#i hate breaking promises BUT WHERE’S THE FUEL

[sibbydoo]

can someone please pay me to finish that one merthur piece I wanted to do where Merlin’s a dragonlord, knife and bow master, and protecting his king and Arthur’s looking all cool with a crown and sword

[niilue]

—when you hear vi call caitlyn cupcake, hurt and jealousy remind you that, no matter how much it hurts, you will never be more than a shadow in her life.—

cw: female reader, angst, jealousy, emotional pain, drama, this is short tho…. maybe need a sec. part

part ii

you remain motionless, feeling the heat of anger begin to crawl up your neck, setting every nerve in your body on fire. your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms, and the taste of rage mixes with something uglier, something harder to swallow: jealousy.

you don’t want to feel this way. you shouldn’t feel this way, because you have no right. you and vi are nothing, there are no promises or bonds that allow you to claim any part of her. but the fact that vi still calls her “cupcake” after everything that happened, after how caitlyn left her hurt and alone, makes you sick. because you were the one who was there. you were the one who found vi after that fight, doubled over in pain, trying to hide her vulnerability behind a broken smile.

you remember those nights underground, when vi got drunk to bury the disappointment and threw herself into stupid fights, looking for blows that might distract her from the real pain. it was you who followed her, who made sure she didn’t end up with her head cracked open in a dark alley, who endured her shouts and outbursts when you tried to help her. you took care of her, even when she didn’t want you to, even when you knew she would never thank you for it.

but here you are now, standing like an idiot, watching vi call caitlyn by that nickname, as if none of it mattered, as if everything you did for her was insignificant. you feel something break inside you, something you had been trying so hard to hold together. the fury and sadness swirl in your chest, and for a second, you can’t breathe.

“really?” you spit out the words, your voice full of venom before you can stop yourself. vi turns to you, her blue eyes narrowing in confusion. there’s something in her expression that makes your blood boil even more, as if she can’t understand why you’re so upset. as if the fact that this hurts you is a mystery.

“what?” vi frowns, crossing her arms over her chest as if preparing for a confrontation. you can see how the muscles of her abdomen still tense slightly, a reminder of where caitlyn hit her with the shotgun, and that only fuels your anger.

you step forward, and your words come out fast and full of rage. “cupcake? seriously? after everything that happened?” your voice trembles, and you hate how vulnerable you sound, but you can’t stop. “after she left you lying in the dirt, kicking up dust, because she decided you weren’t worth it? after i was the one who had to pick up your pieces, who tried to keep you from beating yourself to death out of your own damn self-destructiveness?”

vi blinks, clearly taken aback by the intensity of your words. her lips part, and you can see how she hardens, how her eyes become sharp, as if trying to find something to say, some kind of defense. but you don’t give her the chance.

“i was the one who was there,” you continue, and your voice cracks, but you push on. “i was the one who made sure you didn’t bleed out in some alley, who tried to make you feel like you weren’t alone. but of course, that doesn’t matter, right?!” your throat tightens, and you feel tears burning behind your eyes, but you force them to stay where they are. you won’t cry. not here, not now.

vi clenches her jaw, and her eyes flash with something you can’t decipher. “why do you care so much?” she asks, and though her tone is defensive, there’s something else there, something that seems uncertain. as if she can’t understand why all of this affects you so deeply. “why are you acting like… like this is personal?”

the silence that follows is almost deafening. your heart beats so hard that it feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest, and for a second, you can’t find the words. because you don’t have an answer you can give her without revealing everything you’ve been trying to deny.

“because…” you try, and your voice breaks again. you can’t tell her that you’ve started to feel something for her, something that scares you and hurts you and fills you with hope all at once. you can’t tell her that just seeing her smile at caitlyn, hearing her use that damned nickname, makes you feel like nothing more than a shadow in her life, someone who will always come second.

“because we’re nothing,” you finally say, and each word is a dagger in your chest. “and we might never be anything, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” your voice is a whisper full of bitterness, and your shoulders slump slightly, as if the weight of your own emotions is too much to bear.

vi watches you, and you can see how her expression changes. there’s something in her eyes, a mix of guilt and something you can’t quite identify, but you don’t say anything else. you take a step back, shaking your head, trying to push away the storm of feelings that threatens to break you.

“forget it,” you murmur, and you turn around before vi can see how hurt you are. “it doesn’t matter.”

but as you walk away, letting the distance grow between you, you know that it does matter. it matters more than you want to admit, and even though you hate feeling this way, you know that this pain, this jealousy, won’t go away so easily.

[reidmania]

I MISS YOU IM SORRY | spencer reid

good riddance x spencer reid one shot series masterlist!!

summary; Spencer calls after being broken up for a month.

warnings ; fem reader, hopeful/happy ending, angst, exes to lovers, mentions of arguments, breakups, miscommunication, avoidant reader, loving spencer, break up bc reader pushed him away bc of self doubt, pretty tame. i love this i think

an ; RAHH fic twoooooo ehehehe. risk is coming soon i just had to pump out the angst really quick ok bare w me!!

You said, "Forever, " in the end I fought it Please be honest, are we better for it? Thought you'd hate me, but instead you called And said, "I miss you", I caught it. You said, "Forever, " and I almost bought it I miss fightin' in your old apartment. Breakin' dishes when you're disappointed. I still love you, I promise. Nothin' happened in the way I wanted. Every corner of this house is haunted And I know you said that we're not talkin' But I miss you, I'm sorry

The call came as a shock. When you were holding onto the doors of your pantry, leaning back slightly as your eyes skimmed over the contents of it — Which was not a lot. You we’re thinking about that fact you needed to go grocery shopping.

How long could you avoid that?

It started right after you and Spencer broke up, where you refused to go because of the chance that you might see Spencer there. It was right between yours and his apartment so the chances weren’t completely low — and normally you and Spencer did the grocery shopping together.

It would normally consist of you dancing around the store picking up random things and Spencer watching you fondly as he pushed the cart. He would mutter something about what was healthiest and you would hum approvingly then grab the opposite of whatever he suggest because it ‘tasted better’ He would chuckle and press his lips to the top of your head.

You wanted to relive that so bad that the idea of being inside the shops without him seemed so wrong. It felt like doing something behind his back. Like watching an episode of the show you two were watching together without him. It just felt wrong.

So you decided you would go to a different shop, an hour drive away. Just to be safe, but who just had time for that?

Which was how your pantry had gotten near empty.

You still had the big bag of his coffee beans that he left here. The ones you weren’t a fan of buy it didn’t matter because Spencer would compromise and just buy both, or just yours. You had use all of yours and started using the ones he left here.

They left a bitter taste on your tongue and a sweet sensation down the back of your throat, they were strong and kept you awake for hours longer than your normal ones did — but weirdly enough; they felt like home.

The bag was brand-less, and you should’ve memorised what it was you were sure you knew. You just couldn’t remember.

How were you suppose to ask? Call him? Message him? Pop by his house and ask. You were sure if he got any soft of contact from you— about anything, you would be blocked in milliseconds. The feeling that thought provided made your stomach tighten more than you’d like to admit.

You almost stumbled over your own feet when you closed the pantry as your phone started to ring, you saw it light up with a contact but your mind paid little attention as you answered, not even actually looking at your phone, your attention elsewhere.

“Hello?” You muttered as you walked towards the coffee machine you and Spencer had decided to get as an anniversary present. To fuel both your coffee addictions. You shoulder held your phone against your ear as you grabbed the bag of coffee beans — Spencers coffee beans.

You heard a harsh breath on the other side of the phone, “Hey.” The voice. His voice. Tired and groggy as if he had just woken up but you knew him well enough to know he didn’t. You pulled your phone away from your ear as your mind clouded foggy. Your eyes danced over his contact for a moment. He was calling you — He called you. it sent familiar butterflies to your ribcage.

“Spencer?” You exhaled, despite already knowing it was him. You wondered if maybe this was some prank, if he was just calling because he needed something or maybe to call you and degrade you over every mistake you made in the ending of your relationship — you deserved that.

He had every right to hate you for how things ended, he had every right to hate you, period. You had assumed that was how he felt towards you. Hatred. You knew he loved you throughout your relationship, that wasn’t something you had to question but the idea of that still being the case after everything unfolded the way it did.. It didn’t even seem fathomable.

“Hi” He repeated. His voice was low and quiet, you didn’t know what that meant and it was driving you insane. Your feet pattered around the house suddenly feeling cold in the kitchen. Nothing but memories fogging your mind every corner you looked — that didn’t go away as you moved around the house. It was filled by him and it was consuming you whole. 

You let out a heavy breath. “Do you need something?” It didn’t come out how you wanted it to. It wasn’t harsh or anything but your voice weakened half way through your words making embarrassment creep up the back of your neck.

The other side of the phone was silent for a minute, making anxiety pool in your stomach. Your head tilted as you sat on the corner of the couch, wrapping yourself in the blanket on the couch — the one you used more often than you’d like to admit, since some night sleeping in the bed that was suppose to be shared with Spencer felt all too consuming, the way his scent lingered faintly over the sheets and his little nothings covered the window sill, his jacket still hung up in the closet.

“Spence are you okay?” The nickname fell from your lips before you could try to stop it. You heard a muffled sound on the other end of the phone making your stomach twist. Slight worry and confusion filled the wrinkles by your eyes as you squinted slightly.

“Ye- Im.. Im okay” He breathed out his voice heavy and filled with something you couldn’t place if you tried. You were sure it was an emotion you had felt since you felt a sick feeling of familiarity in your abdomen. “I just- Can we talk?” He asked.

Your eyebrows furrowed as your knees pulled to your chest. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?” You asked, in your mind there was a point to this conversation, there was something specific he needed to talk to you about or why else would he call. He wouldn’t, you thought.

“No-Not like that, i just- I just want to talk to you, about anything. Whatever you want I just—” There was a pause, his voice got quiet, almost a whisper, “I miss you.” The words that left his lips buried themselves deep inside your chest, building themselves a home there.

Your head span. He said it so quietly you were scared you might’ve missed it if he said it any quieter. But you didn’t, you caught it. A deep breath left your chest as your hand came to your forehead, your mind was so focused on the fact that, he missed you. He called because he missed you. You almost forgot to answer him. You figured if he said the comment so quietly, maybe he didn’t want a reply on it, so you continued on with the conversation as the words interfered with the rhythmic beating of your heart.

“What coffee beans to do you buy?” You settled on. You heard him chuckle on the other side of the phone before passing a comment asking ‘why? You hated them’ It made your heart flutter uncomfortablely. The two of you continued talking about coffee beans for ten minutes before he muttered about how he had to go, you knew it was probably work related. But god he sounded so sad saying it.

“Spencer?” You asked softly, your voice coming out quieter than what you expected. You heard his soft hum on the other side of the phone. You didn’t want to admit how much you missed him, how your entire being craved him every minute of everyday regardless of what you did — nothing in the world could fill the him-shaped- hole that took up the space of your gut.

“I’m sorry” You apologised and you hoped it was clear you were apologising for everything, for the arguments, for the breakup, for pushing him away for no real good reason beside your own self doubt. It was the sorry you were too proud to mutter out a month ago.

There was a moment on the other side of the phone where you were almost convinced he was going to hang up — you worried you brought up what he didn’t want to talk about.

But instead, “I miss you.” He said louder this time, as if he believed you didn’t hear it the first time. The words made your stomach clench tightly and your muscles both tighten and relax at the same time.

You sigh, you should have shut up. He had to go, you know that but the words came out honestly as “I still love you” You said. You wanted to slap yourself in the face, now you really weren’t gonna be surprised if he hung up and blocked you.

There was a heavy breath, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. “Well-“ He huffed, “If you still love me, and- I still love you..” He muttered out intentionally, hoping you caught on to what he was insinuating. Your mind however was captivated by the fact that, he still loved you.

“We should probably talk” He finished when you didn’t, “Please?” It was thrown in there both to use manners and to show how badly he wanted this. You weren’t ever gonna say no in the first place.

“We should. Do you need to go grocery shopping?” You asked, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you almost smiled. You could almost imagine his confusion.

“Um— I guess that depends —Do you?” He asked. You huffed out a small laugh, nodding your head absentmindedly as you realised he couldn’t see you. “Do you still go to-“

He cut you off, “No. No i started going to the one across town, about an hour away” He said, honestly. You head tilted slightly as you realised he started going to the one you were going to. The conversation continued as you both ignored — or forgot the fact he needed to go.

“Why?”

“So you didn’t feel uncomfortable if I was there when you were” He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It made your stomach scrunch up and your chest to bruise your ribcage as the beating of your heart only increased.

“Let’s go grocery shopping, at our shop. Then um— you can come here and I can make you coffee?” You suggested slightly awkwardly, as you worried about the chance of rejection and the embarrassment you would feel.

“It’s a date.” He smiled, you could hear it in his voice.

“Okay.” You exhaled out.

[thef1diary]

omg dirtbag!daniel is so good I can’t stop thinking about it! also your writing style is to die for. Was wondering if there was any more fuel in the tank for more dirtbag!daniel?

thank you, nonnie! I always have more dirtbag!daniel thoughts 🤭 this is what’s been on my mind lately: spit kink, marking + a bit of bratty reader. it turned out longer than I initially intended. drop some thoughts and I’d love to chat

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

Dirtbag!Daniel doesn’t own you. He never asked to, he never pretended to. But that didn’t stop him from treating you like you belonged to him, like your body existed solely for his amusement. Maybe it does, because no matter how filthy, how degrading his words get, you let him. You always come back for more.

Perhaps that’s why you were weaving your way through a packed bar, the dim lights flickering overhead and the bass of the music reverberating through your chest. The air is thick with humidity, the cloying scent of sweat and spilled beer clinging to every surface. It’s the kind of place where anonymity thrives—a place where you could disappear into the crowd if you wanted to.

But you didn’t come to disappear, no, you came because he called, and you were too far gone to resist.

You spot him almost immediately, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. One elbow rested lazily on the counter, a drink in his hand, his fingers curled loosely around the class. His head is tilted slightly, his dark eyes scanning the room, but there’s no mistaking the moment he sees you.

A smirk spreads across his face, slow and smug, and you feel the pull of it like a hook in your chest. It’s infuriating, that smirk. It always is. It’s the way he tells you—without words—he’s two steps ahead, already planning how to leave his mark on you, both physically and mentally.

The bar is too crowded for you to think clearly, the press of bodies around you amplifying your nerves. But as you approach him, the rest of the room blurs into the background. All you see is him, the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shirt clings to his frame, and the glint in his eyes that promises trouble.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Daniel drawled, leaning in to speak to you over the din. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every inch of your body. It’s not fair, the way he makes you feel exposed without even touching you. Like he’s already imagined all the ways he’s going to break you tonight.

You force yourself to shrug, to play it cool. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a clink. “Figured you had more self-respect,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut.

The grin that followed is demeaning, the kind that made your stomach twist in equal parts anger and want. ��Guess not,” he added.

Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, the sharp edge of his insult cut deep—but not in the way they should. His insult only added to the simmering heat in your stomach, a twisted, shameful thrill curling low in your belly.

You hated how much you craved it—his mocking tone, the way he could peel you apart with a single look. But you won’t admit it. You opened your mouth to snap back, to tell him that you did have self-respect, thank you very much.

“I—”

But Daniel didn’t even give you the chance.

“Relax,” he said smoothly, interrupting without hesitation, his voice dripping with mockery. His fingers brushed against your arm as he leaned in closer, close enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. “I wasn’t looking for an argument, sweetheart. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated the way his presence overwhelmed you, how his tone left no room for you to gain the upper hand. His smirk widened as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement, like this was all a game to him.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t craving something,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “And we both know exactly what that is.”

Daniel didn’t even wait for you to respond, his smirk widening before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you closer. Before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours, the kiss filthy and unapologetic. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you, his tongue parting your lips with ease.

You melted into him, your resistance crumbling the moment he pulled you against his chest. The sheer force of his presence made your knees weak, and you hated how easily you gave in, how much you wanted this.

He almost chuckled into the kiss, the vibrations teasing against your lips, but he didn’t pull away. No, Daniel kissed you like he had something to prove, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his tongue hot and insistent. It was consuming, like he wanted to claim every part of you here and now, and he didn’t give a damn who saw it.

You dimly registered the press of bodies around you, the muffled gasps and sidelong glances from strangers who couldn’t help but notice the spectacle he was making of you. But Daniel didn’t care, not even a little. If anything, the idea of an audience seemed to spur him on, his hand gripping your hip possessively, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, his forehead brushing against yours as he smirked down at you, his breath fanning over your lips. His gaze was molten, full of arrogance and something darker, something that made your stomach flip.

“See? You’re too easy,” he muttered, his tone low and mocking, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you he loved every second of it. His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen bottom lip, smearing the remnants of his own claim on you, and you felt your cheeks heat under his scrutiny.

