#they both deserve healing endings like they have been through so much

[quinnigallagherjones]

NEED THESE TWO TO HAVE HAPPY AND HEALING ENDINGS PLEASE !!!!!

[willbyersabyss]

So what are Will's flaws?

Is Will totally perfect in every way? Is he a jealous saboteur? Or a secret third option... neither. Let's discuss Will's flaws and nuances!

1. Emotional suppression

Will avoids his problems. He hates talking about both his emotional and physical danger because he doesn't want to be treated differently. From a young age, he was taught by Lonnie that he shouldn't express his emotions because that makes him "sensitive" and "weak." So now he likes to hide.

This emotional suppression causes his feelings to worsen over time. Once he finally lets it out, he explodes. Instead of healthy conversations, he says and does things that he'll probably regret later. He blows up at Mike, he yells at Jonathan, he destroys Castle Byers, he shows his hand (what about us?)

Will's avoidance doesn't only have consequences on him, but others. If he had told someone he was feeling the Mind Flayer earlier, they might've been able to save some of the Flayed. But he couldn't tell someone because that puts him in a place of emotional vulnerability. That's exactly why he waited until after he fought with the boys to mention the supernatural. He traded one vulnerable situation for another, allowing him to avoid opening up about his true feelings. It was a distraction.

This also doesn't let others to heal from their altercations. Both Lucas and Mike try to apologize to Will, but he brushes them off. Will thinks he doesn't deserve consideration. The walls he puts up forces others to hold onto their own guilt, leaving a sore spot in their relationship. We can see this soreness in Will and Mike's relationship in s4. They never healed from the rain fight. Well... not that Mike tried to apologize after the Mind Flayer debacle. Again, distraction on Will's part.

Will’s inability to handle change is also due to him bottling up his feelings. His trauma and suppression makes him stuck in the past. He doesn’t let himself move through each day where these emotions would be felt.

It's interesting how Will is deemed the emotional one when his sensitivity is actually a result of him keeping his emotions in. Once that dam is opened, it's hard for him to stop. He breaks, just as he fears.

2. Self-hatred

And all that emotional suppression leads to Will internalizing other people's view of him. Will's self-hatred stems from bullying and his father's abuse. He thinks he's to blame, that he's a mistake. As more people distance themselves from Will, he believes there's something wrong with him.

When he thinks he deserves mistreatment, his relationships crumble more. They're unable to reconcile. True forgiveness can't be achieved if he doesn't think he should be apologized to in the first place.

Will's hatred is the reason why he tried to sacrifice himself in s2 to save his friends. He doesn't think he deserves to be saved. This makes him an easy target for Vecna. It's very likely that Will's self-hatred will factor into his upcoming supernatural plot.

The more Will hates himself, the more he hides, the more he suppresses his emotions.

3. People pleaser

If Will is anything, he's a people pleaser. He's selfless. So much so that this is the first thing we find out about him. While admirable, it actually leads to more bad than good. His people pleasing tendency goes hand in hand with his emotional suppression. Will doesn't like to take up space and inconvenience other people.

Will's never ending effort to please others leads to him making assumptions. Wrong assumptions. Whether it be letting Max join them on Halloween or pushing Mike to give a love confession, Will tries his best to use his mediator role to give people what they want.

But he doesn't know what they want, does he? Will wanted to make Dustin and Lucas happy, but this created a rift with Mike. He thought Mike was itching to profess his love for El, but that wasn’t what either of them needed. In an attempt to help, he's making it worse.

He must be successful sometimes, though, because there's an expectation from his friends that he'll fulfill their needs at the flick of a wand. This vacancy from Will makes him a pushover. They think they can make fun of him and he'll just take it because that's what he does. When Will finally stands up for himself, they're shocked. That's out of character for him. It's like they want to say: “Why isn't he letting us be mean to him? :(”

Mike even expected Will to tell him that his own girlfriend was being bullied. Will's people pleasing explodes in his face. So now when he's unable to read their needs and fix it for them, he's to blame. Will takes on the weight of their problems too much. While it's good that they rely on him, there shouldn't be pressure for him to judge their every whim. But it's not exactly their fault because Will set the stage for this behavior.

Weirdly, Will's need to please others is the reason why he didn't call Mike. He thought Mike wanted nothing to do with him, so he didn't reach out. There he goes assuming things again! But Will was there, waiting for the rare occasion where Mike did want him. He went so far right that he ended up left.

Will's behavior towards El is also an instance of wrong assumptions. Will didn't like being treated differently in s2, so he assumed El would feel the same way. He used his own experiences to inform how he should treat others. Babying El would make her feel more ostracized. Instead, he offered emotional comfort, similar to the comfort he received, after the bullying. This doesn't really help her because she doesn't have the same emotional mechanics as Will.

So Will assumes things, pushes his own wants down, and lets people walk all over him all in the name of being pleasant.

4. Freeze, fly, fight. In that order!

When Will is scared, he freezes. This flaw is so significant that they talked about it textually multiple times. I'm not sure I would consider it a flaw since it has saved him more than it's harmed him, though.

The few times Will has decided to fight instead of freeze, he was kidnapped and possessed. Confrontation isn't an option for him. His body believes he'll be put directly in danger if he does anything but freeze/fly. Fight is only used as a last resort.

It only really enters flaw territory when it's an inconvenience. He froze during the sauna test, when El was being bullied, and when he should've shot the creature in the shed. Will is unable to help himself and others when he's scared.

When he snaps out of it, he cries and feels guilty for being so hesitant. He wishes he could do more but he can't. This wraps back around to his self-hatred.

5. Jealousy

When his best friend of 10 years that he's in love with starts to ditch him for some random girl, it's not shocking that there would be some jealousy! Will is the silent jealous type. His jealousy doesn't really manifest into resentment or outward action against the other person. Unlike a certain someone...

Will only shows it through rolling eyes, a snarky comment here or there, or an outburst at his most emotionally vulnerable. I mean, if Will really wanted to see El crash and burn, he could've kept his mouth shut the entire Rink-O-Mania day. Or he could've ignored her in the courtyard as she picks up the pieces of her project. But he didn't.

The worst we've seen Will's jealousy was during the rain fight. He called El stupid. There's no beating around the bush, he was in the wrong for that. But this came out of Will because his emotions were at an all time high. Why? Emotional suppression!

A lot of Will's snarky comments towards El are out of genuine confusion. He doesn't understand how El can have exactly what he wants, but she's willing to ruin it by lying. Unfortunately, he later learns that exact lesson. He's envious that she can do what Mike hates without major repercussions, while he's somehow blamed for her lies. And why does he get blamed? People pleaser expectations!

Will waited until a quiet moment to inform El of her mistakes. Will's goal isn't to humiliate El. He doesn't let his jealousy lead to resentment. Instead, he tried to (snarkily) lead her to make better decisions because it's not fair! It's not fair that she can have it all without working for it!

And now we're back at self-hatred. Some of his jealous moments make it bubble back up. He bends his painting, something he put his blood, sweat, and tears into, because he isn't enough for them. Their ideal day is without him. Will's art is an extension of himself. He's aiming his anger back at himself by hurting his art.

All of his flaws connect back to his low self-esteem in some way. This is why it's important for Will to receive and accept love in his life. A big part of his arc is self acceptance.

So there it is in all its glory! All of Will's main flaws in one post. What did we learn? Will suppresses his emotions, hates himself, pleases others to a fault, freezes, and is green with envy. And he wouldn't be Will without 'em!

[charliemwrites]

Nikto's Commandments part 8! (and the first half of the Jealousy Duet).

I'll be honest, I got stuck with this one! For some reason I just couldn't get a good flow going and had to try writing this a few different times. I think it shows in the beginning, but I get the rhythm back towards the end.

Also, apologies if there are more errors than usual. I kind of powered through it and am too afraid I'm going to hate it if I try to read it over.

Anyway, please enjoy as always <3

Content: Jealousy, Acts of Devotion, Declarations of Love, Kissing

It’s your first mission since Nikto failed you.

(You may have forgiven him. He’s even accepted that you have, merciful as you are. But that doesn’t change the truth of what happened – that he failed you. That he left your side, and then almost didn’t return. You’ve forbade him from hanging himself with “almost,” but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the noose around his throat.)

You’re long since healed and recovered under Nikto’s devoted watch. Nurturing may not come naturally to him, but he’d bend himself into any shape for your use. So, he made himself into your caregiver. Weeks of helping you sit up, walk, bathe… until you were back in the gym, right by his side, gritting your teeth through physical therapy.

A scar is all that’s left now, silvery and tender. The only sign that Nikto’s world nearly bled away on dirty concrete. A reminder of his failure, his disgrace. How could he possibly deserve a place at your side, when he couldn’t even protect you? When he thought, for even a moment, that vengeance mattered more than your life?

Still, he returns to your side. Because you told him to, all that time ago. Because he has so much to make up for after everything. And because you haven’t given him leave to be anywhere else.

(He prays that you don’t the only way he knows how. Through meals from his own hand while you grin, nipping at his fingers. Through tea shared from one cup. With fragrant products in your wet hair while you sigh. You haven’t told him he could be anywhere else, beckoning him into a bed bigger than the one on base, still tucking in close like one of you might fall off the edge.)

It’s not that he thinks you incapable now. He would never blaspheme that you are anything other than utterly competent. It’s just that every blink superimposes pools of blood over his vision, a strobe of you near death.

In his most selfish, private thoughts, he imagines taking you away from it all for good. Tucking you away warm and safe in the cathedral of your off-base apartment, where a god belongs, in their own house. He soothes himself on visions of devoting himself to you fully and wishes he were a prophet. But for all you’ve given him, visions of the future are not one of them.

You were eager to return to duty, nearly cornered O’Conor once you got final clearance from the doctors. Nearly shook him down for a new assignment – for the both of you. Even if he had reservations about sending you to duty so soon, an opportunity to keep Nikto and his temper away a little longer was too tempting. (The bruises Nikto left on his throat were long gone, but the memory clearly was not.)

And so here you both are, in the gym of an SAS base, sparring with Task Force 141.

“Oi, lass! Care for a match?”

“Bring it, MacTavish!”

Nikto stands back to observe as you and the sergeant square off.

The 141 has been cooperative, despite previous tensions with KorTac. You, Nikto, and Konig have managed to build a decent working rapport – though most of that work has been yours. Their captain seems to like your friendly personality and straightforward professionalism; their lieutenant has been cordial. But the two sergeants (especially the Scottish one) have taken a liking to you.

“Fuck!”

Nikto jerks as you get taken down on your bad side – no, it’s not your bad side anymore. You’ve fully recovered; he must remember that. Interrupting a sparring match would be unwelcome and unnecessary. Not just overprotective on his part, but disrespectful to you as well, as if he doesn’t think you can hold your own. Still, he balls his hands into fists as you struggle against the sergeant.

At least you’re laughing, breathless and curse laden as it is.

“She is okay, ja?” Konig asks.

Nikto grunts the affirmative, eyes sharp as he watches you knee MacTavish’s side. Good, he thinks proudly as you twist to get on top. You’ve been working tirelessly to improve your groundwork techniques, learning all the different ways you can use your smaller stature against bigger and stronger opponents.

