

While Uhtred continued to pace, his breath becoming shallow and uneven, Eadith's gaze shifted to Finan, who sat alone at the table. His posture slumped, his hands clenched and unclenched, and his gaze was distant and unfocused, as if he were trapped in a labyrinth with no way out. He was afraid. Eadith had come to know this fearless warrior well by now and her heart was full of awe and admiration toward him. Yes, he was fearless, fearless in the battle, ready to stand up against as many men as needed, yet he was afraid—afraid of losing his friends to the spreading sickness, and desperate to protect them, yet fearing he might fail.

—--------------------------------------------

"I don't want to leave her, Eadith. You don't understand, nobody does. I can't leave her. She's everything I have," Sihtric's voice quivered, his hands shifting from the hilt of his axe, as if seeking reassurance, to his dishevelled hair, where he pulled hard before returning to clench around the axe hilt again.

"You won't be leaving her, Sihtric. You'll be trying to save her. We need a safe passage to Winchester and a proper healer for her, for both of them. Uhtred's plan is the best and only option we have. You're not abandoning her, Sihtric," Eadith spoke with conviction, though she couldn't help but despise herself at this moment. Was it a lie she was telling Sihtric? Not entirely. The last days had been full with half-truths, and this was just one more, but why did it hurt so much? Will he see her alive again? Probably not. But staying here will not change that, while leaving might bring a big change for the whole kingdom. If there was one man to bring Aethelflaed and Edward back on the path of peace, then it was Uhtred and he needed Sihtric. 

Sihtric cast one final, longing glance at the bed. You looked too small in it, your eyes closed, your face pallid. He raised his hand and took one hesitant step toward you, as if wanting to stroke your head one more time before leaving. Turning abruptly and storming out of the room, Sihtric buried his teeth in his clenched fist with such force that blood started to trail down his arm. 

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispered to himself, “You need a safe passage to Winchester, and I’ll secure it for you, no matter the cost.”

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[goldfades]

had another jump then fall thought

after adam and cece start dating (and maybe move in together???) i could totally see paloma walking into their room at night holding her fave stuffie with tears in her poor little eyes saying she cant sleep (especially after the court thing) she would just be so scared that ceces gonna disappear or shes gonna get taken away from them again poor girl is so little with so much anxiety

oh my god YES. anxiety is very much a part of paloma’s life after the whole court hearing. she never wants to be away from adam ever again and even the mere thought gives the poor girl nightmares 🥹🥹

after the hearing, even adam gets anxious about the whole thing and the only person who’s able to calm him is sweet cece (despite her own fears of paloma’s bio mom taking her again)

─ warnings sosososo much anxiety, exhaustion but fluffy (post pining) moments with cece/adam. also this was written on my phone so there may be errors LOL

─ wc 635

the clock on the bedside table flashed 3:12 am and both cece and adam were fast asleep in their warm bed. cece had a 10 am lecture while adam had practice the next morning, they both wanted to catch up on their sleep.

the door creaked open, revealing a very pouty and tired looking paloma. she began crying softly and cece began to stir before waking up and seeing the toddler at the door, barely being able to stand.

“dove?” cece’s hoarse and tired voice rang out in the room as she got out of bed and grabbed the little girl into her arms.

at cece’s now empty spot on the bed, adam stirred and eventually woke and let out a sigh. this had been a constant struggle with paloma since the hearing but he couldn’t hold it against her, she didn’t even know what was going on. he would be lying if he said he wasn’t exhausted, though.

adam rubbed his eyes and sat up, running a hand through his tousled hair as he watched cece comfort paloma. he knew that the past few weeks had been tough on all of them, especially on paloma. ever since the hearing, she had been more clingy than usual, sensing the tension in the air.

"another bad dream?" adam asked, his voice still thick with sleep as he glanced over at cece and paloma.

cece nodded, her own exhaustion evident in the lines of her face. "yeah. they're getting more frequent, adam. i'm getting a little worried."

adam sighed as he stayed silent for a moment before speaking up. "she's fine. it's normal for her to wanna sleep with us, she's a baby."

"adam," cece's voice was a little agitated as adam once again tried to ignore paloma's obvious separation anxiety. she knew he couldn't help it though.

adam felt a pang of guilt at cece's tone. he knew she was right, but he also struggled with seeing paloma upset and he didn't know how he'd cope if he found out there was something wrong. he ran a hand through his hair again, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling on his shoulders.

