#every time i think about him i feel so sad

[lorddeathofmurdermountain]

And do you think nobody has ever tried until your genius self suggested it?

I've asked for help for YEARS. I even feared, as a boy, that men wouldn't take me seriously. So I WENT TO WOMEN. Not one believed me, not one wanted to help and most actively chose to make it worse, suggesting I'm lying at best and that I'm somehow being malicious at worst. Only one woman has ever helped me in my life and it isn't even my own mother - it was my middle school homeroom teacher who, through her sheer kindness and understanding, basically kept every single problematic boy in our class in check, purely because they wouldn't wanna make her life harder.

And really, victim blaming? Only the best from Tumblrinas, I suppose. Let me ask you something - I'll even use myself as an example; is it MY fault that I got bullied in middle school? Is it MY fault that my (female) teacher found it easier to send ME to the (male) pediatrician instead of my bullies? Is it MY fault that for all my life I had to rely on random individual kindness if I had a problem I needed help with - basically gambling if I'll get help or not - instead of trusting an institution, a profession, a role? Is it MY fault that I learned to not trust authority and the people around me with anything but the most surface-level, inconsequential things about me - things they can't hurt me with, things they can't betray me with? Tell me, in your infinite wisdom, have you concluded that it is a boy's fault for being sad in a world that blames him for daring to be sad or even telling him that he doesn't know what he's feeling, that he isn't feeling sad because men can't feel sad and if he is sad he isn't a man?

You think people build walls around them to block people out, but walls aren't the right analogy. We CAN'T typically build those, and if we do that just means they'll come crashing down all the harder when someone shows up with a battering ram. No, what we build are cages. And inside those cages we're sad but safe. Every now and then some other person in their own cage tells you to put your hand out the bars, to reach out and they'll take your hand and maybe it won't be so bad. And when you do they bite you, and they laugh, and mock you for falling for it again. Maybe some other time someone who isn't in their own cage shows up - they look free, they look amazing, until you see the leash around their neck. And they say many wonderful things. Some say also to reach out, but bite your hand regardless, and say it was your own fault - you look so nasty and bad in your cage, some people just can't trust you, or anyone who puts themselves in a cage, really. At other times they preach to you of a perfect master who, if you please him enough, will save you and give you everything you want; peace, quiet, love. And you work and you pray that the master would be pleased, but nothing ever seems to work. You never even saw him. You don't know if he even knows you exist, or if he's really even real.

Then, maybe, one day you try to leave your cage. And the other people in their own cages yell; don't! It's not safe! And the people on their leashes say; don't! You're too dangerous! And the people who preached to you of the perfect master shout; don't! You must never leave your cage - that's what bad people do. The master will never be pleased if you leave your cage. You have to stay in there until the master decides to let you go.

And then some schmuck you can't even see tells you it's all your fault for staying in the cage. For LETTING this happen to you. For, even, CREATING the whole situation to begin with.

[enwoso]

words of wisdom | leah williamson x teen!reader

(part of the grumpy universe)

read blood, not bond to get up to speed and for this little blurb to make any sense😅 i thought i had already posted this but clearly not..

grumpy masterlist

the house had quieted again. dinner was packed away, dishes done. the dog had curled up on the end of the couch, blissfully unaware of the emotional wreckage that was still lingering in the walls.

alessia was in the shower while leah was pottering around the house doing the little jobs while you had disappeared upstairs for a while but you hadn't really said much since you'd stopped crying in your mums arms.

leah had carried a pile of fresh washing up the stairs placing it on the end of the bed in hers and alessias room as she stood in the hallway lingering outside your room door before knocking gently.

knock, knock.

"hey angel. can i come in?" there was a pause. then a soft, "yeah."

leah stepped in cautiously, aware of what had happened. you were curled on your bed, duvet over your legs, hoodie pulled up over your head. you looked smaller than usual. softer around the edges in that way you get after an emotional storm.

leah walked in slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed but not too close. giving you the space like she always did, leah never pressed always waited for you to talk first. "thought i'd check in."

you glanced at her, then looked away again. "m' okay."

"you don't have to be." silence settled between the two of you. not uncomfortable, but full of the things that hadn't been said yet.

you let out a breath, you mind thinking too much but also nothing at the same time. "i don't even know why i got so upset."

leah smiled gently. "you found out something big. something that changes how you see someone who's supposed to be... safe. that's enough to knock anyone sideways."

"he never really been safe to me though..," you mumbled, playing with your fingers. "not like you or mum has been."

leah tilted her head slightly. "no. but he is yours. that's a kind of tie you don't just shake off."

you looked at your hands in your lap. "it's not even about the kids. not really. i mean, yeah, it stings, but... i think what hurts is that they get him. properly. all the parts of him i waited for and never got."

leah nodded slowly, she knew what you meant, heck she had lived through it with you. maybe she didn't feel it directly but she saw everything, every tear, every time he let you down. she saw the lot. "yeah. i get that."

you glanced at her. "you do?”

"i do." leah gave her a half-smile. "course i do, i remember it all angel, maybe more parts than you do."

you tucked your knees to your chest. "it feels like he replaced me. like i was a mistake, and now he suddenly knows how to do it right."

leah's voice was quiet, steady. "you weren't a mistake, angel. not ever. and he didn't replace you. he ran from his responsibilities and decided it was easier to try again than show up for the hard stuff."

"but why now?" you asked, eyes beginning to get glassy again. "why tell me now, like i'm just supposed to want to meet them?"

"maybe he thinks it's the right time. or maybe he's trying to clean up something messy with a nice little reunion. either way—it's not about what he wants. it's about what you need."

you looked over at her. "and what if i don't want anything to do with them?"

"then you don't," leah said without a beat of hesitation. "you draw your line, and you protect your peace. no guilt. you're allowed to do what's right for you, not what makes him feel better about disappearing."

you were quiet for a moment, like you were absorbing it. then: "it doesn't make me a bad person?"

"it makes you someone with boundaries. someone who knows what hurts and what doesn't feel safe. that's brave, not bad."

your throat wobbled again. "i just... i feel so angry. and then i feel guilty for being angry. and then i feel sad. and then i feel stupid for being sad."

leah scooted a little closer, gently nudging her shoulder. "that's grief, angel. you're grieving the dad you should've had. doesn't matter if he's still around—when someone doesn't show up for you, you lose something anyway."

you finally let out a shaky breath. "it just sucks. like big time"

"yeah," leah said softly. "it really does."

they sat in silence again for a beat, then leah reached over and offered her hand. no pressure. just there. you took it. and after a moment: "thanks mama."

leah smiled. "always my girl."

[yuurei20]

Dream-world information/rules (by request): interestingly, the dreamworlds are possibly teaching the dreamers how it feels to be Malleus:

Ortho: “It's the dreamers themselves whose imaginations form those happy dreams. Of course, those dreams still have to be made within Malleus's constraints…namely, no negative emotions like sadness or anger allowed.”

And there is someone else who is not allowed to feel any emotions like sadness or anger, lest something terrible happen 🐉

Ortho: "I thought Malleus's dream worlds were designed to provide the target with whatever form of pleasure they wanted...But maybe it's more of a system to remove displeasure the target doesn't want. Sadness, anger, and the like.”

And this is not just speculation, with Sebek and Silver coming to the same conclusion:

Idia: “It's like playing a video game where you start at max level and every enemy steers clear of you. There's no losing and retrying. No trial and error to overcome obstacles. The challenge and payoff of getting good is what truly makes gaming rewarding.” Silver: “In Malleus's case...I think in terms of encountering rewarding challenges, his experience is extremely limited. Ever since he was born…or even before then..he's had enough power to easily trounce even veteran soldiers. Starting at max level and having every enemy steer clear isn't just an analogy for him. I think it's an accurate description of his life.”

Idia follows with:

"If Malleus actually matched Sebek's description and had some unflappable superhuman psyche…we wouldn't be in this mess at all. But nope, this natural-born overlord and walking cheat code experiences the same emotional highs and lows that the rest of us do. That's what I call a glaring design flaw.” “There are times when setbacks and defeats can be contributing factors in reaching a happy ending. Likewise, there are times when successes and victories can be causal factors in a bad ending. No matter how much of a walking cheat code Malleus is, maybe he just doesn't have that level of predictive ability or control. Which leaves his only option being a systematic elimination of all negative emotions.”

Malleus has never experienced setbacks or defeats, so he has no frame of reference for happiness that derives from them.

It is beyond Malleus’ ability to imagine, and we have seen the dreams limited by Malleus’ imagination before: Lilia’s, where Malleus was unable to interfere in a timeline before his own birth.

Silver: "What if Malleus has trouble controlling things he doesn't know about and can't imagine...?"

We are still learning the rules of the dreams as the characters themselves do not understand what is happening and are providing us with information through trial and error, and there is still more, very important information to come on EN (memo: this post will need to be updated📝).

But here are some of the rules!

1. Dreams break down when a happy ending becomes impossible, at which point everything is swallowed into an abyss (hence the name of Book 7 in the original game: Lord of the Abyss)

2. Idia says that once swallowed by the abyss the dreamer can potentially wake up on their own but there is no telling what may happen to foreign elements

(we have possibly seen successful examples of “foreign elements” being swallowed into the abyss and surviving, with both Silver and Lilia having their abysses invaded by others, but Idia has not)

3. The “happiness” in the dreams is superficial, as though following the vague order of “keep dreaming happy dreams,” possibly due to Malleus’ inability to imagine what happiness is.

4. Despite the “superficial” nature of the dreams, Ortho explains that “people’s mental circuity—their hearts and minds—can be surprisingly complex,” resulting in the dreams coming up with creative ways to please the dreamers

(Example: Kalim attending a school that isn’t NRC not because he is unhappy at NRC and Rook dreaming of NRC without Vil not because he wants Vil out, but because they were both avoiding tragedies that happened there.)

5. People who shares lots of memories with a dreamer have a better likelihood of helping them wake up 

6. When a dreamer is about to wake, NPCs will try to keep them inside.

7. It is possible that consuming food in a dream aids in mental recovery

8. It is possible to run out of breath through exertion and feel pain when hit in a dream

9. Malleus is possibly keeping the stronger mages under tighter surveillance than others, with Idia and Vil being constantly attended by their dreams “GM” (human-Ortho for Idia, Neige for Vil)

10. In instances where a real-world source of negativity is too much a part of who the dreamer is to separate them, their absence is likely to cause paradoxes and dream-breakdowns.

The dreams adapt to this by rewriting the source of stress into something less offensive: a bumbling assistant version of Neige who could never hope to rival Vil and a more polite and humble version of Kalim for Jamil.

To Be Continued ♪

[zorangezest]

omg pls talk about skybound soundwave hes so lovely hes so evil. Ive been gushing about starscream and this latest issue with them its so perfectly awful <<33

OH SKYBOUND….THE COMICS THAT YOU ARE…….

im just. THE WRITING IN THIS SERIES??? EVERY character thematic is getting nailed in the head, optimus’s melancholy, arcee’s rage, beachcomber’s philosophy, DUDE I WAS GAGGED AT HOW GOOD THAT BEACHCOMBER ISSUE WAS…how he chose not to revive everyone because he knew they carried the war wherever they went im just. Insane??? And Optimus?? Optimus in this series?? His character has always felt like the sage serious leader but in Skybound he just has so much….heaviness? It reads so well that he carries a quiet sadness all the time. THAT SCENE WITH HIM AND ELITA WHEN HE HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN EARTH AND CYBERTRON??? OK KICK ME IN THE GUTS WHILE IM DOWN WHY DONT YOU SKYBOUND???

