#i wish i knew what he thinks love is and what hes comfortable with and how he felt and experienced love and if he still loves me like

[these-written-reveries]

This is a great post and it also reminded me of one of my fav fictional queerplatonic relationships, Schmidt and Nick from New Girl.

I remember watching that scene from season 5 episode 5 for the first time

Schmidt: Nick is very romantic. He does romantic things for me all the time!

Nick: Schmidt, what are you talking about??

Schmidt: Just the other week you were very romantic to me! When I fell down in the parking lot and you picked me up!

*flashback to Schmidt falling like an idiot and Nick hoisting him up unceremoniously by the arm*

Schmit then goes on to say that romance doesn't always have to be sexual and for some reason that really stuck with me over the years. I think it describes how I have felt about a couple of my really close friendships with people in my life. The kind where you just really click on a very deep and intimate level, but not in a sexual or normal "romantic" way.

I find many things that me and my best friend does as "romantic", just in a platonic-romantic way. I wish there was a better word for this. I never say it aloud bc people will get weirded out, but I'm always internally like "Aww so romantic!" to basically anything that I view to be particularly heartfelt/affectionate/intimate.

They sent me flowers bc they knew I was having a bad day? They poured their heart into a letter for me just bc they felt like it? They remembered that I love this really specific thing and gifted me something related to that? They cradled my face so gently while they helped me get an eyelash out of my eye? That's SO romantic!

And I do the same things for them! Does that mean I wanna date or fuck them? No! But whoever does later down the line will be a damn lucky bastard, I'll tell you that.

Has my demisexual ass fallen in love with a previous best friend of mine who also did many of these things? 👀 That's besides the point!!! It's not always like that, and people need to become more educated and comfortable with the reality that there are various types of love and romance out there and not all of them = sex and dating.

Long story short, I just love really deeply, even on platonic levels, and I can see the romance in everything and I think it's so sweet 🥹🥰

"friends don't look at each other like that" well okay you coward you do whatever you want however i WILL look at my friends like they're the most important thing in the world. i love them with my whole heart and i will hold their hand and stare at the stars not because i wanna fuck them but because they mean the world to me and i care about them. fuck you

[osamucide]

⊹ I KNOW

I WILL PRETEND THAT I DON’T KNOW OF YOUR SINS UNTIL YOU ARE READY TO CONFESS . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: 2.1k

cw: gn!reader, implied/referenced dissociation+anxiety+self harm+scars+past suicide attempts, hurt/comfort but it's him so of course it's a little unhinged, mentions of dying and being dead, mentions of kidnapping but it's not serious, minor suicidal ideation but it's romantic i guess? non-sexual nudity/intimacy, showering together, lots of kisses, just unbandaging a fragile Dazai and covering him in kisses

reid: draft i been sittin on. how many times will i do an iteration of unwrap and clean him. idk. a million billion. i love him so bad

He’s looking down at his hands—or his wrists, or his fingers, or the spaces between his fingers; you’re not sure. But he’s looking down, emptily, when you nudge the cracked bathroom door further open.

He’s sitting on the lid of the closed toilet. He has no shirt on. His bandages are unraveling at each end of their respective reaches. It’s long past time they should be changed, long past time the flesh beneath them breathe and be washed.

Changing the bandages is just something that has to be done; he will not give them up, nor will he give up the habit evidenced beneath them, and you’ve been with him long enough to know this is how he survives. The bandages do the holding-together when you’re not there to, which is far more often than he’d like. Ideally, he’d be able to shrink you down and keep you in his pocket for safe-keeping and take you out whenever he needs, like a good luck charm; he’d be able to have you on his arm all day, every day, but that’s not possible when you’re an adult with a job and a life. Like him. Right? Right.  He’d shuck this skin sooner than the habit, anyway, so, like showering, it’s just something that has to be done.

He doesn’t particularly love when you watch him do it, or offer to do it for him, but you certainly drive off the impulses, hazes, and tremors that come with doing it alone. So, he lets you.

He didn’t always; he went out of his way, bent over backwards for a long time to make sure you never could, much less had to. Somewhere deep down, though, beneath that resolve and the facade stilted upon it, he knew he couldn’t hide his ugliness from you forever.

Despite the normality—the domestic intimacy that standing beneath the water with you suggests now, so much that he has to admit it stills the expansion of the ever-growing black hole inside him—he still always fears it’ll be the last time you want to look at it.

“Osamu?” you mumble from the doorframe. 

He does not move, does not look at you over the white noise of the shower running—if he’s noticed you’re here, he doesn't show it. You move to him, slowly, like approaching a skittish cat.

Before you touch him, you bend down—beneath the sink are the rolls of fresh bandages, the clean, new ones that make him look less like a mummy unearthed from Victorian times and more like what he understands himself to be in his purest form: a basket case of the modern era, the worst gift you unwrap every Christmas and birthday and have to pretend to fawn over until it’s safe to be rid of it. You’ll never be rid of him, he thinks regretfully while you shuffle next  to him; he’ll never get by without you now, and it almost makes him wish he never met you in the first place, just so he never could’ve inflicted himself upon you.

But you never send him back. Dazai can’t seem to understand, even with all that sharp intelligence of his, that you don’t ever plan to.

Four rolls. One for each of his legs, one for both of his arms, the rest for miscellaneous spots like around his neck or across his chest or wherever else he decides he needs them this time. That’s how many you set on the counter before you land in front of him, your hands pushing his hair back, your proximity forcing his cheek to lay tired against your stomach while those hands curl around the backs of your legs and pull you closer to stand between his.

You cradle Dazai’s head like you’re some sort of saint. To him, you might as well be.

Thumbs brushing his temple and the base of his skull, you speak again, just as quiet. “Come on, let’s wash.” Or, let me unwrap you and look at all that ugliness. He can’t help that he doesn’t move for a firm fifteen seconds; why would he want to, when you hold him so sweetly like this?

But eventually, he rises.

You don’t feed him formalities or those silly questions anymore when you do this. No more can I? Or, you’re gorgeous, or, is this okay? He doesn’t want those during this, you’ve come to find out; you’ll tell him you love him plenty in a few minutes, when he’s only marginally more ready to receive it, but right now you go to work like a tinker repairing a broken doll. Your touch is objective, but not cold or clinical. You treat him with a tenderness he couldn’t have fathomed until he knew you.

After he steps out of his slacks, you loosen the strips with one hand and twirl them around the other; they accumulate in a graying mass of two or more weeks worth of sweat, and you place them in the trash, softly, like you adore and respect those, too, as he skitters past you toward the water for a sense of cover. He knows you’ll be in right after him, but at least the light behind the shower curtain is dimmer. When he disappears, it’s as if he was never there. 

But he says, “I’m okay,” unprompted, as you step beneath the water. 

He is, really. It’s just jarring when it’s the focus.

The process of becoming accustomed to vulnerability is often more painful than the vulnerability itself, Dazai has learned. While the realization can be sudden, like the flipping of a switch, the vulnerability on its own can actually be quite nice. Peaceful. He knows this because you showed him—continue to show him.

He’s just a man in the shower with his beloved, so, now you’ll talk to him.

“I know,” you say. And you do, really. The hardest part is over, and he’s practically pranced through it this time. You crack a smile. 

