#can’t think of anything else but it’ll come to me eventually

[ennyshifts]

the idea that belief is the key to a successful shift is nothing more than an assumption. a useless limitation someone made up. yes, straight to the point. how do I know this though? because I’ve gotten my desires while holding on to hope with barely any belief that it would work. the only thing I did was persist, no matter what I felt about it.

if you have trouble believing you’ll actually shift, that is not the end of the world. in my opinion, the only thing that actually matters is your desire and decision to shift. like. that’s it. allow yourself to hope, wish, even be desperate and still be successful in the end, because tell me why the simplest desire to shift wouldn’t be enough?

the reason you’re not shifting is not because you don’t believe in yourself. it’s because you believe you can’t shift if you lack belief. that mindset keeps you stuck, not your doubts. there’s a difference.

people treat belief like it’s some magical requirement, but that’s honestly so limiting. belief isn’t something you need to succeed. in fact, I’d argue that belief comes after you’ve done it a few times. just like anything else in life you once doubted, but did anyway. remember, you’re not waiting for belief to appear — belief grows through experience.

I’ve seen countless people say things along the lines of, “hope won’t get you anywhere.” or “you need to believe you already have it.” and it genuinely makes me frustrated. I get that it can be helpful for some, but to claim that belief is needed just sounds so wrong to me. everyone loves to throw around the word assumption, and this is a perfect example of one. it’s not a fact. it’s not a rule. it’s just someone’s assumption that belief is required for them to shift.

some of us have been here for years with little to no success, and I think I can speak for many of us when I say that it’s really not that easy to walk around full of belief and confidence every single day. and you know what? that’s okay. it’s okay to hope. it’s okay to want something without fully believing it’ll happen right at that moment. personally, I know I’ll shift eventually and that alone is enough for me!

the idea that you need belief is what complicates it, but shifting isn’t reserved for those with strong beliefs. shifting is for anyone who wants it, and if you want to shift, that’s enough!! I promise you, it really can be as simple as a single desire. you’re allowed to want it and let that be enough. end of story.

[fluhfish]

REVERENCE

it's legit 1 am rn and my heads about to explode. enjoy.

★ - obligatory mature content warning.

If there are any good galra, they’ve had 10,000 years to take down Zarkon. I would never count on them for help.

“Hey.”

Cuphead snaps out of his thoughts, whipping his head around. Bendy stands holding his helmet to his hip. The orange hues of the sunset — as close as this planet has to a sunset anyway — dance across his honey-brown skin. An easy smile rests on his lips.

Radiant as ever, Cup thinks.

He forces his eyes away.

“Jeez,” Bendy barks a laugh. “You look like an angsty middle schooler brooding out here by yourself.”

Cup only scoffs, unable to hide the mild tinge of annoyance in his voice “Don’t you have a princess to be wooing over?” Bendy frowns at the obvious bitterness in his words.

He flops down next to the red paladin and huffs a small sigh, “Ya know she didn't mean any of that, right?” Settling his helmet on his lap, he leans his arm on it, looking at Cup with a look the blonde can’t quite place. The same one he had when they saved him and Felix from Sendak, but Cup is trying not to think about that right now.

Pointedly, Cup doesn't look at Bendy, only offering a small scowl in response. He’d think of some sarcastic quip but, in all honesty, he's too busy still trying not about how utterly fucked he is.

We are a good team

Welp.

This was a horrible idea. He should've just gone to his room. All these feelings swirling around and nagging at his chest like a parrot in a bird cage — he doesn't know how to act around Bendy right now. Of all people why did his brain pick Bendy fucking Bbro whos known for flirting with every damn girl in the galaxy and- and ..Alice. It's always Alice.

At the start it had just been an annoyance, like a buzzing too close to his ears. He could ignore it — them — like he always did. Even back at the garrison Cuphead convinced himself, willed himself, to pretend what he was feeling was nothing more than simple animosity towards the other boy.

It's just like Bendy had said all those months ago — they were neck and neck, right?

Rivals. That's all they were and all they ever could be.

Momentarily he contemplates setting off the red lions defenses and seeing if it’ll just end both their suffering already.

He doesn't.

“She hates me.” he says instead. The other paladins smile drops and he offers a sympathetic noise in response, “Alice just-” Bendy sighs “She just needs time. I mean the galra wiped out her whole race. I’m sure eventually she'll come around.” It's a weak excuse and they both know it, but at this point what else can he say?

Cup swallows down his arguments.

Noticing his inner turmoil, Bendy moves closer and puts his hand over Cuphead's “I mean.. who cares what she thinks though. To us- To me, you’re still you galra or not.” Cuphead scoffs, unable to fight back the small smile tugging at his lips.

He can feel the warmth of Bendy’s hand on his and suddenly he’s acutely aware of the lack of distance between them. Despite the paladin uniform, Bendy’s touch felt like fire on his skin.

It’s quiet for a tick — yes, a tick — before he decides to speak.

Cup looks over at him, “How do you do it?”

Bendy blinks owlishly before scrunching his face in what Cup can only place as mild amusement. “Do..what, mullet”

“I dunno. How do you be so- this.” He vaguely gestures to Bendy with his unoccupied hand. “How do you just.. not care? You're so unbothered by all of this, by me, I- I don’t get it” he snaps his mouth shut and opens it again, trying to come up with something- anything to try and explain the deep yearning gnawing at his chest. “You should hate me. O-or at the very least be- I don't know- weary?” he combs his free hand through his hair anxiously and looks away.

Before Bendy can get a word in, Cup continues babbling “I mean what if she's right and- and when it comes down to it I really can't be trusted at all. What if zarkon gets me and does some weird alien-galra brainwashing shit or my weird galra instincts take over and I hurt someone? I mean, it's not exactly like I know what alien puberty is like-” he snaps his mouth shut again. Nervously, he glances back over at Bendy.

The other paladin has his brows pinched together, furrowed, staring at him like he's one of Boris’ weird pieces of tech he can't figure out.

Cup inwardly holds his breath, shrinking slightly under the others gaze.

He should just leave — pretend this whole thing never happened. Pretend he can’t feel the others body heat on his hands mixing with his own. Pretend said heat isn't rapidly rising to his face. Pretend Bendy isn’t moving slightly closer, thigh bumping against his own.

Pretend he can't feel the odd tension in the air.

Maybe with enough luck – of which he's definitely not known for having, but a guy can dream – Bendy will just forget this whole interaction even occurred, go back to using his cringey one-liners on Alice, and Cup can just wallow in his misery forever.

“I know-” Bendy starts before seemingly deciding against it and biting his lip. He sighs, “I know we aren't like best pals frolicking in the field together and man I've wanted to just throttle you a good few times but—” He inched a little closer, their faces barely a few inches apart. “I do care about you Cup like- a lot. Nothing's gonna change that anytime soon. And if I gotta stick through some weird alien puberty then, so be it.” He makes a point to do finger quotes around ‘alien puberty’ — almost as if he was trying to emphasize just how ridiculous Cup sounded which- yeah. Okay. Maybe he was being a little nonsensical.

Cup can’t quite place the emotion in his voice – or well he can but some part of him chants he's just being hopeful – nonetheless he believes every word. As if his brain could do anything else.

He doesn’t know what to say so ultimately Cup ends up just staring back at him like an idiot.

It’s silent for another few ticks.

Bendy sighs again, something akin to annoyance graces his features before it's quickly replaced with hestiance. He seems to come to a resolution on whatever internal conflict he was having because with quick precision – one only a sharpshooter could manage – Bendy’s hand shoots out.

Cup doesn't register what's happening until suddenly the back of his neck is grabbed and their lips are being smashed together.

He sucks in a breath of surprise and pulls away.

“What—” Cup breathes. Was he pitying him? Had Cup been that obvious this whole time? He didn't think Bendy was that cruel. Was he?

“You want this, right?” Bendy interjects his quickly spiraling thoughts, piercing him with a look that makes Cup think he's seeing right into his soul and – considering what's happening right now – maybe he is. “Tell me you don’t and we can just- stop. Pretend it didn’t happen.”

Oh

Oh

Okay.

Cup takes a moment to stare back before answering, taking in the others features. Bendy’s flushed face and dilated pupils mixed with the way he’s looking at Cup make a shiver go down his spine, goosebumps rising on his skin.

Fuck it, he thinks.

Cup grabs both sides of Bendy's face and crashes their lips together with a feverish vigor.

Maybe this is all a dream or some stress-induced hallucination or maybe he's finally fucking losing it; either way he can't find it in him to stop. This’ll definitely come to bite him in the ass later.

Bendy presses their mouths together harder, tilting his head and deepening the kiss and shifting again. Before Cup can even think to pull away to breathe, he's being straddled and vaguely he registers the other paladins helmet tumbling off somewhere beside them. He’d hope it's not damaged but honestly, he’s been internally praying for this day since he was 15, the helmet is a worthy sacrifice. One Felix will most definitely scold them for later.

Finally, they parted to breathe. If he didn’t know any better he’d think Bendy was trying to devour him. Cup goes to speak but the other beats him to it, “I love you.” Bendy murmurs before going back in to kiss him again, looping his arms around Cup’s neck.

Cuphead doesn’t care if he means it. He doesn’t care if it’s all just the heat of the moment because god did it feel so right. Somehow, for once, nothing else mattered. It all just melted away as their mouths gradually started to move together in tandem.

Bendy pulls away first, a ravenous look in his eyes.

“Are you? -”

“yes-” Cup pants without missing a beat.

The blue paladin huffs a laugh, it’s a low, frankly dangerous noise. “All for me, huh?” he mutters, eyes half lidded, twirling a loose strand of Cup’s hair. Bendy grinds his hips down and Cup keens. A small, choked whine escapes his lips and he barely stops himself from rutting upwards, desperate for more- something— anything.

“We - ughn - shouldn't do this here –”

“Cmon baby,” Bendy coos “have a little backbone.”

“Eugh—ah- don’t call me that-”

Bendy huffs something akin to a laugh, “You gonna stop me, blondie?” He teases. His hands move from around Cuphead’s neck to wind themselves around his torso, pulling him impossibly closer. Their already hardening dicks pressed together even more. The friction felt like electricity on Cup’s skin, digging down into his very bones. He licks his lips and swallows, mouth dry.

“M-maybe-” Cuphead croaks. His eyes dart down to Bendy’s kiss swollen mouth; Cup really, really wants to kiss him again.

So he does. Hands travel from the sides of Bendy’s face to his hair, gloved fingers making themselves at home in his raven locks, tugging. The other lets out a drawled out moan at the action. Yep, that went straight to his dick — as if he could get any harder than he already was.

Suddenly Bendy pulls away, panting. “Lets- hah- move this along yeah?” His hands caress up and down Cup’s sides, sending tingles of arousal up Cuphead’s spine. God he wished he wasn’t wearing his stupid fucking paladin uniform. He wanted to feel the others touch on his bare skin, wanted to drown in the sensation and pray he never woke up from it.

His daze was quickly broken by the misplaced sensation of the cool breeze hitting the base of his spine, Cup cringed and tried to squirm.

“Huh.. I forgot these things were a two piece” He hears Bendy mumble.

Cuphead feels him tug at the hem of what would be considered Cup’s pants before pulling away slightly, hesitance swimming in his eyes.

“May i?”

“Bends- hah- i swear to everything in the known galaxy if you don’t just fucking- touch me already im going to kill us both.”

All remnants of hesitation melt away from Bendy’s features in an instant and he finally- finally frees Cup’s — borderline painfully — hard dick from the confines of the under suit. Cuphead gasps before moaning, long and drawlled, cutting off into a desperate whine as the blue paladins gloved hand wraps around his shaft.

Bendy pumps it once experimentally all while staring Cup down, seemingly gauging his reaction.

“Hnn..fuck-” Cup breathes, bucking his hips up in an attempt to chase the feeling.

Seeming satisfied, Bendy repeats the motion, swiping his thumb over the tip every few strokes. Cuphead lets his arms fall and wrap around the other, grasping at any loose areas of fabric he can possibly find, dropping his forehead to Bendys shoulder.

“f- ah- fast-”

“Faster?” Bendy whispers, voice laced with honey.

“yes- nn- yes yes- hah please.” The whines rip out of him like a prayer, repeatedly- uncontrollably.

Cup cuts off his own hazy babbling and nips at Bendy’s neck, licking and sucking at the small sliver of exposed skin available. The boy above him sucks in a surprised gasp, breath hitching. A hand snakes its way back into Cup’s curls grasping – but not tugging.

Bendy’s rutting down on him, panting, and Cuphead can feel the peak of an orgasm almost- barely making its way into his gut.

The babbling is back and Cup can only just make out what he himself is saying. Words start tumbling out, mixtures of begging and repetitive yes's tear out of him with vigor.

A gloved hand twists and Cuphead swears he sees what used to be altea before his vision goes blank. A knot in his gut Cup didn't even realise had formed, comes undone.

“Ben- hnng-” His body tenses, mouth forming an ‘o’, eyes blown wide. Cup's fingers claw at Bendy’s back and he spills over, painting the others hand and his own abdomen in white.

The red paladin melts against the Bendy’s warm body, panting, trying to collect himself.

Bendy bites his lip, still rutting down on Cup desperately.

The blonde vividly registers a small alarm noise blaring somewhere beside them, he blinks his eyes blearily and squints. Huh.

“Be..Bends-” He chokes out, barely above a whisper.

“hn- yeah?-”

Before Bendy can even get his question out, Alice's voice cuts through the air, alarmed.

“Paladins! Hello?”

Cuphead’s spine straightens out so quick he swears he hears something pop. Bendy startles, falling backwards off his lap and – very gracefully – slams into the ground, scrambling for his helmet.

“Y- ow- Yes, princess?”

“Where the hell are you two?! We need to go! NOW.”

Well.

At least Cup knows what that alarm was now.

They both stumble to their feet. Cuphead makes a noise of mild distaste to the state of his uniform and Bendy’s hand. The other scoffs, pulling out a wipe from one of the compartments attached to his hip, and wiping them both down haphazardly.

Bendy looks around for a brief moment before just tossing it over his shoulder and putting on his helmet, wincing – presumably at Alice’s scolding.

“Yeah, we really gotta go mullet.”

“What about-” Cup gestures down at Bendy's- problem.

The other smirks, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Don't worry, you can just make it up to me later, blondie.” He assures with a wink.

Cuphead’s cheeks flush darkly and Bendy barks a laugh.

“My room, yeah? 10 pm?”

Cup huffs, though a small smile finds its way to his lips, “Sure, sharpshooter.” He mutters.

[ky-pup]

Introduction!

Hi! My name is Kai. I’m 23 and use he/it pronouns. I am bi, trans, and poly. Pre op but on and off T for over 2 years now. Almost always smokin 🍃

OF is up! I try to do small photoshoots and videos about once a week. Teasers will be posted on here as well! Teasers will be from photo sets that gets posted on OF. Any photosets can also be purchased through DMs and Cashapp. I also do custom content too! Message me for info about that

I looove being a cute little puppyboy and that’s what most of this tumblr is about but it’s basically anything I am into.

Yes - breeding, cnc, petplay, size difference, intox

Hard No’s - scat, vom1t, detrans/misgender, p1ss in mouth, age/play

If it isn’t a hard no, I’m at least willing to try.