"i know, cee," adam said softly, reaching out to gently stroke paloma's hair as she nestled against cece. "i just hate seeing her like this, you know? It breaks my heart. and it's my fault, too-"

"don't you dare say that, adam." cece's voice was firm, cutting off adam's self-blame before it could fully take root. she reached out to grasp Adam's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "it isn't anyone's fault except her mother's, for making us all endure the shit she gave us."

adam's shoulders sagged with relief at Cece's words, grateful for her understanding. he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to paloma's forehead before resting his forehead against cece's.

"i know," Adam murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "i just... i want to do everything i can to protect her, you know? and when i see her like this... it's hard not to feel like i'm failing."

cece reached up, cupping Adam's cheek in her hand and guiding his gaze to meet hers. "you're not failing, adam. you're the best dad ever and paloma knows that. you can't control everything that happens no matter how hard you try, all you can do is just help her cope."

adam's eyes softened at her words, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. he leaned into her touch, savoring the warmth of her hand against his cheek.

"thank you, cece," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "i needed to hear that."

cece smiled softly, her eyes filled with warmth as she pressed a tender kiss to adam's lips. "of course, adam. we are in this together, remember? we'll figure it out."

[applejuicefruit]

one where the reader has just given birth to her first child with kylian, and she has a kind of "postpartum depression", she is very insecure about her body, she is exhausted by the new routine, and whenever she has to breastfeed she cries because her breasts are still sensitive and etc... she hesitates to talk to kylian about it, but after a while he brings it up again to understand what is going on with her, they talk about everything and he comforts and cares her... if u can, please.

I love this request so much 😭

Tw: postpartum depression, depression in general, anxiety, reader being self conscious

Kylian Mbappe x reader

The way you are

Two months ago your life completely changed.

You and Kylian were expecting your first child and you were both thrilled, excited and scared. It was a rollercoaster of emotions but you couldn’t wait to meet the new addition to the family. Two months ago and you gave birth to a beautiful and healthy baby boy, Samuel, and you couldn’t be happier. He was Kylian’s twin. But now it was hard for you to get used to the new routine. It wasn’t only waking up in the middle of the night because your baby needed to be changed or fed. It was all the stress that came with the pregnancy. Everyone felt like women had to be happy they welcomed a new life on earth, had to be joyful that the pain they went through for nine months was finally over and had to know everything about taking care of a new born - but it wasn’t like that, these past two months have been hitting you really hard, both mentally and physically.

You were grateful for Kylian to be there every time you needed him, he was such a good father and a very fast learner. His family did helped you a lot too. His mom knew how much having kids could be exhausting so she made sure to watch the baby a couple days so you could rest without getting worried of being woke up.

But still, even if you had free times your mind couldn’t seem to stop. It was a constant fight between you and your brain.

Everytime you looked in the mirror you couldn’t stand the person in front of you. It wasn’t you. You didn’t recognized her. Your body got bigger with the pregnancy, your breast fuller and your legs and feet were always sore.

Breastfeeding was a living hell for you. You thought it would give you joy seeing your baby being so healthy and hungry but you hated those moments and you couldn’t help but think that something was definitely wrong with you. Your breast was always so sensitive and it hurt when Sammy was feeding that you cried every single time. You were always tired more than you were when you were pregnant. The baby took a lot of energy from you.

Kylian noticed that you became quieter and he honestly didn’t like it. You were usually a very talkative person, always bright and joyful, your positive aura protecting you and all the people around you so he started questioning what was going on with you. He waited for you to open up with him but when he saw that you didn’t he broke the silence and made the first move.

“Hey baby…” he approached you one night when you were both in bed, Samuel falling asleep in Kylian’s arms just thirty minutes earlier.

“Hey…” you whispered, completely exhausted.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked laying in bed next to you. You nodded.

“You would tell me if something is wrong, right?” he asked, trying to slowly approach the topic.

“Yes why?” you asked him a bit confused.

“I’m not judging you okay? But…I feel like you’re getting distant from me, from everyone actually and I’m a bit worried…is everything okay baby?” he asked you.

No. Nothing is okay you wanted to say. But you couldn’t complain about it because in your mind, doing all of these painful and tiring things for your baby, would have been absolutely worth it for him in the future, so as a mother you should have endured the pain and going on.

“Yes everything is okay Kylian” you lied.

“Babe please tell me what’s going on? I know you’re not okay I can see that…I just wanna help” he begged you because he hated seeing you like that.

