#square glass filters

[hidengifs]

@Giftober 2023 Day 11: Pink ↳ Kijino Tsuyoshi | Avataro Sentai Donbrothers

And then there's me, as average as they get. Until that day...

[tokjutrips]

Castle of glass Venclslav skvér

[tumbler-dot-com-user]

just got new glasses! everything's so clear now. damn

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 1

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: Desperately at your absolute limit, you decide to see one last therapist to try and help with your condition. After one session, Dr. Richmond manages to put you at ease, giving you enough tools to start you on your journey. As the exploration continues, your true hope is that you don’t get burned.

Word Count: 4,648k

AO3 Link | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: Don't judge me for this chile. I saw that beautiful man in a black turtleneck with glasses and lost my marbles. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

He came highly recommended. That was the only reason you were here. You’d stared at his pictures and read all of the available posts recommending him but you couldn’t get over the fact that he was so damn pretty. And intimidating. 

But after going through nine different therapists, most who ended up as creeps or couldn’t help you, you were at your wit’s end. It was already embarrassing enough starting over with a brand new therapist, but this had to take the cake. 

The hallway was quiet, with muted browns and reds. Supposedly academic, soothing colors. As if the darker the color, the less likely you were to think about anything sexual. You stared at the imposing brown door with his name embossed on a placard. Dr. Terry Richmond. 

You bit your lip and stared at the slip in your hand with the referral scrawled across it. He took on special cases. Pathetic cases. 

“Fuck this,” you said to yourself. You turned on your heel and stepped down the hallway. The door opened and the man himself looked down the hallway. 

“Are you my two o’clock?” He asked. His deep baritone was unexpected. Soothing. Calming. Unnerving. 

“Uh,” you sighed.

He continued to stare so you continued to stare back. He wore an all black outfit, right down to his black tennis shoes. He wore a long sleeved black T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Black, form fitting pants that only highlighted how tall he was. He had to be 6’1. Hell, possibly 6’3. 

He cleared his throat, looking for an answer. Light refracted off of his frames, temporarily hiding his eyes. You gripped the straps of your purse and squared your shoulders. “Yes,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded his head and waved you inside. You walked behind him, feeling like you were walking to your doom. Inside his office, it was just as drab as outside.

Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with medical texts and non-fictional books on powerful Black figures through history. The office was small, but clean, with a golden brown sofa pushed against a solid wall of taupe. He had a painting above the sofa, showing a serene ocean view with a boat out on the water. 

Natural light filtered into the room from a window showcasing the cityscape outside. His office was high up in the building, letting you look down on all the people living their normal lives. 

The door closed behind you and you jumped, whipping around to see Dr. Richmond leaning away from the door. He raised his hands. “I’m sorry, would you like it to remain open?” He asked. 

You shook your head. Closed was preferable. You watched Dr. Richmond take his seat behind a massive desk, everything in a neat stack and in its proper place. He rolled forward and then opened a black folder, picking up a pen.

“Please, have a seat. Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“My thick ass file didn’t give me away? Sorry, I shouldn’t say ass. Sorry,” you said and winced after cussing so much. You pointed to a thick file on his desk and you knew without a doubt that it was yours. 

It was crazy how you had a full record of your insanity, detailing how you started down this deep, dark path. Cataloged every doctor, every note, every nasty thought in your mind. Okay, you were being a little dramatic, but this was just so…embarrassing. And it didn’t help to have someone who looked like that hearing what you had to say. 

“There’s no rules here. You want to say ass, go for it,” he said and shrugged. 

You giggled, feeling more at ease. You nodded and took a seat on the sofa. There was a clear coffee table in front of it that held a zen garden complete with little trees, shiny rocks, and…were those Lego figures? You looked from it to him and he smirked, drawing your attention to his full, lush lips. 

 “Some people find it easier to occupy their hands during discussions. You can give it a try if you want,” he said.

You sat back on the sofa. Maybe later. You felt too awkward as is. Like you were some alien visitor testing out your disguise on the human population. You rubbed your sweaty palms on your leggings and shook your head. “What, uh, did my file say about me?” 

Dr. Richmond shrugged and leaned back in his seat, fixing his thin gold glasses on his face. “Those are words and opinions from other doctors. I’d rather hear what you have to say,” he said and leaned back in his seat.

He was so…disarming in a way that allowed you to release the ironclad control you held on to. You picked at your nails and focused on that, rather than his stormy eyes. “I think I’m broken. And I’m not entirely sure why I’m even entertaining this,” you said. 

“Why are you then?” He prompted.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Tired of feeling like a freak,” you said.

“A freak? Why would you use that term?” He asked. 

You snuck a glance at him. He no longer held the pen. He rested his hands against his stomach, clasped, and just looked at you. Even that was different from all your other therapists combined. 

“Because that’s what it feels like. Like I’m in a freak show. I–,” you stopped and licked your lips. But you were here now. May as well rip the bandaid off. “I can’t cum! And I know, it’s normal. I know plenty of people experience it. I know that women especially have a hard time doing it. But no matter what I fuckin’ try, I just can’t. I feel it coming, I know it’s coming, but then it sort of…goes away? And then I’m sitting there embarrassed that I can’t and when I’m with a partner, they pretend that it’s cool, but then I never hear from them again.” 

You clicked your teeth shut as you realized you were rambling. You picked at a stiff hangnail, tugged at it until it started to hurt. You continued flicking at it, egged on by your awkwardness. And realizing you were being awkward was only making it worse. So you picked. And picked, until the hangnail tore and hurt worse. 

“Why is it important that you cum?” He asked. 

“What?” You asked. You looked at him, expecting to see pity. Disgust. Curiousness. Dr. Richmond held none of those things. His face was a pillar of stoicism, balancing the perfect mix of professionalism and empathy. 

“Why is it so important to you? If you know that it’s normal and plenty of people experience it, shouldn’t the journey matter more than the destination?” He asked. 

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp as you looked at him. Your mind emptied of every single possible answer to that question. It was important because…it was. Because you never got anything else right either. You were always a step behind, slow on the uptick, feeling like you were taking up too much space in the world even after shrinking yourself to the smallest possible point.

Not easy to do considering your size. You loved your body and wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it wasn’t exactly easy to hide. You were unassuming, sweet, kind, and a great friend. But beneath all of that, you wanted desperately to fit in. This was a basic human release. It was part of the big three things that humans needed. Food, safety, sex. And you could only achieve one of those things.

But how did you word that without sounding like a pathetic kook? You pulled at the hangnail, felt the burn as it ripped, and shrugged your shoulders. Might as well tell the truth. “Because I feel like a freak when I can’t. Like I waited too long. To have sex, to experience life, to explore what I’m into,” you said. 

“Do you think there are goal posts for life?” He asked. He may as well have been a statue for how often he moved. He retained his position, chair turned slightly towards you, as he looked at you like you were a puzzle. 

“Isn’t there? That’s why we call them milestones? Reach your 18th birthday, yay you’re an adult. Find the love of your life, yay you’re married. Pop out some kids, yay, you’re continuing the bloodline. I feel like now, at my age, I should know what one fuckin’ orgasm feels like,” you said. 

“How do you know you haven’t had one already?” He asked.

“I know my body. There’s nothing. There’s the build up, there’s the excitement, there’s everything leading up to it. But I never get over that peak. It just…goes away,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded and turned his attention to the pad. He wrote down a few sentences and it was so quiet in his office, you could hear a clock ticking nearby. You also heard his pen scratch against the paper. He must be using some fancy, fountain pen. He looked the type. 

“What do you hope to achieve through therapy?” He asked. 

You shrugged. “If I knew, you wouldn’t be my tenth therapist,” you said with a heavy sigh. When you first thought about going to therapy, you thought it wasn’t truly for you. There was nothing that really bothered you outside of life’s stress. Everybody had that. 

But you ended up finding some that encouraged you to dig deep and find the woman within. The one comfortable in her skin. Encouraged you to explore your sexuality and think about it in depth. You crawled through so many forums, so many health websites, so many articles that you had a great idea of what ailed you. 

“There has to be a reason you keep trying,” he said. 

You leaned back into the sofa with a huff. “You definitely ask the easy questions. What happened to the intake and whatever?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. He tapped his pen against your folder. “You’ve done plenty of that, don’t you think?” 

Your lips twisted with a smile. Okay, maybe you were starting to see why he was so highly recommended. He was comforting without being condescending. Soothing without being smarmy. He treated you like an adult and for the first time, you had a little beacon of hope. 

“I keep trying because I want it. I don’t have the words right now to describe why I want it. I want to know the hype. I want the relief. I want to know what post nut clarity feels like,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled and you chuckled with him. It sounded funny, but you were so serious. It was exhausting at this point. Pretending like you knew what the fuck you were talking about when others asked you. Your group chat blew up with your equally single friends who were less discerning about who they took to bed.

Every other night, there were stories about dick sizes, oral, and a whole treatise on the lack of finesse these guys had. You almost snorted thinking about your best friend, Brooklyn, and how she said that no wonder men were trapping women in marriages in the past. It was the only way they could get women to be with them. It certainly wasn’t because of their pornographic sexual prowess. 

“What’s been your journey with sex so far?” He asked. 

You took a deep breath and told him all about it. The way that you picked up a book one day with sex in it and never looked back. In a lot of ways, that book probably shaped how you viewed sex and your sexual kinks. Before long, you were searching for more and more books with the exact same tropes. A sexy, semi-asshole alpha male that was too big to be real. 7’8, long dick, and a short attitude. Typically bad boy types with tattoos and “touch her and die” vibes. The kind to only be soft with the female main character.

You could wax poetic about why it appealed to you. Blah blah blah, you had a terrible childhood where you felt invisible. It was all there in the file if he wanted to take a gander. 

“I know I’m submissive, that I want to be dominated in bed. But, whew, the game out here is ridiculous,” you said. “The men I wouldn’t mind submitting to are too damn weak to take control. The men I would never submit to act like I’m their pet already and can speak to me however they want.” 

“Do you think you’re being too picky?” He asked. 

You were startled into a laugh. “What gave me away, Dr. Richmond?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “I have a process, bear with me,” he said. That ain’t all you wanted to do. He was fine as hell. You mentally shook your head. No, you could not go there. Not at all. 

You continued to discuss how you led to certain conclusions. Yes, you were picky. But why shouldn’t you be? You weren’t seeking perfection. You just wanted something normal. Something healthy. Something toe curling, mind numbing, sickeningly disgusting and sweet. Was that too much to ask for? 

Dr. Richmond asked more questions and you relaxed fraction by fraction, getting right to the core of why you were seeking professional help. You told him about some of the partners you had. Some who were sweet and really tried. You had a long term boyfriend at one point who was attentive and caring. But he fell short of making you cum. 

He ate you out long enough to get you wet and going and then jumped straight to sex just so he could cum. You often lied about cumming until it got too exhausting to keep up with. He promptly got mad, hurt that you lied, and possibly embarrassed that he wasn’t God’s gift to sex. His loss. 

It was awkward at first to discuss such intimate details with Dr. Richmond but you often forgot he was even there. Until he asked you to expand on something you said or ask a clarifying question. Even the scratch of his pen faded into the background as you spoke about how you arrived in his office. 

Dr. Richmond finally finished and leaned back in his seat once more, squaring his broad shoulders against the high back of his chair. He crossed his leg and looked at you and you briefly wondered what he’d look like without the glasses. 

“We’re nearing the end of our session but I think I’m getting a clearer picture of why you’re here. After hearing from you and looking through your file, it seems like your perception of what sex really is has been skewed. Either through these books, these movies, or even porn. It’s perfectly okay to consider what you like in bed or what you prefer in a partner. But most people’s foray into their sexual journey starts with themselves. What’s your relationship like with your body?” 

“I love my body,” you said, immediately. Why wouldn’t you love your body? You were gorgeous. Sure, you struggled with your weight, but you didn’t want to be thin anyway. You just wanted to roll out of bed without being out of breath sometimes. Or cut your toenails without having to stop every few minutes for air. 

Dr. Richmond licked his lips and your eyes dropped immediately to it. He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and it drew your attention to his big hands. Too damn bad you hadn’t met him under better circumstances. You bet he could make you cum. Often.

“What else?” He asked. 

“What else is there?” You asked, clearing your throat, and drawing your attention away from how drop dead gorgeous he was. Your thoughts ran wild still, picturing him in all sorts of nasty scenarios. If nothing else, your imagination was always there to show you a good time. Your own perfect world where you experienced back to back orgasms. 

“What has your personal sexual journey encompassed besides you loving your body? Do you touch yourself?” He asked. 

You fought every urge you had to squeeze your thighs together. How the hell did this man end up in this profession? He missed his calling as a phone sex operator. Or an erotic audio content creator. Good lord, he could have people eating out of the palm of his hand if he so wished. Swimming in a tub full of money earned from hundreds of thousands of horny bitches who could cum to his voice alone. Lucky bitches.