And he mirrors your smile, not so bright and smug as under normal circumstances but soft and searching. Dazai reaches for your arms, your waist, and pulls you into him; the water hits your back—hot, how he likes it—and you tuck your head into his shoulder and wrap yourself around his middle, whispering I love yous into his shoulder.

It's peaceful. He sways you ever so subtly.

But in true Dazai fashion, he'll shatter the peace. Ever the disruptor.

“I'm sorry you have to love this part of me, too.”

The ugliness, he means. Not just the marred and keloided skin that maps out his history of self-destruction, but his resignation to it. The scabs that touch the small of your back are freshly healing and peeling. If you didn't have him beneath your watch right now they'd probably be scratched open, raw and bleeding again, but as previously mentioned, your presence staves off the itching need to do so.

The tips of his fingers squeeze you when you pull back to look up at him, sliding your hands up his shoulders and behind his neck to link.

“I love every part of you,” you murmur as his forehead dips to rest against yours. Your stunted slow-dance deepens as he sighs himself back into his body, back into the clearer image of you in his grasp. “Don’t be sorry about it. Wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”

The demons snap at his ankles, though. “What if you change your mind one day?”

If he was a hair more insane, he might take you hostage. Keep you to himself forever, and never let you leave. But that would take the peace out of it, he thinks. Your volition makes it all sweeter. You want to be here. You want to love him.

He just doesn’t want that to change.

You hum patiently, although hating when he what ifs. That’s the plague of the ever-moving mind he keeps, you suppose; so intelligent, but so restless. “I don’t think I will.”

You don’t think you will, but that doesn’t settle the insecurity that’s settled in his stomach like a coiled snake. 

You don’t think you will, but you will. He knows you will, because that’s how it’s fated to unfold for him. 

Your short words don’t corral him away from the snake, but the less you treat him like he’s a gaping wound, the better. You see it. You don’t cry or gasp or lament or promise how you could never leave him, will never leave him; you don’t like to make promises that reach beyond your control.

The human existence is so strange and fluid, and while you’re confident you won’t tire of him, well, your reciprocated touches aren’t the only things stitching you together, you know; there’s a world, much larger than both of you, that you live in, and a universe even more incomprehensible and its whims are fickle—but they’re also serendipitous. Everything is a miracle, if you think about it. A big, beautiful mistake. You don’t know how much he buys into this, and you’d rather him not read into it as an excuse not to answer with a resounding I’ll never leave you, my love, so you just do what you always do best: spin it in a direction his troubled mind can find solace in, pair it with kisses that have all your soul for him to inhale, and promise what you can: your hope. 

You start with his lips. The best place, arguably; one of your hands tilts his chin toward yours and you kiss him softly, simply. Dazai responds hesitantly, still holding onto you tight. You kiss him for minutes, until he's humming, until his grip loosens comfortably and his shoulders untense and his palms rest on either of your hips.

You have a habit of kissing him silly, literally. Your lips move against his and he feels high. His head gets light, and his hands get restless, and between the short puffs of air he draws in through his nose he croons at the way your fingers push his hair back, trail down his neck. 

“I’m confident,” you say, sliding across his cheek to beneath his ear while he grabs at you in soft and absent-minded desperation, “that I’ll love you ‘til the end of my days.” 

“But what if the e—”

“I’m certain—” You cut him off, first with speech and then with a kiss before you begin pressing your lips into a necklace around his throat, “—that I want to get old with you.” On one side, you bite softly. “That I want to die with you.” You bite the other. “That I want to be buried next to you.” 

Osamu’s breath catches on the words buried next to you. Of course it’s crossed his mind before that if you were to go before him, he certainly wouldn’t be long after you. The thought that you want to live a full life with him before any of that can happen, however, makes his heart swell almost uncomfortably, like it’s no longer meant to fit inside his chest—like it wants to crawl up his throat and go home to yours. It will one day, you say, when you’re rotting next to each other. He wants to melt at the idea of it. 

“And then… I don’t know what, if anything, will happen after that. But it’s my purest hope—” You traverse from one shoulder, across his collarbones, stopping only above his sternum to finish, “—that I’ll be with you forever,” before making your way to the other. He’s a mistake you’d make again and again, given the opportunity. If reincarnation is real, you’re sure of it, more than anything—you will.

And you know not expect anything but speechlessness from Osamu until after you’ve kissed a circle around that heart of his that’s beating so frantically for you, until after you’ve brought his knuckles to your lips, all twenty-eight of them, until after you’ve made your way back up one arm just to kiss down the other, until you’ve bent to scatter kisses across his stomach, his hips, until you’ve knelt to descend the ladder marking each of his thighs, until you’ve sat at his feet with your arms looped around the backs of his knees with your head pressed against him like he’s the saint this time. You sit at the feet of a sinner and make him taste redemption. It tastes like the shower water that’s touched your skin and the dinner you both ate before wandering into this strange place between his disillusion and his sheer need. You kiss him back into his humanity.

When you stand, level with him again, he smiles that smile you love so much—not the cocky, performative smile nor the uneasy, misgiving one that wants to trust but has forgotten how to but the smile that’s altogether subtle and plain and sad and the most radiant thing you’ve ever known. Every time he falls apart, you just stitch him right back up what he’s always wanted to be: loved, held, loving and holding. 

Osamu touches your lips with his fingertips like you’re not quite real, like you’ve not just reminded every other inch of him that you very much are; he speaks, not a progenitor of pretty promises himself—but he owes you forever, he thinks, as long as it’s what you want. “Thank you.” 

You laugh once, breathy, in no need. “Thank you,” you echo, “for being the most wonderful thing to love.” 

Not the easiest, you both know—but it’s just something that has to be done, and there’s no law forbidding you from reminding him how beautiful he is in the process. Until you can be buried next to him. There’s hardly anything keeping forever from beginning right now. 

He holds you, and you hold him, and he feels clean. 

[hanaybuns]

man… i think it’s so important that karamatsu is the center of the osomatsu san movie. I honestly don’t think it could’ve been anyone else but him. Bc only karamatsu would hold onto a fight that happened over 10 years ago. Like yes, his regret is about the letter, but it’s more so about his failure to bring his brothers together and have an actual conversation. It’s about his helplessness and inability to communicate his frustration properly. And while it’s ALL their regrets that brought them to that world. Karamatsu has the best recollection of that time because he’s been ruminating over it for years.

...which, of course, is something he told no one about. if anything, he initially tried to get them to think positively about their high school days.

but after they drink some more, he's the first one to start talking about their past seriously

also, if you go back and watch this scene, he's the only one whose face we don't see while jyushi is teasing them with their old pics. everyone else starts laughing at his antics, except karamatsu. in fact, he actually has this reeeeaaaaalllly subtle moment where he hunches forward slightly. like he visibly tenses up a bit (i wish i knew how to make gifs man).

with karamatsu the writers like to take a very “show don’t tell” approach. Yes there are episodes where he narrates (overseas vacation) and that could be considered his inner monologue, but for the most part we kiiinda don’t really know what he’s thinking. especially when he's being insulted. like he straight up either doesn't respond or he just goes "mmmm~~?"