“You wanna help me? Go and breastfeed your child!” you shouted, completely forgetting about the walls you built up and letting all of your emotions coming out “go and look at yourself in the mirror and stand there, staring at someone who’s not you but at the same time looks exactly like you! Take care of Samuel every time he needs to be fed because my breast can’t take it anymore! It hurt Kylian! It hurt so fucking much you have no idea and there’s nothing I can do about it because I am a mom and I shouldn’t be complaining because these are normal things to do but I can’t do it! It’s fucking exhausting and I feel so bad because all I want to do is love my child but I feel like I can’t do it because of all of the pain I’m going though…you have no idea Kylian how every single inch of my body hurts!” you said, completely breaking down.

Kylian was shocked and hurt because he wished he realised sooner that this new routine was completely killing you.

“Baby…hear me out. I love you and that’s not gonna change. I loved your body before and I love your body now because it’s yours. It’s you y/n and I love you just the way you are…” he said holding you in his arms “I’m so sorry you feel this way baby, I really am…I wish I could do something for helping you with the pain…we can try some massages if you want to? I’m open to do anything in my power to make you feel comfortable” he said from the bottom of his heart because he couldn’t stand the idea of you being in pain “what you’re going through it’s normal baby…a lot of women go through postpartum depression and I think talking with a specialist might help you, only if you’re up for it, it’s up to you, but whatever you decide to do I’m here, to help you and support you. You’re not alone in this okay?” he softly said while leaving gentle kisses to your neck.

You calmed down listening to his voice and you were so grateful for having someone like him by your side.

“Thank you Kylian” you said wiping your tears away.

“Don’t thank me baby…I’m here, I will always be here for you, and Sammy, you two are the most important people in my life and I love you so much” he said truthfully.

You fell asleep in his arms, while he softly massaged your back and neck, trying to ease the pain.

[sugasiren]

◇ Astro Notes! (The HELL NO Edition) ◇

**FYI: Every Zodiac Sign has value. I hate no one, just have my preferences.

😑 Taurus Mars: HELL NO. Y'all move too fucking slow! And often stay stubborn about dumb shit.

😑 Taurus Suns: HELL NO. Too fucking boring - good God Almighty, change it up already! Lol. Also incapable of admitting when they're wrong and/or acting bitter whenever they *do* actually apologize.

😑 6th House Stellium Individuals: HELL NO. They give me major Mannequin vibes! 🤣 Have struggles with emotional constipation & being inauthentic. Too in their heads & often Debbie-Downers to be around. The 6H even waters down strong Scorpio & Aries energy! 🤷🏾‍♀️ They are less "juicy" than others of their ilk. *Dislike*

😑 Virgo Sun Males: HELL NO. Overly critical, self-righteous assholes. 💯 Who are oftentimes *more* petty & gossipy than women. Never satisfied! Yuck lol

😑 Pisces Mars: HELL NO. Obscenely passive-aggressive and whiney people. Say what you mean and mean what you say or STFU already. 👍🏾 Thanks!

😑 Sagittarius Moon: HELLO NO. Way too damn moody for me. Extreme highs & lows constantly with them. Can be overly preachy at times, too.

😑 Gemini/Cancer Combo: HELL NO. Batshit crazy bastards!! Their mood swings are like emotional tsunamis and you never know when they're coming. Extremely petty people who can make unwise decisions with unsavory consequences. "Dish it, but can't take it" types. 💯 The men care about you one minute... and are throwing you in the trash the next - over nothing.

😑 Scorpios w/ Virgo Moon: HELL NO. Control Freaks to infinity & beyond!! Think of Regina from Mean Girls. Backstabber Energy. Very imposing presence - they like to intimidate others. 💪 Back TF up, fool. Not having it over here. Bye, now.

😑 Aquarius Stelliums: HELL NO. These MFers are like the most advanced Calculus - overly complicated & just plain difficult for NO damn reason. I hate Math, too! 🤣 They treat their Love Interests like "friends" and then silently die inside when you ghost them or turn away. WTF did you expect?? 🤷🏾‍♀️ Stop fearing intimacy - that aloof shit gets old, fam. And stop demanding that everyone be "open-minded" when you yourself are often VERY stuck in your own unconventional beliefs.

😑 Leo Suns (unevolved): HELL NO. Total headaches to endure & the absolute WORST ever. 🤣 Unwarranted Egos that *I* pop like a fucking balloon. Their need for constant validation is exhausting & they're absurdly selfish. They give bratty 7 year-old girl vibes!! You know The Lion King right? Unevolved Leos are like Scar. Mature Leos are like Mufasa - the polar opposite & my favorite people on the planet, actually. ☀️ So Lions can be a hit or miss.

Thanks for reading Darlings! 💕 More to come soon.