DNI - homophobic, transphobic, racist, ableist. MIK/MAP. Under 18

Names you can call me -baby boy, prince, pup, puppy, kitten, slvt, etc. as long as it’s not super feminine

Also feel free to ask any questions or message if you wanna be friends! Would love more subby puppies to be friends with and be horny with

$kyluc8

Non horny about me under the cut!

I have two partners, one who I live with and the other (I know you’re reading this XD so stop lurking and message me on here ;) ) is long distance for now. I also have a cat named Louie who I love with all my heart XD

I am autistic. This makes me very awkward and hard to keep conversation with. Don’t let this stop you from talking to me. I’m just weird XD

My current hyperfixations are trolls, fnaf, tadc, and greys anatomy. I also like stuff like Minecraft, the owl house, hazbin, pokemon, miraculous and a lot of other shit. Music, I mainly listen to stuff like pierce the veil and motionless in white but honestly, my main playlist is all over the place

Thank you for taking the time to actually get to know me cx I am high as shit writing this so props to you for getting through it

[libingan]

—no questions asked.

you’ve always been his, even before the words were ever said—no labels needed when everything else speaks for itself.

i remember candace and jeremy's relationship in phineas and ferb. i liked how jeremy assumed they were already dating and thought to myself "simon riley" so here it is.

it’s always been this way with simon.

the little things you’ve shared, those moments that nobody else gets to see, have slowly built up over time. long drives where the silence is comfortable, quiet moments when you’re wrapped up in a blanket together, his arm draped around your shoulders. you’ve shared soft kisses in the early morning light, whispered words when you think no one’s listening, and occasional touches that linger just a second too long to be deemed innocent. his gruff voice calling you his—just “his,” as if you’re already a part of something bigger, something unspoken.

but the question always lingers in the back of your mind: what are we?

because in your head, you’re not his girlfriend. you never really were. sure, you’ve done couple things—spent hours together, laughed over inside jokes, shared moments that feel like they belong to only the two of you. but whenever you think about it, you can’t quite place a label on what you are. you never had that conversation, the one where he asks you out, where you define what this thing between you is.

and deep down, you’ve always known. maybe it’s not meant to last. maybe simon’s just passing through your life like a storm, wild and unpredictable, leaving you wondering if you’ll ever feel whole again once the dust settles. you’ve never asked for a commitment. it was enough for you to just be close, to keep things easy and fluid, without any promises that might eventually break.

but then, everything changes the moment you decide to confront him.

it’s a quiet night, the kind where the world outside seems to stop, and you’re sitting in the living room, the only sound being the soft hum of the kitchen light. simon’s sprawled across the couch, eyes half-lidded as he scrolls through his phone. you’re sitting on the floor in front of him, leaning your back against the coffee table, and you can’t stop your thoughts from swirling.

the truth has been eating at you for weeks now, months maybe. you have to ask. you need to know if this is really what you want, and more importantly, if it’s what simon wants. so, you let the question slip, unsure of how it’ll come out, but it tumbles from your lips all the same.

“simon,” you begin, your voice quiet but firm, “what are we?”

he doesn’t immediately look up from his phone. it’s as if the question barely registers, but you know he’s heard it. you can feel his attention slowly turning your way, as if his brain needs a second to process the weight of your words.

he puts the phone down, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at you, his gaze soft but intense. he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, his lips curl into a small, knowing smirk.

“what do you mean?” his voice is low, almost like he’s testing the waters.

you swallow, feeling a tightness in your chest, and you try to make your words come out right. “i mean… we do all this stuff, simon. you call me yours, and i… i don’t even know where i stand. we’ve never really talked about what this is. are we… are we dating, or what?”

he blinks at you for a moment, clearly taken aback by your words. it’s almost funny, how much you’ve thought about it, how much you’ve analyzed your every interaction, while simon has likely never questioned it. it’s simple to him. and that’s when it hits you—he’s never even considered that this could be anything other than what it is.

he sighs, a deep, exasperated sound, and leans back into the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. his eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. “what are you on about, woman? you’re my girlfriend.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, you can’t quite process them. you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him right. it almost sounds like he’s stating a fact, like it’s something as simple as breathing. his voice is firm, unwavering, as if this was always meant to be the case.

you feel your breath catch, the weight of his words sinking in, and then—just like that—all your worries melt away. you don’t even know why you were so worried in the first place. the uncertainty, the anxiety, it all seems so silly now. you’re not sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all. simon is, as always, so simon about it. there’s no drama, no overthinking, no need for big conversations or declarations.

you’re his. you’re his girlfriend. and there’s no debate.

the relief hits first, followed closely by a mix of amusement and a small flash of annoyance. you try to hold back the grin tugging at your lips. “wait... just like that? no question, no ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ just… you’re my girlfriend?”

he meets your gaze, nonchalant, and shrugs. “that’s right. you’re mine. no need for any of that nonsense. i’ve already decided.”

you stare at him, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. it’s the way he speaks, like he’s already certain, already claimed you. and it feels… good. reassuring, even. but also, just a little bit frustrating. because, honestly, how do you even argue with that?

“god, you’re impossible,” you mutter, a grin breaking through as you roll your eyes. “seriously. you’re so damn sure about everything.”

he just smirks back, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “you should be glad i am, sweetheart. now, come here.”

he pats his lap, and before you can protest, you’re already moving toward him, the tension from moments before completely gone. his arms pull you close, and you settle against him, feeling his familiar warmth. you don’t even need the words anymore. somehow, just being with him like this is enough.

and that, you realize, is exactly what simon’s always known.

[rex-rambles]

➤ YOU CAME? YOU CALLED | MAX VERSTAPPEN

summary: you don't mean to call Max when you get mugged on the streets of Monaco, but he shows up anyway

pairing: max verstappen x ex!reader

wc: 2.6 k

warnings: angst with a happy ending, discussions of break ups, mugging, minor bodily harm, and insecurities

➤ MASTERLIST

You hadn’t really meant to call Max. You’d memorized his number by now, typed it into your phone enough times, but you’d never meant to press call. 

You’d never meant for him to pick up. “What’s wrong?” It wasn’t a surprise, that something terrible must have happened for you to call him. 

It wasn’t like that, once. Once, you’d been madly in love and called every evening you could, spent every hour together, but love runs out eventually. That honeymoon feeling wears off, and you’re left fighting in the dull heat of Monaco’s late nights, storming off a yacht for the last time. 

“It’s nothing,” You manage to say, hanging up, and letting your head drop into your hands. It was nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Being mugged at knife point wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to you, you weren’t even really hurt. 

The paramedics insisted on bandaging up your hand, where the knife had managed to cut you, but it shouldn't have been anything major to Max. Before that doomed fight, he had been acting like every time you left the house you were heading into a war zone. Telling him you were mugged? At knife point? You would be proving him and his need to control you right, and even if you wanted him here, you'd never admit it.

“It’s nothing?” The paramedic asks, staring down at where you're perched on the sidewalk. “You need a ride home.” 

“I’ll be fine.” But you don’t move, and the paramedic doesn’t believe you. “I called the wrong person.” You finally say, pretending to dial another number and pressing the phone to your ear, and you pretend to have a conversation with someone who cares about you and is worried the normal amount and rushing here as quick as they can. 

The paramedics get a more important call, and you’re left on your own on the sidewalk, thinking of whether you should call a taxi, or just walk when the sound of a motor cuts through the night. It would be an ignorable noise, if you hadn’t known Max for so long. 

It would be an ignorable noise, if you didn’t know the exact make and model of the car, and the man behind the wheel. At a speed you can’t fathom for Monaco’s tight streets, Max and his Valkyrie appears, and it isn't lost on you that Max came, in his fastest car, when you called.

You try not to let it jump-start all those feelings tucked away in your heart, watching the car come to a screeching halt in front of you. With little regard for anyone else out on the street, he parks in the middle of it and is at your side without caring to close the car door.

“I don’t care if it’s nothing,” he says, a soft anger in his voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“I…” you don’t want to admit you were mugged, because then it’ll turn into a thing about strength, about you needing Max, and you’re not ready to admit that yet. “You came.” 

“You called.” He says, coming to crouch before you. “You know I’ll always answer.” 

His eyes drop to your hand, and he pauses, slowly raising it up into the streetlight. You know he can tell it’s fresh, and his eyes flick up to yours with a dark expression. “It’s nothing.”

“Stop lying to me, liefje.” The word slips out, you think, Max so used to saying it. It had only been a month without being called that, and you hate to say you missed it. “Nothing has to happen between us again, but you need to tell me the truth. What happened?”

Rather than answering, your eyes drift past him to his car, and you realize you'd never told him where you were. “How did you know where to find me?” You ask and Max sighs, slowly letting your hand rest on your leg as he debates his answer.

Knowing him, it was probably some hidden air tag or something on you, but if it had been in your purse, it was long gone from now. “You never unshared your location." He answers finally, and you spare a glance down at your phone on the sidewalk. It wasn't his fault, you suppose, that he wanted to know where you were at all times with the fame he was accustomed to. You just weren't used to being known like that, being controlled, even if it was for your safety. "Now, for the last time, what happened?” 

“I was mugged.” You admit quietly, and Max’s head snaps up to look at you, shock plain on his features. "I don't sleep well alone, so I've been going for late night walks, and I know you're going to lecture me about not being safe, but I want to live my life, Max." The words just sort of tumble out, the whole reason you separated now hanging between the two of you. "I know you want to protect me, but it-"

“Are you hurt? Your hand?” Max cuts you off, and you raise it up to wiggle your fingers in an attempt to show you're fine, but the stretch makes you wince.

“I tried to grab it out of his hand, but he made off with my purse.” It had hurt like hell, but somehow, your pride hurt more. 

You were tired of doing everything wrong, of being told where to go and when, or how to act. You just wanted to be alone with yourself for once, and you ended up on the other end of a knife. You didn't want to say Max was right, but maybe he was. “You tried…to grab it.” 

“The knife, so he wouldn’t stab me.” Without much ceremony, Max reaches out and pulls you into his arms, hand coming up to cradle your head as he presses it into his shoulder. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispers into the top of your head, and tears spring up before you can help it. 

You’d held it together this long, but it had been terrifying, and Max’s arms felt like a home you hadn’t realized you’d miss. He seems to sense your tears, gently rubbing circles into your back. 

“And I am going to lecture you about walking alone at night,” he continues, making you scowl into his chest, “But it doesn’t have to be with me.”

“What?” You wrench back, staring up at him as if you didn’t hear that right. 

He stares right back, watching the few stray tears run down your cheeks, and you realize, in that instant, what he's saying. "I want to keep you safe, but...you're not happy like that. If...if you need someone who doesn't smother you to be happy, then you should have that person, and take them on your stupid late night walks."

Were you smothered? It wasn't the wrong word, you suppose, but it wasn't like Max had meant it to be as painful as it was. He could have anything he wanted, anyone he wanted, but he was so protective of what he had, like he couldn't stand to lose it.

And yet, for you, for your happiness, he was willing to let you go again. The tears well up once more, for your hand, for the fear of being mugged, for Max, and confusion overrides the sympathy on his face.

"You...don't want that?" Max infers softly, and you shove against his chest to create some space between you as you try to figure out what to say.

That you still love him? That despite the smothering, he was the first person you knew to call, the first person you wanted to call, and he came, in his fastest car, to come get you?

That he was telling you to find another man to be happy with, to protect you, when you just wanted him? "Listen, you can't just go walking on your own, this is what happens!"

"I should be able to!" You snap, taking a heaving breath as you try to calm yourself. "I just-I should be able to do what I want, Max, with who I want. If I want to walk with you at night, it shouldn't be because I need some protector, but because I want you."

"Do you want me to walk with you at night?"

You blink at him, tears slowing as you try to figure out what he's asking you. "Of course I do, Max." You answer softly. "I always did."

"Then why didn't you say something?" You'd tried. You kept asking to go out, and he'd tell you that it was too dangerous, and it would become an argument before you could even ask him to join you.

"I did, but you always made it about how I can't go out at night. And if it wasn't late night walks, it was just doing random errands on a day off, or going on a girl's trip, or wandering around all the places you were racing." You know he didn't mean to be controlling, but he was. The only way to get space was to walk away from him, and it hurt like hell. Max opens his mouth, and you quickly shush him to continue. "And before you go off on some tangent about how it's not safe, I get it. I mean, I got mugged tonight! But the potential of something bad happening doesn't mean to stop the good from happening, too."

Max's eyes drop from yours, turned to look down the street. In this light, it's hard to blame him for anything at all, but it wasn't fair. Not to you, and not to him.

"Max," You offer quietly, "Look at me."

"You scare me." Max says, voice barely audible in the night. Turned away, you almost pretend he didn't say it at all. "I've never felt this way before, about anyone. I'm terrified something is going to happen to you, and it's going to be all my fault."

"Love, that's not-"

"My first race, you got lost in the crowd. Someone could've...could've done terrible things to you. That time you got ambushed by paparazzi, you got lost in Montreal, I just...I've only ever wanted you to be safe and happy, but..." But you weren't happy like this, despite how safe you were.

And Max was finally realizing it. "But you let the safety part control our relationship. I promise you Max, nothing bad is going to happen to me because you weren't there."

"But it did tonight." You suck in a breath, coming to gently cradle Max's face in your hands, and forcing him to look back at you.

If it were anyone else this stubborn, you would give up this fight, but it's Max, whose life is fast-paced and hellish at the best of times. You hadn't realized how much of this was about him, and his abilities, and not you and your restrictions. You were still mad at him, justified for walking away, but the longer he was close to you, the more your resolve broke.

This wasn't supposed to end in heartbreak. This was supposed to be a bump in the road where Max realized he was being overbearing, but how can you truly be angry at anyone for caring?

He wanted you safe, but he needed to realize that the ways he was going about it weren't right. As he'd said, there's a difference between safe and smothered, and you had stepped away before it had gotten to that point.

And even now, having gone against him, and gotten hurt, it was alright in the end, and as stupid as it was to say, he needed to realize that. "And?"

Max blinks twice, as if trying to calculate how you came to that conclusion. "And what?"

"And I'm fine. I'm a bit banged up, and without a purse, but I'm alive, and I'm with you." Max opens his mouth to speak again, and of his own will, he shuts it promptly. You let out a sad laugh at his restraint, and he cracks the barest smile in response.

"Only you could turn a mugging into a good thing." Max leans forward, gently resting his forehead against yours, and it takes a fair amount of restraint to not kiss him. "I'm sorr-"

"You can't apologize for something you didn't cause." The last thing you need is for him to blame himself for you getting hurt because he wasn't there.

In this life, there are always going to be things out of your control, but it's up to you and Max to work together against them, rather than let that anxiety rule over everything.

"Then I'm sorry for you thinking you couldn't call me." Tears swim in his eyes, cracking open to look at you, and you move your head back to look at him properly.

"You know, I really didn't mean to call you at all, but it was just sort of instinctual." Max nods solemnly, like he's committed some great sin, and you gently run your thumb over his cheek. “It’s a good thing, I think.” 

“You think?” 

"If you think I'd never call you again because you care about me too much, you are sorely mistaken." You smile, and Max attempts the same. "I'm sorry for putting distance between us the way I did, but I think we needed it."

"Need is a strong word." Max mutters softly, endearing in the way he tries to frown and fails. "I just...I don’t know how to do this any other way." You expect another argument, but instead, Max hesitates. It's obvious he has something to say, but instead, he very gently pulls back to press a kiss to your forehead. "But if you'd let me...we can try?"