(and as we know, he gets insulted a lot)

the thing is, this is by design. Because not only do we have a direct quote from his voice actor (yuichi nakamura) about it.

we also literally have an entire skit criticizing him for it.

but i think that this tendency to hold things in directly stems from that fight on the roof. The one time he really tried to step out of his comfort zone and approach his brothers about something earnestly, he started the worst fight they’ve ever had.

(also side note, he actually only starts opening up about it after he takes a couple sips from the beer osomatsu got for them)

Now I’m not going to argue with the director over whether karamatsu is a 100% bonafide kind good hearted person or not (though i should note that this was from 2016 and his characterization has changed a lot since then). but i think it's important to note that the rest of them lowkey forgot about that fight while karamatsu consciously held it in because he didn't want to remind them of it and potentially start another fight.

when they discuss their regrets, the rest of the bros are more-so regretful over how they acted as teens. they discuss how their teenage "weirdness" stemmed from their dislike of being sextuplets. this dislike further manifested as a dislike for each other. but karamatsu's regret was over his failure to bring them together. i do appreciate that this strong piece of characterization was based around the love he has for his brothers.

this is getting wayyy too long, but i have more to say (especially about how passive karamatsu is... so many thoughts) so i might make a part 2. stay tuned (maybe lol)

[heartmaddie]

bodyguard! sae itoshi x princess! reader incl; use of 'princess' (reader is a princess) , hurt/comfort , fluff , reader lives in switzerland for some reason (le rosey)

wc; 829

Sae, out of everybody else, knew how overwhelming life was for you. The imagined perception of a life filled with glamour, fame and luxury didn’t come as easy for you than it did others. Having many fans and supporters felt unreal, but the select moments where all you’d wish for were to shield yourself from the limelight almost made you want to leave your Royal status behind for eternity.

“Careful,” His left hand gripped the top of the vehicle door, protecting your head from bumping against the glass as his right ushered you inside, brushing against the thin fabric of your lower back. “Don’t hit your head.”

Cerulean eyes grazed your figure, with pink muscle tugged into a pout, his chest couldn’t help but ache silently for you. He would never admit it - but perhaps there was a part of his strictly professional relationship with you that extended past the realm, which would be considered appropriate for a princess and her guard.

“Sae?” Your voice was uncharacteristically soft, void of the expression your melody would usually carry, “Are we going back to Switzerland tonight?” He could tell that, in your bottomless eyes, all you wanted to do was leave.

Your voice caught his attention immediately, gaze flickering towards you as the driver began to commute back to the hotel you were staying at. The sound of his name, in a much less confident tone, gnawed at the extreme efforts he took to remain stoic. 

“No, we’ll leave early in the morning.” He replied shortly, keeping the resignation out of his tone.

Maybe it was the way you had confided in him, how in the late hours of the night you would whisper your wishes of someone to properly care for you into his ear, which made him reach out for your hand.

Pale, slender fingers wrapped tightly around yours, almost consoling as his thumb began to stroke gently against your skin. To put it simply, Sae had his own way of comforting you, soft kisses pressed against your forehead, how he knew exactly when to tug you into his arms right before your eyes welled with tears. You found it more loving than the attention you had received from your parents.

“What are you thinking of, Princess?” His voice was freshly picked gardenia tucked behind your ear. Neither of you knew if the nickname was simply due to your status or something more personal, affectionate. 

“Nothing, it’s not important.”

And that was it, he didn’t pry further.

⟡ ݁₊ .

It was only when phosphorescence illuminated the walls of the joint hotel room that he saw you again. Manicured fingers tugged at the fabric of his sleepwear, his eyes opened instinctively.

“Princess? Did something happen?” His voice was alarmed, but still groggy as he sat up quickly, eyes gazing all over the room before landing on you. Through his exhaustion, tense brows softened as his back relaxed. 

“Can’t get to sleep?” He asked, voice hushed as slim fingers brushed stray hair from your face. His lips were slightly parted, and your gaze couldn’t bare to break from them.

“Yeah,” you mumbled while nodding, letting go of the white fabric before his hand comes down to stop you, “Is it okay if I…?”

Sae could feel his heart clench silently within his chest with just how small your voice was. He wasn’t accustomed to hearing you ask for permission, but he was certain he would do anything to see you sleep comfortably. He nodded silently, his hand remaining around yours as he guided you to slide into the warm embrace of his sheets, keeping you close, but still at arms length.

Sae bit back the smirk which fought to appear as he watched blood adorn soft cheeks as you looked up at him, before abruptly turning over.

He moved forward, sliding over the smooth sheets to settle right behind you. His eyes trailed up and down your silhouette through the sheets, you looked fragile, almost vulnerable, so different to how others would recognise you, but so familiar to him.

Your body was pulled against his chest, biceps wrapping against your sides and tucking you right underneath his neck, you felt every inch of your skin ignite.

“Sae, we really shouldn’t…” You murmured, looking back at him but making no effort to escape from his grasp. It would be a lie to say you didn’t feel safe within his embrace.

“I think we both know that our relationship extends professional bounds, Princess.” His voice was raspy, whispered into the hollow of your ear before burrowing his nose into strands of hair. “Go to sleep now, I’ll keep you safe.”

Sae’s voice was concentus against your ears, alleviating the weight of your chest as you could finally relax against him. No gratitude fell from your lips, they couldn’t even begin to form before your eyes ultimately shut for the night, his breath fanning against your neck.

You weren’t as alone as you had originally believed.

©heartmaddie all rights reserved. please do not repost my work. submission for @phantasmaebg

[sporadicallyanenthusiast]

It's interesting, because I'm reading a Brazilian Portuguese translation and I've been finding some differences from the English one, which I suspect may be truer to the original Greek. For example, in Portuguese, Menelaus is described as a blond instead of a ginger, and Athena is described with green eyes instead of gray. So I think that's the reason there might be a misconception on my part, since in the scene when Menelaus tells Telemachus what he knows about Odysseus, he says Proteus told him so after Menelaus captured him, instead of it being a dream.

I mean, if it had been described as a dream, it'd be very understandable why he wouldn't say anything! That's not trustworthy information you just go sharing out of nowhere, indeed. But since it was a prophet God that told him that (in the book I'm reading, at least), I thought it was a bit jarring he didn't try to warn anyone, you know?

Especially after he told Telemachus he liked Odysseus so much, he'd empty the island of Ithaca and relocate all of its inhabitants to Laconia, make a whole new kingdom for Odysseus there, just so they could rule nearby each other. Which is why I made the gay joke, by the way haha It's my first time reading Ancient Greek mythology and I admit I was caught off guard by such an earnest expression of Menelaus' love for his friend. Honestly, I get it, I would do the same for my best friends! Haha And I agree, I don't ship them either (even tho I haven't read the Iliad yet - yeah, I know 🥲) and I think it should be more normal to express how much we care about our friends the way Menelaus does.

Regardless, you are right the poor man had enough on his plate already.

And when you put it like that, indeed it's an awkward letter lol

Still, maybe I'm projecting too much here, but if I were in Penelope's or Telemachus' place, I'd like to know something, anything. As useless as the information may sound. They knew Odysseus didn't die in the Trojan War, so what happened? I'd find some semblance of comfort in knowing someone heard my loved one is still alive and he wants to get back to me. I can understand where Menelaus would be coming from, if he thought knowing wouldn't help Penelope of Telemachus at all, but if it were my husband or my father, I'd be furious no one told me.