Daniel looked back, the smirk on his face growing as he signaled the bartender with two fingers. “Whiskey for me,” he said, his tone relaxed, almost bored, before his gaze slid back to you. “And for her…” He looked you up and down like he was appraising you, his lip curling slightly. “Something sweet. She needs it.”

You bristled at the condescension in his tone, but the bartender was already nodding, turning to make the drinks. Daniel’s attention shifted back to you, and he leaned his hip against the bar, his stance casual but his gaze piercing.

The drinks arrived moments later, and he slid it toward you, his fingers brushing yours as he handed it over. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and coaxing, the words laced with challenge. “Show me just how good you are at taking what I give you.”

Your fingers closed around the glass, but your grip faltered as his words sank in, their double meaning curling around your chest and tightening like a vice.

“I don’t take orders from you, Daniel,” you managed to bite out. Daniel raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, “don’t you?”

His eyes dropped to the drink in your hand, then back to your face, challenging you. “C’mon, I know you can be good for me.”

Your grip tightened around the glass as you raised it to your lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. Daniel’s gaze stayed fixed on you, intense and unwavering, his smirk deepening as if he could feel the fire burning under your skin.

The drink was just as he’d ordered—sweet and cloying, the kind of thing that lingered too long on your tongue. His eyes flickered to your throat as you tipped the glass back, watching the subtle motion of you finishing the drink. The heat in his gaze made your skin prickle, and your breath hitched as you placed the empty glass on the bar with deliberate finality.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice like silk, but there was a dangerous edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without another word, he picked up his whiskey and downed it in a single smooth motion, the glass hitting the bar with a quiet clink. His hand found yours before you could react, his fingers firm but not rough as he tugged you from the bar.

“Come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You followed as he guided you through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. He maneuvered you effortlessly, weaving through the bodies pressed close together until you reached a dark corner of the bar. The music was quieter here, the dim lighting casting long shadows that seemed to swallow you both whole.

Daniel turned to face you, his smirk growing as he backed you up against a wall. His eyes raked over you, dark and predatory, and for a moment, you felt like a cornered animal under his unrelenting gaze.

“Drop the act,” he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only you could hear it over the muffled thrum of the music. “We both know why you’re here.”

“You couldn’t stay away, could you?” His eyes dragged over you, taking in every detail—the way your dress clung to your frame, the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. His gaze lingered, unapologetic and ravenous, and you felt the heat of it searing into you. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and cutting. “All dolled up, hoping I’d notice. Hoping I’d take one look at you and decide to ruin you.”

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His smirk deepened, cruel and knowing, like he could see right through you

“You’re not even trying to deny it,” he went on, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “The second I called, you came running, didn’t you? Like the desperate little slut you are.”

“Danny…” you murmured, the plea barely audible, your voice trembling under the weight of his words. Your cheeks burned, humiliation mingling with the thrill that coursed through you, leaving you lightheaded.

He simply chuckled, watching you squirm in place as he had you exactly where he wanted you. His grip was firm, his thumb pressing down just enough to part your lips. “Ah, ah,” he chided, his voice a mockery of sweetness. “Don’t get shy on me now. You wanted this. You wanted me. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded, desperately, the act slipping away as soon as he called you his slut—which was exactly what you were, what you’d always be for him.

“There it is,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His smirk widened, his thumb tracing the edge of your lip before dragging it down your chin, a slow, deliberate motion that made you shiver. “I can see it, you know. The way you’re squirming, the way your eyes keep flicking to my mouth like you’re imagining all the filthy things I could do to you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his words wrapped around you, tightening the coil of tension low in your belly.

“Say it,” he commanded, his voice dipping even lower, the edge of his accent sharpening his words. “Say you came here for me. Say you came here to let me ruin you.”

Your lips parted, the heat of his gaze pulling the words from you before you could stop them. “I did,” you whispered, voice trembling as your cheeks burned under his scrutiny. “I came here for you. I want you to ruin me.”

His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “That’s my obedient little slut,” he murmured, a grin breaking out on his face.

The pad of his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, smudging your lipstick further—his kiss earlier already having ruined it—leaving a streak of red across your skin. His grin widened as his eyes followed the smear. “Such a pretty mess already. Let’s make it worse.”

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “Stick out your tongue.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you obeyed, parting your lips and letting your tongue peek out, feeling utterly exposed under his watchful, predatory stare.

He tilted his head, letting a slow stream of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you held still, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“Close,” he instructed, and you did, your lips sealing around the weight of his demand.

“Swallow,” he said next, his voice sharp and deliberate, the edge of his accent making it sound even filthier.

You swallowed, the act leaving a warmth in your belly that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. His smirk grew, impossibly smug, as his thumb returned to your jaw, tilting your face further toward him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with approval. “You take orders so well, don’t you? Makes me wonder what else that filthy mouth of yours is good for.”

You whimpered under the weight of his words, your knees threatening to give out as his free hand slid down to your shoulder, then lower, fingers toying with the strap of your dress. He tugged it down slightly, just enough to bare your skin to him—revealing a few more marks he left behind a couple days ago.

“Mine,” he muttered under his breath, leaning in close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, biting down gently, then harder, until you gasped. He pulled back to admire the mark blooming on your skin—a deep red imprint of his teeth.

“You look so much better when you’re marked up,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Everyone who sees these will know exactly who you belong to.”

His hand wandered back up, fingers brushing the column of your throat before tightening just enough to send a wave of heat coursing through you. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling it race under his touch. “Being claimed, being ruined. You’ve been craving this all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into his touch. “Please, Danny. I want more.”

His grin turned almost cruel as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Oh, you’ll get more, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

Perhaps you did belong to him, but the realization wasn’t as terrifying as you’d expected. In fact, it felt strangely natural, even comforting, as you found yourself agreeing with him without hesitation. Not that you ever had the strength to resist him in the first place. You were already a goner from the first time he degraded you like no other.

taglist: @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @evasmlp @mycenterfold @uhhvictoria @kaorisakamotofan @alice-went-away @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @gxuh @67-angelofthelordme-67 @kigieri @lilorose25

[itsthewritergal]

Please can I hold you? - Bucky.Barnes x Reader

Hello my loves,

I'm trying to be better this year at writing.

Summary: Y/N leaves, and Bucky tries his hardest to fix it.

TW: Kissing, trauma, family trauma, shouting, swearing, (let me know if I've missed some)

January 1st, it was supposed to be their year. They had promised each other that this was it, Bucky and Y/N. Bucky had promised no more long missions away from Y/N, Y/N had promised that she would move in with Bucky so they could finally spend more time together. A good year was what they wanted, what they deserved, what they needed.  But here they were screaming at each other over Bucky not kissing Y/N at midnight. Y/N had explained to Bucky multiple times that she was at the edge, she couldn’t cope anymore with arguing, and whilst Bucky never admitted it, he hated it just as much, if not more than Y/N. Yet here they were. 

“And another thing, I didn’t even want to go to Nat’s stupid New Year’s eve party” Bucky screamed ‘I wanted to be at home with you’ was the bit he failed to include in his insult. 

“You told me you wanted to be with people you loved on New Year’s Eve, I thought it would be fun” She shouted back “You think it was fun for me? Because it fucking wasn’t. All I wanted to do was come home, the whole night, but you wanted to keep drinking” She seethed, Bucky wanted to tell her it wasn’t true. He didn’t want to drink, but he stupidly got caught up in the party. 

“Now you’re going to get at me for drinking? Like you don’t do it every single weekend” He shouted, “Thor never brings that fucking mead, I deserved to have a nice night” He was being mean intentionally, but he couldn’t stop. 

“I never said you didn’t Buck” She said her voice suddenly quieter, Bucky should have noticed it was because she was getting upset but he didn’t. 

“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been working? I just wanted one nice night” Bucky should have stopped himself, he knows he should stop but he couldn’t. He was angry at himself for not putting his foot down and saying he wanted to spend time with just Y/N. 

“One nice night?” Y/N parroted “The nights we have aren’t nice? Is that what you’re saying?” 

“No! You’re twisting my words” Bucky snapped, he spoke with insecurity but it came across as anger and Y/N didn’t like that 

“Because I’m the bad guy right? James Bucky Barnes can’t put a foot wrong, but I can. That’s all I do right?” Y/N said, her fears coming to the surface. The insecurity was all from her messed up childhood, Bucky knew that from their late night chats, when they’d lay next to each other and confess everything, but he didn’t realise that the fear was seeping into their relationship. 

“That’s not what this is about” Bucky said realising suddenly how far he had taken the fight, and how distraught Y/N was becoming 

“Isn’t it?” Y/N snapped, her eyes locked onto Bucky as a target.

“You’re making this worse than it needs to be” Bucky said, unknowingly adding more fuel to the fire 

“Yeah that’s me isn’t it? Making everything worse. Don’t worry Buck, I get it” She snapped turning away from Bucky 

“Where the hell are you going?” He called after her 

“Downstairs Buck, I need some space away from you right now” She stormed out of their bedroom and down the stairs. Bucky sat down on their bed with his head in his hands, he had just fucked everything up. 

Taking a deep breath Bucky decided to set an alarm for 10 minutes, and once it had gone off he would go and speak to Y/N calmly about his feelings. That was how they were going to fix it. He knew he had messed up but he would fix it. 

Y/N stood in their hallway, and listened to Bucky close their bedroom door. She knew she had blown things out of proportion, she had made things worse. The little voice in her head told her she had messed things up seriously this time. There was no coming back from this. Bucky hated her, she knew that much. The thought along was enough to almost break her, pulling on her trainers she left the house silently, following the little voice down the streets. She twisted and turned around the streets she used to love walking with Bucky, but now they just felt like they were taunting her as she remembered the kisses they had shared at the bus stop, and the stray cat they had wanted to adopt by the street corner.  She couldn’t cope with it, so she began to run. 

The wind blew in her ears, the kind of fierce that stopped her from having to think, it was dark and the street lamps did little to ease her discomfort. She was on her way home, in the desperate hope that Bucky was asleep, or at Steve’s or Sam’s. She had no idea of the time,  having left her phone at home in Bucky’s jacket pocket most likely, but she sent a silent prayer to the sky that it was late enough that Bucky wouldn’t still be around. She couldn’t face him, not after everything she had done. Her mother was right, she wasn’t made for relationships, she would always mess them up, and now she had screwed up the only good thing she had going for her. This was it. She was done. Y/N didn’t notice the way her hands shivered a little with the cold biting wind, with her furious mood and growing insecurity she had forgotten a coat.  As she turned onto her and Bucky’s street the tears started again, this really was the end. Her and Bucky were about to be done, finished, ended. 

So much for their year. She mused to herself silently, revelling in the cruel twist of fate, her mother was right. 

Pushing the handle of the door down quietly, in the hope to not wake Bucky if he was in, Y/N creaked the door open. She took a shaky step into the house, listening out for Bucky. When she was satisfied that there was no sound of him she closed the door behind her and took off her shoes. 

“Y/N?” Bucky’s shaky voice called out, she froze. “Baby?” He said coming into the hall, Y/N put her hand back on the door handle, she was ready to run again, this was not a conversation she was ready to have. 

“Don’t you dare ever scare me like that again” He said wrapping his arms around her tensed body, Y/N kept herself tensed, she was ready to run if she needed. 

“I know you’re scared, I know you think you’ve messed this all up but I swear to you this whole argument is on me” he said refusing to let her out of his embrace, 

“Bucky stop” she said quietly 

“I’m sorry” He said dropping his arms, she looked up at him with red eyes “Could you come and sit down in the lounge for me?” He asked 

“I should go” 

“No” Bucky said “You’re going to come and sit down and we are going to talk about this, because we are bigger than your insecurities and we are going to fix this” he said, 

“Oh,” Y/N said “oh” She repeated once the words had settled into her head “You aren’t breaking up with me?” 

“Come on doll, come sit down for me?” He said 

“Ok” She said, following Bucky through their house. 

Y/N settled herself into an armchair, where she could curl her legs up underneath herself. Bucky opted for the sofa opposite her, picking up on the fact that she didn’t want to touch him just yet. 

“Before we start, the next time you need to get away you tell me where you’re going. I was terrified doll, I know the kind of people that are out there and if you need space, please let me come with you. I promise I won’t walk beside you or speak to you but I need to know you are safe.” Bucky said “Please?” 

“I’m sorry Buck” She said,

“No apologies. We have to make mistakes to fix them for the future yeah?” He said 

“I don think I can do this Bucky. All your friends hate me, I invited you to a party you didn’t want to be at, I asked you to cut down your missions. Everything I do, makes me the issue in this relationship” She said, 

“That’s not true, everyone loves you—”

“No they don’t, they put up with me” 

“No, no, Y/N. Please don’t do this. I know you’re spiralling, I know that you’ve always been made to believe that its your fault. But I swear to you this one is on me. I wanted to spend New Years Eve with just you. I wanted to kiss you at midnight, but I fucked up. I got drunk and neglected you. You should have been my priority at midnight, not that stupid drink” 

“I should’ve let you have fun” Y/N said 

“No, I should have kissed you” Bucky said, his tone was final and Y/N didn’t want to argue anymore. 

“I didn’t deserve it” 

“You don’t have to earn love” Bucky said, moving to the carpeted space in front of Y/N’s armchair, taking Y/N’s hands in his he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles “I love you, I want to spend my life with you and I will spend every single moment apologising to you for the way I acted” 

“I’m sorry for saying all those mean things Buck” Y/N said “I didn’t mean them I just wanted to make myself the bad person so you could hate me. I wanted you to hate me” 

“Why did you want that?” Bucky asked after pressing another kiss to her hand 

“So you’d end things, so my fears could come true. It’s sadistic, but I guess I’m always just waiting for the end so I just wanted it to happen. Like ripping a bandage off” 

“Oh Y/N” Bucky said gently “You never have to be scared of me leaving. We will always work through our issues, you’re my life. You’re my world, this is it for me.” 

“So you’re not waiting for me to fuck up so you can leave?” 

“No, I’m not” Bucky said 

“I’m sorry” she whispered 

“No more apologies” Bucky whispered “Please let me hold you baby? We can talk more in the morning I promise. But right now I just need to hold you”

“You never need to ask”

[galaxygirl8880]

@nerdpoe I saw ur krs doesn't get instant au and i wrote something short for it 👉👈

There are no thoughts running through Raon miru's head as he stared at the rubble in front of him.

At his human. Cale, who is inhaling raspy, short breaths. There is blood pouring out of his mouth. He looks like he is in pain.

How-

What just happened?

They were at camp. Everything was peaceful. Choi hah was sharing stories of his homeland, everyone was telling jokes and laughing and singing songs. There was- an earthquake? The mountain must have been unstable. The prince said there was an abandoned mine nearby that needed to be sealed off because of rising bandit activity. Cale had only accepted because Raon, Ohn and Hong wanted to go on a vacation-

It was supposed to be an easy, fun trip. Then they noticed the shaking and the falling rocks and not even Choi han could have helped without making it worse. He had panicked. He was relaxed and happy and wasn't thinking properly when the Boulders started falling.

Cale stumbles the slightest bit and Raon is the first one to get to him. The dragon lowers him down gently with magic as Ron starts checking his vitals, getting him to breath.

Raon miru is ashamed to say that there was a moment of silence where no one could move. Once Cale is cleared for transport, the dragon gets ready to teleport everyone back home.

It feels like his ears are stuffed with cotton, the only thing in his line of sight being Cale covered in his own blood. Cale does not fall unconscious until he is laid back in bed and a healer is called. But he does not speak. And Raon does not know what to think.

---

The dining hall is dead silent. Cale is sleeping and Jack had been called to keep a close eye on him.

Raon would love to be by his human's side and count the seconds until he woke up again but...

Cale saved them.

(Again.)

And he did it using- well. That's what raon wants to know. And he wants to know so he can ban Cale from using it ever again.

Raon miru would do anything to never hear that sound come from Cale Henituse's throat ever again.

Cale is not one to cry. He is known for his levelheadedness. Even in situations where a normal man would break. Its one of the reasons why he is so dependable, trustworthy, the shield of the roan kingdom. (His human hates that nickname but it doesn't mean it's not true in a way.)

In that moment of weakness, cale opened his mouth, let out the most gutteral scream-

and decimated the entire mountain.

'indescribable. Full of anguish and fury and sorrow.' Is what the people that were with Cale that day agreed on when reporting back to Alberu. A scream that wouldn't belong anywhere but the funeral of your most precious person.

A scream that fuels Raon's drive to be stronger. So that Cale will never be in a situation where using that is the only way out.