And soundwave……Bro……..SOUNDWAVE……….…I JUST……………soundwave’s character has always been for a backdoors-background role, communications officer and all the nitty gritty finer workings behind the scenes, quiet and passive and going along with the narrative wherever it takes him—his character always feels guided along by the tomfoolery of the rest of the ensemble. but skybound made him such an active brutal threat like dude. they slapped him right on the frontlines killed off his cat for ten-something issues straight up had him rip out starscream’s guts and declare himself the leader. lies and cheats the favour of thundercracker and preaches his deluded greater good by razing everything lesser in his way to the ground. dude. he is evil. he burns cities. he is delusional. I haven’t seen a take on soundwave’s character before that ever made him so loud about being evil. I would fight for skybound like they were my country

NOT EVEN TO MENTION THE WHOLE DYNAMIC HE HAS WITH HS CASSETTES DUDE I THINK SKYBOUND WAS THE FIRST TIME HE WAS EVER EXPLICITLY REFERRED TO AS A FATHER TO THEM. BY MEGATRON NO LESS. HUGE. ABSOLUTELY HUGE FOR SOUNDWAVE NATION (ME) (I AM THE NATION) rest in pieces frenzy you were not the favourite child LMAO the emphasis they put on the familial themes of soundwave character is so very upfront HE STRAIGHT UP CALLS THEM. A FAMILY. KILLING MYSELF. ENGRAVING THE SKYBOUND WRITERS ON MY COMMEMORATIVE PYRAMID. ITS LIKE THIS SERIES WAS MADE FOR ME. THEY GAVE SOUNDWAVE BITE AND SASS

also can I just say starscream and soundwave have my favourite dynamic. they hate each other so much it’s so funny

and now that megatron’s back in the picture OUGHHHHHH. OUUUHGGGGGG OUUGHHHGGG. i am so so curious with this recent reveal that he can mind control his wielders. what does that mean for soundwave?? Does it mean everything?? Does it mean nothing at all?? I FEEL SO BAD FOR STARSCREAM OF ALL THE CHARACTERS BRO GOT TRASHED BY SOUNDWAVE AND THEN TRASHED BY MEGATRON. BRO DIDNT EVEN WANT TO DO THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE GET HIM OUTTT. somehow, incredibly, skybound made it so that soundwave has more deeper rooted evil than starscream and I for one am SEATTTEDDDDDDDD

like when I read this part for the first time i think I laughed out loud he just looks so miserable. bro is an instrument for someone else’s destruction and he’s having the worst time of his life

also!! skybound gave this panel to the world which is pretty much what the inside of my head has sounded like for six months

while I’m at it can I just….the art style for skybound ohhhh my god. The heavy gritty inking, the incredible, incredible stylized sfx, the vibrant colours they use for backgrounds and for palettes. This is my favourite art style of any comic series I’ve read recently and it’s such a huge inspiration (the big ol switcheroo fight comic was heavilyyyyy inspired by how skybound stylizes sfx and colours….) i just cant get enough of it. The way texture is hatched the way they made these clunky metal robots so fluid and expressive…..

also I just. Really love how they draw cliffjumper specifically. like this is a 50 year old man with a retirement plan

that’s a long textpost!! Wow!! the brainrot is Terminal!! round of applause skybound for making soundwave the Warmongering Maniac he deserves to be!! i am extremely stoked to see what’s in store for our dear characters!!

[yena-enha]

Husband Jay with a wife who loves giving him babies, breeding kink but also overly maternal reader? i need fluff after that sad pregnant reader fic

Here Sweetheart, Sorry for late reply

𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐔𝐩 - 𝐏𝐉𝐒

Warning - Breeding kink, possessive behavior, degradation, praise kink, rough sex, slight mommy kink, impregnation talk, lactation hints, creampie, power play

Note - MDNI (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) / NSFW CONTENT

Genre - Erotic, BDSM, Dom/sub, Breeding kink

Pairing - CEO!Jay x Fem!Reader

Song inspiration - "Mine" by Beyoncé

Word Count - 600 Words

He barely closed the penthouse door before you were on him—barefoot and swollen, your sheer lace robe clinging to your curves, belly just barely starting to show from the last time he bred you.

“Welcome home, baby,” you purred, pulling him into a soft kiss.

Jay dropped his briefcase without a second thought, his hand sliding down to cup the soft curve of your stomach. “You're already showing,” he muttered, voice thick with awe and lust.

“I know,” you whispered, smile sweet. “And I want more.”

He stilled. Eyes darkened. “You’re serious?”

“I want you to fuck another one into me,” you breathed, pulling his hand lower, guiding it between your thighs. “You know I was made for this—your perfect little wife, always ready to carry your babies.”

Jay groaned, already hard in his slacks. “Fuck, you say that shit and expect me to stay sane?”

You blinked up at him innocently. “Why would I want you to stay sane?”

He lifted you off your feet in one fluid motion, stalking toward the bedroom like a man possessed. His grip on your thighs was bruising, his jaw tight.

“You’re so obsessed with being full, aren’t you?” he growled against your neck. “Walking around the house leaking, belly already round, and still begging me to knock you up again.”

“I can take it,” you gasped, fingers tugging at his tie. “Give me more—please, Jay, I need it. Want to be big for you again. Want to feel it the moment you pump me full.”

He tossed you onto the bed, yanking your robe open and groaning at the sight of your tits—full, sensitive, already glistening at the peaks. “Look at you,” he rasped. “Dripping like you’re already nursing. Fuck, you were made to be a mommy, weren’t you?”

You nodded desperately, spreading your legs as he undid his belt with one hand and fisted his cock with the other. “All for you,” you moaned, voice breathless. “My pussy’s yours. My womb’s yours. Stuff me full again—breed me.”

He didn’t even try to slow down. He shoved into you with one powerful thrust, forcing a cry from your lips as you arched up into him.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he growled, one hand fisting your hair, the other gripping your thigh open. “So wet—already fucking ready to take it.”

You whined beneath him, gripping his shoulders as he started pounding into you like a man starved. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, and every time his cock hit deep, your walls clenched like your body was begging to be bred again.

“You think you can take more?” he grunted, teeth grazing your ear. “You’re already carrying my baby and begging for another. You want to be swollen with two of my kids?”

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you cried. “Stuff me, Jay, I need it—I need your cum. Need to feel you shoot another load inside. Fill me up—again, and again—”

“You’re so fucking dumb for my cock, aren’t you?” he growled. “Can’t go a day without thinking about how full you can get. Just a needy little mommy with a hole made to be bred.”

You moaned, sobbed, gasped his name like a prayer. “Only yours. Always yours.”

Jay leaned back to look at you—hair a mess, eyes hazy, belly trembling between you as your body begged to be claimed again. “You're so goddamn perfect like this,” he whispered. “Swollen. Owned. Mine.”

“Yours,” you echoed, hips tilting up to meet his thrusts. “Put another one in me, Jay. Knock me up again.”

He snarled at your desperation, fucking you harder until your mind blurred and your hands clawed at the sheets.

Then, with a harsh groan and a final deep thrust, Jay buried himself inside you and came hard—hot, thick, pulsing deep in your womb.

“Take it,” he growled, grinding into you as if trying to push it deeper. “Take every fucking drop, you greedy little thing.”

You whimpered, trembling, eyes fluttering shut in bliss as you felt his cum flood you—hot, wet, perfect.

Jay didn’t pull out. He stayed buried, cock twitching inside you, one hand on your belly, the other cupping your cheek.

“You keep begging like that,” he murmured, voice low and possessive, “and I won’t stop until you’re waddling with twins.”

Your eyes fluttered open. You smiled.

“Good.”

Masterlist || Introduction

Taglist- @strxwbloody

[tltfu]

Caring goes both ways...

...In which SAKURA HARUKA realizes that his girlfriend is just as touch-starved as he is.

Contains: Hurt/comfort, fluff, Haruka being the sweetest boyfriend ♡

(Yayyyy first actual writing :D)

Your grumpy boyfriend always noticed the slightest change in your demeanor.

Isn't it only natural that he asks you about it?

That's what a good boyfriend would do. (At least that's what he thinks)

"W-what's up with you...!?"

He finally spoke up as the two ate lunch.

His plate of Omurice laid untouched, his worry for her overshadowing hid love for eating.

He took a moment to link up the jumbled thoughts in his head, wanting nothing more than to voice out his concerns as he sees your gloomy expression.

"S-s-stop looking... like that!"

"Like what, Haru?"

"Like that!-"

He huffed, frustrated at his 'large' vocabulary.

...But he's not THAT stupid.

He sees the way you absentmindedly fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie he (reluctantly) gave you.

The way your hands looked sooooo lonely as you tried to find a way to hold his hand without it being obvious.

His romance sensor is going crazy, but this time in a good way- the kind that he found to be associated with you, where his heart started beating rapidly against his ribcage and he felt like he was actually wanted and loved at last.

"...you're quiet today. Did something happen?"

It was a bit uncharacteristic of him to say that, but that's just how you make him. All calm, comforted, and weirdly affectionate in all the ways he never knew he could be affectionate in.

He reached out to untangle your fingers from the sleeves of your (his?) hoodie, intertwining his fingers with your with such soft pressure it was like he thought your hands would break if he ever were to hold onto it tighter. His cheeks were cherry red in an instant, but he pushed through and did mental gymnastics in order not to flee from the uncomfortably comfortable feeling of your hand in his. (He does this every time he holds your hand lol)

What he didn't expect to happen was that you'd throw yourself into his arms, arms around his waist, face against his chest, with soft sobs racking your body.

I'm not kidding when I say that he physically felt his heart being torn in half.

He really hated to see your pretty face adorned with tears.

His fight-or-flight instincts were kicking in, but he didn't dare to move an inch.

It took a moment, but Haruka was soon able to find the courage to place one of his hands on the small of your back, the other going to caress your hair just like how you would hold him whenever he felt sad.

He knew that he didn't have to speak, as actions usually spoke louder than words.

"I-i'm just so tired, Haru. I'm sorry for breaking down like this but-"

"No buts. Just... tell me whenever you want a hug, okay? I don't.. I don't mind holding you."

...It was that day when he realized that caring really goes both way- and that he'd do anything in order to make you smile again...

...Even if it means to give you all the hugs and affections you want.

[urfavrib]

Frost leads his emotionally unstable family in a meditation

(he does it one at a time for the sake of my own sanity)

Kremy

Frost and him do it first thing in the morning

its taken months of pushing to get Kremy to agree but he did

Frost in his tan linen shirt and charcoal grey pants, Kremy in one of Gideon’s Henley shirts and some loose pants. Both barefoot.

Kremy is grouching the whole time and Frost is already practicing his patience

Then finally Kremy and Frost lay in the grass eyes closed

The morning dew soaking into their clothes as Frost gently leads Kremy’s mind

They start with breathing

“Breathe in and out, slowly. Feel where your breath stagnates in your chest.”