That's all you want. For him to hear you, to understand you, for him to just try. You know he won't suddenly be perfect overnight, and neither will you, but it's enough to just try.

His eyes flicker down your face, quickly returning to your eyes, and that same old guilt returns, and without much thought, you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips, and instantly, he's melting in your arms like that touch was all he needed, moving his hands to your hips to gently guide you towards him again. "I can do that," You whisper against his lips. "We're going to try, and you're going to try to understand that whatever happens, it's not your fault. Never was, and never will be."

"And you are going to try and not get lost as often, okay?" You press another quick, chaste kiss to his lips.

"Deal." You and Max just stare at each other, curled up on some sidewalk in Monaco, and you both realize the strangeness of it at the same time. "Take me home?" You ask softly, and without a word Max is up and on his feet, hand extended to help you up. There's a joke to be made here, about him being eager, but you save it for a night with a bit less emotion. He helps you into the Valkyrie and gets in the driver's seat, but he doesn't turn on the car, or plug himself in.

Rather, he turns to look at you, reaching over and taking your bandaged hand in his. "I love you." He says, unlike how he's ever said it before. It's not a statement, a confession, or some poetic thing, it's just the truth.

He says it, as if no matter what happened tonight, if you stormed away furious or made up, he'd say it all the same.

He says it with the understanding that you'd call, and he'd come find you, no matter what. And, gently squeezing his hand in yours, you know it's enough to make this work.

"I love you too."

a/n: i can't really explain where all this came from besides a good, sad playlist and a 2 hour road trip :) enjoy

[0310s]

perv!leehan who can’t stop staring at his gf’s boobs 😵‍💫 i feel like he would start bouncing his leg just to try and focus and avoid getting a hard on

members: leehan x gender neutral reader

genre: smut, but intimacy also i promise!!!!

tags: dry humping, breast/nipple play

wc: 2.0k

a/n: anon just know i decided to pull an all-nighter to write this because i couldn't get it out of my head... thank you for this amazing idea.

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

During the start of your relationship when you’re still not intimate, Leehan decides to go at your pace; whatever you’re comfortable with dictates how everything else will go. Still, perv!Leehan is easily turned on by you—specifically, your boobs.

Leehan legitimately can’t stop staring at them and it’s becoming a problem, because you never wear a bra around him when he visits you in your apartment! The first time he comes over, he notices something is different about you—then he notices the natural curves of your breasts and wonders about how it would feel like to cup them in his palms. When it’s cold and your nipples poke out from your shirt, Leehan’s mind goes haywire and he can’t stop thinking about taking them into his lips. When you’re cuddled up with Leehan innocently on your bed, Leehan can feel how soft your chest is pressed up against his and has to awkwardly turn his body to the side so you don’t feel his growing hard-on. 

One time, when you’re wearing a loose, oversized shirt and lean over him to get something across him, he accidentally gets a peek of your bare chest. It’s only a second, but the flash of round flesh and nipple he sees is imprinted into his mind. He’s incredibly turned on yet immensely guilty. He has nothing to cover his crotch, so he ends up bouncing his leg so hard to will his hard-on away that you have to ask him if he’s alright. He says he is. You won’t know he’ll end up jerking off every night to thoughts of that memory, whether that be by furiously fucking his fist or humping his pillow. 

Another time you accidentally brush up against his arm and you squeak, and Leehan is immediately concerned, asking you what’s wrong. Upon more prodding on his end you shyly confess your nipples are sensitive, which sends Leehan down a deeper rabbithole of fantasies about teasing and pinching and and sucking and pulling at your nipples until you’re crying. But the last thing Leehan wants is for you to not feel comfortable and safe in your own body around him, so he gently says it’s alright and that he’ll be more careful next time, not dwelling too much on the topic so you aren’t put on the spot.

Still, you eventually notice Leehan’s staring as it grows more and more frequent and blatant (even if he thinks he’s being subtle about it). So one day in your apartment, when you spot him gazing at your clothed chest with an unreadable expression, you cover your chest with your hands in self-consciousness. Leehan shamefully realizes he’s been caught, so he rushes to beg for your forgiveness with red cheeks—but his heart breaks when you apologize first. “Is there something wrong with my … chest?” you ask, turning away to hide your chest. “You keep staring at them that I’m worried you think they look… weird. I know they’re not perfect or anything… I’m sorry.” And when he hears a sniffle come from you, he feels like the worst boyfriend to exist. 

“No, no, love, I’m sorry, I promise it’s not that,” Leehan pleads. Still, you don’t look back. You’re hunched over, rubbing at your eyes while the sniffles continue.  “Please… Can you look at me?” You slowly shake your head. Leehan, not wanting the misunderstanding to hurt you even more, takes ahold of your shoulders and gently turns you to face him. “I’m sorry my staring made you uncomfortable, but what you said is so far from the truth. To be honest…” When you look up at him with teary eyes, Leehan knows he has to tell you the truth, even if it’ll mortify him, so he tells you how much your boobs turn him on that he can’t stop looking. His face grows even redder in the wake of his confession and your silence. He’s ready to apologize again and give you space when you let out an “Oh! Oh. Ohhh….” And you end up being extremely shy around each other for the rest of the day. 

The first time you let Leehan touch your chest is in the heat of you making out. You’re in Leehan’s lap on your couch and he’s kissing you so sensually you’re becoming lightheaded with pleasure. He’s got one strong arm around your waist, and the other cups your cheek. When he lets go of your face, his hand accidentally brushes against your chest. Leehan’s quick to say sorry and is about to move his hand away, but you clutch his hand in time. You shyly ask him if he wants to touch—while Leehan is so turned on by the thought, he asks you multiple times if it’s something you want and if you’re sure about taking this next step. You admit that ever since the day Leehan told you the truth, you’ve been thinking about it. Extensively. 

You lead his hand to touch you; he cups at one clothed breast experimentally, feeling the weight and shape in his hand. You sigh and lean into his touch, and it gives him more courage to explore. He squeezes your chest and you moan, he slowly circles a nipple with a fingernail and you whimper, involuntarily pressing your pussy down on his dick. Leehan can’t believe he’s really touching your boobs, something he’s fantasized about for months on end. As he fondles you, you both desperately grind against each other, and when Leehan firmly sucks at your nipple through your shirt, you gasp in pleasure at how warm his tongue feels against you, even with a layer of cloth obstructing him from your bare skin. The contact is intense and overwhelming to you and you orgasm, Leehan following not long after.

After several repeats of clothed stimulation across weeks, you grow to become more comfortable in your own body. Soon enough, you find the courage to take your top off in the middle of a makeout session with your boyfriend. When you’re free of your shirt, your first instinct is to cover yourself, but you’re unable to when you catch Leehan’s honest reaction. Your tits are face-to-face with Leehan as you kneel on the couch, your thighs on the sides of his own. Your boyfriend’s staring at you with his mouth agape. Your eyes follow his pretty throat bobbing up and down as his stare trails down to your bare chest. Leehan’s silent for a moment as he takes in your soft flesh, memorizing your lovely curves, but eventually breaks the silence by letting out a deep exhale. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, “so pretty for me.” 

Your cheeks heat up at his sweet but erotic words, then embarrassment hits you as you register the implications of taking off your shirt so abruptly. You’re about to retreat into your shell of shyness and insecurity, but Leehan holds your wrists firmly, still loose enough so you can break out of his grip if you wished to. “Let me look at you properly, okay?” Leehan glances up at you, waiting for your answer.

You nod once. At your signal, Leehan trails a finger down the side of one breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Gorgeous,” he sighs dreamily, “How could you think I wouldn’t find you perfect as you are?” Your boyfriend’s words serve to bolster your confidence as you lean into his touch. Leehan smiles at this, cupping both breasts with his palms, giving you a light squeeze and eyeing your reaction. You melt into his hold. 

“More?” You nod again, and he acquiesces. Leehan lightly brushes his pointer finger over a nipple and you gasp at the direct contact. He traces a circle around your slowly stiffening peak, doing the same to its pair and humming in satisfaction when they’re both hard. “Tell me if this is too much, okay?” Monitoring your reaction, he takes one pebbled nipple between his fingers, rolling it gently, then administering the same treatment to the other. They’re indeed sensitive. You let out a high-pitched moan and clap a hand over your mouth in mortification, but Leehan pushes your hand back down. “Don’t hold back… I want to hear your moans when I take care of you like this. Don’t be ashamed—you sound pretty.” 

Leehan then uses both hands to tug at your nipples, and you unabashedly whine at the pressure, clutching at his shoulders for support. You squeeze your thighs together for some sort of friction—you can feel how wet you already are, your underwear uncomfortably clinging to your folds. At this, Leehan grinds his crotch up into you to remind you he’s perfectly available for your pleasure. You stop kneeling up and drop your hips to grind into Leehan’s cock, and you both moan at the contact. To your surprise, he’s rock-hard… all he’s been doing is touching your chest and he’s already this…?

You must have said that out loud, because Leehan lets out a tiny huff of disbelief. “What do you mean? This is everything I’ve been dreaming about for months, of course I’m turned on.” (The thought that you occupy your boyfriend’s fantasies makes you feel faint.) He gives your nipples another firm twist, and a helpless keen comes out of your mouth. Leehan lets go and observes his work proudly—your nipples are hard and reddened. Still, it’s not enough for you, and you grind your pussy down harder so your boyfriend gets the message. “Can I…?” You thrust your chest into Leehan’s face. “Okay, okay, I get it.” 

Almost instantly, Leehan takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking slowly. When you tangle a hand in his hair and angle his head closer, he increases the pressure ever so slightly. The firm suction on your nipple feels heavenly, paired with how he lightly teases at your other one with a thumb, while the rest of his hand cradles your ribs. Leehan draws a sob from you as he tongues at your peak, circling it lazily. Looking straight into your eyes, he presses open-mouthed kisses to your puffy nipple, blowing air on it, and you squeal at the sensation. To relieve some of the frustration, you roll your hips insistently against Leehan’s, earning a muffled groan from him and sending a vibration of pleasure through you. He must feel your wetness through your shorts, because the hand on your side tightens minutely and presses you down onto his lap. 

When your grip on his hair increases, Leehan turns to your unattended nipple, giving it the same attention as he laves over it sensually. At this point, both of you are rocking frantically against each other, searching for release. The friction is driving you crazy. You greedily wish you had Leehan’s cock deep inside you—you can already imagine the stretch with how long and thick it is from your ceaseless grinding. And when Leehan’s teeth slightly graze your nipple, you let out a loud cry, your orgasm taking you by surprise, washing over you as you grind down once more. Then Leehan freezes, letting out a ragged moan as his hips jerk up harshly once, twice, until he relaxes.

It takes you a minute or two to recover your breath when you realize Leehan probably hasn’t come yet. “Do you need help with—?” When Leehan shakes his head no, you look at him questioningly. Weren’t you on the same page with all this? 

Still, Leehan’s response is one you didn’t expect. “Um, I already came,” he says sheepishly. When you tilt your head down, you’re greeted with a sizeable mess at the front of his pants. “Didn’t take much for it to happen… this was too hot.”

“Well. It was. Is. Hot,” you admit, your chest heaving from exertion. “Um. You’re hot.” Could you be any less awkward?

“Oh! You too,” Leehan giggles, sending you one of his signature crescent-eye smiles. Your eyes follow his as they trail down from your face to your chest, which makes you realize you’re still—ashamedly—topless. 

“Oh my god!” You rush to shield your chest from view, but Leehan beats you to it, nuzzling his face into the valley of your breasts and inhaling deeply. “Don’t do that, I’m all sweaty…”

“Smells good. Smells like you,” Leehan’s reply is muffled by your chest. He leaves a soft kiss on your sternum and your heart flutters at this display of affection. “You have nothing to be worried about.” You know he means more than just the sex, and for this, you’re infinitely grateful. 

[chrisevansonly]

Playing With Fire

Max Verstappen x Female Reader

summary: you and stella are max’s world, and he’d be damned if he let his father speak ill of either of you.

warnings: angst, jos (ew), angry max, slight mentions of crying, fluff at end

a/n: this is a re-upload to see if it shows up in the tags 🥲

When Stella was born, it was one of the best days ever for Max, seeing his baby girl come into the world, and the way she practically latched onto him from the minute she was welcomed into the family. He knew right then and there he would be the absolute best father to his daughter, just as he was the best husband to you, and always had been.

If there was one thing Max nor you completely enjoyed it was family events when everyone got together, including Jos. Max’s father.Max and his father have a complicated relationship, in a way they seem close but there’s always that edge to his dad that keeps all of you on the edge of your seat. You in particular seemed to still be an issue to him, and every once in a while, you’d become the punching bag at the dinner table.

Stella was sleeping in your arms as you sat next to Max at the dinner table, Jos across from you both and his mother on the other end with the rest of his family and some friends that had joined for the monthly get together.

“So when is the next Verstappen coming?” His father asked looking at you. Stella was only 6 months old so you and Max were happy to just enjoy the time you have with her now, not even thinking about another baby.

“Oh, well i’m sure someday we’ll have another…”

“We’re in no rush” Max butted in, assuming it would stop his father’s line of questioning.

“Yes well, it’s just you had a baby girl…there has to be a boy in the equation…”

You furrowed your brows, fixing Stella’s blanket as she continued to sleep, oblivious to the rising tensions in the room.

“I don’t think so? There’s nothing wrong with having girls..”

“Who’s supposed to carry on the name?”

Max sat up straighter, his hand squeezing your knee gently

“Stella will just as our next baby will eventually, regardless of their gender.”

Jos shook his head taking a sip of his water as he sighed, before looking back at you.

“All i’m saying is you should be trying for a boy.”

“Well it doesn’t work that way.”

The table was getting quieter as the father and son squared off, Jos not backing down and Max not about to let his father attack you in anyway. Not on his watch.

“I knew the second you had a daughter it would make you weak, let alone marrying her and having that baby! She’s useless if she can’t have a boy! You’re wasting your time Max, I knew from the second I met her it would ruin our family.”

Used to his harassment you didn’t cry, but it didn’t stop tears from welling up in your eyes as you almost deflated in a way, hugging Stella closer to your chest. The minute your eyes looked to Max, long gone was his soft stare and gentle smile, replaced was a look almost predatory as he looked to his father.

“Watch your fucking mouth when you’re talking about the mother of my child.”

“Max-”

“No, get out.”

“Excuse me?” Jos’s eyes widened and he shook his head

“GET THE HELL OUT!”

Max yelled, slamming his hands down on the table, seconds later Stella stirring before whimpering in your arms. The dutchman froze and looked apologetically at you as you excused yourself to go up to the nursery, only then turning back to look at his father.

“If you ever so much as think about speaking about my wife and daughter again, it’ll be me coming after you. Now get the fuck out.”

Jos didn’t even offer to say anything else, pushing back his chair and storming out, effectively cutting the dinner to an end as everyone left, Max’s mother sticking around to help clean up and of course comfort you afterwards. She had always been close to you and Max and in a way she was like a mother to you too.

“Baby?”

Turning at the sound of your husbands voice you smiled, still holding Stella in your arms, only this time she was much calmer, her eyes lighting up as she spots her dad.

“Hi, everything okay?”

“I should be asking you that…”

Shrugging you let him take Stella from you, his demeanour much more relaxed with his baby girl in his arms as he placed a few kisses to her cheeks.