Raon hears Choi han make the same promise to himself later that day while at Cal's bedside. While Raon, Ohn, and Hong are trying to distract themselves by drawing together (it's not working). He knows that the other two heard it as well by the determined look they all shared and he knows that they are thinking the same thing.

---

When Cale woke up, (A few people cried. Choi han included.) he was banned from talking by Jack and Ron and Eruhaben and raon and Rosalyn and the kids and-

Cale was not allowed to talk.

Meaning he had to listen to everyone lecture him while being unable to retort. He was given a pen and paper that was mostly filled with apologies and attempting to avoid any questions about the mysterious ability. Cale could only eat soup for the time being because of the internal wounds in his throat. Ron stuck to sweet, room temperature tea for fear of the acidity of his usual blend aggravating his throat more.

Eruhaben and Ron drilled it into his head that he could never use that ability ever again. (Cale privately apologized in his head because he would do so in a heartbeat if necessary. The ancient dragon and assassin pretended as if they didn't also know this.) Hong thinks he heard Ron and Cale have a heart-to-heart. Although it was Ron questioning him and fast responses in the form of writing for Cale.

Alberu did not mention the reports of citizens in the nearby town being scared of the scream that came from the forest. The sadness some felt from the sound. His royal highness feels a bit guilty for being thankful that he did not have to hear Cale's ability.

Rosalyn was quick to create a device so Cale can communicate better, something to play the writing outloud. And if she spent a bit of extra time in Cale's room where she braided his hair, sharing new stories about her siblings when asked, then that's between them.

---

I feel like if roan has a version of sign language then everyone would make the effort to learn it. Even though Cale can still technically speak, no one wants him to strain himself. (Vitality of the heart fixed most of it but they weren't hearing it. He still gets phantom pains sometimes so Cale is quietly grateful for their support.)

[unreliablesnake]

Withdrawal (Dominique Luca x reader)

Summary: Weeks without sex make you grumpy and needy.

Note: Don't look at me, I was bored at work.

Warnings: MDNI. Mentions of fingering and pregnancy.

You were alone in the locker room at the end of your shift when Luca walked in. He flashed a smile at you before opening his locker and changing his shirt, a series of actions that was perfectly normal in this room. He took off the old one, then spent a good minute or two looking for a fresh one that was obviously right in front of him.

“I hate you,” you mumbled loud enough for him to hear you.

With a laugh, he walked over to where you were sitting, standing in front of you with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Just two colleagues talking, nothing unusual. “What have I done?” he asked innocently, his blue eyes fixed on you with that mischievous glint.

“Three weeks, Dom. Three.”

“You can’t be that desperate.” When you hooked your finger under his belt to pull him closer, your free hand pushing up his shirt so you could place soft kisses across his skin, he let out a laugh then gently grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. “You know the rule.”

“Come over tonight. Don’t make me beg,” you added with a small smile.

Luca crouched down in front of you and steadied himself by putting his hands on your knees. “I love it when you beg for something,” he pointed out, but when he saw the angry look you shot his way, he let out a sigh. “I’ll be there. Happy?”

And so in the evening you were wearing a set of lacy lingerie you had picked just for him, completed with the black dress he loved so much. If he still wanted to play his stupid game with you after seeing you in these, you would sure as hell break up with him, no matter how much you loved him. According to him, refusing to have sex with you for weeks was his way of teaching you patience, but if anything, it made you extremely frustrated, which happened to affect your work performance too.

Every time you snapped at someone from the team, Street made a joke about how you needed to get laid. And every time he said that, you wished you could have just strangled him on the spot. That goddamn handsome smile of Luca’s was only fuel to the fire too, and you wanted to yell at him right in front of everyone, telling him it was his fault you were so grumpy.

You didn’t know what took him so long, but despite the promise to be there by six, he was nowhere to be found around eight. You were planning to change into something more comfortable when you heard the key turn in the front door, which soon revealed your boyfriend whose face lit up at the sight of you. Without hesitation you rushed over to him, your arms immediately wrapped around his neck as you pulled his face down for a kiss.

“I love you too, baby, but we need to talk,” he said as he let you go and took a step back.

We need to talk. You never liked that sentence. Hell, nobody liked that sentence. Your smile disappeared without a trace before you bit on your lower lip and nodded, urging him to go on. Luca took your hand and led you to the couch, making you sit down in the middle before he sat on the coffee table in front of you. For a while he didn’t say a word, only toyed with the remote that he picked up after taking a seat.

But then he let out a sigh and reached into his pocket to pull out a small box of chewing gums. “This thing between us,” he began slowly with his eyes fixed on the plastic box, “it works, right? It’s not just me thinking we’re good together.”

A frown formed on your face upon his words for a moment. “Good is an understatement,” you offered with a smile as you reached out to envelope his calloused hand with your delicate fingers.

He let out a quiet chuckle before his gaze slowly turned to you. You tilted your head to the side as you studied his expression, having a hard time figuring out what this conversation was about. Was he about to break up with you? It didn't make sense, although the lack of sex in your relationship could point in that direction. Did he not love you anymore?

Before you could get lost in your spiraling thoughts, he squeezed your hand to get your attention, then handed you the plastic box he was holding. “Thanks, but I'm good,” you told him softly, but he shook his head and moved his hand a little to make you take it.

You took the box and opened the lid to get a chewing gum out of it. A part of you hoped this would finally make him talk, but you weren't ready to see what was inside. Because there was no chewing gum, there was only a ring in there. Your eyes widened as you looked over at him, and when he nodded with a smile, you took out the piece of jewelry.

“That's why I was late. I wasn't sure if I should ask you, if our relationship was at this stage already, but when I drove past this jewelry store, I felt the need to stop and take a look at the rings,” he explained.

There was a wide smile on his face that reached his eyes, showing how happy he was at this moment. You couldn't hide your own smile either, so while he struggled to finally pop the question, you looked down at the ring in your hand. It was white gold with a small stone in it; the perfect choice for you. Luca wasn't the type who would try to buy your love with expensive things, which was one of the things you loved about him.

“What do you say?” he asked you hesitantly.

You raised an eyebrow as you looked him in the eye. “You didn't ask me anything.”

He took the hint and within a second he was kneeling in front of you, nesting himself between your legs while he wrapped his fingers around your hand. “Will you marry me?” You nodded without thinking, and soon your head was pulled into a passionate kiss while his other hand moved up your thigh. “I’m lucky to have you,” he whispered against your lips.

When his finger pulled your panties aside, your breath caught in your throat, but when he pushed his finger between your folds, you couldn't bite back a loud moan and a string of sentences as you begged for more. He let out a quiet chuckle while he pushed you back on the couch and dived between your legs to place soft kisses along your inner thigh.

After weeks of withdrawal, it was so damn nice to have him touch you again, to feel his lips trailing across your skin. You were on cloud nine and you didn't even want to return to reality just yet. But the universe had other plans, because the alarm on your phones went off just when you got close to your climax.

“We gotta go,” Luca noted once he read the message.

Nodding, you straightened up on the couch. “You go ahead, I'll change into something more comfortable.”

But he only shook his head before he stood up and extended his hand to help you up. “I'll wait,” he said.

“They'll be suspicious if we arrive at the same time.”

“We just got engaged. They would find out sooner or later anyway.”

He was right. This wasn't how you wanted them to find out, but maybe not making a big deal out of it was the way to go. So you gave him a quick kiss then headed to the bedroom to find something casual to wear. You knew you were both in a hurry, but you couldn't stop yourself from staring at the ring with a wide grin on your face.

This man was the love of your life and there was nothing he could have done to get rid of you now. You were forever connected whether or not he wanted it. The question is, who's gonna be more surprised in the end. You after he proposed, or him when you finally told him you were pregnant.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Super excited to see more Fourth Wing content on Tumblr. I don't have any specific ideas yet, but maybe some fluff with our hot wingleader Xaden? Or some wholesome training scenes with the dragons?

It needs to be brought here because it's a crime to have practically nothing here!!!

Morning lights

The morning sun wasn't even fully out when Aetos banged on every single door on the first year's floor shouting something about the promised training and how lucky everyone should feel that he's taking his time to put in extra work even if it should be a punishment for performing worse then others squads in the last training session.

You suddenly become hyper-aware of the still-cold morning air seeping through the window, that you left ajar last night. Dawn is still breaking outside. Light shades of pinks and oranges painting the horizon. It's a beautiful sight. One you wouldn't want to miss or at least enjoy one of the mornings when someone isn't forcing you out of bed.

You move to get up slowly but two strong hands instantly tighten over your lower stomach, drawing you back to where you were laying moments ago. "Remind me to spit into Aetos morning coffee", the husky voice fills the space. You let out a breathy chuckle, turning slightly in the embrace of the man who's been sharing your bed for some nights now. "Don't, he might come swinging at me", you mutter, trying not to fully chase his sleep away since his eyes were still closed. He lets out a slightly frustrated huff, "I would love to see him try", and here it is real Xaden Riorson lethal, powerful, ready to fight at any given moment.

It was slightly funny how this big muscular male was squeezed beside you looking like an absolute work of art that didn't belong in the first year's bedroom. Your fingers carefully moved to run through Xaden's dark hair, nails scratching the scalp softly. The most content sigh leaves his lips as his hands grip your hips tightly.

"Wingleader, the cadet is needed on the training grounds", you say in a more serious tone, in a way mocking Aetos. But you also know that time is working against you now. You do need to get out of bed and get ready. The last thing you want to listen to is grumpy males complaining. "This cadet is needed in bed", Xaden mumbled against your skin, bringing you even closer to him, his warmth seeping into your skin and now you understand why you didn't feel the cold breeze from outside. How could you when you have a whole personal heater in your bed? "Is that an order?", you tease, Xaden opens one eye, throwing a glare your way, "Yes. Yes, it is".

Yet it all wasn't that simple. He was still a wingleader. A wingleader who shouldn't even be here in the first place. Because the conclusion that everyone would go straight to would be that you slept your way into safety. And you don't want to be labeled as a whore. This place was a shit show as it is most of the time.

You firmly push at Xaden's arms, the last thought fueling you with enough strength to pull away from him. "No...", he tries to grab onto your hips once more but you're out of his reach now. Could he easily drag you back? Yes. One flicker of his shadows and you would be pinned to the bed. But he's not stupid too. The commotion outside the door is getting louder. Meaning that you're running out of time.

"Now you're being a whiny baby", you tease, pulling Xaden's shirt from your body and reaching for your flying leathers instantly. Better safe than sorry in these kinds of situations. "I'm not a whiny baby", he argues back and you can hear the announcer in his voice that makes you chuckle, "And now his masculinity has been scarred", you place your hand on your chest sighing dramatically. "Sometimes I hate you", he rolls his eyes, before moving to sit up. His muscular chest somehow looking even more unreal in the early morning light. But you shake your head quickly, reaching for your daggers, "Oh same... look at us sharing mutual emotions", you flash him a smile that he doesn't return.

"Be careful", he says, eyes now practically cutting right through you. One of his shadows move to caress the scar that now was forming on your forearm. You brush your fingers over the shadow, "I'm always careful". But you can tell that the worry growing within him is much bigger than most mornings. "This is something Aetos came up with. Most definitely no one in command...", but you cut the distance between you, knee pressing into your mattress as you lean closer to him, "I will be fine, Riorson", you lean in brushing your lips over his. The kiss is gentle and soft. A rare moment because most of the time it's filled with so much speed and desire that you lose yourself in the moment. Not even noticing when it ends. "And I have Liam" you mumble, packing his lips one more time before turning to leave. Xaden growls and you know that it's because you said another male's name right before kissing him. Territorial bastard.

"Any clues about what this is?", you catch up with Liam, who instantly wraps you up in a side hug as you walk alongside the others.

"Not really. Some bullshit", he grumbles still sleepy. "Use your far sight signit", you wrap your hands around his middle. "And look into Aetos insides?", you let out a laugh, quickly clasping your hand over your mouth and shoving Liam slightly. Yet a couple of heads instantly turned your way. Jack one of them. Instantly glaring at you. You return the favor by flipping him off but that only makes his snarl more.

Morag. You call out. Not far away. The voice rings out, soothing you in a way. Do you stink of wingleader once again? You roll your eyes. Mind your business. Morag lets out a dramatic sigh. I have to carry your stinky ass. You flip him off mentally. Out of the two of us, it's you who stinks.

"I'll see you out there", Liam taps your shoulder as he walks towards his dragon. Wrapping your arms around yourself you watch as he jog towards Deigh. You can't imagine your life without him now either. You two had bonded almost immediately. After crossing the parapet you burst into tears. Liam had instantly stood in front of you shielding you from the crowd and equally as much not letting others see your tears. "If it helps, I'm sure a shat myself midway", he had whispered, making you let out a chuckle as you whipped your tears.

But you're brought out of your head as a hand holding a cloth clasps over your mouth and you're brought into a tight chest with a huff. Your hands instantly move to push away from the person holding you down, moving and wiggling in its hold. "Squad whore", the words ring in your ears and you instantly know how this is. Just don't have much time to be mad when a wave of dizziness hit you. That fuck must have dosed the material in something.

I'm almost there. Hold on. Morag's voice fills your head. Your nails dig into his pam as you try to rip it off your face. But then you see the gleam of light. Reflection. Sun. A dagger. Your eyes widen. Jack strikes for a kill just you move you heal up shoving between his legs as hard as you can. The blade zaps the side of your neck, and the warm blood trickles down almost immediately. "I'll end you bitch", Jack barks from behind you. You try to step away but your legs buck as you come in contact with the ground. The roar pierces the field. For a moment you feel relief flowing through you because it has to be Morag but it's the blue wings that make your gut drop. Even the shouting from cadets dies down. Sgaeyl. Why is she here? She shouldn't be here. You try to push your hands against the ground. You need to get out of her way as well, yet your body feels so heavy. She lads with a thud, sending dirt debris flying all over.

Xaden you plea in your head, gods what a way to die by his dragon. Just Sgaeyl steps closer, growling as she glares ahead. You count your last seconds and then her wing moves over you. Drawing away the early sun. You feel the blast of heat and then an agony-filled cry.

Breath Morag orders. What's happening? You ask, feeling your consciousness starting to slip, your hand now clasping the side of your neck. You stink of someone and you're sure Morag is rolling his eyes. Xaden. Sgaeyl felt Xaden on you. Or has he told her something? Does he know? Sgaeyl moves her wing away, and her snout if you can call it that moves closer to you as she inhales your scent. "Thank you", you mutter, "Just tell Xaden a less dramatic story, please", you're not sure but it sounds like she lets out a snort before moving to nudge your hand and then everything goes black.

When you open your eyes once more it takes you a moment to realize what had happened as memories filled your head. Head. Head that was pounding. The tightest on your neck piercing with pain. "Love", a voice rings out and you flinch instantly. Warm fingers run down your arm, that same comforting warmth that you know. You blink your eyes a couple of times. Waiting for your eyes to concentrate. And there he is. His hair was messy from all the pulling he must have done. The shirt slightly wrinkly. "Why are you here?", you ask groggy, hand instantly reaching for your throat at the uncomfortable pulling. "In my room? Or with you?", panic runs through you. You can't be in his room. No. No. No. People will talk. You move to sit up but Xaden's arms instantly hold you down.

"You're not going anywhere. Gave me enough of a fright", he grumbles in frustration, "I didn't ask for it", you argue back. Something in his eyes darken, "And I did? I've never ran faster and you were there behind Sgaeyl wing all bloody", his voice raising with every word he spoke. Your gaze softens. Losing had always been his biggest fear. And it's been a long while since he had something precious to lose. "Sgaeyl saved me all thanks to you I'm sure", you lace your fingers through his. Xaden shakes his head, "That's all her doing. I did get a lecture about not taking proper care of you", you let out a slight chuckle, imagining her lecturing him and him not being able to talk back, "Say thank you to her from me", you mutter.

Xaden runs his fingers through your hair, letting out a sigh, "I...I love you", he whispers, bringing your hand closer to his lips. You smile at him sweetly, brushing your free fingers across his cheek, "And I love you". Xaden leans in, brushing his lips over yours before pressing his forehead against your shoulder, "Though I wish I could bring him back just so I could kill him myself", he grumbles, "Xaden!", you warn him, yet let yourself chuckle.

[baronessvonglitter]

The Haunting of David York

Dave York x ghost!reader

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: It's a typical Halloween night for Dave. The last thing he expects is for you to come back and get your revenge.

(Spoilers below the cut, so resume with caution)

WARNINGS: Rated M; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; mentions of wet work, murder, brief gore, threats of violence towards family, major character death (don't hit me)

Author's Note: this fic is for @mermaidgirl30 Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge 👻 thank you for hosting this lovely fic challenge!

