#it's so so horrible but in such a tender way. anyway if you want to bawl your eyes out

[ijzermansdriesen]

Two years later and on the other side of major depressive disorder, I don't remember ever crying for maandag 11:03 like I did today.

[froggiewrites]

Bloody Hands

Pairing: Law x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You're struggling with horrible period cramps, and luckily, Law has the perfect solution. Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Period Sex, Fluff Word Count: 2.1k Notes: Did I write this in one sitting instead of just taking ibuprofen for my cramps like a normal person? Maybe. Anyway, this is my first time writing for Law, so I hope I did him justice!

This is going to kill you.

You say that every month, of course, but you really, truly mean it this time. You’re practically immobilized, laying in the fetal position on your bed trying not to let out pitiful moans every time another wave of pain hits. You fail every time.

Several members of the crew had come to check on you, bringing offerings of heating pads, ibuprofen, and various other remedies, but they hardly helped. After the fifth visit (Penguin bringing you more water while anxiously checking you over), you couldn’t even thank your friends, only letting out a sad whimper to acknowledge their presence before once again squeezing your eyes tight and trying desperately to ground yourself.

Your captain had been noticeably absent from these visits, probably burying himself in work as he always does, and you’re torn between being grateful he hasn’t seen you in such a sorry state and hurt tearing through your chest that he didn’t care enough to check on you. You would have gone to him in a heartbeat if he was doing as poorly as you were. He wouldn’t want you to, of course, would lock his door and burrow so deeply into his bed he wouldn’t see a single speck of light until his illness had passed, but you would come anyway. You would at least try.

You regret the thought the moment you hear a familiar hum at the doorway. You should have known he would never leave you alone when you needed him. “I almost didn’t believe everyone when they said how bad it was.” You whine, and you hear a sympathetic chuckle. “I know.” The heels of his shoes click softly against the ground, and suddenly Law’s warm hand has slid under your shirt, warm and gentle as it rubs circles onto your upper back.

“Everything hurts.” You’re so lost in the pain you can't even bring yourself to hate how pathetic you sound. His other hand comes to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzle into it, welcoming the affection gratefully.

“I know, sweetheart.” He doesn’t often call you pet names, and it makes your heart flutter when he does. Usually when you hear them it means you’re going to be taken care of, cherished in a more tender way than the quiet and understated (but no less wonderful) way he normally shows his love for you. His lips ghost over your forehead, and you finally open your eyes to see his own staring at you with undisguised concern, bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual. “Can you describe it to me? Is it just the cramps, or is there something else?”

“It’s just cramps. And a small headache, I guess.” Another wave crashes over you, and you pull yourself in even tighter. “They’re…they’re not normally this bad.”

“And the pain meds haven’t helped?”

“Not enough.”

“Hm.” You can see the exact moment he flips from lover to doctor, racking his brain for any knowledge he can use to help you, and the moment he finds his answer. The light flickers on behind his eyes, and he carefully looks over you, assessing the situation, before your lover is back, sly grin slowly creeping over his face and a quiet excitement makes its way into his voice. “I think I know something that could help. If you’re willing.”

“I would do anything for this to stop,” you whimper, and his amusement once again fades into fondness as his eyes soften with pity.

“I’ll do my best to help, sweetheart, I promise.” His lips brush against your forehead again before the bed shifts and his warmth has left you. You cry out, but he gently shushes you. “Just a minute. I’ll be right back, really.”

He probably is only gone for a minute, but it feels like hours. You don’t relax for even a second until you hear a quiet, “Shambles!” and find yourself in the familiar dim light of Law’s room. Your back is pressed against something rougher than his usual blankets, and you turn your head to see you’re laid out against a mismatched array of towels, clearly stolen from the shared bathroom the rest of the crew uses. His pair of towels are separated, one lying directly under your lower half while the other sits folded and ready at the end of the bed. Law is staring at you, unblinking, directly next to it.

“Hi.” Your voice is weaker than you want it to be, barely a whisper, but he slightly smiles when he hears it anyway.

“Hi.” He leans forward a bit, eyes flashing dangerously in the dim light, looking almost like a predator stalking his prey. It makes you tense despite yourself, causing another flash of pain in your abdomen. The vulnerable noise you make causes him to grin, showing just a bit of sharp canines through his parted lips. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“Your treatment, sweetheart.” He maintains eye contact with you as he slowly pulls latex gloves over his tattooed hands, covering the letters on his fingers. Once they’re fully on, he lets the material go, making a small thwap as it snaps against his skin. He repeats himself. “Are you ready?”

“Yes?”

“I need you to be sure.”

“Yes.” You repeat, more firmly this time.

“Excellent. I promise you’ll feel better soon.” With that, you can feel the cool latex against your skin as he slips off the loose pajama pants you were wearing in a single fluid motion. You then feel his hands against your thighs, forcing them apart and leaning forward. You let out a soft noise of surprise, and he gives you the same predatory smile as before before muttering, “Just relax.”

His gloved fingers slowly trace up your thighs, before he quickly removes your panties, depositing them somewhere nearby. He turns his attention back to you, fingers retracing their path, and you shiver as he runs a single finger down your slit. He lifts his hand closer to his face as though to inspect it, and you can see the blue latex becomes stained with blood. You can see his pupils dilate, black overtaking the normal steely grey of his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s fascinated or aroused. Probably both.

He allows his hand to find its rightful place again, slowly inserting his first finger into you. You gasp quietly, and he laughs under his breath. You feel yourself stretch around him as the slick of your blood makes it easy for him to slide himself knuckle deep into you. You let out a stuttering breath as you get used to the new sensation. Your pain hasn’t subsided, but this is certainly a good distraction.

“Everything alright?” His voice is low, thick with want, but he tries to maintain an even tone.

“Yeah,” you managed to squeak out. “I’m fine.”

“Only fine?” He lets out a displeased hum. “Next time I ask, I want you to be doing better than ‘fine’.”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” You regret the words the moment they come out of your mouth. As much as Law loves to pretend he is some even-keeled professional, he’s easily riled up by a challenge, and challenges relating to you are some of his favorites. “I mean–”

“I know what you meant. Don’t worry. I’ll make it happen.” With that, he begins pumping, keeping a steady slow pace that isn’t nearly enough for you, before suddenly adding a second finger. He curls them, hitting a sweet spot that makes you sing for him, and he gives you an absolutely shit eating grin. “Sounds like we’re already well on our way, hm?”

He speeds up slightly, his other hand leaving the plush of your thigh and finding your clit. The material feels strange against you, but that thought is quickly shoved out of your head as he slowly begins to rub small circles against it. You let out a whine of, ��Law!”

“Yes?” His voice is dripping with smugness. You can do nothing but let out another small cry of his name, and you can see the way his chest slightly puffs out with pride at the sound. There is nothing in the world he loves more than making you come unraveled, and he loves any reminder of that, especially those that remind him that you’re his and that he is the one making you feel this way. “Just relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you. We’ll be there soon.” He adds a third finger, reveling in the way you clench around him. You see his eyelids drop slightly as he takes in the sight of you splayed out before him, blood and wetness covering his fingers as they pump in and out of you.

You finally, finally begin to feel something stronger than your pain as the coil in your stomach tightens, making every part of you begin to tense as you approach your precipice. Law leans over you, taking his eyes off of your cunt for the first time since he started  just so he can look you in the eyes and whisper, “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You gush around his fingers, crying out. He doesn’t look away from your face as your eyes squeeze shut and you throw your head back, taking in every inch of your sweet expression. He works you through it, not removing his fingers until he knows for certain that you’ve ridden your high to the end, leaving you spent and relaxed against the towel below you. Once he slides his hands out of you, he quickly removes his gloves, dropping them into a nearby trash can. He grabs the towel at the end of the bed and uses it to wipe up any blood on your thighs, placing a gentle kiss to each thigh once he’s sure they’re clean.

“How are you doing?” His voice carries no challenge like earlier, only a genuine concern for you.

“I’m great.”

“No cramps?”

You close your eyes, taking in your current state. You feel a little sore, and there’s still a small pressure in your skull, but you realize your abdomen doesn’t hurt at all. “No cramps.” You can’t keep the pleased smile off of your face, and when you open your eyes you see his expression mirrors your own, if a touch more smug.

“Good.” He kisses your forehead before gently gathering you into his arms. You let out a soft noise of protest, but he pulls you into his chest anyway. “After a quick shower and some sleep I think your treatment will be over. …For now.”

“For now?”

“You’ll have to come see me if your cramps return, of course.” His eyes shine with a gentle mischief you don’t often get to see.

“Oh, of course, Dr. Trafalgar.” You expect him to roll his eyes at you, but he smirks further at you using his title. Interesting.

For now, he carries you into his personal bathroom, setting you down and beginning to fuss with the shower. Your eyes spy the empty towel rack, and you have a realization. “Law?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any towels not covered in blood?”

“I–hm.” He leaves for a moment, returning with another clearly stolen towel. The crew is going to have a bad night once showertime rolls around, but you can’t bring yourself to care too much, still caught up in your sudden relaxation after your day of suffering. In the shower, Law pampers you thoroughly, refusing to let you lift a finger to do anything for yourself. His fingers are gentle as he washes your hair, your face, your body. He wraps you tenderly in a towel once all is done, even helping you dress once you’ve dried. He only stops pampering you once he’s tucked you tightly into his bed, heating pad and pain meds ready on his nightstand just in case. And in a very rare treat, instead of rushing off to work, he lays down next to you.

“You aren’t going to leave?” You can’t keep the tentative hope from your voice.

“Not until you’re asleep.” He pulls your head into his chest, and you happily make a home there.

“I’ll have to stay up to keep you here.” Even as you say it your eyes are drooping, and you can feel the rumble of his laugh.

“You can try.” He runs his fingers carefully through your hair.

You lose quickly, falling into an easy sleep, surrounded by warmth and care, and pain far away from your mind.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[hexesandroses]

Lover, be good to me - Il Dottore x Reader

Something small I wrote at the bus station to quell my boredom! Dottore 🫶

Dottore held his breath as your hands moved to his mask. It wasn't something he had ever allowed you to do before - that sort of trust and vulnerability had been lost to him for many, many years - but you were different. You were the closest thing to perfection that he knew of; who was he to continue pushing you away?

His heart hammered against his chest. What would you think of his true face? Dottore's ruby eyes no longer bore the fury of his younger segments, but what of his scars? He had long accepted them - refusing to erase them even when faced with the opportunity. The marred skin on his forehead and the bridge of his nose was hardly something anyone had admired before; Dottore still vividly remembered the contempt with which the lowly scholars of the Akademiya would look at him. Surely, you wouldn't be the same?

Your fingers gently unclasped his beak-shaped mask. When your eyes met his, you smiled softly, and Dottore couldn't fathom it.

How could you? How could you not recognize the monstrosity before you?

He let you cup his jaw, trail his cheekbone with your thumb.

"Charming," you murmured, "your eyes are akin to trishiraite."

The comparison felt a tad ironic, but Dottore hardly cared; not when your eyes glimmered with so much affection.

All for him.

He found it hard to believe - that he could be anything but disgusting to you. You, who's visage easily rivaled that of the gods. Beautiful and delicate you - a Sumeru rose yet to be trampled by the rishboland tiger.

"You're beautiful."

"Hardly," he muttered.

You shook your head, "no, really. I fail to see what you find so terrible about yourself."

Had he been any younger, any more foolish, Dottore would have protested; you were wrong, wholly and entirely wrong, but Dottore could play pretend for a moment.

When would the other shoe drop?

Instead of whatever horrible thing Dottore imagined you would do, you leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Corners of your soft lips tilted upwards, you gazed at him with more love than he could comprehend.

You were careful not to touch his scars, but your gaze lingered anyway. Dottore felt naked - predator turned prey. He wanted to push you away; the urge would never really leave, he reckoned. Centuries spent in solitude had affected him in ways that could never be changed. Though, the tender way in which you brushed his hair from his face made Dottore reconsider.

His eyes closed when you leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your lips found his nose, his cheeks, his jaw - not an inch of his face left untouched. Dottore drew you closer by the waist, lost in the affection you gave him.

"My Zandik," you said softly. "Beautiful Zandik."

Beautiful he could never be, Dottore thought, not when you stood before him. He thought you blinded by your emotions - your words were entirely influenced by your preexisting affection for him. Had he been but a stranger to you now, would you still have seen him as anything more than a monster? Would you have admired him anyway?

Perhaps. After all, you were unlike the others; delicate and pure and sweet, untainted by those around you.

"I prefer you without the mask," you said, "please, wear it less around me."

Dottore hummed, feigning doubt. Deep down, he knew he would abide by your words without a second thought.

"If that is what you want."

With each kiss you bestowed upon him, Dottore could almost believe it - that he really, truly was worthy of your tenderness after all.

[alchemistc]

911 was always in my periphery bc of how popular Buck x Eddie is on Tumblr and Ao3. I didn't really want to watch a cable network procedural drama, especially one that came off as so unserious. I could also see how such invested shipping by a lot of fans who are young and think it’s ok to demand things from the cast and crew would inevitably become a toxic cesspool. I stand by that assessment of the show based on the behavior of the fandom these last months, as well as the overall quality of the writing and how often good story lines just get dropped or undermined.

However, I heard about Buck coming out. Over the summer, I was going through a lot and feeling aimless, so I finally started watching the show. And I liked Buck and Tommy, but what I really loved was the quality of the fan works they inspired. At the end of the day, I never really had real expectations of high quality television from a show like 911; that’s not what it’s for.

Despite this, what really affected me last night—which was also the first episode I bothered watching live ever because of how terrible this last week has been—wasn’t even how badly it was executed or the fact that they broke up. But how unnecessarily and viciously cruel the whole thing felt?

What was the point of showing Tommy as a caring, supportive, present partner in the previous episode if it was going to lead to an unceremonious break up? What was the point of showing his yearning for connection and family only to see him throw it all away? Why have him say such wonderful things about Buck moments before questioning the commitment of their relationship after six months together? What was the point of Buck getting that speech from Josh and bringing up marriage and moving in together and that Tommy had been a transformative relationship when it was going to end with him being dumped? It just felt so horribly cruel to see a character bare his tender heart and see it get stomped on. He looked so sad at the end.

