#so so so much of my life is fully in my hands and I just need to TRY and START and GO. I know this. I’m incredibly aware of this

[hot-lesbian-knight]

Man where to start.

The locked tomb series by Tamsyn Muir occupies a very special place in my heart and it certainly changed me, I'm much more comfortable being my beautiful butch self now than to Gideon Nav and Pyrrha Dve, and they generally rewired my brain a bunch both in a 'I am not the same' way and a it has made me better at reading and analysis way.

Changed my life but I don't know if I would consider it a classic, maybe once it's finished.

The Song of the Lioness series by Tamora Pierce was hugely influential to me and I would not be as obsessed with knights nearly as much as I am without having grown up reading about the lady knight, Sir Alanna of Trebond.

Significantly changed my life and is unquestionably a classic.

Technically it was written by a man and a woman together but This is How You Lose the Time War fully rewired my nervous system, tore my heart out, crushed it into a fine pink mist and then inhaled it. Some of the most beautiful prose I've ever read telling a heartachingly bittersweet love story. I recommend it to literally everyone I meet.

Changed my life and it should absolutely be a classic.

A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers has a phenomenal vibe and Sidra's experience with her body is such a viscerally familiar one as a trans person that I struggled to put into words. It's also just a vibrant world and a really positive and sweet story without veering so far into Saccharine territory.

Didn't necessarily change me but should definitely be a classic.

And finally, the complete works of Lois McMaster Bujold.

God how do I even start to talk about Bujold. She's so incredibly talented and her worlds and characters manage to step off the page to feel so real and alive in a way I have rarely experienced, most stories I am always vaguely aware that the characters are fictional tools of the author to move the story forward but Bujold is able to make me forget about that and just believe that they are living and breathing people living in complex and chaotic worlds much like real life. Her grip of pacing always sucks me in and pulls me along at just the right speed. She has become easily one of my favorite authors over the last few years.

Her book Paladin of Souls, which is an incredible name, takes place in her fantasy setting The World of the Five Gods which has a really fascinating world I just wanna dig into and explore, and the book itself is an amazing story about aging, life, and how you can and must take control of your own life or others will do it for you. It's genuinely such an excellent book and I highly recommend both it and Curse of Challion which takes place three years before Paladin of Souls.

That said the piece of Bujold's work that has had the greatest impact on me as a person is absolutely The Vorkosigan Saga. Its a Speculative Sci-fi setting where most of the books follow Miles Vorkosigan, a a member of the nobility on Barrayar. Miles is this manic little git who would be absolutely insufferable as a protagonist in the hands of any other writer yet managed to be incredibly charming and likable thanks to Bujolds mastery of the craft. Miles is physically disabled, having suffered birth defects that left him incredibly short, with brittle bones. However he's incredibly smart and insightful and is very very good at maintaining forward momentum where he just kinda keeps running as the narrative of each adventure builds up like a snowball rolling down hill with miles sprinting as fast as he can to keep up and avoid being crushed. He's such a fun and interesting character to watch grow up across the books(we see him go from a 17 year old wannabe military man desperate to make his father proud with a chip on his shoulder so big it could sink the titanic to a well rounded matured father himself over the series).

While the whole Vorkosigan Saga is excellent and has some amazing Spec-Fic concepts build explores(I could write a 100k word essay on the Uterine Replicators and the way they serve as a metaphor for bodily autonomy) the moment that has impacted me most from her work is one of the later books, Memory.

When I say that Memory completely changed my outlook on and approach to life I mean it. There's a passage from it that is forever burned into my mind because of how succinctly it distills a fundamental truth, delivered to Miles the protagonist when he is feeling utterly lost and adrift due to his life collapsing spectacularly:

“You go on. You just go on. There’s nothing more to it, and there’s no trick to make it easier. You just go on.”

“What do you find on the other side? When you go on?”

She shrugged. “Your life again. What else?”

“Is that a promise?”

She picked up a pebble, fingered it, and tossed it into the water. The moon-lines bloomed and danced. “It’s an inevitability. No trick. No choice. You just go on.”

The idea of "You just go on" has changed my outlook on life, much like Waymond in Everything Everywhere All At Once choosing joy and kindness, and I am a far better person for that change.

Also Cryoburn, what is likely the second to last book in the Vorkosigan Saga since bujold has said she doesn't feel like returning to the world, made me fully dissociate for a day and then finally call my dad to tell him I loved him through sobs. It's an average Miles Vorkosigan adventure through 99% of the book, but with the weight of the whole series behind it the ending very neatly hollows you out and leaves you an empty husk with just the last three words and a 500 word epilogue.

Anyway. All that to say, you should read some of Bujolds work. Changed me Profoundly and I believe it is a travesty and tragedy that she is not held in the same regard as authors like Pratchett and Le Guin

What's a book written by a woman that changed your life or that you consider a classic? Any genre, any language.

[doestarkey]

summary: sneaking onto drew’s phone after a gnawing suspicion of him cheating on you

the age gap between you and drew had always lingered in the back of your mind, quietly eroding your confidence in the relationship. no matter how much you tried to push the thought aside, it left you questioning—doubting. if it was a concern for you, surely it was for him too… right?

at twenty one, you were still navigating life—balancing college, exploring career paths, meeting new people, and experiencing things for the first time. drew, on the other hand, was in an entirely different chapter.

he had everything already figured out—a thriving career as the ceo of a globally recognized company, financial security, a beautiful home, and the kind of life experience that only comes with time. and, of course, there was the attention.

women—his age—throwing themselves at him, drawn to his success, his confidence, and the effortless charm that came with being an attractive man in his late thirties. women who seemed like they belonged in his world more than you ever could.

so what made you any different?

late nights at the office became a routine for him. he explained it all—overtime, project deadlines, the occasional presence of a coworker or two in the building. you never questioned it.

until one night.

maybe it was real, or maybe it was just your own insecurities manifesting into something tangible. but as you washed his suit, you could have sworn you caught the faintest trace of perfume that didn’t belong to you.

it gnawed at you. the doubt, the fear. until, finally, you caved to the one thing you had sworn to yourself you wouldn’t do.

as he slept beside you, you carefully reached for his phone on the nightstand, your fingers hesitant but determined. the screen lit up, illuminating your face in the dark. you tried once. twice. a third time—

“it’s your birthday.”

his voice was soft, laced with sleep, yet fully aware. he lay on his side, head propped up on one hand as he watched you, offering the password without hesitation. a quiet reminder of the trust you were on the verge of betraying.

a lump formed in your throat, but you pressed forward. as the phone unlocked, you combed through everything—messages, photos, calls—desperate for proof of something that didn’t exist.

and there it was.

nothing. no betrayal. no late-night secrets. just the overwhelming weight of guilt settling in your stomach.

silently, you turned off the phone and handed it back to him, unable to meet his gaze.

drew chuckled, taking the phone and placing it back on the nightstand before reaching out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“feel better now?” he asked, voice calm, understanding.

you didn’t answer, just stared at him with a deep frown, the shame too heavy to put into words.

“it’s okay,” he reassured you softly, though there was a hint of hurt in his voice. “but talk to me, baby. why’d you do that? what did i do that made you go through my phone?”

“you didn’t do anything, i just—” you hesitated, frustration bubbling up. how could you explain this without sounding irrational?

his head tilted slightly, reading you with ease. “been in your head too much, thinking things you shouldn’t?”

you nodded, exhaling shakily. “i just got scared… you’re always working late, and there are so many women—women your age—”

drew let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that’s what you’re worried about? women my age?”

you pouted, not finding the humor in it, but his smile only grew.

“baby, if i wanted someone my age, i’d have them. but i don’t. i want you. age doesn’t change that.”

the sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. “i’m sorry, drew,” you murmured, burying your face in your hands as embarrassment burned tears into your eyes.

“hey, none of that,” he whispered, pulling your hands away before wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest. “c’mere.”

you clung to him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, your sniffles the only sound in the quiet room.

“m’not upset with you, sweetheart,” he promised, one hand threading through your hair as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“why not?” you mumbled into his skin, the warmth of him grounding you.

he chuckled. “because i know you didn’t mean any harm. just promise me that next time, you’ll talk to me instead, yeah?”

you nodded against him, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “i promise.”

“good.” he sighed, his arms tightening around you. “now, let’s get some sleep.”

“i love you,” you whispered.

“i love you too, baby.”

[snowluvvie]

₊˚⊹ ♡ . CONFESSION.

₊˚⊹ ♡ . mutt!Rafe admits what he did. | word count — 2.7k it was supposed to be a drabble my bad DAMN | warnings — no smut, pretty much all angst with some fluff at the end, blood and an injured hand, crying, mentions of murder, mentions of a murder cover up etc. (you guys aren’t even together yet you’re just this codependent already)

You rubbed your eyes for what felt like the fifteenth time that night and glanced over at the clock, which blinked 1:04 A.M. You had settled into bed hours ago, an old re-run of some colorful cartoon played on your TV. The ambience was perfect, it put you straight to sleep every night.

But not tonight.

Rafe was always back by now, always. Sure, sometimes he went out drinking or played long games of golf or fucked off to do something probably illegal somewhere on Kildare—but not past midnight. He’d returned home… his family home, with Ward, not too long ago. You knew it took a toll on him from how quiet he’d been recently. And despite being welcome back there, Rafe still spent most nights here, with you. You knew he hadn’t told anyone that. He hadn’t even explained it to you, why he was still around so often. That would mean he’d have to think about it himself, though—he didn’t like to do that.

He was supposed to be there tonight, and you hated that it was keeping you awake. He was a big boy, he could handle himself. Still. No matter how long you laid in your perfect bed in the dark with your eyes closed, sleep evaded you.

You huffed, tossing the blanket off of you and sitting up. Your feet hit the floor with a creak, the house’s way of constantly reminding you that it was a million years old. Nearly the second your feet touched down, you heard something else—SLAM, followed by a mean rattle. The back door, not the front, and it sounded like someone was practically trying to slam it off the hinges.

“Rafe?” You whispered to the air of your bedroom. More to yourself than anyone else. You chewed at your lip as you listened for more noises, but none came. You got up tentatively, tip-toeing out of your room and towards the kitchen.

As you turned the corner, you slammed into what felt like a brick wall—though, as the moonlight filtering in through the window illuminated his face, you realized it was only—

“Rafe!” You whisper-yelled as you ran into his chest. “Why’d you come in through the back, I thought you were—”

You shut up, frozen, as you saw the look on his face. And the fact that he hadn’t even looked at you, or moved a single inch when you bumped into him. He was like a statue, and his face was all strange. Smooth like stone, eyebrows set, with that dead fucking look he got in his eyes when he talked to his father. He never looked that way around you, and you crossed your arms, eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Rafe?” Your voice was small, but seemed larger than life in the silent room, with him standing so stiffly in front of you. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You scanned him up and down, assuming he was sneaking through your kitchen and borderline catatonic because of shock, but he looked fine. His clothes were clean, though when your eyes reached his hand, you noticed the split along his knuckles, weeping blood.

“Ugh, come on.” You grabbed his hand, examining it, and he reacted a little bit—something, at least. “What the hell did you do?”

Rafe huffed a little bit, sounding like a petulant child. “Got mad.”

“Did you punch another wall?” You deadpanned, frowning up at him. He just nodded. Regularly you would’ve laughed at that, at the way he acted like a little kid when confronted with his actions, but not tonight. The air was stiller. Things felt… more serious, off in some way, you just couldn’t put your finger on how. “Come on, you gotta clean it.”

You tugged him towards the bathroom, and he didn’t fight you. When he sat down on the edge of the tub per your request, you were close to being face-to-face with him, but it only made it worse to fully see him in the fluorescence of the bathroom. Only made it more clear that something was wrong.

Your eyebrows creased as you rifled through the bathroom cabinet, the hinges squeaking something awful when you opened it, searching for the peroxide. You tried not to look worried or scared, you knew how zeroed in he could be when he thought you were pissed at him—he could practically hear if you breathed the wrong way—and you didn’t know if something was going to set him off right now.

Rafe didn’t wince as you poured the hydrogen peroxide over his split knuckle, or make the disgusted face he usually made when the wound audibly sizzled. He thought that noise was the grossest thing in the world, but he didn’t react tonight.

His skin was fiery hot, so much so that you became worried he might have a fever or something—maybe that was his problem. Your fingers dragged against his skin lightly as you wrapped the gauze pad around his knuckles and secured it in place, but he was back to being pretty much unmoving. He kinda just… stared off at the wall, jaw clenched slightly. You patted his hand gently and told him, “all done.” He nodded a little bit, but still didn’t look at you.

Your back was only turned away from him for maybe a minute, so that you could put the meager first aid kit back into the cabinet and shut it with another metallic creeeeeak.