“He is… friendly,” Konig continues.

Another grunt of agreement. Most people are with you. It’s a natural reaction in the face of divinity; to reach out to a smiling god. It worked on Nikto, anyone else would be helpless. It’s just the natural order of things like green grass, blue skies, or gravity.

There’s a pause that starts to prickle the back of Nikto’s mind. Disinterested as he may be in socializing, he understands how it works. A program that runs in his mind – body language, tone, inflection, facial expression. A complex algorithm that computes to emotion, conversation, feeling. It’s just not an equation that applies to him, or that he can apply to himself anymore.

And right now, Konig is trying to imply something. Nikto cuts his eyes to the side, meets Konig’s.

“Too friendly, don’t you think?” he adds.

Nikto snorts and turns back to the match – where you are just tapping out. MacTavish is unwinding his arm from your windpipe. You’re sat between his legs, back to his chest. A tough position to get out from in a fight. As you’re scooting away, the sergeant pats your hip, leans to say, “good match” in your ear. You shoot him a grin over your shoulder and then push to your feet, sauntering back to your own team.

“Whose turn is it?” you ask, wiping sweat from your brow.

You don’t see MacTavish’s eyes darting up and down your body, zeroing in on the sliver of skin revealed by your lifted shirt. But Nikto does.

“Mine,” Konig answers, stepping forward.

You smile at him, bump fists with him. “Kick his ass for me, yeah?”

“Ja.”

He shoots Nikto one last, pointed look before stepping onto the mat. But Nikto has no interest in watching his match. Not when you’re right in front of him, a sheepish look on your face.

“I can’t believe I lost like that,” you groan. “Guess I need more practice.”

“We will practice,” he promises.

You beam and knock the back of your hand gently against his.

Like an insidious weed, Konig’s observation takes root and sprouts. Sergeant MacTavish’s friendliness.

It’s almost like Nikto is hallucinating again – or perhaps that he has just stopped. A veil pulled away from his eyes. A creature camouflaged in the brush, his eyes skipping over the landscape until an irregularity in the pattern was pointed out to him. And now he cannot stop seeing it.

MacTavish saying hello to you first every morning, asking how you slept with a twinkle in his eye. He offers to accompany you to training sessions, often chooses you first for cross-team drills. In downtime, he’ll invite you to socialize (with the rest of the 141, sure) and always save you a seat or a spot. Usually right next to him.

And it is not that he doesn’t acknowledge Nikto or Konig. He is amicable with both, works well with either of them when paired up. But there is always a tilt to his mouth when he speaks to you, a lilt to his voice. A subtle incline to his shoulders that makes every interaction seem just that slightest bit intimate.

A week into the assignment, and he is touching you freely. First a hand tapping elbow or shoulder. Then an arm around the back of your neck. Platonic, commiserating. Within a day, that arm drops to your shoulders and he’s leaning the side of his head against yours, something a bit warmer than a hug.

One morning, he scoops you up in a hug, your toes nearly off the ground. You seem surprised, reciprocate with a pat to the back before you’re set down and offered a chair.

And the sparring… the sparring gets worse. Not just an exchange of blows and a chance to improve skills with a new partner anymore. It’s become a game of teasing you, joking with you. Tagging you with hits to coax you into going after him. Wrestling with you on the ground and dragging it out while he grunts and huffs against you.

And Nikto… Nikto burns.

This is not hell, he knows; but maybe this is some form of purgatory.

He has no place, no right to suffer. Knows that trying to claim you as his own would be like trying to cage the sun. It wouldn’t just be selfish; it would be heresy. You’ve already given him a miracle; you told him you love him. That is far beyond anything he could deserve, anything he could hope or dream or long for. To take after all that, to demand more of the time, attention, energy you pour into him like holy water…

And yet.

And yet he wants to claw his skin off when MacTavish winks at you. Wants to set the world on fire when that accent purrs “bonnie” or ���hen” at you. An awful, deafening static scream fills the fractures of his mind when you smile at the sergeant, when you wish him a good morning or evening.

“How are you with a sniper, hen?” MacTavish asks one day.

You hum, glance over at Nikto. He’s been training you with his own rifle for months now – though it’s obviously been on pause since your injury. “Well, I’ve been working on it, but I definitely need some improvement.”

MacTavish crosses his arms, biceps bulging against the sleeves of his t-shirt. “I wouldn’t mind giving you a few pointers, if you want to come down to the range with me some time. Promise I’m a good teacher.”

You blink, hesitate. Then lightly, “Yeah, maybe!”

Nikto can’t hang himself on an “almost,” but he’s gutted on a “maybe.”

That night you come out of the bathroom frowning. There’s a furrow between your brows that you only get when you’re both frustrated and worried; if it stays, you’ll have a headache within the hour.

“Nikto?”

He glances up from the knives he’s polishing. You stop, eyes darting all over him, towel frozen in your hand.

“Hm?” he prompts.

You don’t answer. Instead, drop the towel carelessly on the floor and stride across the room. Towards him. He only just manages to shove his equipment out of the way by the time you reach him. And you don’t stop, climbing onto the hard desk chair he’s in, straddling his lap. Your fingers curl so tight in his chest straps that he can hear them creak.

He’s trapped as much by your gaze as your weight. Something swimming in the pools of your irises that he hasn’t seen in them before. Doesn’t know how to name or how to tame.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

He jerks back in surprise, but you’ve got a solid grip and there’s nowhere to go.

“Did I… do something?” you ask. “Or… or not do something?”

He stares. “What?” he asks, mouth gone suddenly dry.

Your eyes are still darting between his, like you’ll find answers playing peekaboo between them.

“You haven’t been right the past few days. Maybe even a week,” you explain. “I’ve been giving you space to tell me, but you won’t. And I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure you, but please just talk to me.”

Now his brows furrow. “I haven’t been…?”

You sit back a bit, assured that you have his attention – as if that isn’t guaranteed.

“You’re not eating the same. Didn’t even take the green beans I put aside for you,” you say. “You’re not sharing my tea or letting me wrap your hands. You keep leaving for a smoke in the middle of the night. Hell, you’re wearing your mask in our room.”

It dawns on him like apocalypse. That he has been worrying you, affecting you.

“And you’re not… you’re not talking to me.” Your white-knuckled grip eases a bit as you run out of steam, sadness tinging your expression. “I know we don’t talk the normal way but… I haven’t been able to read you. You won’t look me in the eye or press our legs together. You’re even pulling away in your sleep.”

His heart is trying to claw out of his ribcage, wants to crawl into the palm you press to his chest.

“So… if I’m doing something or not doing something… you can tell me. I promise I won’t be upset. I just miss you.”

He crumbles.

Weeks under torture, but he breaks at four words.

You gasp as he rips the gear off his face. Try to help, but he just pushes your hands away. Knows he’s aggravated the old wounds, but a balm is at hand, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

“моя любовь,” he whispers fervently. “моя надежда. моя богиня.”

You curl around him instantly, arms around his shoulders, fingers fluffing through the fuzz of hair at the back of his skull. Gentle and kind and everything that sinners and saints would fall on their swords for. And yet all you ask of him is to speak, to confess.

“I fear,” he rasps into your skin.

“Fear what?” you ask.

He is your protector, your disciple. Yours to command, to damn, to sacrifice if you so wished – and he would gladly spill his corroded innards at your feet, careful not to bloody your shoes. And he fears that you won’t ask him to.

“You are not mine, but I fear losing you,” he admits. You suck in a breath, arms tightening around him. “If not to MacTavish, then to the world. I will be left here without you again.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as the scars sear all over again, crushes his crooked nose against your collarbone.

“I am yours,” he whispers, lungs burning, “and I cannot be that if you are gone.”

You shift, pressing closer, tighter. Lay your cheek on his head and squeeze him so tightly he wonders if you’re not inviting him inside your ribcage.

“I thought you understood,” you whisper, and even that cracks with emotion. “I’m sorry, I thought I made it clear. I thought you knew…”

You urge him back. He wants to resist. Wants to stay right there in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the soap you two share, basking in your warmth. But you are bidding him to do something, and he is a weak man to your command.

Your eyes are shiny, but there’s a smile on your face when you look at him.

“You’re mine,” you assure him, “you will always be mine. I will never turn you away.”

His eyes flutter with relief. Always. He has no business questioning the truth of that. You’ve said it; it is so.

“I’m yours too, Nikto.”

His eyes snap open again, but you hold him still, hold him right there.

“Our love isn’t a cross for you to bear,” you murmur. “I belong to you the same way – the exact same way – that you are mine.”

“I don’t—”

“You remember what I told you in that car all those months ago?”

Don’t deserve it? That’s not your choice. Don’t understand? You don’t have to. I just do. It wasn’t a choice I made.

Your word is genesis. It is revelation. It is creed and commandment, redemption and atonement.

You’ve said it; it is so.

“Here.”

You snatch a pad of black ink from one of the desk drawers, grab at one of his useless, hovering hands.

“What are you—”

You smear his bare fingertips across the damp pad. Then press them to your forearm. He jerks his hand back, but it’s too late. His smudged fingerprints stain your skin in inky little pools. When he looks up at you, you’re grinning. Wide and beautiful and so damn proud of yourself.

“C’mon,” you coo. “Do it again.”

He hesitates. But his eyes are drawn back to his fingerprints on your skin. His mind echoes with your declaration.

You are his. You are his.

To deny you this, to deny your belonging, would be beyond blasphemy. Beyond sin.

You have said it; it is so. You. Are. His.

You beam as he takes the inkpad and gets his fingers wet again. Begins leaving marks all over you. Along your arms, over your collarbone. Lean back to get palm prints on your thighs. Sits you on the desk to smear lines up your calves. You even tug your shirt up, giggling all the while, so that he can mark up your stomach.

He pauses at the gunshot. Places his blackened thumb over the entry scar. Pulls it away to see the whorls of his fingerprint covering it.

You soften, kind hands cupping his jaw and guiding him up. Up and up… until your plush lips are slotted against his. His own stained hands land on your hips – likely ruining your little sleep shorts – and pull you as close as he can get you. Infusing himself with the taste of you, of your love, of your belonging.

“Yours,” you murmur against his mangled mouth.

“Yours,” he repeats.

The next day, you walk into the mess hall with Nikto’s fingers hooked into your belt loops. There’s a single black smudge on your jaw.

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[cozage]

First of all, love the way you write the characters and stories!! They’re so fun to read and always is a huge moodbooster!

May I request Law or the monster trio finding reader after finishing up a huge battle? (Like where the reader is too exhausted to move)

Please remember to take care of yourself so to not end up like overworked reader!! You’re always allowed and deserving of rest 🫶

Characters: gn reader x Law, Luffy, Sanji, Zoro Cw: post-battle exhaustion  Total word count: 800

Post Battle

Law

Law would be pissed that you spent all of your energy to fight a battle. Especially a battle that he started.

He would be more scared than anything, and he would also blame himself for putting you in this situation. He just wants you safe, and it’s not fair that you ended up like this because of him.  

He would probably scold you and warn you not to take things too far again (“your body can’t take much more of this y/n-ya. You know better”)

But he doesn’t want to lose you. That thought is the scariest thing in the world for him. He can’t live without you. 