You shrugged. “Of course I touch myself. I can’t cum that way either,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “This only works if you lower them walls you try so hard to hide behind,” he said.

You kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes to the ceiling. The hell did he know. So what if he had fancy doctor diplomas behind his chair. So what if he had a MD in this field. What the hell did he know?

After cursing him out two ways from Sunday in your mind, you deflated. “I know I’m not relaxed when I masterbate. I lock my door, I put on headphones, and I still feel like I’m…”

“Like you’re…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

“Being watched? Being judged? You can probably guess I grew up religious. It’s not like I had enough time or space to explore my body. My room was directly next to my parents’. If I so much as sighed too loud, my mom was banging on my wall telling me to fix my attitude,” you admitted. That had been oodles of fun. Growing up, you couldn’t even roll your eyes without someone telling you to fix your face. 

“What does relax you then?” He asked.

“When I find out, I’ll tell you,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled, showing off a dazzling, mega-watt movie star smile that made your knees weak. If you weren’t already sitting down, you’d fall flat on your face. 

“I believe I can help you, but you have to be willing to do the work. I need total, focused commitment from you. Do you think you can do that?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said instantly. There wasn’t even a question. You wanted this more than breathing, more than eating. And that was saying something because you would happily drive far and wide for a good meal. 

Dr. Richmond nodded. “Good. I’m giving you homework. I want you to spend the next week exploring your body. Nothing sexual. Spend time in your body and with your body. Touch yourself, but no masterbating. When you shower, acknowledge your body. When you lotion up, pay attention to every mole, every scar. This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body. I also want you to keep a journal. You won’t share it with me unless you want to, but this exercise is to get you in tune with your body. Rewire how you perceive sex and sexual completion. Does that sound doable?” 

You nodded, not trusting your voice at the moment. He must not know the effect he had on those around him. He had to be completely clueless. Batshit fucking oblivious. The wreck he was having on your libido was absolutely insane. 

Joking aside, you were taking this seriously. In just one session, Dr. Richmond managed to give you a tiny spark of hope. That maybe you weren’t a lost cause. You immediately tempered your thoughts. Hope hurt. You’d been hopeful so many times in the past, with different therapists, who seemed like they had a plan to help you.

Only for them to diagnose some other problem. You had anxiety, duh. You had depression, shocker. You had a laundry list of diagnoses from doctors and therapists who just thought you were obsessed with sex. That was like saying the sky was blue. Who wasn’t obsessed with sex? Besides asexual people. 

“I’ll do it,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He went over your schedule, working out a time to see him once a week until you would eventually graduate to fewer sessions. That bummed you out. Not seeing his gorgeous face ever again? Could you fake another issue and continue seeing him? 

Dr. Richmond dismissed you and you left his office feeling a smidgen lighter than when you entered. Maybe this would actually work out. Maybe. 

Terry

Terry finished with his last client of the day and went over his notes, inputting his clearer thoughts into the patient portal on his laptop. When he ran across your file, he paused and opened it once more.

Your case fascinated him. He couldn’t stop pouring over your files, doctor’s notes, direct quotes. There had been plenty of therapists before him, all trying to help the beautiful woman who entered his office earlier in the afternoon. 

He wasn’t immune to his patients. Some were beautiful and charming and all tried to flirt their way into his bed. He never crossed that line. Never. Yet…when you discussed your story, the rawness of it captivated him. He held onto your every word like you were a theater production right before his eyes. 

He hardly took notes because he was so fascinated with the dichotomy of you. On the outside, you were a bit shy. Perhaps too self-aware which led you to shrink, hide who you really were. He got the sense that there was an entire universe wrapped up in your mind and he began asking deeper questions than he ever had on a first session. 

The hour had gone by too fast for his tastes. He wanted to hear more. Learn more. Know more. He hated to admit it, he even got semi-erect as you told your tale. He was understandably disgusted and it wasn’t the first time; occupational hazard. But it was the first time he’d ever cursed his medical degree. 

You were perfect. Absolutely perfect. When you admitted to being submissive, his dick even twitched. Ached. Why couldn’t he have met you somewhere else? Surely, fate hadn’t been so cruel as to put the perfect sub within reach and then ensure that he could never have you? Never touch you? 

Describing your previous lovers actually made his chest boil. You had been subjected to ignorant men who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. And they had you believing that you were the problem. It was laughable. It was maddening. It was cruel. 

He frowned at your file. He had gone over it so many times in preparation for the session. He didn’t know what would walk through the door. A file this thick? He thought he’d have a sex-obsessed, delusional fiend on his hands that he’d have to contend with.

Your wish of cumming was almost cute. Terry sighed. He shouldn’t be thinking it was cute. If anything, he should be passing your case off to his colleague down the hall. Dr. Crawford was as capable as Terry was, their ideas often aligning in regards to treatment.

He preferred a holistic approach. Most problems could be resolved within a few months, once people began to shift their idea of sex and their role in it. 

“Everything is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” That was one of his favorite quotes, said so many times that no one truly knew where it originated. 

It was a quote he often repeated to his patients at the right moment. When they were beginning to discover a part of themselves previously unexplored. He wondered how long it would take for your moment? That dawning realization. 

He was only sad he couldn’t see it in real time. That moment when you let yourself feel. Let yourself relax and sink into that subspace you so desperately needed. Terry grunted and closed your file. 

He was about to crack you open like an egg and watch a brand new woman emerge. He was about to hand you off to the first man who pretended to understand your needs. He took out his fresh notepad, every patient got one, and scribbled some more notes. He’d have to make sure you understood the difference between a real dom and a little boy playing dress up. 

His eyes scanned across his earlier notes, little things he jotted down while you spoke. Areas you skipped over, areas you expanded on. They were only a sentence or two long, something to kickstart his memory. Because at the time, his eyes were focused on you. On your face, your voice, your mannerisms. 

It was both a curse and a blessing to notice so much. See so much. Understand so much. But it worked when necessary. You deflected about your sexual partners, retreated when he tried to push further about how you reached these conclusions. What methods you tried.

Usually, Terry did a whole song and dance to ease patients into talking about sex. Sex was taboo until it was time to have it. Now everything was awkward, unbalanced, and led to too many instances of abuse. 

But between your file and how skittish but determined you seemed, you didn’t need a song and dance. You needed someone to give you guideposts. You didn’t truly need therapists. You just needed a nudge in the right direction. A nudge to someone else.

Terry pursed his lips and looked at your name on the file. He had to be careful. If he wasn’t, you would end up being trouble in more ways than one. 

He finished up the last of his notes and then scanned through for anything he might have missed. He wrote down what your homework assignment was. He hadn’t truly known where that came from. 

Perhaps it was the look in your eyes. Perhaps it was the helpless, frantic twist to your mouth that had him going from zero to one hundred where you were concerned. But the more he described it, the lower your eyes went. The way your mouth slackened just a bit. As if you were caught in some picture in your mind that he couldn’t see. 

Terry leaned away from his desk and looked outside of his window. The tinted glass showed the sun in the distance, sinking lower towards the horizon. A bird flew, twisting and turning with the hot currents it found. 

He ought to do the right thing. There was no way to remain objective in this manner. Not when he was strangely drawn to you, drawn to your file, and drawn to the unique challenge it presented. 

You could very well end up a case study in some medical textbook or journal, name changed, but the presentation exactly the same. He didn’t relish the thought of being the one to put you there. But your case could end up helping someone else. It was the way the world worked.

He only hoped that he had enough self-restraint to walk away if he found himself compromised. If he couldn’t reign in his personal tastes and habits to help you. If he found himself looking at your lips as you spoke, your smile as you made self-deprecating jokes, or the shy way you licked your lips. 

“Shit.” He took his phone out of his bag and hit up his on again, off again submissive play partner, Tasia. Perhaps it’d been too long since he took care of his own needs. Perhaps what he needed was to release the pent up tension he carried around all the time. 

How long had it been? He didn’t know. But even as he set up the details with Tasia, he couldn’t help wondering if you were following his directions to the letter.

I said don't judge me! LOL. Thank you for reading, truly.

The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 2 | Part 3

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[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ million dollar man ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x girlfriend!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story takes place in an alternate ending for squid game where sang-woo wins instead of gi-hun! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ it had been over two weeks since you last heard from cho sang-woo. no calls, no texts, not even the smallest acknowledgment of your existence. the silence weighed on you, growing heavier with every passing day. sang-woo, your long-term boyfriend, the man you had imagined spending the rest of your life with, had seemingly vanished without explanation.

˚ ༘♡ he was everything you had dreamed of, handsome, intelligent, educated. in your eyes, he was near perfect. you had moved to south korea a year and a half ago. the two of you met only a month after your arrival in seoul. you were standing at a convenience store counter, struggling to buy an iced coffee before work. the cashier’s words blurred into a language barrier you couldn’t break through, leaving you flustered and embarrassed.

˚ ༘♡ then there he was. cho sang-woo, with his neatly pressed suit and square-rimmed glasses, stepping in to translate with a calm assurance that immediately put you at ease. he went further and insisted on paying for your coffee, brushing off your protests with a polite smile. “you can pay me back with your number,” he had said, his tone light but his warm gaze unwavering. you gave it to him without hesitation, your heart racing as he walked away with a casual, confident stride that lingered in your mind for days.

˚ ༘♡ what followed was akin to a fantasy. your first few dates were sweet and unassuming, dinners at cozy restaurants, walks through bustling markets, late-night phone calls that stretched into the early hours of the morning. before long, it became more than casual. he wasn’t simply a charming man in a suit, he was someone you trusted, someone you leaned on. yet, as your relationship deepened, so did the flaws.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo treated you well in many ways. he insisted on paying for meals, even when you protested. he offered to help with rent when he noticed you were stressed about expenses. his job at joy investments afforded him a lifestyle of financial stability, one that he willingly extended to you. however, beneath his polished exterior, there was an undeniable distance.

˚ ༘♡ it started small, little things that nagged at you but seemed too insignificant to bring up. his phone was always locked, the screen flashing dark whenever you glanced at it. he would leave suddenly, without warning, offering only vague explanations that never quite satisfied your curiosity. “work,” he would say, brushing off your questions as though they were irrelevant. and no matter how many times you pressed him for the truth, he never admitted anything.

˚ ༘♡ those moments of secrecy chipped away at your trust, leaving an uneasy ache in your chest. you told yourself it was nothing, that you were overthinking. but the fights that erupted when you brought it up told a different story. his calm facade would crack, and he would grow defensive, his words sharp and cutting. “don’t you trust me?” he had asked more than once, the accusation in his tone a slap in the face.

˚ ༘♡ despite the arguments, despite the unanswered questions, you loved him. you loved the way he smoothed a hand down your back when you were upset, the way his voice softened when he called you by name. you loved the rare instances of vulnerability he let slip, the heartfelt glimpses of the man beneath the polished exterior. you loved him enough to forgive, enough to overlook the secrets that cast shadows over your relationship.

˚ ༘♡ as you sat alone in your apartment, staring at your phone with an empty inbox mocking your worry. two weeks of silence was unbearable. the man you loved, the one who had promised to protect you, had left you with nothing but questions and a ache where his presence used to be.

˚ ༘♡ the doorbell rang, cutting through the quiet of your apartment as though it were a sharp blade. it wasn’t merely unusual, it was unsettling. who would come at this hour? you glanced at the clock on the wall, its glowing numbers reminding you that it was well past midnight. your stomach churned uneasily as you stood up, your fatigue from a long shift at the café clinging to you.

˚ ༘♡ working from sunrise to sunset every day had worn you thin, but you had refused sang-woo’s offers to help you financially. he had already done so much, given so generously, and the thought of taking more was crossing a line you couldn’t bring yourself to breach. it would be an abuse of his kindness.

˚ ༘♡ the hallway was dark as you approached the door, your bare feet silent on the cool floor. you hesitated before unlocking it, your hand hovering over the latch. “hello?” you called out cautiously as you cracked it open, peering into the dimly lit corridor.

˚ ༘♡ before you could register what was happening, a hard shove sent the door crashing into you, knocking you backward. you stumbled, barely managing to catch yourself against the wall. your heart leapt into your throat as the figure who had forced their way inside quickly shut the door behind them.

˚ ༘♡ your confusion turned to disbelief as the light from your apartment fell on their face. it was sang-woo.

˚ ༘♡ his chest heaved with each labored breath, his shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the collar, his dress pants scuffed and slightly torn. his glasses, the ones you always teased him about for making him look too serious, were nowhere to be seen. instead, his face bore the evidence of recent hardships, bruises, faint scars, and scabbed-over cuts that marred his formerly pristine appearance. even his hands, the ones you’d grown so used to seeing holding a pen or a glass of wine, were scratched and battered.

˚ ༘♡ he looked like he had aged years in the short time he had been gone.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you stammered, your voice unsteady with equal parts confusion and fear, “what the hell are you doing? it’s the middle of the night, and… why haven’t you been answering my calls?”