And maybe it's wishful thinking on my part, but who knows, Penelope might have had some leverage to hold the suitors back in that scenario. It would be extremely disrespectful to try for the Queen's hand if there's a chance the King's still alive. And maybe then Telemachus would have had a chance to prove himself earlier, to show he is already a man and capable of taking over the throne, if he had traveled to look for his father sooner. I mean, Athena herself goes to Telemachus and essentially asks him "Why don't you finally kick those men (the suitors) out of your palace? Why don't you go try to get information about your father?". So maybe having a lead earlier on may have had saved them some of the trouble. At least that's what I was thinking when I read that scene.

And yes, you're right! There is a chance Menelaus did try to send a letter and it never arrived. And maybe he thought he ought to "repeat" the whole story to Telemachus, since the poor boy went through the trouble of getting to Sparta and asking him about Odysseus in person.

Well, at the end of the day, you are the scholar here, I'm just reading those myths for the first time hahaha. To be honest, I wrote the og post as a silly joke when I was half asleep, I didn't expect it to get any attention at all. So I apologize for any misinformation I may have spread on accident!

Telemachus is so much stronger than me for real. Cause if I had traveled for days, by sea AND land, arrived at the palace of my father's friend and my mother's cousin to humbly ask if they know anything about my missing father and instead of just fucking telling me already, this mf started a monologue about how gay he is for my dad and about the time he captured a God that granted him wishes three, I'd already be telling him to Hurry The Fuck Up. IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS, I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY.

But if the same motherfucker then turned around and told me that he had known FOR YEARS NOW that my dad is trapped on an island AND THE MOTHERFUCKER DIDN'T TELL ANYONE!!!! NOT A SINGLE LETTER!!! I would have already strangled Menelaus with that fucking blond hair of his in front of his wife and children, unhelpful son of a bitch.

[moonandst4rs]

"Stay with me, I don't want you to leave"

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Part two of "Think I like you best when you're just with me, And no one else"

Warnings: Angst, fluff, no use of y/n, gn!reader x Dean Winchester,

A/N: Inspired by K. - Cigarettes after sex. Any feedback and requests are welcome !! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3

── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You tried to let it go. You truly did, but the pain of your situation was agonizing. The more you ignored it, the more it broke you down.

In a moment of bravery, you gathered the courage. "Why do you treat me differently when we're with other people?" you asked softly, your eyes fixed on the window of the rundown motel room. Your gaze drifted to the moon, as if willing it to hide you. You saw the tension creep into Dean's body. "What?" he whispered, his hand freezing on your arm.

"When we're with Sam, or Cas, or even Bobby, you're different… distant," you continued, searching for the truth behind the distance. "Is it me? Are you ashamed of us?" The words trembled on the edge of your lips, the fear of hearing the answer almost unbearable.

For a moment, he was silent—surprisingly so. You could see him wrestling with something deep inside. He took a slow breath, then turned to look into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for something you couldn’t name. Finally, he spoke. "It’s not you, sweetheart," he said, pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, his lips lingering there just a second longer than usual. "Don’t start thinking you’re the problem."

His words were comforting, but you still needed more. You couldn't walk away without understanding. "Then what is the problem, Dean?" you pressed, searching his face for the truth. "You can tell me. I won’t judge you." You lowered your voice, a soft plea for him to let his guard down.

"It’s just… I don’t…" His voice faltered, the emotions he usually kept buried creeping into his words. You waited patiently, knowing he needed time. His hesitation didn’t frustrate you; it only made you wish he’d be easier on himself. You knew the weight he carried. You wanted him to share it, not hold it alone.

"I’m not good at this, okay?" he admitted, the words slipping out, raw and vulnerable. "I don’t know how to be in a real relationship. When it’s just us, it’s easy. But when we’re around them, I feel like I gotta keep it together. Like if I let my guard down, something bad’s gonna happen. I’m scared, alright? Scared of what they’ll think, scared of messing this up, scared of losing you." His voice softened, and for the first time, you saw his eyes unguarded, full of honesty. "It’s not that I don’t care. I care too much. I just don’t know how to show it without feeling like I’m risking everything."

His words hit you hard. You’d been waiting for him to open up, and now, here it was. You took his hand gently, grounding him in the moment. "Dean," you said softly, "I understand. I know you’re trying to protect us, but I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to hide your feelings from me. I love you, walls and rough edges and all. But this distance? It hurts." You searched his eyes, your voice steady but filled with emotion. "I want us to be real, even around Sam and Cas. Even when things are tough. You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, and we’re in this together. But you have to let me in." You squeezed his hand, your heart pounding in your chest. "I don’t want to feel like I’m losing you when we're around other people. I need all of you, not just the parts you think are safe."

"I don’t know how to let my guard down," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes met yours, filled with uncertainty. "I’ve spent so long protecting myself, keeping people at a distance. It’s hard to imagine anyone sticking around when the walls come down." He exhaled sharply, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "But you’re right. You deserve more than what I’ve been giving you. You deserve all of me." He paused, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let the walls fall, just a little. "I’ll work on it. I’ll try to be better for you… for us. I want to try." His thumb brushed your hand, a rare, tender gesture. "You mean too much to me not to."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a quiet promise that he was here and ready to open up, ready to let you in.

[imujings]

Of course I am requesting emidiatly...

What kind of future by Woozi... with Woozi 🫡

I apologize in advance. Feel like this one is gonna be an agaty one.

although i don't wanna see you, i miss you although i hate you, i miss you i don't understand myself so well

wc <1k. warnings angst, cursing, missed chances, childhood friends to lovers to ??? jay’s musings (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀) …

You’ve been avoiding your phone all day.

You saw the notifications from high school friends, got the pings on various social medias. Twitter has been going particularly insane about the news, SEVENTEEN’s producer trending with edits of his raw vocals turning into a fully furnished song.

After what felt like the hundredth message from your best friend, telling you to just listen to the goddamn lyrics damnit, you promptly put your ringer on silent and slipped your phone into your bag without a backwards glance.

Trudging into your apartment bedroom, you fall onto your comforter, tears caught in the back of your throat. You hated how you instantly knew what the song was about when you saw the title.

Like, come on—What kind of future? Could he be anymore obvious?

Your eyes subconsciously trail to the sticker-decorated headphones lying on your desk. They taunt you, promising secrets that only you would be allowed to unlock via the key of childhood memories. You huff and sit up.

Fine. You’ll listen to the damn song.

You don’t even realize your body is shaking until the cold settles into your bones, making your teeth chatter with goosebumps prickling your arms. There’s a tense silence that envelopes you in your room.

You’ve done everything you could to stay off his radar: moved cities, started new social media accounts, hell, even gone as far as to block some of the official accounts when you spontaneously gained the courage to. You can’t bear to look at any of them, even when you promised yourself you’d do your best to be happy for him.

Well, you wouldn’t be the only one breaking promises, you think bitterly, sliding your headphones on and connecting them to your phone.

You hit play on the new single before you can convince yourself to do otherwise.

In another world, you like to imagine that things between you and Lee Jihoon would have worked out. That at the end of the day, you’d be the one he’d come home to after a long day at the studio, wired and in need of comforting cuddles and a relaxing evening.