The idea for this started out as a random discussion about why we're afraid of ghosts if they can't really hurt anyone.. then I wanted to add our favorite suburban murder daddy to a ghost story and got some inspo from watching old school stuff like Creepshow and early seasons of AHS. (I haven't written horror in a very long time, so gimme a little break)

Shoutout to @yorksgirl for the Dave chit chats-- there will be a sweatpants scene in another fic, promise!

"Dave, not again!" Carol whines from the front steps.

"What?" he asks innocently, hefting the human-sized 'body bag' consisting of garbage bags stuffed with leaves and tied up with duct tape to fashion a corpse decoration in the yard for Halloween. Dave has been working on them all day. He's now up to seventeen.

"The HOA is going to complain," his wife shakes her head. "We got away with a warning last year. This time they'll definitely fine us."

"It's worth it to see the looks on everyone's faces," he insists. "Besides, I'll have them picked up and out of sight by the end of the night. I promise."

Dave doesn't love Halloween, but neither does he mind it. People dressing up to be anything other than themselves for one night only? Try doing that 24/7.

He doesn't get to parade around the Mr. Hyde aspect of his life. He doesn't get to knock on doors while in tactical gear, sniper rifle resting in one arm while he sticks an orange jack-o-lantern bucket out to get a handful of tooth-rotting sweets. He doesn't get to wake up on November first and pretend it was all for fun.

It's a silly holiday, but he likes scaring the shit out of the neighbors with the decorations. And his kids love planning their costumes months in advance. Alice is going as a zombie cheerleader (he never understands where these ideas come from) and Molly is some type of Pokemon Dave thinks is a squirrel but she insists is something called an Evoo or Evie or something completely asinine.

Carol usually insists on taking them out trick-or-treating, dressing up herself in a last-minute Minnie Mouse getup, a red sweater and black leggings, and a headband with sequined mouse ears to complete the look.

"You'll be okay here by yourself?" she asks, putting the finishing touches on her mouse whiskers and nose with liquid eye liner in the hall mirror as the girls wait impatiently to leave.

She asks that every year, as if something bad will happen on his watch, as if he can't hack it alone for a couple of hours.

"Unless Michael Myers or Pennywise show up, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine," he says, giving the girls a quick kiss before they go.

"What's Pennywise?" Alice asks as Carol herds them out the door, and she shoots her husband an annoyed glance.

There aren't as many trick-or-treaters this year, and Dave regrets that he'd bought so much candy. He dips his hand into the large tub of mini chocolate bars and fruit-flavored chews that stick to one's teeth and selects some Nerds, eating them straight from the tiny box. With barely concealed disgust he finds the candy corn, plucking the small packets of the hated sweets out from the bowl. He doesn't know how anyone can eat these. These can go to the next kids who ring the doorbell. When the next round of costumed kids come around he gives out huge handfuls. The less sweets they have in the house, the less sugar-fueled meltdowns he's likely to experience from his kiddos.

When there's more of a lull he relaxes on the sofa, mindlessly unwrapping a chocolate bar as the Halloween song hums from the TV, The Nightmare Before Christmas playing where the girls had left it on:

Boys and girls of every age wouldn't you like to see something strange? come with us and you will see this, our town of Halloween

He finds his glass of Macallan pairs nicely with a mini Hershey's Special Dark chocolate that he knows the little trick-or-treaters won't appreciate. The candy rests on his tongue as he savors the lingering taste of the scotch while the movie keeps playing. He absorbs a little of it, a now thirty-year-old film that came out when he was his kids' age. He watches idly, letting the scotch lull him into a nice semi-rest.

This is Halloween, this is Halloween pumpkins scream in the dead of night this is Halloween, everybody make a scene trick or treat, 'til the neighbors gonna die of fright

Enough of the singing. He changes the channel. There's postseason baseball on TV, but his favorite team isn't in the playoffs, and the announcers are annoying. Click. Of course there's a horror marathon on every channel. All the Scream movies, which he can appreciate for their ingenuity, Psycho, Shaun of the Dead, the entire Friday the 13th franchise even though it's Thursday, the 31st.

He flips channels, mindlessly, watching tidbits of each, digging into the leftover candy once again when he hears a thud.

With feline alertness he mutes the TV and sits up straight in one swift move. He zones in on where the sound came from, waiting, his racing heart the most audible sound in his ears.

Most people listen for a sound and relax when they don't hear it again, chalking it up to the house settling, or a rodent in the attic. But Dave knows better. He's been on the opposite side of this type of situation countless times. He doesn't relax and just chalk it up to mundane things like other people, because he knows there are guys like him out there-- becoming one with the shadows, as silent as possible--

It's coming from the back door.

In stealth mode, he grabs his gun from the safe in his study and quickly, skillfully, loads it. Adrenaline sings in his veins, carries him towards the danger. He flips on the light switch for the patio and the lights glare into the dark, lighting up nothing. His gun is still in his hand as he slowly opens the door, listening for footsteps.

Quiet.

A little disappointed that he's gotten riled up for no reason, he sighs as the rush of adrenaline dissipates and leaves him weak for a brief moment.

He keeps the gun in the holster at his side as he returns to the sofa, a little more on edge. It could be just teenage assholes playing pranks out of boredom, but he doesn't want to risk it.

He shuts the TV off and the silence becomes the largest thing in the room, even louder than his thoughts. He's taut as wire, not allowing himself to relax just yet. He's listening for more sounds. Most are explainable: a slow drip in the kitchen sink that Carol told him about just yesterday, the notification pings on his daughter's tablet that she left on the dining room table.

"Fuck!" he curses in surprise as the TV turns on, The Nightmare Before Christmas still playing where it left off:

I am the one hiding under your bed, teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing red I am the one hiding under your stairs fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

Dave quickly snaps the TV off, removing the batteries from the remote.

It's just some electrical glitch he tells himself. And then the power goes out completely.

"Shit," he mutters, using his phone to light the way to locate the real flashlight. It's not in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink where it's supposed to be left. Carol must have moved it. He checks the garage. Through the windows he can see the neighbors still have power, so he grabs the trusty flashlight and checks the breaker box. After fiddling with it, it won't reset. The flips do absolutely nothing.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking out his phone from his pocket. The battery shows 1% before fizzling out to a black screen with the gray spinning wheel before dying.

"You've got to be shitting me," he grumbles. With another curse, he shoves the useless thing back in his pocket, letting the flashlight guide him out of the garage. He may as well get the keys and go try to find Carol and the girls, who are probably several blocks over by now, maybe get them to stay at her mother's place while he gets things sorted out with the power issue.

And then..

he hears the sound of his name spoken, a sharp. accusatory whisper, as if it's right next to him. It's so real he can feel the cold breath against his ear. It makes him jump out of his skin.

Alert, his body tense and ready for action, his eyes dart around the room as he begins to get his bearings back and his heart goes back to its normal rhythm.

Stupid.. he curses himself, sitting upright again. Annoyance colors his face.

But the sound of it.. of your voice still rings in his ear. And he'd know your voice among a thousand others.

Now he knows he's imagining things, because it couldn't have been your voice at all.

You're dead.

He doesn't want to think about that day, a cold autumn day just like this. In fact it'll be one year exactly on November 14th. The last day you saw sunlight, the last day you ever breathed.

It's not that you were bad, you were just in the way. There was no room for you in Dave's perfect, clock-precision life. He tried to make your end painless, make sure you didn't see it coming.

Some secrets don't stay buried forever..

Nobody knows he assures himself. It's impossible.. He'd even kept it from his teammates, and they knew nearly every damn thing about him.

No, this particular job.. the handling of you, had to be done on his own.

Casting a glance at the backyard patio again, the light from his neighbor's back porch glows eerily, spotlighting the patch of earth Dave had avoided until finally he'd caved and erected a bird bath with a small garden, a surprise for Carol's birthday. His wife never suspected that you were buried there, beneath her gift.

Without thinking, he's already walking outside, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, leading the way to your grave. He never comes out here anymore. The guilt has become too crushing and he's not a man who dwells on guilt. He does what he has to and revisits the issue if problems arise.

You won't arise, though. When he closes his eyes he can still see the bullet hole in your temple, the blank look as the light left your eyes.

Forgive me, he'd thought, unable to speak it aloud as he stuffed your body in a bag and placed you in the dirt on a moonless autumn night.

When he reaches the stone path that leads to your innocent-looking grave marker, he has to process what he sees:

there's a hole in the ground, where some of the rocks and flowers around the bird bath have been upheaved, and in the breeze his flashlight shines on a tattered, empty black body bag. The scent of death greets his nostrils as he pales, trying not to vomit.

He goes back to the house, immediately on the defensive, irrationally expecting to find you there, clothes dirty and hair caked with mud and blood, a specter of his own paranoia and guilt.

It's still shrouded in darkness, the home that is supposed to be his shelter from such dark things as yourself. It's his domain, his castle, and in this trouble, without his family, he feels like less of a king.

"There's no fucking way," he mutters, stomach roiling with fear and suspicion. He opens the patio door and steps inside.

The whole place smells of death, of the grave.

You're in every corner, quiet, waiting, watching. But not impassive.

He feels you everywhere, himself made small by your ubiquitous pall. The gun in his hand feels useless, and this makes him angry.

You feed off his anger. You love it. It's the only thing you can feel anymore. Pure, unadulterated hate.

You slither towards him, wicked grin growing bigger as you approach him. Dave gets the chills down his back, not knowing just how close you are to him.

"Boo" you whisper lightly, ghostly breath caressing the shell of his ear.

Your cackling thunders in his ears as he whips around, eyes wide with fright. You delight in the fear he's giving off. The scent of it it so intoxicating. It's the only good thing about being dead.

"I should make your death as nice and quick and clean as you made mine" your voice echoes all around the room. Dave looks equal parts pissed and afraid as he tries to track you.

"But I won't."

You've been waiting for this night, this one unholy night where you'd be allowed to come back, to gather the unearthly powers granted to you. Halloween: the one night of the year when the living come back to haunt the dead.

And the son of a bitch had the gall to kill you in November. You had to wait almost a whole year for your revenge.

Gonna make it sweet.

It takes a lot of energy to assume something of a human form, but as you grab onto the fear he's giving off, as you use the most ancient of forces to pull your corporeal parts together, it gets easier. You don't feel afraid. You haven't, not since he killed you.

"Consider yourself lucky it's only you I'm after. If I had my way your family's blood would be splattered on these walls along with yours."

Dave shivers violently. "Please, don't!" He's not used to begging or pleading. He's actually on his knees. He tries not to look at you; your visage is too grotesque. Your flesh is falling off your face and your eyes are sunken into your head, giving a ghoulish appearance.

You force his gaze upon you with the ice-cold touch of your hand. "Your family is safe. For now. Hell, there's always next Halloween."

With the cracking open of his ribcage and the spilling of his guts you reach into him, finding the fullness of the heart, the organ he uses the least.

All Dave can do is scream and scream and scream.

The next day Carol sits at the dining room table, two detectives with her. Her coffee has grown cold, barely touched. She still bears the remnants of the makeup she'd put on to complete her costume last night. The girls are upstairs. She couldn't bear sending them to school, having them apart from her. Not while Dave is missing.

"He was fine last night. Normal," she adds, shrugging as she dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex.

Because of his position as a government agent, his disappearance is being taken very seriously. Officers are en route, dispatched to start searching the area, especially the nearby woods, which Carol has always feared.

Dave's gun is there, his wallet, phone, and keys also left behind.

One of the field officers comes in (there have been many people coming in and out of the house today) and motions to the backyard. "Halloween decoration?"

"Yeah," Carol sniffles, smiling just a little. "Dave likes to shock the neighbors. He promised he'd put them away before the morning.. but he never puts them out back.."

Out of guilt, or maybe just to give herself something to do, she gets up and goes to put the decorations away. The detectives follow.

Funny. There's just one.. she thinks, looking at the lone body bag on the lawn, tossed haphazardly next to her bird bath.

It's heavier than she expects. She's too petite to pick it up. Sighing, she kneels, the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her knees. She'll just take the leaves out and throw the bag away.

Ripping it open with her nails she's stunned a moment, not processing what she's seeing before she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Wrapped up in the duct taped body bag is what's left of Dave.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

tagging @almostempty @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @salingers @zascal

[luvzshy]

Can you please write a billie x reader where reader was bpd and reader starts to split and how billie helps her deal with it?

chaos

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions that twisted inside you like a storm. You sat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, trying to drown out the chaos swirling in your mind. The flickering lights from the TV cast shadows across the room, but they couldn’t hide the darkness creeping into your thoughts.

You had been fine just a moment ago, laughing with Billie as she told a silly story, her laughter filling the air like music. But then it happened—a tiny, insignificant thought slipped in, and suddenly everything felt wrong. What if she doesn’t really love me? What if she’s just with me out of pity? You felt the walls closing in, panic gnawing at the edges of your consciousness.

“Billie,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She turned to you, concern etching her features. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, a mix of frustration and shame washing over you. Why can’t I just be normal? “I don’t know,” you replied, your voice cracking. “I can’t… I can’t deal with this.”

She shifted closer, her green-gray eyes searching yours, trying to make sense of the turmoil raging inside you. “Y/N, please talk to me. I want to help.”

But the words lodged in your throat, heavy and unyielding. Instead, you felt anger bubbling beneath the surface—anger at yourself, at her, at the world. “You don’t get it!” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You don’t understand what it’s like to feel so… broken.”

Billie’s expression faltered, hurt flashing across her face. It was a look you hated to see, and yet, it made the pain inside you feel more real. “You’re not broken, Y/N. You’re human. We all have our struggles,” she replied softly, but it only fueled the storm.

“No, you don’t understand! One moment, I feel like I can conquer the world, and the next, I feel like I’m drowning in it!” You could feel the tears starting to well, blurring your vision. “And I don’t want to push you away. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Billie reached for you, her hand brushing your arm. “You’re not pushing me away. I’m right here,” she said, her voice steady. “Please don’t shut me out. Let me in.”

But how could you let her in when you were terrified of what she might find? You could feel the weight of your insecurities pressing down on you, the fear of abandonment clawing at your chest. “What if I do push you away?” you asked, your voice trembling. “What if I lose you? I can’t go through that again.”

Billie’s eyes softened, and she scooted closer, her presence warm and comforting. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise. We’re in this together,” she said, her voice unwavering.

But the thoughts kept swirling, growing louder. You’re too much. You’re too intense. No one can handle you. “I can’t keep doing this,” you murmured, feeling the tears slip down your cheeks. “I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

Billie’s expression shifted, a mixture of sadness and determination. “You’re not a burden. I choose to be here with you, and I want to help you through this. Just tell me what you need.”

You looked away, the shame rising within you like a tidal wave. “I don’t know what I need,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I just feel so lost.”

“Let’s take a step back,” Billie said, her voice gentle but firm. “Breathe with me. In… and out.” She demonstrated, inhaling deeply, and you found yourself mirroring her movements, desperate for any anchor to hold onto.

As you breathed, the storm inside you began to subside, if only slightly. “It’s just so hard,” you said after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling like I’m constantly on the edge.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult it is for you,” Billie replied, her eyes filled with empathy. “But you’re not alone in this. I want to be your safe place, even when everything feels overwhelming. Can you let me be that for you?”

The vulnerability in her eyes made your heart ache. You felt the barriers you had built around yourself beginning to crack, and you longed to let her in. But fear gripped you—fear of judgment, fear of being a burden. “What if I fail?” you asked, voice trembling.

“You’re not failing. You’re navigating something incredibly challenging,” she said, squeezing your hand gently. “Every time you reach out, you’re taking a step forward. It’s okay to stumble. I’m right here, holding your hand.”

The tears fell freely now, a mix of relief and heartache. You could feel the weight of your thoughts starting to lift, just a little. Billie was still there, unwavering, and it was more than you had ever expected.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered, feeling small and fragile.

“You won’t,” Billie replied firmly. “I promise. And if it gets too much, just remember that I’m here, and we’ll face it together. No matter what.”

You let out a shaky breath, allowing yourself to believe her for the first time. It was a small flicker of hope in the darkness. Maybe it was okay to lean on her, to allow yourself to be vulnerable. The road ahead would still be difficult, but you didn’t have to walk it alone.

“Okay,” you said, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Billie replied, her voice warm and reassuring. “And remember, you are not defined by your struggles. You’re so much more than that.”

In that moment, with her beside you, the storm inside you felt a little less overwhelming. You were still scared, still uncertain, but you were not alone. Billie’s love, fierce and unwavering, wrapped around you like a lifeline, and maybe—just maybe—you could find a way to navigate the chaos together.

[bobalegsanji]

I've got you

Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the feeling of the warm hands on his face. ‘’Please…’’ he whispers, ‘’I… Please. Promise me you will if I ask.’’

Zosan. Words: 3,976. WCI spoilers!

Trigger Warnings: self-worth issues, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced childhood abuse

One Piece Masterlist

Splat. Splat. Splat.