When you turned back, your mouth popped open in shock—Rafe was crying, actually crying, eyes suddenly red-rimmed and wet as the first tear fell down his perfectly carved face. You’d never seen him cry, ever, and you froze for a half-second as you tried to think of what to do, before you ended up by his side automatically.

“Rafe?” Your hands went to him, to cup his face and his neck, but he caught you by both wrists before you managed it, and held them away from him.

“Don’t touch me.” His voice cracked a little, but he cleared his throat to hide it.

You kept fighting against his grip. “I was just touching you… c’mon, just let me—”

He only held you for a few moments before he gave up, freeing your wrists from his grasp. One hand went to his cheek, the other to the side of his neck soothingly. He squeezed his eyes shut at your touch.

“C’mon, what’s the matter?”

“I can’t.” He insisted, clenching his jaw harshly.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s me, Rafe. What am I gonna do, judge you? Just talk to me.”

“You don’t fuckin’ understand—I can’t.”

You were getting frustrated now, but you controlled your tone very, very carefully when you said: “Is it your dad, again?”

His eyes flew open, the oceanic blue already bloodshot from his tears. “No, it’s not, it’s me. It’s me, it’s always fuckin’ me, alright?”

“Is that who made you so mad you punched the wall and did this?” You demanded, gesturing to his now-bandaged hand. “Yourself?”

“Yes!” He insisted wildly. He dropped his head into his hands, smothering his own face and halfheartedly wiping his tears away.

Your hand went to the back of his head instead, rubbing your fingers through his hair and against his scalp in an attempt to comfort him.

“Rafe… I can’t help if I don’t know.” You murmured, running out of things to say. What were you supposed to do when he was like this?

“Exactly. You can’t help if you don’t know. You can’t help.” He was gritting his teeth now. “And you can’t know, ‘cause if you do, then you’ll get in trouble too, alright? And you shouldn’t—you can’t—and then you won’t fuckin’ let me come around here—and I’ll have to—argh.” Half of his words were a low snarl through his teeth, and he started breathing heavily as he got himself riled up all over again, trailing off and dropping his head back into his hands with a breathy, frustrated groan.

Things clicked into place, and you froze as they did, your mouth forming a surprised O that he luckily couldn’t see with his face in his hands. But still, you kept your hand on him, rubbing it soothingly along his shoulders and the back of your neck—you could tell it was taking everything in him not to freak out and hit something again.

“Okay… alright, okay.” You said more to yourself than to him, nodding slowly. “If I—uh—if I promise not to… ban you from my house, will you tell me?”

Rafe raised his head to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed together. “You shouldn’t fuckin’ promise that.”

“As long as you swear you’ll stop trying to break my back door off, I am promising that.”

The partial-joke fell on deaf ears, and he shook his head. The silence that stretched between you two was deafening. He brought his hands to the back of his hair and started pulling on it, digging his fingers into his scalp like he always did when he was frustrated, and another choked, angry groan left his mouth.

You took a deep breath.

“Rafe. What did you do?” Your voice was gentle, but firm.

“I shouldn’t tell you.” He said through gritted teeth, shaking his head. Tears were still falling down his cheeks, his face was twisted, but you could tell his resolve was weakening.

“You shouldn’t. But you want to.”

He sniffled. “I feel like ‘m going fuckin’ crazy.”

You rubbed his shoulder softly, the muscle under your hand taut with all the tension he’d built up. You dug your fingers in slightly in an attempt to alleviate it, but it didn’t help much.

“Peterkin…” He muttered, voice filled with something awful, like the name was a razor blade that sliced against his tongue as he said it.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. It was tragic, obviously, what John B did before he practically vanished—but you didn’t think Rafe was particularly torn up about the whole thing. The two of them hadn’t been close… but maybe you’d been missing things about him, stuff you hadn’t picked up on.

Regardless, you nodded slowly. “John B killed her, right… what about it?”

Rafe shook his head, his shoulders trembling violently, shaking with barely contained sobs. You took his face between your hands, pulling it up to get him to look at you. He does, his lips twitching into a grimace and his eyes wild as he looks at you. It’s scary, the look on his face, but you keep your composure intact.

There’s a long pause before he spits out, his voice barely a whisper. “I killed Peterkin.”

“No, you—” You shook your head. “It was John B, remember? And then he—and then he ran off. He ran away cause he was guilty… cause that’s what guilty people do.”

The whole time you spoke, Rafe shook his head, gnashing his teeth horribly. “No.” Was all he said.

“No?” You repeated.

“No.” He insisted. “I fuckin’ shot her. It was me. I killed her.”

“But… John B—”

“Can y’shut the fuck up about John B, please, jesus christ.”

“Okay, okay, my bad.”

“‘m sorry, no, ‘m sorry.” He stood up quickly, and you took a step back in surprise as he towered over you suddenly. “I didn’t mean it, alright? Okay?” He takes your face in his hands, squeezing your cheeks a little tighter than he should.

You nod. “I know. You’re just… stressed.” Stressed seemed like a laughably light word, but you were still too shocked to come up with a better one, and your words were garbled slightly from the way his hands squished your face.

“I just—” He let go of your face and brought his hand to his own, rubbing his temples and squeezing his eyes shut again. He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Did, um…” You faltered slightly as you searched for the right wording, not wanting to set him off. “Did anyone… see you? Like were there, uh… witnesses?”

Rafe’s face got all screwed up, like you’d smacked him across the face instead of asked him a question.

“Sarah. John B. My dad.”

You nodded slowly.

“But Sarah and John B are gone… and your dad’s not gonna say anything… right?” You spoke even slower, like you were trying not to spook him.

He shook his head, sniffling harshly again. “No… dad’s the one who made ‘em think John B did it, or whatever.”

“He’s not here, though. So… it’s not like anyone’s in prison for it, right? You didn’t get anyone sent to jail.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened as he held your gaze, and his eyes were nearly enough to melt you into a puddle on the floor. He looked desperate, pleading with his eyes.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone?” He asked. He sounded meek.

You took a deep breath, teeth digging into your lip before you finally said:

“Go to bed.”

“What, I—”

“Go to bed.”

Rafe stood there, looking down at you, for another few moments. Slowly, the crease between his eyebrows smoothed out, and he released a teensy-tiny bit of tension from his jaw for the first time since he’d got there. Wordlessly, he nodded once before he brushed past you and out of the bathroom. You heard the floorboards of your bedroom groan, and movement on the bed, before it went quiet.

You turned to look at yourself in the mirror, and your face was like stone. You gripped both sides of the sink as you stared at your reflection, and you made your peace with what was happening. You wanted him here. You weren’t going to kick him out. It was his dad’s fault he was this way. He could get better. He needed you. You weren’t going to send him to jail. You couldn’t.

You were going to be complicit in a murder cover up for him.

With one slow breath in through your nose, out through your mouth—and then another, and then another, and then one more—you nodded slightly and left the bathroom, abandoning the blood dripping down the side of the bathtub and the floor as an issue for tomorrow morning.

Tonight, you went back to your room. Rafe laid on his back, staring at the ceiling, already shirtless and with one arm tucked behind his head and his bandaged hand resting on his abs. You lingered in the doorway for a moment too long, admiring the way he always managed to look like a statue, like he had been perfectly carved from marble. He raised his head to look at you, and watched you intensely as you climbed into bed next to him.

He tensed a little bit when you got under the covers, but didn’t move—still unsure. To put him at ease, you pressed up against him, shivering slightly as his fiery hot skin met yours. He let out a sigh, and relaxed a little bit more into you.

The two of you laid in silence for a while, and though your brain was fuzzy from losing hours of sleep as it only got later, you weren’t falling asleep. Neither was he.

You brought a hand up to card through his hair, and he leaned into your touch as it ran through his straw-blonde locks.

You tentatively lowered your mouth to his ear as you mumbled: “Come back. Stay here a while, hm?”

Rafe shivered a little bit at your breath against his ear, but he nodded.

You were going to be complicit in a murder cover up for him.

And you didn’t care. Rafe drifted off into some troubled semblance of sleep as he relaxed under your hand, which still played with his hair. You stayed up a while longer, alternating between staring at the wall, the ceiling, and Rafe’s face, the planes of which were smooth and peaceful for the first time all night. You thought of the cops, and Ward, and John B, and what would happen to Rafe if anyone found out.

They wouldn’t find out.

Rafe would keep on acting like you were better than him, like you were the hearth he curled up at when it was cold, and the antiseptic on his cuts—but you weren’t any better than him. You were just as bad. You knew it. You wondered if he knew it, too.

You were going to be complicit in a murder cover up for him.

You drifted off to sleep with your nose pressed in his hair, breathing in the smell of him.

And you didn’t care.

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Crew Headcanon

The Crew has a Crush~

You, it's 🫵🏻

Captain Curly

You walk into the control room, and Curly’s full-on beefing with the ship’s voice assistant

Turns out, he programmed it to be more “human” for fun... welp, the AI's definitely having fun roasting the captain

“I’m the captain! You’re supposed to obey me!”

“Obey? Sir, you can’t even obey a map.”

You're struggling to keep it all together because Curly’s already TOMATO RED from embarrassment (and maybe from the fact that you’re watching)

He tries to play it cool, though

“This is just a glitch. Totally fixable.”

“Yes sir, I'm fixable. What’s not is your love life, tho.”

The crew knows he’s into you, and now even a literal system algorithm's joining in on the teasing

The man's not even surprise when the voice assistance turned a 180° on you and treated you like a queen... he ain't complaining tho

Nurse Anya

You came to the med bay for a papercut

You’re expecting, like, a band-aid or maybe some ointment, but what you got was a full medical intervention

“This could get infected. Let’s disinfect, bandage, and monitor it. For safety.”

“…It’s just a papercut.”

She keeps pulling out stuff from the cabinet:

Medical tape, okay so far

Gauze... a bit...much

Wait, is that... surgical gloves?

You’d think you crawled in with a gunshot wound

When she actually started treating your cut, she goes on a call mute, like she’s concentrating way too hard and you can't reach her

You catch her sneaking glances at you...cute

But what makes it more diabetically adorable is with both your slight accidental touches

She’s immediately short-circuiting, mumbling “sorry, does it hurt? wait, why would it hurt?? oh my gos--”

Girl is fighting for her life over brushing your sleeve while she's fully holding your hand with both hands

Meanwhile, Swansea’s strolling past the med bay, just shaking his head like, “Anya, just tell ‘em you like ‘em already."

Co-pilot Jimmy

You’re helping Jimmy with a minor maintenance task (he totally didn’t ask for your help; you just “showed up,” okay?)

He’s being his usual smug self, but you know he’s flustered because he keeps snapping at you for no reason

“Don’t touch that, you’ll mess it up."

“I literally haven’t even touched anything yet.”

“Well, don’t think about touching it either!”

He’s trying to show off and “teach” you, but keeps fumbling because you’re watching him too closely

The crew’s already onto him. Curly literally walked past once and muttered, “Subtle, Jimmy. Real subtle.”

“SHUT UP, CURLY.”

“…Do you want me to leave?”

“No! I mean--just stay over there. Quietly.”

He’s the human equivalent of a malfunctioning toaster, and it’s both annoying and adorable

Mechanic Swansea (Gruff Dad Energy™)

You pranked Swansea by hiding his tools, thinking he’ll just scowl and grumble like usual...huge, BIG mistake

This man plays chess while you’re playing checkers

The next day, everything you own is missing: Shoes? Gone

Favorite mug? Gone

Your bunk? Covered in engine parts

Swansea doesn’t even deny it, just smirks and chuckles, “Don’t start wars you can’t win, kid.”

But here’s the thing: later, you find your stuff neatly returned with a plate of snacks he definitely didn’t make (he asked Curly "what young'ins like these days" and got a canned latte from the vending machine)

He never forgets to remind you that he doesn't care... sure, Swans, the dad energy definitely NOT palpable

Daisuke (Your #1 Fanboy)

Daisuke decides to “help” you cook one day

By “help,” I mean he’s hyping you up like you’re Gordon Ramsey while also lowkey getting in your way

“Y/N, you’re amazing. Look at how you chop those veggies, Bob Ross for foodies. You should open a restauran- no, actually, you should open a chain.”

“...Dai, the stove's literally barbecuing your shirt."

He panics, trips over his own feet and in one catastrophic motion, takes down a pot of soup, a chair, and somehow a shelf that wasn’t even near him

The room is wrecked. But before anyone can process, he just shoots up from the floor, finger guns and grins “DON’T WORRY. THE SOUP'S FINE.”

At this point, you don’t even question when this whole fanclub started. Probably cause you're the only one slipping him some sweets every once in a while (you're aware of the man's sugar addiction)

Having a personal hype man is great, even if he’s one accident away from taking down the whole ship

The whole crew's in pure chaos. What have you done to them??

