#my voice cracked several times 😭😭

[hxlcyon]

i love my piano professor SM

[hoe4hotchner]

Can I get an imagine where the reader is married to Aaron and gets hurt by an unsub and he’s worried about her and races to find her or whatever. I just want to be rescued and held by Aaron!!

Solace | [A.H]

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘈𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘞: 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤, 𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘠/𝘕 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘞𝘊: 0.9𝘬

𝘔𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮😭😩

           The deafening sound of sirens filled the air as Hotch raced through the chaos, his heart pounding in his chest. His usually calm, collected demeanor was fractured, barely holding together under the crushing weight of his fear. The flashing lights of police cars and ambulances cast harsh shadows across the scene, but all he could focus on was one thing: finding you.

           He didn’t care about the unsub, the case, or anything else at that moment. All that mattered was you - his wife, the love of his life - somewhere out there, hurt, possibly worse. The thought twisted like a knife in his gut, each second stretching into eternity as he pushed past the swarm of agents and EMTs.

           "Where is she?" Hotch's voice came out sharp, breathless, as he grabbed the arm of the nearest paramedic, he looked panicked.

           "We’re treating victims inside—"

           "Where is my wife?" His tone cracked, unrecognizable even to himself. The fear coursing through him was real, raw, and it took everything in him to keep from shouting. He didn’t want to think about what might happen if you were too late.

           The paramedic’s eyes softened, and she motioned toward the building in the distance - smoke still rising from its shattered windows. "They brought her out a few minutes ago. She’s over there—" The paramedic had worked with Hotch several times before and knew who he was referring to.

           Hotch didn’t wait to hear the rest. His legs moved on instinct, feet pounding against the pavement as he sprinted toward where the paramedic had pointed. Everything around him became a blur as he neared the edge of the chaos, his eyes scanning desperately for you.

           Then he saw you.

           You were lying on a stretcher, surrounded by EMTs, your body battered and bruised. Blood stained your clothes, your face ghostly and covered in small cuts, and for a moment, Hotch felt his heart stop. His world narrowed to just you - lying there so still, so vulnerable.

           "Y/N," he whispered, almost afraid to say your name, as though speaking it aloud would make the reality of your injuries too real to bear.

           You blinked slowly, your head turning toward the sound of his voice. Despite the pain etched across your face, your lips trembled into a small, fragile smile. "Aaron…"

           He was beside you in an instant, kneeling next to the stretcher, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "I’m here. I’m right here." His voice was soft, but the tremor in it betrayed how close he was to breaking.

           Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and Hotch's heart skipped a beat as he panicked, his hand tightening around yours. "Hey, stay with me. Please, stay with me."

           You opened your eyes again, your gaze locking with his, and you gave the smallest of nods. "I’m okay… just a little… shaken."

           The sight of you, injured but still fighting, broke something inside of him. He felt his throat tighten, his chest constricting with emotions he hadn’t let himself feel since Haley. Fear, helplessness, love - all of it swirled inside him as he pressed his forehead gently against yours. "I was so scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I’d lost you."

           You squeezed his hand weakly, your eyes searching his. "You didn’t lose me… I’m still here."

           His breath hitched as he pulled back slightly, taking in every inch of your face, every bruise, every cut. The sight of you in so much pain, and yet still trying to comfort him, made his heart ache. He gently brushed his thumb across your cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped down your skin. "You’re going to be okay. We’ll get through this."

           But the guilt weighed heavily on him - he hadn’t been there when you needed him most. He had failed to protect you. The thought gnawed at him, threatening to pull him under, but you tugged weakly on his hand, grounding him back to you.

           "Don’t… don’t blame yourself," you murmured, your voice thin. "I knew you’d come. I knew you’d find me."

           Hotch's jaw tightened as he blinked back his own tears, his heart swelling with love and relief. You trusted him, even when he doubted himself. He bent down and kissed your forehead softly, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual as if that would somehow keep you safe.

           "I love you," he whispered against your skin, his voice filled with a desperate tenderness.

           "I love you too," you breathed, your smile small but genuine, even through the pain.

           The EMTs moved in to check your vitals again, and Hotch stepped back, his hand never leaving yours as they worked around you. He watched them carefully, not willing to let you out of his sight for even a second. He couldn’t shake the fear that something might happen, that he might lose you if he blinked.

           But as the minutes passed and your condition stabilized, the panic that had been clawing at him began to ease. The doctors said you’d be okay - that your injuries, though serious, weren’t life-threatening. Relief washed over him in waves, but the fear lingered, the memory of almost losing you haunting him.

           When the EMTs finally finished, Hotch sat beside you again, his hand cradling yours gently. He could see the exhaustion weighing heavily on you, your eyelids fluttering as you struggled to stay awake.

           "It’s okay," he said softly, brushing your hair back from your face. "You can rest now. I’m not going anywhere."

           You gave him a tired smile, your hand weakly squeezing his once more before your eyes closed, finally succumbing to sleep. Hotch watched you for a long time, his heart still heavy, but you were safe. You were alive.

           And that was all that mattered.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

Rewrite the ending

-Just once, let him rewrite the story; Just once, he promises you will never have to watch the same ending again.

Paring◦ felix x mommy issues!reader

Genre ◦ smut with pain

Warnings ◦ The reader is described as having mommy issues though the argument is very brief so it can connect with more people, angst, talk about knives, PIV sex, CONSENT, ngl this is just some passionate lovemaking, tears during sex, references to the princess bride the greatest love story of all time I will die on this hill,

Taglist ◦ @thetoastghost222, @ur-fav-lvr, @velvetmoonlght

A/N ◦ This is literally a story solely based on an experience I just had with my mother and needed something to comfort me while I have a mental breakdown 😃 also if you liked this man I have mommy issues I severely need reassurance 😭

can somebody please tell me if this is convoluted because I tried to make it poetic but I don't know if I just made it messy. THANK YOU.

Soundtrack ◦ Family Line by Conan Grey, Cover me by Stray Kids

~cookiecreates 🍪

The screen flickers off.

The velvet curtains close.

The world fades to black.

The End

Your ribs crack open, heavy sobs echoing through the gaps of your unfolded bones. Your hands make purchase around your shredded soul, the warm liquid of your sorrows trickling through your splayed fingers like the shadow's phantom finger tracing the lines of your melancholy, dusting over the hill of your cheeks. 

One more time.

Just one more time.

You rewind the tape-

The velvet curtains stutter open.

The screen flashes white.

Just one more time.

How many times could you watch the same movie before you realized the ending would never change?

You rewind the tape-

How many times could you lick her love off the edge of a knife before you realize the blade will never dull?

You slide the tip across your tongue-

Just one more time.

Please.

Just pretend to love me one more time.

"For once, can you admit that you're wrong?" you snap, attempting to steady your rising voice. 

You've been arguing with your mother for centuries, your breath grating across your throat like grains of sharpened sand. Talking to her was like bouncing wisdom off a wall; it will only ever come to bite you in the ass-

"I did what I had to do to teach you discipline; you were unruly-"

or punch you in the face.

"I was nine!" you shout, a weak and wounded cry. "Nine!"

How could she not see that?

"I did it because I loved you."

She rips your heart out of your chest, only to dust a gentle finger underneath the curve of your jaw; her sweet smile coaxes your lips open; she was your mother, and yet, with a wicked gaze, she draws her fingers together—you choke, a thick river of blood flows onto your tongue like a bitter stream of a thousand broken promises.

There was so much you wanted to say to her.

"Maybe you should reevaluate your definition of love."

"Maybe you should have just been a better daughter."

"Only she could spread sugar across your skin before feeding your soul to the ants."

The signal of an ended call rings through your ears as the world fades to black.

The velvet curtains close.

The screen flickers off.

The movie sputters to a stop.

The End

All you wanted to hear was I'm sorry.

All you have ever wanted to hear was I'm sorry.

You are far too entranced with the stillness of your spine to hear the door creak open, Felix’s hesitant footsteps carefully creep closer. It is only when he mumbles a soft, saturnine "sweetheart" that you finally feel something-

"How did it go?" Felix believed the strings of your souls were so intertwined, the two of you experienced emotions the way an instrument feels the thrum of a cord; but as your heart pumps with an intangible amount of anguish, maybe even for you, some feelings were simply too subjective to share.

It is only when your heart has been crushed by fingers made of feathers do you start caring a lot less about the hands made of knives.

How desperately he wishes he was a human with hinges, where he may unscrew his soul and allow your eyes to gaze upon his walls, with the knowledge that they were only ever painted with the thought of you.

He would not hurt you-

Please, collapse into him, just once-

Let him prove that you will never have to fall again-

Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, your hand chases his touch, a million different uncompleted sentences dissipating as soon as your skin connects; your fingers beg, hold me, even as your mouth shutters shut, dusty rivulets cascading across your cheeks like the desert's silky sand.

You were empty.

so, so, very empty-

Felix's soothing hands lock underneath the bend of your knees, pulling you into his warm embrace with a rush of unregistered movements.

You rewind the tape.

Just one more time.

You needed to be reminded of what it was like to not constantly live with the echo of a hollow soul.

Just one more time.

You needed to be reminded of what it was like to hear something other than a deafening crescendo of pure contempt.

Just one more time.

"Please," you have lived so much of your life caught in a perpetual state of emptiness, for once, you wanted to remember what your body was like before your mother bore you with the heavy burden of broken wings.

"Touch me," you shove the palm of his hand into your core, pleading with so much of your soul none left to protest. He gasps into your mouth, his face scrawled with worry, the etch of a million different fears drawn into the deep lines of his forehead.

Just once

Let him rewind the film

Just once

You will never have to watch the same ending again.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Though his words are unsure, his actions tell a different story; tender hands massage the length of your thighs, reluctantly begging you to open up, to unfold your deformed ribs, where he will fill your hollow bones with the type of love you have only ever yearned for.

Just once.

"I need you."

You need him more than you need your heart to beat, your lungs to breathe; you need him more than you need the birds, the bees, the ground, the trees—

He lays you upon the silken sheets with such soulful kindness that your glassy eyes almost break; his heart thrums with the promise of I love you and the vow of I'll make you fly. His hand dips into the band of your shorts, pleasure peeking out from the shadows of your mind, only ever bobbing its head long enough to fill your skin with a minute tingling sensation—like running your hands under hot water after a long day in the snow, but it was not enough.

"I need you," you gasp into his mouth, his throat desperately sucking the sound in. His eyes widen ever so slightly, his features stricken with a sudden tightness, a burdened tonnage; you were handing him your heart with the hope his hands weren't made of blades, and the idea of the utter trust you have put in him to do that makes his stomach flip.

Just once—

He will prove it all to you.

"As you wish," nostalgia flutters in your veins as you reminisce the sentence pulled straight from the greatest love story ever told. His nose nudges the column of your throat as he presses a peck on your flesh, drifting his arms down to unceremoniously pull off his pants.

Even with such a simple act, he makes the effort to remind you that he is here.

He takes his time removing your clothes, fingers sliding across your skin with a delicate intimacy, a tender reverence; his lips trace the lines of your seams until your very atoms are etched with his name.

I hate her

I love you

I love you

I love you

He coupled every leak of anger with a river of love, kissing your limbs until all your body could remember was the pureness of his ardor.

"Are you ready?" he whispers against your skin, lining himself with your entrance, all he needs is a word to finally sink himself in. Your eyes are glassy, gazing up at him with such an unadulterated passion, a pure amount of pain—this will tear you apart, and he promises with every fiber of his being, he will put you back together.

"Yes." You have lived most of your life with the heavy burden of a body’s broken wings, and it isn't until Felix’s crafted hands finally crease your ribs that you realize origami can only emerge when you fold it up, the way a bird can only fly when it falls.