The dripping of the water got on his nerves.

It’s too loud in the empty storage room. Like a metronome that keeps track of every agonising second he’s sitting there. 

Splat. Splat.

It’s too dark to see the source. The pantry is too small for any windows. Sanji could turn on the light, but getting up from his sitting position against the door feels like an impossible task. 

He should be bothered by the darkness, or the annoying torture of a sound. He should be figuring out where the water is coming from, or at least let Franky or Usopp know, so they can fix whatever it is, but he has no energy to stand up. 

He barely has energy to breathe.

Whatever, it’s not like the ship is going to sink. Every man of the sea knows water won’t trickle into a sailing ship. Water is like a God, all powerful and demanding. A leak in the ship would make itself known, pushing everything out of their way to do the one task Poseidon has laid upon it: to take away oxygen.

Plus, if the ship would really sink right now, Sanji wouldn’t care.

-

-

No one would

-

-

Sanji shakes his head, mentally begging the intrusive thoughts to please, leave him alone. 

The hands in his hair tighten. It doesn’t ground him whatsoever.

When he was a kid, he learned physical harm won’t take away the pain.

His brothers tried to teach him first. They didn’t step down for emotional torture; reminding him he wasn’t loved, humiliating him and threatening to kill him weren’t unusual situations. Ichiji was the worst. He always knew exactly what to say and when to say it. 

Yonji and Niji preferred the physical harm. They’re the ones to teach him that physical pain will never be able to overshadow his mental burdens. No matter how much he bled and cried, or locked up and starved, the thoughts were worse. 

Sanji hates to think of them. They’re part of who he is and, though he doesn’t want to think about it, who he’ll always be. The melancholy and demons of his past are intertwined in every part of his being. 

Every time he feeds his crew, he makes sure to make his own portion a little smaller. He makes sure to wake up a little earlier and go to bed a little later than anyone else. He puts in extra effort to make his crew’s favourite food, drinks and desserts on special days, but never his own. In fights, he’d give up his life for his nakama in the split of a second. 

They’re all small reminders of remains of a past that taught him he’s less than others. 

He breathes deeply. The anxiety in his bones doesn’t settle. 

The mixed signals his body is sending him are making him dizzy. He wants to scratch his arms until he bleeds. He wants to hit his head against the wall until he blacks out. Wants to kick against the door until his legs give in. He wants to scream until his lungs double down, until his body hits the floor, and he gets a couple of seconds of peace.

But that’s now how it works. 

His body has no energy to fuel itself to do anything. Sanji wonders where the energy to keep his heart beating is coming from.

Splat .

A small smile plays on his lips.

His life is a fucking joke.

-

-

Soft footsteps walk above him.

He opens his eyes slowly.

The darkness is still present. His back hurts from being in a very uncomfortable sitting position for too long. How long has he been asleep?

A knock right above his head makes him shiver. 

“Sanji-kun?” Nami’s voice is soft and elegant. It’s beautiful, just like her.

He doesn’t want to respond, but all hell will break loose if they think they’ve lost him somewhere on the big broad sea. If Nami’s searching for him of all people, his nakama is definitely worried.

“Yes, dear?” He responds breathlessly, glad he locked the door before he fell asleep.

As expected, the handle goes down, but the door doesn’t budge. The handle hits the top of his head. Sanji closes his eyes in annoyance, but doesn’t react otherwise. It hurts only a bit, but it feels comforting.

“Are you coming for dinner? Why is the door locked?”

Sanji rolls his eyes. Is it so hard for the crew to leave him alone? He made them dinner. It’s neatly placed on the counter of his beloved kitchen. All they have to do is heat it up, and he’s pretty sure even Luffy could manage to do that. 

“Go ahead and eat, my sweet. I’ve had dinner already,” he tells her as convincingly as possible.

His stomach rumbles softly, but luckily not loud enough for her to hear. The thought of food makes his stomach twist and turn. If she keeps pestering him, he might throw up.

“Oh…” She responds. “Well, will you sit with us then? You can sit between Robin and me.”

In normal circumstances, Sanji would jump at the chance. He’d be their footstool during meals if they asked, but not today. 

The empty feeling will only get worse if he accepts. Seeing his friends, his nakama, enjoy their day and talk while he feels so disconnected and stuck in the past will only bring more torture. He learned his lesson way back in Arrabasta.

“I’m kind of busy right now,” he says softly. His eyes are clenched closed as he says it, already regretting but having to accept the situation.

The handle gets pushed again, and once more, Sanji feels the cold metal make contact with his head. This time there’s less force behind it. Nami already knows it won’t work, but it doesn’t stop her desperate attempt to try and pry open the door again.

“Sanji, come on,” she says softly. “What’s wrong? Is it because of what happened at Whole Cake? Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head. Even if Nami can’t see it, he has to shake away the images of Judge. A wave of embarrassment flushes over him. He wishes they had never learned of his past.

It should’ve been easy. He had never told anyone his last name, never told them anything about his childhood or his brothers... What a twisted play of fate that she decided to reveal his darkest secrets to his new family. 

They know he’s pathetic. They’ve seen his family first hand. They haven’t seen the bruises, or the mental scars that will never leave, but they understand. 

He pushes up his sleeves without looking. His hands search his wrists on both sides, where he feels a ragged line. Whose father would put his own son in handcuffs for long enough that he’s scarred? They’re like his own personal handcuffs, keeping him tied to the dark memories of Germa. 

A singular tear rolls from his eye. He hopes his voice doesn’t show any emotion.

“I really need to finish this, Nami. Please leave me alone.” 

He hears her ragged breath, proof of her hesitation. It pains him to realise; they don’t trust him on his own.

The worst part is, he knows they’re right. He’s in no position to be left alone, but he can’t ask them for help. What would they even help him with? Luffy had promised him the revelations of Whole Cake would change nothing - so they have no reason to suddenly meddle with his self-depreciation issues. 

The sound of her footsteps slowly fading away bleeds through the door. Sanji asked for this, basically begging the orange-haired woman to leave him alone, but he can’t help the nails he unconsciously digs into his wrists. 

She doesn’t care about you

Mindlessly, he stares at the stock of cheap alcohol in front of him. Technically, it’s Zoro’s, but everyone knows the pantry is Sanji’s territory, so that gives him at least some authority over the superfluous amount of sake, right?

He downs a bottle before he can really think about it. It’s messy, Sanji has never been very good at downing something quickly. Droplets fall down the side of his mouth, on his shirt, his trousers.

He wipes his face clean with his hand before grabbing a second. The wetness feels sticky, and the taste is disgusting, but that doesn’t matter.

The burn in his throat feels nice. It grounds him more than the pain of his cuffs in Whole Cake ever had.

-

-

The swaying of the ship feels weird. His centre of balance has shifted from alcohol from pretty good to non-existent. His back’s now against the cupboard with liquor. His eyes keep falling closed involuntarily, but it doesn’t matter. Not like the door is very interesting to look at, anyway. 

Sanji could hear Zoro walking through the corridors from a mile away. It’s good they don’t fish during the night, when Zoro is usually awake, or he’d scare every living creature in a thirty-mile radius to death.

He giggles softly at his own joke.

‘’Cook? Everyone went to bed, come out before I open the door myself,’’ Zoro’s voice doesn’t waver, leaving absolutely no space for arguments. 

‘’Try me, brute,’’ Sanji laughs, taking another swig of - what was it again?

‘’Are you drinking my fucking sake?’’ Zoro sounds angry.

That was it! Sake.

Sanji plops the empty bottle down on the ground. It makes a hollow sound in the otherwise abandoned part of the ship.

‘’I swear to God, I will cut down this fucking door if you don’t open it right now, Cook,’’ Zoro grits through his teeth.

Sanji doesn’t respond. He closes his eyes to try and focus more on the sounds and vibrations of the ship. How is there so little sound? He can hear the waves crash against the side of the ship in a rhythm. His stomach churns a bit at the constant movement, but it’s something you get accustomed to after a life at sea.

The sound of Wado being taken out of its saya triggers Sanji’s fight or flight response. All his muscles tense as his eyes immediately open, he automatically looks around the room in search of any danger. He’s conditioned to link the sound to a fight.

‘’Wait!’’ He stammered. ‘’Don’t - I’ll, I’ll open it.’’ 

It takes some stumbling before he’s up and twists the lock open. 

Zoro pushes the door open as soon as he hears the click. Not taking Sanji’s current state into account - who needed a couple more seconds to grasp the change of situation - the door gets slammed against Sanji’s shoulder, who immediately loses his balance.

The pathetic sight in front of him makes Zoro sigh. Sanji fell down and is currently pouting up at the swordsman with a mean glare, next to several bottles of empty liquor. He quickly counts them.

‘’Seven? You drank seven bottles of MY sake?’’ Zoro screams angrily, pointing somewhere in the direction of the bottles or Sanji - the pantry isn’t that big.

‘’Try to outdrink me, Mosshead,’’ Sanji says simply, picking up another bottle.

Zoro quickly takes it out of his hand, earning another angry glare from the blond. ‘’You’re an idiot, you know that? I’ve outdrank you more times than I can count, and you’re not supposed to last after five.’’

‘’Oh, haven’t you heard?’’ Sanji laughs, amused. ‘’I’m a superhuman now! I can do whatever the fuck I want, also, fuck you.’’

Zoro closes his eyes in annoyance. He hadn’t heard the full story of Whole Cake yet. No one really seemed eager to talk about it, and Zoro’s never been one to gossip, not taking into account it’s only been days since they’d left Wano. 

‘’Does this have to do with that stupid question you asked me in Wano?’’ he asks. 

‘’Which one?’’ Sanji asks curiously.

‘’You know-’’ Zoro says awkwardly. They haven’t really talked about it, not really. ‘’About the… The promise.’’

‘’Oh!’’ Sanji suddenly seems to remember. He tries to stand up, but the sea hasn’t been very kind this night- a particularly strong wave makes him crash down onto the floor again. 

Zoro gives him a hand to help him up.

‘’About killing me?’’ Sanji asks, tightly holding Zoro’s hand. 

They stand still for a couple of seconds, awkwardly staring at each other, until Zoro tugs his hand back. ‘’Yes, that one.’’

Sanji smiles as he steadies himself against the wall with one hand. ‘’Yes and no. Everything has to do with each other, can’t you see?’’ He laughs as he says it, but it’s the most emotionless thing Zoro’s ever heard him say.

Zoro stares at Sanji for a second before realising this isn’t going to help. He promised the crew to get the cook to bed as soon as his watch started - he would’ve picked the blond up three hours ago at dinner time if Nami hadn’t stood on giving Sanji some alone time. 

Look what that brought them. Now, drunk Sanji is his problem. He’s going to curse that witch one day.

‘’Come, we’re going outside. It surprises me you haven’t tried to smoke and light the ship on fire in there,’’ Zoro sighs, grabbing Sanji’s hand and dragging him with him to the deck. 

The idea of finally smoking makes Sanji sound a relieved moan. Zoro feels a blush creep up all the way to his ears. 

‘’Quiet down,’’ he says, annoyed, ‘’if you wake someone up with your whining I’m going to be blamed.’’

The door to the deck gets opened, and Sanji basks in the feel of the cold night air.

‘’So? Don’t want them to think we’re having a little tumble between the sheets, Mossy?’’

Zoro curses loudly. He has half a mind to throw Sanji overboard and act like he has nothing to do with it, but in this state he’s never going to figure out a way to get on dry land again. 

Instead, he opts to take a deep breath. ‘’What is your fucking problem today? First you make everyone worry, then you drink and make it my problem, and now you’re coming onto me?’’

‘’I’m not coming onto you,’’ Sanji says absentmindedly, trying to talk and fish a cigarette out of his chest pocket is harder than it looks when you’re swaying from left to right with no centre of gravity, ‘’but I’m too drunk to do anything against it, so this is your chance.’’

Zoro knows the noble thing would be to let the blond have a cigarette, give him a glass of water and toss him into bed, but he can’t. He’s too curious. The cook is always so closed off, prissy and uncomfortable about any personal conversation - this is his chance to get some information out of Sanji. 

He’s a man of honour, but this is a unique situation. One where he can make a little exception to learn about the annoying, irritable guy he hasn’t been able to get out of his head for months.

Sanji’s standing against the railing. His legs tremble, it only takes a slight push from Zoro to get him on the ground. 

‘’Sit down,’’ he says, already getting seated next to the man. ‘’You’re not - You’re not into men, right?’’

Sanji lets out a lighthearted laughter, but once again, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘’Only into the pretty ones.’’

Zoro raises his eyes, but Sanji doesn’t react. Zoro’s not even sure if Sanji realises all the shit he’s sprouting right now. ‘’The pretty ones?’’

‘’Mhmm,’’ Sanji mumbles, taking a big drag out of his cigarette. ‘’Like Ace.’’

Zoro’s jaw drops at this information. ‘’You had a thing for Ace?’’

‘’No, my love,’’ Sanji smiles. The nickname hits Zoro right where it hurts. ‘’We had a thing.’’ 

Zoro can feel the sadness radiate off of the man like a heater.

‘’Truthfully, I’m… I’m happy I wasn’t at Marineford. I don’t think… I would’ve been able to comfort Luffy.’’ He sighs deeply, staring out onto the deck. His voice grows even more soft and fragile, ‘’I wish I was there for Luffy, but… I think I would’ve broke, too, right on that battlefield.’’

Zoro is not sure how to react. He didn’t expect Sanji to have a thing for Luffy’s brother, let alone for said brother to reciprocate those feelings. Were they feelings? A relationship? Or just casual sex? 

The question seems rude to ask now that Sanji sounds so sad.

He’s nervous about being turned down, but also desperately wants to comfort the cook in some way. He’s no stranger to grief, and knows the painful feeling that worms its way into your heart like a parasite, only to never let go. 

Zoro quietly grabs Sanji’s hand, the one not holding a cigarette, and hopes fiercely he doesn’t get turned down.

Sanji doesn’t. Instead, the blond quietly weaves their fingers together.

‘’What about you?’’ He asks.

‘’Hm?’’ Zoro asks. ‘’What about me?’’

Sanji turns his head to look him in the eye. He looks handsome. The moonlight paints his hair a softer colour than it actually is, and makes his one visible eye light up like… like the all blue Sanji always goes on about.

If only he knew he’s carrying his own dream in the iris of his eye.

Sanji's smile is a mix between misschievous and sad. The perfect explanation for this weird night - kind of sad, but it also gives a thrill to see Sanji like this, so honest and unfiltered. 

‘’Are you into pretty men?’’

Zoro nods worthlessly. How could he explain that the most beautiful man he could ever imagine is sitting right in front of him? 

Sanji laughs softly. ‘’Thought so.’’

‘’What does that mean?’’ Zoro asks, slightly annoyed. What a way to mess up their conversation.

‘’It’s nothing bad. You just never seem to appreciate the beauty of a lady.’’

Zoro hums softly. ‘’I’ve never really liked women.’’

‘’Not one?’’ Sanji sounds surprised. ‘’Not even Hiyori?’’

Zoro shakes his head. ‘’She was sweet, but I can’t let anyone distract me from my goal.’’

‘’Not even a beautiful man?’’

Zoro smiles softly. ‘’Only if that man has the same goal as me.’’ The moment the words leave his lips, an anxious feeling creeps up on him. Is this too much information? Will Sanji figure out this little, one-sided crush he has? 

He cringes, but Sanji just tightens the grip on his hand. ‘’I understand that.’’ 

The swordsman’s clenched muscles relax, and he sighs relieved. Sanji’s drunk, and how could he forget, kind. 

‘’Can I -’’ he starts, scared to bring up the conversation, but it has to happen. Sanji doesn’t seem that drunk anymore, and the possibility of ever bringing up this topic without getting a kick in the face again seems small. He has to know ‘’Can I ask about Wano?’’

‘’The question?’’ Sanji asks.

Zoro hums softly.

It’s quiet between the two. The waves rhythmically crash against the boat. Sanji’s lighter clicks once to light another cigarette. 

Zoro sighs deeply, maybe it was wrong to bring it up, but Sanji hasn’t let go of his hand yet.

‘’I wanted to be sure I’d be dealt with properly… if something happened to me,’’ Sanji sighs. ‘’I didn’t want to hurt our crew.’’

‘’You would never hurt our crew. Why would you think that?’’ Zoro is starting to realise that maybe he did miss a big part of Whole Cake. 

Sanji’s eyes linger on their hands. Zoro doesn’t comment on it.

The quietness resumes until Sanji finishes his cigarette. He turns the hand they’re holding around, so his palms are up in the air. With the other hand, he slowly moves up his sleeve.