Jimmy’s crush is LOUD, flustered, dramatic and side-eyeing Curly and Anya when they're standing within a foot of your proximity

Curly’s out here showing his 'captain privileges', but one compliment and he’s short-circuiting, probably off to “check the crew” (aka scream into the void)

Anya? Combusting at the slightest thank-you for the snacks and meds and also avoiding eye contact like it’s a sport

And Daisuke? Man’s your 24/7 cheerleader, yelling “YOU’RE AMAZING!” at 6 AM while trailing you like a puppy. The rest of the crew’s this close to losing it ’cause he’s stealing their thunder

Everything's unfolding while both you and Swansea watch side by side

The man sighed and muttered something under his breath. He’s got the tiniest smirk, though

“Yeah, these idiots are on you now.”

[qauckerscenter]

Doing this on this account because it's got more reach, so sorry for any of our followers who don't wanna see this, but someone might need this Some additions from us though: For anyone with leg pains, especially that flare up with pressure or excercise, but have decent enough arm strength or are willing to risk flaring up your arm(s) as opposed to your legs, and you need to get onto a counter to get something high up, turn around with your butt against the counter and place your hands palm down with your fingers pointing towards you and only the part of your palms that's closer to your wrist against the counter. Push yourself up - make sure you can hold all your weight for at least a good second, don't continue if you think your arms will give in - and lean yourself a bit backwards. If you have enough arm strength and can get that action down without falling fully back, then you should be able to use that to scoot yourself up onto counters. It can also get you onto more crowded countertops without knocking stuff over or moving too many items, so long as you have a space big enough for you. Also, some stuff that has help me lower my knees pains without limping: Learn to walk with your knee stiff without changing your gait too much, it can be hard but it is possible, and so long as your parents aren't super observant of that stuff, it'll help if moving your knees cause pain.

Aside from all that, I also want to add for anyone who needs it: Physical abuse is not the only kind of abuse that can cause you to need these tips. If you are purely just afraid of your parents despite not having a noteable reason, you can still use these tips. If you are only ever verbally abused, you can use these tips. If it will help make your life feel safer and less stressful, USE THESE TIPS.

hey so protip if you have abusive parents and need to get around the house as quietly as possible, stay close to furniture and other heavy stuff because the floor is settled there and it’s less likely to creak

[celestiamour]

ft. kim young-mi, park min-su, choi su-bong, kang dae-ho, kang mi-na (separate) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ noticing that you have nipple piercings┊0.6k words

contains: suggestive/slight smut!! nipple piercings & play obviously, perversion of varying levels

➤ author's note: i kinda want them, but the only piercings i have are on my earlobes when i was like a baby and they are crooked because i wouldn’t stop squirming :(

━━━ .°˖✧ kim young-mi - player 095 ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ this girl and her gay little eyes cannot stop staring for the life of her. her mouth is slightly agape and everything, absolutely shameless with all the dirty thoughts running through her head translating on her face. the girl boner she has is crazy, and it only gets worse when in private because she will be sucking on them nonstop— the only time she’s more of a dom in the bedroom, she just loves how cute they look on you and how sensitive they become. might get them for herself since she finds them so attractive, but promise to hold her hand for it!

━━━ .°˖✧ park min-su - player 125 ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ similar to young-mi, he also can’t help but continuously sneak peeks, but he’s much more subtle about it and feels a little guilty. he doesn’t point it out or acknowledge it because of how shy he would get talking about something so intimate in his eyes, but you certainly will and tease him about it relentlessly. this poor boy becomes so flustered and beet red, give him a break because he’s trying so hard to be respectful, even if he probably got hard at the mixture of his thoughts and your mocking words.

━━━ .°˖✧ choi su-bong - player 230 ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ if you aren’t fully pierced or tatted up, he probably thought you were too chicken for the sort at first, but when he sees the metal bars straining through the fabric of your top accentuating your tits, his eyes go all round and he becomes a menace. it doesn’t matter if you’re in public, he will drag you to the bathroom and beg you like a loser to let him see. he just wants to make sure they are healing right, that’s all, even if you got it done all long time ago and his dumbass only saw them now. he’s even more completely and utterly obsessed with your chest, which is something you didn’t think was possible— his hands will always find their way on your tits somehow while occasionally pinching the sensitive bud because he’s a meanie like that. (also would be really into chains connecting them—) would also probably want his own pierced after seeing yours, but he likely has other piercings like on his ears and mouth so the process isn’t anything new to him.

━━━ .°˖✧ kang dae-ho - player 388 ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ this gentleman takes everything within his soul to be respectful. will likely give you his jacket/hoodie to cover up, knowing that if he notices them then other people would too, and he doesn’t like the idea of strangers staring at his girl’s chest since they are for his eyes only in the most wholesome way possible. asks a lot of questions like when/where you got them done and how much it hurt, he thinks it’s one of the coolest things ever even if he probably wouldn’t get them for himself. super careful when handling them, but also so fascinated by them. 

━━━ .°˖✧ kang mi-na - player 196 ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ she probably has been thinking about getting hers pierced herself before seeing yours, so she might be a little miffed that you got them without her and insists that you come with her when she does get them done. will bitch and moan through the entire process, but loves the final result and will walk around wearing thin t-shirts for a while to show them off. will also buy lots of pretty pink gem jewelry and insist on you matching with her because you’re girlfriends! being her partner entails that you have to match in everything fashion, including piercings. likes playing with them similar to thanos, almost in a sadistic way but can't take it when you do the same with her.

[revelboo]

Oh my gosh, The “Everything is Alright” drama just slowly ripling outward is so so juicy. Devouring this! Ur writing is so good. Every fic being gently connected is so fun. TY for the food!

I’m glad you enjoy my nonsense!

The pointy cryptid arrived!

Everything Is Alright Pt 121

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Watching Soundwave inspect your soft hands, turning them over in his and rumbling unhappily at the sight of your bleeding knuckles where you’d lashed out at Starscream, Megatron lays back on the berth. Unable to watch those two fussing over you, unable to deal with the problem of your lifespan along with your sparkling. And someone has to be full size and ready to defend their family. That thought catching him off guard. Is that what they are now? Fragged over by the universe into the most dysfunctional family ever. “Someone needs to teach you how to throw a punch,” he mutters. “You’re awful at it.”

• Almost laughing despite yourself, you hate that you want to relent. To bury your face against Starscream and soak in the warmth and familiarity of him. But know it’s a trap. “I can’t do this again. I won’t.” Glancing at Megatron, you tug your hand from Soundwave. Why can’t this be simple? Because you’re greedy and want more than you should. Because something is wrong with you and you can’t decide. “No more lying. No more plots.” No more not taking your voice into account. “Please.”

• Grimacing, Starscream’s aware of Megatron sprawled on his back, head turned to watch them. Watching him. And you’re asking him to stop trying to seize control, to ignore all the wrongs, the mistakes. The pain. Hand cupping your cheek, he ignores Megatron and Soundwave. Aware suddenly that you’ve given him the ultimate immunity against Megatron by fully bonding the warlord. You’d protected him for life from Megatron’s rage. “I only look to the future.” Sees you frown and nudges you with his head. “Our future. Together.” Knows he’s neglected you, focused on protecting you without stopping to even ask if you wanted to be protected, but he couldn’t risk losing you. Still can’t.

• Still upset, but your mind is calming as his servos curl around your upper arm, finding skin to strengthen the connection. Megatron had told him to bond to you again, but he can’t. Not when you’re still off kilter and unsure of everything. Hurting. Doesn’t want to take this time, wants you to reach out to him. “I don’t know if I can trust you. Any of you,” you mumble and his spark constricts. Because he’s had as much a part to play in this as the other two. He’d tried to manipulate you and Megatron, had done it to protect you, but had never thought about what you’d actually wanted. Though, apparently you had wanted Megatron. More than him. He’s trying so hard to not think about the fact that you held back with him, but submitted completely to Megatron. Wanting to believe that it hadn’t been you, that you’d unconsciously been offered a chance to survive and has seized it without being aware what you were doing. But it still hurts.

• “Trust is earned,” Megatron growls, servos pressing against his own chassis over his spark. Can barely sense that weak spark nestled inside him, that impossible life a way forward. How long has it been since there’s been a new generation? Well before the war began. Wants to hang on to that anger at what you’d done to him, about the inevitable complications and questions it’s going to cause, because at some point the spark will need to be transferred to a protoform. And that’s going to be noticed. And a sparkling will be even more helpless than you are. Staring at you rubbing your eyes, his spark constricts. Because you’re a problem. Vulnerable, helpless, and his life is dependent on yours. On no one figuring out that he’s fully bonded to you and deciding to take him out by killing one ridiculously fragile human. “I don’t see that we have much choice but to work together. Because anyone gunning for me will target our helpless little mate.”

• Mate not pet. You feel Starscream stiffen against you and you don’t know if it’s that he doesn’t want to get along with Megatron or even try or if he’s just now realizing that you’re going to be a target. It’s definitely not something you’d considered. But it really shouldn’t surprise you, because of course things can get worse.

Previous

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Lucifer x Reader - It's Been A While... (NSFW)

Based on @the-other-soup's post from a little bit ago ;3

Lucifer's been alone from quiet some time now, ever since his wife left years ago

He's never found anyone else to share his life with after that

That is, of course, until you came along

You never intended to fall in love with the King of Hell, but his goofy charm and profound silliness enchanted you

Things were slow to start, it took him a few months to ask if he could hold your hand

You didn't mind though, you thought it was adorable; the most powerful being in the realm became a flustered mess around you

After things became more serious, however, it was you that brought up the possibility of being more intimate

Lucifer was somehow very eager and very hesitant at the same time; as though he wanted nothing more than to be with you physically but something was holding him back

You told him it didn't have to be today, or next week, hell, it didn't even have to be this year!

You only wanted to have a discussion and didn't want to pressure him at all; he was very appreciative

One night, a soft make out session on his bed developed into something deeper

Your eyes couldn't help but notice the bulge that was forming in Lucifer's pants

"Maybe we should stop," you suggested, gesturing below his belt

Lucifer looked down, his eyes wide. "O-Oh! Oh golly...sorry about that..."

"Lucifer, you don't have to apologize for being turned on!"

"I know," he sighed, "I just...I feel like I'm forcing you to wait for me. You've been so patient and I can't tell you how much that means to me, but..."

You smile and plant a kiss on his tinted cheek. "It's alright, I understand. You know I'd never force you into anything you weren't ready for. I'm perfectly fine waiting for-"

"I want you to touch me." Lucifer cut you off unexpectantly. "I-I mean, if you would like to! I don't want you to if you don't want to! I just...God, what's wrong with me?!"

You sat there stunned for a moment before taking a hold of Lucifer's hand. "Luci, please don't force yourself into this. If you're not comfortable with-"

"I promise I'm not forcing myself into wanting this, wanting you. God, I've wanted you for so long now...I'm tired of being afraid." He leaned in to kiss you tenderly before pulling away. "Please..."

You leaned your forehead against his. "Are you sure?"

"I am."

Slowly, your hands traveled south on his body, making quick work of his belt and shuffling his pants down to his ankles.

His bulge looked even more impressive pressing against his boxers; you had to hold back a smirk when you saw the spot of precum that already leaked through the material

You pushed his boxers down and freed his thick shaft, gasping at his size and trying to keep yourself from drooling

"I'll go slow, okay?" you reassured him. "If you want me to stop, please tell me. Promise?"

"I promise," he murmured.

The poor man could barely look you in the eyes, but it was adorable how nervous he seemed to be

Tentatively you gripped the base of his cock which you could barely wrap your hand fully around and began to stroke him gently

God, the sounds that left the angel’s mouth were immaculate; soft mewls and choked back moans

You wanted him so fucking bad

But you promised you would go slow, and that’s exactly what you planned to do

You kissed him softly, swallowing every noise he made

Only about a minutes passed before Lucifer started to tremble under your touch, his breathing beyond labored

He was a goner

“S-Shit…love, I…oh, God…oh no…no no no no, FFFFUUUUCK!”

Without so much as a warning, Lucifer came hard into your hand, unable to keep himself from bucking into you

His cum spilled passed your fingers and dripped onto the bedsheets below

“Oh…” you whispered to yourself

“Fuck…FUCK! I’m so so sorry! I didn’t think I would…oh my God…it’s been so long since someone else has…this is a disaster!”

You couldn’t hold back the giggle that left your throat

Lucifer blushed hard and hid his burning face in his hands

“No, no, Lucifer it’s alright!” you tried to comfort him. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear I’m not. I don’t care that you finished so quickly! If anything, I’m flattered! Please don’t be embarrassed.”