He was your everything, and you were his. You still remember his shy, lingering glances growing up; his small smiles whenever you praised his ever-flourishing musical skills; the feeling of his lips at your shoulder, quick and gentle, before tugging you along to wherever your next adventure was.

Before he belonged to stress, before he was SEVENTEEN’s, Jihoon was yours.

You couldn’t tell if the selfishness you hated was yours or his.

The song is on its second run of the chorus now. You’re caught in place, feeling trapped in a wide open room, biting your lip with so much force your teeth cut into your gums and draw blood.

It’s breathtakingly heartbreaking, his voice.

When Jihoon told you he was being recruited to potentially become an idol, you were ecstatic. You knew deep down this is what he was made for; to create for those he loved, perusing his dreams with no end in sight. You had hugged him tight, peppering kisses to his cheeks and the beauty mark underneath his eye, showering him in good wishes.

What you weren’t ready for, however, was the news that you wouldn’t be able to continue seeing him. The exact words were lost to you, too tuned out to remember entirely. Something about the company being incredibly strict. Something about passing tests, about having incredible self-control and appeal to the media.

“What’s going to happen to us?” high-school you whispered hoarsely; you have the feeling of being held in his arms etched into your brain so effortlessly.

The post-chorus lyrics catch your attention and you choke back a cry. What kind of future comes before us?

“Wait for me,” he had promised. “I’ll become someone you can be proud of. You’re my future.”

You wanted to scream at him back then that you were already proud, that if no one in the world knew and saw and loved Lee Jihoon, it would mean you were wiped from existence. But you were young, and foolish, and you only nodded at him, hope shining in your eyes.

Jihoon left the next day, and you haven’t seen him since.

The headphones are ripped off your head the second the music stops and his voice fades. You furiously dab at your face, clutching your chest with your other hand like you could physically grasp at your heart to stop the bleeding.

But really, what’s there to do when the organ that pumps blood and love to the other parts of your body fails itself, baring your soul to the entire world in the process?

A tear hits the blanket. Then another. And another.

And then, so many more that you’re wiping ugly, thick snot away with your fingers, sobbing violently into your hands.

You hate him.

And fuck, you miss him.

When did the two become the same word?

wanna queue a song?

[snoopyhq]

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ we should just kiss like real people do

NOT using cherry wine because the song has been through too many bastardizations already, and i'm a hozier fan before i'm anything else. to use cherry wine would be a disgrace, even if it has the 'perfect' line for a fic like this)

type: viktor x vampire reader

summary: headcanons and then a drabble of an instance where you feed

warning(s): blood, vampirism

word count: 921

a/n: been thinking about vampirism a whole lot lately as well as feeling down, so now i cope through tumblr fics. i love viktor, i wish i felt as strongly about real life people like i do for him

For a creature that's considered parasitic, the relationship you have with your eccentric scientist proved quite mutualistic

When you first stalked him on his walk home that late, late night, he had seemed like ordinary prey, easy to sink your teeth into and forget about

Something stopped you

Maybe it was that look in his eyes, flickering like a flame in the dark of that alleyway, refusing to die

They were so determined, so full of life

How could you ever drain them of that spark? It wasn't right

You could sense his fear, so palpable in the air, but he stood firm. His grip on his cane steady, his posture straight as he stared right at you with those lovely eyes, a million stories flitting through them

The eyes of someone who fought to survive since the moment he was born

You felt yourself slowing down, and then dropping to your knees completely

What were you doing? Were those tears in your eyes? You've become so jaded

Immortality had made you nothing

This mortal, so brief in the fabric of time, and his life already so weak and waning, had more... what was it? vigor to him

Lust was something you knew very well. Bloodlust. You embodied it. That urge that could never be satisified, the driving force that keeps your miserable legs moving, your body agile and agitated

His lust was one for life. For pursuit too, as you came to find out

A deal was struck that night; knowledge in exchanged for food

You allowed him to observe you and ask his questions, to witness your hunts (on animals now. less thrilling, but you digress)

In return, he became a sustainable food source. You didn't have to go out and about in the night now and get paid in stupid drunks or those rotten enforcers for your efforts

How lovely, to have something consistent for once

You could get used to this

Get used to him

divider below from @/dollywons !!!

The quiet comfort of the bedroom reminded you of your old crypt, in a way. It was dark. The sheets were soft and meticulously kept. It smelled of leather and old books and dried ink on fresh paper. The new addition was Viktor.

You'd started lounging about in his home, and his room became your favorite corner of the house. It became ritual for him to joke about having a coffin fixed there so you won't have to hog the blankets. Not his blankets. They were to be shared now, and he was fine with that. The coffin idea was still appealing though.

Tonight interrupted the quiet. You lingered before him, eyeing the pale curve of his neck. It was taking all your self control to not pounce on him immediately.

"Are you comfortable?" you asked.

He shifted around a bit, and then nodded.

"I'll try to keep accurate time. See if you're more greedy than last time," he joked.

Tsk. It wasn't that funny. (It is). You weren't as hungry as before.

Now you hovered above him, having laid him down. There was less hesitation this time, and you wonder if he'd note that down in his journal. You both did this song and dance enough by now to be comfortable with one another.

Still, the act of feeding was one of savagery. That can't change. When mixed with romance? It clashed, horribly. Your inherent nature versus what had been nurtured.

The taste of his blood filled your mouth, and you could sing to the heavens. If such a creature like yourself were allowed to. You weren't sure on the terms and conditions of that. Regardless, he was so sweet. A heady vermillion ambrosia on your tongue.

You were taking such care to be gentle with him.

You didn’t want to hurt him, but your love was violence, the draining of life, and the dark urges that lurk beneath every man, and he was already going limp.

Shit.

You pulled back immediately, the red still dripping from your teeth and down your throat. It mirrored the punctures on his. Viktor, the stubborn bastard, gripped the edge of your sleeve. He tugged insistently.

"I'm fine. I'm not as fragile as you think," he said, miffed.

“Too bad. I’m full,” you slowly pry yourself from his grip.

While he lazed back, you grabbed the first-aid kit. So used to it by now. He didn’t even flinch when you applied the antiseptic. After securing the gauze, you leaned down to brush another kiss against his lips, and he sighed at the slight feel of your fangs against the skin there.

“Was your vampire research quota met?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbow to observe him.

“Very much,” he replied. “I look forward to comparing it with next week’s results.”

As he drifted off in your arms, you felt affection swell in your heart, and a fierce protectiveness over him.

He was strong.

You knew that more than anyone. He walked such a thin line between life and death. You could hear the beat of his heart, the flowing in his veins, and fragility of his tissues and arteries and bones. He pushed on, despite it. Taking his body to limits that had you balking, and you were near invincible.

In your hold, he was so delicate. His body was already thin and frail. So easily breakable. The very thought made you uncomfortable, and you tightened your hold on his sleeping form.

He was strong. You’ll protect him anyways.

[chiacanwritesometimes]

casual (part 1)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1.2k

authors note: this was a little hard to write, as i had to delve into the reserves of my own experiences, so this hits a little close to home. i will be updating soon! unedited. there is soft smut and mentions of homophobia. this whole series is about situationships, so dni if this triggers anything or makes you uncomfortable. please do not get into anything you do not feel comfortable doing, and know that you are loved and should not settle for less. my dm’s are always open. much love, and enjoy.