Up till the very end of the episode, I was actually really enjoying it. Their acting was so good from heart eyes to heartbreak, and the show seemed to understand Tommy’s reaction to Buck getting hit on by those women would cause friction. It even made sense to me that Tommy would recoil at the prospect of moving in together because Buck clearly hasn’t come to terms with being queer yet (sir, you haven’t researched the Kinsey scale? You?) And Tommy is also clearly afraid to reach for the connections he wants and the seeming inevitability of his heart being broken and is masking that with nonsense about Buck needing to play the field and the biphobia present wherein. It was such an interesting depth to his character! I thought the break up speech was so well-acted, and I was so ready for the conversation they were going to have that would address it and let them move on together stronger. To see Buck learn from Josh and see the scars Tommy was unintentionally revealing in that moment and address them.

And then the credits started rolling and I felt like I got punched in the gut.

It was definitely the straw that broke the camel’s back for me, with the election and other personal stuff really stressing me out this week. Last night, I felt sick and unable to sleep, and I spent the morning bawling my eyes out. It feels like one of the few things I really looked forward to had been snatched away for the shock factor. I believe the interviews are the definite death knell, but even if you don’t follow the interviews, it was just a cruel way to end the episode. Even if this ends up being a temporary roadblock or they “fix” it, it’ll always leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Anyway, I’m upset that I let a show I always knew wasn’t very good affect me this much, and I regret spending months of my life on it. But the reason I wanted to send this ask was because my real hyperfixation these last few months was never the show itself; it was always the Bucktommy fandom. Reading some of the most beautiful fanfiction, including yours, these deep and intense character studies or au’s or future fics that show more love to these characters than the show does. The stunning art, the lovingly rendered gifs, the startlingly funny and insightful writing. The fandom has been my real love, and I hope that despite this huge blow, people like you will continue being so immensely creative and artistic for this ship.

I’m sorry this has been so long and vent-y, but I wanted to send you this ask because you’re one of my favorite fic authors, and I’ve been following your posts since last night and you’re still responding to anonymous asks. I’ve always been stealth in the fandom to avoid certain parts of it, so didn’t want this on my own blog. If you do publish it, I hope the other authors and artists and creators who have made my life better get to see it too <3 And that they don’t regret the time and passion and love they’ve poured into the last few months. I have appreciated it, if nothing else.

Hi.

First of all, please don't apologize for the length of this.

Everything you pointed out were exactly the reasons people joined this fandom. Everything you listed here is EXACTLY the reason it left such a bad taste in our mouth.

I'm sorry I won't be more eloquent in this post, because this is such a kind and thoughtful and lovely summation of all the things I've been hearing and seeing and feeling.

The point of all that, if we are to believe Lou (which I do, and honestly props to him for being as gracious as he was in those post-mortems: fucking TWO exit interviews for a guest star? wtf abc), WAS to pull the rug out from under the audience. It WAS to end it all on a shocker of heartbreak. They filmed the bulk of Tommy's S8 scenes AFTER the breakup. It is absolutely vicious and cruel and meant to make people talk about it. The engagement they are getting right now is to some extent WHAT THEY WANTED. I went straight to my notes after work and I can't be fucked to check the insta or FB to see if they've posted anything new and/or what the comment count is on the 8x06 posts but THIS IS THE INTENDED RESULT. Broken hearts, upset people, an increasingly toxic fandom crowing.

That's where I'm at. I think that's where a lot of people have landed. And it's so disheartening to see something that really genuinely drew people in because it was handled so gently and kindly at first just be ripped away and the door shut on it.

And honestly if they close the mid season OR open or close 8B on a premise that includes one of them being injured and the other having a Realization™️ I won't trust this team to do it genuinely or truly. Even the breakup would have held so much potential for me, but not like this.

Anyway. I'm sorry you're feeling so disappointed. I am grieving the missed potential of literally every plot they built up this season for every character and if I do watch it won't be live and I will likely have very little trust for it's potential. There has been So Much wasted potential.

And I want to say thank you. Even if you lurked, even if you disengage now, the creators who made those works made them out of love and they wanted to share them and the community around it all has been lovely to see. Thank you.

Some of us will still be hanging around building the world that could have been. I hope, if you feel up to peeking at that sandbox, that you feel welcome to go play in it or even just clap from the sidelines.

♥️

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 30: forever?

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

TW: Mentions of schizophrenia. This would also qualify as hurt/comfort or flangst, but I wanted to write it anyway.

Spencer stared at the ceiling of his room in silence, lost in thoughts that seemed to tangle without remedy. He had been feeling this pressure in his chest for weeks, a fear he couldn't shake off, as if a shadow was relentlessly pursuing him. He knew it wasn't just stress, although that would have been the simplest explanation. This was something much deeper, darker.

His mind, always his greatest strength, now seemed like a source of fear, an invisible enemy haunting him with doubts and insecurities. The possibility of beginning to show signs of schizophrenia, like his mother, terrified him.

He picked up his phone, hesitating over whether he should call someone; whether he should call you. Your number had been there, patient, waiting for him to reach out, to ask for medical advice, a consultation… maybe even just to hear your voice.

He was so scared that he felt his hand trembling as he pressed the call button.

“Spencer?” you asked as soon as you answered. The warmth of your voice on the other end calmed him a bit.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Good, darling. A bit busy because I'm covering a shift in the ER and… ugh, everything is hectic.”

“Oh, then I'll let you go. I can call you later.”

“NO! It’s fine, it’s fine. My relief will be here in ten minutes; I can afford a moment of peace before that,” you murmured, sounding a bit tired. You fell silent for a moment. He said nothing. “Are you okay?”

He swallowed hard, noticing how the tension in his throat made it difficult to speak.

“I know you’re busy and I…” his breathing started to become erratic, despite his wishes. “I’m so sorry, but could you come? I just… I could really use someone to talk to.”

Hearing the tone of his voice, you agreed without hesitation, and an hour later, you were sitting on his couch, surrounded by the silence of his apartment. When you arrived, he didn’t say anything; just seeing his face and how he rubbed his eyes made you realize he was distressed.

Spencer didn’t even know how to begin. How could he explain the terror the idea of losing his mind caused him, of slowly crumbling without being able to do anything?

You didn’t pressure him. You just waited, giving him the time he needed, despite how exhausted you were from being awake for 20 hours. Finally, he took a deep breath and started to speak quietly:

“I’ve been… feeling strange. I’ve had horrible migraines and I thought that was nothing to worry about, but… lately I’ve been hearing things. Voices, whispers. And I see shadows where there shouldn’t be anything.”

His confession filled the room, dense as fog, and for a moment, he feared that you might feel uncomfortable, scared, as if sharing his fear made it more real. You had patients all the time, perhaps in worse conditions than he was, but all those ailments were physical; blood, fluids, skin… you didn’t deal with mental illnesses. Would you be afraid of him?

However, when he looked up, he noticed that you were simply looking at him with concern and tenderness. Despite the dark circles under your eyes, you regarded him with such kindness that he felt unworthy of it.

“How long have you been feeling this way?” you asked softly.

“For a few days… maybe a week,” Spencer sighed, feeling more vulnerable than ever. “My mother… you know what she…” he paused, unable to continue. He didn’t want to say it out loud, didn’t want to invoke the fear that gnawed at him inside. The possibility of also losing himself, like her, was an idea that paralyzed him.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you reached out and intertwined your fingers with his. The warmth of your skin anchored him, a reminder that he wasn’t alone, that there was still something real and solid in his life. He remembered the last time he had felt that certainty, many years ago, when they were just kids.

The memory took him back to that day in the park. You were just two children sitting on a bench, the sky clear and the sun shining down on you. Spencer had been strangely quiet, lost in thoughts that seemed too big for his age. His mother had just gone through a very strong episode, and although he didn’t fully understand what it meant, he could feel the fear in his chest, a fear that seemed to settle in his bones. You had noticed his worry, and he, not knowing how to express it, ended up confessing his fears and doubts to you.

“What if something bad happens to my mom?” he had said softly, his gaze fixed on the ground. You had looked at him with that seriousness that only children can have, and without saying anything, you extended your pinky toward him.

“I’ll always take care of you, Spencer,” you told him as if making a sacred promise. He had entwined his pinky with yours, seeking that security that only you could give him.

“Forever?” he asked, unsure if you could keep such a big promise.

You nodded without hesitation.

“Forever.”

Returning to that memory brought him a little peace, a reminder that someone was willing to hold him, to be his refuge. Now, years later, you were by his side once more, fulfilling that promise you seemed to have made a lifetime ago.

Suddenly, he found himself in the present, gently squeezing your hand. The tears had already begun to slide down his cheeks, and he felt so lost… so vulnerable.

Of course, you weren’t going to demand medical details from him at that moment; you were exhausted from attending to patients and knew that what he needed now wasn’t an evaluation, but simply the company of a friend.

“I don’t want to end up like her,” he whispered, not looking at you, his voice broken.

“Spencer,” you replied firmly, taking his chin between your fingers and looking him directly in the eyes, “You don’t have to face this alone. I’ll help you with whatever you need.”

The certainty in your voice was so solid that he felt a part of his anxiety begin to dissolve. But still, the insecurity persisted, a shadow he couldn’t ignore.

He hesitated for a moment before whispering, barely audible:

“Forever?”

You didn’t remember that childhood promise made so many years ago, but at his question, you looked at him with a soft smile and squeezed his hand again.

“Forever,” you affirmed, without wavering.

Spencer felt his shoulders relax at hearing you. That simple word, laden with an unbreakable promise and loyalty, was all he needed at that moment. There were no medical exams, studies, or therapies that could compare to the peace he felt hearing you reaffirm that you would never leave him. Since childhood, he had treasured in his memory the recollection of your pinky intertwined with his when his whole world seemed about to fall apart; now he felt the same, and you were still there.

He allowed himself to release a trembling sigh, and without saying another word, you wrapped your arms around him, drawing him into a warm, firm embrace.

Spencer felt himself crumble at the contact, finally letting go of all those repressed emotions. He held onto you with a mix of desperation and relief, hiding his face in your neck, seeking in your closeness the comfort he had longed for in silence.

The tears flowed freely now, and he stopped fighting against them. It was strange; he used to be the most reserved person, the most contained, but with you, he allowed himself to be vulnerable, human. He knew you could bear his pain without judging him, without being scared. He entrusted you with his deepest fear, and you didn’t leave him alone in the middle of the storm.

You both stayed like that, embraced in silence for long minutes. He felt the weight of his anxiety and fear of illness beginning to give way little by little. The sensation of being held, of being accepted with all his flaws and fears, made him feel less fragmented, less scared.

Eventually, exhaustion began to take its toll on you. After so many hours of work and the emotional effort of comforting Spencer, your body gave in, and you let yourself fall gently against him. Unbeknownst to you, you started to drift off to sleep, and he noticed as your breathing slowed and your weight relaxed in his arms.

Realizing you had succumbed to fatigue, he smiled, touched and grateful to have you by his side. The anguish he had felt all night faded a bit more as he settled in, carefully holding you, protecting you just as you had done with him moments before.

And so, with you asleep in his arms, he felt the darkness that had been looming over him retreat a little; just a little. In that moment, everything seemed more hopeful, less fearsome. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in weeks, felt that maybe he could face his fears. Because, after all, he had someone who would fulfill that promise of being with him forever.

[inkdrinkerworld]

hiiii I really love your autistic!reader fics :] I was wondering if you could please do one where r just has an absolutely horrible sensory day, nothing bad happens but just they didn’t sleep and woke up super overstimulated and still had to go through a busy day to the point where they go nonverbal, have a meltdown and need to lock themself away in their room in the dark/quiet for like a day. and then once they feel better and come over, remus (or dealer!remus my beloved) talks about it and comforts them <3 this is super specific lol it just happened to me and my roommates did not notice or care so I’d love to hear what you think remus would do <333

I love all your fics so so dearly thank you for being you and for all your hard work !!!!

I’m sorry they didn’t care! Sending you this Remus fic to make up for it

You’re not sure when this ‘off’ feeling had settled into your body, but now that it has it seems impossible to shake.

You’d woken up and just knew that something was wrong. Something intrinsic to you was off and possibly twisted up and tangled in ways that made it difficult for you to articulate what it was.

Your phone’s alarm was too loud, you could feel the sheets scratching your thighs and you couldn’t take a breath deeper than four seconds long if you tried.

Then you’d gotten into work and gotten even more overstimulated so by the end of your day you’d felt this building nausea swirling all up your throat from your stomach.

You can also feel a migraine coming on and it worsens the nausea.

You might be sick on the train ride home. You were in fact sick on the train ride home- thank god you keep a spare shirt in your bag.

When you got in, Remus wasn’t there- probably still at the dispensary. Which as bad as it sounds was the best option.

You smell like sick, you’re cold sweating, and you can’t stop your tears from falling down your face.

It’s horrible. You feel like you’ve been run over and like your body is fighting you with every step you take.

You’re grateful Remus doesn’t see you like this.

Your shower is hot, to the point of steam curling around you but you didn’t feel a thing.

You’re hardly awake for more than ten minutes, slipping into a pair of underwear and getting under your heavy covers and falling asleep.

“Dovey, hi.” You wake up to Remus stroking your back, his nails blunt and fingers warm as they trail up and down your back.

You shake his hand off, your head throbbing as you turn to look at him.

The nap didn’t help the migraine.

Remus takes a moment to look at your face, eyes assessing as he stares. “Was it a quiet kind of day?” You squeeze his hand and Remus coos.

He lowers his tone, voice smooth and soft like velvet. “I put your clothes in the wash, and I can get you your notepad.”

You shake your head, sitting up a bit and opening your arms to Remus. Your arms drop when you spot his sweater - maybe he’s just come in from work.

He understands immediately, “I’ve showered already, so I’m not in outside clothes.” He assures you before his arms close around you.

Remus is warm in a way you don’t understand. His body constantly furnace-like, and it helps to ground you.

“I had a bad day.” You croak, throat tight as you speak.

“You don’t have to force yourself, dove.”

You shake your head, “I want to tell you,” Remus nods, kissing your neck as you steady yourself. “I woke up feeling really bad, like I couldn’t get anything my body had to do right but I went into work anyway thinking it’d just go away. It didn’t. Then I threw up on the train home and cried and then threw up again, and then came home, showered and slept.”

Remus coos, “I’m sorry today was so awful, sweet girl. Will you be able to take tomorrow off? I’m home all day and we could make a ‘recovery from overstimulation,’ day of it.”

You could cry. You’ve the sweetest boyfriend and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t realize.

“Are you sure?” You gnaw on your lip as Remus pulls back, a tender smile on his face.

“Perks of being your own boss, baby. I set the days. Want me to call your boss?”

You nod, “Please? And we can watch a movie when you’re done?” You’re already shuffling down under the covers as Remus reaches for your phone.

“Course dovey, put on Atlantis and I’ll go get some water and salted crackers.”

As bad as your day had started, it feels lighter now that Remus is here.