And the fear of losing you comes out in the form of anger. But his fear will quickly extinguish, and he will quickly become the soft, loving man you know in secret. 

He’ll pick you up and shambles you both away to safety, where you are priority number one. He cares to your wounds and caters to anything you possibly need (even if he does fake-grumble about it, he really does love it)

In the future, he promises himself that he will do better and he will never put you in a position like that again. 

Sanji

Sanji didn’t even want you to fight. He’s angry that you put yourself in harm's way. Someone should’ve been there to protect you. He should’ve been there. 

Not that you can’t handle yourself. He trusts you to get the job done. He’s just mad at himself for leaving you in the first place and putting you in a situation where you had to fight. 

When he whispers your name and coos in your ear, promising you that you’ll be okay.

He calls for Chopper and he wipes your hair out of your face. He doesn’t want to move you in case he ends up hurting you further. He’s trying his best to stay calm. 

He wants to panic, and every bone in his body is screaming in agony seeing you like this, but he doesn’t want you to panic, so he tries his best to act normal (he's not super great at it tbh he is so obviously scared for you)

He keeps saying stupid things like “no no don’t talk, save your strength” or “you look so beautiful everything is going to be okay” and you have to remind him that everything WILL be okay. You’re not dying, you're just tired. 

While you're recovering he makes so. much. food. You have to pawn some off to Luffy when Sanji isn’t looking because there’s no way you can eat so much. 

Luffy

Luffy would be proud. SO so proud. 

Covering you in kisses and cheering and showing you off to the world proud. 

He trusts you to handle whatever battle you’re in. And he knows you’ll hold up your part of the deal. You’ve never let him down before. 

He keeps you close though. He takes a post-battle nap with you, intertwined with your body. 

He feels safe with you next to him like that. He swears your body has magical healing properties, because he always wakes up 200% better after sleeping next to you (you feel better too, though you can’t explain why).

He keeps you next to him through the feast and the party, and he examines your new cuts, bruises, and scars. He only admires them, which helps you feel a little less insecure about them. 

Sometimes you all have matching cuts or bruises, to which Luffy celebrates with another round of booze and another plate of meat. 

Zoro

Zoro is also insanely proud of you. 

He never doubted you, but he knew it would be a hard battle. It was for everyone. But of course you got it finished. You were a person of your word and you would do what you said. 

He tries to be casual about it. He won’t admit that he was a little worried about how you would end up, but he’s so relieved to find you mostly okay. 

He doesn’t admit how his pace quickened when he saw you crumpled on the ground. How just for a moment, he found himself considering a quick prayer to some random god to make sure you were okay. 

But you were just tired. And he knows how to fix that. He gently picks you up and carries you back to safety. 

He lets you sleep while he runs his fingers through your hair and across your skin, so so thankful that all you need is a little nap to be okay. 

And to be honest, he could use a nap too. He’ll blame you for needing a nap, but he always sleeps easier with you around, especially after a battle.

[steddieas-shegoes]

i'm onto you

It may be Halloween, but it's also...@simplebtromance's birthday!!! You've been here with me pretty much since the beginning, and you deserve so much more than this ficlet, but I hope you love this anyway! We've had many a discussion about queer Wayne, so this is just a little something for you to sip on as a birthday treat 💖

rated t | 1,605 words check ao3 for more tags

Wayne liked to think he couldn’t be rattled, not since Eddie “died” and showed up on his doorstep being held up by Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson looking like he hadn’t slept in a week and hadn’t showered for even longer.

But walking into his trailer to see Steve Harrington wrapped up in Eddie’s arms on his couch did startle him a bit.

It’s not like Steve was a stranger, not since he’d explained some of what happened to Eddie with certain looks that told him he wasn’t able to say more, please don’t ask, please accept what I’m telling you as the full truth and nothing but the truth. But he’d only been over when the kids were over, hanging back and watching them have fun with Eddie with a soft smile on his face.

Wayne noticed, he always noticed. But he didn’t really think much of it until now.

Steve was lying on top of Eddie, head on his chest and hand gripping his shirt like a lifeline. His face was relaxed, though, lips parted as he breathed shallowly. Eddie’s arms were wrapped around his back, hands not quite gripping, but clearly holding him tight.

It could be nothing.

It could just be that both of these boys had seen things that most wouldn’t understand and found solace in each other.

It could be that they didn’t mean to fall asleep like this.

It could be that they were exploring something together.

Wayne smiled to himself when Steve’s hand loosened, falling away from Eddie’s shirt. Eddie’s arms tightened briefly, his head turning so that his face buried more into Steve’s hair.

He walked towards his bedroom with the same fond smile on his face.

– – – – – –

It wasn’t the first time Wayne was woken up by the sound of loud music playing, but it was definitely the first time that it was the sound of Blondie blasting through the speakers of Eddie’s boombox.

His alarm clock said that it was almost ten in the morning, so he couldn’t be too mad. Six hours of sleep was more than he got for years, and from the sounds of it, Steve was still here and probably making them breakfast.

He’d done that a lot when Eddie was healing, unable to do much other than walk to the bathroom when he needed to and eat in his bed. Wayne was grateful for it, for Steve.

When he walked into the kitchen, he froze.

Eddie was sitting on the counter, Steve standing between his legs.

Kissing.

He considered turning around and pretending he hadn’t seen it, figured they’d both come to him when they were ready to acknowledge whatever they were.

But when he heard a quiet moan, he had to let them know he was there.

“Mornin’ boys.”

They jumped apart quickly, Steve turning towards the pan on the stove full of bacon with an obvious flush covering the back of his neck.

Eddie jumped off of the counter and tried to hide Steve’s discomfort.

“Hey. Sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you up,” Eddie started tugging on the ends of his hair, his nervous habit from childhood, even before his hair was this long.

“Music’s kinda loud. It’s okay though. Whatcha makin’?” He asked, pretending everything was normal, not pointing out that he’d just walked in on them making out in the kitchen.

“Bacon,” Steve’s shaking voice came from behind Eddie. “Fried eggs. Toast with peanut butter or jelly.”

“Sounds great,” Wayne said, walking to the coffee pot to grab a cup of coffee, smiling to himself when he realized that one of them had started a fresh pot not too long ago.

He snuck a glance at Steve, who looked like he was going to start crying any moment.

And that just didn’t sit right.

He didn’t want Steve to ever feel uncomfortable here, whether he was here as a friend to Eddie or more.

He set his mug back down without taking a sip and gently pushed Eddie aside to tug Steve into a hug.

Steve tensed in his arms for a moment, then relaxed, a shaky breath leaving him as Wayne rubbed his back.

“You’re allowed to be happy here, Steve. You don’t gotta tell me anything you don’t wanna, but you’re safe in this house. You and Ed both,” he said softly against the top of Steve’s head.

He was reminded of a similar discussion he’d had with Eddie when he was 14, when he’d been caught kissing an older boy when Wayne came home early from a shift at the plant. The boy ran, and Eddie had locked himself in his room for 15 minutes, furiously packing. When he opened the door to see Wayne leaning against the wall next to the door, unimpressed look on his face, he froze.

“Goin’ somewhere?” he’d asked him.

“You won’t want me to stay now, right?” Eddie had tried to sound confident, emotionless, but he was failing.

“Be a bit hypocritical of me to kick ya out for kissin’ a boy when I’ve got a boyfriend, wouldn’t it?”

Eddie unpacked, and they talked for a bit about Wayne’s boyfriend, Eddie being gay, and how he’d always be safe in Wayne’s house.

Steve had clearly never been given that kind of comfort, maybe hadn’t even had the chance to find that comfort in his own home. Wayne could give that to him.

“You don’t care that I’m, that we-” Steve started, almost immediately getting shushed by Wayne.

“Son, I’ve known Ed’s gay for years and if you think I wasn’t onto you the day you brought him to me half dead, I dunno what to tell ya.”

Eddie was standing to the side, watching quietly. Wayne didn’t need to see his face to know he was grateful.

“Sorry we kinda defiled the kitchen,” Steve finally said as he pulled away.

“Kissin’ ain’t defiling anything.”

Steve blushed again, wiped his eyes as he turned back to where the bacon was probably about to burn.

“No it’s not.”

Wayne paused as he thought about the phrasing of Steve’s response.

He looked over at Eddie, who was conveniently pouring his own cup of coffee. He didn’t even like coffee.

“My one and only rule is that you clean up after…whatever it is you’ve done to defile the shared space,” Wayne smirked. “I’d prefer it stays in the bedroom, though, kay?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed, not making eye contact.

“Got it,” Eddie replied.

Any leftover awkwardness disappeared when Wayne tried to reach directly into the still sizzling pan to grab a piece of bacon, only to be swatted away by Steve.

“You’ll burn yourself!” Steve shook his head. “Now I see where Eddie gets it.”

“Hey!” Eddie protested. “I do not reach into still cooking pans! I wait until the food is on a plate before I burn myself!”

“My apologies. You’re just an idiot later,” Steve rolled his eyes, but the fondness in his tone gave away how much he cared about Eddie.

– – – – – –

Wayne started seeing Steve more often, usually wrapped in Eddie’s arms or holding his hand, or watching him play guitar.

He spent the night more often than not, and Wayne sometimes overheard his yelling when he had a nightmare.

Eddie explained to him that they’d gotten better, but he’d probably always have nights where the monsters made an appearance, and unfortunately, getting him out of the nightmare was pretty difficult.

If Wayne was awake already, he usually brought a cup of tea to Eddie’s room and gave them both a quick kiss on the head.

He also made them breakfast most mornings, liked cooking for them, experimenting with new recipes and finding interesting flavor combinations.

After a few months of this, Wayne suggested he look into culinary school.

“There’s a place in Indy, I know one of the chefs there. He’d probably be able to help ya get started,” Wayne said around a bite of his peach pancakes with vanilla syrup.

“I dunno if I can do much besides breakfast and desserts,” Steve shrugged, looking down at his plate. “Plus, Indy’s too far to be driving back and forth every day. I still have to work.”

“Not if you live there. And you could probably work at a restaurant in the evenings.”

Eddie watched them both, unreadable expression on his face.

“Maybe.”

“You know, there’s a few bars there that I could play at. A record shop that probably would hire me,” Eddie chipped in casually, taking a bite of his pancake.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. I mean, we’d need to find somewhere cheap, but we could swing it. I’ve got some money still from the government.”

“Yeah, but-”

Eddie’s fork clinked against his plate when he set it down.

“Stevie. Do you want to try?”

Wayne watched them watch each other, small smile forming as he started to understand their silent conversation.

“Only if it’s with you, baby,” Steve finally said.

“Then we’ll go this weekend to check it out.”

– – – – – – – –

Wayne got to watch them choose each other.

He watched them choose a life outside of Hawkins.

He watched them choose a future where they could have a happiness he could only dream of.

They came to visit often, and invited Wayne to their apartment almost as often.

They even brought him to one of their favorite bars, known for being a safe place for queer people, where he struck up a conversation with one of the bartenders, Larry.

And then he got to choose a life outside of Hawkins too.

One that led to more happiness than he could have pictured for himself.