===========

your pov

you didn’t blame him. he wasn’t really in the best of mentalities for a relationship, so it must’ve meant a lot for him to choose you. or, at least, not push you away.

after losing his best friend, he decided he should lay low. if he didn’t get close with anyone, he would get hurt. except you. always, except you.

you would come over to his bleak apartment, and chat for a bit. occasionally, you’d bring him some food. you’d write down the events in your journal, rereading them time and time again to feel closer to him. you knew he didn’t want you, or rather, want you the way you needed him to. he was still stuck, mourning the loss of his best friend, and…lover. but he was gone, and you were right here. why wouldn’t he pick you? you weren’t terrible looking, and you weren’t … terrible in bed either. what was so utterly unappealing in you? you wrote in your journal. maybe in your thoughts, you’d find the answer.

entry 1:

it was 2 in the morning when i came over. the clock keeps ticking longer each time i go, and im hoping that one of these nights you’ll ask me to stay. you never do. i dont like the way i manage to say everything that’s on my mind when im with you. i think that one day, ill let you read all this, but for now, its just mine. i want to not like you, so badly. i get so nervous around you, my chest tightens, my lips curl inward, my eyes dodge yours, my hands are occupied with my sweater, and my heart beats speeding up by the second. i usually am more eloquent and organized with my words and feelings, but today was so frustrating. i can’t look into your eyes when we fuck, because i know that through mine you look for him. your eyes attack mine. your eyes are unkind, your eyes are bitter. your hands hold me, wishing i was someone else. your lips softly graze against mine, hoping that you’d catch a glimpse of what it would be like if it was him instead.

you picked up your pen, and sighed. that was enough angst for tonight. you still had his sweat on your skin to wash off.

he wasn’t evil, just in a confusing situation. you convinced yourself that if you were in his shoes, you would probably do the same. it still didn’t take away from the pain, though. you liked him best when you were the sole focus on his attention, and when he told you pretty things. you got a sick sense of comfort when he squirmed under your gaze. he knew what he was doing wasn’t right, but cmon. he must have had some sort of clue if he felt guilty.

his pov

you had just left his apartment on a sour note. it wasn’t uncommon for that to happen. he would send you a text, saying he was sorry, you’d respond, and the cycle would repeat again. it was almost comical how long it has been since you two had been at this. he had put himself in an awkward situation again, but he wasn’t sure if it was an uncomfortable one. the last time he was in a one sided relationship was with… it wasn’t a relationship, at least not by technicality. sure, they slept together, spent time together, cried together, but he knew deep down his heart belonged to peggy. he wasn’t jealous, but a part of him wondered what would have happened if he was honest with his feelings. hes sure nothing would have changed, as it would have been extremely controversial for america’s sweetheart to have a sweetheart of his own, let alone a male one. he felt like a kept secret, a promise that one day, things will be different. they never were.

now, with you, things were different. he felt the need to shield himself from the world, but it wasn’t because homosexuality wasn’t accepted, rather because he wasn’t. his mere existence was hated by many, for who he was, who he hurt. the winter soldier, although gone, still haunted him.

he didn’t want to hurt you. being close with you would mean that you’d have to take care of him, something he hardly ever did, so why should you? other than aftercare, he wouldn’t let his guard down when you were near. he was afraid that he would be right, and you wouldn’t give a shit about him, worried that you just wanted him for his body, like them. he didn’t like thinking of you that lowly, but after a life like his, it was bound to happen.

he sighed, and grabbed his phone. he texted you a small apology, silently cursing himself for continuing this cycle. he threw his phone on the couch and sighed. he got up, walked to the kitchen and made himself a small breakfast. the morning didn’t start just yet, but might as well start the day now.

your pov

you couldnt hate him. you loved the way he loved you, the way you came undone with his touch. his scent was addicting, and you were obsessed with the way he tucked your hair behind your ear, the way he breathed heavily under the sheets, the way he held you so gently when pumping inside you. you thought of this morning, and sighed.

you got his text, and smiled. “miss you. door’s open. bb.” you found it adorable how he typed in short sentences, and finished each message in “bb”, for “bucky barnes”, as if you didn’t know it was him. you dressed yourself casually. nothing too fancy, nothing too drab. you wore a small amount of perfume, just enough so his bedsheets smelled like you. you wore your favorite lingerie, knowing that romance was out of the picture. this was just a fuck, a quick connection between two people before the knowledge of knowing you will never be his overcame you. you showed up to his apartment, and he opened the door. you didn’t even need to knock, he knew you were there. he smiled.

“you look beautiful.”

you walked in, and he started kissing you. you always wore a low cut tank top, and he always lingered on the straps of your shirt. he’d bite it, almost whining that the small piece of fabric was in between him and your body. he led you to the couch, and let you straddle him. he removed your pants, complimenting the way they hugged your hips while doing so. you got on top of him, loving how almost natural it felt, how perfectly you fit on top of him. his favorite part to leave hickeys was in the sweet spot of your neck. he kissed over the healed bruise, evidence of the last time you came over to his place.

you went to bed. might as well catch some sleep before the morning came.

[nonokoko-draws]

Starting the year with Riddle hcs 🌹

I feel so proud that the semi realistic headshots still look good if you flip the canvas... 😤✨ More hcs ↓

Similarly to Epel he has insecurities regarding his body. Unlike him he doesn't go nuts when the spotlight goes to his feminine features, only when his age or mental maturity is questioned due his looks Floyd is an exception because anything he says makes Riddle explode.

He used to take great pride in his idea that he is mentally more prepared for adulthood than most boys his age, that he knew better than his childish classmates, before he was humbled in book 1. Post OB he still thinks he is book smart and mature but does he know how much he has yet to learn, though he still finds rather insulting to underestimate him for age or looks. Summary: call him a child and the effect would be the same as calling him short

Whilst Epel is focused on the conservative sense of masculinity, Riddle aspires to be a gentleman. To be exact, he has taken a liking to victorian etiquette on how to be proper during courtship rituals.

I think he would find tips such as "don't flirt with every lady you meet and don't assume every (young) woman is eager to fall in love with you; maintain a dignified reserve"; "be ready to act the knight if a lady in your company is attacked"; "don't get a innocent woman her hopes up" or "neither party should make the other jealous" quite tasteful. Of course, he's sensible enough to know which habits of 200 years ago he should cross out

Mr Roseheart is probably the one Riddle got his Japanese inheritance from, as it is weird to believe Mrs Rosehearts would chance her last name if she is a big name in the magical medicine industry. Unless his husband was the most prominent figure and she got more prestige with this marriage, unlikely in my opinion as controlling people like her usually take a dominant role in the relationship. So I suppose it's either a case in which each pattner keeps its surname or Mr Roseheart was who changed his

Riddle is autistic but his mother didn't make him go to any tests because she wants to believe his son is "normal". I'm under the impression she could be the type to be ableist just because (sadly many doctors are this insensitive and out of touch despite the irony of their fields) OR she doesn't discriminate neurodivergent people but doesn't want hers to be because she firmly believed if little Riddle knew he was autistic he would use his diagnosis to avoid facing the things he could struggle with or excuse "lazy" behaviour with it or she knows how ableist others can be and wanted to disguise him by making him a functional, well-adjusted neurodivergent individual.