˚ ༘♡ he opened his mouth as if to respond, but the words didn’t come immediately. instead, he leaned against the door, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “i…” he started, his voice hoarse and raw, but he seemed unable to finish.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, he crossed the room in a single stride and pulled you into a tight embrace. his arms wrapped around you with a desperation that felt almost suffocating, his head burying into the crook of your neck as he clung to you.

˚ ༘♡ you stood unmoving, the shock of his sudden appearance warring with the affection of his touch. part of you was relieved beyond words to have him back, while another part was angry. angry at his disappearance, at the unanswered calls and texts, at the fear and doubt he had left you to wrestle with.

˚ ༘♡ “i missed you,” he murmured against your shoulder, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

˚ ༘♡ his words tugged at your heart, but they weren’t enough to quell the storm of questions brewing inside you. “sang-woo,” you said, your voice softer now but still laced with frustration, “what’s going on? where have you been? what happened to you?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer right away, his grip tightening, as though the very act of holding onto you could keep him grounded. his breath was unstable, his chest rising and falling against yours in a way that betrayed the turmoil beneath his silence. the room felt oppressively quiet.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo!” you exclaimed, your voice sharp, desperate for clarity. the sound seemed to jolt him, his body stiffening before he reluctantly pulled back.

˚ ༘♡ his hands were shaking as he reached into his pocket, the movement clumsy and hurried. when he withdrew, he thrust a thick stack of cash into your arms, one hundred million won, neatly bound and unnervingly out of place in your modest apartment. the weight of the money startled you, as you stared at the crisp bills in disbelief.

˚ ༘♡ “listen to me,” he said, his voice shaking but steadfast. “after this, after i take care of everything, i’ll buy us a beautiful home. somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. hold onto this for now.”

˚ ༘♡ you blinked at him, your mind struggling to process the sudden shift, the money heavy in your grasp. “sang-woo,” you said, your tone rising with vexation and confusion, “where did you get this money?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, his eyes avoiding yours, and that only fueled your frustration. “tell me!” you demanded. “where have you been? do you have any idea what I’ve been through? i thought you left me for another woman or fled the country!”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw clenched, his expression fading as guilt flashed across his face, but he said nothing.

˚ ༘♡ you pressed further, your voice strained with a mix of hurt and fury. “i talked to your mother. she said you haven’t called her in ages! i went to your work. they haven’t seen you in weeks! your friends? same thing. no one knows where you’ve been!” your hands tightened around the cash, your knuckles white as your chest heaved with the distress of your tone. “how could you do this to me? how could you leave without a word, without an explanation?”

˚ ༘♡ his silence hurt more than any words could have. he looked at you, his expression a painful mix of regret and something darker, something you couldn’t place. his lips parted as if to speak, but he hesitated, the words caught somewhere between his chest and his throat.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears began to sting your eyes. “please. i need to understand.”

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll tell you everything soon, i promise, sweetheart,” sang-woo murmured, his voice unsteady, as if it pained him to speak. his hand, calloused and trembling, reached out to rest gently on your cheek, his touch delicate. your heart ached as you met his gaze, those dark, exhausted eyes glistening with unshed tears. it was a look so raw, so unfamiliar.

˚ ༘♡ “you have to trust me,” he said, his tone soft but pleading. “you have to listen to me. i’ve already given you what you need to cover your expenses.” his hand lingered against your cheek for a monthly moment before falling away, his fingers curling into a fist at his side. “i have urgent legal and business matters to deal with, but once they’re resolved… we’ll have the life we’ve dreamed of. everything we’ve talked about.”

˚ ༘♡ his lips brushed against your forehead, the kiss light but filled with a quiet desperation that made your chest tighten. “nothing could ever keep me from you,” he breathed, the words barely audible. “promise me you’ll do as i ask.”

˚ ༘♡ everything about this felt wrong, the way he avoided your questions, the haunting exhaustion in his voice, the bruises that lined his hands and face. you wanted answers. you wanted to demand he tell you everything right then and there, but the way he looked at you, so broken, so unlike the composed sang-woo you knew, kept you from saying anymore.

˚ ༘♡ uncertainty clouded your mind, nonetheless you nodded, your voice hardly above a whisper. “i promise.”

˚ ༘♡ his shoulders sagged slightly at your answer, the tension in his body loosening, though not entirely disappearing. “good,” he said softly, almost to himself. he was still nervous, his eyes darting toward the door as though expecting someone to burst through at any moment.

˚ ༘♡ “i have to go,” he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. “but i’ll come back. i swear, okay?”

˚ ༘♡ “okay,” you replied, unsure but unwilling to push him further.

˚ ༘♡ he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a fleeting, tender kiss that left you yearning for answers. then, without another word, he turned and left the apartment, closing the door behind him.

˚ ༘♡ you stood there, the silence of his absence pressing down on you, dread engulfed your thoughts. your mind churned with questions, with doubts, but one thing was certain, you were relieved, no matter how strange the circumstances of his return, to have seen sang-woo again. the agonizing ache in your chest told you that his departure had left you with far more questions than answers.

a/n: my first sang-woo fanfiction!! is it controversial for me to say i love his character and he’s my favorite one in squid game? please let me know if you have any requests! 🤍

[matchesarelit]

Imagine If You Will...

Acting as the Frontman's PA, and having the Guard harem wrapped around your finger.

This part is:

PA Announcer

Musical Fan!reader

This will be a choose your adventure kind of thing where there will be multiple with jobs/specialties/interactions.

a/n: Hope you like Mamma Mia xoxo

Please don't hesitate to request!!

Walking a few steps behind the Frontman, peering through your silver mask and analysing the clipboard in your hands you updated your boss on the status of everything being prepared for the games.

Based on the grunts and scoffs he let out you crossed out and marked different items on the list. For a man of little words, he sure was good at communicating. After the large doors to the hall closed, you looked first to your boss then to the militia-like staff.

Handing over the checklist to the closest square, you nodded to your boss and turned to leave.

“Squares 1 through 16, Your men will be painting the halls. Squares 18 through 21, Your men will construct the bridge. Squares 22 and 23..." As you approached your office the front man's voice faded away.

There was a surprising amount of paper work for a company that strived to leave no traceable evidence, you supposed they needed to be completely aware of the crimes that the company had committed as to better cover their tracks. That being said, you would swear that the pile had grown since before breakfast.

So sitting down in your little office you pulled off your mask and began to sort through the first few files. After certain issues and unauthorised branches sprung up in the command structure of the previous year's games, you been given the tedious task of vetting all potential contestants.

The main rules were; no one with medical training, we cant have another spout of organ harvesting, no one with knowledge that could reduce or alter the difficulty of the games, aka no more glass guys, and so on and so forth for what seemed to be an unending and ever growing pile of filters.

You'd made it through half of the pile, removing a few of the contestants for their quote unquote leadership qualities, when an alarm chimed from your phone. Tugging forward the microphone you grabbed the notes from today's agenda, before crackling the speakers to life with the press of a button.

'It is now midday. Lunch will be available to grab under the sun for the next 90 minutes. Today's music choice is... mine and will be the entire Mamma Mia musical soundtrack followed by twenty minutes of me replaying my favourite songs.'

Pressing play on the album and turning off the microphone you opted to return to your work for the time being, only now there was the occasional humming along.

When a tapping came from your window you finally stopped, slipping your silvery mask back into place and tugging back the unnecessarily extravagant curtain you observed a single circle giving you a thumbs up.

Waving to him you stepped closer and peered to the side, down the hall stood a group grooving, and as you pressed your ear to the glass you could hear their voices singing along.

Sneaking your secure and very dumb brick of a phone out of your pocket you started to record, before noticing the circle was now waving for you to join them.

Deciding... screw it you leaned your phone against the sill and slipped out of the office to join the gaggle of guards. Only then did you notice just how loud the PA system was set to as the concrete under your feet vibrated with the music.

Dancing and singing along, the group seemed to grow as the album played on... until your boss' brash tone cracked over the system;

'Okay that's enough, go get your food.'

Oh yeah... lunch.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Rumor Has It

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: minor angst

Summary: Your boyfriend is a well-known street racer who will never back down from a challenge. When someone new comes to town challenging him, he’ll do anything to come out on top… and that includes giving you up.

Square Filled: street racing (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Harry straps on his racing gloves as you’re watching him from your spot on the bed. He spent the last two hours getting ready for what will be a disaster waiting to happen. Your boyfriend is known for his love of cars. There is a group of guys that pick a spot in every city and race their precious cars. It’s illegal as shit and nearly gets someone arrested every time they do it, but there is no stopping him.

He quickly climbed the ranks of being one of the fastest yet riskiest racers this town has ever known, and now there aren’t many who want to go up against him. These days, he races with friends in a friendly game rather than for money. Not this race. This race is different. Someone new came into town last week and has been passing rumors to everyone.

Rumor has it that this man is a beast. Rumor has it that no one has lost against him. Rumor has it that someone like Harry is child’s play compared to the men he’s been up against. The racers always pick a desolate part of town to race in knowing there won’t be anyone on the road to block them, but not this man. He’s known to race in the open with other cars on the road.

Not once has he crashed and not once has he been caught. His name has been filtered through every town he’s been in, and it managed to reach all the way to your small town in the middle of nowhere. Of course, as soon as Harry found out that he was coming to town, he had to challenge him to a race. There is something Harry wants, and he’s going to make sure he gets it after he wins this race.

Harry’s good but he’s not Dean Winchester good.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you ask. “Do you not realize who you’re going up against?”

“I’ve been preparing for this all week. I can do it.”

“You’re either going to lose or get caught. The police have been cracking down on these races lately.”

Harry turns and glares at you through his shaded glasses.

“The only one who is going to get caught is Dean. I don’t need you worrying about me. I’ll be fine.”

Normally, you never go to these races because you don’t like them. In one race, someone crashed into a pole and lost his life. It was cold outside and he slipped on a patch of black ice. Ever since that, you’ve been asking Harry not to race. Still, he won’t listen to you. Lately, he’s been dismissing your every thought. He’s been more distant since Dean got to town, and you tell yourself it’s because of the race. Dean will leave soon and he’ll go back to being yours.

Why is it that when you think about that, you become empty inside?

Harry is a good boyfriend but he’s not the best. He’d choose racing over you any day. Why do you stay with him, then? Maybe being in a relationship with him is better than being alone. If you think that, you shouldn’t be in a relationship. What else are you going to do? You moved to this town for Harry so your entire family is on the west coast.

You can’t go back to them no matter how much you’re hurting here.

The only reason you’re going to this one is because of Dean. You can’t help but be intrigued by the mystery surrounding the man. You’ve heard he’s a ladies’ man and oozes sex appeal. Guess you won’t know until you see him, huh?

You and Harry leave for the race that’s happening on the outskirts of town. There is a guy who runs in Harry’s circle whose father is the chief of police. He knows he won’t be sticking his nose in their business tonight because of some case they’ve been working on for weeks, so this race should be free of police. There is already a crowd forming when you get there, and an even bigger following since Dean is here.

Harry’s prized race car is a 1987 Chevy Monte Carlo SS that he only uses whenever he’s racing. She hasn’t let him down since, but you think that’s all going to change. Dean’s prized possession is a 1967 Chevy Impala that Harry has always wanted. It’s one of his dream cars. The fact that Dean has one and is flaunting it here pisses Harry off.

Harry leaves your side and approaches Dean with the intent to trash-talk him. The crowd forms around the two men, and you stand on a few rocks to get a better view of Dean. His back is turned to you but from what you can see, he is a beastof a man. Tall, muscular, and not at all fazed by Harry’s attempt to shake him down.

“Is this supposed to make me fear you?” Dean chuckles.

“No, but you better watch your back, Winchester,” Dean smirks but he doesn’t say anything. “Care to make this interesting?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“A bet on who wins. If you’re not scared, that is.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who gets scared?”

The crowd whispers to each other at his comment, and Harry glares at him. You push past the crowd to get to the inner circle where you have a full view of Dean. Damn, he looks even better from the front. Sharp jaw, short hair, and bright green eyes. Harry might be threatening him but there is a mischievous glint in Dean’s eyes.

“Alright, Winchester. If I win,” Harry looks around the crowd and smirks, “I get your Impala.”

The crowd gasps and chatter picks up. There is no way Dean will ever give up his precious car, so most think he will back out on this deal. Dean knows he’s going to win but it’s amusing to play Harry’s game. His eyes scan the crowd and they land on you, and you freeze from the intensity of his gaze. There’s something… primal… with the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re his prey but you know he won’t hurt you if he catches you.

“Okay,” he draws his gaze back to Harry, “if you win, you get my car.” Again, the crowd gasps. “If I win,” he looks at you with a smirk, “I get your girl.”

“Fine, yes, she’s yours. Take her.”

You gasp at the audacity your boyfriend has for just giving you away like you’re property or something to own. Someone blows a whistle and the crowd disperses to the side since the race is starting. People push past you but you seem to be rooted where you stand. You can’t take your eyes off Harry.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” You look at Dean who winks. “I don’t lose.”