You brought your hand to your face, making sure he watched you lick up the mess he had made

That gesture alone made the man whimper

“Did it feel good?” you asked, wiping the remaining remnants of his cum from your lips

“Good? Sweetie, that felt incredible…I’m sorry again. Can I at least make it up to you?”

You blushed at the thought of his proposal. “Lucifer, that’s very thoughtful of you, b-but you don’t have to-”

You don’t know how you ended up laying flat on the bedsheets with Lucifer hovering over you, but you were

And you didn’t want to be anywhere else

“Do you think it’s fair that I get to cum and you don’t?” he asked. “No, no, that’s not going to work for me.”

He shifted himself down, his face planted firmly between your clothes sex

“With your permission, darling.~”

Lucifer spent the next hour bringing you endless pleasure with his fingers and tongue alone

You now knew it was possible for you to cum 7 times within the span on 60 minutes

[hannieehaee]

so happy to see requests are back!!! i love your writing so much!!! if you don't mind, my request is svt's reaction to reader having a chronic illness (ex. asthma)????

their s/o having a chronic illness

content: chronic illness, established relationship, no mention of an illness in specific, fluff, etc.

wc: 901

a/n: i don't have a chronic illness so i kept this kind of ambiguous, i hope you enjoy!!

masterlist

seungcheol -

he's such a caretaker at heart, he'll always be willing to do everything in his power to support your lifestyle in order to accommodate to your chronic illness. nothing is too much in his eyes, so if you need any special modifications to your home, your transport, or your life in general, he's there making sure it's done.

jeonghan -

as per usual, he'll baby you. no matter what it is, if you were struggling a little extra that day, his first instinct would be to baby you and coo and comfort you. he's got natural motherly instincts with everyone he loves, and you'd be the biggest receiver of this treatment. he'd help you in every possible way.

joshua -

as the very responsible and put together person he is, his mere presence would offer you comfort. he'd always have whatever you need at hand, always checking in on you if he happened to be away. if you were having a specially difficult way due to your chronic illness, he'd take the day off if possible (or leave work early) in order to be there for you with all your favorite things to at least try and take your mind off it and relax a bit.

jun -

would never want to make you feel out of place or singled out due to your chronic illness, so he'd make it a point to check with you to see what you were most comfortable with and what you'd need from him when your chronic illness acted up or when you just felt like you needed a little extra help. cutie's got the most empathetic heart ever so he'd always make you feel at ease.

soonyoung -

he'd be so interested in learning everything you have to tell him about your chronic illness, wanting to be an anchor for you and understanding of what you may need from him. sometimes he forgets you may have some limitations in certain areas, in which cases he'd immediately backtrack and come up with an alternative, never wanting to make you feel out of place and always wanting to include you in everything he does.

wonwoo -

makes your chronic illness just a part of your daily life, not highlighting it in any way that might make you feel bad or uncomfortable, but assimilating to any of your needs in a way so natural it feels like the norm. he gives me vibes of a caretaker, which would specially show itself on the days you were feeling down or your chronic illness was acting up. he'd be completely empathetic to your feelings, always hearing you out and taking care of you.

jihoon -

not gonna lie he probably stresses over you sometimes. he just stresses easily and he'd already feel bad for leaving you for extended periods of time, he'd have to be calling you every day to make sure you had a good day that day and to check if you needed anything from him. he makes any accommodation necessary in his studio so you feel comfortable spending long periods of time there, happy to have you close and comfortable.

seokmin -

i think he'd be very into taking care of his partner regardless of anything, so when it came to your chronic illness, he'd make sure he knew all there was to know in order to take some stuff off your plate whenever necessary. makes sure you always have whatever you need at hand and coo's at you if you ever need help from him with anything.

mingyu -

it'd pain him in a very personal and intimate way any time your chronic condition acted up. he'd literally drop everything to tend to you, making sure you had anything you needed and not caring about any of his surroundings. his focus would just be fully on you.

minghao -

he knows that home-made remedies arent always the answer, but he'd still offer you massages, mediation, special teas and ointments that his mother would make him as a child, etc in order to try and give you some relaxation on days where your chronic illness acted up. he'd provide you with a safe space and lend a sympathetic ear whenever you just couldn't deal with it all.

seungkwan -

he's always prepared in case of emergencies. anything you usually carry with you or need for your chronic illness, he has a set of his own that he carries around with him as back-up. he'd be the best bf when it came to making sure you were taken care of!!

vernon -

he'd make it as big of a deal as you'd want it to be. if you wanted to be lowkey about it and not put too much emphasis on your chronic illness, he'd still worry about you, but he'd act accordingly. however, if you were okay with him expressing his worries and taking care of you, he'd have peace of mind knowing he can at least try to help.

chan -

he lives to serve you (real). if you carry around an inhaler, he'd make sure he had one he carried with him too and maybe even another one at his place. if you had chronic pain, he'd have special furniture at home to accommodate to that, if you had any condition that required medicine-taking, he'd keep a schedule for it, calling you if he was away to make sure you were keeping up with it.

[covenofagatha]

god you're such a great writer, the way you manipulate words always gets me all hot and bothered.. the first installment of agatha's failed cockwarming was genuinely one of your hottest works yet, fuck i genuinely rushed home and unbuckled my pants because I knew i would be reading it with one hand iykwim...

anyway, as a reward for such excellent writing, here's another little brainworm for everyone to ruminate on while miss covenofagatha studies; we're going back to our ROOTS with this one (of wanting agatha to use us rather than us using her)

(cw: free use, exhibitionism, mommy kink, degradation, praise kink, lowkey dubcon at some parts but its free use so)

agatha, who for the most part of her life, has had whatever she's held dear taken from her. so when she has you, she has to let everyone know. has to let everyone know you're *hers*, hers to mark, hers to hold, and hers to fuck.

agatha who can't hold herself back from wrapping her arms around you, pulling you into her lap and spreadinhg your legs under the table when you're out with friends, wanda and natasha who give you knowing looks while you squirm, all embarrassed and worked up as she kneads at your inner thighs, the thrill of getting caught running through you.

agatha who gets fed up in the middle of the day, and moves to the kitchen to have you. without a word, she slides the oversized hoodie (*her* hoodie) away, knowing fully well you're prepared because you're not wearing any panties (having seen this coming, as part of your daily routine), and parts your folds with her deliciously long fingers while slotting her rock hard cock between your ass cheeks, rutting her hips as you squeak and squeal.

"fuck, baby, knew you were made for my fingers, my cock, for me. such a perfect cunt, all ready and wet for mommy to stick my dick in whenever i want."

when rio pushes her nerves a little bit too much, you're reduced to nothing but a toy. she doesn't bother asking, instead pulling your hair aggressively and forcing you on your knees. her roughness is so fucking hot, and you whimper in arousal as she uses her fingers to open your mouth, sliding your spit over her cock that springs from her pants.

"dirty little slut, sweetheart. be a good little fucktoy for mommy. gonna make you my personal cumdump, make my cum spill out all your fucking holes. filthy whore, taking mommy's cock like a champ, you want this, don't you, baby? let mommy use you."

maybe when you're both watching a movie at a cinema, you don't question why agatha goes for the third last row of seats, why she didn't go for gold class (which she usually does, because she claims that if she's going to sit through two hours of witch-stereotypes, she's damn well going to be pampered during it) but rather the normal seats.

when she drapes a blanket over the two of you, effectively covering both of you, you hum and sidle closer to her, basking in her warmth. it's nice to take a break from all the fucking (she fucked you *quite* thoroughly in the bathroom earlier already) and just enjoy each other's presence.

well, that's what you would have said, if agatha wasn't sliding her cold hands (cooing as you shiver at the touch) over your soft tummy up to your tits. "someone could see, aggie" is quickly shushed with a "pay attention to the movie", and when you whimper at a harsh pinch, she whispers a "control yourself, sweet girl. someone might hear" knowing *damn* well that her words make you even wetter.

"mommy.." you croon for her as she fondles your boobs, and you can't help the reflex that bucks your hips up to nothing, unfortunately kicking a good portion of the blanket off you. you yelp and scramble to move it back, but agatha grabs your wrists, hissing out a "let them see, baby. let them see what a needy little girl i have," before shoving two fingers harshly into you, eliciting an embarrassing loud mewl.

(you find out only later that the cinema was largely empty for a reason, because agatha gotten wanda to manipulate the clerk into making it seem all the other seats were taken, except for the ones in the first three rows. the idea that she had told wanda what she was planning was humiliating and attractive, and prompted another session starting with you pawing at her shirt needily, tugging her to fuck you as you writhe in your seat.)

that's it for now, sorry I've been annoyingly persistent lol. have a good day everyone, and remember to focus on your exam miss covenofagatha 💜

-lots of love, worm anon 🤗

I...I am in love with your brain(worm) - or should I say all of our brainworms? Because fuck it seems like we're all just infected now and this was SUCH a good reward what the actual fuck I'm dying

(I am so glad you liked it and that it lived up to your thoughts I promise we are just getting started)

How can I focus on my exam when every single word you have written has rooted itself in my brain

Also now I'm obsessed with the thought of Agatha doing all of this help?? Will I be consumed with this until I inevitably write something about it? There is a good chance

[oh-phoenixx]

"Smoke"/"Change" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 523 words

-

Regulus’s first Christmas at the Potters’ was not all that Sirius had made it out to be. Yes, they were kind and generous, yes, it was everything that he and his brother had dreamed of when they were little. But it was too much. It was too perfect. It was too good for him. 

At the moment, Regulus, Sirius, James, and James’s parents were sitting in the living room, drinking hot chocolate and watching muggle Christmas movies. 

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Regulus mumbled to his brother. He went into the hall and grabbed the cigarettes and the lighter from his jacket, and then stepped outside. 

He was leaning back against the wall, cigarette in hand, when the front door opened beside him. He had expected it to be Sirius, or maybe Fleamont, who had talked to him a few times and was actually quite easy to confide in. He hid the cigarette for a moment in case it was Fleamont, but instead, James came out and shut the door behind him. 

“Those things will kill you, you know?” He observed, like the genius he was.

“Really? I hadn’t heard,” Regulus muttered, taking another drag.

“Sirius smokes, too. I’ve tried to get him to stop, and Remus. You’re all hopeless,” James scoffed, though his tone was playful. 

Regulus didn’t say anything in response. He didn’t know why James was out here. Frankly, he didn’t care. He wished he was made for this type of thing, for Christmas and joy and a decent home. But he wasn’t, this wasn’t his life.

“I know it’s a lot,” James mumbled, his tone almost nervous now. “We’re a lot. It’s okay if it’s overwhelming for you. My parents won’t be angry if you need a break from it all.”

“What do you care what I need?” Regulus replied, glaring through tear-filled eyes, though at his feet so that James couldn’t tell.

“I care. I care a lot, actually. More than you let yourself believe, I imagine.” James was facing him fully, his shoulder against the wall and his gaze so fixed on him that Regulus could practically feel the weight of it. “Sirius might’ve acted like being here was heaven just to get you to stay with us, but it wasn’t easy for him, either. He didn’t feel like he deserved it. He was worried every second that our love for him was conditional, and at some point we would just…snap. Hurt him. It’s okay if that’s how you feel.”

“I’m fine,” Regulus bit. “It’s just too fucking bright and loud and- I don’t know what’s wrong with me, okay?”

“That’s okay, too. You’ll figure it out as you go. You don’t have to change yourself for your home anymore, Reg. We’ll change for you. We just want you to be comfortable.”

Something about the way he said this softened Regulus. By then, he had finished his cigarette. He dropped it and ground it under his shoe. When he looked back to James, soft hazel eyes met his, and he could have melted.

Maybe Regulus didn’t need to go back to Grimmauld Place for the summer.

[hyuniemyunie]

holding bruce while he cries ☆ミ

and then making him cum oops.

sub bruce wayne x gn dom reader

nsfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): big man in your lap, dry humping, clothed..stuff, bruce cumming in his pants, bruce crying!!!

lawd help this is kinda long😭😭 i write for everything mentioned in my pinned list, so dont be surprised if i post for a lot of characters/fandoms<3 if u saw any typos..no u didnt..

(I'll get to yalls requests soon after im done with exams!<3)

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

the Batcave was silent except for the soft hum of the machinery and the occasional beep of the monitors. Bruce sat in front of the computer, his back hunched, eyes bloodshot from hours of working, but he wasn’t focused on the screen. His mind raced with the weight of his responsibilities, the guilt, the constant need to protect Gotham that never seemed to let up. The mask he wore as Batman was always on, even in moments of exhaustion.

You had been quietly watching him from the shadows for a while, your heart aching for him. You could see the strain on his face, the toll his double life had taken on him. He was never the one to ask for help, to let someone in. But you could tell he needed it, needed to be held.