The scars around his wrist look deep. They’re not fully settled yet- but it hurts to imagine what it used to look like. Zoro moves their hands around to get a better look, confirming for himself that the scar is a circle around his complete wrist- but it’s not linear, it’s ragged.

‘’Who did this to you?’’ Zoro is very aware of the protective tone in his voice, but he can’t help it. Whoever dared to touch their cook needs to be dealt with.

Sanji grips Zoro’s hand a little tighter before responding, ‘’my father.’’

Zoro looks up, the fresh tears in the blond’s eye make him nauseous. ‘’What?’’

The small, pathetic smile on Sanji’s lips feels like a kick to the chest.

‘’He’s… not a great man. He cuffed me on Whole Cake. If I went against him, they’d blow up. Remember the collars of the slaves of the world nobles in Sabaody?’’

Zoro nods softly.

‘’It was like that.’’ Sanji’s eyes fall down to his wrists. ‘’He did more to me… To my body... I wanted to be sure that if he did something irreversible, you’d keep the crew safe… From me.’’ The last word is accompanied by a sob.

Zoro immediately lets go of his hand to throw his arms around the cook’s shoulders.

Soft sobs make Sanji’s shoulders shake, but it’s quiet. He barely makes a sound as he breaks in Zoro’s arms.

‘’Don’t cry now, Curls,’’ Zoro whispers in his ears. His hand plays with the blond locks around his neck. ‘’I’ve got you. We’ll make him pay, okay? I promise.’’

Sanji shakes his head, but makes no move to leave the embrace. ‘’I can’t.’’

Zoro tries to pull back to look Sanji in the eyes, but the hold on his body is too strong, so he just lets him. 

‘’Why not?’’

‘’He’s my father,’’ Sanji whispers against Zoro’s neck. ‘’I can’t…’’ He takes a couple of deep breaths to steady his voice. Once he’s ready, he doesn’t move away as Zoro expected, he moves closer , nuzzling his nose in Zoro’s neck. ‘’My mother loved him, in some kind of way. I can’t hurt him. For her.’’

Zoro mindlessly plays with Sanji’s hair. ‘’I can do it quickly?’’

Sanji breaks the embrace, slowly pushing the man away from him. ‘’No, you brute,’’ he says with no insulting undertone. 

Zoro knows he might cross a boundary with his next move, but he can’t help it. 

He cups Sanji’s face with his hands, wiping away the tears that have fallen. He’s not used to the kindness in Sanji’s heart, even to people who don’t deserve it, but what Sanji wants, Sanji gets. ‘’Okay. But we’ve got you, yeah? No one is killing anybody, then.’’

Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the feeling of the warm hands on his face. ‘’Please…’’ he whispers, ‘’I… Please. Promise me you will if I ask.’’

‘’Your father? I will kill him in a heartbeat if you as much as point in his direction.’’

Sanji shakes his head, not opening his eyes and heavily leaning on Zoro’s hands. 

‘’No. I need you to kill me if I ask.’’

‘’Sanji…’’

‘’Just promise me,’’ Sanji opens his eyes, fresh tears are ready to fall and his bottom lip quivers, but he bravely talks without letting his voice quiver, ‘’I need to know you’ve got my back.’’

Zoro plays with Sanji’s hair, moving it out of the way and softly stroking the side that’s not always in front of his face. He knows the cook long enough to know which part of his face he wants to keep covered, even if he has never understood why. He’s so beautiful.

‘’I always got your back,’’ Zoro whispers softly. ‘’But I won’t mindlessly kill you. You’re too important to the crew. And to me.’’

Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the touch of Zoro’s hand. He sighs so deeply, it almost worries Zoro. 

‘’I’m not that impo-’’ he stops himself before finishing. ‘’Will you kill me if I go insane, then?’’

‘’Curly, I know you better than anyone. I’ll catch you before you go insane.’’

[sadstonewrites]

Piotr Rasputin/Colossus SFW Alphabet

hi, I'm still alive I promise! Still working on fics, but wanted to throw this out here as a fun little writing exercise with the SFW alphabet! So, without further ado...

taglist: @master-sass-blast @osmiumamygdala @black-but-mildly-sunny @seconds-2-midnight

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Piotr is a very physically affectionate man - pats on the back, a hand up if you’re struggling to climb over an obstacle, a hand on your shoulder and a squeeze as he passes. He would struggle at first if you didn’t like physical affection or were uncomfortable with being touched, but his next go-to would be acts of service. Dishes needed to be washed? Done. Laundry needs to be folded? He’s already on it and put on your favorite show so you can watch as you two pair the socks together; he likes making your life easier if he can. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He’s the type of best friend who you know that if you go to for help, he’s going to help in whatever capacity he can. That being said, he’s the type to offer you solutions and advice as he’s doing it; if you need to vent, you’re going to have to tell him otherwise he’s going to try and fix it as best he can. The type of best friend to give you a lecture for ending up in a bad situation, but still comes to your rescue even if you're an hour away and it’s 3AM on a weeknight. 

The friendship starts naturally, you’re a colleague of his at Xavier’s or a friend of a friend and Piotr just…fits in your life. He slots in and makes a home for himself in your life, and you in his. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He’s a big fan of cuddles, although always very hesitant to initiate since he is one - very large and heavy - and two - covered in a hard metallic armor almost 85% of the time. You’re going to have to initiate and assure him you’re comfortable, and only then will he willingly cuddle up.

That being said, he’s a big fan of laying on his back with you nestled up to his side and your head on his chest. He’s got an arm draped over your side, lazily tracing patterns on your skin and holding you close. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

On paper he’d love to settle down, but knows the reality comes with conditions that he could never willingly ask a partner to be okay with. He’s still a superhero, and so many people would still need his help; if he had to choose between a mission where lives are at stake and you asking him to stay, he hates to admit how difficult a decision it would be. He doesn’t know if he could ever ‘retire’ in the traditional sense, settle down and leave the hero work on the shelf, but if anyone could persuade him, it’d be you.

He’s an alright cleaner in the fact he doesn’t make much of a mess to begin with. Piotr always picks up after himself, and is a very big fan of Marie Kondo’s mantra of keeping a clean and tidy space. As far as cooking goes, he’s good at cooking very specific dishes - Russian comfort food, anyone? But beyond that his cooking is a bit bland; the type to eat chicken breasts and steamed vegetables for every meal because it’s quick, easy, and keeps him fueled. You’re going to need to teach him to use seasonings. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If there is one man in the world who gives people too many chances, it’s Piotr. He always wants to give people the benefit of the doubt, the chance to change or improve. That being said, the point where the relationship would end would be if a major boundary was crossed; at that point, it’s time to reevaluate and have a serious conversation about the trajectory of the relationship. It would be awkward, and uncomfortable, because he would never want to intentionally hurt his partner, but also he would be quick to the point. Not wanting to drag it on any longer than it’s already gone. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Piotr likes the idea of commitment, of having a partner to share things with. Not so much having a ‘better half’ but just having someone there for him, and someone he can be there for in turn. It would probably take him 3-4 years of serious dating before he would want to get married, although he’s the type to dream about it around 6 months into the relationship. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

As Colossus, he had to teach himself to be gentle - to not accidentally crush someone’s hand in a handshake or put his foot through the floor with each step - it’s carried over even when he’s not armored up. He’s extremely gentle, very aware of the strength of his hands or how his large frame fills a room and could very easily knock over an end table (or, god forbid, a person) with the slightest brush of his hip. 

He would need to teach himself to be gentle with his emotions as well, his frustration or anxiety coming off as overbearing or lecturing at first (again, you’ll need to specifically tell him not to offer solutions when you just need to vent). That being said, he’s not the type that’s prone to emotional outbursts, but rather has the need to channel his negative emotions into action rather than sitting with them and fully processing them. 

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Loves hugs, is perfect for hugs, hugs his friends often (if they are okay with it). He’s a big bear hugger, the type to pick the other person up by the armpits and swing them around if the occasion calls for it.  

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

As soon as he knows the other person feels the same, he’s going to say it. Not the type to be subtle in his affections for his friends or romantic partners, so at most maybe 6 months into the relationship. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Piotr doesn’t get jealous; if you’re in a relationship together, then he trusts you and knows not to be jealous if you’re spending time with anyone else or aren’t giving him your full undivided attention. He knows you have a life outside of him and your relationship, and he actively encourages it. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to be protective. He’s not jealous because somebody is taking up all your attention, but he is absolutely moving and putting an arm around you if you show any outward sign of being uncomfortable; he’s going to physically move you behind him, if needed. He’s going to check up on you when you’re with your friends, a quick text to make sure you’re having fun and then another to ask when you’ll be home; he’ll wait up for you to come home and breathe a little easier when you walk through the door. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

If he’s armored up, his skin is cool to the touch and his lips are no different as they gently brush against yours. Butterfly soft, the smallest amount of pressure as if he’s afraid you’ll break under him. He’s a big fan of forehead kisses (it’s the easiest kiss to give when you’re almost seven feet tall) but also kisses to both your cheeks and then a soft, final press of his lips against yours. 

Kiss his knuckles, his palms, and he’s a goner. He’s so used to his hands being used to smash through walls and push through obstacles, that the gentle press of your lips against his joints has him stopped dead in his tracks. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Loves kids, is fantastic around kids. He is very large and is the perfect jungle gym for rambunctious children, but also can be very gentle and encouraging with any of the shyer ones who are intimidated by a large man made of metal. He’s still a bit of a stickler for rules and structure, no desserts before dinner and all vegetables must be eaten, but makes up for it by just being a really fun adult that kids kind of gravitate towards. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Piotr’s mornings are typically his busiest time; if he’s not working out in the morning, then he’s preparing for the day ahead with his various lessons. Is a very early riser as well, has an internal alarm clock that goes off at 6AM regardless of whether or not it’s a weekend and makes it so he cannot fall back asleep. 

Of course, that leads to morning cuddles if it’s the rare occasion where he actually doesn’t have a million things to do that day. He never takes those mornings for granted, holding you close and inhaling the scent of your shampoo and molding his body to spoon yours. If there’s nothing  else to do that day, he’ll spend the entire morning like that. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Piotr’s night time routine is less strict than his morning one, mostly focusing on winding down for the evening and getting comfortable before going to bed. A nice shower, pajamas and a chapter of the latest book he’s reading before turning off the lights and waiting for sleep to come. He tries to avoid any screen time before bed, if he can help it, but absolutely will get invested in whatever show you’re watching and will watch an episode with you before bed. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Piotr is a fairly open type of person as far as revealing things about himself, although isn’t the type to say it out of nowhere without a proper relationship being established. If you ask him anything, he’ll almost always give you a straightforward answer, but won’t necessarily give the nitty gritty details until a proper relationship and mutual trust is created. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Patience of a saint, it takes so much to get him to show any frustration beyond general annoyance or displeasure. True anger is difficult to get from Piotr, and is usually reserved for very specific circumstances or people. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He is the type to make notes in his phone if you mention you like a certain brand of something or a specific snack. Those flowers you mentioned offhand? He has a note in his phone and a reminder to place an order to the florist on Valentine’s Day and your birthday. It's an effort, and doesn’t necessarily come naturally to him to remember all the little details, but wants to make you happy so keeps a running list of things that make you happy. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

There’s a moment in the relationship where the dynamic shifts, where it’s less ‘I am trying to impress/entice this person into a relationship’ and it becomes more ‘this is my friend who I love but also am romantically involved with and would tear this world down for’. That moment would be Piotr’s favorite, and it would be a casual moment; the two of you in pajamas, perhaps both in the same room but idly doing your own thing. And it’s then that Piotr looks over at you, in one of his t-shirts and a face mask while you scroll absentmindedly on your phone,and  there’s something in that moment when you look up at him and smile that makes his heart clench. There’s nothing particularly special, but it’s you and him and he feels so…at peace in your presence. 

It’s at that moment he knows you could ask him to do anything, ask him to jump and he’d ask how high, and it both frightens and exhilarates him to know that you - wonderful, imperfectly perfect you - have this much power over him. A man who regularly faces life or death for a cause bigger than himself as casually as some people court lovers, and he’d throw it all down for the person sitting next to him. 

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He’d wrap you in bubble wrap if he could, carry you down every flight of stairs if it meant your safety. Not because he doubts your ability or because he wants to undermine your autonomy, but because the thought of you getting hurt - especially when he could have prevented it - would kill him. If he can’t protect you, what is he? He’s the shield for his team, the battering ram when the situation calls for it, but for you he’ll be an entire suit of armor. 

Of course he knows that’s not feasible to always be there to save you, but it doesn’t stop him from always watching you a bit closer, having a hand at your side, or walking on the side of you that faces traffic. If you’d try to do the same for him, step in front of him or try to shield his body with your own - at first he won’t know what to think. He’s so used to being the one to take the hits, and to have someone willing to take them for him? Well, it’s going to take some getting used to, and it probably contributes to him falling for you a bit faster than he usually would. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts in a lot more effort than he puts on when it comes to dates and anniversaries and holidays. He has it planned down to the letter - your favorite restaurant, the flowers that you mentioned offhandedly that you liked, and the outfit you said he looked so handsome in. Of course, it’s played off as effortless, just another part of his routine, and you’ll quickly see the cracks start to form if something goes off course.

Just kiss his hand and assure him it’s perfect, as long as he’s there beside you,  and he’ll quickly resume sweeping you off your feet. 

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Stickler for routine, needs structure or else he will quickly fall into bad habits fueled by self doubt. Often questions his place in the grand scheme of things if he feels like he is not fulfilling his role as a protector, and can spiral very quickly into depression or self destructive habits. 

Also, he will wear shorts and a tank top no matter how cold it gets. He’s that kid, you know the one. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Piotr’s interesting in this regard - he doesn’t so much care for his looks as far as aesthetics go. I’ve touched on this in previous asks and various drabbles, but he lifts and works out to be strong rather than to look a certain way. It’s functional, and he's more of a strongman than a bodybuilder, if that makes sense. He works out and stays fit because it suits his lifestyle and helps him be the Colossus his team needs him to be, getting ripped isn’t so much the prerogative. Of course, he enjoys looking strong and like he could tear the doors off a car without trying, and he’s the type to change if he notices a stain on his shirt, but for the most part he’s not a very vain person as far as looks are concerned. He dresses for comfort and utility rather than fashion most of the time, but he has the capacity to dress up if needed. 

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Incomplete isn’t the right word. He’d feel like something was lacking, like he was missing something that would otherwise make him happy, but he would still be able to function. You don’t make him Piotr, just like he doesn’t make you…well, you. It’s an added bonus of having another person around, and it would be great if you were there and he’ll certainly miss you if you aren’t there, but he’ll be able to function without you. He’ll have to, at least that’s what he tells himself. 

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Okay, so the Russian stereotype of drinking vodka like it’s water is very prevalent, and yeah Piotr’s able to drink a lot and stay relatively sober, but he doesn’t really like the feeling of being inebriated beyond a slight buzz. It’s a dangerous game to get him really drunk, not only for anyone trying to keep up with him, but also for him. Drunk Piotr is a sad, sappy Piotr who is going to hold onto his friends or significant other and cry into their shoulder while forgetting his own strength. He has absolutely broken a few barstools (and a few bars) by getting too inebriated for his own good and completely forgetting that he can smash through most surfaces with little to no effort. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

I think Piotr wouldn’t be a fan of people who are completely resistant to change or self improvement - he wants to grow and try new things with you! You can be hesitant, you’ll work up to it together and he’ll be the most supportive person in your corner, but to completely shut him down or resist it altogether would really dishearten him. I also think a lack of ambition would really turn him off - if you have a goal, no matter how small, he wants to be there to help you achieve it. 

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Once he settles down and is fully out cold, he does not move. Absolutely still, he’s conditioned himself to not to move or throw out an arm in fear it’ll strike out and break another bedside table. This will be doubled if you are sleeping beside him, he would be terrified of accidentally rolling over in his sleep on top of you!

[talaofthevalley]

Yugioh decks usually can say a lot about their owner .. what do you think that Ryoken or better to say Revolver's deck says about him?

It's one of my favourite things about Yugioh actually; A character's deck, and even their ace monsters, can say a lot of very interesting things about them.

I will admit I haven't put a lot of thought into Revolver's archetype in relation to his character before, but changing that was very fun and I had a surprising amount of interesting things to talk about.

You can break down Revolver's deck into two basic themes: Dragons and guns. Combine them and boom, you've got Rokkets and Borrel monsters.

You have the obvious connection between his LV username 'Revolver', which is a gun that can hold six bullets (one for every Ignis). Dragons are a Yugioh staple, especially among the rivals, and typically associated with strength, ferocity, and guarding something valuable. For past rivals who use dragons like Kaiba and Kaito that last part makes sense, as older brothers who love their younger siblings very much. Applying this to Ryoken can mean how he's the metaphorical guardian of The Lost Incident and keeper of its secrets, and at the end the literal guardian of the network. Strength and ferocity he has in spades, often depicted as a figure who is far above other characters in terms of skill and knowledge.