“I know what your father is like, yes it hurts but I love you and you love me and that’s all that matters…we have a beautiful baby girl, and that man will never be able to change what we have.”

Max nods, bringing you into his side and leaning down to kiss you softly

“You’re right, he can’t. I’ll never let him ever disrespect you like that ever again. No matter what I have to do.”

“I know you won’t Maxie…and I love you very much for it, Stella too, huh baby?”

Stroking her cheek gently she babbled happily, leaning on Max’s shoulder, her hand patting his chest gently

“My girls…I love you both so much, i’ll always protect you both, with my everything.”

Nothing else needed to be said in the moment, all Max needed was his girls and he felt whole. Nothing else mattered because to him he had everything he’d ever wanted in his life. Despite what he went through growing up, Jos had never made his heart turn cold, he made it big enough to hold the love he had for you two, and would always hold, no matter what happened.

Besides, everyone knew messing with the Verstappen girls, was playing with fire.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Secret relationship and they find out you're being transferred to a different team.

Anon...how DARE you. But really, the angst that this prompt is giving is everything. I want to warn readers now that I was not nice with this one. There is a lot of angst happening here. There is nothing spicy about it. It's all pain with a little comfort sprinkled in for a few of our boys.

(Sorry not sorry)

These are presented in four individual double drabbles.

Content & Warnings: angst, mild emotional hurt/comfort, secret relationships, yearning, heartbreak, 141!reader

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish

“We’ve got two weeks!”

“Soap.”

“Can you believe that?”

“Johnny.”

Soap’s smile remains but melts slightly. “What?”

“I’m leaving.”

He chuckles. “We both are.”

You shake your head. “No. I’m leaving the team.”

Soap frowns slightly. “Retirement?” He shrugs. “Seem a bit young.” That smile returns and he saunters forward, his large hands grasping your hips. “Means we can go public.”

He leans in for a kiss, but your heart isn’t in it. Soap realizes the reluctance the moment your lips meet. “It’s something else,” he says.

You nod because that is all you can manage. Originally, Captain Price said he wanted to tell the team together, but he doesn’t know about you and Johnny. Soap needs to know first before the rest. If not, it’ll come as a blow and a betrayal. You can’t do that to him no matter what Captain Price says.

“I’m being transferred,” you murmur, voice breaking slightly.

Soap does not retreat. He rests his forehead against your own, eyes closing as he inhales. His arms slide from your hips to your back, drawing you against him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says rubbing your back. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle enters the meeting room. It’s the last one before everyone breaks for a month.

But there is someone missing.

Laswell and Captain Price talk quietly, their heads bent in conversation. Soap is showing something to Ghost on his phone.

You are not among them. You are not in your usual spot.

Laswell glances up and Price clears his throat. “We can start.”

“Hold up, Captain. We’re missing one.”

Kyle gestures toward the chair you usually sit in and Price frowns.

“Transferred on another mission,” interrupts Laswell.

Kyle says nothing, sinking into his chair. He listens but most of it slips right out of his head. The only thing he can think about is that you’re not here and you didn’t say anything.

When Laswell and Price are finished, and everyone begins to exit, Kyle lingers, intent on talking to Price.

“Not gonna talk about our missing team member?”

“Nothing to say,” shrugs Price. “Transferred this morning.”

Kyle swallows down the emotion rising in his throat. No one knows about the two of you, and if he pushes too much, he might reveal something he shouldn’t.

“Coming back?” asks Kyle.

“Eventually,” answers Price. “Not sure when.”

Eventually. There’s hope then.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You’re leaving.”

“Simon.”

“Did you plan on telling me?” You remain silent and Simon shakes his head. “Waiting for Price to do it?”

“That’s not true.”

Simon takes a step forward, entering your space. “I saw the transfer on his desk. I saw the date. How long have you known?”

“Does that matter?” you ask.

“Of course it does,” he snaps.

Simon is never angry, not with you. His anger is subtle which makes it more terrifying. This is something else. Simon is hurt, and you’re the cause of it.

“I’m sorry you found out like this. I planned on telling you.”

“When?” He’s closer now, towering over you.

“When I had more information.”

“More information?”

“I don’t know where I’m going or with who,” you add.

“Might not tell you until you get there. Happens all the time.”

You understand his meaning and know that Simon is right. Would you have left without telling him anything, only saying something once you’d left?

No. This thing between you might be tangled but he is the only one you want.

“Are you upset?” you ask.

Simon deflates. “Not with you.” He tugs you against him, creating a cocoon of warmth. “Never.”

John Price

The transfer papers mockingly stare at Price.

All this time, he believed he could have you without repercussion. Didn’t matter that you were another member of the team and his subordinate. You were his, and Price could protect you.

But these papers came from someone above him, and he cannot refuse them. No matter how much he wants to.

And no one knows what the two of you do when there isn’t anyone looking. But now, that’s shattered. Broken. And Price must grieve for your departure in silence. Price has already raged. He punched the wall until his knuckles bled.

After that, he walked until he came to terms with it.

You don’t know yet. You have no idea. Telling you will be the hardest part. What will happen? How will the two of you move forward? Can the secrets remain, or will it all need to be out in the open?

Price sighs and runs his hands over his face.

This is a punishment. Must be. Why else is it happening?

There is a loud knock at the door. Again, Price sighs, knowing that he has to face the reality of the situation.

You are on the other side.

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[ilikerafayelwaytoomuch]

How the LADS men help their gf with anxiety

The LADS (separate) girlfriend has been feeling anxious lately, what do they do to help?

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, vague mentions of 'something' happening that triggered the gf, fluff, comfort

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Rafayel 

She had been extra anxious all day, all week really. It had been building and she didn’t know why. She kept it from Rafayel, not wanting to bother him with something she wasn’t even sure she could talk about. But it was beginning to be too much, her body shaking, mind racing, glancing in every direction. She felt impending doom, whether that be something about to happen to her career or her relationship with the artist. Speaking of, the artist himself, Rafayel, hadn’t come home yet. That pushed her anxiety even further, checking her calendar and seeing he had nowhere to be at this time. Had he been upset about something? She hadn’t even seen him yet though. Was he struggling? Was he second guessing their relationship? 

She wasn’t given too much time to entertain her thoughts of where her boyfriend could be, as he came through the door, face brightening when he saw her. “Hi Cutie! I didn’t expect to see you today,” he smiled at her, arms full of shells. She smiled and nodded at him, not wanting to burden him. “I was down at the beach getting some supplies,” he explained, walking over and plopping down his pile of shells, rocks, and whatever else he deemed a useful supply. “Those damn seagulls were about to fight me for some too. I swear they have something against me, like they think I’m food. Stupid birds. All they can do is be annoying and squawk or beg for food. I suppose they also pester humans too. Anyway, I almost lost an arm getting some of these,” he sighed. 

“Are you okay?” she asked him, not even catching onto his dramatics. Alarm bells rang in Rafayel’s head. She usually would reply with a snarky comeback, not seem genuinely worried about him. Something was off about her. 

“Of course,” he answered, moving to sit next to his girlfriend on the couch, immediately wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “They couldn’t catch a slippery fish like me.” 

“That’s good,” she muttered. 

“Everything okay?” Rafayel asked her tentatively. She nodded her head, but he didn’t believe her. “You sure? You seem off today especially. Did something happen? You know you can tell me anything and I won’t judge you, right?” 

“I know,” she took in a breath. She had never really talked about her anxiety to him. It used to be much more of a problem, but she had been doing much better in the past few years, not struggling with it as much. This week was the exception. How would he react? Would he change his mind and believe she was too much to deal with? Too emotional? “I’ve just been really anxious today,” she eventually answered, looking towards the floor. 

“About what?” he asked, curious. 

“Dunno,” she shrugged. “It’s not the first time. I never really told you, but I do have anxiety. I had been doing really really well, but for some reason this week I’ve just been so on edge and it’s been piling up. It’s bad today.” Rafayel held her a bit closer, noticing that she did seem more jittery than normal, her mind not fully present, almost. 

“It happens. Things can’t always get better and better. Sometimes we have bad weeks, that doesn’t mean you are going to be back at square one. Anxiety sucks,” he breathed. She looked up at him with her head tilted. He said it as if he had experienced it. “I also have anxiety,” he answered her before she could ask the question. “Or did? I’m not sure if I still qualify as having it, but there was a long period of time where I really struggled. I’ve been quote unquote, stable, for a while now, not needing any medication or anything. Is there anything I can do to help? For me painting always helped, duh, but we can do whatever you want.” 

“Honestly? Painting doesn’t sound too bad right now. Can you maybe walk me through the process? It’ll maybe help me focus on something,” she agreed. Rafayel smiled at her, excited to paint with his girlfriend. But since this is Rafayel, he started by getting out his paint making supplies so they could make paint together and then paint together from start to finish. He had put some background music on, as that was what he always wanted when he had felt anxious and began to walk her through the process. They grinded up various shells and things Rafayel gathered from the sea, then mixed it in with the binding ingredient, tested it and began to paint. Y/n was mostly silent, focusing on the process and Rafayel’s instructions or jokes. It did help. She no longer felt quite as anxious. Rafayel had suggested they work on the same canvas and create something together, which she agreed to. At first, Rafayel had been helping, giving instructions on what to paint. Of course acting out his cliche fantasy, moving behind his girlfriend, placing his hand over hers and guiding her strokes. It made her laugh, so he deemed it a success. Eventually, as time went on and their painting became more and more alive, their conversation died. They grew into a comfortable silence, focusing solely on the canvas in front of them or the music softly playing. 

“It’s stunning,” Rafayel said when they finished, admiring their work. “I didn’t know my Cutie was also an artist.” 

“It’s not like I did that much,” she argued. 

“I think you did. We made the paints and created this together. Hmm, I would say this needs to be hung at an exhibit, but I think I like it too much for that. Above my bed will do,” he decided. 

“That seems like a bit much don-”

“Hush. I’ll hang it when it’s done drying. Have you eaten already?” he asked, standing up from the stool he was sitting on and stretching his sore limbs from having sat in the same position for so long. 

“Technically,” she drew out the word. He raised a brow at her. 

“Craving something?” 

“So much junk food. Any and all kinds you can get.” 

“On it,” he answered, getting his phone out and placing an order. When the food arrived y/n had been very cautious at first, afraid that her boyfriend would think she was eating too much. Rafayel thought quite the opposite, believing that she was holding herself back and should eat more. So he brought it upon himself to ensure that she would eat what she wanted, offering her more and more and making sure to eat just as much or even more as her. The food was comforting, but so was the time, just getting to sit and eat with Rafayel as they chatted. When they finished up, Rafayel insisted that she stay the night. He was unaware that she was hardly sleeping because of her anxiety, but y/n wondered if that wasn’t the case. Why else would he suggest she sleep there with him to get a good rest? He had to know she hadn’t been sleeping well. Rafayel had also insisted that she wear his favorite pair of comfort sweats and shirt, saying there was no possible way to feel anxious wearing them. Of course, she went along with it, the smile on Rafayel’s face irresistible. In his bed, Rafayel spooned his girlfriend from behind, engulfing her with his warmth and holding her more tightly than normal. The pressure and warmth was comforting and y/n felt more relaxed in his arms than she had all week. “Thank you for opening up to me. You can let me know when you’re feeling anxious and I’ll help any way I can. I’ll listen to you, paint with you, cook for you, sit in silence for you, give you a massage, cuddle you, kiss you, fuck you, anything really as long as it’ll help,” he told her. She laughed softly as he had brushed over the last suggestion, saying it quickly. 

“Thank you. I’ll try to be even more honest. Today really helped though,” she said through a yawn. “I feel a lot more relaxed.” 

“Good. Now get some rest,” Rafayel instructed, placing a kiss to the back of her head as she fell asleep in his arms. 

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Sylus 

“You’ve been sitting there staring at the wall for over half an hour now, is everything okay, sweetie?” Sylus asked his girlfriend. She had indeed been sitting on the couch in his office, saying nothing and not moving for half an hour. 

“Hmm?” she hummed, turning to him. His brows furrowed in concern and he stood from the chair at his desk, walking over to her. 

“You seem more distant,” he pushed. She nodded, saying nothing. Sylus sat next to her and placed his hand on her thigh, the feeling grounding her. “Is this about what happened the other night?” She nodded and he nodded back, understanding. Ever since that night she had been feeling more anxious and distant. Worried that at any moment, she would be back in that situation. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I don’t,” she immediately answered. “I don’t want to remember it, I want to forget it.” 

“I understand that, really. But this isn’t healthy. If you don’t want to talk to me, I won’t push it, but I do think you should talk to someone about it,” Sylus admitted. She closed her eyes, biting her lip as her hand moved to scratch her thigh. Sylus’s hand blocked her movement, as he had noticed it was a habit she began to pick up when feeling this way. 

“I’m scared and I don’t know what to do about it. I always figure shit out on my own, so why is this affecting me so much?” she said. 

“Because it’s a lot. Even the strongest person in the world has to lean on people sometimes. We’re meant to lean on each other. You’re so unbelievably strong, but it’s okay to lean on me when you need to,” he comforted her, squeezing her thigh softly. She nodded, unsure what to even say. “How about I finish up work early and we can go wash up? Then we should eat and we can read a book?” he suggested. 

“That sounds nice,” she agreed. Sylus stood up and reached for her hand. She took it and he guided her to the bathroom where he slowly helped her undress, making sure that she was still completely comfortable. He made sure the water was extra hot for her, even though he thought she was insane for preferring the water to be almost boiling hot. He watched as she stepped into the shower and visibly relaxed more, the tremors in her hands stilling slightly. He got in behind her, hugging her from behind and saying nothing. It was more comforting than y/n had thought it would be. Despite what had happened, she felt okay in Sylus’s arms. They stayed like this for much too long, Sylus moving to help wash up. When they were done, he pulled out the new robes he had gotten. A new design from a luxury brand that promised ultra comfort in their robes. He ordered it as well as a few other things since that night. She had been staying with him and he watched as her anxieties had grown. She had barely slept, and he was determined to change that. When she was more well rested, she could process more and hopefully agree to talking to someone. 

After eating, they headed to Sylus’s bedroom. He put on one of his records before choosing a book and sitting on his bed, back against the headboard. Y/n stood by his bookshelf, not really wanting to start a new read. She wasn’t sure she could focus enough to read. Her fingers brushed across the spines of the books, her body saying to pick one but her brain unable to say anything but “watch out” or “run”. “Come sit, sweetheart,” Sylus called to her, inviting her to sit after seeing her internal conflict. She took his invitation, sitting between his legs with her back against his chest. Sylus held the book in front of them, arms caging his girlfriend. He read the pages silently before asking if y/n was ready to turn the page. When she didn’t respond, he decided to take matters into his own hands, starting over and reading the pages aloud. He kept his voice soft, hoping to lull her to sleep. His story choice wasn’t random either- he made sure to choose a book that had a message of comfort behind it. He hoped she would get the message- that she was safe here with him through the book. 