Without a word, you approached him, your steps soft and measured. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling the tense muscles under his suit. “Bruce,” you whispered, your voice warm and full of concern. “You’ve been at this for too long. You need to rest.”

He didn’t respond, his jaw clenched as if holding back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. The weight of everything—Alfred’s death, the countless battles, the endless loss—was suffocating him, and he didn’t know how to let go of it. He wasn’t used to showing weakness, not even in front of you.

You gently knelt in front of him, your hand softly cupping his face, urging him to look at you. “Bruce, it’s okay,” you murmured, your voice tender, full of love, something bruce wasn't used to. “You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.”

For a moment, Bruce’s eyes flickered, and his chest tightened. He wanted to say something, to deny the raw ache in his heart, but the words got stuck in his throat. The walls he had built around himself started to crack, the dam he had carefully constructed to keep his emotions in check beginning to crumble.

Your thumb brushed over his cheek, a soothing gesture, and that was all it took. His shoulders shook as he let out a ragged breath, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes. The dam had broken, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he trusted you enough to cry in front of you.

He buried his face in your hands, the flood of emotions too much to contain. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, raw with pain. “I’m so tired, I’ve lost too much.”

Without a second thought, you pulled him into your arms, your embrace warm and comforting “Shh,” you whispered, gently rocking him back and forth. "You’re not alone. I’m here, always.”

He leaned fully against your body, letting you hold most of his weight as the weeks, months, years of pent-up emotions poured out of him. The words of comfort were like daggers to his weary heart. He'd never been on the receiving end of that kind of affection. He'd gone so long without it. He craved it far more than he'd realised.

Bruce clung to you, his hands gripping you tightly as if you were the only thing holding him together. He wasn’t Batman in this moment. He wasn’t the stoic, unshakable Bruce Wayne. He was just a man, broken and exhausted, seeking solace in your arms. The tears came harder now, and he let them fall, not bothering to hide his vulnerability anymore.

You stroked his hair, your touch soft and calming. “It’s okay to cry,” you whispered. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re so, so strong.”

He shook his head against your shoulder, the weight of his grief too much to bear. “I should’ve done more,” he whispered. “I should’ve saved them. I should’ve been stronger.”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice soft but resolute. “You did everything you could. You can’t save everyone, Bruce. But you’ve done more for Gotham than anyone ever could. And I’m so proud of you.”

The words were like a balm to his raw soul, soothing the pain and quieting the thoughts screaming in his head — the ones telling him to pull away, to get a hold of himself, to stop acting like a child, to stop needing things. Still, he didn't speak. Instead, Bruce squeezed you tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck and simply letting himself cry.

your words, full of warmth and reassurance, wrapped around him like a blanket, soothing the pain he had carried for so long. He pulled back slightly, his tear-streaked face searching you eyes, looking for something, anything.

You cupped his face gently, your thumb brushing away the tears. “You’re my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice filled with so much love. “You’ve done enough. You’ve given everything. And now, you deserve to rest, okay?"

Bruce let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering closed as he allowed himself to finally relax into your embrace. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t the Dark Knight. He wasn’t the protector of Gotham. He was just Bruce, a man in need of comfort, and you were there to give it.

your arms wrapped around him again, holding him close, your body warmth radiating through him like a beacon. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. He whimpered at the kiss, shuddering as the simple action sent a pleasant tingle through his body. His eyes were still shut tight, unable to bring himself to look at you.

In the back of his mind, Bruce was mortified by his behaviour. Sure, he wasn't exactly crying in public, but he'd never had this kind of breakdown before either. He couldn't help the little flicker of embarrassment that rose in him.

"just stay here, with me."

He nodded, pressing himself closer to you, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck in a bid to get as close as possible. He could just stay like this, he thought. He'd stay here forever, if you let him. Bruce sniffled slightly, trying and failing to keep the little whimpers of distress from escaping. He was a grown man, goddamnit, crying like a child in the arms of a pretty person. after a moment, you finally spoke, looking down at his hunched figure "you okay baby?"

He stayed silent for a moment, his face half buried in your hair. The sobs had stopped, leaving him with a raw feeling in his throat. He opened his mouth, letting out a hoarse and unstead-sounding 'yeah'. The urge to look at you welled in his chest, and he finally raised his head. His eyes stung, and he could only imagine the absolutely pathetic expression he must have.

yet you just looked at him..lovingly, as if he was actually worth caring for.

He was immediately struck by the expression on your face. No mockery, no disgust, no pity. Just a fondness in your eyes that Bruce hadn't ever seen directed at him. nothing genuine, anyway.

His chest ached, both in a good and bad way. Bruce blinked, leaning into you.

"I.." He started, voice hoarse, not being able to finish. he muttered a curse under his breath, frustrated by his inability to get past the lump in his throat.

"shut up, pretty boy, just let me cuddle you" you said with a little grin, a teasing glint in your eyes as you softly pinched his cheek Another huff slipped from his lips, but he couldn't help the reluctant half-smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth at your words. He still didn't lift his eyes to meet yours, the shame of his previous breakdown still too fresh inside him.

"You're not going to let this go.." he mumbled, shifting his body slightly. He wasn't technically in your lap, but you were still holding most of his weight.

"come on, relax, it's just us two, no one else.." you said with a shrug

This time, the almost-smile on his face turned into a full-fledged one. He lifted his gaze once more, looking to you for probably the first time in years without a sense of anger or caution.

"Just us two," he repeated, the foreign feeling of ease filling his chest. He took a breath, before adding; "Not Batman, yeah."

"you know, I've been wanting to do a thing for a while.."

before he could even process your sentence, you sat down on his chair, and grabbed him by the hips, pulling him down towards you. He let out a slightly strangled noise as he suddenly found himself in your lap.

"What are you-," he started, but you'd gotten the exact reaction you wanted from him. In his current position, his knees were on either side of your legs, and he was essentially straddling you. his body was..a bit too big to properly fit on your lap, and his weight was giving you a bit of a struggle. but some sacrifices must be made to have a beefy man in your lap, yeah?

"comfy?"you said, your voice smug as hell, too smug for his liking.

He spluttered, a blush staining his cheeks. He was, admittedly, comfy. He'd never sat on someone's lap like this before, so he wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself, and he could clearly see his body's... reaction to this new development. yes, he was hard. He looked away, trying to hide his blush and hoping you wouldn't notice the bulge pressing against your leg. "You're too much," he muttered gruffly.

and to his horror, you looked down and noticed exactly what you shouldn't have, his raging boner. god, this was embarrassing. He flinched, the stare making his blush deepen even more. He didn't mean for you to see quite what his body was doing, but it seemed he didn't have much choice in control at the moment.

".... I can't help it," he muttered defensively, still refusing to look at you.

you huffed out a laugh, arching a brow as you looked at him with the most amused expression you could.

"you got hard over..sitting on my lap?"

He muttered something under his breath, something that sounded like 'I'm a man, aren't I?'. He shifted again, trying to move slightly away from you, but your hands kept him firmly in place. He still refused to look at you, or even in your direction. "It's... been a while," he admitted with a frustrated huff of breath. well, yeah, it has been. no sex, no touching himself. if he didn't need to pee, he'd forget he even has a dick. so of course he's..sensitive.

you only looked up at him with a smug expression that made his blood boil, that damn smirk-

but then, you just..rolled your hips up like it was nothing. He let out a strangled 'ngh' at the friction he got from that, and his hands scrambled to balance himself by grabbing your shoulders.

Bruce shot you an irritated look — more for the fact that you seemed to be enjoying this than the action itself. "Stop that," he huffed, but his voice held a desperate whine. He swallowed thickly, the situation becoming even more uncomfortable by the second. the more you kept moving, the more uncomfortable he became.

you felt good against him. Really good.

He gripped your tighter, the redness of his face spreading down further. "You're a nuisance." he muttered, but the words had no bite behind them.

"Am i? you seem to be enjoying this a lot, bruce, I'm not even doing anything."

He bit the inside of his lip, letting out a shuddering gasp. His fingers dug harder into your shoulders, struggling to keep up his already flimsy balance. Bruce let out a whimper, unable to do much but let you have your way. He wanted — no, needed — more friction than what he was getting, but he had no idea what to do.

He took in a shuddering breath, a whine slipping past his lips. He shifted in your lap, trying to find a better position. He let out another gasp as your jeans pressed right against him, his hands clenching even tighter.

He couldn't look at you, could only focus on the friction as slowly, hesitantly, he found a rhythm to thrust against you, his dick rubbing painfully against the fabric of his suit.

"God," he choked out, his breathing ragged.

"you're acting like a virgin, bruce" you rolled your hips up to meet his grinding, earning a hitched moan from him, making him bite his lower lip, hard. "gonna cum in your pants too?"

He whimpered at your words, shuddering at the heat rushing through his body. He already felt like he was on the verge of coming, and they'd barely done anything. He'd spent so long without being touched by anyone, that the smallest thing was sending him over the edge. he was just so, so sensitive.

"Stop... talking," he panted, his breath hitching with every movement. "I won't... finish in my pants." He tried to sound as confident as possible, but he didn't really convince himself. he was absolutely gonna finish in his pants.

He groaned, the heat from his blush making him feel like he was burning up. He was already so close, and he'd hardly done anything. If your words weren't enough to push him over the edge, the mental image of what he must look like certainly would.

"Nn... please," he mumbled, the word turning into a whine at the end. He was barely holding on as it was.

"please, what? you need to tell me and use your big boy words, bruce"

he whined, letting his head drop to the crook of your neck as he spoke, voice barely above a whisper

"wanna cum.."

you chuckled, your hands going to rest on the firm muscles of his ass, giving them a squeeze "thats a good boy."

He practically let out a sob at your words, the combination of everything finally getting too much. He buried his face deeper into the crook of your neck, desperate to muffle his moans into something, anything to stop him from giving everything away. In that moment, Bruce Wayne, the billionaire and famous vigilante, was a shaking, whining mess, trying his hardest not to cum in his pants like a fucking virgin

you got tired of all his panting and whining, deciding to finally make him cum. you grabbed his hair, pulling back hard, his response to that was immediate. A strangled cry escaped him, his fingers clinging to you as his body tensed, shuddering harshly as he came in his pants, wetting the front of it

Bruce slumped against you, breathing heavy and shaking. Humiliation crashed down over him like a bucket of icy water.

Even as he came down slowly from the high, the heat in his cheeks reignited. He lifted his head, looking down at his pants, then quickly looked away. He couldn't bring himself to look at it — how embarrassing. The wet patch on the front of his pants only made him feel more embarrassment, and he let out a low whine, burying his head back into your neck, damn his size, he couldn't even hide himself.

"none of that, look at the mess you made, bruce." you grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to look at the mess he made

He let out another low whimper when you pulled his hair, so he had no choice but to pull his head back. He hesitantly looked down at his pants again, the damp patch on the front an obvious sign of what had just happened.

Bruce's breath hitched in his chest, and his fingers curled into your clothes again. "... I'm a mess.." he mumbled, his voice a whisper.

[jamiedc-they-them]

Please a The Rookie Tim Bradford x Shy!Adopted!Daughter!Reader? Where it’s her senior year and she’s a cheerleader and she’s doing her senior solo cheer and the stations there (Angela, Wesley, Nyla, James, Wade, Luna, Lucy, Aaron, Celina) and this is their first reaction to her cheer (her cheer can be this one: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTYognBE1/) and they’re cheering her on and you can finish the rest

Family Matters (Platonic)

Summary: Lucy likes to think she knows Tim at least a little, he is dating her best friend after all. However, what she learns is not something she ever expected.

Notes: Sorry to the requester as I think some of the other characters you mentioned come in later in the show, I'm only up to Season 2 Episode 6. Apologies!

Also, I'm from the UK and also very tired so I apologise if anything about cheer is wrong :)

Lucy knew Isabel was hard for Tim, a spot to not bring up. But, something was eating at him today. It wasn't anger, more...dare she say it? Nervous to him today.

He kept looking at his watch. Even Angela seemed to lighten up a bit with their friendly teasing.

Lucy didn't pressure him, though. So, she kept it casual, keeping their conversations how they normally would, when Tim's phone went off. He had put it in the holder, letting the audio book she recorded for him play as they went on patrol.

"It's Angela," Lucy said, picking up the phone, eyes going confused when she read the text - well, she only read the first part, when it was snatched from her grasp.

"Uh-uh," Tim said. His strict TO voice coming through, but also something else. Something like his look this morning.

"Sorry," Lucy said, hands going up.

"Relax, boot," he said, voice softening a little - ever so little, and yet she still picked up on it. See, she did know him at least, "I ain't gonna arrest you."

She snorted, despite herself, "just never seen someone so defensive over a phone before."