You find your footing and step back to the sides where everyone else is. Harry and Dean get in their cars and start them up. Harry revs his engine loudly to show off but Dean stays calm. He doesn’t win races by being cocky. The race is twenty miles long, and there are people every couple of miles to track their progress who will then report back to the announcer so he can inform the crowd what’s going on.

The person who whistled whistles again and they’re off. Dean and Harry take off down the road, the crowd cheering for both of them. Half think Dean is going to win while the other half cheers for Harry. Harry passes the fifth mile first with Dean right behind him, but Dean passes the tenth mile first. They’re neck and neck with one passing the other constantly. Once they reach ten miles, they have to turn around and come back, so that’s what they’re doing now.

You bite your thumbnail nervously as you wait for someone to come around the corner. Do you want Harry to win? Absolutely not. You can’t stand the idea of him getting his way after he pulled that shit with you. Do you want Dean to win? Maybe? Maybe he’s the reason you’re looking to end things with Harry. He’s the courage you never knew you had.

The entire crowd falls silent when they hear the rumble of an engine approaching. Five seconds later, the sleek black Impala comes racing around the corner, picking up a shit ton of dust. The crowd erupts in cheers knowing Dean is going to win this race. Harry is less than half a mile behind him but it’s too late. Dean crosses the finish line and screeches to a stop. He hops out of the car and stalks over to you.

Harry’s scar screeches to a halt right next to Dean’s car, and he gets out with an angry red face. Dean grabs your waist and pulls you in, kissing you deeply. He slides his hand into your hair and holds your head steady so he can control every aspect of the kiss. To say you’re surprised is an understatement. He’s a great kisser, better than Harry, and you’re wondering if he’s like this in the bedroom.

“Call me when you break up with him,” he says when he pulls away. “You might be my good luck charm.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He walks toward the crowd and accepts his victory while Harry hangs behind with his close friends. You touch your lower lip and watch Dean reap the rewards. Yeah, Harry’s gone. He’s no one compared to the great Dean Winchester.

x

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[gloomweed]

Not Alone

(Eddie Munson/Reader Comfort One-Shot)

Summary: After a traumatic incident, you seek out the comfort of your crush best friend Eddie in the late evening.

Author's Note: I wrote this as a means to cope with my own recent traumatic experience involving my alcoholic father, so this is pretty self-indulgent comfort fic; however, I left the details pretty vague so hopefully it can relate to most others. Pretty much anyone with a shitty home life. Also, reader is referred to as a girl, but no pronouns are used for the reader and physical characteristics aren't mentioned. wc: ~2.8k tw: reader has an alcoholic father (implied), otherwise this a fluffy comfort one-shot.

Eddie’s dreamless sleep was interrupted by the sound of gentle rapping at the door. At first he thought he was hearing things, but when the sound repeated he rolled out of bed with a groan. He glances at the clock on his night stand that reads 12:23 am in bright red lights. Not bothering to put on a shirt, he rubbed the crust from his eyes as he stumbled towards the living room. Who the hell is knocking at this time of night? Peeking through the peep-hole, his eyes widen at the sight of you. Your hair was disheveled, like you had been running your hands through it, and the way you held your arms made you seem so small and fragile. Completely unlike yourself on any normal day.

The old screen door squeaks as he opens it, but underneath that sound, Eddie could hear you sniffling. Without the filter of the dirty glass covering the peep-hole, he could see that your eyes were red and puffy. The light from the porch lamp caught on the tear streaks running down your cheeks, making it look like gold. “Sorry, Eddie. I know you were probably sleeping, but-”

From the moment he spots you, it's clear to Eddie that you're in some kind of trouble. It puts him on edge, becoming hyper vigilant for your sake. He cuts you off as he ushers you inside with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about that, just get in here.” He's been around the block before, so he knows to make sure you aren't being followed by some lurking creep looking to prey on a vulnerable girl. He keeps an eye out as you enter, looking for any signs of immediate danger. From what he can tell, the rest of the trailer park is asleep. With no cars or people passing by, he follows you indoors, locking the deadbolt behind him. 

Inside, you stand in the entryway for a moment, unsure what to do with yourself now that you're here. After locking the door, Eddie sees you standing there frozen. With a faraway look in your glassy eyes, you looked like you were lost in thought. His gaze doesn't leave your sad face as he gently takes hold of your hand, swiping his calloused thumb over your knuckles in an attempt to bring you back to the present moment. When you finally look him in the eyes, he smiles in what he hopes is in a comforting way. It’s okay. You’re here now. I’m here for you. You manage a tight lip smile of your own, grateful you have such a good friend.

He jerks his head in the direction of the couch, and you accept with a nod. Eddie leaves for a moment to grab the roll of toilet paper from the bathroom. When he holds it out to you, he explains. “We don’t have any real tissues, so this is the best I can offer.” As you take it from him, he cringes with embarrassment. “Sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. Thank you.” Taking a few squares off the roll, you wipe your face and blow your nose. 

Eddie takes a seat beside you, looking worried. He runs his sweaty hands over his pant legs, feeling unsure of how he should help you. “So, uh… Do you want to talk about it, or is this more like a ‘no questions asked’ situation?”

There is a silent pause as you gather your thoughts, unsure yourself of what you want. You take a deep breath and release it slowly, refocusing yourself on the reason you decided to make an impromptu visit to your friend so late at night. “It’s my dad.” Eddie nods, aware that you have what some might call a ‘complicated relationship’ with your dad. Personally, he prefers to call it ‘your dad is an asshole, but you don’t have the means to move out of your parent’s place just yet, so you’re forced to just grin and bear it until you can.’ You fiddle with the crumpled toilet paper in your lap, frowning. “It got bad. He was yelling and screaming and breaking things.” The furrow of your brow made it seem like you were about to cry again. 

“You don’t have to get into it if you don’t want to. I mean, look who you’re talking to. If there’s anyone who understands having a shitty dad, it’s me.” Eddie smirks as he confidently puts his hand on his chest. It’s enough to make you smile in appreciation of his understanding. “So what I’m hearing is you need to stay here for a few days?”

Eddie’s offer makes your heart skip and the moment it's out there, you're shaking your head. “Just for the night would be plenty. You don’t have to let me stay at all if you’re busy-” 

He shakes his head with a smile, amused by the thought of him being too busy for you. “Nah, it’s no trouble. You know I like having you around.” He winks playfully knowing it would make you laugh. And it does, albeit just barely. It’s really more a snuff of breath exhaled out of your nose, but Eddie will take what he can get. “Besides, makes Wayne happy seeing I have actual friends instead of, you know, buyers.” After you nod in understanding, he points towards the back where his bedroom is. “You can take my room, while I take the ol’ reliable here.” He pats the cushion he's sitting on with a lopsided smile.

Knowing you, Eddie is already expecting an argument about it's his bed, he should be the one to sleep on it, but he could never have that, especially with his uncle's midwestern ideals. Eddie knows Wayne would chew him out if he lets a guest sleep on the couch. When you stay at the Munson's, you sleep on the one and only bed in the house. That's how Wayne was raised, and what was consequently drilled into Eddie's skull when he moved in. While he prepared this rebuttal in his head, your protest never came. 

Eddie looks to see you biting your lip as you look at your feet. He watches you patiently as you work up the nerve to say what you want to say. “Would it be okay if we share the bed?” Eddie almost can't stop himself from grinning, but he manages to keep in his screaming thoughts at the prospect of sharing his bed with a pretty girl like you. On the outside, Eddie does his best to play it cool, but you must have seen his eyes go wide in excitement and took it the wrong way. Waving your hands dismissively, you do your best to remedy the awkward silence. “You don’t have to! I know it’s a weird request, it's just…” Your eyes dim again as you feel the embarrassment creep up your neck. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

Seeing you so emotionally beaten down and afraid makes Eddie feel a kind of sadness he hasn’t felt since he was a kid. Before he became more cynical and realized most people deserve what they have coming for them. But he knows you; your kindness and generosity. There’s a feeling of something heavy sitting in the pit of his stomach and Eddie knows for certain you don’t deserve to feel like this, no matter what the situation could possibly be. The sadness quickly evolves into rage when he remembers this is something your own father did. He may not know all the details, but he knows fathers aren't supposed to leave their children feeling like this. Like a burden. 

Seeing as being around an angry person is probably the last thing you need, Eddie pushes his feelings to the back of his mind for when he might need it. Like the next time he sees your dad’s car sitting in the liquor store parking lot, for example. A crudely spray-painted penis on that dirtbag’s car might be the thing to put a real smile on your face. Even the thought that Eddie would go to jail if he got caught wasn’t enough to deter him. If it’s in the name of giving you the justice you undoubtedly deserve, he’d do it. This town already sees him as a criminal, so it wouldn’t make a difference to him either way. Why not do something bad for someone so good?

He says your name softly to get you to look at him through tear-heavy lashes. Eddie’s unwavering intense gaze is enough to make your hair stand up on end and your throat tighten. He subconsciously tilts his head at the sight of your sad face. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it. Alright?” All you can manage is a nod in response, not trusting your own voice. You only hope he can feel your gratitude through it. “Welp,” he stands up from the couch pushing off of his knees. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

You follow Eddie to his room where he begins to shake out the blanket he left resting haphazardly on his bed. He motions for you to lie down while he does so. Once you’ve settled on the side closest to the wall, the blanket flutters out one last time to lay mostly flat over you. Eddie quickly settles in bed next to you, doing his best to leave a respectable distance between you both. “Is this okay?” he asks once you’re both settled.

Clutching the blanket that smells overwhelmingly like Eddie, you bury yourself deeper into the pillow under your head. There is a small smile adorning your face as you get comfortable. “Yes. Thank you.” 

Eddie quickly sits up to turn off the lights and for a moment the warm glow from his bedside lamp casts a fitting halo around his mop of messy dark curls. There is a quiet ‘click’ as the room becomes dark and you can hear him shuffle back down under the covers. Eventually, he lets out one last sigh saying, “Sweet dreams,” before relaxing next to you.

His gentle breathing is not enough to get you to fall asleep. Hours after Eddie began his soft snoring, you're still running through the night's events. Where did you go wrong? What could you have done differently? What's wrong with you?

These questions circle through your head to the point you begin to feel a pressing headache at the front of your mind. It was like a brewing storm, with dark clouds and impending rain. No matter how you think of it, you still feel in the wrong somehow. It was something you did to set your dad off. You deserve to be screamed at. The tight prickly feeling creeps up your neck as you do your best to cry quietly. You don't want to wake Eddie up. He's already helped you so much, you don't want to bother him again. You face away from him, towards the wall, foolishly hoping that little distance would protect him from your breakdown.

Unfortunately, the need to breathe and a runny nose is a noisy combination. Eddie blinks once, twice, before realizing that it's you making that pitiful sound. It's a lot of sniffling and quiet whimpers. When he turns and sees you curled up into yourself with shaking breaths, he feels a little panicked. He sits up and places a hand on your shoulder, rubbing gentle circles there. “Hey, hey, hey,” he coos. “It's okay. You're gonna be okay.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, trying to calm you down, but as the words leave his mouth he can't help but frown at them. Telling someone that they are going to be fine later is not really going to help them now, but it's all Eddie has to offer. 

Voice too broken to respond, all you can do is shake your head. Being seen so vulnerable by the boy you like makes you all the more upset. A few stray tears is one thing, but being damn near hysterical with leaking snot is another. If you thought leaving his room would do any good, you might have tried to make a break for it. Instead, you shut your eyes tight, hoping he wouldn’t push you into talking about it, or worse, push you to look at him. 

Seeing as his words of encouragement are falling on ears too sad to believe him, Eddie feels useless. He hates seeing you like this. He wishes he could take it all away and bear it himself. With his last attempt to console you, Eddie steadies his mind in case of your impending rejection. 

The gentle hands on your sides make your breath catch in surprise. They pull you by the waist to rest a little closer before holding you in a loose hug. Is Eddie Munson cuddling you right now? His body heat radiates off of him in a comforting aura, soothing your tensed shoulders. The genuine surprise is enough to make you forget why you were crying, if only for a moment. The origin of his quiet voice makes you realize that pressure on your shoulder is where he is resting his head. He speaks into your shoulder blade, hiding his blushing face there. “I know I can’t make it better, but that’s not gonna stop me from trying.”

The sorrow in his voice is unmistakable, as if he was the one to make you cry. You feel a distant pang of guilt that Eddie feels the need to fix it for you. You don’t want him to worry about you, despite the little voice in your head telling you otherwise. You can’t deny that a part of you enjoys the way you feel loved when he shows his care for you, but you don’t want it at the expense of becoming a burden he feels obligated to bear. However, seeing as you can't form the words to tell him so, you're forced to let it go and just enjoy the feeling of Eddie enveloping you while you release the rest of your pent-up emotions.

Eddie is somewhat perplexed that you aren’t telling him off or pushing him away, but relishes the feeling of you in his arms nonetheless. He breathes in the scent of your laundry detergent, the one that he only associates with you. The little brushing of arms makes him realize how soft you are. It’s the kind of softness that reminds him of his childhood teddy bear. Something precious and sweet. 