[azen13]

Looking at the items the Starlight Pawnshop has to offer... I'd like to purchase the < Avian Necklace >, please. Because a pretty little songbird deserves only the prettiest chain with which to tie it down.

Paradise Lost, Paradise Found

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Avian Necklace: A silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a bird mid-flight, imbued with a strange energy strong enough to shackle its wearer in paradise forever.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Description: After the Charmony Festival, Sunday returns to Penacony with the Stellaron Hunters, desperate to be reunited with his lover.

CW: Yandere Themes, Brainwashing, Mind Control, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Intense Distress, Manipulation

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It is a Monday night in Penacony, and all is well in the world.

Sure, your hotel room is cramped. The mattress is lumpy. The view is horrible. But it is real, and that is all that matters to you. After an eternity of dreams so sweet you felt like you were drowning in joy, you would rather be stuck in this dingy hotel room than some luxury VIP suite anyways. It’s comforting in all its imperfections. 

That is, until you hear someone knock on your door.

The sound is rhythmic, three short, quick, evenly spaced knocks. It’s all you truly need to know who stands outside your door. Your heart already knows, beating so fast you feel like you could go into cardiac arrest. 

But then you hear his voice. Smooth and rich like espresso, laced with a subtle sweetness. “Darling,” Sunday whispers quietly, “please, open the door.” It is both a request and a command, though it isn’t infused with Sunday’s usual pacifying power. 

He liked doing this when you realized Ena’s dream was all an illusion; he would give you a chance to submit and  acquiesce to his love and care, but when you inevitably refused, he had no qualms about worming his way into your mind. Once inside, he’d gently smash any shred of resistance you had, before pulling you into his arms and crooning his hymns, praising your holiness. 

Isn’t this dream so blissful? he would ask you quietly, his hands ghosting over your skin, soft as feathers. I can give you anything you want. In Ena’s dream, it was true. Sunday could give you anything you wanted, even your freedom. But you knew it was an artificial imitation of independence; no matter where you traveled in the pseudo-universe, he was always there, always watching you. That was good enough for him: knowing you were safe, his hands cupped around your world like the way one would hold a bird.

The sound of Sunday’s voice breaks you out of your momentary reverie. “My dove, please, I don’t want our reunion to be bitter, but it seems like you aren’t giving me a choice.” You can feel the resonant harmonies in Sunday’s words grow louder, gripping your mind gently, giving you one more chance to open the door through your own free will.

You look around your room for any way out. On the opposite wall is a single window. You’re on the first floor. All you have to do is break through it and find someone. Frantically, you rush over, scrounging around for something to break the glass. You hear a loud sigh. “I wish you could just understand, my love,” Sunday laments. 

The lock clicks.

Instantly, you are pounding and clawing on the glass like a rabid animal. In brief moments of clarity through your haze of desperation, you can feel your shoulder ache from ramming into the glass. Your throat feels raw. Someone is screaming. It’s you.

Sunday’s hands are just as excruciatingly tender as you remember, gliding over your arms and clasping your wrists in a tender but firm embrace. “Shh, it’s okay, my dear,” he whispers quietly. Beneath the insanity that clouds his own eyes, you can glimpse genuine concern in his gilded gaze. “Calm down, shh, yes, relax,” he coos. 

All of the sudden, the world goes soft and blurry; every color in your hotel room, the pallid, washed-out grays and pale, muted blues seem to turn into a psychedelic kaleidoscope, luring you deeper and deeper into a state of tranquility. 

With slow, delicate motions, Sunday lets go of one of your wrists, a placid smile gracing his face for a mere moment. Making sure that you won’t hurt yourself anymore than you already have, he reaches into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a small necklace imbued with the power of the Order. 

“After the Charmony Festival, I was in such a deep state of despair. I thought I had lost everything. My dreams. My power. My home. My sister. My love.” His grasp on your wrist tightens, though you’re so lost in his spell that you can’t even feel the pain. “But now…now I have you again, my dearest,” he whispers hoarsely. Sunday can hardly believe you are real, with how constant misfortune has haunted his life. Time and time again, he has lost everything. Everyone. All his dreams and aspirations have shattered to pieces like stars crashing down to the earth from the heavens. But not you.

“Perhaps my plan was ill-timed,” Sunday muses as he loops the chain of the necklace around your neck. “But for right now, if I can’t give everyone paradise, then at least I can give it to you. And that will be more than enough,” he whispers, taking your appearance in, drinking it in like a man without water for forty days. 

The effects of his tuning are fading, but the power of the necklace is taking root in your mind, warping and twisting it until you understand. Truly magnificent. He can see the clarity and consciousness in your eyes, but he can also see behind it, the compulsion to listen. 

“Now, we must go,” Sunday says, his hands moving to clutch both of yours, pulling you up from where you’re sitting on the floor. “The rest of the Stellaron Hunters are likely getting anxious and ready to leave.” Still, he can’t help but steal one more moment alone. He presses a quick, light kiss to your lips, looking at your splendor one last time.

His sweet, foolish, caged bird.

[starboy-sirius]

may 4 | cease | @jegulus-microfic | 1057 words

“Stop,” Regulus begs, pushing James away. “Please just stop.”

James stares at him with heartbroken eyes, his face crumpled as he attempts to grab Regulus’ shaking hands. They’re in the Astronomy Tower, the night sky dark and thunderous, threatening a storm it’s waiting to unleash. The moon shines down on them and Regulus can’t help but realise the irony of losing James when the sun isn’t shining, but he doesn’t know when else he’s meant to do this. 

They’ve been meeting in the tower for the past few months and at first it was fun, the two of them snarking and bickering with each other until slowly it became more physical, a push here and a jab there. Until one day James pulled. He pulled Regulus into him, his back against the bannister in the tower and pressed his lips to Regulus’ passionately. Regulus had just called him some ungodly name and James couldn’t take it anymore. 

Soon the tower became a place where they not only argued but also just talked. About everything and everyone. Without realising it they had become each other’s safe space and the kisses soon turned tender and soft, and the fucking transitioned into something with a little more meaning. Regulus didn’t dive off straight away and actually allowed James to wrap his arms tightly around his middle, pulling him back into his embrace.

But that was then and this is now. 

Now, Regulus is staring at James imploringly, eyes shining with tears not yet fallen and James wants to scoop him up and kiss his pain away, only Regulus won’t let him come near him. James doesn’t understand. “Regulus? What happened?”

Regulus lets out a bitter laugh, wet and humourless. “What happened? Did you get concussed whilst kissing that Prewett twin or are you just an imbecile?”

James feels as though he’s been slapped and staggers backwards, because he had kissed Gideon. Or rather, Gideon kissed him and James had spluttered and pulled away so quickly that he’d almost torn a muscle in his neck. It happened just now at the Gryffindor party, one that Regulus didn’t want to go to, preferring to be in the Astronomy Tower watching the stars. James, apologising to Gideon profusely about not being available, had rushed to get the map and find Regulus, opting to spend the rest of the night with him. 

Which is where he finds himself now, staring down a furious Regulus, his eyes rimmed with red. He had obviously decided to come to the party last minute and walked right in on the worst scene imaginable. 

“Regulus, it’s not what it seems at all. Please let me explain,” James begs, his heart pounding its way up his throat. 

Scoffing, Regulus sniffs and wipes his cheeks harshly. The sight of his tears makes James ache something fierce. He wishes he could reach out and comfort him but he knows Regulus isn’t going to allow that. Has this horrible sinking feeling that Regulus might not let him ever again. 

“What is there to explain? You kissed him, and I’m the idiot because I actually thought that this meant something to you,” Regulus’ shoulders droop suddenly and he stops wiping his cheeks, it’s all in vain anyway because the tears won’t stop. “Like it meant something to me.”

“Regulus,” James breathes, taken aback by this impromptu confession. 

They never spoke about what they were to each other, just that they enjoyed finding release in each other’s bodies and didn’t want to stop. The sneaking about was fun, or at least James had thought so until his heart wrangled its way into the mix and then he sort of just wanted to snog Regulus whenever and wherever. But he refrained because he knew that Regulus was scared. Scared of what Sirius would think, scared of it getting back to his parents. They’d spoken about it, lying on blankets in the tower as the sweat cooled on their bodies, and James had sworn that he would protect Regulus from everyone that wished to harm him. 

Looking at him now, James thinks that the only person harming Regulus is him. 

“Just go, James.”

“No,” James declares, stepping forward with determination, because Regulus basically just confessed to him and there is no way in hell that he’s going to leave here without telling him how he feels. Even if Regulus doesn’t want anything to do with him now. He has to do this. 

So he starts speaking whilst Regulus is quiet. “Gideon kissed me. We were dancing, surrounded by everyone else, it wasn't just us, and he sort of just attached himself to me. I pulled away instantly, hurt my neck a bit doing it so fast, and told him that I wasn’t available. Then I came here to find you, and well, you know the rest.”

By the end of the speech he’s shyly rubbing at the nape of his neck, eyes intently focused on Regulus. The younger boy is looking at James warily, but somewhere deep in his eyes James can see that he wants to believe what he’s saying.

“You’re not available?” Regulus asks, voice small and vulnerable. But his eyes. Merlin, his beautiful grey eyes are shining with something James thinks looks like hope, and it’s what spurs him forward. 

Regulus allows him to take his hands as he approaches and soon they’re standing with their faces close. It’s intimate and it’s all James wants for the rest of his life. “I’m not. You see, there’s this really prickly Slytherin who I’m a little bit in love with. Even when he’s insulting me I can’t help but adore him.”

“He sounds like a right tosser,” Regulus says and James laughs, feeling brighter as Regulus smiles at him. 

“Hey!” James scolds jokingly. “That’s my lover you’re talking about.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, cheeks staining a pretty red. The younger boy’s face turns grave once more, though. “You better not be messing with me, Potter.”

“Never,” James swears, leaning down so that his nose brushes Regulus’.

“Good,” Regulus breathes. “Because I’m in love with you, too.”

James surges to press his lips to Regulus’, heart pounding as he smiles into it. Nothing has ever felt sweeter than the press of Regulus’ lips to his, and he’s sure nothing will ever be as sweet as this moment. 

[theblueflower05]

you said extra nasty ? i want Neteyam to choke me then slap me (not that hard tho) and spit in my mouth simultaneously 🤤

Ughhhhh. Getting sweet boy Neteyam worked up enough to be brutal with you is hard- but once he’s there? BABY. He’s there.

Lotsa Smut below the cut

Like. It would take days of teasing to make him snap.

Listen we all know I’m a soft submissive Neteyam lover, but I think when he’s dominant it’s in a very body worship kind of way. Like he’s making you come over and over and ravaging your body until you can’t breathe.

So getting him to just jack-hammer you and like take out all of his aggression on you? It’s a delicate formula and it doesn’t happen often.

It’s a multitude of things. It’s the tiny tweng you don for the day, and the way it sits on your swaying hips. It’s you kissing him long and hard as he leaves with the war party- and finally. It’s a hard tug on his tail while he’s chatting with his father and the other Omiticayan generals.

It has him seeing red.

You’re being such a fucking BRAT. Acting out horribly for attention.

And so he gives you all of his attention. Just not in the way you’d expect-

He’s mean. Vicious instead of praising. He fucks you you’re a crying blubbering mess. Drenched in come and sweat and tears.

“Oh yawne” Neteyam croons meanly. He has you pinned to the ground, your thighs spread painfully wide as his hips snap into you. He’s fucking you without remorse- it’s maddening “you need to shut up. You’re being too loud”

How can you be quiet when he’s pounding you like this?

Every breath comes out in a wheezing gasp- knocked out of your chest by the force of his thrusts. Your poor pussy is swollen and over used- so hyper sensitive from the orgasms that he’s wrong out of you that it feels like you’re on fire in your core.

You can’t stop crying. Can’t stop pushing him away. Can’t stop pulling him in for more.

You try to tell him- but all that comes out is a blubbery mess, your voice high and snotty “Can-can’t. Can’t. Can’t”

The huff he lets out is annoyed, he’s so beyond over your shit.

First you want to make him lose it?

Now you can’t even have enough decorum to be quiet- don’t you know the entirety of high camp can mostly likely hear you?

They can hear your pathetic wailing. Your moans. Your slutty cries. You’ll be dubbed the village whore if you don’t shut up.

So he makes you.

Neteyam’s hands have always been gorgeous to you. They’re so strong, all lean and sinew. Capable of murder- but also of incomprehensible tenderness. He’s used them to slit the throats of Sky People, but also to gently braid Tuk’s hair.

They are no less stunning as he reaches up to wrap them around your throat. First one, and then both. Your thin delicate neck completely encased by his big hands as he continues to fuck you.

He chokes the sounds down before they can come.

Your mouth is open- in a silent scream as your golden eyes fearfully search his. He’s never done this to you. It thrills you as much as it scares you.

Neteyam just gives you a reassuring look, before he firmly squeezes at your pulse point.

Your pussy flutters and creams around him and you go limp. The pleasure other worldly. You belong to him, in that moment, and for the rest of time.

“You’re something else” Neteyam laughs at you. Watching your glazed over expression as he chokes you.

You’re too blissed out to speak. Not that you could anyway, with his strong hands around your throat.

You mouth one word.

Yours.

You’re so filthy. You bring out the fucking worst in him and he doesn’t understand why he likes it so much.

When your mouth opens and your pretty pink tongue sticks out- pleadingly- he knows what you want.

Neteyam spits without aim. The globs of his saliva don’t land right in your waiting, open mouth, but all over your face. Mixing with your own tears and slobber.

You’re a complete mess…well. Not completely. Not as much as you can be-

When he lets go of your throat and pulls out of your bartered cunt you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s over, time to cuddle. You need the after care desperately-

Instead Neteyam walks on his knees until he’s crouching by your head. He’s working his hard cock furiously in his fist and there’s a look of determination in his eyes.

You’re as pretty as a picture. Your hair everywhere, long limbs akimbo. Your chest is heaving and you’re still fucking crying. Maybe next time you won’t push him to his limit.

When your face scrunches, brows bones raising cutely and nose all bunched up, he can feel his balls going taught- and then that little tongue peeks out again. Pleading for his release.

He paints your face white white his sticky viscus cum, and watches you shiver at being soiled. You’re limp on the floor of your shared tent- used and shaking.

You asked for this. He has to remind himself. You needed this.

He’s coming down from his high and starting to feel really fucking guilty at the state he’s left you in when he notices your thin tail wagging behind you.

You peer up at him, face covered him his cum and eyes exhausted and glassy…you manage to give him a devious smile.

Eywa, you’re such a brat.