At first, y/n could barely get what was happening in the story, unable to focus still. So instead, she focused on her boyfriend. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed against her back. The slight rumble she could feel as he spoke. His arms wrapped around her, but not suffocating as he held the book in front of them. The warmth from being so close. The sound of the record playing softly in the background- words of comfort being sung- mixed with the sound of Sylus’s voice, deep and comforting. She focused on these things first, allowing herself to feel safe. When she was able to focus on the story more, she realized everything about this was meticulously planned. Sylus had chosen a vinyl that had a soothing melody with words of comfort on purpose. He had chosen this book to give her a message- that she was safe with him. She had never felt so seen and cared for in her life, tears being brought to her eyes. When she sniffled, her boyfriend noticed immediately and stopped reading. “Are you alright?” he softly asked. 

“Yes. Thank you Sylus. For all of this,” she answered. 

“Of course, sweetie. I want you to not only know that you’re safe with me, but also that you feel safe with me. I’d do anything to protect you. If I could fight this anxiety away from you, I would in a heartbeat.” 

“I know you would,” she chuckled. “Keep reading.” Sylus did as she requested, continuing to read the book. Around ten minutes later, Sylus felt y/n’s body relax fully into his. He peeked down to see she had fallen asleep on him. He smiled softly, having nothing but love for the woman in front of him. He wished he could protect her from everything- the world, the bad feelings, the hard problems she was sure to face. If he could, he would take it all for her, leaving her with nothing but happiness, safety, and peace. But for now, he would continue to read to her as she slept in his arms, ensuring she’d feel safe even in her dreams. 

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Zayne 

Zayne could tell his girlfriend was anxious. Having known her even before they began a relationship, it was easy to spot. She hadn’t even noticed how she was feeling quite yet, but he saw the signs. It was why he had suggested going on a walk at a park. Zayne had scoped out all the parks nearby, finding which ones were the least crowded, but also the most scenic- the perfect place to walk if you’re anxious. Y/n had agreed, getting into his car and ready to walk. She had been stressed lately about work, things piling up. And on top of that there was a lot of drama in the office. So she was happy to spend time with Zayne. 

They walked through the park relatively slow, taking their time to take everything in. Their hands, stuck together, swung beside them. Though they didn’t speak much, Zayne kept a close eye on his girlfriend. At the beginning, she seemed more neutral. Stressed. Trying to hide it of course, but he could tell. Now she had a soft smile on her face, a genuine one. He guided her to a small pond at the park and her face lit up. “Look over there!” she exclaimed, letting go of his hand to jog over to the pond. He smiled and caught up to her. “Aww, they’re so cute! The little babies are even following,” she cooed. In the pond, there was a duck swimming, her small ducklings following close behind. She squatted down at the water to get a closer look at their cuteness, Zayne following. Upon hearing a crushing sound, she turned to her boyfriend, who was pulling out a bag of frozen peas from his coat. She laughed. “Where were you hiding those?” she asked. 

“That’s a secret,” he smiled at her, opening the bag and handing it to her. The ducks had also heard the noise and began to swim over to the couple. Y/n’s excitement grew the closer they got, sticking her hand in the bag and offering some peas to the ducks. They swam quicker, diving into the water to eat. The couple watched as they fed the ducks peas, laughing whenever a duckling would flop around, still unsure how to work its new body. Eventually, the ducks swam off, leaving the couple behind as they stood and watched. Y/n stood and took Zayne’s hand in hers, sighing. “It would be nice to be a duck sometimes,” she admitted.

“It would,” he agreed. 

“Just swim around all day eating peas people throw at you. They don’t have to worry about work. Maybe they still have to deal with drama. I don’t think I’d like a duck taking away my duck boyfriend,” she smiled. 

“If we were ducks I’d be just as dedicated to you. No other duck would sway me,” he mused. 

“How romantic,” she chuckled. “You knew how I was feeling, didn’t you? That’s why you brought me here.” 

“I did. I could tell you were stressed and likely anxious. If you weren’t anxious already, I knew you would be. Figured the fresh air and ducks could help.” 

“They did. But something else helped even more,” her eyes glimmered. 

“What’s that?” Zayne asked, wanting to know so he could help more next time as well .

“Getting to walk around with my handsome doctor boyfriend,” she smiled, making him chuckle. “I’m serious!” she insisted. “You always know how to make me feel better. Just being with you makes me feel better, we could have been at the stinkiest place right now and I’d feel better.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he teased. 

“Okay, maybe not if it was stinky and gross. But you get the point,” she sighed. 

“I do,” he agreed. They began to walk again, this time back towards Zayne’s car, hand in hand. Y/n swung their hands happily, smiling more now and feeling lighter, ready to go home and end the night in his arms. 

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Xavier 

When Xavier woke up from his nap, he walked into the living room mto find his girlfriend on the floor in front of the coffee table, her head resting on the laptop in front of her. At first, he thought she was asleep, then she let out a groan of frustration. “Everything okay?” he asked carefully, grabbing himself a glass of water. 

“No,” she answered, exploding. “There’s too much to do and I’m so fucking tired. I don’t know how I’m going to do any of this. And all week long my coworkers have been staring at me, like daggers into the back of my skull and I don’t know what I ever did to them. Because of that I can’t focus at the office and when I’m here I’m either thinking about that or about how much shit there is to do that I can’t get done.” Xavier set his glass down gently and walked over to the living room, sitting on the couch behind her and looking over her shoulder at her laptop. 

“Want me to help?” he offered. 

“I would, but that’s technically illegal,” she sighed, looking up at him with a pout. 

“Then how about a break?” 

“I don’t have time for a break, Xavie,” she warned. 

“If it’s all making you this anxious, it won’t matter,” he argued. She sighed, knowing he was right, but not knowing what to do to calm her racing mind. “Would talking about it help?” he asked. 

“I don’t know? It’s like what I said. I don’t know what I did to them, but they just keep glaring at me. And I know I’m not imagining it before you ask that. I’ve tried thinking about everything. I don’t think I said anything rude or offensive, I haven’t thrown more work onto anyone, and I don’t think it was anything about me physically. I don’t know what I’ve done,” she shrugged. Xavier’s hands made their way to her shoulders, massaging them gently. 

“It could be nothing. Maybe they just felt like being dicks,” he thought aloud. “Have you asked Tara about it? She’s chill from what I’ve heard from you.” 

“I haven’t. She wasn’t at the office today, but she would know. That’s a good idea, thank you.” 

“Of course. Now about this work you got, any way of making a plan so you don’t feel so overwhelmed and anxious? What all do you have to do?” he asked. She went through all of the tasks she had to do and when they needed to be done with him. Xavier was weirdly good at organizing and breaking things down, so he took all the information she gave him and did just that. He broke down all of the things she needed to get done into smaller tasks and then organized them day by day, making a to-do list for her. It left her with just two more small tasks to do that day. “Thank you, Xavie. That helped a lot,” she thanked him, resting her head on his shoulder as he had moved to sit next to her. 

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Now I’m not rushing you, but get these done so we can go get some hotpot. I’m hungry.” 

“Yes sir,” she saluted him, getting to work. Before that, she sent a quick text to Tara, asking if she knew what was up. She didn’t get an answer until they were deep into their meal. Y/n suddenly began laughing, Xavier looking at her confused. They had just been eating. Was there something on his face? “Tara answered,” she told him. 

“Oh? What did she say?” he asked. Y/n sighed. 

“It’s dumb, are you ready for this?” she warned. He nodded. “Remember Monday when I forgot my lunch and you came and brought it to me?” He nodded again, confused as to what this had to do with anything. “Apparently, one of my coworkers thought you were cute…so they stopped you in the hall?” His face dropped. 

“I didn’t do anything. She just flirted and asked for my number, but I told her I was happily with you,” he informed her. She nodded. 

“I believe you fully. She must have been pretty offended though. She started a dumb rumor about me being a whore and cheating on you, which I’m not by the way. She starts drama all the time, Tara said she’ll take care of it,” She told him. 

“Ah, well, that’s good? Still not cool of her to cause so many problems,” he muttered, putting another piece of meat in his mouth. Y/n nodded in agreement and the two finished their meal, her anxieties being lessened knowing Tara would stay true to her word. It wasn’t the first time a nasty rumor had gone around and Tara easily smashed it in its place. When they finished, they returned home and washed up, Xavier yawning and barely making it to bed. His girlfriend got in next to him, facing him. “Thank you again for everything today. I feel a lot better now,” she told him. 

“Of course. I don’t like seeing you stressed and anxious. I’d do anything to help,” he told her, yawning again. She laughed at him. 

“Even though I was on an emotional rollercoaster today, you still seem tired.” 

“I’m always tired. Only time I’m not is when I get to spend the day with you.” 

“I was home today though, so doesn’t that mean you shouldn’t be tired?” 

“I wasn’t home all day, so I am tired. Tomorrow though, is our day off, so I’ll be wide awake,” he smiled, eyes already closing. 

“Whatever you say, sleepy. Goodnight,” she pressed a kiss to his nose, making him scrunch it up a bit. 

“Sweet dreams, starlight.” 

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Caleb 

All it took was a single text for Caleb to visit his girlfriend. Having grown up together, he was easily able to detect when something was wrong, and her replying with just a thumbs up, was wrong. She was surprised when he showed up at her door. “Caleb? What are you doing here? Don’t you have a flight?” she asked. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“That’s what I’m asking you, yes,” she blinked. 

“I’m fine, but you’re not. What’s going on? Vibes are off too,” he raised his brow. Y/n sighed, moving aside to let him in. They sat on the couch, Caleb looking at her expectantly. Their relationship had been complicated. When they were growing up, they were as close as close can be, relying on each other and having no secrets. Then, Caleb had essentially disappeared, harming the relationship. At first when he returned, she had mixed feelings. Anger, relief, frustration. But eventually, it worked out, the two getting into a relationship. Despite how they were before, his disappearance had changed their dynamic, and going to Caleb for everything was harder than before. Y/n tried to keep more secrets, not big ones of course. Just ones like this one, not telling him how anxious she felt and that she had a panic attack the night before, causing her to call in for a sick day. “I don’t know where to start,” she told him. 

“How about why you’re not at work? What happened?” he asked, growing more concerned. “Do I need to beat someone up? Give you a million dollars?” 

“No, none of that,” she smiled, then sighed. “I had a panic attack yesterday so I called in to work. Still kinda anxious today.” 

“Oh,” he slowly said, processing. She used to always come to him when she was panicking, but this time she hadn’t. Of course, he knew things were different now, but it still sat uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t even know she still struggled with them. Would what he used to do comfort her? He didn’t know what to do. When they were kids, she would just talk to him about it all. Did she no longer want to do that? Did she not trust him? 

“Stop overthinking over there, we don’t need both of us anxious,” she half teased. “I didn’t tell you because it’s embarrassing now. I can handle them myself, this one was just a bit much and I was exhausted. I’m feeling better today.” 

“Can I ask what caused it?” 

“You can. It started at work, a supervisor had some words to say to me. It was maybe a bit out of line, but obviously for most people they wouldn’t have been sent into a panic attack. It thankfully was at the end of the day so I just held it together until I got home. I already emailed and took care of it all, so no need to go hunt them down,” she explained. 

“I’m sorry that happened. And I suppose I won’t hunt them down, just because you said not to,” he smiled. “Well, since we have the day off, is there anything I can do to help?” 

“I mean, I was just going to nap the day away, eat junk, and chill,” she trailed off. 

“But?” he finished, urging her. 

“There is one thing that would be super fun.” 

“You gonna make me guess Pipsqueak?” he asked, exhausted. She grinned. 

“Take me on a flight?” 

Caleb had agreed and the two headed to the nearby private airport. He had gotten his pilot license and flew people around mostly privately, but he also had bought a small, old airplane, big enough for just the two of them. When they arrived, he got his gear on, letting the staff know they’d be in the air, and then got y/n her gear. She didn’t need much, as she wasn’t flying the plane, but he made sure to give her a helmet so they could talk. Y/n watched as he did all of the standard checks, ensuring everything was good and they were safe to fly. When he finished, he helped her into the plane, offering a hand. Soon enough, they were in the air. Y/n watched as they went through the clouds, looking down below at the world. It seemed so small from up there, like nothing really mattered on it. It was just a small rock floating through space. She yelled in half fear- half excitement when Caleb decided to make the flight more interesting, twisting and turning the plane. It was freeing to be up in the air, adrenaline rushing through their bodies as their worries were left on the ground. For Caleb, it was the best thing in the world to hear his girlfriend's screams and laughs in excitement. 

After landing, the two went back to her place. There they did as y/n had suggested earlier. They ate junk, though Caleb was sure to force in a few nutritious things, then watched a show. The two were cuddled up on the couch, face masks on while they munched on popcorn and watched the show they loved when they were kids. It was comfortable. Y/n had fallen asleep first, unable to stay awake after everything that happened since the day before. Caleb had taken her into his arms and carried her to bed, getting in beside her. He smiled softly as he looked at her, happy he was able to make her feel at least a bit better. In the morning, he would make sure that she was better, and if she wasn’t, he’d do anything she wanted to help her feel better.

[earlysunshines]

clay hearts

danielle marsh x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: you've been working on a bunch of pottery for two hours, danielle thinks you need a break.

warnings: none just lots of kissing maybe ;ceramicist!reader ; they're disgustingly in love ; soooo in love ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: guys i am so delusional and in love with danielle marsh that whole pottery ep actually killed me she's so cute i need to be restrained.

in the little corner of your apartment, right next to the window that lets the sun shine on your features, you’re throwing another glob of clay only your wheel. it’s been fifteen minutes since you started, and you’ve successfully made one cup. one. 

you huff, ready to work on at least two more cups before you move onto some bigger pieces. 

before you can start on the next, you hear the door creaking open. you turn your head and see your girlfriend closing the door behind her. you smile immediately. 

“danielle,” you greet softly, fondly. “i missed you.”

her eyes light up when she sees you sitting by the pottery wheel. her footsteps are soft as she walks towards you, smiling and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“hey, you,” she murmurs, brushing a bit of clay from oyur eyebrow. “missed you more.”

“no way.”

“yes way.” she giggles. “i’ll let you get back to work, i have some of my own to tackle.”

you hum in response, leaving her to whatever is on her to-do list. 

—

hours slip by in quiet focus. you lose yourself in shaping the clay, unaware of just how much time has passed by as you made three cups, a plate, and a small vase. there’s the occasional groan or curse that slips from your lips as you tackle the stubborn pieces that refuse to cooperate. 

about an hour in, danielle had settled herself at the small beanbag near the coffee table, quietly working on her assignments with her laptop perched on her lap. she’s close enough to be company but far enough to let you work. 

you glimpse at danielle here and there in between each piece, happy to have her close to you. and she’s doing the same, stealing glances at you every few minutes, watching the way your brows furrow as you concentrate, the way your fingers shift to smooth and shape the clay. you’re lost in your own world. 

you look completely at ease, even in frustration, and something about it all — about you, your apron, and skin covered in flecks of clay — makes her heart skip. danielle can’t help but sneak a picture, you’re just so adorable in her eyes.

eventually, danielle can’t hold back. thirty-minutes later she closes her laptop softly and shifts in her seat, watching you for a few moments longer, letting the sound of your jazz playlist fill the silence. her chin is on her palm and she grins, calling out, “how about a break?”