He holds you for a while, being there for you as you cry. There are times he feels like he’s about to doze off, but Eddie wills himself to stay awake. Until he’s sure you’re alright, he can't sleep. When your shaking eventually lessens and your breathing has steadied to the same rhythm of his own, he feels you begin to shuffle in his arms. Eddie takes a small movement away, trying his best to give you your space back should you want it. You turn to face him, tears now dried, and stare into his glittering dark brown eyes. You aren’t sure what words you can say that will convey the gratitude you hold for him. The appreciation. The wholehearted love.

With how long you stare, Eddie struggles to read your expression, and can’t help but smile nervously. Is this the part where you tell him to never do that again? “You always make it better.” Your quiet voice is a little hoarse from your crying, but he manages to hear it anyway. It makes his face go warm with pride and his smile all the more genuine. Your eyes trail over Eddie as you do your best to commit the image to memory. As you appreciate every freckle and crease and dimple, your chest swells with adoration for the lovable boy before you. The feeling is all consuming and before you realize it, you lean into the little space separating you from him and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

When you pull away, you see the shock on Eddie's face. His eyes are wide, his lips parted in awe. The seconds feel like minutes when he doesn't make any kind of response. Blood rushes to your face from embarrassment. You must have overstepped his boundaries! What were you thinking?!  “Sorry. I shouldn't ha-” 

Eddie cuts you off with a kiss of his own, his lips pushing into yours with a touch more force. Heart hammering in your chest, your eyes slip closed as you kiss him back. When he feels you begin to move your lips against his, Eddie can't help but smile into it. His breath fans across your cupid's bow as he sighs in satisfaction. Arms reaching for each other beneath the blanket, your hands slide over his bare chest before settling on his shoulders. One of his hands rests on your waist while the other delicately cups your face. Mouths separating with a click, both of you panting, you wonder if Eddie can tell you're blushing as you stare. His grin is all teeth and dimples as he gazes back with adoration in his eyes. “Don't be. You have no idea how long I wanted to do that.”

[childrenofcain-if]

Hello beautiful Author!! I hope u are doing well! So basically I am a religious follower of your blog and uuugghh!!! This story is so beautifully crafted like the script the writing style the plot even the characters seem larger than life. Honestly u have my tremendous respect and admiration.... Also I am totally in love with cedric!! angsty adorable and hot. So since today is my birthday I decided to treat myself to a snippet ... Can u please write a fluff scene where in the future after marriage yk after C achieved his dream how would M!C react to find out that F!MC is pregnant. What kind of dad would he be and how would he handle the news especially if it's a girl. (PS: I love you okay? U rock!!! ❤❤😘)

the morning started like most mornings did in your household. the sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your manhattan penthouse, muted by the heavy curtains cédric insisted on keeping drawn just enough to keep the room from feeling exposed.

he was already in the kitchen when you woke up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he frowned at his ipad.

it was a weekday, which meant cédric was doing what cédric did best: handling things.

the man could command a room full of board members or negotiate a multi-billion-dollar deal, but he always took his mornings slow, like it was his personal rebellion against the world which demanded his attention. the smell of coffee hung thick in the air, and you could hear him muttering under his breath—half in french, half in english—as he skimmed over some report.

he looked up when he heard your footsteps. the cold glint in his pale green eyes softened the way they always did when he saw you.

“good morning, mon amour,” he said, setting the ipad down as if the numbers and charts weren’t important anymore.

you smiled at him, but there was a nervous flutter in your chest that didn’t quite dissipate.

“good morning,” you greeted back, making your way to the counter. “we need to talk.”

his brow furrowed, just slightly, in that way that meant his mind was already cataloging possible scenarios. you wondered if he was running through a mental checklist: a problem at work, an overdue bill, a delayed package. he was always looking for answers before you even finished your question.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low and calm, but his hand twitched where it rested on the counter.

you hesitated, suddenly unsure how to say it. for someone who had spent years speaking in boardrooms and drafting persuasive arguments, the words felt clumsy in your throat.

“there’s nothing wrong, per se,” you began, and you saw the tension in his shoulders ease—just a fraction. “it’s just... i’m pregnant.”

the silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. it was like the air had stilled, waiting for his reaction.

cédric blinked. once, twice. then he stepped back, leaning against the counter as if the weight of your words had hit him square in the chest. his mouth opened, then closed again. he looked—if you hadn’t known him better—younger. like a boy caught off guard, unsure of whether he was allowed to feel what he was feeling.

“you’re...?” he started, and then he stopped himself. his hand went to his hair, brushing the dark brown strands back, a nervous habit he’d never managed to shake. “you’re sure?”

you nodded, suddenly shy. “i took three tests. all positive. i was going to wait until we were both home later tonight, but—”

“no, no, now is perfect,” he interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended, like he was scolding you for even considering keeping it from him. he shook his head, and you could see the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “mon dieu.”

cédric laughed then, a sound so rare and so unguarded it made your chest ache. it was a laugh of disbelief, of joy, of sheer and unrestrained emotion. he crossed the kitchen in two long strides and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could feel his heart pounding against your ribs.

“je t’aime,” he murmured into your hair. “je t’aime, je t’aime, je t’aime.”

you clung to him, laughing through the tears that had started spilling down your cheeks.

***

cédric’s reaction to the pregnancy didn’t end that morning. over the next few weeks, he threw himself into preparing for the baby with the same intensity he brought to his work. he was meticulous, obsessive even, researching everything from cribs to car seats. he vetoed three potential pediatricians before you’d even had a chance to meet them, insisting that only the best would do.

but it wasn’t just about the logistics. cédric was unexpectedly tender, in a way that made your heart twist. he read parenting books in bed at night, one hand on your growing belly as he absently stroked his thumb over the fabric of your pajamas. he brought you tea without being asked, stocked the pantry with your favorite snacks, and refused to let you carry anything heavier than a shopping bag.

when you found out the baby was a girl, it felt like the world completely shifted for him.

“it’s a girl,” you had informed him, holding the ultrasound picture out to him.

he took it from your hands carefully, as if it were made of glass, and stared at it for a long moment. his expression was unreadable, but you could see the way his fingers trembled, just slightly.

“a daughter,” he said, the words thick in his throat. “our daughter.”

you nodded with a small smile, watching him carefully. “how do you feel about that?”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he set the picture down on the table and turned to you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made you shiver.

“i’m going to protect her,” cédric said, his voice low and fierce. “from everything. from everyone. she’ll never have to wonder if she’s loved. she’ll never have to fight for what’s hers.”

“i can already see it,” you teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. “you’ll be the dad who scares off all her partners.”

“damn right i will,” he said, his smile returning. “she’s going to know her worth. and if anyone tries to undermine that—” he didn’t finish the sentence, but the murderous look in his eyes said enough.

you leaned forward, cupping his cheek and drawing him back to you. “she’ll know her worth because of you,” you said softly. “because of how much you’ll love her.”

“and her mother,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

he kissed you then, slow and lingering, and when he pulled back, his hands settled gently over your stomach.

you reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “she’s going to be so lucky to have you.”

cédric shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “no,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to your belly. “i’m the lucky one.”

***

as the months went on, cédric proved himself to be everything you’d hoped for and more. he was attentive to a fault, sometimes to the point of driving you mad with his insistence on helping you. ehen the baby kicked for the first time, he was right there, his hand pressed against your stomach, his eyes wide with wonder.

when your due date finally arrived, he was the calmest one in the delivery room. he held your hand through every contraction (even when you almost broke his bones), whispered words of encouragement in your ear, and refused to leave your side, even when the nurses told him to give you space.

and when your daughter was finally born, cédric was the first to hold her, much to your father’s exasperation. he cradled her tiny, wrinkled body in his arms, his expression soft and awestruck.

“she’s perfect,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

you smiled, exhausted but deliriously happy. “she has your eyes.”

“and a head full of your hair,” he said, his voice breaking.

in that moment, you knew without a doubt that he would be the kind of father who would move mountains for his daughter. he would be firm but fair, protective but not overbearing, and endlessly devoted to her happiness.

as he rocked her gently, humming a lullaby under his breath, you realized that this—your little family—was everything you’d ever wanted. and as much as you knew about how cédric wasn’t very good at expressing his emotions, it was clear as day right now that nothing would ever compare to the love he had for the two of you.

[nhlclover]

FIRST SNOWFALL JAMIE DRYSDALE

— event masterlist !

pairing: fem!reader x jamie drysdale

summary: after moving to philadelphia, you get your first snowy christmas, so jamie takes you outside to fully introduce you to snow.

warnings: descriptions of reader being from socal

wc: 1.14k

notes: fic 9 of my christmas event! as i'm writing this, we still have not gotten snow where i live... (UPDATE: it snowed literally a day after i wrote this🤐)

The morning light filtered through the slats of the blinds, casting a faint glow on the beige walls of the bedroom you now shared with Jamie in Philadelphia. The hum of the heating system was the only sound, a soft reminder of the cold winter that was approaching outside. You shuffled out of bed, your toes curling against the chill of the hardwood floor as you padded toward the window. Pulling the blinds aside, you froze.

The world beyond the glass was transformed. Snow blanketed every surface, turning the familiar street into a pristine, untouched wonderland. The cars parked along the curb were reduced to lumpy, formless mounds. The branches of the bare trees sagged under the weight of the thick white layer. It was mesmerizing, and your lips parted in awe.

“Jamie,” you called, your voice rising with excitement. “Jamie, wake up!”

From the bed, a groggy groan emerged as he stirred, his head popping up from the pillow, his dark hair sticking up in every direction. “What is it?” His voice was rough with sleep.

“It snowed,” you said, the words tumbling out in disbelief. “I mean, like, really snowed. The whole world’s… white.”

Jamie swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing at his eyes as he joined you at the window. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, widened slightly as he took in your expression, the kind of wide-eyed wonder that was rare in adults. “You’ve never seen snow before?” he asked, a slow grin spreading across his face.

You shook your head, still staring out. “No. Not like this. I mean, it’s Southern California. The closest I’ve gotten is fake snow at Disneyland.”

His laugh was soft, a low rumble that made your chest warm despite the chilly air in the room. “Well, get dressed. Layers,” he added, pointing a finger at you. “We’re going outside.”

“Right now?” You turned to him, incredulous.

“Right now,” he confirmed, already heading to the closet. “Can’t have you missing out on your first real snow day.”

The process of layering up was comical in itself. Jamie had to pause several times to explain what counted as "real winter gear" and why a hoodie wouldn’t cut it. By the time you were ready, you felt like the younger brother in A Christmas Story, your movements stiff under the weight of layers upon layers of fabric.

“Perfect,” Jamie declared, tugging on a beanie and some gloves. He was significantly less bundled up, but being born in Toronto, he was used to the snow and the cold. “Let’s go.”

The cold hit you first. The air was crisp, almost biting, as you stepped out onto the porch. Your breath puffed out in little clouds, and you could feel the chill settling into your nose and cheeks. But the sight of the snow up close — how it sparkled like a field of tiny diamonds — was enough to keep you from retreating back inside.

Jamie didn’t wait. He was already scooping up a handful of snow, testing its texture in his gloved hands. “It’s good packing snow,” he said, turning to you with a wicked grin. “Perfect for snowballs.”

“Snowballs?” you echoed, but before you could react, a soft projectile hit you square in the shoulder.

You gasped, your hands flying up in mock outrage. “Oh, you’re so going to regret that.”

What followed was a flurry of laughter and snow, as the two of you lobbed hastily-formed snowballs at each other. You squealed every time one hit its mark, the cold seeping through your jacket, but you couldn’t stop grinning. Eventually, a truce was called, and you both flopped onto the snow-covered lawn, where you attempted your first snow angel. The act of lying back in the cold, damp snow felt bizarre at first, the cold seeping through your sweatpants. Jamie was at your side, moving his arms and legs with exaggerated enthusiasm, and his laughter echoed, rich and full, when your own “angel” turned out crooked and uneven.

“So,” Jamie starts once you’ve both stood back up. “What are your final thoughts on snow?”

You glance around at the winter wonderland that consumed the tight-knight community in Philadelphia that you’d grown to call home. “I didn’t know it would be so pretty,” you say softly. “And so cold.”

Jamie smirked, shaking snow out of his hair. “Well, yeah. It’s snow,” he teased.

You roll your eyes at him, but the shivering that’s started to creep in undercuts your comeback. Jamie notices immediately, his brow furrowing. “You’re freezing,” he says, already on his feet. “Do you want to go back inside?”

You hesitate, glancing at the snowy expanse once more, reluctant to leave. But when another shiver racks your frame, you nod. “Yeah, let’s head in.”

Inside, the warmth hits you like a balm. Jamie turns on the fireplace while you peel off your damp layers, wrapping yourself in a plush blanket. By the time he joins you on the couch, the flames are dancing in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room.