[sunlighthroughthe-ashes]

i want to talk about how tenderly and tactfully the subject of trauma has been handled in family by choice. full credit to the original c-drama for the story — but the remake is my first introduction to the show and its premise.

families can be a person's first experience of a wound: that single unanswerable ache from which each of your hurts flow and fountain forward. it's rare for k-dramas to acknowledge this: to acknowledge that the individual to whom you are born may not belong to you. may not give you the grace you require to grow. may not take your small, hot hand; hungry for solace — and instead simply cast it aside. your family can be your first sharp disappointment — your first clear shock at the sheer ugliness of the world. to some, love is freely given — to others it is nothing more than a bone flung from a scant table. you hug the hunger like it's your own bed-pillow — it becomes your only home. the only house you ever live in.

through sanha & haejun's characters; one can see how the talons of trauma can mark you forever. both actors deserve accolades for the raw desperation and confusion in their eyes at the weight they're being asked to carry — especially inyoup. there's a muted, exhausted malaise in his eyes — the gaze of an adult caged within a teenager's body. by contrast, haejun appears younger than his years — a helpless, childlike hurt and betrayal borne by his eyes. both boys carry boulders unfit for such delicate shoulders — because there is a special kind of cruelty in asking a child to bear a burden that was never theirs to begin with. in lining their shoes with the gravel of grief since they were old enough to walk.

what does it to do to a child (in haejun's case) to be told that love is not intrinsic — and that it has to be earned? that it has to be paid back? what does it do to a child (in sanha's case) to be told that you are not enough as your own self — that you will never be forgiven for a flaw that was never yours to start with? what does it mean to taste a parent's neglect on your own tongue — to have it tint every part of your speech for the rest of time?

what does it mean to be a father to such children — as juwon's appa so fiercely upholds? to treat their scars as sacred. to harbor their hurts in his own hands. family by choice is as much about trauma as it is about healing — about the people knitted to you through their knowledge of your wounds; their patience with your past; their trust that your tears are temporary. about the neighbors, friends, and forged bonds that may not be of blood, yet sustain you nonetheless; surround your spirit with warmth. the people who choose you knowing the charred heartbreak in your chest — who love and accept you knowing the latticework of your loneliness: the people who press it all away with a single touch or smile – they are your true faith. they are your true family. they are the only ones who matter.

sanha, haejun, and juwon all have their crosses to bear — but they also have each other. there is always light to temper the dark. there is always sanha's eyes; and the way they soften when he looks at juwon: the jewel-toned reverence with which he reflects on every single thing she does for him. wherever there is trauma there is also and always a tryst with hope — a heart holding on to the idea that there will be more. there will be peace. there will be resolution. there will be sunlight at the end of the black silence.

family by choice reminds me of this quote by poet and novelist ocean vuong: "we were born from beauty. let no one mistake us for the fruit of violence—but that violence, having passed through the fruit, failed to spoil it."

[throneofsapphics]

Hello how are you Irene??? I hope you’re well you amazing thing!

If you’re a still taking requests, could I please ask for Rhyzriel and a sick or injured reader? Gimme that hurt/comfort trope badddddd 😂😂😂

Love you and your work!! ❤️❤️

horrible timing

Rhyzriel x Reader

Summary: Rhys and Azriel come home, finding you injured. 

Warnings: injury, mentions of blood 

A/N: thank you so much <3 I’m doing well! I hope you’re having a great day !

It was stupid, really, how you ended up in this situation. Falling up the stairs, mother above. You’d deserve any teasing coming your way. Gritting your teeth, trying to drag yourself up and yelping. Something was broken, but you couldn’t figure out what. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

You chanted as many curses as you could, like that might alleviate some of the pain currently shooting up and down your leg. Daring a look down, you saw - nope, and tilted your head back up to the ceiling. 

Running the stairs in the House of Wind. Cassian’s idea. Now, you were stuck on step one-thousand something, both Rhys and Azriel out in Illyria, and Cassian upstairs. Maybe he’d come looking for you if you didn’t return. 

After a few minutes of careful breathing, you realized you’re the only one who can get yourself out of this situation. Miserable, this was misery in it’s prime. Given the situation, you figured some dramatics are acceptable. 

Palms pressing against the stone, you winced as your upper body took on the brunt of your weight, alternating each push with a yell - as if someone might hear. 

Maybe twenty stairs, and you were already exhausted - your head swirling, nausea creeping in. You pinched your cheek, now is a horrible time to fall asleep. 

-

Rhys couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but he knew something was wrong. Off. He and Azriel were due back that night, and the only thing getting him through dealing with the Devlon was the knowledge you’d be waiting there for them. Maybe awake with a book, or a cup of tea, waiting for them, cuddled in a blanket. 

Rhys, Cassian’s panicked voice came through, faint with the distance. 

What? He questioned, panic starting to rise in him. It took minutes for the reply to come back. 

She’s hurt. Fuck. Devlon was still pattering about something insignificant. 

“There’s something we need to deal with,” he said coolly, hiding his panic, and held an arm out to Azriel. “We’ll be back.” 

Azriel followed his lead without question, and he dropped them into the sky just above the house of wind, flying the rest of the way in. 

The first thing he scented was blood. Your blood. Then your fear, and a hint of your pain. 

-

Apparently someone heard your yells, or realized something was wrong, because you awoke laid out on a couch, Cassian crouched next to you. 

“Don’t look,” he advised. “Mor’s getting Madja. They’re on their way.” 

Relief filled you, mostly that they, meaning Azriel and Rhys, were on their way. 

“I’m an idiot,” you grumbled. 

“We've all been here,” he chuckled, “how did this happen?” 

“Will you keep it a secret?” 

His mouth tilted up at the corners, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I promise.” 

“I fell up the stairs.” 

Laughter, and then rapid footsteps. Cassian backed up, clearing the way, and Azriel and Rhys were there in seconds, a blink and they’d crossed the room, even though they couldn’t winnow in here. 

Rhys’s hands ran over your face, panicked, and paled when he saw your leg. “I wouldn’t look,” you said a bit weakly. 

The pain started coming through again, the tiny relief of adrenaline wearing off. You vaguely heard Mor telling them Madja’s on her way, but pain encompassed every inch of your being. Flaring through your nerves, flooding your senses, vision, screaming at you, taking over every sense, and black greeted you, unconsciousness tugging you back under. 

Complex break. A week to heal. Take it easy. 

Fragmented phrases came in, your vision blurring in and out. Head tilted, a tonic poured down your throat, your body too weak and limp to try and protest. Gods, it was nasty. 

When you came into full consciousness, you were awake in your bed. Clean, changed, and tucked into cozy blankets and pillows. A hum of content left your throat, not unlike a purr. 

Clattering against wood. Peeking your eyes open, Azriel had dropped a dagger on the dresser, a sharpening stone still in his other hand. You gave him a weak smile, and he crossed the room in a few powerful strides, sitting next to you on the bed, clutching your hand like a lifeline. 

Cold, your hand was cold, even in the absolutely boiling room. His was warm against you, scarred skin brushing the cold away, his thumb running soothing strokes over the back of your hand. 

Azriel didn’t say anything, only looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time again, memorizing every inch of you. 

“Hello,” you said quietly, giving his hand a small squeeze. 

“Hello,” he replied, brushing some of the hair away from your face. 

The door quietly opened, Rhys sliding in. 

“You could’ve told me she’s awake,” he hissed at Azriel, shoving him off the bed, taking his place next to you. The other male grunted, pinning Rhys with a look that promised vengeance. He didn’t notice, only running his hand up and down your cheek. 

“How do you feel?” 

You wiggled your fingers, and they felt heavy, like you were trying to push against something. The same thing with your toes, but … there was some kind of hard bandage wrapped around your left shin and calf. Kicking your other foot, you started trying to push down the blankets. Rhys picked up on it, and much more gently tugged them the rest of the way down. Sure enough, thick bandages covered the entire area. But … you couldn’t feel any of the pain, everything was numb. 

“Numb,” you’d come across the right word. 

“That would be the tonic,” he said dryly. 

Azriel was still glaring at him, and you caught his eye, patting the mattress on your other side. They could share. Still silently seething, he settled on your other side, looping his arm around your shoulders. 

“How did this happen?” 

“Cassian didn’t tell you?” 

“He refused,” Rhys answered. “Said you asked him to keep it a secret.” 

A small laugh, “I forgot about that.” 

“How did this happen?” Azriel repeated himself, not seeming quite happy to do it. 

“Your shadows didn’t tell you?” you teased. It was rare you knew something he didn’t. 

Put him out of his misery, Rhys said to your mind, he’s been trying to figure it out for days. 

Days, you’d been out for days.

“Promise you won’t make fun of me?” 

“Never, darling.” 

A slow exhale, and you leaned into Azriel, his arm tightening around your shoulders. 

“I fell up the stairs,” you mumbled, burying your face into his side. Neither replied, but you felt his chest moving - a barely concealed laugh. You pinched his side, but he didn’t react. “I told you not to make fun of me,” you said a bit louder. 

“We haven’t said anything,” Rhys moved closer, voice laced with amusement. 

“You’re laughing.”

[boltwrites]

NEED to know what happens when logan meets your parents for the first time - does he flirt w/ your mom? What do they think about the age gap? Does your dad like him or is he all "nobody's good enough for my princess😤" do they know you're mutants? Giving you full creative freedom to do as you please just give it to me 😭😭

A/N: ok, so since you've given me creative freedom, we have: 20s-ish mutant fem!reader who teaches at the mansion on 10005, old man worst wolverine!logan, the two of you met after the events of dp3 and the relationship progressed from there.

also. this shit has been giving me so many problems. i was really trying to write typical white-picket fence, suburban sitcom-style parents, but honestly? i don't know dick about those type of parents. so you get these assholes instead.

this may actually be one of the worst things i've ever written. i might add a part two at some point, but really i just think this is horrible and want it out of my sight lmao. so here you go.

Your palms were sweaty, your heart racing, as you reached for the doorknob to your childhood home, Logan standing to your side. The last time you'd brought a boy home (and he had been a boy) things hadn't ended well.

Your dad was a traditionalist, you see, and your mom - well, she wasn't one to judge your choices, but you could tell that sometimes when you told her about your love interests, she was holding in laughter. But your dad - he was very vocal about the expectations he had for your partners. He'd never treated you like some kind of princess or prize - oh no. he was a man who saw his children as students of his own knowledge. No matter what your gender, he had taught you how to trim a tree, change a tire, wire a light switch, cook a filling meal - the basics of owning a home and keeping it put together.

Because of that, your parents hadn't often approved of your previous boyfriends. In high school, you'd been too frightened to bring them home. You'd only attended a traditional public school for your freshman year, and the rest of your time spent at Xavier's you'd been far too worried about your dates accidentally exposing themselves as mutants to justify introducing them to your parents. They weren't anti-mutant, per-say... but they certainly weren't supportive, and you didn't want to put even your prom date through that.