Aaaaaand I’m out. Dom Neteyam isn’t really my cup of tea but I hope I did him justice lol

[dixons-sunshine]

Look At Me | Scud Frohmeyer x Fem!Reader

Summary: Scud never wanted you to get hurt. If he had known what would happen, he never would’ve let you out of his sight. However, there was nothing he could do to change what happened, and he could only hope that you could keep your eyes open long enough until he could help you.

Genre: Angst.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, injuries.

Word count: 1.1k.

A/N: Is Scud potentially ooc in this? Yes. Do I care? Not really. I need some soft!Scud in my life. Also, I just had a lot of feelings and placed it into this as a way to feel a bit better. I think this is the first story I’ve ever written that had a ‘cliffhanger’ ending. Might expand on it, might not. Guess y’all will have to wait until next Saturday to see. Anyways, (not-so) happy Scud Saturday!

Joshua “Scud” Frohmeyer was rarely a serious man. He had a care free spirit and a positive outlook on life. You would rarely catch the stoner without a huge grin on his face. It took a lot for him to drop his happy, free spirited demeanour.

So when Scud was unable to crack a joke to lighten up the dire situation you were in, you knew that your predicament was worse than you would have liked.

“Shh, it’s okay. I got you. I got you. You’re gonna be just fine, Baby. I promise.”

Despite his attempts at reassuring you, your whimpers of pure, unadulterated agony did not cease, nor did your shivers from being absolutely soaked from the rain you had been carried through to get to the van. However, the man that held you within his own soaked, shivering embrace could not find it in himself to blame you. Those vampires that had kidnapped you had done quite the number on your emotional and physical well-being, so it came as no surprise that you were unable to hide the extent of your pain. And each turn and bump of the vehicle the half-blooded day walker was driving only further accentuated your misery. Scud tried his absolute best to try to keep you as comfortable as he possibly could, but his attempts were proving to be futile.

“It hurts,” you cried, tears streaming from your eyes. Your battered and bruised form screamed in protest when you tried to move to make yourself more comfortable, punishing your efforts by sending out more waves of pain through out your body. “Josh...” you trailed off with a quiet whimper, your hand tightening its grip on your boyfriend’s bigger one.

In answer, Scud gently rubbed his thumb over your bruised knuckles, pressing a soft, tender kiss to your forehead, his other hand continuing to put pressure on your wound. “I know, Baby. Just hold on a bit longer, okay? We’re almost there. We’re gonna fix you up real good, I promise.”

You could not find it in yourself to argue with him. You could feel your eyes growing heavier with each second that ticked away on the metaphorical clock, the darkness luring you to its comforting depths like a siren’s song. The blood that gushed from the horrible wound in your abdomen dripped down onto the floor of the van, making you acutely aware of the reality that your injury wasn’t as minor as Scud had tried to make it out to be. You attempted to bring yourself into a seated position to peer down and examine the true extent of the injury Scud had his hand pressed against, but your boyfriend stopped you.

“Nah, don’t look at it,” he told you, his eyebrows furrowed together. Never before had you seen Scud look quite so serious. His light, care free attitude had been what made you fall head over heels for him in the first place. It took a great deal for him to lose his usual nonchalant demeanour, so that was all the confirmation you needed that you were in a dire situation.

Not that you needed that as confirmation, however. Your aching body already did quite the impressive job of telling you so regardless.

You let out a small, bitter laugh, the action sending a wave of pain throughout your body. “I’m going to die,” you whispered, your previous laugh being contradicted with the tears that fell from your eyes.

That comment sent Scud into a spiral. He vigorously shook his head at your statement. “You ain’t gonna die. Not on my watch.” He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment to compose himself. He willed the tears that formed in his eyes away, well aware that you needed him to be strong. However, when he opened his eyes again, his heart stopped when he saw your eyes begin to droop. “No. No, look at me. Just look at me.” He gently grabbed your chin in one of his calloused, work-worn hands and forced you to look at him. “Stay with me. Don’t close your eyes. Think of something to keep you awake.”

“Like what?” you asked him softly. His hand fell away from your face, his arms instead wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into him.

Scud desperately wracked his mind to come up with something. Then, something clicked in his mind. “What’s my word of the day?”

His word of the day. Despite the fact that the man had the brains of Einstein when it came to conjuring up bombs from body lotion and talking about whatever came with fixing up vehicles, you had quickly realized that he oftentimes used words in the wrong context. So in exchange for being taught how to build flamethrowers and other cool things that came with it, you vowed to help improve his vocabulary.

You tried to wrack your hazy mind for a word you had yet to use, thankfully landing on one you, too, had only recently discovered the meaning of. “Abstruse,” you managed to murmur.

“Abstruse?” Scud repeated, his head tilting to showcase his confusion, an action you always found too adorable. “What’s that mean?”

You hesitated for a moment, attempting to recapture your breath that was steadily shortening. “It means ‘difficult to understand’.”

“Oh. Think you can use it in a sentence for me?”

You knew what Scud was doing. He was doing everything in his power to keep you awake. “Sure,” you wheezed, a cough wracking through your body. You knew that wasn’t a good sign, but you chose not to comment on it. Thinking about your current predicament would only make you spiral. Your tears hadn’t stopped, but had slowed down considerably, possibly due to the fact that the pain in your body had given way to a woozy feeling instead—another sign that you weren’t going to last much longer. “So, uh, abstruse. ‘Your handwriting made the letter abstruse’, so basically, ‘your handwriting made the letter difficult to understand’...” you trailed off, your eyes drooping closed against your will.

Scud let out a small chuckle at that. “Is that supposed to be a jab at my handwriting? Y’know I’ve been working on improvin’ it, Sweetheart.” When you didn’t respond, Scud looked down at you. His heart stopped when he saw your closed eyes. “Y/N? Baby?” He gently shook you a couple of times, desperately trying to wake you up, but to no avail. “Y/N!” His heart began to pound against his chest. He leaned forward and hit the metal of the van a couple of times. “B, ya gotta hurry the fuck up! Now!” He turned his attention back to you, the tears now falling freely from his cerulean eyes. He put more pressure against your wound, hoping the action would somehow managed to wake you up. “Don’t worry, Baby. I got you. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Scud just sincerely hoped that he would be able to keep his promise.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hello Can you please do spidider verse characters also with a reader with anxiety were the spiders are hanging out with a friend alot and the readers anxiety kinda acts up (idk if thats what you call it.)?

A Quiet Moment In A Sea of Chaos

Spiderverse Characters and how they comfort their partner (Reader) that has an anxiety attack

(Including Eddie/Venom and Spider-Medic!)

A/N: This is all based off of various panic attacks I've suffered through, and different methods I use to help calm myself down from them.

Miguel O'Hara:

• You and Miguel were in the middle of a big company party at Alchemax, full of snobbish jerks who sneered at the dumbest comments and inside jokes.

You stood, holding onto Miguel's thick arm beneath his suit as he put on his best, fakest smile he could manage to plaster on his gorgeously plush lips, his sensitive eyes shielded behind his glasses. Sure he was odd for wearing the dark lenses indoors, but he was rich enough that nobody questioned it. And besides, it really put his whole outfit together.

He exuded physical prowess and success. And usually, just having him near you was enough to make you feel just as confident as he was in these sort of gatherings.

But right now? Right now you were freaking out. You bottled it all up inside, but all you could think about was wanting to shrink down, crawl into Miguel's suit pocket, and hide there for the rest of the night, to escape the stares and snickers of the other snobby party goers that settled into your skin like a horrible mist.

• Miguel took notice, his ear twitching as he heard your heart thud in your chest, so frightened like an animal wanting to escape a cage. He heard your breathing get shallow, weaker.

He excused the two of you from the droll conversation he had been sucked into so he could bring you out onto the balcony, hoping that the cool nighttime summer breeze would help ease your concerns.

He would bring you close, caging your smaller frame against his, crushing you in a tight hug, smothering you in the calming scent of his cologne and the very essence that is him.

Miguel your pet your back softly, whispering sweet things into your ear.

"Mi amor. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. Just breathe." He would say to you.

"Your heart is pounding, sweetheart. I can hear it like a gunshot going off in my ear. I'm going to hold you as long as it takes, okay?"

You would nod, bunching the expensive fabric of his suit in your fingers as he talked you through your waves of anxiety, soothing and kissing away any nervous tears that spilled.

"That's mi vida." He would smile down at you warmly, his glasses automatically tinting so you could see his warm eyes clearly in the lower light out on the balcony.

His full lips quirked up in such a way your heart fluttered in an entirely different manner, the gaze he was giving you so soft and warm that it could break hearts of any caught in it.

It didn't break yours however. All it did was remind you that you were safe in the only shelter you had from the chaotic storm that was your own anxiety; whisking you away to a paradise where your fears could not harm you.

"I'm not going anywhere, love." He would say to you, his voice full of tenderness and love.

"Come on. I'll tell them something came up and we can go home." He would say to you. "If I have to hear one more word from that asshole McLenny, I'm going to hang myself anyways."

When you finally laughed, Miguel grinned.

Pavitr Prabhakar:

• You guys were hanging out in the cafeteria at Spider Society HQ, Hobie regaling you, Pavitr, and Jess with his most recent anarchistic victory over the Osborne of his universe.

You had been picking at the fabric of your suit hard as Hobie talked. You felt their eyes glued to you after a short time, feeling a nasty feeling roiling around in your gut, but you couldn't focus on it. All you could focus on was the floor, so shiny that it reflected the lights and images of your friends and boyfriend with such blinding clarity that it gave you a migraine and made your panic attack rise more violently.

You were so consumed by the feeling gnawing at your gut that you didn't notice when Pavitr told Jess and Hobie that he needed to get you out of there.

Hobie and Jess knew about your anxiety, and Jess, her maternal instincts flaring heavily to life, felt her protective nature surge forward as mama bear ushered Pavitr to get you out of there quicker.

• Pavitr frantically looked for a place to bring you, not stopping until he found an empty office room to sit you down in.

"Hey, hey, lovie." Pavitr cooed at you, kneeling in front of you as he pulled off his mask to meet your gaze.

The lenses of your mask made it difficult for him to see if you were looking at him, so he raised his hands to gently peel yours off your face.

"There's my love." He would smile at you softly upon seeing your face. The face he loved so much.

"Wanna sit in here til everything calms down? I can play a podcast for you on my phone!" He chirps proudly, his eyes sparkling like little gems.

You sniffle and smile, nodding silently in response.

Pavitr would sit lotus style on the floor, pulling you into his lap as he hummed and played the most relevant podcast he could find.

Once it started, he'd place his phone on the floor and rock slowly back and forth, letting you melt into his arms as the voices droned on from the speaker in his phone.

"That's it, lovie. Just breathe for me, huh? Can't have that gorgeous brain of yours pass out on me!"

Peter B Parker:

• You guys were at a party with some other parents. It was a get-together a young couple in your apartment building started for other first-time parents to tots and toddlers.

They decided to hold it at the community center down the street.

The amount of people talking to you in one crowded room, the kids squealing and laughing, toys slamming down, crying, the sounds of the chairs scraping on the floor had your pulse racing like a racehorse.

Peter B would feel it, the hair-raising feeling on the back of his neck as Mayday crashed her stuffed fish into the stuffed bear he had in his hand, babbling and cooing to him as she blew raspberries.

His Spidey senses were tingling hardcore as he picked up on your discomfort, watching how you practically slapped your own face and wiped downwards to ground yourself, to distract yourself from your anxiety as it bubbled up beneath your skin.

But it wasn't enough, there were just too many bodies around you, too many voices, too many noises.

You just.. Couldn't.

• Peter would quickly stand up, cradling Mayday against him as he moved towards you as fast as he could without tripping.

"Hey, honey..." He would say softly to you. "You okay?"

"No. I can't--I can't breathe." You croaked.

Even little Mayday seemed to pick up on your discomfort, as she so innocently held out her stuffed fishy to you, babbling in her baby talk as her big beautiful eyes met yours.

You sniffled and took the toy and held it against you as Peter walked you into the deserted kitchen to get you somewhere calmer. It wasn't much privacy, but it helped put you at ease.

It calmed you enough that you were able to take Mayday in your arms, burying your face in her ever-messy curls, breathing in the lingering scent of the baby shampoo in the bright red strands.

Peter meanwhile, rubbed your back and kissed your temple, Mayday content to snuggle into you and talk in a language only other babies seemed to understand.

Thanks to your lovely husband and darling baby, they were able to bring you out of your little bubble of fear and worry.

Peter looked at you with such a soft and loving gaze you felt your heart swell.

"Hey, that's my favorite human in the whole universe!"

Mayday frowned and stuck her chin out at him, her little lip wobbling in response.

"Okay, okay, one of my favorite humans in the whole universe!" He grinned, giving you both messy kisses on the cheek, rubbing his face into yours as he laughed.

"Why don't we go on home, and watch a nice little movie huh? Just the three of us."

You couldn't help but agree. It sounded like a nice, calm oasis. Perfect.

Hobie Brown:

• You and Hobie were sitting with his band after a successful gig, celebrating in the dressing room of the pub; knocking back some cold brews and eating some cheap takeout. Everyone was laughing and joking, loudly.

Hobie had been watching you out of the corner of his eye, like Peter B, his Spider senses telling him something you weren't voicing as you quietly sat, frosty glass in your hands as you stared into the yellowish, foamy brew.

You were busy tuning the world out, shutting everything down as sweat trickled down your back and all you could hear was the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you; the edges of your vision started to blur as tunnel vision began to set in.

You didn't even notice when Hobie excused himself from the celebrations to gently tug you to your feet, holding your hand firmly in his as he walked you out into the alley behind the pub, the cool evening mist settling on your skin as you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

• Hobie turned you around, bringing you to his chest as he leaned down, his mouth at the shell of your ear.

"Ey, luv. It's alright. Just breathe." He would say.

"I'm here, it's all right. Just breathe slowly, count your breaths, count your heart. Or better yet, count how many times you hear a car honk from some tosspot who don't know what they're doin', eh?"

He smiled when, even in your stupor, a thin laugh snaked out of you.

"That's it, baby. Want more jokes? I got plenty."

"Yes... please. Something to..."

"Ay, ay. Say no more. So, listen to this, right? A pastor and a cop walk into a pub..."

He would continue spitting out horrible joke after joke, even the raunchy ones that made you choke on your own spit. He would keep going until your body was shaking not from your anxiety attack, but your effort to contain your laughter.

When you finally admitted you were ready to go inside again, he smiled happily.

"Kay, luv. Let's continue on with our after-party, huh?"

Eddie/Venom:

• You guys were out at a new club that opened, it took a bit of coaxing on both Eddie and Venom's behalf to get you to leave your apartment and venture out into the night life, but they did it.