Jamie hands you a steaming mug of hot chocolate, complete with a mountain of mini marshmallows on top. “Here,” he says, plopping down beside you and tucking his legs underneath him. “This’ll warm you up.”

You take the mug gratefully, letting the warmth seep into your fingers as you hold it close. The first sip is heavenly, rich and sweet, and you let out a satisfied hum. The warmth of the room and Jamie’s easy presence wrap around you like a cocoon. Outside, the snow still falls softly, blanketing the world in a peaceful silence. It feels like the kind of day meant for slowing down, savoring the little things.

You take another sip of your hot chocolate and glance at Jamie. “You know what would make this even better?”

“What’s that?” he asks, turning his head toward you.

“A Christmas movie,” you suggest, grinning.

Jamie raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, I see. You’ve got snow outside, a fire going, and now you want the full Hallmark experience?”

“Exactly,” you reply, laughing. “And you can’t say no. It’s my first snowy Christmas, after all.”

He rolls his eyes in mock defeat but reaches for the remote. “Fine. But I’m picking the movie.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Nothing boring or depressing, Jamie. It has to be a classic.”

He scrolls through the streaming options, the soft clicks of the remote filling the cozy silence. “Home Alone? It’s funny, Christmassy, and has a ton of snow.”

You agree, Jamie clicking play. As the opening notes of the movie fill the room, Jamie drapes an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing your shoulder. You lean into him, the warmth of his touch and the crackling fire melting away the lingering chill.

[cosmiccrushes]

A Choice Made

Lucanis x Rook || 2k words

Summary: Lucanis finds Rook drowning her sorrows at the bottom of a bottle as she struggles to come to terms with the consequences of her choice to help Minrathous or Treviso

i'm also on ao3 <3

***

Lucanis plops the heavy pot of stew down in the center of the dining table. His team filters in around him, like clockwork. Meal times in the Lighthouse have become an easy routine for them all. Bowls clatter, dishes are passed around, and finally Lucanis takes his own seat. Observing the group, Lucanis registers that one head of curls is missing. 

“Where's Rook?” He asks the group at large. 

Some glance at Rook's empty chair, several of them shrug. 

It's Bellara who speaks up. “I found a note earlier. Rook said she was going out for a drink.” 

Lucanis’ brow furrows with concern. “Alone?” 

Bellara lifts a shoulder. “I guess. The note didn't say, but we're all here aren't we?” She looks around the table at their companions. 

“I don’t like this.” Davrin's mouth is set in a hard line. The Grey Warden, always the pragmatic protector. “None of us should be going off alone, but especially Rook. The Gods must have a massive target on her back.” 

Lucanis is in very strong agreement. “Did the note say where she was going for drinks?” He directs his question at Bellara. Bellara shakes her head, her smile tight and apologetic. 

Lucanis’ chair scrapes back from the table as he stands. “I will go find her.” 

Emmrich’s hand flutters on top of the table in agitation. “But how? She could’ve gone anywhere.” 

Lucanis’ gaze briefly locks with Neve’s. “She could’ve. But she didn’t.” Neve responds with the smallest nod of her head. A shared, silent knowledge passing between them of how Rook has struggled since Minrathous. Since Neve began rejoining the group- at least for meals. 

Davrin stands as well. “I’ll accompany you.” 

“No,” Lucanis says, too sharp. Davrin raises an eyebrow at him. “I know where she’ll be and I don’t think she’ll be all that grateful for company.”

Davrin squints at him, one fist flexing. Then relents, drops back into his chair, pulling a steaming bowl of stew towards him. “All right. But at least tell us where you’re going in case you don’t come back.” 

Lucanis looks to Neve again. She stares impassively at the food in front of her. “Dock Town,” Lucnais answers Davrin’s request.   

***

The streets of Dock Town glint with Venatori steel. The cultists prowl everywhere. Lucanis’ stomach twists as he passes through a square, Shadow Dragons swing from ropes. This could have been Treviso. That could have been Rook. He quickens his pace. 

The Cobbled Swan’s warmth spills onto the street as he approaches. Music and conversation rise up to greet him. He weaves his way through the tavern, shouldering past drunken patrons who get in his way. His eyes peeled for red hair. He finds her. Tucked into a corner, pint glasses fanned out around her. She rests her head on folded arms atop the wooden table, her back to him. Tension releases that Lucanis did not even realize his body was holding.

“Rook?” He eases into a seat beside her, briefly thinking of a time they sat just like this, sharing a cup of coffee in a different city.

She turns her head towards him, not lifting it from her arms. “Luc,” she says in greeting. The smell of whiskey hangs heavy on her breath. 

Lucanis glances at all the empty flagons. “How much have you had?” 

A noncommittal gesture moves through her shoulders. “A few.” 

Lucanis itches to reach out and snatch the half full cup in front of her away. But it’s not his place to tell her what to do- or how to nurse her grief. “Have you eaten anything?” 

“Ever in my life? Sure.” He inclines his head at her sardonic tone. She sighs. “No, Lucanis. I haven’t eaten anything tonight.” 

“This won’t fix anything, you know,” Lucanis says softly. 

“Really?” Rook looks at him with mock surprise. “And here I thought I’d cracked the code to curing bad decisions!” 

“It’s dangerous to be out on your own.” Rook rolls her eyes at him and he grits his teeth. “What was your plan? Get so drunk you couldn’t find your way back to the eluvian? Stumble your way into a Venatori trap?” He can’t keep the anger from coloring his words. 

Rook finally picks her head up off the table. “My plan?” Her words slur. “Oh, my plan was most certainly to drown my woes in booze and then-” Her signature mischievous smirk. “I thought I’d see about stumbling my way into that handsome bartender’s bed.” She points over her shoulder at a man pouring drinks for patrons. “I thought that sounded like a far more enjoyable trip to make. And not even a single Venatori involved.” 

Lucanis’ throat squeezes. He feels Spite’s jeering laughter skittering across his mind. If Rook wanted to distract herself, relieve her pain with pleasure- that was her choice. Lucanis didn’t get a say in who she took to bed.

Yet he couldn’t hold his tongue- or his jealousy- enough not to say, “If you need a distraction, I could help.” 

She smiles coyly at him. “Are you offering your bed, Luc?” Mierda. The intimate way she shortened his name shot straight through him. A familiar, frustrating yearning. Spite laughed harder. No. No, Lucanis was not offering that. Could not offer that. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of a game of Wicked Grace. Or perhaps a friendly duel.”

She huffs. “Your plan would involve swords. I think mine is better.” 

His fingers twitch against the table. If he has to watch her walk out of here with someone else…

Selfish, so selfish, Spite hums. 

Lucanis does his best to ignore the demon. 

Won’t take what you want…won’t let her have what she’d like. 

Lucanis looks away. Shut up, demon. 

Spite is delighted. Let me talk to her! I could help her. I could give her the distraction she seeks.

Lucanis brings a fist down, rattling the drinkware and startling Rook, who looks at him with the most sober eyes he’s seen from her tonight. 

“Forgive me.” 

“Spite?” She asks knowingly.  

“I have it handled.” 

She nods, eyes already skating back to the bartender. 

Lucanis braces himself. “You deserve a night off, Rook. And you deserve whatever joy you can find.” He nods towards the bartender, “If that’s it, then take it.” The words are ash in his mouth. “But eventually, you need to talk about what happened. You cannot avoid it- and Neve- forever.” 

“Talk about what happened…” Rook says faintly, staring at the bartender for so long that Lucanis thinks her decision for the night has already been made. Then she says, in a tone so miserable he has to stop himself from reaching out to take her hand, “What happened is that I made a choice. And that choice cost people, my people, their lives.”

She takes an angry swill from her mug. Lucanis is silent. It seems a dam on her words has broken and they pour out of her now. “I chose not to go to my own people, Luc. How could I do that? Neve is never going to forgive me- and why should she? I betrayed the Shadow Dragons trust.”

Slow and patient, Lucanis nods. “You chose to come with me to save Treviso. Innocent people lived because of you.” 

“And what of the innocent people of Minrathous who did not live? What of my fellow Shadow Dragons, slain by the Venatori?” 

Lucanis suspects this is not a rhetorical question as her eyes bore into him. That she seeks an absolution no one can give her. “You had to make an impossible choice-” A distressed shake of her head. “So- why did you make the one you did, Rook?”

He can see the tears she is fighting hard to hold back. “I thought they would win,” she whispers. Lucanis cannot stop himself from reaching out now, cupping his hand around hers where it rests on the table. She looks down at their joined hands. “I didn’t think for one second the Shadow Dragons would fall. I didn’t think-” She looks back up at him, a rare softness to her that Lucanis aches to wrap up and protect. 

“I know,” Lucanis squeezes her hand, silent permission to say what she needs to say. 

“I thought I could do more good in Treviso, prevent more deaths. The Shadow Dragons, they are accustomed to moving as one, coordinating. But the Crows,” She watches him, something of an apology in her eyes. “The Crows operate alone in the shadows so often.” Another squeeze of his hand around hers. “I feared they wouldn’t stand a chance trying to protect the citizens and fight off a dragon.” 

“Rook,” Lucanis dips his head to hold her gaze. “It is not a crime to have faith in your people. To help those you think will need it most.” 

A tear finally breaches the rim of her eye. Lucanis sweeps it away with his thumb. Immediately dropping his hand away to join his other clasped around hers. 

“But I was wrong,” her voice hardens. “The Shadow Dragons did fall. And I wasn’t there.” She pulls her hand away from his, draining the rest of her cup. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and sways in her seat. 

“An impossible choice, with irreversible consequences,” Lucanis offers solemnly. “But we will rebuild and retake Minrathous.” It’s a contract he speaks between them. 

“We?” The single word on her lips sends a thrill through Lucanis. 

“You chose to help my people. I will repay that debt to yours.” Lucanis vows. 

She focuses on him, reaches out a finger to tap his chest. “You would do that?” 

“You are not alone, Rook.” 

Sadness bends the curve of her mouth. “It feels like it sometimes. Everyone is looking to me to make decisions. The team. Varric. I feel like I’m one footstep away from leading everyone off of a cliff.” 

“If you are the one leading, I would gladly go over the ledge.” Lucanis bites down on his tongue, afraid he’s revealed too much in his desire to provide her comfort. Worth it when the sound of laughter falls from her lips. “I only mean to say,” Lucanis goes on. “That you are a good leader, Rook. And all good leaders must make the best of impossible choices.” 

“Thank you, Lucanis.” She smiles. “Well then,” She stands abruptly on wobbling feet. Lucanis rises beside her, anxiety coursing through him that she’s decided to proposition the bartender after all, that this is farewell for the evening. 

She takes a step, stumbling. “Oh!” In her drunken surprise, she throws out a hand to steady herself against his chest as she trips. He moves with an assassin’s instinct, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her hand presses flat against his heart, which he’s sure must be racing.

“Are you sure you don’t have any bad decisions in you tonight?” There’s a challenge in her eyes.  

Mierda. He releases her, steps back, his hand lingering at her waist. “You’re drunk,” he says gently. 

“And you’re possessed by a demon. We all have our issues.” 

He fights down a smile, unwilling to encourage her. Drops his forehead to hers, his restraint slipping for just a moment. But he lets go of her waist, motioning to the tavern’s exit. “Can I interest you in an evening stroll instead?”

“Will it end with Venatori filth on the end of my blade? Surely that’s one bad decision you can allow.” 

Her words still slush together and an unsteadiness vibrates her frame. A vision of her facing off against Venatori cultists in a darkened alley, reflexes slowed from drink floods through him. “When it comes to you, they’re all bad decisions,” he replies gruffly, turning to lead them from the bar. 

She matches his stride on shaky legs, grips his bicep as she ducks under a server hoisting a drink laden tray over their heads. Mutters a curse when she staggers against him, the liquor in her blood proving to greatly impair her agility. Lucanis sighs, wrapping an arm back around her, tucking her in against his side as he pushes through the crowded bar. She closes her fingers around a fistful of his jacket, her knuckles pressing into his abdomen. When they cross the threshold to the street outside, she does not let go. Neither does he. 

They walk, pressed together, all the way back to the eluvian. 

[chaotic-orphan]

Heyyyy I was wondering if maybe you'd consider writing about a Hero that gets so depressed they start getting reckless in their fights, maybe going so far as to try and do themselves in. And can Villain or someone save them? Please? I feel a bit like Hero right now and I could use a Villain haha haha hahahahaha

Bestie this is why I write so many suicidal heroes getting saved by villains… I think we all relate to those Heroes sometimes, and y’know what? Most of the time, you have to be your own villain💛 but I’m writing this Villain to save you Nonny, don’t self destruct please, and do something nice for yourself x

*~*~*~*~*

“Hero! You’re here!” The Fire deputy said.

“Yep,” Hero said through clenched teeth, blood dripping down the side of their head from their previous altercation with Muscle Villain who was enjoying the luxurious experience of the back of a police car right about now.