You are an amalgamation; so much of your soul is lost in his lips you don't know where he begins and you end, but when a rush of pleasure tingles up your spine, you don't care.

The world is tangled somewhere on the edge of in-between space and time, melding together into a mushy, gushy substance that slips through your fingers as they lace in his raven locks. You pour all your pain into the slit of his lips, where he sucks in every drop, leaving no room for your protests.

You were both overcome with a flood of delicate feelings—the passion that surged with the twists of your heartbeats began to be too much to bear; as his hips ruthlessly rut into yours, you cry out, chasing the edge of a daydream. So close, so close, so—his lips taste like I love you and his tears like I'm here. You can only hear the crash of your soul shattering before his ginger fingers sew you back together.

The juxtaposition of that orgasm was astounding.

You both slam down into the earth at the same time, holding each other's tired bodies as the ground swallows you up.

His arms lock around your head, quivering as he struggles to hold himself up, droplets of tears land on your cheeks as they dip down the slope of his nose. He was so perfect-

so, so, very perfect.

Your mouth raises to kiss a tear clinging to the tip of his nose. He chokes, squeezing his eyes shut. You both are thrumming with tension, overflowing with emotion; before you can even blink, he is pulling you to his chest, naked and sticky, he holds you closer than you have ever been.

It is through the tears of others that we remember we are alive.

Just one more time.

Rewind the tape and let him kiss your shattering soul with the knowledge that has already rewritten the ending.

Just once-

Collapse into him.

Let him prove that this story really is—

The End  

©CookieCreates (posted: August, 12th 2024) All rights reserved. Do not translate, copy, or claim my works as yours! I only post on this platform so if any of my works are elsewhere, report and notify me immediately.

~cookiecreates 🍪

[catcze]

CRYING OVER THE WRIO ANGST,,, A GOOD ENDING WHERE HE FINDS READER PLS I BEG OF U 😭

OKAY 😭

"The snowstorm is getting worse," says Albedo, clear disapproval in his voice as he trails after Wriothesley, a hand raised to shield his eyes from the pelting snow. "I suggest returning back to my workstation, otherwise we very well could freeze to death."

Freeze to death.

The phrase has Wriothesley's own blood chilling in his veins, as he wonders if that's the fate that had befallen you. His fists clench in his pockets, the leather of his gloves cracking from the grip. It's been two days already since he's rushed over to dragonspine ever since your disappearance— two days since he's been combing the entirety of this side of the mountain in his desperate search for you. Two days of barely fighting back against the sheer cold and the frost bite, two days of seeing no sign of you at all.

Two days of Wriothesley being in complete, abject terror at the thought that he might have to leave here never knowing what happened to you.

Albedo sighs behind him, rummaging in his pocket for some warming bottles. He slips them into the pocket of Wriothesley's coat quietly. "I have to return now," he says. "Please try not to lose yourself out here, too."

And then he is gone, leaving the Duke alone with his thoughts.

Wriothesley braves the snowstorm for several more hours, shouting your name until his voice cracks, hoping Barbatos would miraculously carry it across the wind to you. It's only when his legs are starting to give out after trekking miles and miles through the snow does he settle down in a small cave, collapsing against the wall. He groans, body practically deadweight, and rummages in his pockets for one of those warming bottles which he quickly smashes on the ground.

As the heat drives the chill from his body, Wriothesley tries to ignore the fatigue in his bones, sighing. It's just as he's about to take some rations that he hears it: someone calling his name over the roar of the snowstorm.

It doesn't take long for him to find out who it is. Within seconds, the Chief Alchemist is appearing at the entrance of his shelter, hair frazzled and coat haphazard, the most frantic Wriothesley has seen him in his short time of knowing him.

"Mister Wriothesley—" he takes a deep breath of air, "In the workshop— we found—"

And Wriothesley is on his feet before he knows it, practically running out of the cave. There's a flicker of hope in his chest as he follows Albedo's lead back to his workshop, just short of sprinting the rest of the way. From the very depths of his heart, he finds himself praying to whichever gods are bothering to listen to please, please let it be you. To let you be safe, be alright. For you to be able to envelop him in a nice, warm hug when he sees you because gods does he need one after the turmoil the past few days have put him through.

He practically tears through the snowy landscape, feet skidding to a halt only when he's at the mouth to Albedo's remote workshop, and his heart stops, then restarts, pounding like the beat of a thousand drums.

"Wrio!" You gasp, smiling widely. You're on a stool, a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders, feet submerged in a pale of warm water, and alive.

Wriothesley rushes forward, body acting on nothing but instinct to get close to you, to hold you, to make sure that this isn't some twisted dream and he's gonna wake up any second in a snow pile, shivering like a wet dog. "Hi," you murmur quietly when your hand entwines with his, and he breaks, falling to his knees and burying his face into your lap, bathing in your warmth because this is real, this isn't a dream, and he's found you again.

[eluxcastar]

Dottore giving child reader a check up

── ୨୧：il dottore & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: nobody scares you more than the Doctor, and that's why you're wholly betrayed by Father tricking you into getting a check up right under your nose, but perhaps your worries are exaggerated by rumours

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, child reader, he's a lil soft (cause if he's not poor kid might explode on site), reader is mute, reader is also autistic (but tbh you don't have to read it that way), not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 2.9k

idk what possessed me to write this I just has the thought and decided it had to be done. I got in the zone and wrote it in a few hours 😭 this is kinda loosely based off one of my characters but ambiguous enough I think to be read as a reader insert. little ball of anxiety with legs reader hehe. they come from the house of the hearth so every instance of father refers to arle

You can't think of a single person able to scare you nearly as much as the Doctor can, whether it's the daunting trip to find him wherever he hid this time or the fear of knowing he tried to bargain with Father to have the more unimpressive children—as some would call you—shipped off to him to become experiments.

Father won't allow him to get his hands on any of you, but it hardly eases the fear that he may disregard Father's warning and decide to pluck the first child he comes across up and feign ignorance when she realises they've disappeared.

Father personally entrusted you with this letter, so you cannot turn back as you make your way to where she said he should be. 

The sleepiness might manage to numb you to the danger by the time you arrive and make it easier to stomach his presence, but most likely, he will only frighten you awake, and it will worsen with the shock to your system.

There's no turning back now and no declining when Father asks you to take letters, which she says are of great importance. You can't treat letters like this lightly, even if you fear the recipient.

Knowing who is behind it makes the door all the more daunting. Doors that separate you from Harbingers always make you nervous as it's not every day you find yourself faced with one armed only with a letter and shaking hands. If it were anyone else, you could've knocked in a heartbeat, but you pause to gather your bearings before raising your hand to knock.

One two, three…four. Spaced just as Columbina taught you to, and then you wait.

Several seconds pass in silence before you hear footsteps from inside, then a voice calling out to you. "The door is unlocked."

You reach for the handle, cautiously cracking open the door just enough to peek inside. Your eyes travel across the room from your left to your right until you spy Dottore seated in a chair facing away from you. He hears you, evident in the way he turns to look at you as you work up the courage to step inside and leave the door ajar behind you.

"It's you," he remarks, the closest to acknowledgment you expect to receive. You are about to make your way to hand him the letter when he interrupts you. "Close the door."

The door is always closed here like it's trying to keep someone out, but there's no one here that he would dread seeing who would knock and accept that the door is locked. He must not be trying to convince anyone of that, and if he was, maybe he'd lock the door for real and leave everyone stranded outside instead of talking.

Dottore makes you nervous. You don't know what he thinks or why, but you probably don't like it. It's the only reason why he would be here right now. Normal doctoring wouldn't get him far as a Harbinger, and the sounds you've heard coming from his lab are enough to deter you from wondering too much. 

Instead, you quietly spin yourself around to push the door closed before returning to your endeavour of handing him this letter from Father she entrusted you with.

"Who is it from?" he asks, a question you remember him asking before too. You concluded that he's trying to gauge how eager he is to read it, and your answer will set his mood for the remainder of your stay.

You turn the envelope over to show him the seal on the back, which you hold out to him. The mark of the House of the Hearth—Father's seal—is displayed so that Dottore can glean the answer from wordless actions. He accepts it from your hand with a stifled eagerness, the hopes of something he'll enjoy written there held back by the knowledge that, in all likelihood, it's a trivial matter.

The moment the letter leaves your hands, you retreat to the safety of the door, where you stand beside the frame to await a half-hearted reaction or collect his response. Father is always happy when you return to the House to inform her that Dottore sighed when he read her letter, even if she regards the news with her usual stoicism. She despises when he bothers to send something back to her, but she never tells you why, as usual.

He collects something off his desk just out of your sight, hidden behind him, and the sound of paper tearing follows. He drops the twice-folded paper into his hand, then unfurls it to read the contents.

You wait in silence, nerves evening out as you rub the sleep from your eyes with the back of your hand. Sleepiness does help you occupy yourself if nothing else.

Then, you are interrupted by a snap of his fingers and a motion of his hand to usher you closer. 

Keeping him waiting will only make him mad, though you're sure not enough time has passed for him to pen any cohesive message in the minute or two you spent waiting.

You look up in anticipation nonetheless, expecting him to hand you something or tell you something so when he reaches toward you, it doesn't alarm you. 

Not until he grabs you beneath your arms, picks you up, and sits you down on the table, much closer to eye level with him.

"Arlecchino has her concerns about your sleeping habits and your seeming lack of will to speak," he begins, reaching behind you to grab something you barely follow before he has it in his hands. It's only a light, small and thinner than the torches at the House.

Your mind races with every question you can think of as you try to find a way off this table back to the floor, but the only way out is blocked by Dottore sitting in front of you, unsympathetic to the fear in your eyes when you stare at him. You could swear you hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears in a quickened rhythm.

What was written in that letter? Was it about you? It takes only a brief glance down in search of the open letter to realise exactly what makes this delivery so important. Father tricked you into coming here to see the Doctor after you so eagerly declined her previous offer to go willingly. You catch glimpses of your name in Father's handwriting and little else as it blurs into a messy sea of details, but you always recognise how Father writes your name.

You know better than to assume this is punishment but rather the manifestation of Father's worry as you keep oversleeping lately and need one of the older children to fetch you from the comfort of your bed. The idea that habit would land you here, presumably getting a check-up, might've inspired you to prize yourself out of bed a little earlier had you known.

Dottore seems to gauge your trembling as an obvious sign of fear, though a twitch at the corner of his lips is your only indicator, as you can't see his eyes beneath the mask. "Her explicit concern was whether or not you're ill." He rests his hand against your knee— they're cold, yet you almost expect it. It doesn't mean you especially like it. You can only interpret the action as a skewed attempt to comfort you. "As long as you're healthy, I see no reason to keep you longer than a simple check up."

He's not a real doctor, is all you can think, and he doesn't know what he's doing.

You have no choice but to steel yourself for whatever pain you're about to be subjected to. It might hurt, but you have no way out, no way back to Father, so you can curl up in a ball at her feet and ask why she would subject you to this torture—

"Don't tense your jaw," you suddenly hear, realising his finger taps your knee to grab your attention back from dreamland. "Open your mouth," he instructs you, and rather simply at that. It's something you can follow without getting scared he'll hurt you somehow.

He shines that light at you, inspecting something, though you can't say what. A slight tilt of his hand and, by proxy, the light he's holding is your only sign he's looking at anything.

The light is off before you know it. There was no pain at all, not even a hint of discomfort beyond what naturally arises from your ever-present anxiousness.

Dottore moves to set the light beside you, then appears to change his mind as he offers it to you. You take it from his hand and click it just as he had, the light coming on again. Another click, and it's off. Holding it just like that, an object of clicks and ridges and a light you can play with, is enough to give you something to at least take your mind off the fear of getting hurt.

"Lift your head." 