However, when they met up with Anne and her boyfriend, you felt the air shift. Being around Eddie's ex just felt so awkward and had your baby hairs standing up as your fingers nervously drummed on your thigh.

Yes, Anne and Eddie were on good terms, but ugh! Why couldn't your brain just shut up for five seconds? Anne didn't hate you, she genuinely enjoyed your company and was happy that Eddie and Venom found someone who could handle them both.

Hell, you'd go so far as to claim Anne probably considered you a friend.

Maybe it was being around her, or the fact your social anxiety couldn't handle the bass of the music, the crowds of dancing and weaving people combined with the loud atmosphere... But you buried your face in your arms as you leaned against the wall, your back to the throng of the crowd.

You could feel eyes on your back, you swore you could hear people talk about you, which only compounded the feelings that settled a heavy weight in your chest as you felt tears start to break free from the dam you tried to erect.

You jumped when you felt a hand slide to the small of your back, and turned to see Eddie, his thick eyebrows curved upwards in concern. You felt his hand slip under your back, and that's when you realized he'd grown claws, his grip was cooler as it touched your sweaty skin.

It was Venom, he was trying to comfort you too. In fact, he could feel something was wrong with you the whole night, straining his alien senses and tuning them to your body from within Eddie. He knew the moment you'd slipped away that something was wrong, and like a bloodhound, he helped Eddie sniff you out in the bustling crowd.

"Babe, you okay? Wanna go home?" Eddie would ask, leaning in to your ear as Venom stroked the skin of your back.

When you silently nodded, feeling a small sob bubble up from you, Eddie whipped out his phone, sending a frantic text to Anne about your condition.

'What are you waiting for? Go home! Seriously! Panic attacks are no joke, Eddie! Shoo!' Anne responded.

Eddie chuckled and shook his head, carefully picking the least crowded places to weave into to get you out of the club faster.

• Once outside, Eddie would sit you down on his bike, rubbing your shoulders in soothing motions as he leaned in, his mouth by your ear, talking you through your panic attack.

"Hey, babe... Do you want Vee to bond with you for a bit? To help even things out? I know you said you don't want to use him like a crutch, but he wants to help. He feels bad for helping talk you into this and not stop it sooner." He whispered.

You consent, and Eddie touches your hand, enough skin contact to let Venom covertly slink onto you, fusing beneath the pores in your skin to flow through your body.

Venom immediately sets himself to work, trying to even out the chemicals your brain was pumping out and filtering them with better ones, slowing your heart and breathing to better levels.

You knew Venom, doing this for you, would probably need to consume more chocolate or... well. Some criminal's brain to help him recover from this endeavor, later.

"Don't worry, little one." Venom's voice would purr inside your head. "It's a task I do gladly. And besides, at least you don't call me a parasite."

You giggle around a sniffle as your crying stops, and Eddie smiles at you.

"Let me guess--Vee is bitching because I call him a parasite, huh?" He snorts.

You nod and he laughs again, rubbing your arms once more. "C'mon babe, let's go. Wanna take the scenic route?"

Your watery smile makes his heart leap, and when you nod, he secures your helmet on you, buckling the chin straps before planting his on his head.

"Hmph. You don't need a helmet when you have me." Venom grunted.

When your arms slip around his waist, he feels the tension leave his body. Having Venom separate from him filled him with a sense of his own anxiety, or maybe his empathy was causing yours to bleed into him.

As the bike started up, you hear Venom's voice in your head again:

"Don't worry, little one. We will always be here for you."

(Bonus:)

Peter A Parker (Spider-Medic):

• It all started when you were in one of the exercise rooms in HQ, working on your forms and techniques as Peter A taught you how to fight like a soldier, like he was taught before he was shipped out to Vietnam, while Miguel practiced nearby, giving you pointers over his shoulder as he beat up the punching bag in front of him.

You weren't sure how it happened, maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through your system, or maybe it was the atmosphere around you, the sound of grunting, of weights dropping to the floor, the paf! Paf! Paf! of Miguel hitting his bag, or the overall stress of the last few missions finally collapsing onto your shoulders; but you fell to your knees, clutching your chest as you feel like your lungs were about to give out on you, a cold sweat beading on your brow.

Miguel could hear it, but he knew it wasn't his place to rush to your aid, instead he allowed Peter to do it. You were far closer and more comfortable with Peter, so you would be more likely to calm down with him instead of Miguel.

He was your boyfriend after all.

Peter had brought you into one of the closets where the spare weights were located, quickly sitting you down on the floor and kneeling in front of you, two of his fingers at the jumping vein in your neck, tracking your pulse.

• Being a veteran who saw hell on the battlefield, Peter was no stranger to panic attacks and anxiety thanks to his PTSD from his time in the trenches as a medic. So when his partner experienced them he came in clutch.

Peter would look at you, lowering his voice as he said soft, sweet things to you.

"Slow your breathing, sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Count down from ten. Then, I want you to count from fifteen to twenty-five. That's it. That's it, honey."

When that didn't work, he would bring you in close, resting his forehead against yours.

"Want me to tell you a story?"

He knew you liked hearing about his time as a medic, about the places he'd been. And he knew that you knew it was therapeutic for him to do it. He knew that you liked helping him.

You would nod, and he would cup his hands around your ears to ease the sounds from the outside world, speaking in a voice only you could hear.

When your heart and breathing finally got down to a level he deemed safe, he would kiss your cheek and whisper, "Come on. Let's get you to medical. You can take a nap in one of the suites to help relax."

"Can you stay with me?"

"Of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you alone after this?"

[featherandferns]

daylight - nine

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 9 of the daylight series | read part 8 here

content warnings: mentions of sex; mentions of alcohol

word count: 3.9k.

blurb: restless after the argument with JJ, you resort to looking through the journal you kept when you were dating Tyler. Maybe it's time to try and let the past go.

You can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, you hear the argument between you and JJ echo in your mind. The horrible things you said to one another. The perfect avoidance of the truth, as if the two of you were reciting steps in a dance. The thought that everything between you might be ruined keeps you from finding rest.

Mimsy still hasn’t returned any of your calls. Never before have you felt the distance between the two of you to be so gaping. Vancouver feels like asylum that you can’t seek: it feels as unattainable as visiting heaven. You just want to be home, in your old bedroom, in your old bed, surrounded by your old friends. You want to go back to a time before JJ and before Kildare and, more importantly, before Tyler.

Tired of staring at the ceiling, you shove your sheets off and climb out of bed. Stretching, your eyes gravitate to your pin-board. JJ seems to shine brighter than everyone else, it's as if he's backlit. You're momentarily distracted by his radiant smile. By those eyes that could bring you to your knees; the very eyes that captured you before he’d even spoken a word your way. And now, when you see his face, all you can think of is that last conversation. You look away and, like a moth drawn to a flame, or a pirate guided by a siren’s call, your eyes latch on to the shoebox under your bed. 

Something inside of you has you sinking to your knees before it. You guide it out, holding the cardboard like it’s the fragile casing of a bomb. Sitting cross legged on your bedroom floor, you take the lid of the box and lift out the journal. A finger dusts over its worn cover and a solemn smile tries but fails to make its way onto your face. Your fingers crack the pages open. And then, you start to read. 

June 3

Me and Mimsy went to a kegger today. It was pretty boring and not many people were there. We mostly hung out with Kelly and Evan. I played some beer pong - I swear I’m getting better. I ended up talking to this guy called Tyler. He goes to the boys only school in the neighbourhood. He likes country music, which is icky as hell, and he’s a little lanky. I don’t think he likes me very much. We talked for a bit but he didn’t say much, and I felt like I was chewing his ear off, so I went back to Mimsy and decided to quit bothering him. He’s cute though, so it’s a shame. There’s this tenderness in his eyes. I don’t know, I guess I felt sorry when I looked in them. I feel like if he gets coaxed out and given the right space, he might be able to really open up. But if you don’t like someone, I guess you won’t jump at the chance, right? I probably won’t see him again anyway. We don’t really run in the same circles. 

June 17

Mimsy has the flu and I’m scared I’m going to catch it too. I have a photography gig in two days at the hockey club in town and I don’t want to miss it. I think it’ll be really good for the gram and maybe get me some more work opportunities. My post the other week got three thousand likes. How crazy is that? I think I need to get better at editing. That’s usually what sets people’s photography apart. 

June 19

So, the photography thing was today and it was a success! The team were really nice and the coach said he has this sister who’s throwing an anniversary get-together thing in a week or so. He asked if he could pass on my information. I finally feel like this might be something I can actually do, for money and for the long term. Mimsy’s feeling a bit better. I don’t think I’ve caught her bug so that’s a win. Tomorrow I’ll take her some soup and stuff. Oh! And that Tyler guy was at the hockey club too. Apparently he coaches the girls-only team. He was more chatty this time. The guys in the locker rooms had beers and they offered me one, so maybe he gets more talkative when he has a drink? Anyway, we talked for a while. He’s kind of dorky but it’s sweet. He’s a Marvel boy. How funny is that? I don’t think I’ve seen more than five Marvel films and this guy lives and breathes them. I ended up telling him how I thought he hated me when we first met and apparently he thought that I hated him! How funny is that!? He said he gets nervous talking to girls he likes, and when I walked away, he thought he’d messed up. It was really endearing. Long story short, I gave him my number. I think we’re going to hang out in a few days or something. 

June 26

Okay, don’t freak out but I think I’m actually really into Tyler? He’s really easy to talk to. I feel like I can say the most private stuff and he actually listens. We keep meeting up at Billy’s Bagels and talking for ages. He told me about this car crash he got into and I told him about the time me and Mimsy tried to go hitch-hiking and she was convinced we got in a serial killer’s car. He also leaves me these little notes on the receipts. Cute little things. But it’s so confusing, because he won’t make a move. Like, we’ll be sitting side by side and he won’t put a hand on my leg or pull me close. And he never tries to hold my hand. Hasn’t kissed me. Barely hugged me. It makes me wonder if I’m reading everything wrong. I’m just so tired of being the person who always makes the first move and I want him to just do something! I want to know if he feels the same way as me. 

June 28

I’m about to lose my fucking mind. I swear to God, I’m this close to being done with this whole thing. One minute, Tyler’s talking to me like crazy and making me laugh, and laughing at my jokes, and the next, he’s acting like he’s never seen me before in his life. I took Mimsy’s advice, the other night, and when we were walking back, I really dragged it out. And I stood there for ages, outside my house, waiting for him to make a move. We’d spent the whole day together. Got food, went surfing. Then he hugs me. He fucking hugs me. I was livid. I was absolutely furious. I just started walking to my house. And then, I have no idea why, I turned around and chased him down and grabbed him and kissed him. Okay, I basically ran away straight after, but I kissed him. So, great, right? Now we’re on the same page, surely? I mean, he kissed me back. Well, me and Mimsy go out the next day (now that she no longer feels like a corpse) and we walk past Tyler and his friend. I smile at him and wave and he walks straight past us. Mimsy - who said I was overthinking everything - was furious. I think she wanted to run across the road and rip his balls of his body in that moment, to be honest. All I could think about was how awful it felt. It was like last night never even happened. Did I assault him? I mean, did I read this whole thing wrong? He said he liked me, that’s why he was scared to talk to me, but then he fucking ignores me after I full-on kiss him!? I'm just so confused and losing my patience. I'm starting to wonder if it's worth all of this.

June 30

Mimsy tried to cheer me up by taking me to a kegger. Shock horror: Tyler was there. He came up to me about an hour in and asked if I wanted to go for a walk, so I said yes. We ended up at that lake near Molly’s house, and we were looking at the stars. I don’t really remember how or why we got there. Then, out of the blue, he apologised. I don’t think I’ve ever had a guy apologise to me before. He said he was an idiot for not kissing me the other day, and that he was just nervous and really wanted to. Then he kissed me, properly, and it was perfect. I’ve never felt that way before. I think he’s redeemed himself. I’m a little scared to tell Mimsy though…

July 19

Sorry I haven’t written in a while. I got busy. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Tyler, honestly. We’ve been getting to know each other better. He introduced me to his friends and his mom, who apparently really liked me. I’ve been subjected to so much fucking country music. He doesn’t really compliment me though and it’s a little bit upsetting, I can't lie. I like hearing that kind of thing. Like we went for dinner the other night and I made a bit of an effort and he didn’t call me pretty once. Maybe I’m overthinking it. He’s more of a physical affection guy, to be honest. But still. It would be nice to hear it every now and then. He can handle his drink really well though. In fact, he drank Mimsy under the table the other day which was quite funny. He gets all touchy feely when he’s drunk, it’s so cute. He told me that he’s never opened up to someone like he has with me before. Told me things that he’s never told anyone else. He told me about his ex-girlfriend and how she was crazy. I feel so bad for him, that he was in that kind of situation. He laughs at all my stupid jokes. He even told me that nobody else has made him laugh so much before. I don’t know, I get all mushy when he says things like that. I feel like I’m bringing him out of his shell. He said his anxiety is a lot better since he met me, so I guess whatever I’m doing, it’s helping. 

July 24

I slept with Tyler hehe. It was so perfect. He was so caring and kept asking if I was okay and stuff, and I brought up the whole compliment thing and he apologised. He’s so good at taking accountability for when he’s done wrong - it’s so refreshing. He told me I have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. I don’t know why that hit me so much. I just think you can tell so much about a person from their eyes. They never age. I'm scared a s fuck though because I really think I might be falling in love with him. Oh no.

August 8

I don’t really have tons to say. Mom and dad got in a big argument yesterday, so there’s that. Mimsy thinks they should just get divorced. It feels weird, thinking about your parents getting divorced. The whole two Christmases and two birthday thing. I don't know, maybe she’s right. They basically hate each other. Dad keeps bringing up North Carolina and how great everything is there. How his life was so much better. Charming, really, when I’ve spent my whole life in Vancouver with him. Really makes you feel special. Tyler’s been kind of busy lately. I keep wanting to go on dates but he just wants to stay in. He told me he doesn’t like PDA. It makes him feel weird. I want to hold his hand but I feel bad. I mean, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Besides, I get to touch him all I want when we’re at home together, so who really cares? 

October 14

Tyler hasn’t called me pretty in over a month. I told him and he apologised. He still hasn’t called me pretty. I miss how it was in the summer. It feels like he’s retreating into himself. I don’t know what’s happening. Why everything is changing? What did I do wrong? I didn't change, did I? 