“Flame hero is already in there, rescuing civilians but you’re—”

Hero nodded. “I’ll see if I can help.”

The Fire deputy protested but Hero was already in the burning building, their arm over their mouth and nose to lower the effect of smoke inhalation. Not that Hero was sure it mattered or not. They weren’t exactly trained for search and rescue in fires, but they could do it. They could help.

They heard crying from upstairs and they glanced up, the smoke singed their eyes and they let out a hiss as the heat licked at them from the flames. Wood crackled all around them as Hero went to the stairs. They grabbed the railing and cursed as their hand sizzled against the heat.

Fuck! Fuck! That hurt— shit…

“Hero?!” Hero glanced up to see Flame Hero, concerned eyes behind their signature goggles. Probably for the eyes. Hero should have gotten some before they charged in. “WHAT ARE YOU—”

Before Flame Hero could scream more a support beam crackled and groaned and fell, shaking the building. Hero had to jump out of the way as the a square of the second floor disintegrated and debris and dust descended, going up in a puff of smoke and catching Hero’s lungs. Hero coughed, their throat burning as they wheezed out the smoke.

“Hero!” Flame Hero cried through their mask. Probably filtered smoke from their lungs. “Are you okay?”

Hero blinked in the heat. The support beam had swung down between Hero and the stairs. “Yeah!” They screamed back. “I’m fine! I’ll look for survivors down here.”

Hero didn’t wait for a response. They started to get lightheaded, but they were lightheaded after their fight with Muscle Villain too, so they could take a little bit of smoke damage, right? How many minutes did people usually have before their lungs gave up? A few minutes? Under ten? They could do this. They’ve only been in here two minutes.

They turned the corner and the flames roared as a pipe exploded and Hero was thrown backwards and out the window of the ground floor out into the street. Their back hit the brickwork of the alley, stealing the last remnants of oxygen from Hero’s chest with a thud an a strangled oomph.

They were pretty sure they blacked out a moment on impact, because next thing they knew they were on the ground, on their stomach gasping and coughing as fresh air assaulted their senses.

Fuck… they really were lightheaded. But… they would be fine. They’re always fine. Hero got onto all fours and groaned as they pushed their legs out so their feet were stretched behind them in a plank. They pushed themselves up and got halfway before stumbling into the wall, grabbing it clumsily and falling again, scraping their side against it.

“Fuck…” they whispered, letting out laboured breaths. Their back was aching and did not appreciate Hero putting all their weight on their arms. Hero gasped as they felt something sharp pierce the skin of their palm and yanked their hand up to see a shard of glass. They glanced around and the alleyway was littered with broken pieces of glass that glittered like stars in the moonlight, reflecting Hero’s face back up at them.

Their knee also reflected Hero’s face and they hissed as they grabbed that big shard and yanked it out. They grabbed their roll of meditape that they used for just about everything and wrapped it around the knee to stop the bleeding. For now… at least. Then they tried to get up again.

Forgetting about the shard in their palm Hero let out a pained grunt as they felt the glass dig further into their skin on the ground and they threw their head back to stare at the black, velvet sky, tears pinpricking their eyes.

“Hero?!” Flame Hero demanded. Then there was the sound of footsteps and crunching glass and hands on their upper arms dragging Hero to a standing. Flame Hero looked angry. “What the fuck were you doing in there?! Huh?”

“I…” Hero began then descended into bouts of coughing.

“You could have died! You don’t even have a mask or goggles or anything! You could still die from the short amount of smoke inhal—” Flame Hero looked down at Hero’s hand. “Christ Hero! Your hand!”

Hero blinked, dazed. “M’fine.”

“You’re not fine!” Flame Hero hissed. “Look at me you thick skulled idiot, you are not fine! You are going to the hospital.”

Hero shook their head and pushed Flame Hero away with their glass-less palm. “No hospital.”

“Hero, you’re not really in a position to be arguing right now,” Flame Hero hissed. Hero batted Flame Hero’s outstretched hands away.

“Here,” Hero mumbled and grabbed the glass shard.

“Hero! No, don’t pull—“”

“Agh! Fuck!” Hero cried.

“I told you not to touch it!”

Hero pressed the flat of the glass into Flame Hero’s glove. “Did you save all the civilians?”

Flame Hero’s eyes hardened. “Yes.”

“Then nothing to worry about. Leave me be. Help the fire department,” Hero said and started to walk in the opposite direction of the fire department and trucks and paramedics.

“Hero!” Flame Hero looked back at the burning building and then down at the reckless hero’s retreating back. “Hero! Just… don’t do anything stupid!”

Hero waved them away but didn’t answer, limping down the alley until they got down the hill to Flood Street. Fuck… they were tired. When they got out onto the street they got out of Flame Hero’s sightline and pressed their back against the wall, then their head, closing their eyes.

Just for a minute… they just… they just needed a—

Their radio crackled to life. “Supervillain has appeared at the Industrial state by the port!” Hero’s eyes shot open. “We need every available hero to support—”

And then they were running again.

They were exhausted and their back was screaming at them as they pumped their arms to gain momentum. The port was only a short distance from them. Maybe if Hero got there first, they could—

Their vision tunnelled to a slit and the world swayed and Hero blinked and then they were on the ground.

What?… A warm nausea shot from their stomach through their throat like a bullet and Hero barely had time to turn and hurl the contents of their stomach out on the pavement.

Halfway through Hero had a brief respite from heaving, leaning back on their hands and moaning before the warmth returned with a vengeance and Hero was gagging and spewing again. They retched and coughed, saliva black and grey from the fire and when Hero wiped their mouth black soot stained their hand.

Fuck… they thought as they pushed themselves up, one hand grabbing the nearest wall and yanked themselves off their feet. They stumbled again but the wall caught them and Hero sighed as they felt strong hands hold them up.

“Thanks…” Hero mumbled, dizzy with exhaustion, their vision hazy.

“Anytime, Darling.”

Hero froze. They turned their head to see familiar blue eyes staring down at them and Hero lurched forwards. Fingers fisted through their hair and dragged themselves off back into a street out of sight from the main road and down again, turning a corner while Hero hissed and grunted at the pressure on their head.

When they rounded the second corner so they were parallel to the street with a building blocking the view, Villain slammed Hero against the wall and pressed their forearm against Hero’s throat when they tried to push away from the wall.

“Villain,” Hero said, voice scratchy from the vomit. Or the fire. Or being choked by muscle villain. Or all of the above. Their larynx was exhausted. So were they, but they had to keep moving. Keep going. “Come to kick me when I’m down?”

“Not at all, love, I can kick you down when you’re up just as easily,” Villain smirked. But it wasn’t his usual smirk. Hero swallowed hard but their throat burned and they grimaced after. There was something terrifying behind Villain’s beautiful face. Something lethal and dangerous and cold. Something Hero had never seen hidden behind his expression before.

Villain wasn’t fucking around.

This wasn’t a social visit then.

Hero gulped again at the long silence. “Hey… hey, Vil, I kind of have somewhere to be… if we could wrap this up quick then—“”

Villain’s eyes flashed dangerously. His smirk widened. “Oh I know, Hero. You do have somewhere to be. In a hospital, or your own bed at the very least.”

Hero scoffed. “What’re you, my mom?” They pushed against Villain’s arm on their neck, but Villain leaned all his weight forward on it until Hero was pressed flush against the wall, head angled to try and keep breath flowing through their body. “Vi—Villain.”

“Yes, Hero?”

“Can you…” a wheeze cracked the sentence and caught in Hero’s throat as they coughed, strangled by Villain’s arm.

“Can I bring you home and make sure you can’t get out of bed until you’re rested? Yes, Hero. Of course. So good of you to ask.”

“Mmph,” Hero protested, eyes wide as they grabbed Villain’s wrist and elbow and tried to shove him off. Villain, in reply, grabbed Hero by their jacket and threw them further into the alleyway. Hero tumbled, head going over heels until they landed on their back and groaned.

“Or we can go until you pass out, Hero, and then you’ll regret that I put you on bedrest. You’ll find I can be quite persuasive.”

“What’re you doing?” Hero demanded hotly, struggling to sit up. The world swam in their vision and they repressed a groan. “I need to—”

“Fight Supervillain? In this state? Where were you before this? You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“What, were you cleaning chimneys? Fall off the roof?” Villain demanded, pointing to the dried blood pooling from Hero’s hairline. “I just found you throwing up like a drunk in the side of the street.”

“Whatever,” Hero grumbled. “You don’t know anything,” Hero said, getting to their unsteady feet and wiping their face with their sleeve. Their gaze hardened, filled with resolve. “I’m going to fight Supervillain. Even if I have to go through you to do it.”

Villain let out a barking laughter that went straight through Hero’s hazy head, piercing their ears uncomfortably. “You’ll go through me? Darling, please, gravity is proving to be too strong an opponent for you in this state.”

“Shut up.”

“No, Hero.” Villain said, a storm flashed across his expression and it scared Hero. “I have to take matters into my own hands now, don’t I?”

Hero gulped but didn’t risk a step forward. They weren’t entirely certain that they would stay standing if they stepped towards Villain, or away from Villain. They were stable standing in place, no risk of falling like this.

“I am a person perfectly capable of making my own decisions thank you very much! I don’t need you to coddle me or—”

Villain was in front of Hero in a second a hand on their throat and then they were slammed against a wall again. Hero’s breath ripped from their lungs as they gasped on the smack of their back against the brickwork.

“I am either bringing you home to get some much needed bedrest, or I am checking you into a psych ward Hero, because I don’t trust you not to hurt yourself in this state.”

Hero let out a scalding laughter. “Hurt myself?!” They demanded, hot tears welling up on their lower lid and blinding them as they started to fall. “You’re hurting me, Villain!”

“Violence is the only thing that gets through to you, Hero, for fuck’s sake!” Villain roared. Hero shrunk back, but Villain followed them, their face an inch or two from Hero’s but his eyes burning with a terrible helplessness. “You can barely fucking stand without assistance and you’re mad at me for stopping you from fighting Supervillain?! Of all people! She’d kill you with a snap of her fingers!”

“GOOD!” Hero screamed back, their voice high, and pitchy and desperate. “At least then my life could MEAN something! At least then I’d have died for a good cause! And be remembered as a Hero! At least then SOMEONE WOULD CARE!”

Maybe it was a trick of Villain’s gaze in the moonlight, but for a second it looked like Villain’s eyes were filled with tears. It was a brief flash, before Villain’s head darted close to Hero and something soft was on Hero’s lips.

Hero flinched.

Then melted.

Oh… villain… was Villain…

Hero kissed them back with a ferocity that they didn’t know they possessed. Something hot and wet hit Hero’s cheek and they didn’t know if it was their tears or Villain’s, but they didn’t care.

Villain was just as fearsome in kissing as he was in battle. He pressed his body against Hero’s, pinning them against the wall, their free hand going to Hero’s cheek and holding their chin up so Hero couldn’t pull away even if they wanted.

And they didn’t want to.

Their hands in turn went to Villain’s hair, his beautiful hair and around his neck and tried to pull him impossibly closer.

And all too soon, Villain pulled away, resting his forehead against Hero’s. Their breath mixing with the cold of the night, and Hero was dizzy for a different reason now. They don’t know how long they stayed like that, their chests rising and falling erratically until they calmed down again.

Then, in the cover of the night air in this back alley, Villain whispered: “you mean something to me,” and Hero stiffened. Fresh tears formed and flooded down their cheeks. “You mean the world to me, Hero. And I would let the world burn just to see you smile… to warm you up when you’re cold. I’d lock you up in a cage if it meant you’d never leave my side again.”

Villain’s hand tightened on Hero’s chin and tilted their head up to meet Villain’s burning gaze.

“I care about you, Hero. I have always cared. And I won’t just sit back and watch you destroy yourself like this, do you understand?”

Villain leaned down and kissed Hero again. A small, sweet peck of the lips. “I won’t let you go. So you’re coming home with me, whether you like it or not.”

Hero sniffled in the air. Something too big and too much to put into words unwound from Hero’s chest and all tension left their body at Villain’s words. A warmth they hadn’t felt in a while pumped from their heart out and around their body and they relented.

It would be so nice to have someone take care of them for once.

“Okay,” they whispered, because it was too great a thing to admit louder. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Villain said and scooped Hero up in their arms like a baby. Hero blushed.

“That’s not necess—”

“It’s okay, darling. You can admit I made your knees weak. That kiss was…”

Hero hit their chest while they cuddled into Villain’s shoulder, using it as a pillow. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I know.”

But they didn’t mean it, and Villain and Hero both knew it. “I know. But the world won’t fall apart without you for a long needed break, Hero.”

Hero swallowed the lump in their throat, they were even too tired to feel the guilt at not fighting anymore, of letting themselves be saved.

Maybe Villain was right…

Maybe… this one time… they could let themselves be saved instead of saving someone else. Hold on a little longer so they would be able to save more people in the future.

They couldn’t be selfish and end their life in a blaze of glory… all the lives they could save if they just took a break, rested for a… a little while. Until they were better again.