As you grew older (graduated college, was hired on as a teacher at the mansion instead of a simple student), you came to understand the reasons why your parents were so discerning as to your choice in men. Your mother's stoic judgment wasn't meant to be mean - she just wanted you to choose a man for more than just superficial attraction, to think of the bigger picture. Which, you'd been blissfully unaware of, as a teen. Your father's traditionalism wasn't rooted in outdated gender norms - it was simply connected to the fact that he wanted your partner to be able to support both you and your household in a significant way. That's why he was always harping on picking a "real man" - not some newfound conservative bullshit, but the simple understanding that sometimes men tried to do the bare minimum, and that he knew you deserved so much more.

And Logan, well. He could certainly support you. He was unlike any man you'd ever dated. He didn't have any social media you had to worry about - no feed or "for you" page filled with scantily clad women and sexist messaging disguised as finance advice - only a stupid flip phone he refused to text you on. He was helpful, attentive, affectionate - even despite the trauma you'd both experienced as mutants. You understood that his struggled has affected him far more than your had, that he still needed to heal - and even though that strained your relationship at times, you knew he cared, knew he tried - so you fought for it. That was something you couldn't say about your previous boyfriends.

Plus, you knew he could handle your weirdass parents.

"Nervous?" He'd asked you, when you asked him if he wanted to meet your parents. You'd given him a side-eyed look as you posed the concept, like you were giving him an out to decline.

"I mean, kind of?" You responded, hesitant. All he did was chuckle, smirking at you.

"What, am I gonna pull up to your dad cleaning his shotgun in the garage?"

"Honestly? Maybe, but that's not what I'm worried about," you admitted, fidgeting. "It's... it's hard to explain. I guess the closest thing is that they're - funny? Like - they'll make fun of you. My dad - he makes all of these horrible inappropriate jokes, like, all the time, and my mom is just really sarcastic, and she seems super judgmental because of it, but really, she's just being funny."

Logan just looked at you, one eyebrow raised. "

What?" You asked. You'd expected more from him. But he just snorted.

"Babe, I've been stuck in the void with Wade-fucking-Wilson. I'm not scared of your parents."

So, you took a breath, offered Logan one last "brace yourself-" and pushed open the door. Immediately you were met with the smell of something cooking - you recognized it immediately as one of your dad's signature dishes, sizzling on the stove.

"Hey, we're here!" You called out, you tried to usher Logan in and up the stairs of your split-level, but he insisted on closing the door behind you - and the shitty screen door that had been around since before you were born made a horrible shaking, scraping metal sound as it bounced along the concrete of your porch. Ah, the sound of home.

"Hey, you!" Your dad called, poking his head out of the kitchen. "What're you- hey, ho! Who's this?" He gestured to Logan with the spatula in his hand, and your face immediately reddened.

"Dad, this is Logan."

"Hey," Logan nodded in greeting, and your dad made a little shocked noise.

"Logan? Who's Logan?"

"Jesus Christ-" you huffed it under your breath, and Logan tried to stifle a chuckle. "He's my boyfriend, remember?"

"Boyfriend?" Your dad's voice pitched higher. "That motherfucker looks older than me!"

Well. There was your dad getting right to the point, as per usual.

"I am," Logan replied, and you fucking elbowed him in the ribs.

"No mutant shit - they don't know," you hissed a reminder, and he rolled his eyes.

"Hey - you see this guy, Nikki?" Your dad called to the dining room.

Your mom sighed - unlike your dad, she had some kind of decorum, and had the decency to shoot him daggers before she met you and Logan at the top of the steps.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan," she greeted him - you could tell that she was fighting the all consuming urge to shoot you a look or make a joke about this whole thing. She was trying so hard. It was like that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit with the shave and a haircut song.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked. "Since you're clearly old enough-"

It was like some demon forced her to spit out that line. You snorted, had to shake your head. This was a mistake.

"What do you have?" Logan asked instead, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, smirking at the whole situation. It was like he lived to see you embarrassed.

"Water, coke, iced tea -" she listed off.

"My dad's shitty beer," you added, and Logan's brow raised.

"Hey! Busch is good beer!"

"No the fuck it is not," you replied, because he didn't even drink the light stuff.

"I don't care, I'll take the beer," Logan cut in, and your dad wagged a finger at him.

"Yeah! I'll get you one - it's good shit, man. Somebody watch the stove."

Oh good lord. There he goes. Logan shot you a look - lip quirked into a little smile, before your dad clapped him on the shoulder and hauled him towards the stairs.

That just left you. And your mom.

She looked at you. You looked at her.

"Well?" you asked, stepping up to take your dad's place at the stove to watch the food. Your mom shrugged in response.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to ask me about him - make some weird comment about his age? I mean - now would be the time," you hedged. You just hated this weird aura surrounding you all. How it felt like she had so many questions to ask, but was holding them all back.

"Obviously I can tell he's old," your mom replied. "It's not really a discussion. Is there something we do need to talk about?"

You knew what she meant. Were you safe with him? Were you happy? Did you bring him here to meet them because you needed help, not because you wanted to share your happiness with them?

Some people might find that sort of implication unthinkable, or rude to address - but you knew your mom. She watched a lot of true crime. She just cared about you.

"No," you replied, with a sigh. "I-I really like him. He's a good man. He actually - he knows how to be a man, if you know what I mean. How to take care of himself. I don't know - I didn't realize how important that was until I met him."

You mom nodded. Her arms were crossed, and she wore her typical resting bitch face, but you could tell she understood what you meant.

"Well. Hopefully your father doesn't shoot him."

[ilove-sexydilfsnmilfs]

-Star Crossed- chapter 1

Pairing- Oc!reader(afab) x Logan Howlett

Words- 1.9k (not proofread plz excuse any errors)

Summary- it’s been nearly 2 years since Cora(reader) and Logan both lost eachother in their own universe, both broken, angry and hated amongst their people, They would do anything to see one another again, little did they know that day would come sooner than expected, and shatter their hearts into pieces and drive their long hidden desires to the surface ….will they be able to forgive themselves for their past and finally be together? Or will the universe just tear them apart once again?

Warnings- mentions of death, blood, 18+ (smut) in some later scenes/chapters… tension!!!! ./trauma/ no use of y/n I will be using a name but I won’t be describing any appearances! / Logan is aged down to be atleast in his early /mid 30s in this story / will add more warnings when needed.

————————————————————————

You’ve been rotting in your bed for months now, you can’t bring yourself to do much…not anymore.. you feel so lost, so hopeless..all because he’s gone, and you blame yourself for everything that had happened , you blame yourself for losing Logan.

You stare up at the white ceiling, Logans dog tags rest around your neck, his old grey zip up wrapped in your arms, his scent slowly fading with each day that passes. You feel nothing but sadness, you’ve cried so much you genuinely don’t think you can bare to cry anymore you just want out. Out of this fucking world, out of your misery. But what can you do? Just leave? No…what would leaving do? You’d still carry the pain you’ve felt since the day Logan Howlett died in your arms. Sometimes you swear you can still feel the warmth from his blood pooling under you, his heavy body laying stiff in your arms…the feeling of absolute dread when he stopped responding to your pleas to stay with you a little longer, when his hand fell from your face, body going limp…thinking about it makes you want to end your own life sometimes but you know that’s not what he would have wanted for you…he would want you to live on, but how could you live when the only man you’d ever loved was gone …forever?

You rolled over on your side, your face sinking into your pillow while you held his jacket close to your body, your other hand clenching his bloodstained necklace it’s all you had left of him since you left the x mansion, you couldn’t be there anymore, not with all the memories and not with knowing none of your friends were there anymore either.. they were all gone, dead… you were the last one left, and you couldn't bear to be reminded of all the happy memories...not when survivors guilt was riddled in your body. when everyone had died, you felt like you at least had a reason to live giving you still had logan by your side, but then he got sick, adamantium poisoning....you don't know how it happened, but the adamantium inside of him started to break down, entering his blood stream, it weakened him, slowed down his healing factor...you hated seeing him in pain, it wasn't like him to show it so much, it broke your heart almost every day and that's when you decided to find a way to help him before it got too bad...but little did you know... that would be the very cause of his death.

You blame yourself every single fucking day for his death, sometimes you wonder if you even deserve to wear those dog tags he ripped from his neck and placed in your blood-soaked hands...."I'm so sorry Logan..." you whisper into the jacket, muffled cries echoed through the quiet dark room, cries that soon turned into loud gut wrenching sobs.. you stayed like that for hours, crying yourself to sleep, the way you did almost every night.

you were jolted awake the next morning by the sound of hard loud knocks on your apartment door. You look around frantically, knowing who it was already...it was them.. humans. Humans who hated you more than anything, more than any other mutant...why? because they blame you for the deaths of the other x-men, and they most definitely blame you for the death of Wolverine. "fuck...that fast??" you mutter stuffing your things into a bookbag that lay on the floor next to your bed, they had defintely found you faster than last time....fuck.

you tried to sneak out the window in your bedroom when the door was kicked open by a few bigger men, they ran inside trashing the place, calling out your name in a way that made your skin crawl "COME OUT YOU BITCH" one yelled like a raging brute "come out come out wherever you are Cora, we just wanna make you feel the pain we felt when you killed the x-men" another cooed, his voice was one you'd hear when taunting someone, it was fucking creepy.

"Fuck me!" you spit in a whisper, they seemed even more upset than before...to this day you don't understand why the humans decided to turn against you, I guess they just needed someone to blame for the deaths...and you were right there and unscathed. As you were trying to make your way out the small window, the door to your bedroom flung open and 3 men entered, a mob of people behind them, they grabbed you almost immediately, grabbing your hands and putting them behind your back, and covering your eyes knowing full well of all your abilities. "We got you; you bitch, you're not going anywhere" . Now this whole ordeal would be a lot easier if you could just use your powers against them, but you took an oath when Logan died to never use your powers to harm a soul ever again...and yea these people were horrible trying to kill you but they genuinely think it's your fault your friends are dead...and you know you'd feel the same way if you were in their shoes, so yea...you took an oath to never use your powers to harm these people...but no one ever said anything about using your combat skills...like cmon you were a fucking x-men...these people are really stupid.

you kicked your leg up into the air, uppercutting one person causing them to fall onto the ground with a loud thump. you then brought your head back to headbutt the man holding your arms behind your back and when you felt they were free you ripped the blindfold off and quickly grabbed a lamp that sat on your bedside table, bashing it against another's head. A few people came charging at you at once, but you dodged them with minimal effort, grabbing their heads and bashing them together causing their bodies to go limp and fall to the ground. your right elbow landed directly into someone's stomach making them gasp for air then you brought your knee up to bash it clear into their face, as someone tried to climb onto your back you stumbled from the sudden attack and fell back into a wall causing them to bring a knife right down into your upper abdomen "GET OFF OF ME" you screamed in pain , pushing yourself back into the wall again and again but the person still had a grip on you, that's when another person tried coming at you full speed to tackle you to the ground...you were getting exhausted, you hadn't properly worked out in months and this sudden fight was one you weren't expecting... you were annoyed, trying to fight all these people, finally getting the person on your back off you head someone yell "YOU MURDERER, YOURE KILLING US BUT WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THEY NEEDED YOU"

"ITS ALL YOUR FAULT WOLVERINE IS DEAD" those words, those seven words snapped something inside of you...and well that oath you took...it meant nothing to you now. you brought your hands up into the air, your eyes glowing a bright white, the humans looked at you with nothhing but fear in their eyes. they all stumbled over eachother in the small apartment, but none of them were fast enough, you brought your hands down with a swift motion and everyone in the room flung back, some hit walls, some crashed into furniture and others flew out of windows, an instant death giving you were on the 7th floor. "I DID NOT KILL LOGAN" you screamed, people tried getting up but you didnt let that slide, "I TREID TO SAVE HIM, I LOVED HIM” you swished your hand to cause the ones trying to escape to fling back to the ground. You saw the man that uttered those words that made you snap almost instantly, you had heard them so many times before but for some reason today was the last straw, you tilted your head to the side walking towards him slowly as you brought your hand up you balled it into a fist and watched as he was lifted off the ground, grasping hopelessly at his neck, he couldn't breathe and you only squeezed your fist tighter and tighter as you watched his face turn blue, you glared at him, your eyes narrowing until

'POP'

His head was gone within an instant, blood painted your clothes and face. You were in uncontrollable rage, and couldn't stop, matter of fact you didn't want to stop. you wanted them to feel the pain they have been putting you through when you were already going through enough.