This time, compliance comes easier as you tilt your head up until the point his hand stops nudging you, and instead, he presses his fingers against your throat. It's light enough to feel only slight pressure; it doesn't hurt, but you don't like that feeling. Your thumb brushes over the exterior of the light, smooth against the pads of your fingers and satisfying to touch. You pull away before you can come to your senses and stop yourself, but he lets go the moment your discomfort flares, and you do the closest you can to telling him no.

Your breathing begins to even back out seeing his hands so clearly in the air in front of you, away from you, not touching you. It's silent reassurance that what you just did counts enough as revoking his permission to touch you as anything can.

Dottore doesn't feel like dealing with the fussy child that trying to force it would invoke for a mere favour to the Knave.

Instead, simply asking you like the fully grown child you are seems much more efficient. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, all yes or no," he begins. "They're all simple enough you can answer without speaking."

You interpret the ensuing silence as Dottore waiting, expecting you to nod or shake your head, and you quickly offer a nod in agreement.

"Do you know if you're able to speak?"

You consider his question carefully, unsure of the answer. Your hesitation prompts him to rephrase the question.

"Are you able to make any noises at all?"

You nod. You know the answer to that.

"But not speak in full words?"

Not words. Words don't work. You shake your head.

"Would that be because you're physically unable to?"

You shake your head. You've spoken before, but each time you try, especially here, something robs you of your voice before you get the chance. You know you can talk, just not here like this. 

"If not physical, then there's nothing wrong with you," he concludes. It feels sudden like there should be more, but he stops so quickly. "Nothing that I can fix," he promptly adds. That explains it.

Why not? He doesn't answer, unable to hear the things you don't say. To him, you remain as starkly silent as ever and as difficult to treat as you have been the past few minutes. You suspect he came to some greater conclusion between when you first walked in and now but neglects to share with you what it is.

You must look unsatisfied or just confused as he pauses to stare at you. You look away first, eyes drifting back to the light in your hands.

"Arlecchino only wanted to know if something was physically wrong with you," he says, briefly looking down at the letter as he skims a particular section again. "Your poor sleep may be the result of insomnia, or whatever is causing the mental block that also prevents you from speaking."

Mental block? Nobody ever told you about anything like that. 

You eye him curiously, though you again remain silent, watching him while you think he isn't looking back. It's easy to look at him as long as you don't consciously think of the fact that he's staring at you behind that mask.

Dottore holds his hand out expectantly, a motion of his fingers telling you he wants you to return what you have in your hands to him. You do so, but not without a sadness-driven hesitance to accompany it.

"None of the things you're describing imply a physical problem, but a paranoid 'parent' overattentive to the wrong facets of what could be wrong with an orphan." You don't like the way he says that as if he's speaking ill of Father, but like always, you keep your mouth shut. "If you couldn't speak because of a physical injury, you would have presented with one when you arrived at the House of the Hearth—not now. Trouble sleeping and an elevated heart rate, shortness of breath, intense panic and your tremors are more likely the symptoms of anxiety." 

That's a lot of words, but as he quickly lists every example, you seem to become conscious of it. Mental block, anxiety. Those are the two things you've been told that sound like explanations. You look down as if on instinct, hands held in front of you to investigate his claims that you're shaking. You are. Before your eyes, your hands are trembling, though you can't say why. You look back at him to see if he has anything else to say.

You thought your sleep troubles weren't the same, the result of bad dreams, but supposedly not. Dottore doesn't know anything about that, does he? No, he can't. You never told him, so he can't know. He knows lots of things he shouldn't, like your heart racing when you're scared or how you feel like you can't breathe at times. 

Dottore clicks the light on again, shining it down at your hands resting in your lap. He circles it in place, and your eyes follow. It clicks off again after a few seconds. "Distraction helps anxiety," he says, then sets it down on the desk beside you. "Do you know why you can't sleep?" he asks.

Yes. You nod. Dreams. On nights when they're at their worst, they keep you awake long past bedtime when all others have gone to sleep. By breakfast, you can be so tired and sleep-deprived that dozing off over your food is the only thing you can manage.

You half expect to sit through another round of questioning before Dottore finds the one that clicks the pieces perfectly together in his head, just as he did in the first round.

Instead, Dottore stands, and his hands find your sides to hook you under your arms. Your feet are back on the ground before you can fuss any more about how much you do or do not like it. With you out of his way, he flips the paper Father wrote her request to him on.

"If you know the answer, then you're free to go."

That's it?

You stare up at him for a moment, perplexed by the surprising lack of pain compared to the abundance of fear you felt. It should have hurt, but it didn't, and now you don't know why you were so against coming here in the first place. Dottore spared five or ten minutes of his time, which he already didn't want to give you, and is sending you on your way without injury,

You can't see his face as he's turned away, writing something down that you can't make out. If you took a guess what it is, it's probably about you, just like the first one was. Still, you can tell why Father is so annoyed to receive letters from him. You don't recognise your name when he writes it. You don't recognise anything he writes. His handwriting is awful.

He folds it and slips it back into the envelope it was given to him in. That's not proper etiquette, but something in the way he practically shoves it into your hands tells you that he doesn't particularly care. So long as it gets from him to Father, it doesn't matter how it gets there in his eyes.

"Give that to the Knave." That is his final instruction. You're very used to following those kinds of instructions by now, having heard and executed them many times. They're second nature to your mind.

You nod, pinching it between your fingers to keep the paper from falling out of the open envelope. If Father's was critical, so is this one, and you'll get it back to her quickly—more importantly, safely.

You can't help wondering why it felt so much easier to have someone briefly look at you and ask a few questions. The older children make it sound torturous and barbaric, like being used as a lab rat to spite Father for her refusal with his only opportunity to access the children of the House.

Perhaps seeing a doctor to ease Father's worries isn't as scary as you believed.

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Hi!!! How’s it going?

I have a brain cleansing idea 😂

So Hunter is always alert and worried about everyone. How about the reader trying to sooth his worries late at night? Kissing his hands, stroking his hair. With him laying his head in the crook of your neck or trying to hear the steady rhythm of a heartbeat 😭😭. Whatever floats your boat.

Feel free to change things up to your liking (if you like my idea). It can be an established relationship or a friends to lovers thing, whatever you prefer,

Don’t forget to take breaks and to prioritise your health

♡

Hi anon! Thanks for the request. I loved this idea, so I ran with it and tweaked it ever so slightly. Thank you for the little reminder to take breaks - I've been a bit burned out with work, but writing this brought me joy 💕

For a while, I’ve wanted to do a HC’s piece on the Batch looking after reader who has chronic migraines (super self-indulgent), but giving Hunter the migraine worked in this story, so poor bby suffers a little. But it’s okay; he also gets cuddles and love 😂

A Moment of Stillness

Worrying and caring about his brothers all the time weighs heavy on Hunter. So, it’s a good job you’re there to worry and care about him.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: fluff, sweetness, comfort, mutual pining, use of strong prescription medicine for migraine, very light scent kink/Hunter finds readers scent comforting, pet names, cuddles, confessions of love, friends to lovers, first kiss.

Another storm had rolled in, the crack of lightning throwing flashes of bright light across your room and the rumble of thunder creating white noise as you worked late into the evening. Several mission reports had already been completed and submitted, but there was still a small stack. That was the downside of sending the boys on back-to-back missions.

Twirling your stylus in one hand, your chin rested in the other, elbow perched on the edge of your desk as you stared off through the window, watching the rain lash against the transparasteel. When you had signed up to assist the GAR, you’d anticipated adventure and thrills, near-death experiences and seeing more of the galaxy. Instead, you had politics to play with Command, bad news to break to your boys when the next mission would see them needed on a skughole of a planet, and an endless supply of paperwork. But you were doing your bit – playing your part and keeping the wheels of the GAR turning. And, ultimately, that was what you’d wanted.

A light rap at your door captured your attention between the rumbles of thunder. Abandoning your desk, stylus discarded next to your datapad, you moved across the small room you’d been given in Tipoca City. It wasn’t much, but within these four walls, you could escape. The door slid open quietly, and a soft smile crossed your lips at the sight that greeted you.

“Hey, cyar’ika.” The smoky rasp of Hunter’s voice felt like a warm blanket on a winter’s day. Eight months, you’d been working with him and his brothers, feeding them missions, directing them to the nearest outposts for supplies, and cheating the system occasionally to get them any extras they needed. They were the closest thing you had to family out here, and the longer you spent with them, the more you grew attached to them – especially to Hunter.

As you moved aside to let Hunter in, the dark circles under his eyes looked worse than before, and every step he took was slower than usual, like the weight of the galaxy rested on his broad shoulders. It wasn’t uncommon for them to swing by when they were back on Kamino, usually to drag you to their barracks for a catch-up, but something about this visit felt different.

“Hey, H.” You answer gently, sliding effortlessly into the small nickname you’d adopted for him, the door shutting once he was inside. “It’s good to see you.”

With a weary sigh, Hunter lifted a hand and rubbed at his forehead. He was exhausted, still in pain from a few injuries he’d sustained at the start of their recent back-to-back missions, and the storm had been the final straw, frazzling his senses and dragging in a migraine. While he loved his brothers dearly, they’d started their usual rounds of bickering and chatter the moment they’d stepped foot in their barracks and, in need of peace, Hunter’s feet had guided him to you.

“Here…” You kept your voice low, pulling out the chair at your desk for Hunter to sit. As he lowered himself gingerly into the seat, you rooted around in the fresher for your medkit. As you turned back to the room, your heart ached. Hunter was propping his head up with one hand, not too dissimilar to the way you’d been earlier, but his eyes were closed, brows furrowed in pain. While you appreciated that his senses were a benefit out on the frontlines, you wanted to shoot whichever Kaminoan had decided having the ability to sense electromagnetic fields would be fantastic for someone whose home was on a stormy planet.

Quietly, you approached, pulling a small blue box from the medkit. Prying it open, you popped one of the pills from its packet. “Take this.” You murmured, waiting for Hunter’s eyes to open.

Hunter had heard your approach and slowly opened his eyes at your words. He had mixed feelings about the pill you offered up – one of your personal ones, prescribed for your own migraines. The side effects you experienced were intense; he’d witnessed it firsthand while looking after you a few times. He’d only used them once before, and the side effects, thanks to his mutations, were even worse. However, he knew that come morning, should he take the tablet, his migraine would be gone. He could regroup and refocus on the next mission. 

It was worth the side effects for sweet relief.

Reaching out with one hand, he took the tablet from you, placing it onto his tongue. The medicinal tang as it fizzled made him grimace, a film coating his mouth as it dissolved. Before it kicked in, he’d have ten minutes to return to his barracks. Summoning his little energy, Hunter pushed himself up to stand, using your desk to keep his balance.

“You’re not going anywhere.” You insisted, a firmness to your voice that brokered no argument. “You won’t make it back there before collapsing from exhaustion. Take my bunk.” You gestured to the bed pressed up against the far wall. The standard issue linens had been replaced long ago with softer sheets. Extra pillows had been procured, and Lula sat nestled against them. Wrecker often handed her to you before they left, asking you to look after her until he returned. You weren’t sure if the gentle giant was doing it to try and comfort you – to reassure you they’d be back – or whether he did it because he didn’t want to risk her being misplaced. Either way, she kept you company. And the smile on Wrecker’s face whenever you returned her was brighter than Tatooine’s two suns.

“Don’t want to get in your way.” Hunter mumbled, wincing at the pounding in his head and the slight bout of nausea that rolled through him.

“I wasn’t asking, I was telling.” You double-down, taking matters into your own hands as you guided him the few steps across the room to your bed. Easing him down onto the edge of the mattress, you started to unfasten his armour. Working quickly, you unlatched each piece and set it down neatly beside your bed until he was left in nothing but his blacks. It bothered you a little that they were dirty, and he was about to get into your nice clean bed, having spent Maker knows how long wearing them, but you pushed that aside as you pulled back the sheets for him.