Her reasoning? If he is capable of adjusting and is unaware of his autism he won't try to use "the easy way out of" when confronted about his struggles and he won't be bullied by his peers; don't mistake this as a kind gesture from a mother with good intentions but terrible execution. She believes if he was bullied during his studies he could drop out off medicine and she hasn't been preparing him to be a doctor like her for all his childhood to get her plans frustrated by an external factor such as how his classmates perceive him.

Therefore making him believe he is like the rest + homeschooling would "prevent" this outcome because neither he would interact with possible bullies nor he would know what's "normal" for kids his age so he wouldn't feel different because he didn't have a chance to interact with other children.

Plus interacting with adults and certain kids deemed intellectual enough would enhance his possibilities of "growing out of any annoying habits inherently from young kids" (emotional outburst and "childish stuff" she doesn't like). Which I think is way worse than if she was simply an ignorant ableist doctor, but also makes her a more manipulative and calculating character than what we know of her so far.

It could also make sense as for why she was so mad his son made friends she didn't approve of beforehand, because the only way he could have had external interactions would be handpicked by her.

Anyway that's all for today rambles, follow me if you wish to know more about my downfall in the spiral that is being a twst fan to not lose track of my delusions 🫡

[softquietsteadylove]

Ohhh Gil, after being rescued by Thena 2 days ago, has nightmares wich she learns when she decided to stay for one night because it was storming outside. She has trouble waking him up but then she comforts him and learns about the story behind his claustrophobia.

For the wildfire one please

"No! No, help! Please, someone--anyone!"

Thena jolted awake. She was used to doing so when she was out in the wild, but she was at Gil's. It was storming outside in a decidedly angry way. She had radioed it into the towers and made her way to the cabin so as not to roast her ass with lightning (again).

"No! No!!"

Gil was in his bed, absolutely thrashing. The sheets look like they had taken on the fight with him and lost. He was covered in sweat. And he really sounded truly scared for his life.

He sounded like he had when he got locked in the cellar.

"Please!"

Thena threw herself off the recliner in front of the fire and rushed over to him. His pleas for help really did sound visceral and terrified. She all but slid on her knees to the bedside. "Gil!"

"I can't-!" he was full on screaming, and that was when he wasn't gasping for breath or panting from trying to scream with no air in his lungs. He was clawing at the t-shirt sticking to his skin.

"Gil, wake up!" she barked, shaking him by the chest. Those muscles were heavy, but she knew that from when he had latched onto her, hugging for dear life. She shook harder, digging her nails into his chest. "Gil!"

"Please, please, someone help!" he gasped. He was hyperventilating in his sleep now.

This wasn't good. He would cut off his own air at this rate. Thena shook him more roughly, pressing down on his heart. "Gil, come on! Wake up, just breathe! It's me!"

He flinched as she pressed harder. It wasn't gentle, but she was going to wake him from his nightmare no matter the cost. She winced, "sorry, big fella."

Gil shot up in bed as her palm connected with his cheek. He took deep, gasping breaths, his hand over where she had tried to claw her way through to his heart. "Wh-Wh-Wha-"

"Hey, it's me, just breathe," she whispered, putting her hands on his cheeks and forcing him to look her in the eye. The sky was quite light from the furious storm happening outside, not to mention the occasional lightning bringing a glow to the room every few minutes.

Her thumb traced over his cheek. She did feel bad for having to slap him like that.

"Th-Thena?" Gil gasped, gulping in between breaths. His throat was dry and rough from all his screaming. "What's-?"

She sighed heavily. He really scared her with that episode. She patted his cheek again before reaching for his canteen. "It's okay, just take a second, right?"

He nodded, accepting it from her and gulping the water down greedily. He tipped it up to get the last of it.

"Hey," she frowned, pulling it away from him to prevent him from waterboarding himself. "Not so fast or you'll hurl it up again."

He let her take it from him at least, slumping against the headboard. "Sorry, I must have scared the shit of you."

He sure did. But she settled back as well, sitting on one foot with the other dangling off his bed. "What was that?"

He scratched at his neck uncomfortably. "Never had a nightmare before?"

But she didn't take his little joke lying down, nor did she think he would expect her to. "Gil."

Just his name from her lips made him get the sad puppy eyes on again. The big guy had absolutely no ability to hide his feelings at all. He sagged. "I'm sorry I woke you up like this."

"Gil," she prompted him again, even moving closer. The bed really was a mess. "I've never seen you like that before."

He nodded, accepting that this conversation was happening, no matter what. "I don't get them as often as I used to. It happened probably ten years ago, now."

She furrowed her brows; he knew what scars she had from work--everyone did. But she had no idea he had anything that had sparked his intense claustrophobia.

"I was on search and rescue, and cave duty, as luck would have it," he started slowly, still trying to smile through it and deliver the story lightly. His hands were picking at his blanket pulled over his lap again. "We got everyone out, but when I was checking to make sure we got to the back of it, there was a tremor. The front of it caved in. I wasn't crushed, but it was worse--it took them a week to dig me out."

A week trapped in a cave could drive the best of them insane, no matter what training they had. Thena shivered at the thought.

"They tried to communicate with me. I was able to make small fires if I really needed the warmth. But the dark, the dripping of the water in there, not knowing when - or if - I would get out of there..."

Thena bit her lip, trying to think of what to say. Gil cleared his throat, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes again. Just the story was enough to have him in tears again. And she could see why.

"I was always kind of nervous about enclosed spaces, but since then," he shook his head, "I just can't. That, uh, that's actually why I moved here to the cabin."

That was why he didn't live at the station? She had always assumed it was simply a byproduct of his strength and ability to do both search and rescue and active duty fire fighting.

"I couldn't live at the station anymore," he admitted quietly. "There are so few windows, the rooms are so small and dark-"

"I know," she interjected, rushing to keep him from going on about something that so clearly pained him. She even reached over and put her hand over his in her haste. "It's okay, Gil."

He laughed faintly, sniffling up the last of his tears. "Real cool, huh?--a firefighter who can't be indoors for too long?"

She shook her head. It wasn't nearly the embarrassment he thought it was. The fact that he had come back to it after an event like that was exemplary. Something like that would have most of their own applying for retirement, if not an extended leave of absence. "I was a firefighter who couldn't go into fire."

Gil's jaw bobbed in his hurry to denounce the shit she was talking about herself.

But she smiled, tucking her stray leg up on the bed as well. "The rumours were half true--I did have a hard loss after a search and rescue gone wrong. I lost a family--even the kids."

"Thena-"

She pressed on; if she didn't get it out now, she never would. "I was separated from everyone, trying to read the wind in the middle of a dry lightning storm. I read it wrong and...this whole family just got...swallowed up--right in front of me. I tried to go in and get them but it happened too fast. They were already gone."

She shivered again. It was no wonder she had failed her psych eval after that--she would still fail it today, she was quite sure.

"We've all had losses," he assured her, also touching her hand in solidarity. "They're all hard. No one could blame you for needing time after that."

She shook her head, swiping her tears away before they could fall. If anything, Gil was stronger than her not just for going back to work in a way she couldn't, but for allowing himself the weakness to cry over it. "I tried, but...I chose perimeter duty. I let the rumors run wild because it was easier than explaining the truth--that I didn't know if I could ever go into a live one every again."