November 19

I think I was overthinking it all lately. Tyler just invited me to join him and his family at Christmas on Victoria Island. He left me a little note, too, after he stayed at my house. It was really cute. It said, ‘I miss stargazing with you in the summer’. Mimsy says that maybe I need to clarify a few things with him. Set some more boundaries. He always talks about those girls on the hockey team he coaches, and whenever girls come up to him when he’s out with his friends. I like that he trusts me and wants to tell me these things, but also, if I trust him, why does he feel the need to tell me? It feels like he’s dangling it in my face almost. I don’t know, I’m probably thinking about it all wrong. I don’t know if I’ve got a stomach bug. My IBS has been crazy bad lately. It’s so annoying. 

December 6

I don’t think I’m happy with Tyler anymore. It’s like he’s a completely different person. I hardly even recognise him. We don’t really talk anymore like we used to. He says he’s really busy with school and coaching. I'm throwing myself into photography jobs to try and keep myself busy or else I just spiral. I don't want to tell Mimsy because I know what her advice will be. And I'm just not ready to face that yet.  

December 26

I leave for Victoria Island today. I’m meeting Tyler at the ferry station. He asked where I wanted to meet and I left it up to him at first. I mean, the obvious answer is the ferry station. That’s romantic. He can come pick me up. But he said, ‘whatever you prefer’ so I felt like I was putting him out by asking him to meet me at the ferry station. I don’t know. I just don’t even know if he wants me to go anymore. He hasn’t said. He hasn’t even said if he’s excited to see me. It’s an awful feeling, when you feel like someone doesn’t care if you’re there or not. Maybe it’ll be different when I see him in person. It’s been over a week since I last saw him and we haven’t been able to talk on the phone. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just kidding myself. I just think if I’m painfully honest with myself, I don’t want to go to Victoria anymore. 

December 27

I think it's over. 

December 29

I don’t even know what happened. I don’t know how to explain it but I feel like I need to get it all out on paper and just walk away from it forever. I think that’s the only way I can even start to make sense of the last six months. It was awful. I fucking hate him and I’m so fucking confused. Jesus, I have been for the past four months. 

Tyler didn’t hug me or kiss me when I got off the ferry, but I guess because he doesn’t like PDA that’s a given. He didn’t introduce me to any of his extended family and left me to fend for myself in conversations. When we first got to the cabin, he sat on the bed and scrolled on his phone with his back facing me for an hour. A fucking hour. Then he went on Duolingo and checked the fucking hockey scores. And I just sat there for an hour after paying for a ferry ticket. Oh, yeah, cause he didn’t pay for any of my travel. When I said I was hungry and was going to get food, he came with me and got himself something. Again, didn’t pay for me. We got his favourite take out. It’s always things he wants to do. I told him I needed a nap and went to my room, and I called Mimsy who was equally as angry. I mean, why the fuck did he call me out there? I’ve never felt so disrespected, so unwanted, in my life. It’s fucking awful. Tyler texted me to meet him and I told him I wanted to stay in. He asked if I was okay and I told him I was angry, and he came to my room. And he was so fucking calm and collected it made me feel like I was overthinking it. Like I was the one blowing everything out of proportion. I told him about how I felt like I wasn’t wanted and he told me that I was. He just said it was weird seeing me in person again. It had been a fucking week. We went out with his family and I put on a brave face, and the whole time he barely spoke to me. Didn’t look at me, didn’t hold my hand, didn’t take a picture of me or of us. I hated it. When I got back to my room, he came over and laid down on the bed. And I told him I was so confused. He just nodded. And he was back to old Tyler. Chatty, familiar Tyler who makes jokes with me and compliments me. He told me how beautiful I was and how pretty my eyes are and all I could think was how he hadn’t said any of that for two whole months. How for two months I felt like I had no idea what was happening. And it made me weak. I hate myself for it but I let him kiss me. We made out and cuddled and it felt like old times, and I finally felt normal again. And then we fell asleep, woke up, and he was back to how he was the day before. Distant and cold and confusing. I think that was when I decided that maybe it was time to leave. 

When we slept together that night, it felt like he almost knew what was going to happen. All of it felt like a goodbye. I tried to enjoy it and feel close to him but I just felt so far away. Afterwards, he didn’t hold me. He didn’t cuddle me when we slept and the next morning, he barely looked at me. He just went on his phone when all I wanted was to be held. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from him, to feel held by him, and he’s never made me feel like I was. I mean, I feel more love from Mimsy than him. How fucked is that.

He walked me to the ferry station and I was wondering what to do. What to say. Whether to confront him and see if I could start a fight. Jesus, anything would do. And for whatever fucking reason, I went for the hail Mary, I guess you could say. I stood there, like the fucking idiot I am, and I told him I loved him. And you know what he said? Nothing.

He said absolutely nothing. 

Then he just nodded - like the useless asshole he is - and told me, get ready for this one, that his ‘family thought I was really nice’. 

I don’t even remember what I did then. All I can remember is sitting on the ferry and texting Mimsy, asking her to pick me up from the ferry station. 

I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why this happened, or how, or who he was. He apologised the next day. What for, I don’t even know anymore. Maybe all of it? But all I can remember thinking, when I read that text, was how I just knew he didn’t mean it. It was fucking Pavlovian by that point: he would know I was upset and apologise, and I’d forgive him and believe that he might change, and we’d carry on. What's the Taylor Swift lyric? You're an expert at sorry? That's him in a nutshell.

You want to know the real kicker? When I told him that I wanted to break up, he told me he didn’t know we were even together like that. So, I ask you again: who the fuck was he? I don’t think I’m ever gonna know. 

January 1

Happy new year. I think Tyler’s blocked me. 

February 9

Mimsy just heard from Darren P that Tyler has a new girlfriend. I think I’m going to throw up. I can’t do this anymore. I just want to forget about all of it but I keep thinking of all the little things that I ignored. All the signs from the start. How it took him to be drunk to even acknowledge that I existed. How it was always on his terms. What he wanted to do. What he needed from me. I wish I never slept with him. I wish he never touched my body. It makes me feel sick that I let him sleep with me that last night. I just feel so fucking used and dirty. Mimsy says it wasn’t my fault but I can’t shake this guilt for not leaving sooner, because the signs were always there. I mean, I thought he hated me. Why the fuck didn’t I walk away sooner?

I thought he hated me. 

That’s the final entry. 

You sit and stare at the barely filled page and then snap the book closed as if you just read how the world is going to end.

The condensing of the turbulent six months you spent with Tyler in a handful of diary entries fails to capture the mass of anxiety, paranoia and pain. The restless nights that you remedied by sprinting at the gym. The meals you skipped because you felt sick to your stomach. The parties ruined when you ended them in alcohol-provoked tears, sobbing to Mimsy about how things felt ‘off’ with you and Tyler. The humiliation you felt throughout the holidays and the disgust that lingered after your final night together. The shame that haunted you for letting yourself do all of that, feel all of that, lose all of that, to some fucking deadbeat guy. 

Because that was what it all came down to. It came down to the fact that you let yourself sit there and take it. That because you felt pity for him, and saw potential, you stayed and fought and tried. God, you tried so hard to mould him into the man you thought he could be without looking at his credentials. And now, on the other side of the continent, several months past the whole affair, you finally realise what it was. 

You fell in love with the idea of Tyler, not Tyler himself. 

It's like the revelation hits you in the head like a hammer. Resets your thoughts. Grabbing the box of things, you head down the stairs. It feels as though you’re not in control of your body. Unlocking the back door, you head into the yard. Ditch the box so you can set up the bonfire, igniting it with the lighter JJ gave you. 

You’re breathing heavily as you stare at the flames. It’s like you’ve been boxing in a ring. You guess, in a way, you have. But you’re tired of battling with the past. Fighting against the memories only to get knocked down, again and again. Wounding you so badly that you can’t face the fact that maybe someone might actually care about you, just as much as you care about them. That maybe you can trust someone. 

When you burn the first photo, you feel a little insane. You never much believed in any of the mindfulness crap Instagram wellness influencers preached. The writing-regrets-on-a-plate-and-smashing-it-up type things. But as you stand, burning the memories of Tyler - anything that reminds you of him, anything that he gave you, anything that he took - you feel like you’re coming back to yourself, piece by piece. Watching the embers lick up his face, crackling until its nothing but ashes and indistinguishable remnants feels like healing, plain and simple.  

The only thing that’s left now is the diary. You hold it in your hands like it’s a first-edition copy of the first book ever written. It feels like the manuscript, encapsulating the entire torrid affair of you and Tyler. The final artefact of your silently toxic relationship, keeping you tethered to your past trauma. Swallowing, you toss it into the metal canister. When you open them again, you see the flames already laying claim to the pages. 

And finally, for the first time, the story feels as though it isn’t yours anymore.

For the first time in months, you feel free.

read part ten here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid | @heybank | @avengersgirllorianna | @rrosiitas | @yourmumstoy | @jjsfavgirl | @void21 | @fictionalcomforts | @gsp420 | @redhead1180 | @wearemadeofstardust0 | @mrs-jjmaybank | @ifilwtmfc | @heybank | @lilyw1235 | @belle101200 | @maybankskiss | @lillell467 | please tell me if any tags aren't working - I've never done taglists before!

[flowercrowngods]

okay due to popular demand (3 people mwah!), here's all i have on prisoners ranger!steve, bard!eddie, and the royal entourage accompanying the diplomatic mission that went so horribly wrong

Steve’s whole body is made of pain, and has been for the past few days. His feet are aching and raw from trying to keep up as they were bound to horses and dragged along. His skin is chafed and bleeding where the unforgiving rocks have managed to destroy his clothes after one too many falls, and every smallest of cuts feels like his body is nothing more than a pulsating mess. 

Worst of all, though, is the dizziness. He doesn’t know if his head is still bleeding or if the wetness he can feel running down his temple is his body’s testament to the unfamiliar heat, but it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. 

There’s only pain. And nausea. His eyes are open but he needs a second to understand what he’s seeing — and what he’s seeing is a ceiling made of sand coloured stone. Distantly, he hears a door clanging shut, but that might just as well be a memory. 

He’s going to throw up. Tough luck when you don’t even know where up is. 

A groan leaves his mouth as he tries to take a deep breath and fails miserably. Instead, he can add two broken ribs to the list of misery. 

Gods above — whichever of them are listening — he’s tired. But he fears that if he closes his eyes, he might not open them anymore for the sheer release that would bring. He can’t sleep, can’t rest, not when— 

“Easy now,” a gentle voice interrupts his less than coherent thoughts and just moments later, a tender hand is combing through his blood-crusted hair. “You shouldn’t move, my friend. There’s nowhere to move to anymore.” 

Steve frowns, his brain trying and failing to provide any information at this point. The hits to his head must have been worse than he thought if his short term memory refuses to work with him anymore. 

“We have reached Capital City,” the voice continues and Steve has to blink the fog away to make out its owner. When he does, it must show in his eyes, for the worry in Theodore Munson’s eyes makes way to the briefest of smiles before returning even stronger than before. “Do you not recall?”

Steve just stares up at him. That’s all his wrecked body and mind allow him to do right now. That’s all they want to do when gentle hands comb through his hair and chase away some of the pain. 

It is then that reality slowly comes back to him and he realises where he is. Where they are. What is at stake if they fail any more, if they decide to torture information on Elanor and William out of them — out of him. He’s not sure how much he can take. They have been held prisoner for weeks. Steve has been hurting for even longer.

Shame rises in him and he has the urge to apologise to Jim, to explain, but moving his head to the side, he sees that his old master isn’t any better off. He appears to be sleeping, his face bruised, and a teary-eyed Maxine is wiping blood away from his face with a piece of her cloak. 

Steve blinks once, twice, and takes in the man who practically raised him, watches the steady rise and fall of his chest and listens, beyond the pulsing rush of his own blood, that his lungs are not rattling. Shame makes way to satisfaction when he sees that none of their party has taken as many hits, kicks and punches as himself. His distractions have worked, then. 

That’s good. Now if only they didn’t make him so nauseous. So tired. So…

“Don’t fall asleep, Steven,” Eddie demands, and the world tilts slightly, which makes everything worse until… soft. It’s softer now. 

Eddie has moved him so his head is resting in his lap now. 

“You don’t look too good, Ranger. Sleep is dangerous in your state, no matter how badly you might need it. Give it a few hours, please.” 

A beat passes where Steve tries to process the words that are just too many. Since when does Eddie talk with him so much? 

“Lies,” he says after a while and with greater effort than should be necessary.

“Lies?” 

“I look very good. You just can’t see it under all the blood and the bruises.” He tries to crack a smile, but even the huffed breath jolts his head too much. 

Eddie does him the favour of a brief chuckle, and Steve feels better for it. Lighter. Light is good, he finds. Maybe all he has to focus on is Eddie and his hands working out the clumps of dirt and blood from his hair, maybe all he has to do is make him smile and the world will be a bit less painful. 

His world narrows down to all the ways Eddie is close to him and it does keep him occupied, but it also gets his mind wandering, the adrenaline of the past days wearing off. 

“Keep doing that and I will fall asleep,” he says after another beat of silence. Fall asleep and dream. Dream of what this could mean. Dream of smiles that make me feel lighter. 

“Keep doing what?” Eddie asks, and Steve senses a trick to just keep him talking, no matter how slurred his speech is. He needs a moment to remember what he said.

“This,” he says eventually, and Eddie only hums. Finding words is hard. He tries. And tries again. “Being gentle.” 

Another smile, and Steve wants to close his eyes to keep it there to hold on to. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend.” 

“Can’t not be gentle?” He’s losing force on the consonants. The pain is getting stronger, his nerve endings more frayed and his vision blurry. This is familiar. He gives himself another quarter of an hour at most before he will lose his consciousness, no matter how hard he tries to stay here. With Eddie and his wavering smile. 

“Not with my friends, no.” 

This time it’s Steve who smiles at the word friends. He likes to be Eddie’s friend. The man, as it turns out, is admirable, he’s strong, he’s wise when he wants to be and gentle with young Maxine. He’s kind, he’s quick-witted and patient, and his hands are impossibly soft. 

“I know you said not to sleep, and I’m not normally one to deny a well-respected bard’s command, but…” He swallows. Words are hard. He’s not sure they come out as planned, but he perseveres. “I’m afraid I have to prove to you now how stubborn the Queen’s Rangers can be.” 

Another hum from above him and Steve opens his eyes he hadn’t even noticed closing. The world is fading, but still Eddie is at its centre. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up, then, stubborn Ranger.” 

Will you smile at me still? Steve wonders. 

“Always,” Eddie says, but before Steve has time to wonder if someone else has said something, darkness has swallowed him whole.

———

Steve wakes to something cold touching his forehead, moving to his temple where suddenly a jarring pain wrecks his body and he can’t quite suppress the flinch. 