“not yet,” you mumble, “almost done.” your eyes don’t leave the wheel, you’re not finished throwing the piece at hand — a strawberry vase that someone paid extra for; extra as in enough to take you and your girlfriend out for dinner at the end of the week — though your lips quirk into a small, appreciative smile.

she laughs softly, folding her arms as she sits back in the beanbag chair. “you’ve been making those weird noises you make when you’re frustrated for the past two hours, you know. i think you deserve one.”

finally breaking your focus, you glance over at her. her eyes are warm and soft and she’s smiling at you like she’s been waiting just to catch your attention. she looks especially alluring in your t-shirt, which fits loosely over her, and with her hair down messily. 

the vase isn’t quite finished, this is your second attempt at shaping it after all. you still have a few days before you can get it done, but you’d rather finish a complex piece like this now than later. spending a few minutes with your beloved girlfriend sounds lovely, but finishing a stubborn, pricey piece like this might have to come first. it’s for both of your sakes anyway, and it’ll only take maybe fifteen more minutes or so.

“dani,” you sigh, looking up at her with a pout, “can i finish this one first?”

she frowns at you, sighing before leaning against the cushion and admiring you again. “fine, fine.”

you give her an apologetic smile before returning to the piece. 

on your third attempt at constructing the strawberry vase, you accidentally make a dent. it had been going so well too, the sides all even and the structure perfect, but you just had to apply too much pressure as you slid your fingers up. you stare down at the clay spinning around, the dent making it look unappealing as it does so.

frustrated and out of sheer annoyance, you smack your hand down on it, flattening the shape completely. danielle watches you groan, leaning back and closing your eyes as you try to shake off the irritation.

as you redirect your attention again, starting to shape the mess of clay on the wheel, a small shuffle catches your attention. you turn to see danielle pulling up a chair right behind you. you raise a brow at the way she leans in close, wrapping her arms around you from behind, her small hands gently covering yours on the wheel.

you’re taken aback, glancing over your shoulder. “what are you doing?”

she tilts her head, grinning cheekily. “helping you out, of course.” she says in a light tone, sending a shiver down your spine.

her fingers curl around yours, guiding your hands back to the clay as you start to reshape it together. her fingers get covered in clay, but she doesn’t seem to care—she’s focused on you, her face close, eyes warm, breath hot as it hits your skin.

“the last time you tried to throw a cup you made quite the mess,” you chuckle, feeling her press closer with her chin resting on your shoulder. “you know this is just gonna make a mess, right?”

“maybe,” she whispers, a playful hint in her tone. and then, out of nowhere, she takes the opportunity of your head being angled towards her to press a quick, soft kiss to your lips.

your heart races, and you turn to her fully, a surprised smile spreading across your face. “is this your way of helping?”

“mhm,” she teases, giving your hands a final nudge before wiping her own on your apron. then, before you can react, her hands slip beneath the apron, resting gently on your ribs over the thin fabric of your tank top. her thumbs trace small circles there, rendering you a flustered mess as every thought of clay dissipates in your mind.

you feel her lips press a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another one to your neck, lingering just enough to send yet another shiver through you; your breath hitches.

turning to face her, your noses almost brush, and she’s giving you that look. the look that she always gives you when she’s amount to leave you breathless and flushed. she leans in again, catching your lips in another kiss, this one softer, warmer. 

your hands, still covered in clay, reach up to rest on her arms, pulling her just a bit closer as her fingers trace lazy patterns over your ribs. it’s a scene straight from a movie: the two of you sharing teasing, lingering kisses, playful and unhurried, each one leaving you feeling lighter than the last.

finally, she pulls back, to which you respond by chasing after, lips brushing against another. she’s smirking at you, her hand moving up to cup your face and brush some clay off.

“feeling better?” she asks as her thumb moves over to rest on the corner of your lip.

“much,” 

“right,” she starts, sliding her hand down to the base of your neck. “i think you should wrap up for the day and pay attention to your lovely girlfriend. how does that sound?”

with the time you spent with your eyes glued to the clay, you never realized the sun setting beside you. the dimmed rays shine on her face perfectly, accentuating each curve of every feature. danielle’s gaze is soft, her touch even softer as she slides her hands over your skin. you swallow shallowly, losing yourself at the sight of her—how could you say no when she looks at you like that?

“i think that sounds lovely.” you mutter, grinning as you lean in for one last kiss.

[loulou-land]

8x10 coda

bucktommy fix-it (sort of), emotional hurt/comfort, hopeful ending | cw: angst, dissociation, mild descriptions of a panic attack | 1.5k words

(Buck’s face at the end of that episode got me in the feels and I had to get these words out of me. Thank you @fuselsstuff for making me feel better about my writing and my endings 😘❤️)

As Buck watches Eddie drive away, something inside him crumbles, another piece lost to the wreckage that has come to be his life. He stands frozen in front of what used to be Eddie’s house—his house now, technically—but the words don't sit right. 

His house.

They feel foreign, misplaced. Like a title handed to someone else by mistake. He knows he chose it, knows the reason why he did it, yet what seemed like a good idea at first now feels like a crushing weight around his shoulders. 

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. Staring at nothing. His head filled with static noise. All feeling draining out of him, until emptiness is all that surrounds him. Distantly he’s aware of his clothes progressively getting soaked as the gentle drizzle grows into a steady downpour. But he can’t seem to make himself move, staying rooted to the spot. 

Eventually, however, the cold seeps so deep into his bones that it forces him into movement. Buck turns, steps inside and shuts the door behind him. And is promptly at a loss. He feels like he took a wrong turn somewhere and forgot where home was. It’s a disconcerting feeling. 

Buck makes his way to the bathroom, peels his wet clothes off and steps into the shower, turning the heat up as high as it’ll go. It skalds his skin, but even then, he’s still cold. It’s like it’s burrowed deep inside and refuses to let go. He pulls on a hoodie, refusing to think about whose it is and why he picked that particular one. 

By the time he stumbles into bed, his limbs feel heavy, weighted down by something vast and shapeless. His mind is scarily blank. Whatever thoughts flicker into his mind are gone too fast to take hold of. Maddie almost died. Eddie’s gone. And, why won’t they listen to me? Why can’t they see I’m drowning? Everyone has something, someone. And what do I have? What am I left with? 

Nothing. It’s always nothing.

I am nothing. 

For once, the thought doesn’t hurt. It barely registers at all. It’s just a fact—objective and empty. He notes the detachment like he’s reading about someone else’s life. It should scare him, but he doesn’t feel much of anything right now. I don’t like this, Buck thinks distantly, I don’t like this at all. 

He sees his hands move as though from far away, outside his body. His fingers close around his phone. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus, to process the screen in front of him. He scrolls through his contacts, searching for Dr. Copeland. That’s who he meant to call. That was the hazy plan he’d formed in his head. 

But somehow, Tommy’s name is the one he presses. 

The phone rings. One. Two. Three times. 

The sound should make his heart pound with anxiety. Instead, he finds himself being soothed by the repetitive sound. His mind latches onto the rhythm, following it like a thread in the dark. The longer it rings, he starts to fill each pause with a thought. Of course. He won’t pick up. You don’t matter to anyone. He didn’t want you. 

And then—

“Evan?” 

A pause, a quiet breath. Then softer, “you okay?” 

It shatters something in Buck. The numbness that had settled in him disappears. The concern, the familiarity, the way Tommy has never been anything but honest with him—hearing it now, when everything else has started unraveling In him, it’s too much. 

His breath is knocked out of his chest. His throat closes up. He feels a tingling in his hands as his heart rate picks up. He wants to speak, to explain, to say something, but all that makes it out is a choked, heart-wrenching sob that feels like it’s been ripped right out of him. 

“Sweetheart,” Tommy says, instantly alert. “Evan. Talk to me. What’s wrong? Where are you?” 

Buck tries to breathe, tries to push the words out, but they’re trapped behind his lips. He can’t speak and that drags him deeper into desperation. He clutches his shirt, as though if he grips it tightly enough, he’ll be able to keep himself together and he’ll remember how to use his words again.

His whole body shakes with the force of it, and it’s humiliating, it’s embarrassing, it’s—

“Okay, okay. I’m on my way,” Tommy says, voice steady but urgent beneath it. Buck hears the sound of an engine turning on, the rush of movement on the other end. “Just breathe for me, baby.” 

“Eddie’s,” Buck finally manages to croak out. 

“What?” Tommy asks, slightly distracted. Buck hears car horns and the shift of gears. 

“I’m at Eddie’s.” 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The words come quick, sure, no hesitation. 

And Buck appreciates that Tommy doesn’t ask any more questions. He just keeps talking, filling the silence with warmth. You’re okay. I’m here. Breathe for me, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re doing good. You’re so good. Just hold on, I’m almost there.  

Buck clings to every word like a lifeline, tucks them inside himself. He tries to believe them. After all, Tommy doesn’t lie to him. 

His sobbing has slowed, but now something worse is creeping in—the weight of reality pressing back down. He called Tommy. He’s on the phone with him right now. He’s crying like a fucking baby. 

“I’m sorry.” Buck rasps, voice raw. “I—I shouldn’t have called you. Shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Evan.” Tommy says his name like it’s a prayer, like it’s something precious. Like it means more than Buck ever let himself believe. Like it means love. 

Buck inhales sharply, stomach twisting in knots. He’d missed that. God, he’d missed hearing his name spilling from Tommy’s mouth. 

Tommy’s voice softens. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It’s okay. Whatever it is…I’m here for you.” 

He can’t accept that. “No—no, I…you were probably busy.” Buck’s voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to pull you away from anything important.” 

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Tommy says, simple and reassuring. Then, quieter, “And, even if I was…I’d still come.” 

Buck should feel comforted. Instead, it makes something ugly rise in his chest. A sick, gnawing pit of self-hatred. Sharp and precise. 

Why does he always do this? Always need too much? He feels everything so loudly, and then drags people into the mess of him, makes them carry it when they shouldn’t have to. 

He lets out a dry, broken laugh. “There I go again,” he mutters, bitter. “Bucking it up. Making it all about me.”

Tommy exhales roughly through the line. And then, firm but gentle, “Evan. I don’t know what’s going on, but it's okay to feel things. And you’re more than allowed to be upset and want to talk about it. It’s okay to need people.”  

Buck closes his eyes. His whole body hurts. He wants to argue. He wants to tell Tommy he’s wrong. That everyone else thinks he’s too much. That Buck’s needs  are a burden. 

But before he can—

“I’m here. Can you open the door for me, sweetheart? 

Buck manages to drag himself out of bed and down the hall. His breath hitches once he reaches the front door, hands trembling slightly, his mind still caught between panic and exhaustion. 

He opens the door. 

And there’s Tommy. 

Standing on the other side, rain-damp and breathless. There’s concern written into every tense line of his body. His shoulders are squared, his jaw set, like he’s ready to take on every single one of Buck’s battles without hesitation. 

Buck swallows hard. “Tommy.” 

So much weight in a name, in a single word. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything. He just opens his arms. 

And Buck simply falls into them. No second-guessing or uncertainty. He clings to Tommy like he’s a safe haven, fists gripping at the fabric of his hoodie, pressing in close until there’s no space left between them. And still, Buck wishes he could crawl inside Tommy, just to be even closer. His mind quiets, the storm inside him calms into a single thought, repeated over and over again. 

Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. 

He breaths him in, the familiar scent anchoring him. Slowly, he matches his breathing to Tommy’s. And, in that moment Buck is entirely convinced their hearts are beating in sync. As one. 

Tommy holds him just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other cradled protectively against his spine. He starts to run soothing circles up and down Buck’s back, murmuring lowly in his ear. 

“Shh, I got you. I’m here.” 

Then, gently, hesitantly, Tommy presses a kiss to the side of Buck’s head. Soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid he’s not allowed to touch Buck like that, but still feels compelled to, needs to do it. 

Buck lets out a shaky sigh, melting further into his arms. 

He knows eventually they’ll have to talk. About the break up, about them. About what had set Buck off.

He’ll have to untangle the mess inside him, sort through everything he’s buried deep. There will be therapy. There will be hard conversations. 

But not right now. 

Right now, he lets himself believe Tommy—that he’s here, that he means it—and decides to go from there. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Will you stay?” 

They speak at the same time. 

And then—

Yes. 

For the first time that day, Buck feels a genuine smile break across his face. 

It won’t be easy.

But he thinks that maybe—just maybe— things will be okay. 

[defectiveporcelaindoll]

Chapter 1: The Manuscript

“He thought about how they said-

Since she was wise beyond her years everything had been above board. Now he wasn’t sure…”

series masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU AFAB!Reader

summary: an unsub with a taste for couples and power imbalances leads Doctor Spencer Reid not only back into the classroom but down the hypothetical aisle with the BAU's newest Probie for an undercover assignment that may change his life.

genre: slow-burn romance?

cw: age gap (Spencer is in his 40s, reader is 24), a couple y/n’s (I’m sorry, I know I’m sick of it too.), fake marriage, possibly eventual smut in later parts we’ll see, female reader she/her pronouns, bad writing! lemme know if I missed anything! And as always, lemme know what you think!

wordcount: 1.3k

“The professor said the write what you know”

Spencer sat at his desk, anxiously scribbling away at a case file that he knew he simply wasn’t ready to hand over just yet. Not ready to let go or say goodbye. The office was deserted with the exception of Emily still fussing around in her office like she always was these days, just like Hotch before her, and Gideon before him. Back in the days when he was the youngest member of the team— god how things had changed.

“Looking backward might be the only way to move forward-”

six months prior:

"Come on, Em. She’s too young. I’d hardly say she has any real-life experience, and as helpful as she’s been, she certainly doesn’t have the field experience. And you want to drop her into an undercover operation at a university thousands of miles away? I just can’t logically wrap my mind around how you think this is our best option,” Spencer sighed, anxiously pacing the length of Emily’s office. Maybe it was the lights, but more likely it was the outlandish plans being laid before him that were bringing on the all-too-familiar throb of a migraine.

Emily cleared her throat, glancing up at Spencer with a tight-lipped, not-quite smile. “If you would let me finish, I wouldn’t be sending her alone. I’d be sending her with you. The unsub—or rather, unsubs—are targeting couples where the man,” she pointed to him, eyes widening as if to say keep up, “in the relationship comes from a position of power above the woman.” She wildly waved her hand toward the door, motioning to the woman sitting just outside the office.

“You’d be posing as a professor, which technically isn’t anything new for you. Though we might have to rub a little dirt on your good name.” She shrugged, glancing back down to shuffle through the pile of files on her desk until she found the one she was looking for, holding it out for Spencer. “A handsome professor and his new, albeit young, ex-TA of a wife... forced to move after your relationship went public. Tragic.” She quirked a brow, offering Spencer a playful smirk. He did not return it, instead rolling his eyes as he thumbed through the file containing what could be his life for the next couple of months.

“Look, if we place you both at the university, she’ll fit in with the students, you’ll fit in with the professors, and now we have eyes and ears everywhere we need them. It’s logical enough, Spencer, and she’s already agreed as long as you’re up for it.”

There was a long pause as Spencer’s mind ran wild, figuring the probability of everything that could and likely would go wrong if he agreed to this plan.

“Look, we’ll even count this towards thirty days of teaching if that sweetens the deal at all?” Prentiss let out an exhausted sigh. Clearly, this was her only option, and everyone else, even the higher-ups, had approved this plan. It all now sat on Spencer’s shoulders. All he needed to do was agree.

“Fine…” he mumbled, his palm digging into his eye socket briefly trying to dull the growing pain behind his eyes. If Prentiss noticed, she chose not to address it. “Great! See, maybe it’ll be good for you? The faculty housing looks nice-ish..? And you’ve gotta admit, Y/N is sweet. I think she’ll learn a lot from you.”