Kremy doesn’t want to initially but Frost pushes in his mind and he does as he’s told

He breathes deep, expecting nothing

But it feels like the air sits heavy in his chest a sadness and anger swelling with his breath

“I can feel the anger and pain, breathe it out”

Kremy breathes out and then in. And out hard.

And for once it feels like there’s less of it.

Less weight on him

“Now do it again” Frost urged

They just sat there breathing

Sometimes that’s enough

Once Frost feels Kremy release some of the stress, and become more mindful of his breath and body, they call it quits

They never speak of it again

But every once in a while you’ll find Kremy laying in the grass breathing and Frost will keep you from interfering

———————

Gideon

Gideon struggles with PTSD flashbacks

Seeing the train around him and hearing it even clearer

And Kremy is only so good at handling them. he really tries but he’s not equipped for the situation

Frost noticed, like Kremy he’s smart but unlike Kremy he’s also in tune with the emotions of the Krew and can handle them

He asked Gid to go on a walk with him, one on one

They walked in silence for most of it till Frost asked him to do something

“Plant your feet, and look out. Tell me what are 5 feet things you see and two things you know about each”

Gideon did so, although confused

“Good 4 things you hear”

This continued, till at last Frost asked “1 things you can taste”

“Lunch” Gideon chuckled

“Do you feel more connected to here and now?”

He nodded and Frost smiled

“I want you to practice this with Kremy, tell him to count down 5 and give you the prompts i gave, i think he will be more successful in making this exercise effective”

It took lots of practice but Kremy and Gid seemed to get it

Since then when Gideon gets overwhelmed or distant you can hear Kremy counting slowly down from 5

———————

Gricko

Gricko and Frost started practicing meditation years ago

Gricko was genuinely interested in why Frost would just walk into the woods when he was overwhelmed and come back with a clear mind

So Frost taught him (he was just barely out of the order but teaching Gricko seemed so natural)

Frost was very aware that Gricko very rarely could sit still so he tried something else

a combo yoga tai chi meditation

He and Gricko stood face to face, barefoot in the grass about 3 feet apart

This was the first time Gricko saw Frost take off his robe, he made sure to note it but not say anything

Frost silently lead Gricko through the sun salutations and warrior poses before moving into the fluidity of Tai Chi

Focusing on their breaths, they seemed to reach a point where even though Gricko had never seen this kind of moment before, him and Frost were on the exact same page

Moving in time like a dance with a goal

They slowly picked up speed and when they stopped they both started laughing

They were sweaty but relaxed and felt very very very connected

The do it every time they feel the need to reconnect

Hootsie even joins in sometimes she’s not as adept but she tries and does a great job

——————

Torbek

Frost seems to constantly be aware of Torbek’s anxiety and seems to be able to feel when the other is pushing to be released

So one day when the sun is setting, dinner is over and everyone is shifting to go to bed Frost pulls Torbek aside to sit with him on watch

And at first they sit there in silence until

“Torbek, how many breaths do you think you take in a day?”

This conversation is strange and unprompted, but Torbek indulges Frost

“Torbek doesn’t know, what does Frost think?”

“A lot” he says simply

“Follow me i wanna try something”

And the walk just a bit off from camp so if they make noise it won’t wake the others

Frost drops his robe to the ground and takes off his shoes which Torbek’s jaw drops to the floor for (he’s never seen Frost without his shoes)

“sit let’s begin” Frost sits cross legged and look at Torbek to follow which he does

“close your eyes, and imagine an orb in front of you. you can choose the color the size but imagine you can hold it in one hand.”

Torbek does and a small Green orb appears in his mind (about the size of a large apple)

“Good, now put every negative thought into it.”

Torbek didn’t have to do much to have the other’s grating words of hate fill the orb till it turned from brilliant green to black

“Now listen closely to my words and watch the orb”

Frost said words of praise for Torbek, clearly, with a strong belief in what he was saying. And the orb slowly returned to brilliant green

“Do you see the power of thought? Now you try it let the negative thoughts come, and banish them with my words”

And Torbek did

He let the other say the horrid things he’d become so used to and the orb turned black

And then he took a deep breath and remembered Frost’s words

“Torbek you are kind. Torbek you are irreplaceable. Torbek you are valued above what you can do for others. Torbek you are part of our family. We couldn’t have made it this far without you”

And the orb returned to green maybe a more vibrant one from before even

“Frost that was amazing!”

Frost smiles that knowing smile

“Everytime you feel out of control or that you’re not good enough, fix your orb”

Torbek nodded

“Now go get some rest big day in the morning”

———————

Frost

when frost was first learning to meditate he was very young

easily distracted and excitable

The order was harsh on this

Punishing Frost every time he stepped out of line

But eventually with Frost under a specific master there was promise

The master didn’t hurt Frost when he got out of line just redirected him

He lead Frost through so many different types of meditation trying to find one that stuck

He found that playing a game mentally was the best way

So Frost and his master would play crowns while they meditated

his master expanded the board, made Frost play as every piece, he tried to use it to teach Frost the ability to cut his emotions for the purpose of strategy

But the thing with Frost is no matter how hard you push he is still a man of great emotion

But to practice meditation taught him time and place ( for the most part)

[kinardsboy]

Kinda rambling here and apologies in advance because a majority of my blog is rants but I kinda just need to get these feelings out about how… terrible eddie is as a friend .. this is gonna be a long ass post lol

Eddie is, at his core a very opportunistic person.

Now, I think I should preface this with saying that this alone does not make him a bad person, and I would even argue in his defense that it is likely a trauma response/survival mode from being a dad at such a young age, and losing army pals and Shanon. However, that is not an excuse for the way he treats people.

Let’s start with the biggest example: Buck. Buck does, frankly almost everything for Eddie. He babysits without complaining, cooks for Eddie, does Eddies chores (when Eddie seemingly has fuck all to do versus buck who just worked a full shift), rents eddies house for him so he can go to texas, and then leaves without complaint when Eddie wants to come back.

Looking at the babysitting aspect closer, we can see that Eddie uses Chris as a bandaid for Buck’s problems because, its the easiest solution. Chris is a child and Buck cant be too sad around him otherwise he’ll likely worry Chris. So when Buck got his leg critically injured and was unable to work, did Eddie come over and show concern for his friend? Or did he throw his son at the problem (and get free babysitting on top of that) all while boasting about fixing the “problem”?

Then, when Buck was (imo rightfully) suing the department for his job back, did Eddie show concern for his friend? Try to understand it from his perspective? No. Instead Eddie insulted Buck for not being able to deal with shit like everyone else and called him exhausting. Then, SPECIFICALLY called out the fact that Buck wasnt able to do anything for him. 1. Not being able to bail him out of jail and 2. Not being able to see Chris.

The next issue I take with Eddie and Buck’s relationship is that Eddie seems to think he’s the only one allowed to have emotions. Especially because he stuffs most of them down all the time, so when he finally takes his head out of his ass and lets himself show something it feels like he expects the world to stop in amazing and praise him for it.

So when Buck is going through something at the same time as him, lawsuit and bobbys death arcs, Eddie gets frustrated very easily. Now, Eddies anger is something I have mixed feelings about and is not going to be the main topic of this segment. But, in both instances we see Eddie being VERY easily frustrated at Buck and our most recent example we had Eddie grab Buck, make him flinch and get in his face like he was going to hit him. Then, similarly to the lawsuit arc he uses Chris as a bandaid to fix everything. While AGAIN, making Buck do more emotional labor to keep Chris comforted and happy while BUCK IS GOING THROUGH HIS OWN TURMOIL JUST LIKE THE CRUSHED LEG ARC. Not to mention he also puts his friend duties onto chris to fix his mistakes and comfort buck..

I dont want to discuss the entire buckeddie stuff in 8.17 because honestly? It was really triggering and manipulative and people have already done much more deep analysis on it than what i have just said- so..

All this to say, Eddie and Buck have what is in my opinion an unbalanced and toxic friendship.

Eddie’s relationship with the rest of the 118 is honestly, hardly shown. However I think thats another point to my side, that Eddie is friends with them because its convenient and easy. He works with these people every day and naturally builds a bond with them due to the risky nature of their job.

This isnt to say Eddie hasnt done anything for Buck or the 118, but with Buck especially, its very unbalanced.

Two former 118 members were also see this issue with is Tommy and Lena,

Starting with Tommy: Tommy was a great friend for Eddie because he provided him with a lot of things. Fun (no doubt expensive for Tommy) excursions to Vegas, a basketball buddy(heh), i think he even babysat chris once(?), and someone to spar with. Now, theres nothing wrong with sharing hobbies in a friendship but the SECOND things got inconvenient and tough for Eddie to be friends with him, he decided it wasnt worth the effort and dropped him immediately.

This, in my opinion was not in solidarity to Buck, because Buck never spoke ill of Tommy or asked Eddie to unfriend him, Buck even seemed shocked that Tommy mentioned Eddie giving him the cold shoulder. It was because Eddie didnt want to put in the effort to something that was going to be awkward.

Next we have Lena, perhaps the only one to ever call Eddie out on his bullshit. Eddie took and took from her, vented to her and then when she tried to get something back from the relationship it.. well failed miserably, and she rightfully called their friendship a one way street.

We truly lost her too soon 😞 (real quick side tangent but i take huge issue with people whatabouting her in regards to Eddies fight club arc.. Lena had her shit under control PLUS, EDDIE IS A GROWN MAN WHEN ARE WE GONNA STOP BLAMING WOMEN FOR MENS OWN CHOICES DONT PISS ME OFF).

So yeah this rant was basically a very long way of saying Eddie fucking sucks a friend and needs to seriously work through some shit before I will consider him to be like able. ESPECIALLY after 8.17.

[batsandbirdbrains]

I want a reverse robins au where Damian was the one at the circus when The Flying Graysons fell, and it happened while Bruce was stuck in time or whatever. So Dick doesn’t meet Bruce for like a year or so after Damian adopts him. And Damian does adopt him. Immediately. No question.

And the entire time Bruce was gone, Dick could tell Damian was so sad about it. So to make him feel better whenever they talk about Bruce, his little eight year old mind just comes up with the most ridiculous idea.

Dick just always refers to Bruce as Grandpapa in his most obnoxious snobby accent. And it never fails to make Damian’s mouth twitch up into the barest of smiles, if not outright making him chuckle.

And it just caught on with everyone else. Dick is the only one who thinks of Bruce as a grandparent, but if anyone talks to Dick about Bruce, they call him “your grandpapa.”

He also refers to Talia solely as Grandmama in the same snobby accent because he can’t stand her and being referred to as a grandmother in general just pisses her off. Makes her feel old. Dick loves pissing her off, because whenever she comes around, she never fails to make Damian upset. That’s his Baba. No one is allowed to upset his Baba.

So when Dick finally meets Bruce for the first time after Tim brings him back, he just sort of stares up at this big imposing man he’s only seen pictures and videos of, and he’s a little intimidated, but Damian is right there holding Dick’s hand so he puffs out his chest and does his best not to look frightened or worried. And he looks Bruce dead in the eyes and tells him, “i thought you’d be taller, Grandpapa.”

And Jason doubles over, the laughter shocking even him, while Tim smothers a laugh in the background, and Damian just smirks and squeezes Dick’s hand.