Guns though.... I mean they're pretty straightforward. They're a tool used to kill. Which isn't an inaccurate way to describe Revolver in S1. He sees himself as a tool to accomplish Hanoi's, but mostly his father's goal. And that goal is the annihilation of living creatures. And in the finale he's the literal trigger standing between the destruction of the internet. Ryoken keeping his promise to not pull that trigger, I think, then serves as a good indication of where his character will go from there. Now, Revolver is not a weapon wielded solely for someone else's ambition, but for himself and his wants.

And is that not a very similar way Rokkets are played? Rokket monsters have different effects that trigger upon being targeted by a Link monster, such as destroying a monster on the field or the extra deck, backrow destruction, or everything in one column. That, I think, is what Revolver is doing post-S1; Directing his destructive powers to be the most effective and beneficial for not only himself, but for people he cares for in some way.

That Rokkets destroys themselves is relevant as well. Revolver is perfectly fine making himself the target of people's ire and hatred, even if it's not warranted or justified. He was willing to die for his mission in the S1 finale. And ofc famously no one hates Kogami Ryoken as much as Kogami Ryoken. But it's a self-destruction for the sake of something, not just self-destruction fueled by self-hatred. It fits with Revolver's knight theming, to fight and act for something greater than oneself. Which is also what the Rokket monsters do; they destroy themselves when targeted in order to fulfill a objective.

Then we come around to Rokkets other noteworthy effect; at the end of your turn, they can special summon other Rokkets from the deck if they are in the graveyard because their beforementioned effect was activated. Revolver is as tenacious as they come, and equally resourceful. Even after losing to Playmaker, what he's hung up on is not that he was defeated, but Playmaker's identity. He swears he will win next time, and that's that.

Revolver is also notably efficient in building up forces and gather power for his goals. He builds the Knights of Hanoi back up in S2, even breaking Kyoko out of a high security prison so they will be at full power. Revolver is the one to gather the scattered characters into one group to work together to defeat Lightning. To say he knows how to use people is a misleading term, but he's very perceptive and knows how to best make them cooperate. It doesn't always work, but no one is unaffected by his attempts either.

All this can be related to the Borrel line of extra deck monsters, whose effects are in part used to activate the Rokket monsters own effects. Revolver knows how to pull out people's strength, and sometimes he does it without meaning to (looking at Playmaker). Borrel monsters also commonly have effects to negate or counter effect activation, and also raise their own attack. They're pretty overwhelming monsters that in the real life cardgame overtake the Rokket archetype and are used in decks without them. Revolver is a very overwhelming presence in the show, as a duelist and character. He doesn't enter a scene without stirring some shit up.

And of course Revolver's use of old trap cards showcases his resourcefullness, his ability to find an advantage in even the most unlikely of places, and that he's still 18 years old and can be just as much of a little shit as anyone else.

[dollsanddandy]

Okay I know everyone is freaking out and I don’t want to add fuel to the fire or anything but this is not red or pink or blue, it’s purple. More magenta but purple nonetheless. I am going to repeat one more time, nobody freak out, this is only speculation and the fact this leak was so out in the open seems like a red herring so take my thoughts with a grain of salt.

Eleven likes purple. Purple is Eleven’s color. Now, I see four possibilities for this:

Eleven did, in fact, die and while in mourning or with her on his mind, Mike is wearing her color, purple. Doesn’t necessarily mean Mileven canon, but maybe Mike feels guilty that he wasn’t truly in love with her due to his love for Will if Byler canon. Maybe the scene with Hopper is him learning to accept it wasn’t his fault and he’s okay to move on with his life and be with Will. This would be a believable ending for Byler. They finally get together after this talk and Mike lets go of the guilt and trauma from feeling like whatever happened to Eleven was due to his dishonesty. He is free and he loves Will and he can’t waste the rest of his life feeling sorry about this. He has to love the boy he loves instead of pushing him away. Avoiding your love for someone hurts those around you and he just has to love.

Mileven endgame. There has been a rumor that she likely survived Season 5. I am unsure how true this is, but from a narrative standpoint, Eleven should not be forced to die for the plot. It would be so so unfair for her to die before she got to explore who she is and what she wants for her life. I would hate that for her, but even so with Mileven canon I see two other possibilities:

We unfortunately receive a comphet storyline, which would make sense for the era, but would be so heart-wrenchingly tragic. Mike looks very down in the pictures they’ve taken. He looks unhappy and he has admitted defeat to heteronormativity and conformity. Now, I want you to walk with me through this thought and line of thinking and I promise I have a point. Today I showed my boyfriend the “I know what Mike said to Eleven” joke video. His first response was Karen does not have a girlfriend. He then jokingly added that if Ted had a boyfriend it’d be way funnier and we’d like him more. However, as I’m typing this at nearly 2 AM, Ted is character who has been around since the beginning of the series and has had no real significance, so what is his purpose? What if Ted’s character is a comphet story? Nancy states in Season 1 that Karen and Ted ended up conforming by merely marrying to create their nuclear family. Ted seems to show zero interest in his wife sexually or in any way at all in any of the seasons. He also is the one who makes homophobic allusions and remarks in Season 1 & 2. Now, I know that homophobia doesn’t mean that a character is internalizing it and they are gay, but what I am saying is that Mike “looks” (Tyler, the Creator reference) like Ted. There has been a recurring theme of breaking the cycle especially when it comes to fathers or father figures. Mike is gay, but what if he continues the cycle? What if Mike is the one character that doesn’t break the cycle? He becomes a repeat of his father, unhappy with his marriage, but he does it to conform like Ted. This is a norm in the 80s, unfortunate but true. The scene with Hopper is him telling Mike he has his blessing and he knows Mike is a good kid and will take care of Eleven. We see Will end up happily married to another man and Mike is torn about what could have been. A tragic ending, but believable.

Mileven is just endgame. They survive Season 5 and without supernatural crap they are able to actually grow as a couple. Mike is wearing purple and somewhere Eleven is wearing blue. Byler doesn’t happen, who knows where that leaves Will?

The third possibility I see is a continuation of the first possibility of Mileven endgame except it’s not endgame. Instead, let’s take this idea and drag it a little further. Through the lens of Byler, this would be a nightmare for Mike. His greatest fear is being unable to confess to Will he loves him, being unable to live the life he actually wants. His fear is becoming his comphet father. I believe this could be an illusion of Vecna’s doing. Vecna taunts Mike with what will be if he isn’t truthful. He becomes Ted and that horrifies him. Maybe both Will and Mike are in this Vecna nightmare and the only way they make it out alive is through admitting their feelings for one another and not conforming to societal norms. This would make sense to me as the epilogue being a time jump to graduation just feels wrong. This has to be an illusion.

My final theory? It’s just a purple shirt.

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine “Star Wars: “special editions” songs V.

• When We Were Young

Imagine you are friends with Anakin Skywalker since childhood. However, once you two are now grown ups following different paths, a new sentiment arises. Part II

Warnings 1: *long post*; drama; angst, unburnt Vader; explicit smut.

Warnings 2: alternative universe; no younglings are killed here.

Warnings 3: based on Adele’s two albums “21” & “25”

No minors.

***

• Before the storm…

As much as Anakin tries not to get you involved in his internal riot, his efforts have no avail. You may not be sensitive to the Force, but you do know him like the palm of your hand.

So here you two are, beneath the moonlight—in a rare, calm instant where you two could have a moment for yourselves.

“How’s it been serving Senator Amidala?”, Anakin eventually asks. He’s been told of the attack that nearly got yourselves killed—another factor that fuels his frustration; had he been truthfully powerful, he might’ve been able to prevent such things to happen.

“It’s been quiet lately”, you tell him with a smile on your lips, diverting his thoughts from his self agony. “For once, it’s been lightly boring…”

He chuckles, eyeing you with devotion. Anakin knows you just as deeply as you know him. As he holds you possessively against him, he is tempted to dive in your thoughts—but he wants to focus in you, in what you have to say, even if this means he’ll get worried over you constantly…

“Boring?! Getting me concerned is not boring, my lady!”

You giggle at his protest, finding adorable how protective he is towards you. Leaning your forehead against his chest, your raise your eyes, meeting his.

“We are not entirely different from each other, uh? Should I remind you of all those years when you were mute, never writing one single letter to let me know how you were?”

Anakin sighs dramatically.

“Well, you have a point”, he admits rather unwillingly.

There is an exchange of glances, where he contemplates your soft features, a smile slowly spreading over his lips when realizing you are blushing because of his intent stare. He then leans to peck your lips, resting a hand around your waist all the whilst he holds your neck gently.

"I love you", you sigh in content as he kisses you.

"I love you too, Y/Nickname."

As you part the kiss, he cups your face and says:

"I will never let go of you. This I promise."

"I pray you keep it", you whisper, sounding more eager than you expect.

As the twilight starts to paint a soft shade of orange, Anakin and you exchange promises underneath the rising stars. No words, however, dare to break the spell when the kiss starts to deepen, letting open the pave for a spark of something new.

Words seem to dissipate into forgetfulness as his tongue slowly pursuit yours. As you slowly turn towards him, his hands are now pulling you much closer to him.

You let yourself be involved although you are unsure how to proceed. Anakin doesn't know either, but there is a natural instinct that makes him kiss you fervently all the whilst his fingers dig into your waist, moving impatiently below. You realize what he wants to do--and to realize this is what you want too makes you soaked.

"Naughty, naughty", he whispers in between chuckles when he parts the kiss to let his tongue slide to your neck.

"Don't you dare to read my thoughts, Skywalker", you snort at him, eyes lightly closed as you blush in response to how he devours your flesh. You hate to be inexperienced, wishing there is something you could do.

As if sensing your mute frustration, he pulls your hand right over his rigid pants. Anakin smirks, growing bolder with his hands too, ignited by a desire of feeling you for the first time.

“Ani”, your choked voice gives out more than you’d admit out loud.

“Let me show you something, princess”, he whispers into your ear.

His fingers carefully slip from your hips to your thighs all the whilst his eyes are locked with yours. You lean to kiss his lips, your delicate hands doing the same to him. But you lose track of your thoughts once his index finger finds its way to your feminine core.

“Oh!”, you exclaim, perplexed by the sudden fire that seems to burn your body like a fever.

“Shh”, he smiles at you; feigning confidence, he finds way to please his lady. “Do not be so loud, darling.”

As he starts to stimulate you, he’s careful to read you. Anakin smirks at himself when seeing your mind going blank, you rolling your eyes upon this new discovery. It does arouse him to know he’s your first.

“Ani, you…”, you gasp, moving lightly your hips against his hand. “You… Oh Maker!”

It does not really help your case that his lips are now going to your neck, bitting it softly before making ways to your collarbone. You throw your head back, but your hands are now buried into his curly hair in order to prevent your fall.

“Is it good, my dearest? Tell me if it is”, he whispers against your skin, taking delight at how easily you squirm at the slightest movement.

“You make me… Ani!”, you are about to cry out, feeling a sudden heaviness upon your legs. “Ani… I…”

He would gladly bury himself in between your breasts, but the desperation in your voice calls him. The Jedi gently lies you down, watching your face as you come undone. And before you get too loud, he shushes you with a kiss.

But just when you are about to make it your turn, a sudden noise breaks the spell. Sensing a strange movement, Anakin impatiently sighs.

“We better go”, he grumbles, whilst helping you straighten yourself. “There is somebody looking for me, I can tell.”

You pout at him, still unreasonable to conceive that, in reality, you two should not be seen.

“W-What? Why?”

You are smirking, it’s as if you are drunk—a sensation you’ve never tried, though, because you were never attracted to alcohol, seeing the sad side effects it gives people.

However, Anakin feels as if he’s tasted fire, he’s now experiencing the cold, for he is tensed—he senses the presence of another Jedi and it’s possibly the one who he came to despise: Master Windu.

What’s he doing in Naboo?

“We better go”, he tells you, somewhat distant.

“Ani”, your smile now falters and your heart skips a beat. “What… Why? What happened?”

Just like that everything has changed. Unbeknownst to you, an eclipse is forging…

“We must go”, says he firmly, trying not to focus on the possibility he might get hurt you in the process. He did not have the time to tell you about the whole Jedi process. “Now.”

You do cast him a hurtful look, but understand that there is little to be done. You are aware that what you two were doing was secretly and suddenly you come to despise the Jedi Order for taking him away from him.

Anakin senses the eruption your heart is about to suffer, but he has no time to ease it.

There is so much to be said, but little time to do so.

“I’ll explain to you soon”, Anakin assures you as he leads you to your quarters.

You hold his wrist, impending for a moment his depart.

“Come back to me, Anakin. Don’t leave me alone in this world”, you tell him, urged by a bad feeling that came uninvited. “Whatever is going on, come to me. I’ll help you somehow. Don’t hide from the light.”

The shadow casted on his features softens. He gives you a crooked smile.

“You are my light, Y/N. I’ll come back to you. I’ll always find you”, he smiles, even though his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

It seems to you that he wishes to tell you something. Anakin hesitates, but it’s only for a moment before this moment is gone. He presses a kiss on your forehead. Aware that you are going to burst into tears, he turns his back on you.

For your own sake, Y/N.

But this is the last time you see each other before it happens…

***

Two weeks ago.

Once a lady in waiting who got used to nobility, who enjoyed dancing, who smiled the brightest of the smiles, the one every poet praised the beauty… Now you are a phantom, a memory of what liberty meant.

You are a fugitive. You don’t belong to the Empire, but you don’t know how to fit in the Rebellion either. You have become a survivor.

Memories ache, indeed. You understand Anakin died with the Order 66. Padmé herself told you. She tried to encourage you to join the Resistance, but you’ve come to realize the Jedi were too vain to see what Anakin was going through—and thus let your beloved die.

“They took him away from me!”, you told her, eyes puddling with tears.

“It was the Empire, my dear”, Padmé insisted. “It is that evil thing we ought to aim the destruction.”

But even then… Every hope died when Padmé was killed. It was too much for you to take. Now here you are. A nobody, a vessel of the past, haunted by a broken heart.

I should have fought for you, Ani.

You do not know but by choosing to hide in the shadows, these are to lead you to someone whom you’ve long accepted to be gone.

Lord Vader has not forgotten you. But he waited patiently to acquire enough power to take you back. He is no longer the weak Skywalker, prompted to sentimentalism and control. No, he is better than that.

With Palpatine now defeated, the power of the Empire lies with the last Sith Lord. Unwilling to share it with a pupil, he in fact knows only one can be his equal.

His yellow, flaring eyes search for you; aware of your silent steps, they eventually find you. His heart skips a beat when seeing your beauty has matured—remaining alluring as ever, time has not changed it all.

Despite your link with old Skywalker, Vader’s too attached to let go of you. There is a tentacle of remorse suffocating his mind for allowing himself to abandon you.

But he overcomes it. The need to have you comes to it. And he does not take any more time to come for you…Not when seeing how close you two are from each other.

***

The meeting.

You are in this strange planet whose name you know nothing of. After getting yourself friends with pirates, you are delivered there specially with your gold now gone—and out of respect for you, they spare your life.

Surrounded by fog, you can barely see anything. Hugging yourself, you are exhausted and tired from running after two years.

You still remember when seeing the death of the good queen Padmé, the moment where Clovis nearly sold you out back to Tatooine so he could save himself.

You cannot forgive his treason, although you did try to find excuse for his deeds. Maybe it was his way to cope with the loss of his wife. Whatever it was, you tried to reach out for Anakin. Desperately so.

He never answered. And you believed him to be dead and gone.

Like you were told by Clovis himself. As you still recall the reasons why all of a sudden you were treated with little lenience by the man who was like a brother to you, wondering what Anakin would do if he was in your shoes.

You snort to yourself at the thought. He would easily outwit anyone… A deed that I could never do.

A metallic breath comes so suddenly, cutting short your thoughts. You shiver, fearful.

“W-Who is there?”

No response. You try to remain calm, appealing to reason that this planet, as your former "friends" told you, is neutral, somewhat forgotten by both rebels and the Emperor.

However, why does it not feel so? The breeze that meets your moves is cold, making you shiver again. Are you having a fever? The thought makes you stop.

Perhaps you are exhausted, emotionally broken and physically weak. This world took everyone you loved...

"I was not born for happiness", you contemplate out loud as your old scars bleed again.

But the metallic breath is heard again. You associate the sound of death and part of you accepts it straightaway: there is little need to flee from it after these years.

Then a voice, in the middle of the dark, whispers:

"I thought you were better than being a quitter, Y/N".

You turn your back instantly. His voice...

"Ani?", you sound surprised, but also hurt.