The others screamed, but you quickly shut them up, you twisted your head to the side, and without really thinking about it you opened a portal...it was another one of your abilities you rarely used, but as you were throwing people through it, the screaming stopped....they were all dead and you began to come down from your high while the portal was kept open...you fell to your knees and watched as the golden sparks from the portal started to dim....but before the portal closed completely you saw it...him...a face you hadn't seen in almost 2 years....Logan Howlett.

you felt your heart skip a beat when you both locked eyes, his expression showing just as much shock and heartache as yours, ignoring the bodies you absent mindlessly had thrown before him, in his hand held a bottle of whiskey but it soon hit the cold ground, shattering into pieces. you absent mindlessly grabbed the dog tags that hung around your neck, shooting up to your feet before calling out, "LO-" you were cut off mid-sentence as the portal closed as quickly as it was made and once again you were left alone in silence. You fell to your knees, shaking, your mind raced thinking if what you saw was just your imagination paying tricks on you...logan was dead...there was no way ....you saw him die , you saw-..."no....that's not possible" you mutter to yourself, you stared blankly at the blood riddled floor....that's when your mind began to drift to something Strange said long ago to you...how your ability was one of a kind, how with your own mind you could create portals to other worlds without a type of device...at the time you thought he was just wrong...every time you used your ability you only opened portals to other places in your world...not any others, only he had the ability to do that and even so it was with an object... or...at least you thought. "How...I don't even know wh- I don't even remember what i did .... how?" you were at a loss for words. Did you actually do it... did you open a poral to another earth, one where...Logan was still alive? you felt tears swell in the rim of your eyes, soon falling down your cheeks and onto the floor...you felt sick, crazed and as you looked around...horrible...if what you saw was real, then Logan, The man you've craved to see , the man you once loved and still do love, the man you tried saving and the man that died in your arms...is out there and just in your reach.

(I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS, THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL HAVE MORE INTERACTIONS BETWEEN BOTH CORA (THE READER) AND LOGAN. IT WILL ALSO BE FROM LOGANS POV FOR A LITTLE WHILE let me know if you guys liked it!! 🫶🏼)

[90sbee]

Sometimes a saviour is a soldier afraid of peace

Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

4.4k words. Also on ao3.

He looks at her in quiet admiration.

He doesn’t deserve her. But again, he doesn’t really deserve anything. He already has gotten too much: spoiled by the sweet possibility of life when all his comrades have fallen, their bodies twisted, mangled by titans and enemies alike.

Levi hardly cries, but he wants to cry in that moment. She turns on the stove for him, and rummages through his cabinets. She finds two cups and a sob is trapped inside his throat.

He doesn’t fucking understand why she stays, why she puts up with his sorry ass but, damn it. Damn it if he at least doesn’t try.

The war is over, but the demons still haunt Levi. Luckily for him, the last member of his Squad seems focused on remaining by his side as they both face this new enemy: peace.

This was !!! My first fic written in English, actually. Also my first (and only time so far) writing for aot. Levi is such an angsty angel, and this story wouldn’t leave my head, so I had to end up writing it, ofc. This has been in the drafts for... months. Too many months already. And tbh I'm not a fan of how it came out. But. Posting it in case someone else can enjoy Levi finally getting some love and comfort, sjsjs.

Content: Use of 3rd person pronouns. No use of y/n. Mostly Levi's pov. Reader was part of his Squad. Post!Rumbling Levi. Written with the manga ending in mind. A lot of fluff, rude Levi even if he doesn't mean it (but reader knows he means no harm). Healing. Spooning (Levi as the little spoon btw. He deserves it).

Warnings: depressive thoughts, self confidence issues. Mentions of past violence (but nothing gruesome, it's all in passing). SFW. No beta reader we die like everybody in Aot here.

They always meet. Every single day, she leaves her little flat to find him near the fountain in the Marleyan park, eager to push his wheelchair and pass some time with him.

Levi doesn’t understand. When Onyankopon, or Falco, or Gabi let her take the wheelchair, he just ponders. He could understand why they would accompany him: because he is old? because they feel pity of him?… But her?

Nonetheless, every single afternoon, she comes to him. He doesn’t recall when this custom began. It’s like slowly, but surely, she started digging a place into his routine. She was part of his remaining squad, and he really didn’t see any point to her bubbling-self still being by his side.

Still, he appreciates her visits. She exchanges pleasantries with Gabi, already smiling. Why is she smiling?

“Hi, Captain,” she says. Should he feel mocked? He isn’t a captain anymore and the title feels too much, even if it’s comforting in some way. Levi doesn’t reply. He just nods, silently acknowledging her presence. “Is it okay if we go to the stalls for a while, Captain?” She inquires, as if it was the first time they did it, and not a weekly occurrence. His jaw tenses. He doesn’t understand, still. She surely pities him. She has to.

He agrees to her proposal, though.

“Sure,” he replies, barely any emotion on his face.

She smiles at him. For a moment, they look at each other. She sees that familiar scarred face, a grey eye gazing into her soul. He sees the older face of her remaining squad member, some wrinkles next to her eyes, her figure dressed in green. For some reason, he liked that colour on her.

He doesn’t share that with her, though.

“Let’s get going,” she adds, a little chuckle in her voice — he can hear it — as she starts pushing the wheelchair. They check out the little shops that are already so familiar. Sometimes she signals a piece of jewellery or clothes. She asks for his opinion, or points at a silly artwork, in hopes of making him laugh.

When the cold starts to set in, she stops them in front of a coffee shop.

“Wait here a second, Captain,” she tells him.

“Where would I go, anyway?” He wants to say, snarky, but he doesn’t really bother in opening his mouth. He stays silent still, perking his head up to see what’s she’s doing.

“Oi. coffee?” He complains.

She directs her gaze to him and chuckles, paying the vendor.

“I know you like tea but it’s time to broaden your horizons,” she explains. She comes up to him again, and hands him one of the cups. He sighs, but accepts the drink still.

“What is it this time?”

“Just chocolate. Hot chocolate,” she answers, already sipping hers.  She lets out a content sigh when the warmth of it starts to fill her belly.

“I don’t like chocolate,” Levi mutters under his breath. He is lying and she knows it.

“Tsk. That’s not true. Everybody likes chocolate.”

“… Fine,” he sips his drink and, admittedly, enjoys it. She hands him her drink so she can push the wheelchair again, and he takes it, guarding both cups on his lap, a familiar action for the two of them now.

“Where do we go?” She asks.

Levi shrugs. “As if I had a choice.”

She looks at him still, and when he can see her, barely from his peripheral vision, he sees a softer face. She’s waiting for his reply. He looks at her, looks at her lips. She isn’t smiling anymore. Levi sighs, suddenly feeling guilty.

He doesn’t understand still why she does this for him.

“Captain?” She says, just above a whisper, since there are people around them and they both just want to have a calm evening, without the risk of being recognised.

Levi nods before he even opens his mouth.

“The bridge.”

“Good,” she agrees as he sips from his drink again, guided by her. He does feel warmer. Levi inspects the people around him in silence, letting himself be carried, taken to a nicer place. “Hange would have like this,” he thinks. He looks down to suddenly realise he is clenching his fist, hard. “If you could even call it a hand…”

“We’re here, Captain,” she announces, letting his wheelchair rest next to a bench, overlooking the water. She takes a seat next to him, and Levi hands her the drink. He wonders if she noticed how tense he’s been feeling today.

“Be quick with that, brat, or it will get cold,” he warns, as if to pre-emptively shut down any words from her. He’s not sure he could handle it.

She just nods.

“It’s still warm,” she mentions after a moment.

The sunset is taking its place on the sky, a beautiful palette of oranges and pinks against a very flat horizon. A reminder of what was once lost.

“Good,” he says.

Levi looks at her. She is still looking forward, features illuminated by the falling sun, breeze caressing her face. There is something in his heart that aches, but he doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t dare to. Levi is old, too old, and too broken. And she only pities him.

He coughs to catch her attention, though.

“Hmh, yeah?” She immediately says.

“I heard the Scouts were going back to Paradis tomorrow,” he begins, the question lingering in the air. The small group was leaving first time in the morning.

“Yep.”

Levi blinks, expecting her to say more, but she doesn’t. He doesn’t want to ask. It feels… too much. He feels too exposed doing that, lower lip trembling.

“Are you going?” He finally dares to ask.

She turns back to him again, and looks at him with the sweetest gaze. Levi doesn’t miss how she looks at his lips first.

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have anything there,” she replies, matter-of-factly. Levi wants to hit his head against something, still uncertain about what that means. Does that mean that she has something here? Someone?

She must notice his doubts, so she lowers her gaze. “I mean. You know I lost my family during my first years as a Scout. And knowing that we tried to stop Eren… All the military forces in the island won’t be very happy to see me. Or any of us. I’ve done my part. I do not want more fighting.”

“… Right”. That still doesn’t answer his question, but it is enough to satisfy his curiosity without seeming to eager. He sips his drink again: it’s getting colder.

“You didn’t want to go, Captain?” There it was again, that fucking title that felt like a joke. He chuckles, not looking at her anymore but rather at the sunset.

“Why do you still call me like that?” He spits back.

“Captain?”

“Yeah,” His tone is unintentionally rude, but he can’t help it, not even around her.

“Well… It’s a sign of respect, don’t you think?”

Levi chuckles, amused.

“I never took you for a polite person.” He doesn’t want to look at her still. She hasn’t added anything, said anything else. What is she thinking of?

She looks at him. There’s a warmth in her belly which has nothing to do with the chocolate anymore. She knows: Her Captain has been way more vulnerable and open since the Rumbling. The little gestures that he could so easily hide before are now an open book. Or at least she feels that way, since she was always one to look at him.

It was so easy to just… stare at him. Admire him in every sense of the word, even now. When they were both soldiers they would fight alongside each other, against innumerable dangers. He was barely visible in the spectrum: always so fast, always so precise. A ray of dark hair and strong limbs, destroying everything to provide peace, to provide protection.