A tattooed hand wrapped around your wrist, and you paused in your actions, head tilting to look up into Hunter’s tired eyes. “I know you.” His voice was whisper soft, words blending a little as the medication started to kick in. You watched as he let go of you, hands slowly dragging the top half of his blacks off, depositing it onto the floor. His pants came next, kicked off haphazardly before he slumped into the bed and closed his eyes.

Most of the time, you saw the boys in their armour, sometimes just in their blacks, and on one occasion, you’d accidentally walked into their barracks just as Crosshair had been coming out of the fresher, copping a load of the man with just a towel around his waist. You’d been mortified, cheeks warming as you turned around quickly to offer privacy. He’d found it hilarious, smirk tugging at his lips as he’d made a risqué comment.

Now, you had a near-naked Hunter in your bed.

Mild panic laced through you, along with appreciation and a coil of heat. Hunter was a good-looking man who you cared for deeply, and you were a red-blooded woman. And those abs of his…

With a shake of your head, you composed yourself and lifted the sheets to cover him.

Hunter couldn’t help the slight hum of appreciation he let out as you placed the sheets over him. Your bed was much comfier than the thin mattresses he and his brothers had in their barracks, and the extra pillows felt like clouds. Not to mention, everything around him smelt like you - a soft, floral scent he’d grown to adore. Another noise slid past his lips as he felt your fingers in his hair, gently undoing the knot of his bandana. The fabric slipped away, and while he felt naked without it, he knew it would otherwise bother him while he slept.

Confident Hunter wouldn’t go anywhere, you laid his bandana on your nightstand. Turning to finish some more reports while he rested, the low rasp of his voice stopped you. “Stay with me?”

“I’m right here.” You countered gently, brows drawing downwards. You weren’t about to leave him in the room to fend for himself.

Reaching out blindly, Hunter patted the vacant spot in the bed. “You’re not.”

A soft laugh escaped you. “H…” You whispered, wanting nothing more than to comfort him but at the same time not wanting to make things weird.

“Please.” Hunter persisted.

You really couldn’t deny him anything, especially when he was unwell and vulnerable. “Alright.” You conceded, returning to the bed. Hand sliding under the sheets in the vacant spot, you found your sleep shirt. Turning your back, you quickly changed and slid into the bed. Reaching up to the panel in the wall, you adjusted the lights – turning them off entirely and plunging the room into darkness would force Hunter’s other senses to overcompensate, so instead, you settled on a dim glow.

As you settled beside Hunter, the room became a cocoon of warmth and soft shadows. The storm outside continued, but it was tranquil within the small confines of your room. Silence lingered for a moment, broken only by the rhythmic patter of rain on the window. Hunter moved slightly onto his side, trying to find a more comfortable position. He was restless, his breathing uneven, and you could tell that the pain and exhaustion were still sitting heavily with him. Without a word, you shifted closer to try and offer some comfort, and Hunter took the invitation.

Although his mind was starting to go blissfully foggy as the medication worked its magic, Hunter’s heart felt as if it were racing. For months, he’d played his cards close to his chest, quietly admiring you, enduring the teasing from his brothers whenever they noticed his gaze lingering on you, and yet now he was sharing a bed with you.

As you shifted towards him, laying on your back, he scooted in and closed the gap between you. Carefully, he slid an arm around your middle, fingers finding your waist as he pressed against you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Nose pressed to your throat, he inhaled deeply, his overworked senses relaxing as he was surrounded by nothing but you – your scent, your heartbeat, the rise and fall of your torso with every breath you took.

Your hand found its way to his hair, fingers smoothing through the brown curls, nails dragging lightly over his scalp. The tension in his muscles gradually gave way to relaxation, and, in the darkness, the worries that had weighed on Hunter’s shoulders dissipated, replaced by the comforting warmth of your presence.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content in the quiet. Hunter’s breathing evened out, signalling that the pain and stress were finally loosening their grip on him. “Need anything?” You whispered, breaking the silence.

A low, almost content hum vibrated against your neck as Hunter nuzzled closer. “No, ’m good.” He admitted, the words muffled against your skin. “Thanks to you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Anytime, H.” As the storm outside began to calm down, you found yourself lost in thought again. The war raged on, and the future remained uncertain. “I worry about you.” You confessed, your fingers still moving through his hair. “The constant missions, the danger you face, the weight on your shoulders. It’s a lot.”

Hunter lifted his head slightly to meet your gaze in the dim light. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, were hazy and soft. “Worry about you too. But we’ve got each other.” Hunter’s words were slower than usual as he struggled to piece them together through the brain fog.

You could only nod in response as Hunter dipped his head back down, pressing his face back to where it had been before. “Smell good.” He mumbled, uncaring in the moment to censor himself.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever received that compliment before. But thank you.” Amusement curled through your words.

“Appreciate you. Can rely on you.” Hunter continued, unable to stop the honest words from coming out, his voice a mere murmur against your skin. He shifted, his arm tightening around you. The medication was working in full force, but he fought against it a little longer. “Need to say something.” He whispered.

Tilting your head to look at him, the dim glow revealed the faint outline of his face as he pressed his nose to your pulse point. “What is it?” You asked, curiosity lacing your words.

Hunter didn’t want to make things awkward or weird, but at the same time, he didn’t want to keep hiding things from you. And now felt as good a time as any to come clean. “I care about you. A lot.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and that earlier warmth in your body grew hotter. Hunter’s admission hung in the air.

Hunter shifted again, focusing on your delicate scent and the slightly quickened thud of your heart. His fingers on your waist started to rub soft, clumsy circles. “Think I’m in love with you.” Nervousness rolled through him. “Didn’t plan on sayin’ it like this, but I can’t keep pretendin'.” Pushing the words out took monumental effort, but he wouldn’t let sleep pull him under until he’d said his piece.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, and a sense of rightness filtered through you. “You mean you didn't plan on saying it while heavily medicated?” You couldn’t help but tease, your voice soft but steady. Hunter’s low grunt of agreement, his warm breath fanning across your skin, drew a smile from you. “You should know you’re not alone in feeling that way.” You confessed quietly, figuring it only fair that you also laid your cards on the table.

Delight bloomed in Hunter’s chest, and he inhaled deeply, his grip on you tightening. “You mean...?”

“Yeah.” You confirmed as your hand moved, fingers trailing across the darkened half of his face.

Contentment washed over him, his earlier nervousness chased away by your words and soft actions. “Wanna kiss you.” He admitted.

You felt a smile play on your lips, matching the warmth in your chest. “That can be arranged.” You whispered, leaning in as you closed the small gap between you.

Hunter’s lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss. His hand slid from your waist, sweeping up your body to cup your face as he deepened the kiss, lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency. In that moment, nothing else mattered - no worries or fears, no past or future. There was only the two of you.

Hunter’s eyes met yours in the dim light as you both pulled away. “Get some rest.” You murmured, concerned by the fatigue you could see on his face. While it was sweet that he’d fought against it to share his feelings, he needed to rest. “We can figure everything out tomorrow.”

Hunter nodded, finally giving in to the tiredness as he settled against you. The pain that had etched lines on his face had begun to fade, his shoulders dropping as tension eased. With a sense of newfound comfort, he closed his eyes, safe and content with you, and allowed the soft rhythm of the rain and the steady beating of your heart to lull him into a much-needed sleep.

[geonwooz]

♡ ARGUMENTS WITH HONG WOOJIN + KIM GUNWOO

bf!woojin + bf!gunwoo x reader | wc : 0.9k words | content : possible grammar and spelling mistakes, lowercase intended, major angst, established relationship, mentions of arguments, mentions of food, swearing, crying | request : hello. i was wondering if you could write something about an argument with hong woojin. maybe a headcanon or a scenario, whichever you prefer. thanks ^^ + your writing is so good 😭😭😭 please do how they would react to getting in a argument for the first time!!! have a nice dayyyy

“baby, i’m home! i’m sorry i was late. gunwoo was hungry, so we went–”

woojin’s words fizzled out, a string of curses leaving his lips ever-so-softly as his gaze landed on the dining table.

his favorite foods were prettily plated, practically covering the table with how much food there was.

the cinnamon-scented candles he loved were lit across the room, making his heart melt because he knew how much you didn’t like them but still used them for him.

the curses only continued when his eyes fell on you, seeing the way you had fallen asleep while waiting for him.

you wore one of his hoodies over the red dress he bought for you, having opted for comfort to huddle on the sofa while you waited for his arrival.

his heart fell as he saw the tear stains on your face, realising you had cried. i’m fucking stupid. what have i done? he wondered as he looked at you, not knowing what to do.

broken between waking you up and carrying you to bed, woojin chose the former, not wanting you to go to bed without eating anything.

“y/n, my love...” he softly called, pulling you out of your drowsy state. “hey–”

your gaze set into a glare as you saw your boyfriend, shaking his hand off you.

your attempt to hide away in your room failed when woojin held onto your arm, pulling you closer to him.

“let me go.” your voice was barely audible, afraid it’d crack if you were to yell. “i want to be alone right now, woojin.”

“i-i know i messed up, babe.” he sighed, dragging his hands over his face. “i’m really sorry, and i promise i’ll make it up to you. let’s have dinner and talk, okay? please–”

you pulled your hand away from his grasp, twisting it free. “i’m tired of your apologies, woojin. every single time, it’s the same story. you forget, you apologise, and you expect me to forgive you,” you cried, the tears running down your face.

woojin stayed quiet, not knowing how to make things right. it was true. he was always forgetful of things, and it affected your relationship at times. he took a deep breath, seeing the way you cried harder at his silence.

“i went to my graduation alone. i went to your aunt’s restaurant's opening alone. you stood me up on our dates several times. it was just me doing things couples do for half of our relationship, and i never said anything!”

“y/n, truly, i am–”

“don't say you are sorry if you don't mean it, woojin.” you shook your head. “because if you really cared, you would've remembered that today was our three-year anniversary.”

you wiped away your tears, taking a deep breath before turning on your heel. you walked to your room, shutting the door behind you so you could break down in peace.

woojin sat outside, leaning against the door. he felt his heart break as he heard your pained sobs, realizing he fucked up majorly this time around.

even though he knew he didn't deserve someone as caring and patient as you, hong woojin wasn't going to stop until he did everything in his power to gain your trust back again.

“jagiya, seriously. it’s nothing. don’t worry about it, okay? i’m fine.”

gunwoo assured, knowing he was going to have a hard time convincing you with his words as he saw your frown.

you crossed your arms over your chest, taking a deep breath. “it’s not boxing season, woo. bruises i can brush off, but those cuts i cannot. what’s going on?” you asked, trying your best not to raise your voice.

“don’t worry about it, really, jagiya. please.”

“fine. if you won’t answer my questions, then i won’t ask any.”

gunwoo’s brows furrowed, skeptical of your sudden change in response. he waited for you to continue, but you simply walked away, leaving him even more confused.

he didn’t want to leave you in the dark like this. he really didn’t.

but when president choi made him promise not to tell you anything, especially considering you were his granddaughter, gunwoo really had no choice but to keep quiet about his work.

as he stood in the middle of the room, occupied by his thoughts, gunwoo was pulled out of his trance when you walked out of your room, pulling along with you a suitcase.

“jagiya, what’s this?” his voice was an octave lower, brows raised as he looked between you and your luggage. “you aren’t really leaving, are you?”

you kept quiet, not even having the courage to look at his face. you knew you’d crumble down into tears the second you saw his face, and it’d definitely result in both of you crying.

“y/n … please. talk to me.”