You were told he was dead, but... How? In order to put end to your doubts, he shows up, dissipating the remaining shadows so he is seen.

Anakin stands right before you strong and healthy, curly hair falling over his neck, just like the last time you two met, except you could see something different in his eyes.

Where there had been a piercing blue painting his irises, now you see a yellow flaring with range. This Sith Lord, seeing how stunned you are, breaks the silence at last:

"Hello, Y/N Y/LN. It’s me. I was wondering if after all those years you’d like…. To meet. If time was supposed to heal all of which we left behind, it did no healing."

You know he is expecting some shocking comments about his darkness, the evident transition behind his eyes. But what you point out is something different than his expectations would meet.

"You are alive. I was told you were dead."

"No. I was never killed, but..."

You frown at him.

"Were you alive all this time? Have you had no consideration whatsoever of what you put me through? The misery that took away my life, the reason why I went grey, losing every reason to live?!"

Seeing you burst into tears like this sensibilizes him. Vader comes to realize his selfishness, but before that how he underestimated you.

"I needed to be powerful", he says, his voice lightly shaken. "For you, Y/N. For you. I did this for you!"

You move to where he is, blinded by tears.

"Well, then. Why didn't you come back for me then?!Where were you when I needed the most? Why couldn't you save me like you claim now...?"

You take his face with your hands, not minding the danger his presence poses to you. As much as you are not a Force sensitive, you are no fool. You know he is different and Lord Vader can tell by your thoughts that reason is telling you to go away.

But where ever reason has been victorious upon sentiment? Not even this powerful Lord is immune to it.

"I do not need your power. I could not care less about any of these things. I want you. When did we stop being against the world?", you struggle to express yourself.

There are indeed one hell of an ocean of sentiments. Silently, they are muted by circumnstances even though Vader knows them well. He is acquainted with every inch of it. Why hiss away? Why not stopping the fight and merely be drowned into you?

Those eyes of yours that denude your soul, which possesses countless scars, are now calling him.

For a thousand stars I would burn for you. I would get burned with you.

No words are needed. He knows what there must be done. Darkness and light are set upon you two. Whoever he is now, he is the same man who pursuited after your love. In the end, it's what matters.

***

Nowadays.

"Green suits you", he whispers, standing behind you, hands resting around your waist.

You two are in the throne room contemplating the endless universe that lies ahead of you. There is peace at long last. The few Jedis that are out there remain in dust, a memory to some, a history to all—an idea that was promptly accepted by your lover and husband, the Emperor.

There is no resistance, nothing that will go against the balance firmly restored. Vader found himself in between shadows and light after a long time merged in struggles with himself.

In a twist of fate, you’ve been rescued twice from this man who is described by his enemies as the bitter mix of mankind and machine, the fall of the brilliant General who became everyone’s worst nightmare.

But to you Anakin remains the same old Anakin. You’ve been at his darkest hours, you’ve seen his insecurities, you’ve shared his part of unspoken fears. He’s been always your other half, your dark angel who saved you from the coldest hell you’ve been yourself.

As you told him the day he took you away from the deadly embrace of the rebels, people wanted to change him, to turn him into something else…all the whilst all she ever wanted was him the way he was.

Now, here you are. His empress. His woman. Better yet, his wife. His eternal paramour. Burning like a thousand stars under a midnight sun.

“I suppose it frees my spirit”, you tell him, turning around so you can have a better sight of him. Anakin, with his old scar, side smirks at you, already aware of your non said intentions. He is dressing his Vader’s robes, though thankfully his handsomeness is not put away with that mask you detest. “It reminds me of the old days, when you told me you knew it was wrong but you longed to have some fun.”

He laughs quietly at the remembrance. He does remember how often he and you misbehaved as children in Tatooine, a bad tendency that followed years later.

“Oh my Maker. Of all the people in the world…” You smile at him, locking eyes as you dance with no song to play in the background of your high spirits. “…you were the one to introduce me to freedom.”

He leans mischievously against you, holding your hand as he pulls you closer against him.

“Not many would describe me as the declarer of liberty”, so Anakin muses sarcastically, letting himself be played by you.

“Since when am I like everyone?”, you snap back, grinning.

He now presses you against the wall, locking your wrists above your head.

“Don’t be snippy at me, young lady.”

You side smirk, tilting your head to the right as your gaze is held by his.

“Or what?”

“You shall be punished.”

There is little need to speak. When his lips finally meet yours, what starts as a slow aching turns into a passionate fever that spreads all over your body.

Right there, in the throne room, you are under his control. He has no modesty in pulling his will above yours, and you gladly comply with it. It takes no more than a few seconds before he has your green gown is removed, letting you completely nude under his gaze.

“You are so beautiful”, he softens, contemplating your y/c eyes, how alluring they are. Anakin sighs, this is the moment where passion gives place to sentiment.

“Let me photograph you into this light”, you manage to release your wrists off his grip so you can hold his face. “You are like the knight of my stories. You are my chosen one.”

“I do not wish to lose you. You sound like a song, and fuck this reminds me of when we were young”, he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours. “I love you, angel.”

As slowly your fingertips start to remove his clothing, tossing away his dark cape, you wrap your legs around his waist. Already with a friction aching in your feminine parts, you, however, are completely emotional.

“I love you, my prince. We may not be younger anymore, but our love, the bond that unites one to the other, is timeless.”

You pursuit his lips and soon the sentimentalism steps aside for passion to arise again. He senses your arousal and does not take any more time before he inserts one finger and then two.

“Ah!”, you gasp in surprise.

“So damn wet for me”, he groans, sensing his own manhood pumps against the leather of his pants in complete rigidness. “This always brings me to the day I felt you for the first time.”

You arch your back, speechless. He tortures you like he knows he does, smirking in delight when seeing you going under his touch, crying out his name.

The throne room is not so quiet anymore as he makes you see stars—not only literally. Vader burns with you in every meaning. His eyes scan your face, moving to your hardened nipples that require his heavenly touch. By using the force, he has where he wants you to be: undone.

You are a mess, but you are not finished yourself. Aware of your impure thoughts, Anakin’s now Vader. And he has you going to his knees.

“Yes, Emperor”, you whisper, voice lightly choked with desire as he uses the Force to hold your wrist behind your back. “What is it you want?”

Caressing your face and moving to your neck, he once more stimulates your nipples before going back to his former position. Putting away his manhood, Vader groans at you.

“I want you the way you want me.”

You side smirk at him, no more playing the innocent one, the role you liked to play before he subdues you to his will. Vader takes a great like of your secretive side too.

And what’s better is that you do like taking him with your mouth, never for a second breaking eye contact.

And so it goes for some time. But before he does come to your mouth, every gentleness dies when you are lifted and, once again pressed against the wall, he slides his manhood within you.

***

Feeling his skin so close against yours, locking bodies when two move as one, is a sentiment that brings pure delight to you. Vader too, he is not indifferent to the waves of emotions that bring you ashore.

“Come to me, angel. Take me to Heaven”, he whispers hotly in your ear like a prayer.

And his hands play a great deal in helping you experience such an unnamed bliss.

“Oh Anakin!”, his name is screamed, overcoming his groans as he comes within you.

“Yes?” Lord Vader smiles down at you, eyes glinting with joy.

You cup his face and peppers it with kisses, so devoted you are to him.

“I love you. By the Maker, I do”, you moan softly.

He rubs his nose against yours, cuddling tight for one single moment.

“So do I, princess”, he whispers against your ear, wiping away some locks of your hair that are glued against your face because of the sweat. “We should better get dressed.”

“We should”, you agree between giggles.

When you two look at each other one more time, it does feel like when you were young again. There is serenity and peace, but now the certainty that nothing will ever stay in your path again.

[confirmeddead]

Thank you so much for replying to my super long ask! Really liked hearing your take on it all! And I look forward to your planned post about JA’s comments!

First, just to clarify I’m not against an enemies-to-lovers plot for Daniel and Armand, I just fear it would be the old rom-com trope of “hate each other but have sexual chemistry resulting in hooking up and then just eventually liking each other”. Cause that is a pretty shallow relationship dynamic, and I just want there to be something more to it. I agree there’s potential for something really interesting! Especially given San Francisco, Armand turning Daniel, them literally being ’bonded’ and the kinda enforced intimacy between them (sent an ask about that a long time ago, if you recall?^^).

I fear that the show is not halfway as interested in the relationship as we fans are. Like the above trope between them just doesn’t make any sense, but what if that is where the show is going? Especially given AZ’s comment about the line being thin between hate and love. Or in light of the fact that one of the show’s trademarks being foreshadowing and playing the long game - but there not being any real foreshadowing about DM? I know they’ve promised to do DM, but the lack of any personal moments/scenes between Armand and Daniel (the exception being ’rest’) just makes me worry it will be shallow and come out of nowhere. Like my nightmare is that Armand and Daniel will just be like “Guess we’re even/I freaking still hate your (both to each other)” -> cue make-out as a consequence of the sexual tension fueled by hatred-mixed attraction”. Obviously it would be done with better and more subtle dialogue, but the scenario itself isn’t… great. Because I agree with you that SF and Armand’s (and Daniel’s) respective past should add dimensions to their dynamic!

Could you clarify for me what you meant with Daniel not dropping the subject? I’m very curious and I don’t think I really understood what you meant? I assume you don’t mean the subject being why Armand turned him, if it was out of spite like Louis said (and AZ and Rolin stated)? Because if it’s due to spite/hatred there isn’t really anything more to nail down for Daniel, I think? I do like you theory that Armand still to some extent stalked Daniel, even if pastDM wasn’t a thing - it does make sense - and that in turn could be be part of why Daniel would now chase Armand - to nail down what Armand’s been doing around his life, if that’s what you mean? Possibly figuring out how to be fascinating and ending up curious about Daniel?

Or do you mean Daniel will pursue Armand as the subject because Armand is the (fascinating) subject to nail down? Cause I can see that being pretty compelling, and a good start of something between them. However, I don’t know if Daniel chasing Armand and demanding his story/time/guidance with vampirism would be something this Daniel would do - because of San Francisco/the Dubai turning (if it was out of spite). Daniel seemingly hates Armand after s2e5, because of what he put him through, understandably so (confirmed in interviews by EB). So I don’t see him expanding any great effort or in any way compromising his pride to ask/persuade Armand to share his tale or guidance. Daniel’s chasing after Armand to get him to tell his tale/or for guidance just feels out of synch with where Daniel is emotionally with Armand at the end of the season in that case? Maybe Daniel is emotionally over it after Dubai and due to exposing/breaking up Armand’s relationship with Louis as revenge, but I don’t know…? I have a hard time seeing Daniel asking anything of Armand at this moment, because of their past and bad blood (haha - see what I did there? :P). I could possibly see Armand starting to stalk/chase Daniel, falling into his old pattern of attaching himself to who broke apart his previous status quo though maybe?

I could easily see Daniel being fascinated with Armand and wanting his story (and I like that as a plot) and it could believably fuel a chase, but we never actually see this Daniel being fascinated by Armand in the show. This lack of foreshadowing is honestly what trips me up, because no matter the limited time the writers had there was definitely time for a single scene or even a just a moment hinting at it. Daniel was curious about Armand-as-Rashid, but after the season one finale he became mostly only suspicious and determined to expose him - which makes sense in context and doesn’t rule out any further curiosity, but we never got to see even a tiny hint of any? Not even in s2e3? Maybe I’m missing something though? We do see them make eyes at each other - so sexual chemistry, but no single line of dialogue revealing any hint of fascination or curiosity. Possibly Armand’s line about the proposal does reveal that he stalked Daniel, so that could be something but I’m not sure if that is the case. Daniel wants to write more books and know more of the vampiric world - he evidently decides to do a documentary of Lestat. So I guess I could maybe see Daniel demanding Armand share his tale as a kind of “least you can do since you attacked/turned me/tortured me back in the 70’s” - but I don’t know if that emotionally makes sense to Daniel at the end of s2 or why would Armand would acquiesce.

Rolin’s comments have irked me as well, especially him talking about Armand turning Daniel like it’s “the” DM thing. Of course it’s important that Armand is the one to turn Daniel, but that fact is a pretty small part of that makes the DM relationship what it is. The turning itself is arguably a bigger thing, but that apparently isn’t important enough to do on screen? Rolin also saying that any interaction between Daniel and Armand is DM annoyed me, because I can wait but please don’t put the bar of what DM is on the floor. I assume he said so because he’s surprised about the interest in the pairing and because we won’t see anything substantial still about DM in s3, so a way to manage expectations.

Very grateful for your previous reply, sorry for long ask (again) - I really like reading your ideas and speculation, and obviously feel free to disagree with any of my takes - I’m very curious to hear your view! Thank you!

Hi!

I actually don’t agree that there hasn’t been foreshadowing for them getting together. I think every moment between Armand and Daniel is important. I don’t mean “all moments are DM”, but every snarky comment, smirk, moment alone is just building viewers up to gasp at the Armand turned Daniel reveal. He interacts with Daniel SO MUCH in the show, even when he was playing Rashid. That shouldn’t be overlooked.

So funny story, I know people in my life (and others I’ve seen online) who have no clue about Devil’s Minion and aren’t on socials for the show. They’ve specifically pointed out the “weird vibes” between Daniel and Armand aka the flirty vibes. It’s funny that they don’t even realize this is a thing in the books.

And the moments between them in Dubai are always so… odd. The prayer scene and 2x3 one-on-one interview? I’m not saying they were flirting, but these were the moments people were seeing and going “huh” about. A lot goes on with just the eyes. Remember Eric’s comment about the eye acting going on in S2?

“We do a lot of looking at each other," he said of Daniel and Armand. "I do a lot of listening to Jacob, but we do a lot of looking, checking out each other as this relationship continues to go through quite a lot of changes in all the episodes."

I think this does say a lot. Armand’s eyes say so much. The small laughs during their moments together. SF Daniel could never make Armand smile like that. They’re asking us to use context clues- Armand can’t help but be drawn to Daniel.

And opening himself up to Daniel in 2x03, however embellished it may have been. He didn’t exactly portray himself in the best light. In 2x04 he tells his story in the museum. This is the same guy who asked Louis not to do the interview, tortured Daniel over the first one in SF, hid from Daniel in S1. And now he’s telling him about his abuse. It wasn’t necessary to the story, but he let Daniel know KNOWING Daniel’s history using someone’s past against them. There’s something there, something important.

The writing is never that black and grey, to me. I trust that it’s not going to be brushed off because, frankly, Eric is Rolin’s favorite. Like, his DREAM casting. He’s gonna put his whole foot into the writing (as the show has already done!). Eric’s enthusiasm for his character and future with Armand should be exciting for them. They can’t outright say things because a lot has changed in their dynamic and less is known to us about our Daniel’s future. Talking about plot lines for his future relationship seems like an irrelevant question from the press to the writers. It’s like asking where Claudia is in the present when season 2 hadn’t even aired- we’d get there eventually!

So with Daniel not dropping the subject, I’m talking about him being a journalist.

“'... Interviewed a fallen Catholic archbishop, four Enron vice presidents and if they've got something to hide they always start with some kind of disguise.'”

He’s good at his job- maybe not the wives and kids business, but his job? He nails it. He did that with and for Louis with the S2 finale reveal. Daniel doesn’t give off the vibe that he’d just sit back and shrug that his maker walked out on him. It’s not even about the hatred and spite, but about the why. We don’t know why, I don’t think he does, either. I definitely don’t think Louis does! No one knows what’s running through that thick skull of Armand’s. And with Armand’s backstory with Marius coming to the forefront at some point in the season, he’s getting puzzle pieces to the person Armand is. What does he do with them? He finishes the puzzle.

Again, I don’t think Daniel needs the guidance anymore. Daniel hasn’t needed guidance in years- he figures it out. Armand’s a fascinating subject but it’s gonna become more personal than that. It’s gonna be personal for him. This is his life now, that’s his maker. He can’t separate himself from his subject now. It’s going to come to a head when Marius is revealed to be alive, that’s my working theory. Oh, another lie from Armand? No… not a lie. Not at all. Armand’s been lied to and doesn’t even realize it. I’d love to see Daniel approach Armand with a white flag waved. Maybe he hates his maker, but Marius? He lied to his fledgling for damn near 500 years. Maybe he can almost forgive the crazy for a second to TELL HIM.

I genuinely think the “all interactions are DM” comment is bullshit. Like that man was SO tired of Devil’s Minion comments while beginning press for the TVL season. He’s had to hear it for years now. I don’t think they’re surprised at all that DM is popular, but Rolin takes me as the person to wear his feelings on his sleeve. Any comments he’s made are very “STOP ASKING ME. Here, have this or whatever.” I think when the DM questions become relevant, he’d happily answer.

Sorry if my comments are all over the place but thanks again for your ask!