Gil reached and, to her horror, she wondered if he would wipe away some tears that had escaped her. But he caught the last of the trail of one, and then pushed her bangs away from falling over her forehead. She made a face. He chuckled, "you're tougher than you think you are."

"I am tough," she countered.

"You are," he agreed, smiling more like himself. "And you're even tougher than that, because you could have walked away completely."

She eyed him. She had never told anyone the complete story of her exile--not even her boys knew the whole story. No one needed to know, as far as she was concerned. "You didn't."

He shrugged, "I did, in a way. But you also stayed--because you had to, right? Because thinking of leaving the fight all together just isn't right to you, is it? Because you wanted to do what you could, even if it was doing daily routes and telling campers to put out fires. Because that still helps."

That sounded like some touchy-feely-bullshit if she ever heard it. But it didn't feel as condescending as it did from her old Chief, or as pitying as it did from her second hand when she had left the unit to him. Because Gil was so genuine with everything he did and said.

"So, we both have our shit," he shrugged. How did this become him cheering her up? "So what?"

She laughed faintly. He had heard her scream herself out of a horrific nightmare or two in their time together. He had never asked, and she had always been thankful for it. Now, she had returned the favour, so that was that.

"We're both tougher than that, right?"

She tilted her head. She had to admit, she didn't mind Gil knowing the truth of her story. He wasn't the type to whisper, and he had been nothing but sweet to her since they met, even when she was just a white wolf passing through his backyard silently. "Right."

Lightning lit the sides of their faces again, drawing their eyes to the window. Before the thunder followed, she frowned. He rubbed his cheek, "you don't pull punches, huh?"

The thunder rattled the window, but she didn't jump from the sound of it. She smiled, "shaking you wasn't doing the trick."

"Thank you."

She blinked, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "For slapping you?"

"For waking me up, no matter what," he clarified with another pat on her shoulder. "I appreciate it. And, y'know, if you want me to return the favour, I will."

She wasn't sure about that. But she nodded, accepting the kindness for what it was. She patted the hand of his on her shoulder. "Can we go back to sleep now?"

"Sure," he sighed heavily, going back to watching the storm. "If you think you can."

He had a point. They were exhausted, but they were also wide awake after all the excitement, and the heart-to-heart. She sighed. "We should try, at least."

"Yeah, guess you're right."

She looked at the big guy again, catching the sad, lonely puppy eye routine. He looked so pitiful sitting in his own bed. She rolled her eyes, so he would know she was being reluctant about it. "We can sit up for a bit--just a little!"

"If you're okay with it." He couldn't have sounded more excited about it.

She glared at him as she crawled over to the inside of the bed, slipping into the spot where she had spent plenty of time (without him also in the bed). "We are not making a habit of this."

"'Course not," he volunteered, just happy to have a little company. He even shimmied closer to the edge of the bed, to allow her more space to be comfortable.

Thena settled down and closed her eyes. Unfortunately, the bed really was quite comfortable, and it was terribly hard to resist letting its plush warmth lull her into sleep again. "Big softie."

"Yeah, that's me," he lamented with a big grin on his face. He also settled in again, propped up with his pillow and keeping his ankles crossed. He looked up at the ceiling. "Thanks, Thena."

"Hm," she tried to make it sound disgruntled (so he wouldn't think they were going to get all cuddly like this again). Her feet just barely brushed his sweatpants as she bent her knees.

"I'm glad you were here."

She was too. She knew those nightmares, that feeling of drowning in your own mind. She wouldn't wish it on anyone, and she had certainly experienced enough of them in the cold, quiet of camping alone.

Gil settled in and closed his eyes, lying on his back and with his upper half propped up in not that comfortable a way. He even had his arms crossed for personal space reasons. But he looked deeply happy.

Thena closed her eyes, resolving not to peek at him anymore. She frowned, listening to the sheets swishing, "my feet are cold."

That was the only reason she was pressing them up against his at the base of the bed, letting him know that she was right there.

"Sure."

[hollow-vok]

Ohh im obssesed

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

​

[ichigosoju]

🍰

[sick-as-a-dog]

×

[homeofthelonelywriter]

“That’s it. I’m done.” Simon, who had been laser-focused on his phone - he might or might’ve not been looking at engagement rings online - glanced up, frowning as he watched you walk to the kitchen. Your back was turned to him so that he couldn’t see your facial expression, but your tone suggested you weren’t happy. He quickly stood up and followed you to the kitchen, where he watched you turn on the kettle.

“What is it, love?” You didn’t turn to look at him, instead furiously searching the cabinets before trudging back to the bathroom, where you had just come from. “I’m sick of it, Si. I’m gonna go to the doctor and have them rip the whole thing out.” Realization dawned on the soldier. It was time again.

Confused, he pulled up the menstruation app on his phone and checked on your cycle. You were a few days early this month, which explained why he hadn’t received a notification yet. With a deep sigh, he followed you, finding you in the bathroom, once again searching through cabinets. Without a word, he opened one you hadn’t looked into yet and pulled out the fuzzy hot water bottle you were looking for. You turned to look at him, tears in the corner of your eyes, and your lips jutted out in a pout.

“I know, love. Come, let me help, yeah?” You nodded, holding up your arms, until he picked you up. Without even as much as a grunt, he lifted you into his arms, carrying your bridal style to your bedroom, where he laid you down and tucked you in. “I’ll be right back, darling.” After pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, he disappeared out the door and rushed down to the kitchen, where he prepared your hot water bottle just the way you liked. He also grabbed a mug and made you your favorite tea, knowing that the warmth would help with your cramps.

Before leaving, he grabbed your favorite snacks and a soft blanket from the living room. Then he made his way back to you. In the bedroom, you were curled up on one side, cradling your cramping stomach. After setting the tea down on your nightstand, Simon gently made you uncurl and pressed the hot water bottle against your abdomen, over a blanket, where he knew the cramps always were. “There you go, love.” The snacks were dropped beside the bed as he wrapped the extra blanket around you. “I’ll just grab some more stuff, and then we can spend the day here, cuddling, okay?” You nodded, still pouting and slightly wincing when another cramp hit.

Simon hated seeing you like this, so he rushed around the house, grabbing something cold to drink, pain meds, and anything else you liked to have nearby when you were hurting before returning to the bedroom and jumping into bed. The moment he had crawled underneath the blanket, you latched onto him, your very own heater, and he wrapped his arm around you, holding the TV remote with his free hand. Already knowing all your comfort movies and series, he put one of them on, before relaxing and pulling you closer.

A comfortable silence fell over you two as you watched whatever was playing on TV, Simon’s fingers absentmindedly massaging your stomach, trying to ease the cramps, when an idea came to you. Suddenly, heat started to pool between your legs as you glanced up at your boyfriend. “Si?” He grunted in response, surprisingly focused on the TV. “Si?” You repeated yourself, this time capturing his attention. He was already halfway out the bed, thinking that you’d ask him to get you something, but you pulled him back. “Give me a baby, Si.” He stared at you, all wide-eyed and confused for a second before he pounced on you. Let’s just say it didn’t take you long to get your wish.

Part 2

A/N: Definitely not projecting. Definitely not writhing in pain rn.