“if you aren’t answering my questions, kim gunwoo-ssi,” you stated, making him wince at how you used his full name. “i don’t think i’d have to answer yours either.”

gunwoo watched you walk out of your shared apartment, tears filling his eyes as he fisted his hands by his side.

he wanted to run after you; he wanted to tell you the truth; he wanted you to stay.

but the reason he was hiding everything from you was for your own safety. he promised your grandfather he’d keep you safe no matter what.

and if keeping you safe meant letting you go, kim gunwoo would do so — even if it resulted in the two of you getting heartbroken in the process.

TAGLIST :: @missscarlettangel (TO BE ADDED, PLEASE COMMENT, SEND AN ASK OR DM!)

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Glass

Siobhan Roy x Reader

Prompt: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

thank you @honeybeawhore for requesting I love youuuu and I’m sorry it took me so long I promise I’m back on that grind now 😭

aahh we’re at 200 followers!! I’m so thankful for every single one of you, you all get forehead kisses and a hug!!! thank you for being the sweetest most supportive consumers of my work, it genuinely means the world to me that you’re all here. youre all always welcome on my blog, in my pms, and in my ask box!!! I love you all!!! happy reading, I hope you all stick around 🫶🏽

Word Count: 2.059k

Absentmindedly, you crack your knuckles, one by one. You know it’s bad for you, but you can’t help it. You’re just so damn anxious.

Shiv’s heels click on the marble flooring of her father’s townhouse. She’d recently gotten into an argument with her father, which meant by proxy, you were pulled into it. You don’t even know what half of it means, you just know it’s nasty.

There’d been only some raising of voices, no yelling. Not yet, anyway. That’s what tonight is for, you guess.

You don’t really want to be here, but your job, in your eyes, is to support Shiv. And if she needs you with her tonight, she needs you with her tonight. You aren’t going to let her do this alone. You’ll never let her do anything alone. She’s the love of your life, your the love of hers.

“God, he can’t fucking show up to dinner at his own house on time?” she asks quietly, the continuous click clack click clacking of her heels strangely soothing, the noises echoing off of the high ceilings.

“Come on, Shiv, sit down. Take a breath,” you say softly, scooting over on the sofa. She doesn’t respond, but sits herself down next to you anyway. She sits close enough to you that your hips are touching, her body leaning into yours. You kiss her cheek in an attempt to soothe her. “I’m here with you. Don’t worry.”

She kisses the side of your temple in return, her body a bit less tense. “What would I do without you?” she asks, her breath temporarily warming your skin before slipping away into the air.

“I don’t know. Die?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

The two of you stay like that, pressed flush against each other, until you hear Marcia’s voice from up the hall.

“Oh, my goodness, we are so sorry…” She smooths her hair down as she enters the room. “Your father is ready for you, Siobhan. I apologize that we are so late.”

Your girlfriend makes a subtle face at you before getting to her feet. You take her hand, following her, and her fingers lace comfortably with yours. “So, you’re changing up the place?” Shiv asks, eyes snagging on a tapestry hanging off of the wall. Paintings litter the floors, as well as cardboard boxes, buckets of paint, and several other sorts of decoration.

“Ah, yes. Out with the old, in with the new, as they say,” Marcia responds. “I quite adore art from the Renaissance.”

You and Shiv say nothing the rest of the way to the dining room. Even after you murmur terse hellos to her father, you’re gripping each other’s hands. She doesn’t really eat anything- she just picks at her food, to your dismay. You try coaxing a few spoonfuls into her mouth, nudging her every so often to eat. She only takes a few bites, staring down into her plate. You can practically see her thoughts bouncing around in her head.

She’s stressing over something, you just don’t know what. And it’s killing you.

“So, Siobhan. How’s the current campaign going?” Logan asks, voice devoid of any emotion.

“Fine, Dad,” she says back stiffly. “I’m not dropping Eavis for you. We’ve been over this.”

The clattering of silverware is all you hear until dinner ends. “Well, Siobhan, time for us to go speak? Hash this out?” Marcia, as if on cue, gets up and silently leaves the room. Logan throws you a passive glance.

“No. She’s sitting in.” Shiv gets to her feet, bracing her hand on her shoulder to help her get up. There’s a minuscule tremor in her gait, and now you’re worried. “Come. You’re coming with us.”

You quickly get up, following her and her father into his home office.

“I don’t see what professional input she could have,” Logan intones, dropping himself unceremoniously into his leather chair. “But I don’t see why not.” There’s already a whiskey glass on his desk, and he turns to choose a bottle of something from the shelves behind him. He pours, his attention entirely on the amber liquid filling his glass. He fills it all the way to the rim.

“I don’t think you should be drinking, Dad,” Shiv says quietly. “You just got out of the hospital. You shouldn’t be stressing your liver.”

“Tch, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” he quips back, voice suddenly gruff and harsh. Shiv doesn’t even flinch. He knocks back a few gulps, his daughter eyeing him cautiously. “Get on with it, then. Why have we all gathered for her Royal Highness?”

She presses her lips together into a thin line. “Because, Dad, I’m done with Waystar. I’m done fucking around. Are you going to give me the company, or not? Or did you only ever say those things just to get me to work for you?”

“You’ll get briefed when you get briefed, Pinky. Kendall and Roman just have some business to sort through before we let you in to everything.” Another sip.

“Okay, but you say that every time. Kendall and Roman are always doing something. There’s always business that you refuse to clue me in on. So clue me in. Just tell me what they’re doing, whatever it is that’s holding you back so much.”

“It’s nothing that concerns you.” His glass is halfway empty now.

“How does it not concern me when I’m supposed to run the company?” She laughs incredulously. “If you want me working for Waystar, just say so. You don’t have to lie and bait me like I’m a fucking fish.”

“I think that’s enough talking for the night,” he murmurs, tone laced with warning. He downs the rest of his glass, not bothering to look up.

“So I’m right? God, Dad, I thought you were fucking trying for once-”

“Siobhan, enough,” he says, louder, but she pushes on.

“-and I thought maybe, just maybe, you’d DO something for once, you’d help ME out-”

“Siobhan…” His fingers tighten around his whiskey glass, red seeping onto his face. You should intervene, you should say something, but you can’t, there’s no time, there’s no space.

“-but no. It’s all about Kendall, it’s all about Roman. You don’t think of anybody but yourself-”

“ENOUGH!” he shouts suddenly, smashing his glass down onto his desk. Glass goes flying in every direction, and you were stupid enough to sit in the cushioned seat pressed right up against his desk. A shard soars right into the skin of your cheek, digging into you. A smattering of glass clatters to the floor at your feet, some sprinkling into your lap. Your hands fly to the wound, and you stagger out of your seat. Shiv’s immediately at your side, her arms coming around you. She pulls you protectively to her side, face contorted in anger.

“ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?” she yells back. They aren’t tiptoeing around things anymore. You think your ear drums are going to burst.

“Siobhan, you are a danger to our family. To the company! I cannot let you gallivant around D.C., bestowing political power on whoever you see fit. You’re fucking me, and I’ve had enough!” He punctuates his last three words with a fist slammed onto his desk at each one.

“So I was right! You’re being fucking ridiculous!” She tugs you behind her, shielding you with her. The glass embedded in your face is beginning to throb. You don’t know how you got here. “Do you not fucking think? Even if that entire thing was real, I wouldn’t do it. I’m not taking that stupid fucking job- or any job you offer me. Enough is enough,” she spits out, throwing the words back into his face. “Don’t expect me back. Don’t ask me for anything, don’t text me, call me, don’t ever look at me again.”

Shiv ushers you out of the office, Logan’s obscenities barely following you out into the hall. You want to say anything, but you can’t. When you open your mouth, nothing comes out. All you can think about is the numbing of your face. She pulls you into the bathroom and locks the door behind you both. She retrieves a hand towel from under she sink and sits you down on the lidded toilet. She slides into your lap, cupping your jaw with one hand. Every movement is careful, affectionate, loving.

“Fuck, baby, how’d this even happen?” she asks under her breath. She plucks the glass away from your skin, making a face at the gush of blood the movement elicits. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have come.” You wince as the drags a cool, wet cloth over the wound, the pressure making you a bit dizzy. The beginnings of a whimper fight their way out of your throat despite your efforts to hold them back. “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” She peppers kisses over your face, trying to chase the dazed look off of your face.

“I’m the one who should be saying sorry,” you mutter, earning a pause in kisses and dirty look from her. “I could’ve at least said something. I should’ve.”

“No. Absolutely not. My father is my responsibility,” she tells you. “Besides, I don’t want you hurt. It could’ve been worse. I’m so glad it isn’t.”

From the things she’s told you, you know she’s right. You can only imagine what her childhood was like. You just want to whisk her away and keep her all to yourself, safe in sound, snuggled up against you in bed.

“Can we go home?” you ask meekly, a bit embarrassed. The glass hadn’t cut deep- the initial shock and adrenaline made it hurt and feel worse than it actually is. You wipe absently at the gash. Only a little blood comes back on your hand.

“God, I’m sorry. Let’s go.” She slides off of your lap, taking your hand as she opens the door. The two of you hurry from the townhouse before anyone can notice. Shiv grips at your hand tightly. You know the conversation still isn’t sitting well; hell, how could you blame her?

“I’m sorry it has to be that way,” you say quietly, the soft droning of the car engine comforting you.

She heaves a sigh, keeping her eyes trained on the road. “Yeah. Me too.”

Once you’re home, and the front door’s shut, you pull her into a tight hug. “I’m being serious, Siobhan,” you murmur when you pull away. “If I can do something to help, I want to help. We can move away. We can go live in D.C. like you’ve wanted to.”

Her hands come to your face, cupping, taking your jaw. Her thumbs move up and down, up and down, up and down. “That won’t fix the issue,” she admits, “but it sounds nice.”

“What’s the issue? I want to fix it,” you say, trying to be persuasive. You do want to help, you really do.

“You’re sweet,” she says softly, eyes wrinkling with affection. “It’s just no matter how badly I want my dad to, you know, be my dad, he just won’t.”

“I know I can’t ever fill in that void,” you reply, interrupting yourself by planting a quick kiss on her lips, “but I’ll always be here for you. Now and forever in the future.”

“And me for you. I’m so grateful I have you,” she says, her voice cracking with emotion. You turn your head enough for you to be able to press a kiss to her palm. “And just so you know, I’m never letting Dad near you again. God, I can’t believe it. What if the glass had been bigger? What if he’d thrown it?”

“He didn’t, so we don’t need to think about it.” You tuck a bit of her hair back behind her ear. “How about we just watch a movie? Forget about everything?”

She kisses you. “I’ll get the Klondike bars.”

You’ve never been happier: her thighs flush against yours, her head tucked under yours, your arm hooked around her waist. You palm the plush of her thighs, delirious on your love for her.

You’d both changed into pajamas, your shoulders now bare. She shifts so that her cheek is pressed to your shoulder, and over the course of the night, her lips press absentmindedly to your skin. Over, and over, and over.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

your fav kamado siblings and giyuu anon here! ill sign off w a purple heart from now on haha 💜

i have another request! setting and context up to you, just giving you some tags!

hurt/comfort (giyuu gets the comfort), fluff, nightmares, literal sleeping together! :) im sorry cant stop thinking about those three 💜

yaay ! ooh okay, purple anon then <3 (i took so long to write this that i js realized it prolly seemed random to any1 else that youre 💜 anon 😭 IM SORRY) it's nice to see you again :D and of course :O i'll do my best cw! nightmares?? idk just a little panicky at the beginning featuring giyuu and his forcefully adopted siblings, and no particular timeline lmfao... also this is short argh

It must be strange for a Hashira to get nightmares. But then again, they had all faced so many horrors, it would be even more pecuilar if they didn't experience them. Even so, Giyuu felt childish. Waking up in a pool of cold sweat, mind racing with the flashes of blood and deattached limbs strewn about. His chest heaved as he desperately drew in air, trying to catch his breath. He pressed a hand to his fast-beating heart, pushing gently, trying to control it. He hated it. He hated the nights when he was given a break from his duties to rest. It seemed to always end up like this.