Bruce is baffled. But he can’t help but be charmed by the little gremlin standing in front of him who’s sticking his nose up in the air and calling him Grandpapa. He’s reminded a lot of Damian when he was young, actually, even if Damian was a little older than Dick is now when he first came to live with Bruce.

And the Grandpapa thing never dies out, never fizzles into anything more common to call Bruce. It’s always the full Grandpapa, always.

A few JL members had met Robin while Bruce was lost in time, but only a select few. Superman, Wonder Woman, and Green Arrow mostly. A few other strays. Flash has met him a handful of times.

But the first time he goes to the Watchtower to be introduced to everyone, he clings to Bruce’s hand and asks him, “Grandpapa, when does your meeting start?”

And everyone turns and stares. Because this colorful little kid just called Big and Broody “Grandpapa,” and Hal Jordan lets out a bark of a laugh.

But that just makes Robin glare at him, and he squeezes Batman’s hand before stomping right over to him, dragging Batman with him.

“What’s so funny?” he demands with all the sass of a nine year old who feels he’s being made fun of.

“Did you really just call Spooky Grandpapa?”

“Yes,” Robin says slowly, like Hal is dumb. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Aside from the way Batman is positively glowering at him, Hal is also now faced with a pissed off little goblin child who’s been raised by Nightwing the last year. He very carefully and quickly tells Robin there’s no problem, “I was just surprised, is all,” and then books it across the room.

Robin beams up at Batman, who gives his hand a little squeeze before leading him to come sit at the meeting table with him.

“Come on,” Batman says, his tone practically announcing to the room how much he adores this new tiny addition to the Batfamily, “you can sit with Grandpapa during the meeting, and then I’m going to take you to the gym for a new training simulation, alright?”

“Alright!”

Robin sits in Batman’s lap the entire meeting, his face very serious as he pays attention to every word Batman and the others say. Meanwhile, Bruce is getting a total kick out of how much it freaks everyone else out whenever they hear Dick call him Grandpapa.

[killerplink]

COMFORT

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 2,9k

Plot: You're on your period and feeling all kinds of crampy and grumpy. Dick's already made you a cozy meal, but when the pizza cravings hit, he doesn't hesitate to make it happen.

Dick's all proud of himself, watching you take your first bite, waiting for that little happy hum you always do when something tastes good. That's his favorite part, seeing you enjoy something he made, watching your shoulders relax as you melt into a warm, home cooked meal.

He loves the way your eyes flutter shut when a flavor hits just right, the little wiggle you do when you're especially pleased, the way you lean into the warmth of the food like it's wrapping you up in a hug. It's domestic, it's sweet, and it makes all the effort in the kitchen more than worth it.

He swears, that little hum of satisfaction? It's like the highest form of praise, even better than a thank you. It's like his whole heart swells hearing it, knowing he put a little bit of his love into every bite. It's his thing with you—cooking something up and waiting for that sound like a reward, like a little piece of happiness wrapped up in a soft noise that's just for him.

But then... nothing. No hum, no little wiggle of contentment, not even a pleased sigh. Just you, sitting there, poking at your plate like it personally wronged you, looking guilty as hell. That's his second clue.

The first was when he walked in the door and found your favorite fuzzy blanket crumpled in a sad little pile on the couch, not wrapped around you like it usually is. Then there was the half empty tea mug sitting on the coffee table—your comfort drink—cold and abandoned, which meant you tried to soothe yourself but gave up halfway. All of that put a little thought in his head, a quiet hmmm, but now? Watching you fidget with your fork, pushing the food around without actually eating?

Oh yeah, he has a pretty good idea of what's going on.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

You freeze for half a second, just a split second, but it's long enough for him to catch it. He sees the way your shoulders tense, how you keep your eyes glued to your plate like maybe if you stare hard enough, the question will disappear. Then, you shake your head, mumbling something about how the food is great, that he really outdid himself, and you're just not that hungry tonight.

Mhmm, no. That's not gonna fly with him.

He watches you, eyes narrowing slightly like he's dissecting every detail, his brain slotting the clues together piece by piece. It's not even about the food. It never is when you get like this. It's about you, about whatever's swirling around in that pretty head of yours, tying your thoughts in knots and making you feel like you've got to downplay it.

So he doesn't say anything at first. Just tilts his head a little, gaze soft but knowing, scanning your face as you do everything in your power to avoid looking at him. He can feel the guilt rolling off you in waves, and honestly?

He doesn't even know why you'd feel guilty in the first place. Wanting something else to eat isn't a crime, but you always get like this when you think you're being difficult, even though you're not. Not to him.

So he just waits. One brow raised, head slightly cocked, patience practically radiating off him as he sits perfectly still. It takes ten seconds—maybe fifteen—and then...

"It's really good, baby, I swear, I just..." your voice goes soft, almost sheepish. "I kinda want pizza."

There it is. The way you say it is so small, like you're confessing to some horrible crime, and Dick watches the realization click into place in real time. His whole face softens, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a barely there smile because oh. Baby's on her period. Of course.

And God, he gets it. Cravings are cravings, and sometimes, no matter how good a meal is, your body just wants something else. He's not mad. Not even a little. If anything, he finds it kind of adorable how nervous you got about it. Like he wouldn't gladly throw that food in the fridge, grab his keys, and pick up whatever you wanted. Hell, he'd order three different kinds of pizza just to see you smile again.

His head dips slightly, like he's holding back a fond laugh. "That's all?"

He's already reaching for his phone, thumb pulling up the app for your go to pizza place like it's the most obvious solution in the world. "Why didn't you just say so?"

And that's when you really start fidgeting, squirming a little in your seat like you really don't want him to do that. Your hand reaches for his wrist, fingers curling around it gently.

"Dick, no," you whine, voice soft with guilt. "You cooked."

He pauses, glancing up at you, and yep, there it is. That look in your eyes, the one that says I feel like an ungrateful little shit right now. And really, he should've seen that coming.

Because you know how much effort he puts into cooking for you, how much he loves making sure you're eating well, especially when you're not feeling your best. He cares, puts thought into every meal, every little ingredient tailored to what you like, what you need. And now, here you are, sitting at the table like some kind of traitor, ready to toss his hard work aside just because your hormones decided they wanted something else.

But instead of being annoyed, instead of rolling his eyes or telling you to just eat what's in front of you like someone else might, he just gives you a look. A soft, easy look. The kind that says Baby, you know me better than that.

"Sweet girl," he says simply, flipping his phone so you can see the pizza app. "I don't care. If you want pizza, we're getting pizza. Simple."

And you do want it. God, you really want it. Like you can practically taste the grease and melted cheese just thinking about it.

"But you made such a nice meal—"

"And I can put it in the fridge and eat it tomorrow. Not a big deal."

His fingers slip between yours, squeezing gently, and ugh, it's really hard to argue when he's looking at you like that. He knows how stubborn you are, how you want to show appreciation for the things he does, but right now? All he cares about is making sure you feel comfortable and happy, not guilty over something so small.

"I'd rather you actually eat something you want instead of sitting here feeling bad about it," he adds, voice warm and steady.

Your shoulders drop a little, the tension easing out of you, lips pressing together like you're trying to hold back some kind of emotion. It's dumb—you know he doesn't mind, know he'd bend over backward for you in a heartbeat—but still, the guilt lingers in that annoying little way it always does.

"Okay..." you mumble, voice small. "Pizza sounds really nice."

He smiles. "Yeah?"

You nod, and honestly, that's all he fucking needs.

"Good."

Next thing you know, he's tugging you up from your chair with zero effort, making you squeak as he drags you over to the couch. He plops you down gently, grinning as you blink up at him.

"Alright," he says, already pulling up the menu, "go lay down. I'll order it, and while we wait, I'm grabbing you the heating pad."

"Dick—" you start to protest, "but—"

BOOP. His finger flicks your forehead, just enough to surprise you.

"Shhh," he grins.

You stare at him, stunned, one hand flying up to rub at the barely there flick. "Did you just—"

"Yep," he smirks. "And I'll do it again if you don't stop being difficult."

You huff, but your lips twitch, betraying you. You're not actually mad, and you both know it.

"Let me baby you," he says simply, already turning toward the bedroom. "Just let me."

And ugh, fine. Fine. You sink back into the cushions, arms crossed but face warm, heart doing that soft, fluttery thing it always does with him.

By the time the pizza's ordered, Dick's gone full overachiever mode. You've got a heating pad pressed against your belly, fuzzy socks on your feet, and a cozy hoodie draped over your shoulders—his, obviously, because he knows you love stealing them, especially when you're feeling like crap. And because he can't help himself, he also grabbed your favorite snack, just in case.

When he hands it to you, you stare down at it for a second before mumbling, "You're so nice to me."

He grins, flopping down next to you. "Uh, yeah?" One arm hooks around your waist, tugging you into his side. "You like me, remember?"

And... well, he's got a point.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings, and you practically launch yourself at the pizza box when he brings it over. First bite? Absolute heaven. You let out a happy little mmm, sinking deeper into the couch, and Dick just sits there, watching you with a soft smile like you're the best thing he's ever seen, pulling a slice for himself, watching you finally relax for the first time all night.

You glance at him between bites, swallowing before mumbling, "You're really not mad?"

He frowns, chewing for a second before swallowing. "Why the hell would I be mad?"

"Because I didn't eat your food."

"Baby," he sighs, setting his pizza down so he can turn toward you fully. His fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face toward him. "You don't need to force yourself to eat something just because I made it." His thumb rubs along your jaw, voice warm, low, and sweet. "I like cooking for you because I love you. And if you tell me you don't want something, I'm never gonna be upset about that."

Your eyes drop slightly, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"I just want you happy, sweet girl." Another kiss. "That's the real win in my book."

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, squeezing gently as something warm and annoyingly emotional bubbles up in your chest. Goddamn hormones. But if you're being honest, you think it might be more of a him thing.

For now, though, you let yourself melt into him, sighing when his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest. You don't even think about it, you just shift closer, hands curling into the soft fabric of his shirt, pressing your face into his collarbone like it's instinct.

And yeah, maybe you're being a little clingy. Maybe you've been clinging to him all night, really, grabbing at his shirt, leaning into his side, frowning whenever he shifts even an inch away. But you don't seem to notice, not fully.

He does, though. Dick loves this part. The way your body automatically seeks him out, the way you hold onto him like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to comfort. Your fingers curl into his shirt, face tucked into the crook of his neck, and he swears his heart melts a little.

You get like this every time, without fail—extra soft, extra needy, extra pouty about everything—and it's cute as hell. Like, impossibly cute. He'd never admit it out loud, not unless he's trying to get that adorable little glare you give him, but he lives for it.

And he knows that if he points it out, if he so much as teases you a little, you'll get all flustered. You'll wrinkle your nose at him, try to pull away, mumbling under your breath about how you're not clingy, you're just tired.

Like you're not literally curled up against him like a little koala, legs tangled with his, clinging like he's the only safe place your body knows how to lean into. But he doesn't say a word about it. Not because he doesn't want to—God, he does—but because he loves this too much to risk you pulling away.

So he just holds you closer instead, running his fingers through your hair, tracing slow, lazy circles against your back. His touch is gentle, soothing, like he's content to stay like this forever. And really? He is.

If you want to spend the whole night tucked into him, being all soft and snuggly, he's not complaining. Hell, he's already planning to pull the blanket tighter around you both, maybe press a kiss to your hair and whisper something low and sweet, just to hear that little content sigh you make when you think he's not paying attention.