"Look, today's not the day, alright?" he said, sharpness coming back. He looked at her, and she saw a silent plead in his eyes.

"Of course, sir," she said. Then again, curiosity and all that --

"Who's Y/N?" it slipped out before she could even help it.

He looked at her again, this time a look she hadn't seen in his eyes since...well, maybe ever:

Life. Love. Hope.

"She's my daughter," he said.

Her eyes widened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You loved your parents, both of them. You knew what had happened with your mother, your father had told you as gently as he could.

You just hoped that she would be able to make her way out of her addiction. You wanted her to be ok.

She was getting there, taking actual steps to do so.

You would go see her, one day. Your dad had told you that she was ok with that, only wanting to go see her when you were ready.

As for you? You threw yourself into your cheer team.

You had a natural talent for it when younger, and your father had supported you with all he had.

However, as things took a turn, you and him ended up going a bit further into work and hobbies.

You weren't estranged, you still spoke and had parent and child bonding times of watching films. It was just more difficult as you both tried to deal with everything changing.

Tonight was a special performance, a solo cheer that you were doing. You had been doing all you could to practice for it. A chance to prove yourself.

You had been texting your aunt, as you knew your dad didn't like to use his phone much when at work.

She had assured you that herself and some of the others would be there, but that most importantly he would be there.

The other people in your cheer place were nice, friendly and fully got you for you. You didn't talk that much, preferred to be in the background - not that it was a bad thing of course, pieces to a puzzle and all - but they and your coach convinced you to do this solo.

So, you looked at the crowd before the game.

You took a breath, as one of your team mates can up to you, taking you away from the curtain to try help with your nerves.

Your friends were great, but you wanted your family.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucy now knew why Tim had taken a half shift that day. She knew why Angela had texted him. She knew why he was more on edge than usual.

He wanted to make sure he made it.

"Hey, we ain't having you miss this," Angela promised back at the station, putting a hand on Tim's shoulder as he sat on the corner of a desk, arms folded and staring at his watch every few moments.

A hard half-day had been the last thing he wanted. It had wasted time, even if he made people safe.

"We still need to book this guy," he said, looking to the criminal him and Lucy had brought in for...god, he was so distracted today. He'd missed things like this before, but this one he knew was special from what you had said about it when he got home from work.

He stood up, putting his face in his hands. Sure, he didn't like being as vulnerable as this at work, especially in front of rookies, but from the look Nolan gave him when he met his eyes for a minute, right now it didn't matter about work or ranks, it was a family matter.

"I can book him," Nolan even offered.

It was kind, but Tim waved him off, "she'd want to meet all of you, especially you new rookies. Just..." he looked back at them all, "just...she's a bit shy, ok? So don't like, pressure her to talk or anything."

Nolan was dead serious with the shake of his head, "oh, no, I wouldn't dream of it, sir."

Tim had a growing respect for Nolan, and this was just another reason to add to that list.

"Officer Bradford," Sergeant Grey said as he joined them all, "you are aware that we have other officers here and that this precinct isn't just you all, correct?"

"Of course, sir," Tim said, the others also nodding.

Grey nodded, sly smile, "so why are you all acting like we can't get another officer to book this man in, thus letting us all go and see Y/N's cheer?"

"You're coming?" Tim said and Lucy didn't think she could ever see him so happy.

"Course I'm coming," Grey said like it was obvious, "I've seen that girl grow up, Tim. I'm the favourite uncle."

"Wouldn't you be the gran--"

"Something you'd like to add, Officer Nolan?" Grey asked, eyebrow raised as he pretended not to hear that.

Nolan shook his head instantly, then coughing from Nyla hitting him with her elbow, "no sir."

Grey nodded, "just what I thought. Now," he said, looking at the rest of them before nodding to Tim, "lead the way, Officer Bradford."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You took a final breath, your team giving you silent support before you walked onto field, to the centre. Your team hyped you on from the background, all eyes on you.

And so, you began.

You looked at the crowd for a moment, stumbling slightly but managing to catch yourself before anyone noticed.

You looked back to your team, joining in with your chants and pointed subtely.

There they were, old and new faces.

And right in the middle of them? Tim Bradford, your father.

He was clapping, everyone else joining in, both in rhythm and in the chants.

Just like that, it was over.

You all went to the sidelines, and the game went on.

It went by like a flash.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After it, you got changed and made your way out, but was swept up in a hug by your father, "there she is!" he said, his guard completely down, "you were amazing, sweetheart!"

You giggled, hugging him close.

"Y/N," he said, putting hand on your shoulder and gesturing for the others to come over, "I'd like you to meet Lucy Chen, my boot; John Nolan, Nyla's boot - previously Bishop's - and Jackson West, Angela's boot."

Lucy came forward, beaming smile and hand outstretched, eager to meet you. You clasped her hand gently, shaking it.

"Hi! It's so good to meet you! You were amazing out there! Tim, I'll send you some photos later and oh, sorry --" she said, knowing she was rambling.

"It - it's ok," you assured. Her smile grew more, before she stepped back, letting her friends go forward as well.

"I agree with Lucy," the older one said, holding out his hand, "John Nolan, pleasure," he had a parental feeling to him that made you feel safe, that he got that you wanted this to be quick.

"Pleasure, ma'am," Jackson said, hand outstretched, "and I concur, you were incredible. You should be proud."

You nodded, giggling a bit before turning to your aunt, "he always this serious."

Angela shrugged, "I'm trying to tire it out of him. We only did a half day, remember?"

You nodded, "...right."

She came over, hugging you before ruffling your hair - something she'd done since you were young, even if now in your late teens, "I'll get there. 'sides, he's a good guy. All three are."

You nodded, "I know, I know," you said.

"I gotta say," Grey said, "that was some cheer. You've grown a lot, Y/N."

"Thank you gr-uncle Grey," you said, looking to your dad who gave you a wink: nice save.

"Hi, Wesley," a man in a suit said.

You shook his hand, eyes coming to life more as you looked back at your aunt, "ah, so this will be my uncle-in-law."

He went red at that, Angela letting out a laugh and cough at that.

She looked to Tim, "traitor!"

Tim raised his hands, "hey, you know the rules when it comes to family -"

"'No secrets', yeah Bradford, I remember," Angela said, rolling her eyes fondly. You did clock how she held Wesley's hand after that.

You looked to Nyla, giving a smile and approaching with hands together.

"You must be the new TO," you said, "I know you're still getting used to being back from undercover. So, I understand if just a hello is ok for now. But, I hope I can get to know you more?"

Nyla smiled softly, "perceptive, aren't you?" she said in a soft tone, "ever thought about being an officer?"

You shook your head, "I'll leave that to you guys. I think I'd prefer just a simple life, however I can."

Nyla nodded, "understood. But, keep that sharp eye of yours."

You tilted your head, looking at her and then at Nolan, "do you both have kids?"

They nodded, "a son, Henry," Nolan said.

"A daughter. Quite a bit younger than you," Nyla said, "I don't know what she wants to be yet, she's still learning. But, and don't tell anyone else this," she said, leaning down a bit, "I might just start bringing up cheer more after seeing moves like that."

You smiled, nodding, before making a zipping motion to your mouth.

You went back to your dad, who put an arm around your shoulder.

This was your family, with new additions.

They loved you for who you were.

Your dad knew you worried. You always would. But, you also had friends to help ground you, just as he did.

Neither of you were alone.

[wishfulimaginings]

Spoilers for Onyx storm ending ahead.

You've been warned !

Yes it's about the unconscious rider in Xaden's pov

Long post alert.

I'm going to start off by saying it's not Garrick. With all the Garrick and Imogen scenes and his second signet ,his arc is going in a different direction. I have theories there but that's not what this post is about.

It's Bodhi.

If there's one thing I learned about him in this book, it is that he's not jealous of Xaden , not the way people in the book seem to think he might be. His whole life it's been drilled into him that Xaden would be Duke one day and Bodhi needs to protect him.

Bodhi's dream in life is to be Xaden's right hand man. His security detail.

And he says as much in Chapter 55

He has unwavering loyalty to Xaden. Not Tyrrendor.

Exhibit B

Next, lets look at the scene where Violet and Bodhi are fighting Theophanie.

Theophanie might be powerful but a mind wielder she is not. She wrongfully assumes Bodhi wants Xaden's crown. But you know who IS a mind wielder aka a Dream walker- BERWYN. But I'll get to that in a moment.

For now lets look at the fight. Theophanie wields, Bodhi counters. Bodhi fails because his magic doesn't work on her.

The next time we see Bodhi , he's fighting wyvern with Imogen and Dain. Clearly he disobeyed and stayed to fight. And it's raining and hailing, we see this fight both from Violet's pov for a second but majorly from Imogen's pov.

Then Imogen and Dain leave to find Quin. And the next time we see Bodhi, he's throwing up.

I think this is where Bodhi pulled from the ground. Imogen's chapter ends here but I can bet my first edition copy of Onyx storm that this is where he pulls from the ground and then counters Theophine's signet again. And he succeeds this time.

Proof

Violet thinks Theophanie is killing the storm but I'm telling you that was Bodhi.

Now lets talk about Theophanie and Berwyn for a sec. This is important. See Bodhi's comment that Theophanie is the one trying to prove herself really hit me because it seems like she's in competition with Berwyn and Berwyn is winning because he got Xaden to turn. And so she's doing everything she can to get Violet. She literally tells Violet to choose her as her sage when she turns.

Now Theophanie is a shit manipulator. She's so bad at it, its actually funny.

Berwyn on the other hand is a mastermind. He's the venin opposite of Violet and they're both Dream walkers. The irids were aghast when they read what Andarna had given to Violet calling it a really really dangerous signet. And Xaden told her that she doesn't simply see other people's dreams but that she can "meddle". As untrained as she is , she can still meddle. Berwyn is a fully trained maven. He's been trapping and torturing Xaden in his dreams since Resson, until Xaden finally turned at Basgiath.

Who is to say he wasn't doing the same to Bodhi ? I think Berwyn, cunning as he is knows what Bodhi really wants and where his weaknesses lie because he's been in his head. And thats how he got Bodhi to turn, just like Xaden , doing the wrong thing for the right reason.

On an unrelated but totally related note-

Rebecca was recently asked , in an Onyx Storm event, what each character would order at a bar. She said Xaden would order a Beer. And so Bodhi would also order a beer because HE HAS TO DO WHAT XADEN DOES.

Edit: i found the reel. Watch reel here

Thats all folks.

[scoops-aboy86]

wc: 4849 | Rating: T | CW: greening out, recreational drug use | Additional Tags: new years fic, pining, Steve Harrington’s bisexual awakening/crisis, love confessions, getting together

note: the apple cider mentioned is not hard cider, just the stuff that’s like apple juice but better 

(also on ao3)

Drink A Cup of Kindness Yet

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Steve Harrington is greening out. 

Which, really, isn’t his fault. He’s smoked before, had pot brownies that had tasted even worse than these ones, it’s just been a while. Who knew that your tolerance could completely reset itself after only… six months. 

And, okay, maybe that happens to coincide exactly with the length of time Eddie’s been away on Corroded Coffin’s first tour. Whatever Robin says, it’s not because he’s been pining. Who’s ever heard of missing something you never even had?

(Steve’s heard. Steve’s done it. Sometimes he still misses being with Nancy even though he knows, knows he never really had her heart, not fully. Or his parents’ warmth and affection, projected onto his childhood memories mostly from heartwarming movies because they’re just not that kind of people in real life. But… shut up.)

So now he’s here, balled up on the Buckley family’s sofa like one wrong move will send him toppling to the floor and too warm, so overheated that his body doesn’t feel like it’s fitted on its bones right. With Eddie holding his hand—stupid, after all the time they’ve spent smoking together before Eddie’s music career started taking off. The guy was always up for a toke, and Steve had taken advantage of that to spend more and more time with him until real life cut Steve off cold turkey. 

From the weed, obviously. That… That’s the real problem here. 

“Sorry,” Steve forces out. His head lolls back against the couch; talking takes a lot of effort and concentration. “That I’m… blrrrmph.” 

That last bit is a stand in for whatever word he means that he totally can’t think of right now. It’s sarcastic and frustrated and a little bit whiny, and he’s so disappointed in himself for it. 

Eddie squeezes his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Stevie. It’s my fault anyway, I shouldn’t have made the brownies so strong. Just… New Year’s, you know? I went a little overboard.”

At a loss, Steve squeezes back. On one hand, he'd be much more comfortable if Eddie were annoyed with him, because Steve is used to that response from people. On the other, he’d had a half-baked plan to maybe get up the nerve to kiss Eddie at midnight because, like, that’s what people do when the clock strikes midnight to ring in the new year. It’s just the three of them, and it’s not like he can kiss Robin, she’s basically his sister. 