As he slowly lowered himself back down, his dream came back to him in full force and replayed in his mind, no matter how much he tried to force it away. Panic rose in him again and he shot back up, almost toppling out of the bed, his arm hitting the wooden floor loudly. He flinched, though he was glad for it as it distracted his thoughts from his dream and he focused on making sure he hadn't broken his wrist (which, of course, he hadn't, but it was a better thought than the ones that threatened to take over).

There was a pattering of footsteps and he tensed, hand straying to the katana that sat by his futon. Then Tanjiro and Nezuko entered the room and he relaxed slightly. He had nearly forgotten.

They were staying over at his house tonight, having been too far from any Wisteria Houses after Tanjiro's mission. They must've heard Giyuu's distress because now they were all bunched up under his blanket, snuggling closer to him. Giyuu decided to let them stay, finding the warmth of their presence comforting.

"Are you okay, Giyuu-san?" Tanjiro asked quietly, after everyone had adjusted.

Giyuu nodded slowly. "Ye-ep," he mumbled, internally slapping himself at the crack in his voice.

"We heard you fall, or something, and got worried. Also it was dreadfully cold alone," Tanjiro hummed, scooting closer and wrapping his arms tightly around Giyuu without a care in the world.

Momentarily, Giyuu tensed, unsure how to take this sudden bit of affection. Yes, they had abruptly slipped into his bed, but he wasn't used to this, it had been so long. He didn't even realize he was crying until Nezuko's sillhouette appeared above him as she gazed at him, eyes tense with worry and scrubbing at his cheeks with the sleeve of her kimono. Giyuu flushed, embarrassed. In his shock, he must've let down his guard. God, he had to pull himself together!

Tanjiro, noticing now, tightened the embrace, burying his head in Giyuu's chest. "Don't cry, Giyuu-san. Do you want me to sing you a song? I used to sing lullabies for my younger siblings," he said, his words muffled by fabric.

Giyuu gave a start. A lullaby? "No... No, I'm okay," he said, voice thick. He cleared his throat several times, tugging Nezuko back down and wrapping and arm around her almost protectively. "It's okay."

Tanjiro's head popped back up to look at him. "You sure? It's not bothering us, if that's what-"

"No," Giyuu repeated, nudging him back down. "I'm fine. I'm sorry."

Tanjiro frowned slightly but settled back under the covers. "Okay. Did something happen earlier? Or did you just hit something?" he asked, after a moment of silence.

"I had a... dream. And I sat up too quickly and... yeah," Giyuu said, trailing off. He didn't really want Tanjiro to know him in his weak moments. This was embarrassing enough.

"Was it a nightmare?" Tanjiro asked.

Giyuu hesitated before answering. Tanjiro didn't sound mocking, at least. Well, yeah, he was Tanjiro... but still. "You can call it that, I suppose," he mumbled, tucking his chin down to his chest.

Nezuko, who had fallen asleep at some point, nuzzled closer, her form shrinking slightly and fitting into Giyuu's arm like a little bundle. A smile softened Giyuu's lips, though nobody could see it, and he held her close, wishing he had met the Kamados in any other circumstance.

"It's okay to have nightmares," Tanjiro said quietly, as if sensing Giyuu's reluctance. "I have them too, sometimes. Everyone has them and being a Demon Slayer basically guarantees nightmares—it's like it comes as part of the job. So don't feel bad!"

Giyuu mulled on this. It was probably true. Nevertheless, he still felt like shit about it. If he was a so-called Hashira, shouldn't he be able to fend off something as stupid as nightmares?

"Okay," he said anyway, wanting to please Tanjiro. he paused, a thought occurring to him. "How often do you have them?"

Tanjiro shifted, not answering for a minute. "It's not really... consistent? They just come and go," he said quietly, reaching over Giyuu to cup Nezuko's hand in his own.

"Oh." Giyuu glanced down. Tanjiro's eyes were closed but he was still awake, slowly tilting to the edge of sleep. "If you... want to talk about them? You can come to me. If you want."

Tanjiro's eyes opened by a breath and he smiled at Giyuu's vague direction. "Thank you, Giyuu-san. You can talk to me too. About anything," he murmured, closing his eyes again.

Giyuu lifted his hand, running it through Tanjiro's short hair. "Okay," he said again, closing his own eyes and resting back against the pillow.

Their quiet breaths became the only sound in the tranquility of the room, slowly pacing into sleep. This would become almost a habit, talking quietly to one another when Tanjiro visited until the conversation lulled into a gentle slumber—the warmth of other presence comforting them until they could finally relax.

I'm so bad at endings, it's not even funny anymore

[goosewriting]

I've been thinking about the 7th scenario with Donnie but it's the reader the one that protected him (preferably if it takes place during the first shredder fight) and they manage to mutter the 36 pink prompt before passing out, and Donnie says the 3th purple prompt? (Don't worry they'll live, they're just gonna need some time to heal 😭)

Protect you (rottmnt Donnie x reader)

scenario 7: Shielding the other with their body to save/protect them. prompt 3: “Wake up. You have to wake up. Please. For me.” prompt 36: “I will never stop fighting for you. I will never stop protecting you.”

summary: reader shields Donnie with their body to protect him.

relationship: Rise!Donnie x GN reader

warnings: mentions of injuries, blood mention, reader gets flung around, happy ending 

word count: ~950

A/N: i couldn’t figure out how to place this in the shredder fight so it’s just a generic fight! :’) hang in there reader 🩹

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — — 

It all had happened so fast that Donnie was almost unable to process what was going on. One moment they were fighting an enemy as a team, the next you were thrown back like a ragdoll.

You were never meant to be a part of this fight. Regret and guilt fell over him, weighing him down on the spot, where he remained frozen for a split second as he watched your unmoving body lying on the ground at an awkward angle. 

Like a bolt running through him that startled him awake, the turtle heard himself calling your name, and he came running to you. Crouching down next to you, he held onto his bō staff planted on the ground for balance; he had also gotten quite a beating, just like his brothers. His legs felt like they were about to give out any moment, even more now that he saw you in this state. His other hand shakily reached out to wipe some dirt off your cheek, and his touch lingered. 

There was a nasty gash on your arm, a trail of blood trickled down from your temple and any visible skin was scratched and bruised. Your brow was furrowed, your face contorted in an almost comical grimace, trying to bite back the pain to give him a weak smile. Given the worried, almost desperate look in his eyes, you assumed you looked just as bad as you felt. 

Somewhere in the background you could hear the other turtles fighting, there was some metal clashing, grunts and yells. And as your eyes finally focused on Donnie’s face, you saw something moving from behind him. There were several big pieces of debris flying in your direction.

“Watch out!” you yelled hoarsely, and your body reacted faster than your mind. Grabbing Donnie by the shoulders, you pulled him to the side, rolling him over and climbing on top of him all in the same motion, so that your back was now shielding him. Immediately after your change in position you felt the debris hitting you and you couldn't help the yelp that escaped your lips. The impact pushed you even further down into the turtles’ chest, your arms doing their darndest to keep you up. But they gave out not a moment too soon, and you collapsed on top of Donnie. 

He called your name again, right from under you, but to your ears it sounded like it was far away. You felt him turn you around to pull your upper body into his lap, and everything was spinning around you. 

“Why did you do that?!” Donnie reprimanded you, voice laced with anger, worry, and everything in between. He quickly looked over your injuries and it didn’t take a doctor to see that you were badly hurt and needed medical attention ASAP. 

Wiping away the blood from your face, he searched your eyes, which were struggling to focus and starting to fall closed.

“No, no, no…! Please say something” he pleaded, voice cracking, his tears running down his cheeks and dripping from his chin onto your chest. “Why would you do that… I’m the one supposed to be protecting you!”

Using the last of your strength, you reached up with your trembling hand and wiped away his tears.

“I will never stop fighting for you” you said, and inhaled sharply at the pain in your chest when you spoke. “I will never stop protecting you.”

Your hand fell back down over your stomach, limp, and Donnie felt your body start to weigh down on him as you lost your conscience.

“Hey, no. Wake up” he patted your cheek repeatedly, choking back a sob. “You have to wake up. Please. For me.”

The last thing you heard was your name being called repeatedly, and then everything faded to black, the void calling to you with the promise of stopping the pain, and you had no strength left in you to fight back.

— — —

When you woke up, you noticed two things: your surroundings had a purplish tint to them, and every single part of your body ached like you had never felt before. 

Once your eyes got used to the light, you looked around and realised you were lying on a makeshift hospital bed in Donnie’s lab. Your gaze wandered further to the side and you saw him sitting next to your bed on a chair, with his head on his arms, which were crossed on the little space available beside you. He was facing away from you, but holding your hand in his. You observed him for a moment, watching his uncovered shell rise and fall with his breaths.

You tried to sit up but grunted at the sharp pain that shot from the base of your back to the nape of your neck, so you limited yourself to squeeze his hand.

Donnie’s head shot up when he heard you, and that’s when you saw his arm was bandaged just like yours. He wasn’t wearing his mask, which was a rare sight, but allowed you to see he had a cut on his forehead. You let go of his hand to carefully graze over the gauze-covered cut with your knuckles, then cupped his face.

“You’re hurt” you croaked out.

The turtle scoffed and took your hand back in both of his.

“Stop worrying about me” he said, and it almost sounded like he was scolding you, but then his voice went so soft you almost didn’t hear him. “It was you who almost died out there.”

You gave him your best apologetic smile, closing your eyes and leaning back into the pillow to relish in the knowledge that he was safe now.

“I already told you: I’ll never stop protecting you.”

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @hearteyedracoon, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @lovelylovelydreams, @o0-starboy-0o

[huckleberrykai]

hueningkai ~ video games

pairing: gamer bf!hyuka x sanrio gf!reader summary: ... idk what this is tbh i haven't slept in 26 hours and i'm obsessed w this trope soz THANKS MOON I HAVE SEVERE BRAINROT - gamer bf kai headcanons bcs idk how to write something proper rn but i must get thoughts out !!! texts too?? idk i blacked out this is probably bad i'm going to sleep now LOL warnings: NSFW ! minors dni i will block u <3 all links go to Pinterest lol. very much not proofread at all click here for my masterlist!

gamer bf!kai who just loves how cute you are, sharing his love of plushies and video games you're a match made in heaven >///<

kai who buys you soooo many of those little sanrio pajamas, thinking you look so cute and sexy :( soft tummy on show for him to kiss and cuddle while he toys with the soft fabric, pulling your shorts to the side~~ keep it on.. please?

just buys you a new one when he ruins it with cum stains <3

kai who loves his lil sanrio gf so much :( so sweet but so secretly dirty. he buys you so many cute plushies of your favourite characters bcs he just loves u so much <3 loves it even more when he gets pictures and videos of you in the middle of the day, desperately humping the plushies he bought u, endlessly complaining they didn't feel as good as him >///<

he has to take breaks from playing with his gaming buddies to text you back, always ending up with him in your bedroom or on the phone with you, important game be damned.

he's down so bad. ur both simps. it's probably impossible to pull u apart once ur together tbh. kai who gets in trouble all the time for spending time at your house, having sleepovers bcs he's obsessed with your big comfy bed and adorably decorated room ~ finally having you all to himself as long as you don't count the plushies watching you get railed from the end of the bed bcs u forgot to turn them around >.<.

kai who likes to communicate with his fav girl through silly Sanrio memes, all your texts having so many djksalsk~

kai who gets bullied by his members whenever they see your texts over his shoulder~ stupid memes and tooth-rotting sweetness that make them pucker their faces in disgust jokingly, but really they're happy he found someone so sweet and well matched, even if you can't seem to keep your hands off each other.

gamer bf!kai who insists you should live together so you can have a shared gaming room. lets be real tho you'd barely end up sitting in your own chair, having a few minutes to yourself before kai plucks you away from playing the sims and plops you in his own lap. he needs his good luck charm, you wouldn't deprive him of a win would you?~

needy bf kai who can't keep quiet when you squirm around in his lap~ his friends blissfully unaware of his cute gf wiggling in his lap for attention. he'd played too many rounds and you were starting to get needy, and kai's so soft for you he can never say no :((

OMG OMG COCKWARMING trying to be quiet while kai tries to keep his hands steady on his controller and voice steady through the mic, gently pulling your matching pjs down and watching you slide down on him trying to get some much-needed relief. His voice was cracking, and when you started moving against him, dropping kisses against the pretty mole on his neck he had to quit, saying he was feeling sick or something. they def knew what was going on. it's happened before, it'll happen again 😭

and big sweet bf kai, manhandling you into bed and fucking you so well. He won't stop until you're seeing stars~ hands clutched around a hello kitty plush he'd given you with your hair sprawled out on the pillow. his sweet sanrio loving princess <3

nsfw taglist: @subbyjvnnie @mazeinthemoon @n0-thisispatrick @banggyu0308 @majestyjun @bibibinnie @beom-pyu

[alaydabug2]

Totally didn't sob as I wrote this

Nope nope nope 😭

*inspired by song*

(Sophie POV)

Sophie frantically searched through the fields with her friends. The battle was over. The Neverseen was defeated. But Keefe was still nowhere to be found.