Before Emily could finish her statement, Spencer turned on his heels, stalking out of the Unit Chief's office past the probie, her doe eyes fixed on him like he was a predator. Her gaze startled him in a way that sent him tripping over his own feet. He quickly righted himself, not daring to glance back at the younger agent on his way to the kitchenette.

An hour and several cups of coffee later, Spencer Reid found himself at the round table, sitting perfectly still as his breath caught in his lungs, watching the young woman in front of him sign her name on the dotted line. It’s official; Doctor Spencer Reid is officially a married man—sort of.

It felt so absurd, having to sign a marriage license. Though, logically, he understood. If they were using Spencer’s name and reputation as a backbone for this assignment, there should be a paper trail. At least when it came to this, he knew Penelope could fabricate anything and everything else they might need, but this silly piece of paper, declaring them man and wife—that was free and public information that needed to be real.

“So…” Y/N's voice was soft as it attempted to cut through the heavy weight of the awkward atmosphere. She fidgeted, tapping the pen against the table.

Spencer cleared his throat, eyes raking over her as the voice in his head told him once again that this was an awful idea, that she was too young, that she had no field experience, and there were far too many ways this could all go south. He tried his best to shake them off. “If you don’t mind me asking, I don’t mean this to be rude. I was a young agent—actually one of the youngest agents the BAU has ever had—” he caught himself in his ramble, his eyes searching her face for any kind of discomfort before blinking harder than necessary in an attempt to focus. “Sorry—uh, how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ll be twenty-five in October… so twenty-four.”

"Right..." he chuckled, shaking his head, "that means...w-when you were born I already had two PhDs and was nearly finished with my third."

She groaned, a slight blush covering her cheeks as she fought the embarrassed grin threatening to take over her lips. “Doctor Reid—”

“Spencer.” He cut her off, offering a tight-lipped smile. “I—Uh… you can just call me Spencer. I don’t think couples typically use such formality when they’re addressing each other…”

“I guess you’re right,” she said, offering a little nod. “Spencer,” his name felt too personal on her lips, “I—” a rosy blush creeping up her neck as her mind went completely blank, every thought she’d ever had lost in the warm glow of his golden eyes.

As if on cue, Emily entered the room, a smirk on her lips as she observed the younger, seemingly awestruck agent gawking at her favorite genius. “Hope I’m not interrupting, but I thought these might be useful?” She shrugged, placing a velvet box down beside Spencer before sliding the other across the table to fall into the younger woman’s lap. “Congratulations. I now pronounce you man and wife or whatever they say—beware, Penelope is likely going to throw rice or glitter or whatever she found in her desk at you as you walk out of this room. You’ve been warned. And I’d say kiss the bride, but frankly, I don’t want to see that. Wheels up in thirty.”

With that, she offered the new couple a nod before retreating back out of the conference room, back to her office, leaving them to open the velvet boxes. The rings were simple, nothing too flashy, like something you’d expect a professor to be able to afford without breaking the bank.

“Right…” Spencer said, sliding his own ring onto his finger before rising to his feet, his fingers awkwardly clenching and flexing at the unfamiliar weight. “Maybe if we don’t leave together, Garcia won’t ambush us.” He turned towards the door, hesitating a moment to glance back at the woman he could now call his wife. “Unless—unless you’re ready to go… we could, uh, head out together?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Y/N nodded quickly, jumping to her feet as she organized the pile of papers back into their folders and into her bag. She crossed the room, stopping beside Spencer. She glanced up at him, her own ring feeling heavy on her finger as she hesitantly reached out, offering him her hand. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes going back and forth between her waiting palm and her eyes before reluctantly accepting the offer.

“Shall we, Mrs. Reid?”

“Now and then he re-reads the manuscript. Of the entire torrid affair~”

Chapter II: Guilty as Sin

Thanks for being interested in my silly little concept 🩵

@flowerpott1978 @olives-and-sunshine

[mscherub]

Clinging for (Emotional) Support

Prefect needs a bit of a break after a stressful day, so they seek out their favorite person...

Reader is gender neutral, referred to as Prefect or Y/N

Warnings!:

These are just my headcanons!

Light swearing (I just put this as a warning on everything cause I absentmindedly do it…)

Tags: Fluff, romantic or platonic (perceive it whichever way you'd like to), hugs and cuddles, comfort

Heartslabyul; Savanaclaw; Octavinelle, Scarabia; Pomefiore; Ignihyde; Diasomnia (you’re here :3)

Intro:

You’ve had a bad day, well, a worse one than usual, and you feel like you’re on the verge of crashing out. So, you go to one of your favorite people and you cling to them for some emotional support, not doing anything else besides holding on for dear life and nuzzling your face into their chest or shoulder, not providing one bit of information as to why you’re even doing this. But, don’t worry, they care for you a lot, maybe more so than they let on <3

Kalim ☀️:

Heyyyy! Look, one of his favorite people are coming to him and…wait, you don’t seem like yourself here. Now, Kalim is no stranger in having to cheer people up, he has like over 30 younger siblings so I bet he’s done it multiple times

Yes, yes, he is ignorant to most things, not being able to take a hint or know when to say stuff or when not to say stuff, but you’re coming to him looking all distressed, so he can at least acknowledge that

He’ll wrap his arms back around you and your mood will affect his. He’s not smiling again until you smile

“Prefect…what’s wrong? Why aren’t you smiling? Cmon…your smile is pretty like the sun! Bright and warm!”

He’ll try his best, hugging you right back and continuing to question what’s wrong, he’ll go as far as trying to buy you stuff

Please stop him

Like actually stop him, it’ll also save Jamil in the process from having to add more shit to the treasury…

“Mmmm…I’ll hug you as long as you need, just smile again. Be happy. You know you can always talk to me. I may not know what to do or say exactly, but I’ll do everything to make you happy again.”

Jamil 🐍:

He doesn’t have that much free time, you know him, so when you come to him with that defeated expression on your face, and then continue to just glue yourself to him, he’s confused and a little baffled. He has shit to do and yet here you are…

He’s used to taking care of his own problems, so excuse him for thinking you’re helpless in the moment :)

He does care, he truly does, but he shows it in his own special way

“Ah…what’s wrong? I can’t have you clinging to me like this, Prefect…I have things to do, please…”

He’s not the type to cuddle, but like some of the other guys, talk to him if you feel like it, and just as long as he can shake you off in a few minutes so he can go back to doing whatever, then it’ll be good for both sides

“You can always talk to me, I’m not against the idea. Just know I may not give the advice you’d want to hear, more so the advice you’d need to hear…sorry, share what’s on your mind, I guess I have a few minutes…”

Vil 🪞:

Lifts his arms away from you quickly and he looks at you with a baffled gaze

Again with being busy, he’s like always busy, and he has an image to keep up, but I guess you don’t really care about that right now, clearly. He’ll humor you for now, but no longer than a few more seconds or he’ll push you off…but, oh…

Alright then, this is…new from you, you’re constricting grip around his waist, but it’s obvious you’re not exactly how you usually are so he’ll pry and get to know what’s going on

“Spudling…what’s the meaning of this? I’m genuinely asking, not to be rude. Do speak about why you’re doing this…”

His arms will eventually rest around you, he’s not that mean y’all. His embrace is elegant and considerably grounding, like he knows exactly the type of comfort you needed at the moment

He’ll try and get you to talk about it as well, it’s a betterment to the mind to talk about problems, and to help the mind fully decompress from stress

“Sweet potato…I have a few minutes to spare, so let’s talk about whatever the matter is with you. I listen well and I can provide suitable advice if that’s what you’re looking for. Smile again, a joyful and happy smile can instantly turn anyways day around…”

Rook 🏹:

Ah? Trickster coming to say hello? Or not…he’ll be surprised but he won’t push you away. This is a beautiful way of expressing gratitude for someone so he’s all in. It’s quite beautiful how expressive and up front you are with your affection!

Then he’ll notice you’re not ok (pretend to notice, he knew the whole time…he kinda seen how your day went…don’t ask questions about how he knows :3) and he’ll wrap his arms back around you

Be ready for a damn mantra on this little display your putting on

“What’s this? Mon Trickster, what is with that look? Ne regarde pas si bas…lighten up!”

Talk to him about it, he does grand gestures and words, so he’ll stay with you until you let go first. Just know he’ll always have open arms for you whenever you’re feeling down

“As a hunter I just be accustomed to the emotions of others…they are de toute beauté! You are no exception, Trickster, for your smiles is as radiant as the sun at its highest peak when you are at your best! My arms are forever open if you shall need assistance, you are simply beautiful when happy.”

Epel 🍎:

You spoked him a bit, also, ew, get off of him…or wait, he might not mind it, cause like, he’s being relied on for once, and it’s you that’s doing it so, he’ll let it slide, especially cause you don’t look to hot at the moment

He can help, always, you know him, duh! So what’s up then? If he can read the situation right, you look pretty stressed so there’s that

“Hey! What’re you doin!? Erm, sorry I didn’t…you ok? No? Aright then, what’s s’matter with ya, you’re clinging awfully tight…”

With a small grumble he’ll hug you back, but very lightly, like he’s embarrassed almost, and he is, but he’s helping you out so…he guesses it’s ok

Talk about something to make it less awkward for him. He’s a good listener but he’ll probably just respond with a few hums or nods here and there

He means well

“So…I just wanna know what holding on does…you could talk with abaut things— aye! Ok, don’t gotta squeeze tighter, calm on down…yeesh, but, hey…it’ll be ok, like I said, you can always rely on me! I ain’t strong for nothing!”

Idia 🎮:

If yall expect me to be nice…

Screams, then goes quiet

He wishes he can shrivel up cause like what the hell are you doing? And more importantly, how’d you get in his room? Did ortho let you in? He had to have a talk with him…

He’s already kinda scared and he just watches as you hug him tighter like he’s not just sitting here basically dying now out of embarrassment, thanks, Prefect

“AHHHH! Prefect! What are you! Hey!!!!

But you do kinda seem stressed, and he does the same with like his pillow or what not when he’s not feeling 100%, so he gets it in a way

Just don’t make it any more awkward than it needs to be. You can ramble to him but he might not answer back that much or try and help, probably on his phone or PC…maybe if he gets comfortable enough he’ll absentmindedly rest his arms around you

“I don’t know why you chose me…but I dunno…what do people say? It’ll be ok? Yea…it’ll be ok…I guess. Don’t surprise me again like this…heh heh.”

Ortho (Strictly Platonic) 🤖:

Hiya! You’re hugging him, how sweet! He’ll giggle and hug you back, and he’ll also do a little scan because his sensors detected an unbalance in hormones specifically targeted towards stress levels…

Now he’s a bit worried due to the data he got off you, so he’ll get your input

“Prefect! What’s wrong? My scans show an imbalance…are you stressed? What happened?”

Now he’s searching up what he can do to make you feel better, he’s got a lot of answers now so he’s gonna do his best to make his friend better!

“It says here that if you discuss what’s really bugging you it can help to lower levels of stress! Also we can try other methods if you’d like!”

Malleus 🐉:

Hmmm? What’s this? Quite peculiar of you, and it’s you so he’s ok with it, anyone else most likely wouldn’t have even gotten the chance…just be lucky Sebek isn’t around

He’s just intrigued in general, it’s interesting you’re doing this, truly! He can’t really tell the difference in your emotions, just confused as to why your clinging to him, though he’ll finally question it when you won’t let go

“Child of man? What is the meaning behind this? I’m not mad, no, just curious as to why you’ve come to me. Is something the matter that you need me to help?”

He’ll wrap his arms back around you, of course, just tell him what’s going on or he’ll start to assume things and maybe the weather will start to look a bit dreary due to that…

He has all the time in the world for you, stay with him as long as you need, and if you need any further support, he’s here to provide only the best for you

You are important, after all

“What emotions are being rather troublesome for you today, Child of man? I only wish to know so I can properly define what happens to plague you with this negative onset…do pray tell, for if you are to be happy again, everyone shall be in rather high spirits. I know for certain if your mood is sullied then it indirectly affects mine…smile, Child of man.”

Lilia 🧚‍♀️:

The younger generations just seem to be getting more and more bold with each passing day apparently! How cute of you to be doing this, you can’t possibly try to be out-cuteing him…oh, no, you’re actually not

Well…he’s gonna put on his parental side here, he knows what to do, kinda, even if his methods may be a little unorthodox but, hey, thought that counts?

“My, my! Oh, what’s wrong, hmmmm? Might I add you’re absolutely adorable at the moment? Share with me your problems, deary…”

Hugs you back tight, and his hugs don’t feel fleeting, they feel nice and warm, like home almost

If you don’t talk about what’s going on, he’ll assume you don’t want to, so he’ll improvise and start telling stories of the past, a distraction method. If you give him the chance he’ll rant for a bit, but if it helps clear your mind up and take it off of whatever is bothering you, then that’s the intended effect

“Back when I was a lad, my mother used to sing songs to me when I was feeling down…I do sing rather well, but I feel stories are more appropriate for the moment— oh, speaking of stories, a hundred or some years ago a bard traveled though and shared some interesting stories, Malleus was so little back then, no more than 17 I could guess…how time flies! Oh, speaking of time—“

Silver ⚔️:

He’s caught off guard at first. He has to take a moment to actually process what’s going on before he can even respond

He’s confused still, even after noting how tightly you’re holding on, well now he’s a bit concerned cause what is this for? Are you hurt? Is someone coming after you? Are you being stalked? His mind kinda instantly goes to those scenarios…he’ll obviously ask what’s going up

“Prefect? What’s…going on? Are you in danger at all— ok, no…then what’s the…I don’t get it.”

He’ll hug you back, albeit still judging the entire situation, but he’s got you

He won’t really say much, but he’ll listen. Just try and talk about what’s going on because this is kinda nice for him…damn, he’s feeling a bit sleepy now, he’ll just close his eyes and listen—

“Mmm…mhmmm, I see…you can come to me if you’d ever need help…so…yea…just come to me…this is nice…”

Sebek ⚡️:

Bro let’s out a loud yelp and tries to get away from you, he’ll start spouting nonsense about how this isn’t acceptable behavior from you, ignoring why you’re actually “bugging” him in the first place. He doesn’t really care at first…

After you won’t give up with your ministrations of holding on, he’ll give up on trying to get rid of you

Just like Silver, he’ll suspect the reason for you doing this is because you’re in some danger of sorts because you definitely don’t normally do this…

“Human! What is this! Human! Unhand me this instant! I— …are you in danger perhaps? Where is the threat? I shall protect you.”

There’s no threat so he’s even more confused, tell him, though he still might not understand the reason for clinging to him

He’s more so a man of his words, so discuss the subject of your mental health and he could possibly help

He’s…always here for you, so don’t worry. Any close friends of Malleus are important, and that’s totally the only reason he cares, definitely not click bait, yea no

“Human…are topics on your mind troubling you? Speak freely about them, I don’t mind one bit. Mental health is just as important as physical health, and in due time if you share these bothersome thoughts I can guarantee you’ll be in better shape again…”

That’s it? I hope so…I kinda like…gave up, SORRY I LOVE POSTING FOR Y’ALL BUT ITS LIKE I HAVE MOTIVATION FOR LIKE AN HOUR AND IM LIKE “nah, I don’t wanna do this,” THEN I FORCE MYSELF…I’m ok yall <3

Thanks for reading this hot mess either way

(Also does anybody else struggle to write for Silver or is that like a me thing cause I suck, so I apologize!)