But now he’s over baked. He’s wrong footed without being on his feet, pulse racing and dizzy without moving, stomach uneasy because of how out of whack his internal thermostat seems to be right now, and Eddie…

Eddie is smoothing a cool wet washcloth over his forehead, courtesy of Robin—who only had one bite of brownie to start with as a precaution, and ended up a perfectly manageable amount of high. On one hand, Steve hates that about her not while he himself is so incapacitated. On the other, he loves her for being able to bring him stuff. 

Wait. How many hands is that by now? What kind of many-handed creature is he building with his internal ramblings?

Eddie holds a mug to his mouth. The ceramic is cool against his bottom lip, so he allows it; stares straight into Eddie’s big, worried brown eyes while being fed sips of apple cider, sweet and cool over his tongue, down his throat. 

“Gotta stay hydrated,” Eddie is saying, a soothing murmur. “It’ll help bring you down, sweetheart. Like a parachute.”

Steve wants to shake his head, but the message to move keeps getting lost somewhere between his brain and his neck. Which is stupid, they’re right next to each other! He waits until the mug goes away, then mumbles, “Nnn. Crash.” Puffing out his cheeks, he imitates what he thinks sounds like an explosion. 

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie retorts. A crinkle appears between his eyebrows and Steve wants to smooth it out, but he can’t. He can’t. “I’d never let you crash.”

And then. Oh no. It occurs to Steve that that’s not strictly true, and it’s not even Eddie’s fault because he didn’t know. About the… the… Well, Steve doesn’t even really know, he’s spent so long carefully tiptoeing around the shape of it—can’t miss what you never had—but. Eddie left. His departure carved out a hole, a crater that marked the way they’d emergency-landed into each other's lives one terrible Spring Break and never parted until… until. 

Steve’s eyes are swimming, leaking, possibly melting out of his skull and none of it is Eddie’s fault. It’s not Eddie’s fault that he fell into the crater in his own chest and can’t climb out, can’t even move. 

Eddie’s eyes, in contrast, go wide. “Oh, Stevie, you’re okay—”

“I d-d-d,” Steve tries, stuttering and locked up and too hot and too queasy and too much. 

Another weight settles on his other side: Robin, sitting on the arm of the couch and wriggling her cold feet under him. It is, she told him once, the closest she will ever get to willingly touching his ass, and that memory wrings an incongruous, wet little laugh out of Steve even now. 

“Ride it out, dingus,” she tells him, combing fingers through his sweaty hair and, he can tell, trying to fix it for him. Not that she’s ever very good at doing so, but he appreciates the attempt. “I brought you some leftovers if you’re hungry.”

Robin’s mom loves turkey, so it’s always on the Buckley family menu for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve. It’s what they all had before the older adults went off to some party they’d been invited to and the ‘kids’ stayed behind. Now Robin’s brought him a small plate with the perfect ratio of turkey, stuffing, and jellied cranberry sauce, the kind that comes in the shape of a can. Not really finger food, but that’s how she feeds it to him whenever he flops his head from facing Eddie to facing her. 

His eyes well up again because he’s got the best people in the world here with him, and because he’s being a total loser right now but it doesn’t matter because he’s got the best people in the world here with him, and… 

Woah. Déjà vu. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles again with a sniffle. “Shitty New Year’s.”

Eddie’s still holding his hand, squeezing it again reassuringly. “Trust me, big boy, this is nothing. I tried something on the road that, like, I don’t even know what that was. And I’m supposed to know my shit right? Ended up trashing a hotel room, which was… a classic rockstar move, actually, but it felt terrible. Especially after. You can’t help a bad trip while it’s happening, just gotta take steps once it’s over to make sure it never happens again.” He pauses. “And that’s why me and all the guys have made a blood pact not to accept anything from groupies, roadies, or music execs anymore.”

Robin, from where Steve isn’t looking, hums. “Naming that many sources doesn’t sound like it was just a one time mistake.”

Eddie shrugs, a motion that flows all the way up Steve’s arm from their clasped hands. “Well, there are four of us, so.”

Steve doesn’t want to think about what Eddie is or isn’t doing, what he is or isn’t accepting, from groupies. Distantly, he can feel his face doing something—pouting, maybe—as he whines and tips closer into Eddie’s space. Ends up with his face smooshed against the other man’s collarbone and throat, touching both threadbare band t-shirt and bare, stubbled skin. Now that he’s out of Robin’s reach, Eddie takes over stroking his hair after only a brief hesitation. 

And, like. Not to downplay how much Steve appreciates Robin, but this is better. He’s not sure why, it just is. If Eddie keeps going, he could probably stay here forever, just like this. 

Which is how he dozes off, all sense of time melting away until he merely exists, a seamless transition from being cradled by Eddie in real life to surrounded by him in a dream. 

~

Steve wakes with a snort to find himself almost right where he’d started, except instead of tucked into the corner of the couch he’s tucked into Eddie’s lap, probably squashing the other man’s legs numb. Instead of holding his hand, Eddie’s other arm is wrapped firmly around his back, holding him securely in place; the hand that had been in Steve’s is now holding several playing cards. Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve plays on low in the background, light shifting through the otherwise dim room. 

“Go fish,” Eddie crows softly, then turns to Steve as Robin huffs and takes a card from the draw pile. “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. You feeling better?”

Feeling humiliated is more like it. Can’t even handle his—But at the same time, something in Steve has settled. A crater filled in. He doesn’t pick his head up, but he does bring a hand to his mouth to wipe away an embarrassing amount of drool, and tries clumsily to wipe it with the edge of his sleeve from where Eddie’s neck meets his shoulder, too. 

“M’fine,” he mutters, not totally convinced this is true. He feels clearer, sure, but definitely still high. He’s still sleepy, muscles lax, comfortable where he is. Embarrassment isn’t quite enough to make him move yet, drool or not. 

To hell with new year traditions though, because he can’t try for a midnight kiss now; his luck tonight has been way too bad already. And besides, he hasn’t even admitted to Robin he’s having these thoughts first, which is probably a soulmate faux pas. Kissing Eddie without consulting her first seems borderline rude. Or something. 

(More like he’s being a coward, but he’s pretty sure his reasons are, you know. Reasonable.)

He squints at the cards in Eddie’s hand. “Ask for sevens.”

“Okay. Got any sevens, Birdie?” There’s something warm and affectionate in Eddie’s tone. A smile, maybe—something Steve had missed while he was conked out. 

“Two against one, no fair,” Robin grumbles, but hands over a card. 

They play for a little while longer like that, until Robin is eventually placated by winning despite the allegedly unfair player imbalance. When she bounces up to get them all refills of cider in time for the midnight countdown, Eddie gets Steve’s attention by leaning back just enough to make eye contact. 

“Hey Stevie. I’m really sorry I didn’t warn you about the brownies… I should probably take a tolerance break, I barely even felt it and that clashes with my personal values.” The smile Eddie shoots at him is lopsided, dimple popping on one side in a way that makes Steve want to cup his cheek in one hand and pull him close until their mouths touch. Fuck. “Gotta be easier on the wallet and get back to those days of being a cheap date, otherwise I lose some of my already questionable appeal.”

“‘S not questionable,” Steve protests through a yawn. “You’re nice.”

“To you,” Eddie retorts. “To everyone else, I’m mean as a snake.”

His voice is gone quiet again. If Steve didn’t know any better he’d think it was shy—but Eddie Munson doesn’t do shy, there’s no way. Eddie Munson… is a goddamn rockstar trying not to stay stuck in this podunk town, and Steve finds himself smiling stupidly at him with reddened eyes that are still slightly unfocused. 

“You’re a big metal softie,” Steve says, because the record’s gotta be set straight. He taps Eddie’s nose for emphasis and chuckles when Eddie scrunches it and goes cross eyed trying to follow the motion with his eyes. 

There’s a moment where they just sort of look at each other. Steve feels so content, just looking at him. Knowing that Eddie isn’t expecting anything of him beyond being himself, which is… well, it doesn’t come easy a lot of the time, but for now he feels loose and warm. 

“Steve, can I tell you something?” Eddie whispers. 

He wants to hear what Eddie has to say. He always wants to hear everything on Eddie’s mind. So he nods. 

Gently, Eddie brushes Steve’s hair out of his eyes. (When had that gotten there?) “For a while now, I’ve—”

“Here we go!” Robin interrupts, setting their three glasses of fancy apple juice on the coffee table and flopping down behind Steve. “Do you think we have time to play another round? I bet I could kick your ass at War before the ball drops.”

“Robin,” Eddie says without breaking eye contact with Steve, “I think you forgot something in the kitchen.”

There’s a pause, presumably while Robin reads the room, and then Steve feels the couch shift as she stands again. “Oh! You know what, you’re right! I’ll just… go figure out what that was while you two keep talking, carry on.”

Even though that’s his platonic soulmate, there was never a question of turning to look at her. Steve is breathless, floating, and Eddie is all around him, just like in his dream. It’s doing something inscrutable and fantastic to his insides. (I am still really high, he thinks, and then promptly loses the thought.)

When she’s gone again, Eddie simply says, “I missed you, Steve.”

“You did?” Steve whispers. 

“Yeah. And it made me realize something.” 

He’s still busy welling up just from Eddie thinking of him while out in the big wide world at all. “What?” 

Eddie smiles, a complicated emotion sculpting his expressive face that Steve wants to map with his fingertips until he knows it like the back of his own hand. “That life’s too short not to tell someone you love them.”

What?  

“And it’s funny,” Eddie continues, “because you’d think I would’ve figured that out after nearly dying, but nope. That little epiphany waited until I left Hawkins and realized how… just how perfectly you’d folded yourself into my life. I missed seeing you, talking to you every day. And I didn’t say anything about it any of the times I called because I didn’t want to fuck up at least being friends—”

Steve gets that. It’s been the loudest of his not-quite-thoughts for months now.

“—But fuck it, alright? I love you. So I had to come back and, well… I chickened out on saying it earlier tonight, and then you got way too high and this probably isn’t the best time to dump this on you, but…” He smiles nervously. “The way you’ve been looking at me since you woke up, it’s like there’s stars in your eyes, Stevie. I don’t know if it’s for me or if it’s the weed or what, but it keeps making my heart do cartwheels. You don’t have to… I’m not asking for anything, and if you don’t feel the same way—like, romantically, I don’t mean platonic right now, just to be very, very clear—that’s okay, but I just needed you to know. That I love you.”

I love you. Just like that, unprompted. Twice. Kinda three times, even, if you count life’s too short not to tell someone you love them. 

In all of Steve’s relationships, he’s been the first to say it, always. He hasn’t said it in a long time, so it’s been a while since he’s heard it from anyone other than Robin—until this shooting star left where it had risen to in the sky to spend an honestly tame night with two best friends, one of whom can’t handle his special brownies for shit, saying that Steve fit in his life as though he’d had a crater carved in him too. Gazing at him now with a heartbreakingly open look, like he wouldn’t even hold it against him if Steve shrugged off Eddie’s arm and climbed out of his lap for this. 

And Steve, with all his walls around his heart to keep it from breaking, walls in his head around the start of thoughts about Eddie best left untouched for danger of getting in over his head… He hasn’t given himself the time or space to come to terms with any of it, but he can feel all that time spent not thinking about it welling up behind his eyes, the byproduct of pressing it all down oozing back up, and fuck. The last thing he wants is to fuck this up and lose Eddie, but that doesn’t mean he wants to cry about it. 

It happens anyway, too stoned to be any good at holding it in. 

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says, that same crinkle between his eyebrows again as he cradles Steve closer. Closer, not away, so that’s something. That’s… Steve doesn’t know if it’s what he wants right now, body responding so equally with urges to flee and relax that he ends up feeling too leaden to move. Again. “Shit, sorry, I—Do you want me to get Robin?”

Steve shakes his head violently, the inside of it as blank as an Etch-A-Sketch, and what’s wrong with him? He can’t—he would kill to talk to Robin, but he hasn’t, not about this, not for months. What the fuck is wrong with him?

She could’ve helped him sort this out, and then he might know what to say about Eddie loving him. Instead, he's sitting here in Eddie’s lap feeling like he could just as easily run a marathon or simply fall over dead. 

“I didn’t, I don’t know,” Steve says, panicking. His hands fumble, he’s not even sure what they’re trying to do until they’re clutching at Eddie, fingers twisted into the band shirt that’s so soft and faded he can’t even tell what’s on it, had been trying to puzzle it out right up until he’d gotten too high to function. “Eddie, I haven’t…”

“I know,” Eddie replies quickly, even though he doesn’t. “I’m not asking you for anything here. I wouldn’t put you on the spot like that, Steve.”