The rest of the night is spent on the couch, eating pizza, watching dumb movies, and basking in the fact that Dick Grayson is actually the best boyfriend in the universe. He insists on letting you pick the movie—even if you choose the cheesiest from com or the dumbest action flick—and doesn't complain once.

Not even when you steal the last slice of pizza or hog the blanket. He just grins, pulls you closer, and throws out some playful commentary about the movie that makes you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

And maybe, just maybe, you fall asleep curled up against him, your body warm and soft against his side. You make a soft little sigh in your sleep when he adjusts his hold, and God, it's the kind of sound that tugs at something deep in his chest.

His fingers run lazy patterns down your back—absentminded, slow—and he barely even realizes he's doing it. It's just habit at this point, a way to soothe you, to make sure you stay comfortable. His other hand rests gently on your hip, thumb brushing back and forth as the glow of the TV flickers across the room.

He glances down at you, taking in the way your lashes rest against your cheeks, how peaceful you look nestled against him, and he can't help the soft smile that pulls at his lips. Yeah, he thinks, this is perfect.

There's nowhere else he'd rather be, no place that could ever compare to having you right here, safe in his arms, completely at ease. And even when the credits roll and the room goes quiet, he doesn't move. Not when you're breathing so softly, not when you're so perfectly content.

So he just holds you tighter, presses a tender kiss to your temple, and whispers, "Sweet dreams, baby," like you can hear him, even if you're already lost to sleep.

Because this—this part right here—is his favorite. Taking care of you. Making sure you're okay, making sure you never feel weird about needing him.

Because he knows how you get, how you always feel a little embarrassed when your nightmare periods hit. It doesn't matter how long you've been together; every time, without fail, you try to downplay it.

Like you don't want to bother him, like he's not your boyfriend, like he wouldn't literally drop everything if you needed him to. But the thing is, he would. You always brush it off with a small smile, mumbling something about being fine, but he sees right through it. He always does.

If you need pads, he's out the door without hesitation, keys in hand, grabbing not just the essentials but also your favorite snacks and a heating pad refill, just in case. He knows your go to comfort foods by heart, always remembering that extra treat you try to pretend you don't want but secretly do.

His voice is soft, low and tender, wrapping around you like a safety net. He even heats up your favorite comfort item without you asking, holding it against your belly himself if you're too exhausted to move.

And if you cry because sometimes the hormones hit hard and everything feels overwhelming, he doesn't say a word about it. He just holds you closer, wiping away tears with his thumb while reminding you, "You don't have to be tough for me, you know. Let it out, baby."

No matter what it is, he never makes you feel awkward about it. Never rolls his eyes, never tells you to suck it up, never makes you feel like you're asking for too much. Because to him? You never are.

Never too much, never a burden. You could ask him for the smallest thing, like grabbing a glass of water, or the biggest, like holding you through the worst night of your life, and he'd do it without hesitation.

If anything, he thinks it's an honor to be the person you trust enough to lean on. He wants to be that person. Your person. The one you turn to when things get hard, the one who can make things even a little bit easier. Taking care of you isn't some chore to him, it's something he genuinely loves. Something that makes his heart feel full in a way nothing else does.

So yeah, he smiles. Of course he does. Because taking care of you is his favorite thing to do. Always has been, always will be. And if you nuzzle in closer without even realizing, nose tucked against his neck, breathing him in like he's the safest place you've ever known, complete with soft snores and a tiny bit of drool?

Well, that's just a bonus. His arm tightens around you automatically, thumb brushing soothingly along your back as he lets out a soft breath. There's this warmth that blooms in his chest—a quiet, content kind of happiness that sinks deep into his bones.

He tilts his head just enough to press a gentle kiss to your hair, lingering there for a moment. "God," he murmurs, "I love you so much it's fucking ridiculous."

And yeah, he knows you're asleep, knows you can't hear the words, but he says them anyway—soft, tender, like a little promise.

[zimzalabimboo]

You were frustrated, beyond belief

You had been abusing your clit for the past hour, all to no avail. Your cheeks were furious, hair spread across the sheets and strands sticking to your sweat, you looked like a mess, you were a mess.

You couldn't cum. You've been playing with yourself for so long and yet your climax was so far away.

Your fingers reach out of your mouth trailing back down to your wet pussy. It felt good, but it just wasn't enough. Your mind went hazy from how unbelievable bad you wanted to cum, tears stinging your eyes. You circle two of your fingers around your fluttering hole, before pushing it in, followed by slowly dragging out.

Your thoughts trail off, his face comes into mind.

You clench around your own fingers at the image of him, if it were his fingers replacing your own, you whine into your pillow as you sped up your movements, your eyes closing shut as you remember the way he always plays with his cats, the veins on his hands. You've always wondered how they'd look somewhere else.

And his voice, oh his voice. He doesn't even realise the effect he has on you, how shy you get whenever he calls you a good girl, you get off on it. He'd probably call you a good girl in bed too, or maybe he'd call you a slut, that's so hot.

But he's your best friend.

He ties you shoelaces together to trip you after offering to tie them for you, he takes you to go get ice-cream when you're sad, he was only being such a good, pure friend.

And you were being selfish thinking about him like that, you felt so much guilt pool in your stomach after every time you pleasured yourself imagining him in a not so friendly manner, but you couldn't help yourself. You've had heart eyes for him since forever, he was just oblivious. And dear god you hoped he'll continue being clueless, you'd rather the earth be hit by a meteorite then him finding out.

Your favourite thing about him was his voice, and his hands, and his eyes.. his lips, maybe you just liked him.

Your fingers curl in yourself, pushing up against the hot, wet, walls, your mouth gasps open a bit, the tip of your fingers plunge in as deep as the length of your fingers allowed it to, you were so close, but not close enough.

You sped up a bit, hips rolling against your own hands, the sounds from how wet you were reaching your ears, your fingers glisten with your own slick. It was filthy. You can feel your nipples poking against your (or his) shirt.

"mmnhg..m-minho.." you sigh, barely above a whisper

His ears perk up at that, leaning against the doorframe, "oh?", his smooth voice breaking you out of your ecstasy.

What the fuck.

Your heart drops down to your ass, my hands coming to a halt. You shoot your eyes open, glancing up at him, how long had he been standing there?

"eek-! what are you doing here!!?!?" Your nervous trembling voice rambles out cracked, stumbling to cover yourself with a blanket. He just remains silent, smirking. You were about to pass out while this fucker was just grinning at you. You tilt your head at his lack of response, unsure of what to do in this unfortunate situation.

He breathes out a huff of what seemed like amusement, and simply takes a few steps forward towards the bed, where you laid half naked.

"You seemed pretty comfortable just a moment ago, don't let me interrupt" he voices out, and to your absolute horror, he starts getting on the bed, hovering over you. You were never gonna live this down.

"..what?" You were utterly confused, wasn't he mad? disgusted? embarrassed? You surely were, you were almost on the verge of tears from embarrassment actually. We stay in a moment of silence, he raises an eyebrow, staring down at you.

"I said keep going, I won't stop you" his sentence gets quieter towards the end when he dips his head down to your neck, your head was spinning. What was happening. You flinch when he licks a long stripe up your neck, suckling right under the lobe of your ear.

His tongue was flaming against you, his teeth clawing at your skin. Suddenly he stopped, "you don't take instructions very well do you?" he looks at you making direct eye contact, you didn't realise you haven't moved an inch since he climbed on the bed.

"You wanted me so bad you couldn't keep your hands out of your pants while thinking of me, and now you'll stop when you have me right here giving myself to you?" His voice was so sweet, so calming, except his words were in direct contrast to how he sounded and did anything but calm you down.

Your hands hesitantly go back into motion, circling your clit, everything felt way more stimulating when he was looking into your eyes. He glances down at the blanket slipping off.

You can feel your head disconnecting, he was on top of you, sucking you neck. You were embarrassingly close already. He sighs, hot breath against your skin basically making out with your neck, he leaves wet kissing down your collarbones, biting down in your shoulder.

That was the breaking point for you, your toes curl as you reach your high, wetness dripping down your fingers. With a loud moan that you attempt to muffle.

He lifts his head up to take a look at the state you were in, smug look on his face, "I turn you on that much?" he trails off as he reaches for your hand, raising it up to his lips, no he wont... he tilts his head down a bit, engulfing your fingers in his mouth, making direct eye contact, you could feel his tongue swirl around your fingers, he moans at the taste squinting his eyes, with furrowed eyebrows.

You were speechless, still breathless, your heart was about to jump out of your chest. "well it seems that you're enjoying yourself too" you state the obvious, "and you were the one spying on me".

"your door was open, couldn't help but take a peek" he take your fingers out of his mouth, "who touches themselves without locking the door anyways" your face heats up at that, you didn't realize you didn't lock your door.

"we're not done yet" he says looking down at you, his gaze faltering lower..oh

"it's your fault so you have to fix it"

Okay thats it no more I CANT.

[cyanide-siren]

please, don't go there

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You were hunting with Dean and Sam for years, until you died in the hands of a demon. You were also a girl Dean fell in love with. Now, Dean has a chance to travel back in time where he meets you, who has no idea who Dean is.

Warnings: Angst, angst, it's just sad.

☆☆

Watching you die was one of the most traumatic moments of Dean's life – and he had gone through a lot.

He could still feel your warm blood covering his hands as he tried to stop your stomach from bleeding, but the wound was too severe to get fixed without a doctor.

For the next several weeks, every time Dean got his hands wet, all he could imagine was your blood on his skin. Every time he had to look down to make sure it wasn't blood. At least not your blood.

It was his fault you died. Sam tried to insist that there was nothing Dean could have done but Dean would blame himself for the rest of his life for that one moment.

He had gone that day over again and again in his mind.

If you had stayed at the motel, you'd be alive.

If you hadn't walked through that door at that second, you'd be alive.

If you hadn't done this and that, you'd be alive.

So many things could have prevented your fate. You could be here with him, in his arms – but you weren't. Instead, your corpse was buried under dirt. Dean had dug a grave for the love of his life.

The only one he had left anymore was Sam, everyone else were gone.

"I will never let you forget about that," you had laughed. "I'll tell that to everyone in the retirement home we'll be stuck in if our kids won't take care of us when we're old."

Oh what a joy would it have been to able to grow old with you. Have you by his side for the rest of his life, but you were gone before your life together with him had even properly started. See your hair turn grey and hands become wrinkly. Dean would keep saying how pretty you still looked, even though you were growing old. You'd still be the most beautiful girl he knew.

That brings him to this day, when the angels had transported him back in time and he was sitting on a bench at a park. They didn't send him there because of you, no – you only happened to be in the same area since this was the place you had grown up in with your family.

15 years to the past.

Dean's heart stopped for a moment when he saw a girl who he didn't have to look more than once to recognize. He clenched his jaw, feeling his throat becoming tighter and tears prickling into his eyes which he forced back in by blinking rapidly.

You. Although, you did look very different, being just 14 years old. You had insisted that Dean would never see pictures of you from your teenage years, embarrassed of your style back then, but Dean didn't see anything in you to be embarrassed about.

You were beautiful and so full of life with that wide smile and bright eyes. You were walking with two of your friends, talking about something which made you laugh. God, how much Dean missed that laugh.