Giselle was dead, Gethen, and the others were captured. Where was Keefe? He had to be somewhere! When she heard a pitiful moan, her heart dropped.

"KEEFE!" She yelled, running towards the noise. "KEEFE! WHERE ARE YOU?"

Her worst fear was confirmed when she crested over a hill. Keefe in a pool of blood. She could see the side of his shirt where he was stabbed.

She got on her knees beside him, applying pressure to the wound. "Guys, he's over here!" She called to her friends.

She met his exhausted eyes. "Hey. Come on, you need to stay awake for me. We can still get you to Elwin!"

She moved to go pick him up, but he stopped her. He took in a ragged breath before shaking his head.

"It's... it's not going to help. Too deep," Keefe rasped.

"Of course it'll help!" Please," she begged. "You can't die! The Neverseen is gone. You can't die now!"

He gave a weak smile. "Good. Then you'll all be safe now." It quickly faded, though. "Will you stay with me? Please?" He asked as their friends joined them. "I don't want to be alone," his voice broke.

Sophie pulled him in her lap. "Of course."

She pressed her forehead to his as tears fell down her face. Their friends crowded them, taking in the scene in stunned silence.

Several minutes passed, Keefe growing weaker, before his horse voice whispered, "I love you, Sophie. I'd always swore I would until the day I die. I just never thought..." His voice trailed off as his gaze fell to their intertwined hands, pressed against the wound.

She let out a sob. "I'll always love you, Keefe. I can swear to you that."

She gently kissed him, hand lingering on his cheek. When they pulled away, Keefe let his eyes flutter closed, exhaling a slow, seemingly content, breath. He never took another.

(Three months later)

Sophie wound through the path she'd become accustomed to taking through the wandering woods. She stopped at a pale sapling.

Its leaves we're a pastel yellow in color, growing in direction of no rhyme or reason. The small buds of flowers were ice blue. They hadn't bloomed yet, but it was apparent a few would soon. The little wanderling didn't grow in the correct direction. It was, however, growing sideways, tilting to one side.

Sophie slid onto the ground next to it. She clutched a small stuffed gulon in her hands.

"Hey, Keefe," she whispered. "It's official, they've gotten statues of all of us up in Enternalia. They did a dedication ceremony for it. Everyone seemed really impressed." She chuckled a little. "If you were there, your ego would've gotten about twenty times bigger."

She raked her fingers through the dirt near the root of his tree. "Speaking of which. The council talked about you. A bit of a mini memorial of sorts, I suppose. They said that despite you being the son of a Neverseen leader, you died a hero. You helped save everyone."

She eased herself to lay on the dirt beside him. She curled her knees into her chest, her green dress fanning around her.

"And they're right," Sophie's voice cracked. She waited a second before saying, "I'm so proud of you. You did so well during that battle. No one ever got to tell you, but thank you. For your sacrifice. For being you. Being amazing." She sniffled. "Being my friend. Being more.... You deserved so much better than this."

She hadn't slept in what felt like days. It was too much. The nightmares were overwhelming. Horrific scenes replayed over and over in her mind whenever she closed her eyes.

But for some reason, with the rustling of leaves, the tickling of wind, and her grip on Mrs. Stinkbottom, she felt her eyes growing heavy. A sense of comfort washed over her, almost like Keefe was still beside her. The wind seemed to be sending her calming blue breezes.

She closed her eyes, falling asleep. She didn't have a single nightmare.

(Twenty years later)

Sophie sat against the trunk of Keefe's wanderling.

"Hey, I'm back," she murmured. "Sorry I haven't visited in a bit. Life's been a little hectic."

She blew the hair out of her face before gathering it in a ponytail. She stared up at the beautiful blossoming flowers.

"Dex and Biana just had a baby. He's the sweetest thing in the world. His name is Dennis. They wanted him to have a more human-ish sounding name to break the norm." She chuckled. "Well... that's his first name, at least. His full name is Dennis Keefe Dizznee."

Sophie had to wipe her eyes. "They wanted to honor you. I think it fits pretty well, actually. You can already tell he's going to be a little troublemaker. He keeps trying to hide his binky. You'd be pround."

She sat it the quiet for a while, drinking in the sereneness.

Eventually, she whispered, "You would've made a great dad. Despite your own parents, you would have. I have zero doubt about it."

Instead, he was six feet under. Sophie's heart felt heavy. Every time when she thought she might finally be able to move on...

"I'll just have to tell Dex and Biana's kids about you," she decided. "They'll love your funny antics. I just wish they'd have been able to meet you."

She rested her head against his tree and closed her eyes. "I love you."

(One hundred years later)

"The humans are being reinstated as an intelligent species!" Sophie exclaimed.

"Amy's great grand daughter is the representative for humans. She's an awesome spokesperson. I just wish... that Amy could still be here to see everything come together. She died a few decades ago."

She glanced up at the yellow leaves swishing in the breeze. "But, I guess you already know that, don't you?"

She smudged away a few of her tears. "Tell her I love her, will you? And I miss her. I miss the both of you."

Now that she was thinking about it... "Are you with Calla up there, too?" She gave a shaky smile. "I hope so. Have some of her Starkflower stew with her for me. What about Forkle? And Kenric? Let them know everything is ok down here. Everything they sacrificed paid off. Things are slowly getting better."

(Two thousand years later)

Sophie brushed her hand against the pale tree bark. She gave a gentle smile.

"Hey Keefe, guess what? I was just enstated as councilor. Oralie stepped down, and I was nominated. I accepted."

She tucked her hair behind one of her pointed ears. "I'm going to try and put a few laws into place for you. It's so no other kids have to deal with what you had to with your parents. The meeting for it will be on Thursday. I've got high hopes for it. I also plan on finding a better matchmaking system."

Shr kicked the dirt. "I still haven't figured out who my father is. I don't plan to keep looking. I haven't in a while. I have no reason for matchmaking anymore. Well... I haven't in a few thousand years, I suppose," she chuckled.

"I know you would've been ok with me finding someone else, but... it doesn't feel right. It wouldn't be fair. For either me, or them. I know I wouldn't be able to fully love someone again, and they should deserve my full heart. But I just can't. At least not like I love you.

She pressed her forehead against the trunk. "When I gave you that promise, I meant it. I'm always going to love you. No matter what."

The blue breezes in the air picked up, wrapping around Sophie it what felt to be a hug. She hadn't felt that physically close to Keefe in a few millennia. Now, it felt like he was right there.

The wind seemed to whisper in her ear. She could've sworn she heard words in it.

'I love you too, Foster.'

Sophie smiled and closed her eyes. She knew he would always be with her. She knew he was there protecting her and taking care of her. He would always be a part of her.

[fantastic-nonsense]

What are five of your favourite Grishaverse quotes? Send this ask to 5 of your favourite grishaverse blogs!

Thank you so much for sending this, and sorry it took me such a long time to get to it 😭

Choosing was super hard because there are so many insanely good quotes in the books and I love several of them for very different reasons, but I'll try and give it a go anyways. So: five of my favorite Six of Crows quotes (because I still haven't read the SaB trilogy), in no particular order:

Kaz and Inej, on getting back up after a fall:

Get it together, Brekker, he scolded himself harshly. It didn’t help. He was going to faint again, and this would all be over. Inej had once offered to teach him how to fall. “The trick is not getting knocked down,” he’d told her with a laugh. “No, Kaz,” she’d said, “the trick is in getting back up.” More Suli platitudes, but somehow even the memory of her voice helped. He was better than this. He had to be. Not just for Jordie, but for his crew. He’d brought these people here. He’d brought Inej here. It was his job to bring them out again. The trick is in getting back up. He kept her voice in his head, repeating those words, again and again, as he stripped off his boots, his clothes, and finally his gloves. -Ch. 22, Six of Crows

Matthias asking for mercy for monsters/the "we are all someone's monster" observation:

“Nina,” he said, hand still pressed over the smooth skin on his chest where a bullet wound should be. “Nina, please.” “You know they would not offer you mercy, Matthias.” “I know. I know. But let them live in shame instead.” She hesitated. “Nina, you taught me to be something better. They could be taught, too.” Nina shifted her gaze to his. Her eyes were ferocious, the deep green of forests; the pupils, dark wells. The air around her seemed to shimmer with power, as if she was alight with some secret flame. “They fear you as I once feared you,” he said. “As you once feared me. We are all someone’s monster, Nina.” -Ch. 41, Six of Crows

Wylan and Kaz's entire conversation about disability and vulnerability while cracking Van Eck's safe:

He thumbed quickly through the ledger and said, “When people see a cripple walking down the street, leaning on his cane, what do they feel?” Wylan looked away. People always did when Kaz talked about his limp, as if he didn’t know what he was or how the world saw him. “They feel pity. Now, what do they think when they see me coming?” Wylan’s mouth quirked up at the corner. “They think they’d better cross the street.” Kaz tossed the ledger back in the safe. “You’re not weak because you can’t read. You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are. Help me with the painting.” They lifted the portrait back into place over the gaping hole in the safe. Martin Van Eck glared down at them. “Think on it, Wylan,” Kaz said as he straightened the frame. “It’s shame that lines my pockets, shame that keeps the Barrel teeming with fools ready to put on a mask just so they can have what they want with no one the wiser for it. We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.” -Ch. 18, Crooked Kingdom

Inej vs. Dunyasha on the Church of Barter rooftop, refusing to be cowed on her own turf:

“The blood you spill is the blood of kings,” seethed Dunyasha. “You are not fit for such a gift.” Inej almost felt sorry for her. Dunyasha really believed she was the Lantsov heir, and maybe she was. But wasn’t that what every girl dreamed? That she’d wake and find herself a princess? Or blessed with magical powers and a grand destiny? Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to wring magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway. Inej raised a brow and slowly wiped the blood of kings on her trousers. -Ch. 35, Crooked Kingdom

And Inej at the harbor...hopeful, in love, and ready to take on the world with her boy and her ship:

Had she really thought the world didn’t change? She was a fool. The world was made of miracles, unexpected earthquakes, storms that came from nowhere and might reshape a continent. The boy beside her. The future before her. Anything was possible. -Ch. 44, Crooked Kingdom

[the-kr8tor]

It's my birthday in two days! So, here's a cute little Hobie HC for you💕

Despite how Hobie looks super punk, he didn't always. Especially when he was in high school. The tall, lanky 15 year old shuffled through the halls of the crowded school, thick glasses slipping down his nose every so often. Scuffed and beaten up sneakers on his feet getting stepped on buly several people as he squeezed his way through, pulling the fraying bookbag tighter on his shoulders. He scowled as he was pushed into a nearby locker, the loose button-up he was wearing snagging on the corner. Hobie, now irritated, pushes away from the locker, only to groan with irritation at the small rip he hears from the action. It's times like these where he really hates hand-me-downs.