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[xoxoladyaz]

locked in lowercase (inside a vault)

For @steddie-week Day 3: Longing (1,032 words)

Tags: Mutual Pining, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Hopeful Ending

“Eddie, man. I think you should talk to him.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh, really? What’s with the sudden change of heart, Emerson? That desperate to knock me down a peg?”

“Dude,” Gareth sighs, and the defenses he’d so easily garnered up fall just a little. “Look, I know I wasn’t all that thrilled about Harrington in the first place – ”

“Oh, that’s the understatement of the fucking century, Gare-bear - ”

“ – but,” Gareth ignores Eddie’s attempts at cutting him off, “that was before I saw how miserable you are without him. Like, dude. We made it. We’re on tour right now, and all you wanna do when we’re not on stage is sit on the bus and play Patsy Cline. You,” Gareth taps Eddie on the chest, “you should be having the time of your fucking life right now, but it’s like you’re not really here with us, man.”

Eddie lets Gareth’s words sink in for a moment. The kid’s not wrong, of course, but he doesn’t get it. He can’t. Eddie barely has the words to describe how the feelings started or what his feelings even are, but any time he bumps into anyone that has that look in their eye, that whole I wanna take an up-and-coming rock star for a ride shine, Eddie turns tail and practically runs the other way. It’s not to say that he hasn’t tried – oh, he tried, especially in those first few cities after first leaving Indiana – but it either didn’t happen or it didn’t end well for either party and eventually he just stopped trying. 

Because none of them were Steve. 

And the worst part is, it’s fucking hopeless. The King never, ever gave Eddie even the slightest inclination that it wasn’t just “babes” for him. (Although, to be fair to Steve, Eddie himself didn’t really know until he was too far away to do anything about it, and that’s assuming Eddie’s balls got big enough to even fucking try something.) Steve was kind to Eddie, sure; hell, he was even calling Harrington his best friend at the end, before they left for tour. But then Eddie started wanting and, even worse, started knowing that he wanted any eyes that looked at him in pleasure to be big and brown and belong to Steve and – well, he hasn’t been playing on this side of the field for long, but even a newbie like him knows just how this is going to play out. 

(Which translates to: he slowly stops calling Steve until he isn’t calling him at all. He takes “Head Over Heels” off the set list. He puts the swim team sweater he stole from Steve’s closet at the bottom of the “extra clothes” pile in the back of the bus. And instead of going out after every show, instead of trying and failing to find some peace in the bottom of a bottle like his dad, he sits in the tour bus and plays Patsy Cline on his acoustic under his fingers bleed.)

“It’ll only make things worse, Gare,” Eddie replies, fishing aimlessly in his pockets for the last of his Camels. “I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you will, but he won’t.”

Eddie’s fingers still in his pocket. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. You don’t think Robin chews my head off every time I call to check in?”

(It’s just Eddie’s luck, of course, that Gareth’s first-cousin-and-childhood-best-friend happens to be Steve’s other half.)

“Then why don’t you stop calling?” Eddie finally finds a cig and pulls it out of his pocket, only for it to get snatched out of his fingers.

“Because I’m not an asshole, asshole,” Gareth snaps. “And I’m getting really sick and tired of getting yelled at every time I call home because somebody refuses to man up and deal with his feelings.”

Eddie turns in place, glaring at Gareth. “I am dealing with my feelings!”

“By not dealing with them, dumbass! And for the record, you’re making it even more noticeable by notdealing with them! Hell, even Byers asked me about it the last time he called, because why else would you just drop Harrington all together? It’s been like a year, man, you have to deal with this at some point.”

“I – I didn’t know until a month and a half ago, Gareth, what the hell do you mean by the last year?”

Gareth snorts. “Seriously? Seriously. Holy shit, you’re serious. Fucking – really, man? Now I owe Jeff money.”

“GARETH!” Eddie snaps. “What do you mean, the last year?”

Something is on Eddie’s face, some expression that he can’t control, because Gareth’s eyes soften and grow sad. “Eds, man, you wear your heart on your fuckin’ sleeve and your feelings all over your face. All anyone gotta do is see you look at Steve and know.”

“Know? Know what?”

Gareth’s voice is almost a whisper now. “Do I really need to say it?”

The wounded beast in Eddie’s chest shudders. “No.” He pulls his eyes away from Gareth, refocuses on the rings on his hands – and more specifically, the ring made from an antique spoon that Steve had made him when they were going through his parents’ shit.

(It was the only piece of Steve he couldn’t bear to hide away these last six weeks.)

“Does – does he?”

(Eddie can’t finish the question; hell, Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s asking.

Thankfully, somehow Gareth does.)

“Go call him, Eds,” Gareth says. He squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, a benediction for courage, and then leaves the tour bus, leaving Eddie alone and staring at the phone at the end of the bus.

(Maybe there’s a world where Steve feels, can feel, has felt the same. Maybe there’s a world where, when he told Eddie that he’s taking a break from dating that it meant taking a break from dating someone who wasn’t Eddie. Maybe Steve’s been trying and failing to get past this too, and is spending his nights by the phone like Eddie, waiting for someone to call.)

The phone only rings twice.

“This is Steve.”

(And maybe that world is this one.

But he won’t know until he tries.)

“Hey, Stevie. Got a minute?”

[signanothername]

I– I need to ask.

HOW DO YOU DO THIS?? Like, share your thoughts with everyone. Because I've been working on my universe for about three years now, AND I STILL FEEL LIKE IT'S NOT READY. At the same time, I’m still afraid to share these things...

So. How do you do it?D:

Alright my answer will seem a bit harsh and/or cruel, but know that I mean it in the most kind, genuine, and gentle way possible, i just don’t know how to word it any other way

With that in mind

Anon, you’re never going to be ready to share it, and the fear will always linger, you will never be 100% confident of what you share

And that’s ok

Again, I know that i make it seem super easy, but I promise that I’m just as afraid to share my ideas as anyone else (I’m a perfectionist, and that also contributes to my fear to share things)

It’s just, I think of it this way

I have an idea, and I got two choices

Either

1- I keep overthinking it, and succumb to my worries and fears when it comes to my idea, and keep my ideas with me, never to see the light of day

Or

2- I acknowledge that I’m afraid, acknowledge that my idea might not be perfect or ready, acknowledge that there might be flaws that I will probably notice later and even feel stupid about it, and still share my ideas anyway regardless of the voice in my head telling me to “wait a little more”

I usually go for choice number 2

The art and writing process is complicated, it’s so not easy to write something and feel ready to share it, no matter how much time it takes, you will never ever feel truly and utterly ready to share it, you’ll have that worry in your mind that maybe it’s stupid, or incomplete, or inconsistent or whatever else

And guess what? Sometimes, the worried voice in your head is completely right

But what matters is how you tackle it

Even if you share an idea, remember that you can always change your mind about it, you can absolutely go back and say, I don’t like that idea anymore and so I’ll remove/ change/ replace it

Ideas are never set in stone, you change and grow as a person as so do your ideas, they grow and change with you as you learn more and more, and sometimes they don’t, they don’t change at all, and that’s ok too

You can’t keep worrying about whether the story or idea you’re working on is ready or complete, because all you’re going to do is just walk around in circles and end up never sharing anything at all

It’s ok to be worried, but you can’t let your worries control you, of course, it’s not easy to ignore your worries, but it’s better than feeling stuck with your ideas

I myself do deal with these worries a lot, most of the time i just tell my brain “shut up” and share my ideas anyway, other times my worries do get the best of me and i tend to keep some ideas to myself

But sharing your ideas is actually essential for you to actually be able to work on them and refine them, because people might start asking questions or giving really good feedback that you actually sit with yourself to think about

But what if they ask you a question and you don’t know the answer to it? That’s actually a good thing, it’ll make you sit down and think of how to connect the dots and answer it, not only does it mean you’re actually making progress on your story/ideas, but these kinda questions help you understand different perspectives and by that, you learn and grow in your writing

It’s ok to be worried and to keep ideas to yourself sometimes, but don’t let them fester, because believe me, eventually your passion is gonna burn out because you kept overthinking it to the point it became just a worry than something you enjoy doing

In fact, to give you a bit of motivation, imma actually share one of the ideas I never shared cause I was afraid it’ll be a bit stupid and out of character

And I’m very worried about sharing it, but fuck my worry I do what I want

Remember when I mentioned Dream received one gift from Nightmare, and never received anything after? My idea for that gift was an echo flower he gave Dream, and it echoes one thing “I love you”

There, I shared it ouuughh the stress of sharing it is killing me actually, but I mean I can keep worrying about it forever, or actually share it and refine it later if I wanted, I choose the latter

And your ideas are never going to be perfect anyway, but you can improve them with time, even after sharing them

That’s all I do really shzggz

So go out there and start sharing anon, fuck anxiety, you can do whatever you want, you’re unstoppable

[freelancearsonist]

so scarlet, it was...

➔ post-outbreak Joel Miller x afab!Reader - series masterlist

➔ 1.3k words

➔ “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

➔ Rated MA for dark fic kinda, a/b/o themes (alpha joel, omega reader), established... situationship? i guess, pregnancy/contemplation of termination, contemplation of self harm, reader is not in a good headspace. one instance of vomiting, joel is not very nice, this fic in general is not very nice. takes place three years post outbreak. [please let me know if i missed any warnings so i can add them in :)]

➔ thank you so much to my darling @bitchwitch1981 for the prompt, i'm so sorry this is probably very much not what you wanted 🤣 extra special thank you to @perotovar for making this wonderful joel gif for me, if ur reading this ily <3

You’ve never actually used one of these things before. You’ve only read about them in books or seen them in movies from years ago, and they’ve only ever been an object of abject horror.

You understand why now, looking down at those two little lines on the stick cradled in your hand. You’ve never been quite so terrified in your life.

You never should’ve pocketed this test when you found it in that miraculously untouched drug store. You could’ve stayed blissfully unaware. Better yet, you should’ve been more careful. Three years of living like this has been more than enough to make you firm in your decision to never bring life into this broken world. This isn’t a place for a child, this is barely even a place for you. Every day is a fight, every waking moment is a nightmare. But you’ve been so careless with him and now it’s all crashing down, this blissful bubble where you can pretend that everything might be okay because you have the pack and, more importantly, him. 

You won’t have him for much longer when he finds out about this.

You wonder what it’ll take to right this wrong before he finds out about it. It must be pretty early, so maybe it won’t take much to reverse it. Maybe all you’ll have to do is bump into something just right, or trip over the right log.

The thought makes you sick–more stomach bile than anything else coming up because you’ve hardly had more to eat than stale beef jerky and some precarious berries in the past few days. Resources have been so slim; another reason this can’t be happening. You hardly have enough to tide you over, much less a child. And it’ll be even worse once the pack abandons you.

You bury yourself into the haphazard nest of blankets and his worn clothes, letting the heavy, musky scent of him soothe your wracking sobs. 

Maybe you should just accept your fate now, sacrifice yourself for the good of the pack. Everyone is going to die eventually, after all–sooner rather than later in this world. You’ve only been postponing the inevitable. They never have to know why you do it, and it’ll be one less mouth to feed. Two, technically, but they’ll never have to know that. He won’t even really miss you, it’ll be one less burden on his hands. On all of their hands.

You don’t hear them return early from scavenging–maybe because the volume of your own sobs drowns out any other noise. Or maybe because he can sense something is wrong as he enters the run-down little shack you’ve been holed up in for the past few weeks, and he softens his approach because of it.

Joel has never been quite as tender as he is when he takes you into his arms, pulling your face out of the pile of fabric to wipe at your tear-streaked cheeks.

“My omega, shhhh, I’m here. It’s okay,” he murmurs, wrapping you into his big, strong, safe arms. He doesn’t know. Maybe he thinks you had a nightmare, or you just missed him, or a million other things except the truth. But he doesn’t know, and you know he doesn’t know because you feel the moment he connects the dots. His eyes drop to the little white stick clutched tightly in your fist and his entire body stiffens like a board. Suddenly there’s no more warmth or comfort to his touch, nothing soothing about the pheromones drifting from him. He pulls away like you’re infected, and maybe you are. Maybe the thing that’s taken root in you is worse than cordyceps could ever hope to be.

You’ve never been terrified of him before. Joel is dark and brooding and imposing, but he’s only ever fought to protect you. His omega, who wormed their way under his skin despite him fighting it every step of the way. His omega, who’s been the only source of anything remotely close to comfort he’s had since outbreak day. His omega, who’s given him purpose in this dark world.

His omega, who’s betrayed him in such an unforgivable way.

“What the fuck.” There’s nothing but venom in his tone–he looks at you with pure disgust and your resolve crumbles.

Maybe there was a little, tiny, miniscule part of you that hoped it would be different. That he would be excited to be a father, or at least be understanding. But that hope dies so suddenly when you look up into his scowling face. He towers over you, dark eyes flashing with anger, and for the first time since you met him two long years ago you’re scared.

“You were supposed to be careful.” His voice rises further and further with each syllable, as if this isn’t partially his fault too. As if he wasn’t the one in such an uncontrollable rut last month that he kept you in bed all week, losing the willpower required to pull out with each powerful thrust of his hips. As if it isn’t his seed blooming in your womb as you speak.

“What do we do now, huh?” He growls, eyes darkening, fists clenching at his sides. “I’ve fucking marked you, I can’t turn you loose! And we barely make it by as we are! How the fuck are we supposed to handle this?”

He rants for what seems like hours and you flinch with every booming word, curling tighter around yourself in a desperate attempt to simply disappear; to not have to deal with this any more because your heart shatters with each irreversible word he throws at you. You shrink and shrink and shrink in hopes of vanishing because this is undoable. No matter what happens, nothing will ever go back to the way it was and that’s the knowledge that crushes you completely.

Your voice is so small when he finally quiets enough for you to speak. “Go ahead, yell your fucking head off. That’ll make everything okay, won’t it?”

Joel stops in his tracks, white knuckles unclenching for the first time in minutes. He sees the fear and regret in your eyes, and he almost lets it soften him. He loathes himself for this look on your face–for making you scared of him.

His omega. So small and fragile, curled in a pile of his clothes because his scent brings you comfort. He’s dedicated two years of his time and effort to keeping you safe and comfortable, if not happy. He’s supposed to protect you, not hurt you. He’s supposed to give you children and raise them with you, be a family with you. That’s what being your alpha means, and he has so sorely failed you. 

But he knows he can never do that again. That’s never what this was supposed to be. He didn’t mark you out of anything but necessity–if he had let your uncontrolled scent waft every time you went into heat, every alpha in the country would be targeting your little pack of four. You’re his omega out of biological necessity–a warm hole to fill when his rut threatens to tear already strenuous ties with his brother and Tess. That’s what he tells himself because the alternative is so startlingly incomprehensible that he won’t allow himself to even consider the fact that he might care about you; that the urge to care for you and protect you is more than primal, biological instinct; that you mean more to him than anyone ever has.

Not just his omega now, but his mate. His unborn child is growing and growing and growing with each passing second inside your womb and he’s powerless to stop it.

“We’re thirty-seven miles from the Boston QZ,” he growls from somewhere deep in his chest. “We leave at first light.”

You don’t get a chance to argue or plead your case before the door slams shut behind him. 

➔ beta: @beskarandblasters and @fhatbhabie

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