“Forgive me,” comes a quiet voice from above and Steve opens his eyes to the darkness of a cell, only faintly illuminated by the flickering light of a torch somewhere and the redness of the setting sun. “But I am glad to see you awake.”

The voice belongs to Eddie, who is looking down at him, a piece of cloth in his hand. Gently, he presses it to Steve’s forehead again and the cool sensation comes back, gentler this time. It takes a moment for Steve’s tired and frayed mind to catch up with reality, but when it does, he realises that the bard is washing away the dried blood and cleaning his wounds. 

What an odd picture they must make.

“Tell me,” he says before he has time to consider his words. “Is it normal for a bard of Northlands to take care of wounded Rangers?” 

“No,” Eddie says and there’s something to his voice Steve can’t quite identify. He’s not sure he likes it, not sure what it does to his insides. “There are never any Rangers there.” 

Even through the dim light, Steve can see the mirth in his eyes and it makes him laugh – if only briefly, for his body is quick to remind him that any sort of movement is a bad, terrible, truly horrid idea. He just barely manages to suppress a groan, but nothing could get past the bard’s eyes, and his hand moves from Steve’s forehead to his cheek almost immediately. 

“Careful, my friend. You shouldn’t be laughing.” 

“Stop making me laugh, then. That would make it all so much easier.” There’s no heat behind his words and he doesn’t even try not to lean into the touch. 

Eddie hums but stays quiet otherwise and keeps wiping Steve’s face clean, watching his every reaction. A frown slowly forms between those brows and Steve wonders what that is for. Did something happen while he was out of it? Time passes differently in the desert, yes, the sun and moon following different paths, but he can’t have been unconscious for more than three hours. It is barely yet nightfall, their cell colder than before. 

Three hours. And Eddie still sits cross-legged with Steve’s head on his thigh. 

Guilt and embarrassment shoot through him and he wants to move, wants to get up and release the bard from his demeaning task of playing nurse to a wounded Ranger, but his ribs protest and his head pulses with white-hot pain before it sends his world spinning again and Steve sags back into the warmth of Theodore. 

“I must be painting the most pathetic picture of her Majesty’s Rangers. I swear, most of us are better than this.” 

It comes out light hearted as always, despite the pain it leaves inside his chest to be presenting himself like this. Representing all Rangers to the kingdoms of the South with his weakness. All that on top of losing Will. Again. 

He closes his eyes against the pity he is bound to see in Eddie’s eyes. 

“You paint a picture of bravery such as I scarcely saw it before. Never in my life did I see a man move so slowly, so unseen unless as I was looking right at you. You are excellent with the sword and the bow, and even the weapons of the desert folk are natural to you. I can imagine the pain and suffering you have seen, some of which you must have caused in the name of justice, yet you carry inside yourself a light-heartedness that is refreshing to say the least.” 

Steve swallows, has never been good at taking compliments, and luckily hasn’t been in the position to accept them in quite a while. 

“Light-hearted?” he rasps. “You can’t be talking about the same Rangers I know, surely.” 

“I was talking about you, Steven,” Eddie admits quietly, and his voice is so tender when he says his name that it makes Steve’s breath hitch. 

“Oh,” he says intelligently. Swallows. “Then the head injury must be severe.” 

“Admirable of you to hide a concussion for so many days. I think healers of all kingdoms would have a lot of questions for you if they knew.”

Steve huffs and smiles through the pain of his undoubtedly broken ribs protesting. “My apologies, Eddie. Queen Joyce of the West and Sir James himself would both have my head if I taught you our concussion-hiding ways.”  

“A pity,” Eddie says and there’s that smile in his voice again that doesn’t show on his lips, at least in this light. Steve doesn’t care, though, as he smiles up at him. 

This moment in time belongs to the both of them as Steve finds he can’t quite look away, and it’s not the pain that keeps him. 

Eddie opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again. The frown reappears between his brows and Steve wants to reach out and smoothen the creased skin above his nose. If only moving his arm didn’t require such strength that keeps evading him, the night weighing heavy on his limbs.

After another minute, Eddie does find his words, though they are quiet this time. “I worried.” 

“About what?” Steve asks when he doesn’t continue. 

Eddie resumes his endeavour of washing the crusted blood from his hair and face, the sensation soothing his skin but not his nerves. Steve does reach up this time to still his hand, and the bard meets his eyes again. 

“That you wouldn’t wake up.” It comes out small, void of that usual easy confidence. 

Steve swallows every comment on the tip of his tongue about how the rest of their group could easily keep Eddie entertained without any concussions bothering them. It’s not often that he has control over his tongue, but in the face of such open worry and vulnerability, his heart aches and he wants to say the right thing. 

“I’m awake, Theodore Munson. It takes far more to put me out for good.”

It’s a lie, he knows. It would not have taken that much more, but Eddie doesn’t need to know that. 

“Don’t let them hear that, they will take that as a challenge.” 

Steve only gives a non-committal hum and closes his eyes again. If he didn’t, the darkness of the cell and the kindness in Eddie’s eyes would have made him say stupid things like, Let them, if that means everyone else is safe. That would surely dim the light in those black eyes and very likely make Jim throw a boot at him. And Steve really doesn’t want to have to deal with either of those things. 

Eddie resumes his task of gently cleaning him, and Steve gets the feeling that the bard must be doing it for himself just as much as for him. It’s something to keep himself occupied, and the way he talks betrays his intentions in turn of keeping Steve awake and occupied, too. 

A gesture that is almost too kind to bear, as dusk turns into night and the silver light of the full moon illuminates their cell. 

———

Jim lies just a few feet beside them, and now that his eyes have had the chance to adjust to the darkness properly, the concussion already weaker than it was earlier, Steve can see that his eyes are open. Or, one eye is; the other is swollen too badly. Another wave of guilt and shame clouds his senses for a moment and he has the urge to ask forgiveness. He feels responsible, even though he knows Jim would hit him over the head if Steve so much as mentioned that.

His eyes cut back to Eddie above him when a yawn interrupts the bard’s steady movements with the cloth that is barely wet anymore. 

“You never got any rest, did you?” he asks – stupidly, because the moment the words leave his lips Steve remembers the very reason for Eddie’s wakefulness. He winces before the other man even gets the chance to answer. “Right, my fault. Forgive me.” 

If the ground beneath him could open now, he would have a banquet in its honour. With a groan, he moves to sit up and free Eddie of his dead weight, the motion pulling on his cuts and bruises, irritating his broken and burning ribs in a way so sudden it steals his breath for a second. Steve is well acquainted with pain, but the all-encompassing nature of it right now is thoroughly unwelcome.

Hands come up to steady him, guiding him to sit up and lean against the stone wall, his own shoulder coming to rest against Eddie’s, who only slowly lets go of him. 

“Thank you,” Steve breathes, looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. 

“It’s hardly a question of fault,” Eddie says in that calm, soothing way of his that keeps making Steve want to reach out and hold on. Hold him. “And it was no hardship to stay and… be gentle.” 

Something in the back of his mind wants to tell him something but it’s too foggy to grasp. 

“Gentle,” he says, inquiring, as though saying the word out loud would tell him its meaning. 

“Even Rangers of the Kingdom deserve gentle hands and smiles. Even if they are too badly beaten and concussed to recall their request.” 

Eddie’s words aren’t making sense, but what they do is make his heart beat faster for some reason other than shame and embarrassment. He presses his lips together and tries to find his voice.

When he finds it again, it’s barely more than a whisper hidden in the moonlight. “Allow me to return the favour, then. Rest, Eddie. Find some sleep while I ensure it is safe.” 

Something shifts in those black eyes and Steve wants to chase it. Eddie cast in silver light of the moon is different than the golden figure of the past days. Less imposing and more… fragile. Gone is the teasing, replaced with something more… More. It suits him, the light of the moon, as much as it makes Steve’s heart and mind race. 

“Will you smile at me still?” Eddie asks at last, and even the darkness cannot veil the quiver in his voice. 

Steve is reminded of something he must have dreamed of earlier, but he cannot focus on that, not with the way the moonlight catches in those dark curls that have managed to slip out of the band keeping his hair bound at the back of his skull. Not with the way it illuminates the twitch of his lip or the impossible way he is looking at Steve still. 

“Always,” he says before he can even think about it. Always, he thinks. However long that may yet be.

Another smile twitches and tugs at the bard’s lips, lingering in its nature as he closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall behind them. It can’t be comfortable, and Steve has half a mind to offer his own lap, but there is something about seeing Eddie so calm. He doesn’t dare to interrupt him. 

He waits until Eddie’s breathing has evened out before he gives in to the urge to brush the treacherous curl behind his ear. It leaves his fingertips with a tingling sensation that makes him want to do it again, so he does. Sitting there, trying to breathe through his broken ribs and his fluttering heart, Steve doesn’t dare to do it a third time, as much as he yearns for it. 

He rests his own head against the wall, too, and watches the bard, because watching him is easier than letting his gaze wander and be reminded of the situation they’re all in. 

The moonlight guides his gaze towards Eddie even as he tries to look away, and Steve watches as it caresses the bard’s features in such a way as though that is what it has been sent here to do. 

It makes Steve smile even as the ache in his chest grows stronger. He is starting to realise what this is, and he’s too weak to fight it. Not in this prison cell, not in this foreign country where the sun is out to kill you and the moon will watch you shiver helplessly. 

How could he fight the moonlight and its tender caress, the world tinged in silver as he lets it work its magic on him? Only a fool would be able to resist. 

“Steve.” 

He just barely manages not to flinch as Jim’s rasping voice rips him away from his musing – no, his yearning. Turning his head, he finds his eyes in the dark, though he can’t make out any question or command in them. Has Jim caught him? Does his old mentor know his thoughts regarding the bard, has he seen the twitch in Steve’s fingers as he refused to let them reach out and touch? 

Jim’s silence is as good a command as any, and summoning all his might not to let his face betray the pain shooting through his body, Steve gets up with a suppressed groan and walks over to his old mentor. 

As slowly as possible without giving away the pain that feels like his ribcage is being both torn apart and pressed together, he sits down beside Jim, guiltily thanking the swollen eye and the darkness, for he seems none the wiser to Steve’s injury. 

“Don’t do that again.”

Steve freezes, his thoughts tumbling over themselves trying to figure out what exactly Jim refers to — the guilt still warring inside him insists that there are many things he should not have done. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, feeling like he is but a green student again, getting berated by his mentor after he did something wrong. 

“Take a beating for me. I understand why you would do it for the others, but—” 

“Jim,” he tries to interrupt him with a gentle sigh, but the old man won’t have it. 

“No, Steve. They hate me more than you, we don’t need you riling them up and making things worse for yourself.” 

“I will not let them break your arms and ribs, James. I can take it, I’m—” 

“If you say you’re younger, Steven, I’m going to throw you out of the window..” 

An innocent grin spreads his lips and he inclines his head, meeting Jim’s good eye. “But I am.” 

He sees the hand coming, shooting out from below, but his range of motion and reflexes are still heavily impacted by his injuries that he can’t manage to get out of Jim’s reach in time. Before he knows it, Steve loses his balance and falls flat on his back without any grace but with all the more agonising pain. 

Nobody would have been able to hide broken ribs and a nearly split skull like this, but Steve still mentally kicks himself as the wheezing groan of pain leaves his lips.

All traces of mirth leave Jim’s expression and everything turns into worry as he, too, sits up with a groan to check over his former apprentice. 

“By the Gods, Steve, are you okay?” 

Another groan that is supposed to be somewhere between “Just peachy” and “Fuck off”, but even that sound is pathetic with the way the air has been pushed out of his lungs at the impact. All he manages is a whimper, and he doesn’t try to open his lips for more than that.

He doesn’t even attempt to sit up this time, can only try to catch his breath and breathe through the agony with more wheezing, rattling whimpers. Hands hover over him in the dark, but he shakes his head rapidly, scared that Jim would try to touch and feel the injury, only to find a broken rib or two. Or five, at this point.

His lungs don’t work right and he can’t quite catch his breath. It is only experience that tells him this is normal, this will pass, he will breathe right again. Hopefully. 

“For God’s sake, why would you hide an injury like that, Steve? Why would you… You idiot!”

There is movement around him in the cell, the others waking up from Jim’s anger and worry and guilt, but Steve keeps his eyes closed lest the tears fall. 

“Breathe,” Jim tells him, and Steve finds that to be a wonderful idea, actually, so he tries. And he tries again. “Yes, good. Breathe, Steve. It’s all going to be fine, you’ll get through this.”

“Have to,” he presses, barely any sound to his wheezing. “So you can throw me out of the window.” 

“Fucking moron,” Jim mutters, though Steve can hear the emotion in these two words. It makes him smile despite the situation.

“S–sorry,” he wheezes again, and trusts that Jim understands that he means more than his sarcastic retorts or the hiding of the wounds. Sorry for losing Will again. Sorry for not saving Elanor in time. Sorry for failing the mission. Sorry for being weaker than you need me to be. Sorry for—

“It’s alright, Steve,” Jim promises and there are fingers in his hair again, wetness running down his cheek. Did the fall open his head injury again? The situation must truly be dire if Jim is being outright gentle and worried. “Just don’t do it again. Let me take them next time.” 

He wheezes again, but won’t make that promise. If their captors come back, he knows he won’t sit and watch them hurt his friends, won’t sit and watch them treat Jim the same way they treated him on the journey here. 

It takes a moment for the world to right itself again and for the cell to become quiet, but somehow Steve manages to get his breathing under control and the pain subsides from agonising to miserable, like before. He rolls his head and looks at Jim through a blurriness in his eyes that he has to blink away. 

“You think we’ll make it out of this alive?”

Maybe it’s the pain clouding his mind, maybe it’s the darkness that has always made it easier to ask such questions, but Steve finds the words falling from his lips easier than they should have. 

Jim’s expression that just a moment ago has been filled with worry and anger sobers now, and Steve doesn’t quite like what he sees. 

“Will is still out there,” he says, evading the question and answering it in the same moment. 

“Yeah. He is,” Steve says, not sure if he believes it or not. Not sure if it changes anything. “You’re right.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the moonlight catching Jim’s eyes in a way that highlights the emotions in them. The desperate hope that Will is out there, alive, and reunited with his sister — they have their ways of finding each other against all odds. Always have. Steve likes to believe that they won’t stop now, that a desert can’t keep them apart. That they found friendly faces who won’t betray them, and bring them home. 

Bring them home even when Steve and Jim can’t follow them. And Maxine. Princess Elanor would turn the desert into an ocean before she left Maxine to die. But down in their cell, the ocean would leave them to drown all the same. 