But you did, Steve thinks hysterically, because he had just by bringing it up, just by… 

Eddie is pulling Steve to rest his forehead on his shoulder, something they’ve done for each other in panic attacks and after nightmares ever since surviving the end of the world together. They’ve both done it for Robin, and she’s done it for them. This is barely different, the same gesture even if what Steve is freaking out about this time is wholly new-but-not-new, and being high through it makes things easier and harder. 

His heart is thumping hard and fast in his chest like it might burst. Maybe he wants it to. 

Maybe Eddie needs to see the messy contents of his heart and help sort through the gore and the junk to find what’s real in it, if anything. Steve doesn’t trust himself to know; he’s had trouble trusting himself with love, anyone’s love but Robin’s really, for a long time. 

“You just,” he whines into Eddie’s shoulder. “You don’t know, Eds, you—I don’t even fucking know!”

There’s a hand rubbing soothing patterns over his back, a little uncertain. “Okay, I don’t know. I’m not sure what you’re talking about, obviously, but it’s okay not to know.”

No it’s not, because Eddie deserves an answer. Eddie was brave, is brave, and Steve is… whatever this is. A mess. Maybe confused, maybe just trying to be more like Robin and mistaking his friendship with Eddie for attraction. How is he supposed to be sure? 

Steve’s fingers twist harder into the soft t-shirt material as he blurts out, “You left.” He doesn’t like how accusing it sounds, how whiney still, but now that he’s started he can’t stop. “I missed you too, you asshole, I… It’s been killing me, Eds, and I didn’t, I don’t know!”

“It’s okay not to know,” Eddie repeats, sounding dazed and maybe a little desperate, probably because Steve isn’t making any sense. 

“But I need to,” Steve argues frantically. “I can’t, I can’t fuck this up, or I’m just fucking bullshit again and I can’t—”

“No.” It’s the first firm thing Eddie has said in a while, the first thing he’s sounded sure about since I just needed you to know. He pulls back, but only enough to lift Steve’s chin to look at him, big brown eyes locking in like a tractor beam to rival the Death Star’s. “You are not bullshit.”

It’s just as devastating as hearing the opposite, like a forest fire clearing out old deadfall to make way for new things to grow.

And that’s all it takes apparently. Steve yanks Eddie forward by the shirt because he has to know. 

~

In the kitchen, Robin dawdles with getting more snacks to go with more apple cider—because, as Eddie had pointed out once Steve was down for the count, getting crossfaded on champagne would not end well. 

And then Eddie had whisper-asked, while carefully supporting a lapful of her unconscious platonic soulmate, “What do I do, Robin?” and then “He’s so…!” and eventually even “I’m too gay to survive this, Buckley.”

Which is nothing he hadn’t said to her before, so she’d just rolled her eyes and retorted, “So tell him already, dummy.”

Because she knows Steve. He doesn’t listen to his heart nearly as much as he should, too convinced that it’ll get him into trouble, but that’s because he’s a dingus. 

Now, hearing Steve start to freak out in the other room, Robin grips hard at her own hands and wavers. Should she not have encouraged Eddie? Crap. Should she go back out there? Crap, she’d been so sure that Steve felt the same way that she’d forgotten it was technically possible that he might have a bad reaction. Because, like, being cool about two girls liking each other was different from another guy liking him. She doesn’t think he’d freak out about it or anything, but she also hadn’t expected Eddie to take her advice so immediately, so clearly she’s not infallible. 

Crap, she should go back out there. Panicking, Robin grabs the dish of cranberry sauce because Steve loves that wiggly, can-shaped abomination and rushes back to the living room to—

Catch an eyeful of Steve now full-on straddling Eddie, face damp with one hand tangled with his shirt and the other in his curly hair. Steve’s eyes are closed, and so are Eddie’s as they kiss so desperately they’re almost rocking back and forth. 

She’s happy for them, but… ew. 

“Missed you,” Steve gasps between kisses. “Eds—missed you—so much—”

Eddie moans into his mouth, which frankly is more than Robin needed to hear. Thankfully, though, his own hands are at a respectable middle ground between looped around Steve’s waist and reaching for his ass. “Sweetheart—‘

They seem to be working it out. Robin’s going to retreat to the kitchen and give them a minute. 

~

Their first kiss is kind of like a traffic collision, which Steve regrets immediately. (He used to be good at this, dammit.) But Eddie—I’d never let you crash—kisses readily back, slows him with a touch to his jaw and eases the pace into something less frantic, but still eager. Easing him down like the parachute he’d promised until they’re fitted together like there’s no place they’d rather be. 

Steve has never been on someone’s lap for a kiss before. Eddie is warm beneath him, against him, arms securely around him. If he’d had any doubts, they’re melting in the warmth of how safe this feels. Like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. 

And it doesn’t hurt that Eddie is a good kisser. Or that Steve on his knees over him trying to press closer and closer, which… yep, they are definitely both starting to get hard from this. Steve can feel Eddie against him, an electric point of contact that’s unfamiliar, but feels more good than scary. 

Mostly. Because he wants—god, he wants, suddenly, so much more than he had let himself even think about before—but not right now, while he’s still stoned in Robin’s living room. It’s not like Eddie expects that, right? He said he loves him.

“M’not a groupie,” Steve reminds Eddie, whining a little into his mouth with a sudden stab of jealousy and dread. This has to be real or he’s not going to survive it. 

“Never,” Eddie pants. “Stevie, sweetheart—” he steals another kiss “—none of them are you, none of them could ever.”

“So you don’t…?”

“Have a few times,” he admits, pained but earnest. “Not in weeks. Kept thinking about you.” His hold tightens possessively, another thing Steve has never been on the receiving end before but it sends a thrill up his spine. “I kept forgetting their names and saying yours. They’re not who I want.”

Steve flushes, pleased by the thought of Eddie thinking about him while getting off but limited in imagining it because… well, he’s not totally sure how it works with two guys, beyond hand stuff. How to decide who puts what where. How does it… fit? Does Eddie like to be the, uh, the one putting it in? Oh god. God, what if Eddie does want that, but his dick is huge?! Because, like, Steve is on board with the idea of a dick in his hand, he knows what that feels like inside and out, but the rest—

He takes a shaky breath and tries to stop spiraling, but. It’s a lot. “Um, I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here, Eds. Are you sure I’ll live up to… whatever you’ve been thinking about?”

“Baby,” Eddie purrs, and there’s the rockstar shining through, soothing in its confidence when Steve feels so unsure. (Even though Corroded Coffin has achieved only moderate Midwest fame so far, Steve’s always thought he has the charisma for more.) “First of all, it would be my pleasure to show you the ropes, one thing at a time. We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with until you tell me it’s okay. And the good thing about having an overactive imagination is that, whatever you feel good about, anything we do will be straight out of my dreams.”

He winks, and Steve ducks his head with a grin, reassured by the answer even though there’s a lot he needs to wrap his head around still.  

“And second, Big Boy, I can already tell that measuring up will not be a problem.” Punctuated by a rock of his hips that, though subtle, rubs them together just right that Steve has to bite his bottom lip to stifle a moan. 

Eddie makes a little growling sound in his throat and dips in to take that lip for himself, worrying it gently before soothing it with a kiss. A surprisingly chaste one, which Steve finds as soothing as the pleasure a moment before was electrifying. 

“And third,” Eddie continues, “me and the guys have been talking about setting up home base in Indy now that we’ve gotten started. That’s close enough to visit, at least. See where this goes. Go on—” and now his face is so endearingly hopeful it makes Steve’s heart feel too big for his chest “—dates? I don’t know where you are yet, and like I said, it’s okay if you’re not either, but that’s what I want: a relationship, in as many ways as I can get.”

“Yeah,” Steve says immediately. He’d started nodding before Eddie had even finished speaking. “Yeah, I think I want that too.”

Maybe it is okay that he doesn’t have everything quite figured out yet. And Robin had to have known, somehow, what Eddie was going to bring up when he’d shooed her out of the room; she wouldn’t have left so easily if she had any objections. She probably won’t be as mad as he’d feared about being left out of the loop. 

As if summoned by the thought, they both hear Robin call loudly from the kitchen, “Are you two done getting your gay and presumably-bisexual longing out in the open out there, or should I make popcorn while your gross boy cooties are barring me from my own couch?”

Eddie snorts, and Steve starts shaking with repressed laughter—one part snickering at his best friend’s predicament and three parts relief that she doesn’t sound mad. He’s never been more grateful that they seem to share a brain, even when he doesn’t know how to unpack his own shit sometimes. 

Though, now that he’s started, there’s a lot he wants to talk with her about. Starting with, what does it mean that he’s presumably some sort of bicycle?

“Make the popcorn anyway, we’re busy,” Eddie calls, and kisses Steve again. 

Not chaste this time. Still sweet, but with a richness and depth that Steve parts his lips for eagerly. He may not know the guy part of this but he knows kissing, knows how to adjust without pulling too hard on the reins—and that’s not so different from not really having the reins at all, really. 

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Steve Harrington is on top of the fucking world. 

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[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Don’t Leave Like That

It started like any other fight—a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control, fueled by sharp words and frustrations that neither of you had fully voiced. Marshall had been stressed, the weight of his career pressing down on him, and you had been feeling neglected, your own insecurities bubbling to the surface.

“You’re always busy, Marshall! I’m here, waiting for you, and you don’t even notice!” you shouted, arms crossed as you paced the living room.

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy because I’m working my ass off for us?” he snapped, his tone cutting. “I can’t drop everything every time you feel insecure!”

Your heart clenched at the word “insecure,” and something inside you snapped. “You don’t get it, do you? I feel like I’m fighting to matter to you!”

“Maybe I don’t have time for this right now!” he shot back, his voice rising.

That was the last straw. Without another word, you grabbed your keys and stormed out, slamming the door behind you.

---

The rain had started as a light drizzle but quickly turned into a torrential downpour. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles white as the wipers struggled to keep up with the storm.

You replayed the fight over and over in your head, every word cutting deeper. You felt stupid, hurt, and angry—not just at Marshall but at yourself for letting it escalate.

“Maybe I don’t have time for this…” his words echoed in your mind, the sting of them making tears well up in your eyes.

Your vision blurred, and you didn’t see the sharp turn until it was too late. The tires slipped on the wet road, and your heart leaped into your throat as the car spun out of control.

The sound of screeching tires, shattering glass, and the sickening crunch of metal filled the air.

Then everything went black.

---

Marshall was still pacing the living room, running his hands through his hair and replaying the fight in his head. He hated how the fight had ended, hated the way you’d looked at him before you left.

When his phone buzzed, he grabbed it immediately, hoping it was you.

“Hello?”

“Is this Marshall Mathers?” a calm but serious voice asked.

“Yeah, who’s this?” he replied, his chest tightening.

“This is Officer Daniels with the Detroit Police Department. Your wife was involved in a car accident—”

“What?” Marshall interrupted, his voice cracking. “Is she okay? Where is she?”

“She’s at Detroit General Hospital. She’s stable, but I suggest you get here as soon as possible.”

---

Marshall didn’t remember much about the drive to the hospital. By the time he got there, his hands were shaking, and he could barely focus on what the receptionist was saying as she directed him to your room.

When he saw you lying in the hospital bed, bruised and battered but awake, relief flooded him so intensely he almost collapsed.

“Marshall,” you croaked, your voice weak.

He was at your side in an instant, his hand reaching for yours as tears streamed down his face.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes welled with tears. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It is,” he said, his voice breaking. “If we hadn’t fought, if I hadn’t said those things, you wouldn’t have left.”

“I was stupid, too,” you said, squeezing his hand despite the ache in your body. “I thought if I left first, you couldn’t leave me. I was scared, Marshall.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “You’re everything to me. I’d never leave you. Never. But seeing you like this… I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to losing you.”

“You didn’t lose me,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I’m right here. And I’m sorry, too. We both let it get out of hand.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

---

The weeks that followed were hard. Marshall stayed by your side through every doctor’s appointment, every therapy session, and every moment you needed him. But he couldn’t stop beating himself up.

Every bruise and scratch on your body felt like a punishment, a reminder of the fight that had sent you out into the storm.

One night, as you sat on the couch with him, you noticed the way his eyes lingered on the faint bruise on your arm.

“Marshall,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours.

He looked up at you, guilt written all over his face.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said firmly. “We were both being stupid, both saying things we didn’t mean. This… this was an accident. And we’re okay now. That’s what matters.”

He nodded, though his eyes were still heavy with emotion.

“I just… I never want you to feel like I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t ever want you to think you’re not the most important thing in my life.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “I know. And I’m not going anywhere, Marshall. Not unless you’re coming with me.”

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you, too,” you replied.

And in that moment, you both knew that no fight, no storm, and no mistake would ever break the bond you shared.