You were holding a bouquet of roses in your hands, most likely taking them home for your mother, since today happened to be the Mother's Day. Personally, you had always disliked roses. Another thing Dean regretted was that he hadn't bought you flowers often enough. He should have bought you flowers at least once or twice a week, but he hadn't.

Dean could never look at any type of flowers anymore without thinking of the lilies and orchids he had laid on top of your grave.

Dean was so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn't realized someone had approached him.

"Excuse me, sir," you said, startling Dean out of his short trance.

"Huh?"

"Did you drop this?" you asked, somehow holding his wallet in your hand. For a moment, Dean's blood ran cold and heart stopped for a second. Dean touched every pocket on him and, indeed, there was no wallet on him.

"Oh, yeah, thanks," Dean nervously chuckled, partly to the fact that you had called him 'sir', which you had never done before. He took the wallet from you, quickly putting it back into his pocket. How he had managed to lose it in the first place, was a mystery.

"Great, my day's one good job is done then," you said and smiled.

Seeing you this unbothered and satisfied, Dean could just assume that you hadn't looked into his wallet and was extremely relieved for that. He wasn't ready to answer your questions of why he had a picture of you in his wallet, though an older version of you.

You were about to turn and walk away, but before thinking much, Dean stopped you.

"Sorry, um, hold on a second," Dean blurted out of his mouth before you'd manage to walk away from him. He was trying to form the words in his head into proper sentences that would sound somewhat logical to you. Fuck it. Of course it would sound anything else than logical. "This is going to sound weird but... I need you to do me a favor."

"A favor?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. "Now, what kind of a favor can a teenager do to a grown ass man?"

Dean couldn't help but smile, having missed that sass of yours so much.

"In 8 years, when you're going out with your friends on November 21st 2004... Don't go to a bar that night."

"What?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows. Who was this man? A psychic or something? Fortune teller? No, fortune tellers didn't dress in jeans and leather jackets. Did they?

"Please, just. Go anywhere else than into a bar on that day," Dean insisted, looking extremely serious which almost made you worried and anxious, his gaze looking at you so intensely you'd almost think he wasn't joking.

"Why?"

"Because," Dean started, voice unstable and shaky, but the words got stuck in his throat. He had to turn his face away from you, feeling tears rise into his eyes.

"Sir, are you crying?" You took a cautious step closer to him, growing slightly worried of this stranger.

Sir. No 'love', 'honey', 'darling' – nothing. He'd never hear you to call him with any of those nicknames anymore. He had hated most of them at the time, but now he'd do anything to hear them again, even once.

"Promise me," Dean repeated with pleading eyes. "November 21st 2004. Whatever plans you have that day, change them."

"But-"

"Promise me. It's the only thing i ask you to do," Dean insisted, growing desperate.

"Okay, okay. I promise," you said, brows furrowed in confusion.

If you never met Dean Winchester in the first place, he wouldn't be dragging you into the mess of his life and you'd be alive. Even if you would never be a part of his life.

You'd be alive and happy. You would never start hunting demons and risk your life every single time you went for a hunt. You'd get married and have a family if you wished so. Get married to someone else than Dean and have someone else's kids. Dean was supposed to marry you, but he should be used to having good things ripped away from him.

Dean wasn't meant to settle down with anyone, he was supposed to save people so they could live their lives happy and well.

When Dean turned away and left, you watched after him for a while, wondering who the hell that man was and what was so special of your 22nd birthday.

"Y/N? Who was that?" your friend asked.

"I don't know," you mumbled and narrowed your eyes.

"He's kinda hot," she admitted and bit her lip to keep a smile from breaking her face in half.

"Ew, gross. He's old," you grimaced and wrinkled your nose.

He turned around one more time, just to see you still standing there. He gave you one more sad smile until permanently leaving you alone.

What a strange man.

☆☆

[psformybss]

Runway Lights

drew starkey x model!reader

inspired by the 2013 victoria’s secret fashion show

The moment her heels hit the glitter-slicked runway, the noise in the arena explodes.

Fall Out Boy is already deep into My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark, the guitar riff pulsing beneath the stomping beat. Taylor Swift, decked in Union Jack from head to heel, struts across the stage like it was built for her. Just before the curtain parts, the only thing she hears is her own breathing and a quiet voice from crew: “You’re good. Go.”

And then she’s out there.

Walking, technically. But it feels like flying.

The wings—black feathers fanned out and arched high—are heavier than they look, secured to a back harness that took three people to adjust. But on her body, they feel like an extension. Natural. Balanced. The tartan corset hugs her ribs in a way that forces every breath to be deliberate. Shoulders back. Chin up. Smile like it’s second nature.

Second in line for the British Invasion segment. The lights are overwhelming, stage blinding beneath the constant flicker of flashbulbs. She doesn’t scan the crowd. She can’t—not in these heels, not with this timing. But she knows.

He’s out there.

Somewhere in the front row, Drew is watching. The thought grounds her more than anything else. He promised he wouldn’t miss this for the world.

“You really think I’m going to let you walk that stage without me cheering like a maniac?” he teased last week when she first asked if he was going.

So she walks like he’s watching.

Each step is precise, paced just like she practiced. Her body finds the rhythm of the music and holds onto it like a lifeline. She hits the end of the runway, plants her heel, flicks her wings with a sharp spin, and throws a smile over her shoulder that lands somewhere between fierce and glowing.

Drew forgets how to breathe the second she hits the stage.

He knew she’d be gorgeous—of course she would—but this? This is unreal. It’s not just the look, though the corset and wings do kind of make his brain short-circuit. It’s her. The way she carries herself. Like the spotlight belongs to her. Like this glitter-covered, music-thumping arena was built just to hold her shine.

He claps louder than anyone in his section. Doesn’t care who sees. Let them look. Let them wonder. He’s never been more proud of anyone in his life.

She doesn’t look for him once. And that’s what really gets him. She’s focused, locked in, totally in it. But he catches it anyway—the subtle shift in her smile when the crowd gets louder. That extra touch of confidence in her posture. The fire in her eyes.

That’s her. His girl. And she’s killing it.

Backstage is chaos in motion.

As soon as she clears the curtain, hands are already reaching to unhook the wings. Someone else crouches at her feet to swap her heels while she slips into a pink silk robe. “Victoria’s Secret Angel” shimmers across the back in gold embroidery. A water bottle appears in her hand. Somewhere in the distance, someone yells about a zipper emergency.

“Holy hell, that was insane,” Candice says, looping an arm around her shoulders as they walk. “That turn? The way your wings caught the light? I think someone in the pit passed out.”

“Yeah, well, I nearly faceplanted.” She leans into the hug, breathless but smiling. “I forgot how slippery the runway gets with all that glitter.”

“You floated,” Karlie says as she breezes by. “Seriously. We all said it.”

A stylist grabs her elbow. “Gloss touch-up, one minute. Then we’ve got your next look waiting.”

She barely gets a sip of water before she’s in the chair, someone already patting translucent powder beneath her eyes and wiping specks of glitter from her collarbone.

“How’s the corset?” someone asks. “Ribcage okay?”

“I’ll live.”

The stylist grins. “Good. You’ve got seafoam next. Soft glam. Think sad mermaid vibes.”

Her lips twitch. “Heartbreak and ocean breeze. Got it.”

Segment 3 changes everything.

Shipwrecked is softer, slower. No bold colors or Union Jacks—just cool tones and delicate fabrics. Her boots are laced high and tight, outfit glinting in pale iridescence. Wings replaced with sheer panels that flutter when she moves, like mist clinging to the air.

The music shifts. Say Something starts—low, haunting, the piano notes echoing like breath in the dark.

Her walk is slower. Not seductive—something more vulnerable. She lets herself feel it. The ache, the softness, the story between each beat. The way the music tugs at something quiet inside her.

She doesn’t look for Drew.

But when she reaches the end and pauses just long enough to turn her face toward the crowd, her expression says everything. A flash of sorrow. Strength. Beauty threaded with vulnerability.

Drew swallows hard, chest tight.

This segment feels different. No flashy grin, no wink to the cameras. Just her—bare, open, real.

She walks like the music is guiding her from inside. Every step feels intentional, like she’s carrying a story the rest of the world doesn’t fully understand. But he does.

It knocks the breath out of him. He barely hears the crowd.

He claps again when she vanishes behind the curtain. Slower this time. His hands sting, but he doesn’t stop.

Magic, he thinks. She’s always been magic. But now the whole damn world sees it too.

Backstage, her hands shake as she reaches for her next water bottle.

“That one got me,” she admits to Candice, who’s reapplying mascara next to her. “I didn’t think it would, but halfway down the runway, it just hit me.”

“It showed. In the best way,” Candice says, touching her arm gently. “It felt… real.”

Someone comes by with a makeup brush, swipes it gently across her cheeks. Another voice shouts “Snow Angels in ten!”

“Last look,” someone calls.

Her stylist helps her into the final outfit—a glittering white number with delicate details that sparkle like fresh snow. Crystal-coated wings. White boots. Hair fluffed into soft, wintery waves.

“How do you feel?” the dresser asks.

She exhales. “Like I’m about to black out.”

The girl laughs. “You’ll float through it.”

The last segment, Snow Angels.

The energy backstage is electric again—finale buzz, adrenaline kicking hard. When she steps onto the stage one last time, everything else fades.

Her outfit glows under the lights, crystalline and ethereal. The wings shimmer with every movement, glinting like frost. Taylor’s singing I Knew You Were Trouble now, the beat lifting with playful energy. The crowd’s alive again.

But she’s calm.

Confident. Lighter now, like the hardest part is behind her. This walk isn’t nerves—it’s celebration.

At the end of the runway, something tugs at her. She lets herself look.

And there he is.

Front row. Standing this time, clapping like his life depends on it. That familiar grin splitting across his face, so full of awe she nearly forgets how to breathe.

Their eyes meet. Just for a second.

Everything else disappears.

She spins and walks back, smile blooming naturally now, no stagecraft needed.

Backstage is chaos and glitter and elation.

Everyone’s laughing, hugging, cameras flashing nonstop. Her wings come off first—carefully unclipped by a crew member as she lets herself exhale. The robe slips back on, silk cool against her skin. Her feet are bare, sore, but she doesn’t care.

Then she hears it.

Her name.

She turns. And there he is.

Drew. Winding through the chaos, bouquet in hand, shirt sleeves rolled and tie half-loosened, eyes locked on her like he hasn’t seen her in years.

Her heart stutters. She walks toward him without thinking, dodging feathers and crew members and discarded stilettos.

They meet halfway. No words at first. Just arms around her waist, flowers pressed between them, his chin resting against her hair.

“You were…” he breathes out, barely finding the words. “You were everything.”

She pulls back slightly, enough to look up at him. “I’m sweaty.”

“I genuinely couldn’t care less.”

His hands slide to her sides, fingers splayed. “You lit that whole stage up. Do you even know what you did out there?”

She blinks at him, still dazed. “Didn’t fall?”

“You were magic,” he says, fierce and soft at once. “The second walk… God, babe. You made people feel something. I did.”

Her throat tightens. “I saw you. At the end.”

“I had to stand,” he says, brushing a piece of hair off her cheek. “No way I could stay sitting while you walked out looking like that.”

She smiles—really smiles—and leans into him.