Hobie whips a glare towards the person who pushed him, only for his mouth to drop open in shock. There you stand before him, all spikes, chains, black leather, and bright colors. The platform boots on your feet make you nearly eye level to him. Hobie can see the sincerity glimmering in your eyes, an apologetic smile on your dark, lipstick stained lips. And now your saying something, your lips moving as you look up at him. He's not sure, unable to register anything except for the fact that you look damn amazing. So unlike anyone he normally sees roaming these hallways.

Shaking his head, Hobie clears his throat, an almost nervous smile on his lips.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't quite catch that.." He says, cursing himself at the small crack of his voice. If you heard it, you don't comment on it, offering him a knowing smile.

"It's alright. Apologies for bumping into you there. I can fix your shirt up for you if you'd like."

Hobie's taken aback, again. You dress like a straight up rockstar and you're nice?? He can feel the way his heartbeat quickens in his ears. It was like he knew then and there, that you were gonna be an important part of his life. And you were. From that moment on, you two were inseparable. You were a breath of fresh air for him, going against society norms and doing your own thing. You became his beacon, his muse, his role model. And, Hobie became the same for you. You admired how he stood up for himself and his beliefs, no matter how hard things got. Hobie was smart, insanely so, and it made you admire him even more.

And when Hobie got bit by that spider, it furthered your adoration for him. Even if he denied it heavily, he was the symbol of hope for many, especially you. For all that you were to each other, it was a wonder why it took so long for him to properly make a move years later when you'd entered college. It was after one of his shows, his chest heaving with excitement and adrenaline from the rush of performing. You were cheering so loud for him and the band, waiting excitedly for him backstage.

And maybe it was because he was still buzzing with energy and confidence from the roaring crowd. Or perhaps it was the way you looked absolutely exquisite wearing the choker he made you and the leather jacket that he'd copped just for you to match his. Whatever it was, it made him rush off the stage towards you, arms circling your waist and pulling you flush to his chest. His lips pressed against yours, soft and gentle despite how hurriedly he'd done so. You gripped his shirt, damp with sweat, as he pulled away in shock of his own actions and pulled him back in for another kiss. Hobie didn't seem to mind, not one bit as he pulled you even closer.

This was partially made cuz I saw someone say something about "Loser Hobie". He'd definitely be a loser in high school😭💕

OMG ADVANCED HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU MY AO3 BESTIE ❤️❤️❤️ I hope you have a great one!

AOZBQISJWBDPWQWW LOSER HOBIE!!! he was so scrunkly back then!!! (Literally my type back in hs lmaooooo) I'd like to think this is like a reverse ttn au! R saying that they can mend it for him reminded me of it

Squeaky voice Hobie!! What a cutie!!!

BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS!!! THEY GREW UP TOGETHER AND DEVELOPED FEELINGS FOR EACHOTHER 😍😍😍

The backstage kiss omfg 🥴🥴

[philistiniphagottini]

- 🚧

HELLO!! 😋 I hope you're doing good today! I don't know if you write/specialize In comfort fics/drabbles but, I've been dwelling on something for some time.

and I just wanted to drop off a request for a comfort drabble between a really melancholic, like maybe even outright miserable reader who (lets just say after a very intense fight with someone, that mostly insisted of reader being put down), decides to visit yugi muto to cheer themselves up, but yugi definitely picks up on reader's distress and after some poking from him,- reader just finally cracks and allows yugi to see their tears?

there doesn't even have to be a lot of comforting,, just the idea alone of reader allowing themselves to cry near someone and being held brings me solace 😭‼️

(hope this doesn't come over as random or burdensome!! remember to take care ^_^ 💟)

Hello again! I'm doing fine thank you. I hope you're doing well. I do write comfort fics, because I lowkey project with most of them. And I think Yugi would be so good at being comforting and understanding, my sweet, little bean boy. Thanks for sending in a request, hope you enjoy.

cw. hurt/comfort

Yugi could tell something wasn't right the moment you stepped into his small, humble game shop. The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped through, letting it click shut with a gentle nudge of your foot. Yugi’s ears perked up at the familiar sound, his eyes immediately flicking in your direction as he sat behind the front counter. You greeted your long-time friend with a small wave and a smile adorning your lips. A beaming smile stretched Yugi’s lips, only to slowly dissipate as his bright gaze scanned your features. Your smile didn't quite reach your eyes.

"Is everything alright?" Yugi asked. 

You bristled at the sudden question, not expecting it to be the first words that left his lips. You nodded in response, forcing your smile more as you silently held back the tears that threatened to spill over. 

"Of course" you replied, your own voice sounding foreign to your ears. 

That was a blatant lie. No, you were not fine. You felt like absolute shit. And the only thing that you felt that could make you feel better was being in Yugi’s comforting presence. You stood awkwardly at the door, refusing to move closer as Yugi continued to scrutinize you. He had known you for so long he could tell when something was bothering you. He tried to ignore the small sting when you brushed his concern off, your little lie obvious even to him. Your tongue wet your dry lips as your nervous gaze flickered around the room before finally focusing back to Yugi. You hesitated with your next question. 

"Why…do you ask?"

Yugi offered you a patient smile as he stepped out from behind the counter. He took a few slow steps in your direction, stopping several feet short as he peered up at you through dark lashes. He bashfully rubbed his hand across the nape of his neck, ruffling the dark strands of baby hair as his smile turned sheepish. 

"It, uh…kind of looks like you got a gloomy little cloud following you around" he said, hoping that the small joke would break the tension weighing in the air. 

It didn't. His answer only made your shoulders slump. A weary sigh fell from your parted lips, your smile faltering as the cracks in your facade started to finally show. 

"Is it that obvious?" you asked in a despondent tone. 

No, it wasn't. Yugi was just extremely good at picking up on the subtle indicators that gave away your true mood. A frown rugged at his lips as he scanned you from up close, noting the way your entire body slouched like there was a heavy weight pressing down on your shoulders. You looked tired; the heavy, puffy bags under your eyes a clear indication that you had been rubbing the skin raw for quite some time. The thought of you crying was enough to make the young man’s heart ache for you. 

"Are you sure you are okay?" Yugi gently prodded.

He had the purest of intentions at heart. He didn't like to see you suffer in any way. He wanted to know what was bothering and help if he possibly could. He didn't like prying but he hoped that you could see that his concern was coming from a place of kindness. You did recognise that and it only made the deep ache in your bones worse. You knew that Yugi was only trying to be kind to you yet you hated burdening him with your miserable feelings, struggling even now to be vulnerable to someone you held so dear to you. 

But you think you're at your limit. You didn't think you could keep up this poor excuse of a charade much longer. Your mind was exhausted from the intense, heated argument that you had just come from. You had been belittled and it had cut you deep, those words echoing in your ears and haunting you on your short walk to this safe haven. So, when Yugi asked you again if you were okay, you couldn't find the strength in you anymore to lie. 

A constellation of tears clung to your lashes as you started to shake your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stifled the pathetic sob that wanted to crawl out of your throat. You swallowed around the lump that got stuck, a tight knot sitting heavy in your lungs as you looked at Yugi with tearful eyes.

"No, I'm not okay" you croaked, voice threatening to crack with each word. 

A mix of emotions swirled in Yugi’s chest. He was elated that you finally trusted him to admit how you were feeling and utterly devastated at the sad look painted across your features. For a moment, he became paralysed as you struggled to fight back your tears in a losing battle, a few crystalline beads slipping down your cheeks as you tried desperately to steady your breathing. The tips of his fingers felt numb as he held out his hands, voice calm as he tried to soothe your raging thoughts. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You immediately shook your head, unable to verbally respond without fear of your heart jumping straight out of your throat. You would tell him, but not right now. The gears in Yugi’s head continued to turn as he thought of something else, mind and heart itching to soothe your pain to the best of his ability. 

"Do you want a hug?"

As soon as the words left his lips, you quickly close the distance that lingered between you. A bright flush of heat enveloped his face as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him straight into a tight embrace. Yugi gasped for breath as you nearly suffocated him in your crushing grip, holding onto him so tightly like you feared he was suddenly going to dissipate into thin air. With a patient smile he endured, politely placing his hands in the middle of your back as your tears silently wet the collar of his shirt. 

"It's okay, let it out" Yugi murmured with a soothing voice. "You can cry as much as you need."

Neither of you were sure how long you stood there holding onto each other, but each passing moment made the maelstrom of emotions swelling inside of you just a little bit more bearable. Yugi awkwardly cleared his throat to break the silence, hands rubbing soothing circles into your back as he tried to gain your attention.

"Do you want to go upstairs? It's a bit more private up there."

For a moment you had briefly forgotten that you were having a breakdown in the middle of his grandpa’s game shop and anyone could stumble open this utter train wreck you were currently experiencing. You quickly nodded your head, reluctantly parting from the warm embrace. As Yugi stepped away you gently grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together and squeezing his hand. He offered no word of complaint as he led the way, squeezing your hand back in reassurance.

[unknownunseenunheard]

I already knew Legacy of the Force would be filled with occ stuff and my expectations were low, but even then I'm kinda just blinking because

There's literally a separate phantom Lumiya isn't controlling in her cave rambling about how it will soon possess Jacen at the start of the series. Like??

Lumiya: Vergere was a Sith. Here's how she was trained by Palpatine around the time he was training Dooku despite the fact that she left Republic space around the time Anakin Skywalker became a Padawan

Jacen: Yeah this tracks

Nelani: Is it crack. Is that what she's making you smoke, you're smoking crack?

Jaina goes from not giving a shit about the Chiss Swarm War incident at the start to 'I hate my brother so much for that', with the kicker line of claiming she tried to reach out to him when she noticed him going dark which, uh - when?

Mara: I'm going to follow my Sith Assassin training and try to kill Jacen. This can't possibly backfire in any way shape or form

Jacen himself literally comes across as possessed. There are several instances where he just starts talking to a voice that is edging him on

On that note, Alema straight up Force influenced Jacen into shooting his parents while they were rescuing Jaina Ben and Zekk. Dark Nest abilities aside, what? This is followed in the next book by The Voice convincing him firing on the Millennium Falcon was the right choice

Karen Travis, every five seconds: Mando Mando Mando

(No, seriously. What do you mean the 'Mandalorians saved the New Republic from the Vong', what are you on about, they literally just cameod in NJO)

Mara: Lumiya can't possibly be controlling Jacen

Lumiya, meanwhile: I can successfully Force trick Luke into thinking I'm not trying to hurt him after literally trying to decapitate him and also I got him to hold my hand mid battle <3

On that note, Luke joking about wanting to bang Lumiya while Mara is actively being jealous of a relationship that ended 40 years ago was 😭 bro what

Mara: your childhood was good compared to mine (well, duh, but Jaina's childhood wasn't sunshine and rainbows??) and you're too busy wanting to get spitroasted by Zekk and Jag to do anything about your twin going dark

Jaina: What the fuck?

Jacen, meanwhile: I and Jaina's childhood was shitty enough that I can't tell if I actually loved my parents or if I was just going through the motions because I was expected to love them

Everyone is on crack except Ben who is Child and Baby and did not deserve half the bullshit flung at him

Anyways, this has done nothing but cement my personal theory that this entire book series was Abeloth fucking with everyone