There was no point in denying how she felt about him… Except, maybe, to him.

“I don’t think I would like going back to Paradis,” she finally adds, finishing her drink. He seems to reflect on that idea for a moment, before nodding. He wants to ask why but he doesn’t dare to. “I’m just… comfortable here,” she finishes with a sigh. “This is okay.”

“That’s good,” he says, barely a spark of enthusiasm in his voice, but enough for her to notice.

She looks up at him again. And he feels tiny and scared suddenly, because she looks at him with wonder and care. Levi doesn’t mean to, but he ends up letting his drink fall from his hands, whether due to his nervousness or the state of his hand after the war.

“Shit,” he spits, upset.

“Sh, it’s alright, Captain.” In a second she is picking up the cup, handing him a handkerchief to dry his hands. She walks a few steps to throw both cups into a trashcan and is again, by his side. Such a quick interaction so as to ease his shame, he could notice it. “Are you alright?”

Levi still doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why she still treats him with such respect, why she seems to care so much for him. But he wants to find out, somehow. He barely nods, but she notices it.

“Good,” she says, while taking the handkerchief back. She is about to put it into her bag again when she feels a hand grabbing hers.

Levi.

He doesn’t even say anything. He doesn’t know how. She seems to understand, though, squeezing his hand, softly. Levi quickly lets her hand go, his cheeks going red. She gets behind the wheelchair again, as the sun is about to disappear, and Levi can hear her chuckling.

“Let’s get you home, Captain.”

He stays quiet, unsure if he could even say something useful.

There’s so much he doesn’t know how to say. How to do.

While she is pushing his chair he notices it again. A slight tremor in her right hand. “My wrist seems to ache lately… Must be from holding the blades for so many years,” she had explained in passing a couple weeks ago. He realises that it’s probably taking a strain on her to push him every fucking day.

“Oi,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Stop pushing me. I can handle it,” he explains, tone serious.

“Oh, no,” her hand is trembling still. “It’s fine, it’s no bother for me, Captain.”

“… It’s an order,” he commands after a moment. She stops in her tracks and he can hear a gentle laugh coming from behind him.

“It had been a while since that, huh.” Confidently, she places one of her hands on his shoulder, gently tapping it. Levi smiles. Barely curving his lips, but he does. He is about to be brave, hold her hand on his shoulder when she removes it from him. “Shit,” he thinks. “Too slow… Too slow? Slow for what? Tsk.”

Despite his missing fingers, he can still push his wheelchair quite properly. It also helps that he can see his street far ahead. She walks comfortably besides him, a silence and gentle ghost as his most devoted companion.

Yeah. There’s definitely something aching in his chest. He had been noticing the past days, feeling getting more painful as they both approach his place. And it has nothing to do with his faulty joints or damaged body or excessive age.

When they reach his door, she asks for his key. Levi gives it to her, his hand lingering for a second too long, reflecting on the brief touch of hands as she grabs it to unlock the door.

He is tired.

And he feels incredibly silly when he realises he doesn’t want her to leave.

“There we go, Captain. I help you in?” she suggests with a bright smile, opening the door.

“… Yes.”

She steps inside and pushes the chair into his living room, almost getting it next to his couch.

“That’s enough” he decides, in a semblance of independency he still wants to maintain.

She nods. “Okay… I guess… I’ll get going, Captain.”

Levi lifts up his gaze. He wants to ask… He wants to know… He savours her image for a moment, her tired expression and the way her dress now looks clumsy and wrinkled but he doesn’t care. Before, before everything had ended up like this he would remind every single cadet to iron their uniforms, all the outfits presentable, so as to look like respectable soldiers and honourable bodies if the occasion arose. Now she can have the privilege of looking messy. Of not worrying about death so often.

“No,” he mutters.

“Huh?” she inquires, taking a step forward.

“Shit,” Levi thinks. “I… I want tea,” he makes up a quick lie.

“Oh, sure. Yes, Captain.” She leaves her bag on the couch and goes into the kitchen, getting a kettle full of water.

He looks at her in quiet admiration.

He doesn’t deserve her. But again, he doesn’t really deserve anything. He already has gotten too much: spoiled by the sweet possibility of life when all his comrades have fallen, their bodies twisted, mangled by titans and enemies alike.

Levi hardly cries, but he wants to cry in that moment. She turns on the stove for him, and rummages through his cabinets. She finds two cups and a sob is trapped inside his throat.

He doesn’t fucking understand why she stays, why she puts up with his sorry ass but, damn it. Damn it if he at least doesn’t try.

He stands up. His body still holds that ability, though his legs get tired rather quickly. He can still walk, so he does until he reaches the kitchen. She is still deciding on the teas when she sees him.

“Oh, no, Captain, please, just don’t…”

He interrupts her, grabs her waist carelessly and pushes her towards the couch, barely moving her.

“Let me handle it myself.”

“Levi…” She whispers, their faces inches apart.

“Go. Sit,” he mumbles, biting his lips and sending his eyes lower, so as to avoid her face.

“Are you sure?” She inquires a moment after, still close to him. He notices she has a hand on his waist as well, a protective aid making sure he stays on two feet.

“Yes,” he says, more commanding this time. He grabs that hand of hers and pushes her away gently now.

She nods, understandingly.

“I’ll be in the living room,” she adds.

Levi nods at her, making sure she finally gets that ass of hers in the couch. He is now faced with his kitchen. Most of the cups and teas, everything has been moved lower, so as to accommodate to his wheelchair. Slowly, he kneels, searching for a specific flavour for her. When he finally finds the peppermint and rose one, he mentally cheers. He stands up again, slowly, as if to show confidence, making sure from his peripheral view that she isn’t coming to his aid.

She isn’t. He catches her averting her eyes, though. A confirmation that she has been staring.

He decides to stare as well. Supporting himself on his weakened legs, he waits for the kettle to boil, while looking at her. It’s as if she could notice that, because her head doesn’t move, still fixated on an indescriptible point in his living room.

“Oi, what you looking at?” He says, a bit more light-hearted.

A smile forms on her lips before she even turns her head towards him. She doesn’t answer. Just keeps smiling at him.

“Fuck,” he thinks when he realises he has also slightly curved his lips.

Quickly he turns towards the stove, the kettle already boiling. Levi carefully fills the cups with water, letting the leaves rest. He lifts his gaze up to her for a second but it is already enough for her to notice.

“Need help with the cups?” Her, always so worried, so in tune with his needs. No need for words.

“Of fucking course.”

Still, the only answer he gives her is a polite nod. She stands up, approaching him.

“I’ll handle it, Captain. Just take a seat.”

He lets out a sigh, taking himself to the couch and plopping himself there.

“It’s hard,” Levi thinks as he sees her come back to the living room, two cups in her hands. He accepts the drink, his gaze not leaving her features. “I… I can’t.”

He knows he can’t accept kindness: he doesn’t know how to. Still, he tenses his jaw and forces himself to sip the tea as she takes a seat next to him.

“Peppermint, huh?” She hums mostly to herself.

 “… Yeah,” comes out of his mouth, unsure, less braver than expected. Is he insecure? Has he made a mistake?

“Good choice” She declares and he breathes again, realising that he had been holding his breath. “Bet you already knew that, right?” She adds, cocking her head.

Levi looks at her again. He has been avoiding her eyes but he hadn’t been trained as a soldier to back down in times of peace.

“I did,” he says, his tone firm, a very weak attempt at showing confidence still. “It’s the one you would always ask for when we would have meetings with the Scouts.”

“It’s good tea.” Her tone seems softer now.

Levi hums, too deep inside his mind to notice it.

She wonders. Wonders if he has ever realized that the only reason she would wander through the headquarters late at night was just to be found and reprimanded by him, the way she would be easily entertained by Levi’s stern face. Wondered if Hange had ever told him about the time she had fallen asleep in their office and woke up, mumbling his name, much to Hange’s delight, though they had promised to keep it a secret.

He looks down at his legs, at his carpeted floor.

He wonders if she had ever noticed the way he would mindlessly lick his lips after looking at her, the boring uniform suddenly a beautiful outfit, making her stand out. Wonders if it was too late to tell her that, yes, after Hange and her had found him, and stitched him up, that he had heard every single word she had uttered near his heart, softly pressing her timid hands on his chest. There hadn’t been time then to discuss anything or even think if it had meant anything else than old scouts being protective of each other, but now…

They finish their teas in silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, rather the opposite, despite the fact that Levi has started nervously tapping his feet against the floor. It is dark outside already, the light from the lamps flowing into Levi’s house, a dog barking a few blocks away.

She stands up, makes sure to wash her cup in the sink and put it away before returning to him.

“Captain?” She mutters. No need for more words.

Levi hands her the cup with slow movements, as if trying to prolong that insignificant action for as long as possible. And when she is already about to head into the kitchen, little plate and teacup in her hand, he decides to be brave. No more lying to himself, no more being a coward. Too many people have died, have bleed, have sacrificed the little they had for a selected group of survivors to be able to live. To enjoy the remaining Earth. For the little ones that survived to be able to find some meaning. Something worth all the pain.

Basking in the fear serves no one. In fact, makes all the death meaningless.

So, Levi looks up at her and grabs her hand, even if he is scared still. Trembling fingers dancing on hers until they secure her hand softly in his. He feels warm even if he doesn’t know what to say, how to convey what he feels. Such a shadow of the man he was. So stupid now.

Levi just wants her to say.

She gasps at the contact but quickly composes herself. A shy smile showing up on her face. They stay like that for a moment, neither daring to break the silence.

“Levi?” She asks after a moment, moving closer to his face, as if asking for permission.

He can only look at her lips in reply.

She shortens the distance between them and kisses him on his lips. It isn’t a big kiss, too flashy or provocative: just a tender contact between two broken people. As soon as he has processed what was going on, she has already moved forward, pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

And then, even higher, another kiss on his forehead, her lips remaining close to his face. Levi can’t say anything. Barely reacting. But when she looks at his eyes, she is greeted by the sweet glimmer of tears in them.

Levi. Happy, at last.

And as if reading his mind, she utters: “Do you want me to stay, Levi?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

She complies. In the quiet, late hours of the night, Levi wakes up, his body feeling too rested already. It was a habit hard to break, he wouldn’t sleep much anyway. He sighs still, feeling her body pressing against his, holding him from behind. She has one hand on his shoulder, the other keeping him safe and secured, hugging his waist close. He dares to smile and grab that hand across his belly with both of his hands, so as to make sure that it is real: he is being held. There is someone else with him. Levi isn’t alone. Someone is taking care of him. Someone he’s been devoted to for so many years.

He wants to nuzzle up closer, hide in her chest or neck and feel more.

But he doesn’t dare to. He can’t allow himself to do that yet. 

So he stays awake in silence, hearing the soothing and steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Levi still doesn’t understand, though.

He doesn’t want to think of why she has chosen him, how he got this privilege so late in his life, when all hope seems to be lost and the thought of a partner didn’t cross his mind at all. He also doesn’t know what to do with this gift, this blessing. Why? How? He is such a crippled shadow of what he used to be. Slow, so consumed by roughness and violence and so useless now.