Then he kisses her. Slow and certain, like they’re the only two people in the room. She melts into it, hands curled in the fabric of his shirt, the noise around them fading into a soft, sparkling blur.

When they part, she stays close.

“Do I still get pancakes?” she whispers.

He laughs quietly. “Hell yes, you do.”

She threads her fingers through his and tugs him toward the back hall.

a/n: this one has been in my drafts for a while. also i tried my best to describe the looks but for reference it's the looks behati wore in the 2013 fashion show.

[missjomarch]

The Distance Between - N. Hischier

Summary: Tomorrow is the most important day of your adult life, but Nico Hischier is 4000 miles away in Denmark. And you've never needed him more than you do right now.

Warnings: a little bit of sadness and tears? Kissing. That's it folks.

Word count: 3,000

A/N: Well hi :) I do still exist and apparently know how to write things? @ladylooch has been hounding me since like...March to write something. When I finally finished school last week she sent in a request to get my thoughts going.

B, I don't think I ever would've returned to writing with your support, encouragement, and a bit of delusion. Not only do you support me in writing, but in life as well. You are constantly listening to my melt downs and complaints about adult life and you give wise advice with grace every time. The best big sis. This is for you. 💜

The apartment greets me with its usual silence, but today it feels like it's holding its breath. Like it's waiting for the dam to finally break. It is almost suffocating, and I can’t stop the sigh that escapes as I abandon my work bag and slump into the nearest chair. The flashcards on the coffee table mock me, looking sturdier than I currently feel. My eyes close involuntarily. 

Tomorrow, I think, tomorrow it will all be over.

After four years of grueling work, tomorrow is the day I defend my dissertation for my PhD. The day before your defense is supposed to be peaceful. The hard part is over, and the reward is on the horizon. But this doesn’t feel like peace. My nerves choke me, sitting thick at the base of my throat, and a heavy feeling of dread weighs on my chest.

I drag my eyes open before I can continue down the path of anxiety and despair that I have spent so many hours on these past few weeks. My work bag taunts me from the corner, holding both my laptop and my phone. 

Both demand my attention.

Neither will get it. 

My advisor basically forbade me from doing any sort of PhD related work today, and insisted I rest and reflect. Solid advice, if I’m being honest. Even if I wasn’t exhausted, I wouldn’t have been able to focus today anyway. My mind is elsewhere. Particularly 4,000 miles away in Denmark. 

In the 8 months I’ve been dating Nico Hischier, this has always been the plan. I would defend in May and he would either be with New Jersey in the playoffs, or with Team Switzerland at Worlds. It hadn’t bothered me at first, but as the date approached a harsh realization struck. I would be doing this alone. My parents were already taking off work for graduation in 2 weeks, so they couldn’t make this trip. My roommate had gone home for the week. And Nico was at Worlds. 

It’s not that I was angry. This was the plan, the expectation. Nico and I haven’t even been together for a year, so I would never expect him to change his annual plans for me. But still, a small kernel of hurt was steadily growing inside of me. One that couldn’t be ignored, and carried a quiet, devastating truth. 

I needed Nico. His strong and steady presence. His gooey eyes and proud smile. Even his corny captain pep-talks would be appreciated right now. 

Nico and I met at a bar last October, after I’d wandered a bit too far from the Rutgers campus. My friends had insisted that we head deeper into the city to avoid the Halloween parties filled with undergrads, and we finally ended up in a dim cocktail bar in Newark. 

Naturally, I ran into him and spilled his drink on my way to the bathroom. After I’d offered him one of my thirteen test tube jello-shots as a replacement and spent fifteen minutes explaining that I was supposed to be a sexy scientist and not a nurse, he asked for my number. 

I’d like to say it was smooth sailing from there, but making time for each other between a grad school schedule and a hockey career proved to be a challenge. It never seemed to weigh on Nico, though. He’d pick me up from classes, let me practice presentations in the car, or take pregame naps at my apartment just to get a few more hours together before a long roadie. 

In the chaos of the past eight months, Nico has been a steady presence. The unmovable rock in the storm of job applications, exams, and defense prep. That’s what makes this so difficult. He should be here helping me through this.

The ringing of my phone breaks me from my thoughts. I consider letting it go to voicemail, but the hope that it's Nico has me dragging myself from my chair to where my bag sits on the floor. When I see his name flashing across the screen, a small smile tugs at my lips and I quickly swipe to answer the call. 

“Hey schatz,” his warm voice lifts a small weight from my shoulders and I can’t keep the smile from my voice as I reply. 

“Hey Neeks,” I spare a quick glance at the clock, “It’s midnight there, why’re you up?” 

“I wanted to check on you before I went to bed. The boys and I just got back to the hotel. You hanging in there?”  

“That sounds fun. Did you guys have dinner with the team?” 

Nico sighs as I dodge the question, but plays along nonetheless. “Yeah. Had dinner at a place down the street with Timo and Jonas. Emma and Nola came too,” he pauses, voice softening. “Made me wish you were here, sweets.” 

His words are soft, but they sharpen the ache forming deep in my chest. I knew the distance was hurting him too, but the clear longing in his voice made it difficult to keep pretending I was fine. 

“I wish I was too. Maybe I can go with you next year since I’ll be out of school. You’ll wish you were able to get rid of me.” 

The rumble of his laugh warms me through the phone, “I would never want to get rid of you. I want you with me all the time. And just think, next year I can parade you around as Dr. Hischer.” 

The possessive tone in his voice is obvious, as is the smirk playing on his lips. I can’t help the snort that escapes me. 

“Hischier, huh? You gonna make me your wife?” 

“Been thinking about it. I want everyone to know you’re mine.” 

“I think you make that pretty clear, even without a ring,” I tease. 

“Still. It wouldn’t hurt. I’d get you a big one too. Something shiny, so men could see it from across the room. Then they’d know your mine before they could even think about walking over.” 

“Mhmm. I’m sure you would,” I grin, “Nice try, Hisch, but your name isn’t going on my degree. I’ve spent too much time and money on it for a man to get credit.” 

Nico pretends to think about it, “Fair enough. I’ll still be the one cheering the loudest when you walk across that stage, though.” 

The playfulness in his tone is replaced by a warmth that squeezes my heart. I have to swallow the lump in my throat before I can speak again. 

“You’ll have to fight my dad for that title,” I manage, but the words are hoarse. I clear my throat in a desperate attempt to stop the emotion clawing its way up. “Fuck, I miss you, Neeks.” 

The admission is no more than a squeak, and then I’m sniffling. I’d been fighting the tears for days, unwilling to let him know just how terrified I was, and how hard the distance had become. But I could never hide from Nico. He saw right through me, recognizing that his absence was unraveling me, no matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise. 

There’s a rustle of fabric as he shifts in the hotel bed, and then comes his voice. Low, and gentle in a way that breaks me all over again. 

“I know, Schatz. I’m so sorry,” his voice breaks, “I would do anything to be with you right now.”

I nodded even though he can’t see me, a silent tear slipping down my cheek.

When I don’t respond, he continues. “I’m so damn proud of you, you know that? You are the most hard-working and determined person I have ever met. You’ve earned every bit of this recognition.” 

His words send goose-bumps skittering across my skin. The obvious pride in his voice soothes the shadow of doubt I’ve been carrying. It's his unshakeable faith that has me finally voicing the fears I’ve been dwelling on the past few weeks. 

“What if I don’t pass?” 

“Then you don’t pass. And we will deal with it together,” he says, like that isn’t the most terrifying outcome. “But that isn’t going to happen, sweets. You have given everything you have to this program for four years, and you know your thesis inside and out. I think you could defend in your sleep at this point.” 

The thought has a small giggle forcing its way out of me, “I don’t think that would go well.” 

“Maybe not,” Nico agrees, “that’s why you’re going to be up bright and early tomorrow. Coffee in hand, cute outfit on. Ready to girl boss your way to a PhD.” 

“Girl boss? You need to get off TikTok.”

“Nooo!” He protests, “I want to be able to speak your brain rot language.” 

“I do NOT have brain rot. I am on social media a perfectly normal amount.” 

Nico hums like he doesn’t believe me. I roll my eyes, choosing to move on instead of bringing up his Facebook addiction. 

“Speaking of bright and early, can you call me in the morning to make sure I’m up by seven?” 

“Of course, Schatz. We’ll be done with practice at eleven here, so I’ll give you a wake up call at 6:45? I can DoorDash you coffee, too.” 

“That’d be perfect,” I sigh. “Thank you.” 

Nico tells me a bit more about their time in Denmark so far, though it's pretty limited since he’s only been there for 24 hours. I fill him in on my post-defense plans, and soon we’re saying goodnight and ending the call. 

I don’t have the energy to do much else after that. I eat leftovers from the fridge while watching our show. Usually, he’d complain about me getting ahead, but he admitted on the phone that he’d watched an episode on the plane. So really, I was just catching up. 

After dinner, I shower, letting the warm water wash away the borrowed stress of tomorrow. I skip the hairdryer, knowing I’ll just curl it in the morning, and collapse into bed. The sheets cocoon around me, smelling faintly of Nico. 

I’m suddenly glad I didn’t do laundry last weekend, even though it's been on the to-do list for two weeks. My heart lurches, still aching for him despite the hour long phone call we just shared. My anxieties about tomorrow fight to keep me awake, but eventually exhaustion wins out and I drift to sleep. 

…

Nico is annoyingly on time with his phone call. The harsh ring of my phone drags me from sleep at exactly 6:45. My arm shoots out and I blindly fumble for my phone on my night stand. Finally, I grasp it and begrudgingly click the answer button. 

“What?” I slur, sleep still clouding my words. 

“Someone is in a lovely mood,” he drawls, a grin evident in his voice. 

“Shut up,” I whine into the phone, “I’m sleepy.” 

“I know, sweetheart. But todays the big day. Gotta get up.” 

“Mmmmm…no.”

“Take a sip of your coffee and see if that motivates you at all. I ordered your favorite.” 

I frown, still half asleep. “What coffee?” 

“The one on your night stand.” 

I pop one eye open, and sure enough, an iced latte sits on the bedside table. 

“How did you get it in my room?” I ask, suspicious. “I thought you were DoorDashing it.” 

“I gave him the code to your apartment,” a voice answers. Not from my phone. It’s too loud. Too close. 

My eyes pop open in disbelief, and Nico Hischer stands in my doorway. His phone is still pressed to his ear and a shit-eating grin is spreading across his face. 

My jaw drops and a strangled sound between sob and a laugh leaves me as I shoot up from the bed. My phone is left behind in the sheets and his clatters to the floor as I launch into his arms. He catches me, laughing as I wrap myself around him completely. I shake as I cling to him, the adrenaline overwhelming. His arms tighten around my waist as my hands thread through his hair. And we hold each other. Like this might all fall apart if we let go. 

We stay like that for minutes that feel like hours before I’m pulling back to look at him. 

Tears stain both our faces as my eyes meet his, “What’re you doing here-” 

He’s kissing me before I can finish. It is all consuming. Everything I needed wrapped into one touch, one action. One arm releases my waist to thread through my messy hair, pulling me impossibly closer to him, while my hands plant themselves firmly on his cheeks. By the time we pull away, we are both breathing heavily and our lips are plump and red. 

I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes. “You’re here,” I whisper. 