Jim has hope, though, and Steve decides to follow his mentor again. Just for tonight, when all he feels is pain, when his head is being split open, his chest crushed and bursting, his limbs bloodied and bruised. Just for tonight, he will allow himself not to think, not to worry, and to trust Jim blindly like he did all those years ago. 

“Sleep, Steve,” Jim says then, and only now does Steve realise how tired he is, his eyes closed long ago.

He spends a brief moment thinking about Eddie and the promise he made the bard to be there when he wakes up. It’s silly, because he’s merely a few feet away, but it still hurts to have abandoned him to lie there by himself while everyone else has company. When he never moved while Steve himself was asleep.

“You should sleep, too, Ranger.” A sudden wave of warmth washes over him when he hears that voice with its foreign inflections. “You both need your rest, I can stay awake for some time to keep watch and wake you up at the first sign of danger.” 

“Eddie, I really don’t mind—“ 

“I insist, Ranger James. You two have taken the most of their hatred and displays of power, it’s the least I can do.”

Jim seems to hesitate for a moment, but Steve doesn’t open his eyes to look. His lids have become far too heavy, even heavier still when a certain hand is back in his hair to comb through it in even movements, mindful of his wounds. He doesn’t fight the secret smile this time. 

“Well, if you insist, bard,” Jim finally concedes, never one to really pass up an opportunity for sleep. “Good night to you, then.” 

“Goodnight, my friend,” Eddie says in that calm, kind manner of his that is still new to them, and Steve feels as though he breathes easier for it. “And you, Steven,” he lowers his voice, appearing closer now, “truly are a fool.” 

“Oh?” he says, wishing that it wouldn’t hurt to laugh or even just to huff. “What happened to brave, kind-hearted, and whatever else you said earlier?” 

“You can have those back when you stop lying about being injured.” 

“Keep them then,” he says, and it’s meant in jest, but that doesn’t translate well when you barely have enough strength left for a voice, he finds. 

“Sleep,” Eddie repeats, gentler this time, though he sighs long and hard after. “You impossible man.”

It makes Steve smile again, even as an impenetrable darkness wraps around him. 

He’s sure that the hum and the whispered, “I see you’re keeping your promise still,” are figments of his imagination, his tired mind playing tricks on him. But it’s a dream he likes to sink into, filled with moonlit skin, gentle hands, and kind words.

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @stobin-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume@steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround@pukner@i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently) and also @ashipwreckcoast and @universal-gay and @marismorar bc you asked me to post the thing (and also b!)

[jyoongim]

could i request some angel dust x reader fluff?

🟡

with prompts:

hugging and absentmindedly kissing their neck, resulting in mortification for one of them

memorising their favourite things and treating them when they have a bad day

If no one knew you, Angel did.

Angel. 

No Antony knew you better than you knew yourself.

The two of you were like peas in a pod.

Inseparable.

To the point, the two of you were mistaken as a couple more often than not.

So when you weren’t spamming his phone with silly videos or blowing his phone up, or replying to his sarcastic jokes he knew something was wrong.

You had been having a rough day. Your hair was ugly, your makeup was horrible and you felt fat in all your clothes.

So what other choice did you have but to mope and be in a self-induced rot fest?

You were so focused bed rotting that you didn’t even Angel coming into your room.

The rustling of bags is what alerted you.

You turned around and you felt your eyes get teary seeing your best friend setting down multiple shopping bags and your favorite comfort food.

Angel smiled “It ain’t like ya to ghost me all day so I thought why not ditch the dicks and watch cringey shit with ya”

You threw your arms around the tall spider, babbling how he was the best. Angel chuckled and welcomed your embrace, 

“What’s with all the bags” you asked, giving him a suspicious look as he gestured for you to one of them.

He shrugged and your mouth dropped when the newest and hottest bag in Hell was sitting in your hands.

”Angel no way!” You squealed, digging into other bags.

You never understood why Angel always spent his money on you.

He always said it needed to be appreciated more than buying drugs with.

A jewelry box caught your attention and you gaped.

The couple rings you had been saving up for for MONTHS!

A promise ring you had said you would get when you found someone who always had your back.

You had been eyeing them to get for you and Angel and wanted to surprise him for his birthday.

”Do you like em? I admit I’m not a committed kind of person”

You felt him come behind you and wrap his arms around you, as he slipped a pair of arms in front of you to take the rings and slip them on your fingers, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

”But for you baby it hasn’t been too bad”

You felt his head nuzzle into the crook of your neck and cheeks burn when you felt his lips press softly into your tender skin.

And it seems his brain finally caught up to him because he froze.

Angel let out a staggered cough before releasing you and clumsily marching to where your couch was

”ANYWAY! I also got ya that disgusting take out place you love so much so come on and pick some stupid show to watch”

You grinned, cheeks flushed, and made your way over, snuggling into him like nothing happened.

You tried to contain your giggles when you caught him staring at you, turning away to insult the tv.

You fiddled with your ring

Yea maybe it wont be too bad…

[fatuismooches]

omg omg how would fragile reader use foxtorre in gameplay? idk why the first thing i thought of is reader throwing it at their enemies but they wouldnt do that 😭 im suddenly thinking how their gameplay would be like, their vision, their idles, etc... IF YOU COULD PLEASE MAKE VOICELINES FOR THEM I THINK IT WOULD BE COOL

Fragile reader throws the creature onto the field to do the work for them! Depending on whether their skill is held or tapped, Foxttore will summon multiple little Puffttores that will attack enemies to heal the team or do damage, based on reader’s current HP. Using the skill also consumes a set amount of fragile reader's HP. But using their burst will let them recover HP, as they will steal a certain percentage of HP from their fellow party members. All they want to be is healthy, they can be a little selfish, no? But fragile reader isn’t that mean, they’ll grant the party members who they stole HP from a random buff (ATK, crit rate/dmg, EM, etc) so they can sit back and relax as the others fight for them. And no, they won’t steal HP from Dottore or another Harbinger on the team, that’s their beloved and their friends after all! But they can’t do elemental reactions, they don’t want that horrid thing from Celestia and even if they got one they would refuse to use it. (But I still have hope another element will be added, I cannot see Dottore using a Vision HE BETTER NOT he’s stronger than that 😞)

Their idles include pulling out Foxttore and squeezing it really tightly, and then they suddenly pause for a few seconds as they feel something fuzzy moving inside of their shirt... and then a few small Puffttores jump out of their clothes making them laugh :) Another one, i imagine they carry around a small bag to hold their necessary items (such as medication) but also to bring around a scrapbook they've made with all their memories. Lots of photos and journal entries spanning many years. They pull it out and flip through it, before sighing almost sadly and putting it away again. Their BIS weapon is the same one from centuries ago, Dottore had preserved it for all those years so they could use it once again (not really though because they wobble all over the place if you use their normal attacks)

Hello: "I am [Name]. I doubt I'll be much help to you, but I'm here now. By the way, I won't do anything I don't want to. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with Dottore."

About the Archons: "... Do not mention them in front of me... it makes me sick to my stomach, thinking about the divine. However, there is one exception - the Tsaritsa of course. She is truly the epitome of what a God should be, benevolent and kind. I may not be able to help much, but I will support her until the end. When you meet her, Traveler, I hope you will understand her goals."

About the Illness: "Ah, my sickness... it has plagued me for countless years, laying a horrible curse upon my body and mind. It's... it's been quite difficult sometimes... er, forgive me. It's hard to speak about."

"Oh... to be honest, Paimon always thought you were faking it for the Fatui's goals to some extent."

"... this is why I only confide in Dottore."

About Dottore: "My one and only... words cannot express my tenderness and love toward him. Not once has he given up on me, despite the times I've given up on myself. And he has always taken care of me, not once faltering in over four hundred years. I- I don't know what to do sometimes when faced with that information. I wish I could be... less of a burden on him... *sigh*"

About the Akademiya: "Say, does anything good come out of that school anymore? Hm? You say a brilliant mage graduated from there and is now a librarian? Well, good for her. Who would want to be associated with them anyway? And there's also a doctor who's very sick, searching for the answer to immortality? Well now... how interesting."

About the Past: "You wish to know about my past? Well, there's not too much to say. I was a regular student in the Akademiya before I met Dottore, and we fell in love... we did many things together before I... It's not like it matters anymore, being the way I am now..."

Chat - The Body: “One’s body is extremely important, yet many take it for granted. Please, make sure to treasure and love your body. It does more for you than you could ever imagine.”

Chat - Walks: "I love taking walks. It seems so normal to you but, it brings me great happiness. Especially now... I have not felt the sun caress my body or the soft breeze sweep through my hair for a long, long time. Hm? I don't mind if you come with, but... Dottore will be joining me shortly. Would you like to see him? No? Hehe."

When it Rains: "Oh no... do you have an umbrella? Dottore's going to- a-achoo!- get mad at me for not taking care of myself properly..."

Likes - Dancing: "O-oh. You saw me just now? I was just... practicing. I'm not very good at it, but dancing with Dottore as he twirls me around makes me... happy. I just need to stop tripping and falling over his feet all the time."

Nahida - About You: "You've met the Doctor's spouse? Please, would you enlighten me about them some more? I have always been extremely curious about the kind of person who would capture his attention. Hmm... I see. Still sick, are they? Perhaps Dottore sees something in them that the rest of us cannot. Though, I have to commend their spirit. Being able to wake up every day and face what's in front of them while being afflicted with such a condition... takes a strong will."

[m9rtality]

I don't smoke

SYNOPSIS ; You think you're inlove with a man that's inlove with another, until you meet him.

CONTENT WARNING — Angst, symbiotic relationship (not being inlove, depending on eachother for emotional stability), major character death.

GENRE — Angst

“If you need to be mean”

I smiled painfully as I watched my boyfriend with his best friend, Gojo Satoru. I knew they were in love, it was so unbelievably obvious by the way they looked at each other. I knew it’d never be the one that own his heart but I was okay with being his second place. There’s a lot of things about Gojo Satoru that I could never compare with, he’s strong and smart but also has playful aspects and his personality is one of a kind. I’ll never be Gojo so I’ll be the next best thing, or at least I’ll try to be.

I sat at the bar while Shoko flirted with the bar tender while Gojo and Suguru danced together with drinks in their hands, Suguru was smiling bright than he ever did with me, when he looked at Satoru, his Satoru I could see the overwhelming look of love in his eyes. I wish he looked at me that way, yeah he loved me but never like how he loved his soulmate, his other half. The one person he wanted the most, he couldn't have so I was what he settled for.

“Be mean to me.”

I comforted Suguru in his depressive state, when he was at his weakest I was always there for him. I promised Gojo and Shoko that I’d always be there for him, no matter what type of mental state I’m in he will always come first. I didn’t mind because I loved him, Suguru was my soulmate but I was not his, and I was okay with that. At least I think I am.

I wish I could have Suguru all to myself, but he brought home two sweet girls named Nanako and Mimiko. I loved them dearly and I thought of them as my own daughters and it was obvious that Suguru felt the same way but never actually showed it. The girls worshiped him and it was sweet of how they looked up to him.

“I can take it and put it inside of me”

I stood by my fiancee’s side, I didn't agree with his beliefs but I stood by him anyways because that’s my job as his spouse. I stood by him as he wanted to get rid of all non-sorcerers, I stood by him during that entire time because I told him no matter how evil he became I’d always be on his side. I promised the girls that no matter what their father did he was a good man and he loved them more than life itself even if he never told him that because I knew he felt that way.

I was a sorcerer so Suguru kept me alive, but I missed the man I met before we got married. I missed how happy he was even if it wasn’t because of me. I missed when he cuddled me and kissed me, even if he belonged with another he still loved me and I missed when he showed me that. He now barely even touched me, kisses were more rare than seeing him because he was always saving non-sorcerers from curses then speaking horribly about them to Nanako and Mimiko.

“If your hands need to break”

I felt my heart shatter when I heard my husband had died. I couldn’t believe what I was being told by the man my husband loved, the man my husband loved more than me telling me that my husband, my lover is dead. The man my husband would always choose over me had killed my husband for ‘the greater good’ and now here I was holding him in my arms as we cried together over the man we had an shared love for, a man we both wanted but was fated to never belong to us.

I never expected that Satoru and I would bond over the man we loved, that we’d bond over the shared pain we had after loosing him. I never expected that I’d be continuing becoming a sorcerer just because Satoru had convinced me it’d be fun and I could teach the students with him.

“More than trinkets in your room”

I never thought that I’d be okay after Suguru died, I never thought I’d be happy without him but I feel horrible to say that I’m glad I’m away from him because I’ve never felt happier. I don’t have to deal with the pressure of walking on eggshells around him because I don’t know which version of my husband I’d get, I love Suguru and he’d never hurt me but he’d yell so much and I finally feel free.

I loved my husband but I’ve never felt happier without him and that makes me hate myself, but I shouldn’t. Satoru helped me accept myself, he helped me learn how to accept Suguru’s death and not let that make me end up like him. I never thought I’d fall in love with anyone that wasn’t Suguru, but here I was catching feelings for Nanami, I went to school with him at Jujutsu high but I never spoke with him much and now here I was, giggling and laughing while Nanami and I did cleaned the messy classroom after the 1st years chaos.

“You can lean on my arm”

I leaned on Nanami’s arm after a long day of teaching. I never felt happier than I did with Nanami, I thought I was in love with Suguru but I don’t think I ever was. I think it was just a Symbiotic relationship because we may have kissed, touched each other but that was only when we were in a bad state of mind or needed emotional support.

All the times we exchanged I love yous were simply a lie because I never loved Suguru and he never loved me, but I’m happy that I got time with him. I’m happy I was in his life an he was in mine. But I’m happy I lost him because now I know what it means to be in love and be happy, I’m finally happy.

“As you break my heart”

Everything went so fast. I was on a mission with Yuuji and Nobara and now I’m laying in my sweet student’s arms while they cried for me to keep fighting, for just a little bit longer. Yuuji said he’d get help and I’d be okay, Nobara repeated that Nanami will be happy to see me again. I could tell Nobara was trying her very best to get Yuuji to accept the fact that I was dying.

“I’m so proud of you two.. You both are so strong.” I said softly as I felt my vision slowly getting blurry and fading to black.

I never would’ve thought this would be how my life turned out, but I’m glad it did. I’m glad I was the way I am and I have no regrets in my life, I just wish I could’ve seen my sweet girls one more time. I haven't seen them since Suguru’s death and I wish I could see my girls one last time.

“Mommy?..” “Mama!..”

“Nanako?.. Mimiko.. You two shouldn’t be here."