Hero’s eyes grew heavy as Villain walked. The rhythmic tapping of Villain’s feet against the pavement a lullaby and for the first time in weeks, Hero slept peacefully.

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A digital drawing of Cecil and Carlos. Cecil is an older mid-sized white man with a graying lilac mullet and mustache, a lot of body hair, tan lines, long purple and teal painted nails, and purple eyeshadow. He is wearing a green cross wrap halter crop top, a teal miniskirt, a purple shoelace as a belt around his waist, furry rainbow legwarmers, and pink bunny slippers. He's holding a black cell phone with a pop socket with the Night Vale logo on it. Carlos is an older mid-sized Latino man with medium dark brown skin, black and gray curly hair with a matching beard, a lot of body hair, and a couple moles by his eye. He is wearing a white labcoat, dull red boxers, white crew socks and brown sandals, a small black stud earring, and large square glasses. The entire image has a magenta filter over it.

Cecil is sitting on a red cushioned stool with his legs crossed over each other and smiling down at his phone. Carlos is standing with one foot raised, hugging Cecil with one arm and holding his free hand over his shoulder with the other. They're both leaning into each other. Cecil says, "Carlos, look! I've been declared the "Ultimate Sexyman"!" And Carlos replies, kissing his cheek, "I could've told you that, my honey-voiced honey~" with "honey-voiced honey" italicized. end ID]

~~~~

good evening cecilsweep nation. i made a celebratory Them <3

[gloryy-vs]

Can you pleaseeeeeeeee please!

Do a neteyam x fem dreamwalker reader

Where it's kinda like the scene where Jake couldn't put his mask on and almost dies when he was fighting , but neytiri saves him something like that but with neteyam and yn 🥹

PLEASE!

And thank you🌹🌹🌹

Dreamwalker.

||

characters: neteyam x dreamwalker!reader

ratings: sfw, angsty, fluff, savior neteyam

||

Your avatar body laid thrown to the side, Quaritch’s machine stomping over to you and your real body struggled to breathe inside the connector. Your neurons disconnected, eye jolting open inside then shuttle before you clamped your eyes shut again to rebond with your Avatar. You struggled to put up a fight, while Miles easily picked you up by your long braid, your feet kicking while his knife was against your throat in an instant.

Neteyam wasn’t having it, angrily hopping over the enormous log, bow and arrow in hand. You scowled at Miles, slipping in and out of the bond with your Avatar. Neteyams arrow flew past you, straight into Miles’ chest. You were dropped to the ground, triggering the final disconnect right as Neteyam fired another arrow into Miles’ abdomen. He pounced over to you, protectively squaring over you and hissing aggressively at the now dying Colonel.

Your human body slammed the shuttle cap open, gasping and heaving for oxygen. You fell out of the shuttle, feeling the immense panic rise in your chest as your lungs felt like they withered inside of you. Hoisting yourself up, you desperately tried to reach for the oxygen mask, fingers just barely wrapping around the straps.

Neteyam looked down at your Avatar, shaking you eagerly, whining out your name when he realized you weren’t getting up. The 7 foot tall boy put two and two together. You were dying. His eyes immediately darted to the port that Quaritch had smashed in.

You collapsed to the floor again, taking desperate repetitive breathes and basically drowning yourself with everything but the proper amount of oxygen. Vision going blurry, you passed out and felt the numbness travel through your body. Neteyams hand slapped against the glass, before he turned to his left and jumped in through the bashed window. Squat jumping over to you, he cradled your limp body in his lap and whimpered your name over and over again. Holding your small body in his arms, he reached for the oxygen mask, pressing it against your face in hope of you taking another breath. His golden eyes teared up, running his fingers through your hair while he waited for any sign.

Feeling the wave of oxygen enter your body, you coughed, taking a deep breathe and you cleared out the mask to filter out unwanted chemicals that nearly killed you. You saw Neteyam in his giant form. He looked so different when you saw him, larger and intimidatingly handsome. You two locked eyes, neither wanting to break the gaze first. Reaching and hand to his face, he leaned into it, a tear running down his face. He looked so handsome, angelic even. Neteyam thought the same of you, how small you were compared to him, your body feeling light in his grasp. You looked beautiful, admiring each detail of your face that wasn’t noticeable in your avatar form.

“I see you..” You said first, letting your hand slip down from his face to his chest. He followed your smaller hand, pressing it into his chest further.

“I see you.” Neteyam replied with a slight whimper heard in his accented voice.

[cailinsblog]

A Christmas to Remember | Carlos sainz

Carlos sainz x reader

Masterlist

The streets of Madrid shimmered under the glow of festive lights, the air crisp and filled with the scents of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon. Carlos Sainz and his wife Y/N strolled hand in hand, their breath visible in the chilly air. This Christmas was special—it was their first as a married couple, and they were determined to make every moment unforgettable.

Carlos had been home for a few weeks, finally able to relax after the whirlwind Formula 1 season. For months, he had been counting down the days until he could spend Christmas in his hometown with Y/N. She had been just as excited, eager to soak in the festive spirit and, more importantly, the uninterrupted time with Carlos.

---

Morning Magic

The day began with soft sunlight filtering through their bedroom window. Y/N stirred under the covers, slowly waking to the familiar warmth of Carlos beside her. He was already awake, leaning on one elbow, watching her with a gentle smile.

“Buenos días, mi amor,” he murmured, his voice soft and warm.

Y/N stretched and smiled sleepily. “Good morning. Merry Christmas, Carlos.”

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “How does breakfast in bed sound?”

“Perfect,” she replied, still half-asleep.

Carlos slipped out of bed and returned shortly with a tray laden with freshly baked croissants, warm hot chocolate, and a small bowl of strawberries. They shared breakfast in bed, laughing as Carlos stole bites from Y/N’s plate, playfully dodging her swats.

“Hey! Those are my strawberries!” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

Carlos grinned. “Sharing is caring, cariño.”

---

Christmas Market Adventures

After breakfast, they bundled up in warm coats, scarves, and gloves, ready to explore the city. Their first stop was the Plaza Mayor, transformed into a bustling Christmas market. Twinkling lights hung from every stall, and a towering Christmas tree stood proudly in the center of the square.

Y/N’s eyes lit up as they wandered through the market, taking in the sights and sounds. They stopped at various stalls, admiring handcrafted ornaments, sampling traditional treats, and marveling at the festive decorations.

“Look at this one,” Y/N said, holding up a delicate glass ornament shaped like a race car. “It’s perfect for you.”

Carlos chuckled. “We definitely need that for our tree.”

They bought the ornament and continued exploring, pausing at a stall selling hot churros. They sat on a nearby bench, sharing the warm, sugary treats and watching the lively crowd.

“This is exactly what I needed,” Carlos said, his voice soft. “No races, no cameras—just us.”

Y/N smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re home. I missed you so much.”

Carlos kissed the top of her head. “I missed you too, mi amor. Being with you is the best part of the holidays.”

---

Ice Skating Shenanigans

Their next stop was the outdoor ice skating rink in Retiro Park. Y/N was excited, but Carlos hesitated as they laced up their skates.

“I’m not sure about this,” he said, eyeing the rink with a mix of apprehension and amusement.

“Oh, come on,” Y/N teased. “You’re a world-class driver, but you’re scared of a little ice?”

Carlos laughed, shaking his head. “It’s not the same, Y/N. But fine—I’ll do it for you.”

They stepped onto the rink, and to Carlos’s surprise, he managed to stay upright. Y/N, more confident on the ice, glided ahead gracefully, laughing as Carlos wobbled behind her.

At one point, Y/N pretended to lose her balance, causing Carlos to rush over to catch her. They both ended up in a heap on the ice, laughing so hard their sides hurt.

“Maybe I’ll stick to driving,” Carlos said, helping her up.

“Maybe,” Y/N replied with a grin. “But you did great, babe.”

---

A Cozy Christmas Dinner

As the sun began to set, they returned home to prepare for a cozy Christmas dinner. They worked together in the kitchen, Carlos taking charge of the main course while Y/N focused on dessert. The aroma of roasted lamb and freshly baked cookies filled their home, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

They set the table with candles and festive decorations, then sat down to enjoy their meal. Between bites, they shared stories and reflected on their favorite moments of the year. It was intimate, heartfelt, and everything they had hoped for.

After dinner, they moved to the living room, where a crackling fire warmed the space. The Christmas tree stood tall in the corner, its ornaments gleaming in the firelight. Carlos poured two glasses of wine, and they settled onto the couch, wrapped in a soft blanket.

---

Under the Mistletoe

As they relaxed, Y/N noticed something hanging above them. “Is that mistletoe?” she asked, pointing to the small sprig Carlos had secretly hung.

Carlos smirked. “It might be.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Well, I guess we have to follow tradition.”

Carlos leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender, lingering kiss. It was soft and sweet, filled with all the love and warmth of the season. When they pulled away, Carlos rested his forehead against hers.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered. “Thank you for making this Christmas so special.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. “I love you too, Carlos. This is perfect—just us and the magic of Christmas.”

---

A Perfect Night

The night ended with them curled up by the fire, sipping hot cocoa and watching their favorite Christmas movies. Outside, snow began to fall gently, blanketing the city in a soft, peaceful glow.

As Y/N rested her head on Carlos’s chest, she felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. This Christmas was everything she had dreamed of—filled with love, laughter, and the man who made her world complete.

Carlos kissed her forehead once more, whispering, “This is a Christmas to remember.”

And in that moment, surrounded by warmth and love, they knew it truly was.

[teddy06writes]

Whumptober Day 11 - Boromir

Boromir x gn!reader

Prompt: Chronic Pain

Trigger Warnings: None

Summary: The first day of a cold spell causes your pain to flare up, but you're determined to grit your teeth through the pain. Boromir however, is determined to get you to rest. Set post Ring War, Boromir surviving, obviously.

{Reader's pain is based on my own joint pain issues}

You could tell before you had even finished getting ready that it wasn't going to be a great day.

The cool morning air filtered through the open windows into your quarters, along with the bright, early light. Beside you, your husbands place in bed was already growing cold.

With a small groan, you dragged yourself from bed, stiffness heavy in your limbs. The morning chill pooled in your skin, settling in an ache in your knees and hip.

You could hear your husband in the other room, puttering around, presumably making breakfast.

Stretching, and trying to work the stiffness out of your limbs, you began to get ready for the day. The dull ache in your legs seemed to drag you down, slowing your movements as you eventually headed out into the main room.

"Good morning, darling," Boromir greeted you with a kiss on the cheek as you passed, "You sleep well?"

You hummed, sitting down at the table, "Mhhhm. You were up early."

"Just restless, I suppose. All this cold, the preparations for the Harvest Festival..." He shrugged, smiling as he set two plates on the table, "It has been a long time since we could put our sights on simple pleasures like these."

You found his smile infectious, and you took his hand across the table, "I know. Good times are here again."

Boromir squeezed your hand before digging into his plate, "It's quite cold today, will you be alright?"

"I am a bit stiff," You admitted, not quite meeting his eye, "But, I should be fine. Just need to keep moving."

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Your response was clipped enough for him to drop it, and to his credit, he did.

Throughout the day though, as you drifted in and out of meetings, and met again in the square to continue panning with Aragorn and Faramir, Boromir watched wearily as your movements grew stiffer and you worked harder to keep the pain off your face.

You could get away with fooling others into thinking that everything was fine, but not Boromir. He saw the slight clenching of your jaw every other step, the unevenness in your stride.

At least he had the sense to wait until the others were out of ear shot to ask, "Are you sure you'll be alright, darling?"

You couldn't help but let out a huff, "I'm fine."

Again, he raised a critical eyebrow, "Is that why you're limping around after Faramir?"

"I can't just ignore my duties, love. It's fine." You said it with such conviction that you almost believed it yourself. The truth was that every step felt like fire, and you knew that the busy day was only making it worse. Still, you had things that needed to be done, and projects to oversee.

You turned, hurrying after Faramir, ignoring your concerned husband, and the pain ficking up in your knee with every step.

Boromir only sighed, turning to return to work.

By the time you returned home, later that evening, you swore you couldn't take another step, lowering yourself painfully into an armchair.

Boromir, who had returned before you, quietly closed the book he'd been leafing through, hazarding, "Are you alright, my love?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, turning to look at him slowly, finally admitting, "I may have overdone it. By Eru, it feels like I've been walking on glass."

It sounded as if it had been painful even to say the words out loud, and your strained tone tugged at Boromir's heart. He stood, making his way to your side, "I know, darling, I know."

You looked up at him, "I'm sorry for the way I was acting, please forgive me."

"Already forgiven," He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, "I drew you a hot bath, if a soak would help?"

You smiled gratefully, "Thank you, love. I don't know if I..."

You trailed off, glancing down at your legs, and then off toward the bathroom, the usually short trip seeming to stretch out before you.

Boromir chuckled, easily scooping you up into his arms, "Not a problem."