“Of course I’m here,” he kisses the tip of my nose. “I wanted to be here for you, sweetheart.” 

I shake my head lightly, still trying to make sense of him being here. I pull back to look at him. “But Worlds?” 

“Can wait,” he says simply, matter of factly. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

I take in a shuddering breath and rest my cheek against his shoulder. “Even the Stanley Cup finals?” 

A small grin plays at his lips, “Maybe not that. Fitzy would probably kill me. But thankfully, that’s not the case.” 

“Knew you loved hockey more than me,” I teased, nipping at his neck playfully. He chuckles softly and presses a kiss to my cheek. 

His tone is suddenly serious when he responds. “No, schatz. This matters more to me. You matter more to me. More than hockey. More than anything.” 

I pull my head from his shoulder to look at him. Tears well in my eyes once again when I see the gooey, love-struck look in his. “I love you, Nico Hischier.” 

He kisses me deeply before pulling back to mumble against my lips, “I love you, too.” 

Then he’s giving a soft smack to my ass before releasing me from his hold. “Now, let’s get you caffeinated Dr. Almost-Hischier.” 

I give him an incredulous look, “I am neither a doctor nor a Hischier.” 

“Yet,” he smirks. “But you will be one of them by the end of the day.” 

I roll my eyes, “And if I don’t pass?” 

“Then I’m proposing at dinner,” he shrugs, seemingly certain about this decision. 

My cheeks heat at the potential idea of seeing Nico down on one knee, and I have to physically shake my head to clear the image from my mind. I choose not to respond to avoid saying something embarrassingly desperate in my flustered state, and down a third of my coffee instead. 

“Ugh, I love honey lavender lattes,” I groan as I savor the taste.

“I know,” Nico says, taking the coffee and gently pushing me towards my vanity. “Now go get ready.” 

...

The rest of the morning flies by in a blur. Nico makes me breakfast while I curl my hair and finish my coffee. He lets me review my major points as I apply my make-up, helps put on my heels, and ensures my water bottle is full before we leave the apartment. He asks me potential questions on my material as he drives me to campus, and hands me my flashcards with a kiss as he drops me off with a promise to pick me up when I’m finished. 

The defense goes off without a hitch, and by twelve they’re inviting me back in the room to share their decision. The table of advisors looks much less intimidating when I reenter the conference room, despite the fact that they currently withhold the most important decision of my life to date. 

“Congratulations, Doctor!” The chairwoman beams, reaching to shake my hand. For the first time in four years, I take a full breath. 

“We have passed you with no revisions to your thesis. This is incredible work.” 

After much congratulations and thanks, I gather my things and all but sprint to the parking lot. The tears are already falling before I even exit the building, but they only fall faster when I see Nico leaning against his car in the parking lot. 

The clack of my heels against the concrete has his head jerking up from his phone. A brief, concerned look crosses his face at the tears leaking from my eyes, but it disappears as a wide grin appears alongside them. 

“I passed!” I screech, and fling myself into his arms for the second time in 24 hours. 

He pulls me in tight, face buried in my hair, and inhales deeply. “I knew you could do it. Never a doubt in my mind,” he breathes. “Fuck, I’m so proud of you.” 

It’s then I realize that even if I had failed miserably, I would’ve been fine. I already have everything I need with Nico. We could be living in a cardboard box on the street, and I’d still be madly in love with him. 

I pulled back then, grasping his face to force him to look at me. 

“Thank you. For everything,” the tears threaten to choke me. “For being here. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

His gooey brown eyes meet mine, equally as watery. “Always, schatz. I’d drop anything for you. Hockey or not. If you need me, I’m there. You are everything to me now.” 

I melt into his chest, overwhelmed by his admission and the events of the past few hours. We stay there for a moment, Nico swaying us as his hand rubs circles along my back.

“I’m gonna marry you someday, Hisch.” I mumble into his chest. 

He is unphased, still swaying gently as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. His response is certain. 

“Not if I marry you first, Dr. Hischier.”

[loucifersbitch]

from the ashes

bobbytommy | rated M | 1k words | (also on ao3)

the first time tommy and bobby got off together, they hadn't met yet. they were just two guys at a bar - one so deep in the closet he could barely look at the men in the room, and the other so guilt-ridden and deep in his grief that he broke his sobriety a week before his first day of work

they didn't even exchange words. a look passed between them, and one head nod later, they were in the back alley behind the bar, jerking each other off desperately

even when they were finished, they still didn't say anything. they wiped their hands on their jeans and went their separate ways, neither planning to think of the other ever again, save the errant late-night, lonely shower

but a few days later when they were once again seated next to each other, sharing drinks and no words, it happened again. that time, they ended up at bobby's apartment, crashing through the door, shoving each other into walls, nearly knocking over a table before collapsing into the bed

tommy didn't stay the night, but he did begin to wonder about the mysterious man sound asleep in the bed who never talked and whose apartment was devoid of any decor or homey accents

they saw each other one final time that week. if tommy went to the bar every night hoping to run into the sad man whose mouth made tommy feel things he'd never experienced before, that was his business

when they fell into bed that night, tommy let the man kiss him until his lips were swollen and sore. he prepped tommy carefully and methodically, so gentle that tommy couldn't decide if he wanted to cry or run away. it had taken tommy some time to get used to bottoming. he still wasn't completely comfortable with it, but it felt really fucking good to cum on a cock, so he pushed the thoughts aside and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of his mystery man moving inside him

"will you stay?" the man asked him when they were done

that was dangerous. tommy never stayed. it was one of his rules for hookups like this. but he was tired, and he was starting to trust this man the more they saw each other, so he said, "okay"

waking up the next morning was disconcerting until he recognized the bare walls and squeaky mattress. the other side of the bed was empty, but he could hear the shower in the small en suite

he knocked, unsure if he'd be welcome, but the man invited him in immediately. the shower pressure was damn near perfect, and the man's hands went into his hair, massaging in shampoo and helping him rinse before doing the same with the conditioner. tommy returned the gesture, being as gentle as he could, and hoping the man was starting to feel even a little of what tommy was

"i have to go to work, but you're welcome to stay as long as you like," the man said, shutting off the water and grabbing two towels that had seem better days

"thanks," tommy said, drying off. "i gotta get to work, too." he should just leave it at that. he shouldn't push, but - "can i get your number? and maybe your name while we're at it?"

the man smiled at the question, the first real smile tommy thought he'd ever seen from him outside of sex

"bobby. i'm bobby," he said, walking out of the bathroom toward the kitchen. he grabbed a sticky note and pen, scribbling quickly before handing the paper to tommy. "that's my number. i'm starting a new job, and i work long hours, but if you leave a message, i'll call back"

"cool," tommy nodded, accepting the note with bobby's number scrawled hastily across. "i'm tommy, by the way"

"nice to officially meet you, tommy," bobby smirked, quickly closing the distance between them and pushing tommy back against the wall, kissing him deeply

they stood there for a moment after they pulled away, both breathing heavily. tommy really didn't have time for anything more than a few kisses at the moment. he really did need to get moving if he was going to make his shift on time

then bobby blinked and shook his head, looking away

"i really do need to go"

he kissed tommy one last time, hand traveling from his neck, down his chest to his abs, causing tommy to shiver

they both got dressed after that, hastily throwing on clothes and watches and shoes, grabbing wallets and cellphones before heading out into the hallway

why was leaving suddenly so difficult? tommy didn't get attached like this. better go while he can

"i'll uh - i'll see you later, bobby"

he turned to leave, but bobby grabbed his hand, spinning him back around and surprising him with his strength when he was pulled back into a kiss

"see you, tommy. don't forget to call"

"wouldn't dream of it," he smirked

he finally walked away, only looking back once - okay, twice - before he turned the corner and walked down the stairs and outside

sitting in his truck on the way to the station, he couldn't get bobby's smile out of his mind. it was distracting

he shook his head, trying to clear the image away. he couldn't be distracted while on the job. it could mean devastation for himself or his team, and he was not going to let that happen

he pulled into the parking lot, heading to the locker room to change into his uniform, nodding to the guys and hen as he passed them

"you're in a good mood," howie said. "good night?"

"yeah," tommy agreed genuinely. "it was actually really nice"

"mm," he hummed. then lowering his voice, he asked, "new guy?"

howie was one of the few people who knew, and tommy trusted him implicitly

he looked around to make absolutely sure no one could hear him, then said, "i think so? this one seems...i don't know. he's different"

"that's good, tommy. i'm happy for you," howie slapped him on the shoulder. "and i really hope it works out"

tommy laughed, "yeah, me too"

he finished getting dressed, feeling like things might finally be falling into place

[lvrsturniolo]

I miss you -c.s

WARNINGS: emotional manipulation. toxic relationship. unresolved angst. mourning a friendship.

—————————————————————

You never imagined a day would come when Chris Sturniolo didn’t know what was going on in your life.

You used to talk every day. Inside jokes, blurry FaceTime screenshots, giggles in the back of quiet classrooms eighth grade year. He’d send photos of his cat at midnight just to say thinking of you, because he knew how much you loved her, and you’d answer with a selfie in his hoodie captioned “MY BABYYY:((”

But that was before Darby.

Now Chris is just a ghost in your camera roll. A quiet ache every time your phone lights up and it’s not him.

Because it hasn’t been him in months.

Because you blocked him.

Because Darby made you.

“You know he likes you, right?” Darby said once, arms crossed as you sat beside him in the cafeteria.

You had laughed. “Chris? He’s been my best friend since forever.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You paused. “Even if he did… so what? It’s not like that.”

Darby leaned in. “Yeah, well, I don’t want my girl entertaining guys who want her. Especially not ones who talk to her at 2 in the morning like they’ve got a shot.”

That should’ve been the red flag.

But it wasn’t.

You liked the attention. You liked feeling chosen. And you didn’t want to fight.

So, later that night, you blocked Chris on everything.

Didn’t explain.

Didn’t say goodbye.

Just disappeared.

Now you sit alone on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the blocked list.

Chris’s name stares back at you like a wound you never let heal.

You’ve typed his name into Instagram more times than you can count. You’ve visited his TikTok from a fake account just to see if he’s smiling. You’ve replayed a voicemail from him last year on your birthday, the one where he told you he hoped your cake was as sweet as you always were.

But you never reached out.

Because Darby checks your phone. Because he still makes comments. Because somewhere along the way, you started measuring your decisions by how mad he might get.

And now?

Now you’re scared you ruined the only friendship that ever felt real.

Chris doesn’t try to contact you anymore.

Not through mutual friends. Not in the halls. Not even a glance across the parking lot.

Like you never existed.

And maybe, you deserve that.

The last time you saw him, really saw him, it was in the courtyard outside gym. You were walking with Darby, his hand gripping yours like a trophy. Chris stood by the vending machines, headphones around his neck, hoodie zipped halfway, just watching.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t try to wave.

He just looked away.

Like it hurt too much.

The guilt chews at you in pieces. During math. In the back row of chemistry. While Darby texts you things like u better not be talking to anyone else and you’d be nothing without me anyway.

And maybe that’s what scares you.

Because part of you believes it now.

And the only person who ever made you feel like more than enough?

You pushed him away.

—————————————————————

A/N; sorry this is sad guys, just been missing an old friend. (this story was NOT about Chris Sturniolo)