He has always had something to fight for: his life, his friends, his Squad, Erwin, Hange. Yet since the Rumbling he has just… fallen behind. He is just existing and it seems like his body has finally caught up to his age: no longer agile and strong, but a weakened man, finally leaving the survival mode that has characterised every single aspect of his life. He doesn’t have any goals or dreams now. Everything had been slowly trampled down like the titans destroying all land and all life.

He shivers, remembering that day and holds her hand tighter.

Once he had completed the promise made to Erwin, his last order, he had nothing more. No more commands. No more slaying titans.

Just existing.

He doesn’t want that. He has been a fighter, a rebel, a monster his whole life. He only knew of endurance and compliance with the spirit of life, of resistance. He doesn’t know of anything else: the calmness, the quietness, the routine walks and just reading books and sitting on his porch… That is not him. That isn’t life. Being able to choose things for himself, devour life gently and enjoy it instead of painfully trying to keep it close, to grip it between calloused fingers… Peace isn’t familiar.

He has nothing to devote himself to, nothing to prove or fight for.

“Yeah,” he thinks. “Everything is… meaningless… Or it was.”

He closes his eyes, relinquishing himself in the warm body against his.

Some things… Some things have meaning still.

Her.

The way she would scrunch her nose when laughing or buy him drinks or attempt to make him laugh or wear that damn stupid wrinkled dress and — “Fuck. I know her so much by now…”

She had been a Scout too. She had fought and devoted her heart and did everything a Scout had to do. She had fulfilled her duty in the same way he did. She has survived and she doesn’t regret a single thing. Not even this life.

She is at peace.

He wants to sob.

He doesn’t understand peace. Sure, it was his goal, what he always dreamed of, but, damn it. Levi had never thought he would actually get to see something resembling it. Unlike her. She understood what it was: she has accepted peace with open arms and a smile that — fuck, somehow— has been shining on her face throughout the years. Despite so much pain and death…  She still allows herself to fucking live in peace. She forgave herself for the death, for the pain and crimes and let go.

He isn’t sure if he can do the same.

Peace is foreign, strange even. An oddity. And he isn’t stupid, he knows that time would run up someday and that things would turn against them for a second time.

But, still, the promise of the rest of his life in peace lingers.

He could have it.

He fucking could.

Levi reflects on those thoughts for a moment, silent still.

He thinks he can get to an agreement. Maybe, when she wakes up in the morning, he can try to spill his soul to her a little. Try to understand how she handles this life, how she can get up in the mornings after killing so much, and just have tea with him.

But for now, in the quietness of the night, as the old warrior he was, he does the only thing he knows: he promises to dedicate his heart once more.

He finally has a reason, a purpose, something worth protecting again.

Levi lifts his hand, crossing it on his chest the way all Scouts would do. But he doesn’t press it on his heart, but rather, moves it to hold her hand, the one resting on his shoulder. He squeezes it gently, suddenly feeling too overwhelmed by her. By the silent love she had been proclaiming to him all these years and that he couldn’t reciprocate before.

Yes. Now it is the time.

Levi would dedicate his heart once more.

To her and only her.

That may have been the cheesiest ending ever written but !!!! He deserves it, I know. Also someone stop me before I write for Hange, the feelings got to me indeed. Dividers by @/cafekitsune @/saradika and @/vase-of-lilies

[thecherrytarot]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

pile 1 → pile 2 → pile 3

Pick the photo that you feel the most drawn to. As always, this is a general reading so take what resonates. This is a reading is between the tarot reader and your person so the 'they' here is you!

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏:

The reader would tell your person, "They are someone who is ruled by the planet pluto or have a lot of Scorpio in their chart. They have gone through a lot of transformations to be who they are today and they are very wise because of this. They are very mysterious, intelligent and highly calculated. Oh, you thought you had the upper hand ?! honey they gave you that hand, don't be a fool they are always one step ahead of you but not in a cunning way, it's just the way they are. They are like the flame of a burning candle, constantly changing and never remaining the same. Now I know this PG-friendly reading but your person is very sensual in nature and is not afraid to show the love they have for you even in public. Your physical union iykwim will be very healing for not only you but them as well, don't worry they will take care of all your needs and wants. Be careful with how you approach them and remember 'if you can't stand the heat then get out of the kitchen'. Cause being with them is not a nice walk in the park, they have problems that they know how to take care of all by themselves, are you ready to prove that you are dependable? They have experienced their share of loss and endings and now they know exactly what they want and let me tell you, they won't settle down for someone who doesn't fit their standards. They care a lot about others, it is almost as if it is their second nature. They will go out of their way to help someone but not because they are a people pleaser, they do it just because they can help. They do not expect anything in return. Why does that shock you? There are people like this world and you will be lucky enough to meet them."

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐:

the reader would tell your person, "oh my your person is already manifesting you, how sweet! They have been through so much and for some reason, they have very little support from their family and/or community, maybe they are the same gender as you?! whatever the reason they have had very little experience with real and pure love. They feel alone and may naively even go look for love in all the wrong places. Your person might even feel left out and behind by their friends, how dare they !!!! Poor soul though. I just imagined them and they are on their bed, crying to some higher being to send them someone who will love them the way deserve to be loved. Well here you are, their soulmate or should I say destiny. Oh, how silly of you both to underestimate the blessings of the universe. I won't talk much now and the universe let you meet by chance and mend the bond"

𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑:

the reader would tell your person, "quite a character not gonna lie. at first, they will appear as this shy, mysterious and typical 'i don't speak unless spoken to' kinda person but oh boy, the minute you speak it is so adorable how they continue to ramble and then zone out mid-sentence. I just imagined how they will have their resting face on but the minute you go up to them and say a 'hello! what is your name?' you can see how the gears inside their head are turning. very introverted and they love reading books and no they are not your typical nerd the books they usually read are found in the adult section and yes they will ask you to recreate the 'lean on the door' pose. They enjoy their alone because they need to be alone with their thoughts, they won't mind if you are there but please do not make noise, they will kick you out <3 You love teasing them, don't you? love to see them react like that to your advances, don't worry they enjoy it a lot more than you do and miss it when away from you but they will never tell you that. They are your soulmate and a very wise one in fact, they know how life works when to be patient, and when to sacrifice for the greater good. They will help you look at life from a completely different point of view which help you a lot in life and the best part about this they will drop this life-changing advice in the middle of their rambling session. Cherish them they won't show it but they have been through a lot too."

[romiiq]

Her name Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Tw: Mentions of drugs, dependance on someone and I think that's it but If you catch something else don't doubt to let me know.

Rafe's POV

Rafe watches her from a distance, his heart clenching as he sees her walking away. Her figure, once so familiar, so intertwined with his own, is now fading into the night. He tries to say something else, but for the way she looked at him and Topper holding him back his words keep getting stuck on his throat, he gulps.

Y/N! Please -the words come out in a strangled whisper, another gulp, and his voice comes out stronger. “I can fix this!” She hears this part, he convinces himself she’ll come back.

Look back baby please look at me.

She doesn’t look back, not even once. She’s stronger than that—stronger than him. He knows it. And for the first time knowing her too well rips him apart, slowly and painfully, like his chest is being carved out with every step she takes until she's finally in Topper’s truck.

He thought he could handle it. He thought the numbness would protect him, that the inevitable wouldn’t hurt so much because, after all, he’d known from the beginning. It’s not that Rafe was oblivious to the kind of man he was; in fact, he knew it all too well. He was the type to ruin things, to break what he loved, and that truth haunted him every time he held her close. He loved her—there was no doubt about that—but love wasn’t enough to change the inevitable. He knew he would hurt her. He could see it in the distance, like a storm gathering on the horizon, and still, he didn't stop. It was a twisted fate he was resigned to, no matter how much it would destroy them both in the end.

The words echo in his head, taunting him with their brutal honesty. He had known it from the first time she smiled at him by that bonfire, the glow of the flames dancing in her eyes, making her look like something from another world. She had no idea who he really was. Not then. And maybe, for a brief moment, he wanted to believe he could hide it from her, hide the parts of him that were rotting from the inside out.

He tried, God, he tried to keep her at arm’s length. It was supposed to be casual, a way to forget everything else that came with the name Rafe Cameron. The drugs, the deals, the weight of his father’s expectations crushing him day by day. But then, without meaning to, he fell. And once he fell, he was lost. Because no matter how much of himself he gave her, there would always be more of him left in the shadows. She thought she could heal him. She believed in him, even when he didn’t deserve it. 

Rafe watches her through the window, her hand reaching up to wipe her eyes. She’s crying. He did that. He made her cry. His fists tighten at his sides, his knuckles white as he fights the urge to run after her, to beg her to turn around, to forgive him. But how could he have the nerve to say that? Wouldn't it make it worse? The truth? That he loved her so much it scared him? That he was clinging to a past where he thought he was happy? That he never meant to hurt her but did anyway, because that’s just who he is?

But Sofia had never really left, had she? Even when he was holding Y/N, kissing her; Rafe had been clinging to a past that never truly existed. That night, Sofia’s name slipped from his lips like a reflex, a desperate call to a version of himself that was long gone.

Sofia wasn’t the person he wanted. She never was. She had been his crutch when the world around him, when even his own father, didn’t see him. She had filled the gaps, made him feel less alone but that wasn’t love. It was an obsession. An obsession with a time when he thought she was all he had.

And tonight, when he kissed her, the truth hit him like ice. The illusion shattered. There was nothing there, no warmth, no fire. Because his heart, his life, belonged in the present. Not in the shadows of what could’ve been, but in the light of what was. His future wasn’t in Sofia. It never was, his future is (was) in Y/N.

“I never wanted this to happen” he whispers into the empty night, his voice hoarse, his throat raw from the words he’s kept buried for so long. But no one’s there to hear him. She’s gone. And the only thing left is the silence.

He remembers the way she looked at him when she saw him with Sofia. The betrayal in her eyes, the disbelief, like he had torn something sacred between them and shredded it without a second thought as it was meaningless. But it wasn’t thoughtless and neither meaningless. That was the worst part. It wasn’t a mistake. It was who he was, who he always would be.

Y/N’s last words replay in his head, over and over, searing his soul with every repetition. "I was never enough for you, was I? No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I was never her."

He wanted to tell her that she was more than enough. That she was everything. But how could he say that when he knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t matter? He had fallen in love with her, yes, but he had also known that in the end, he would betray her. He knew it was like a curse running through his veins, something inescapable, something that would always drag him down, no matter how hard he tried to swim to the surface, he knew, oh man, he knew from the beginning he was going to fuck everything up.

His chest tightens as he watches the truck disappear down the street, swallowed by the darkness. He let her slip through his fingers, just like he let everything else in his life slip away. He loved her. He did. But he betrayed her the moment he let her believe that he could be something better, he lied to her, man, maybe he lied to himself about it too. Oh the goddamn stupid boy who thought he could be a better person. 

And now, standing in the aftermath of his own destruction, Rafe knows that she’s gone, and this time, there’s no going back even if he wanted to do everything right, even if Y/N said yes again. 

It was selfish—he realized. He couldn’t bear the idea of someone like her by his side. It terrified him, the thought of someone so real, so good, standing next to him, when all he had ever known was chaos. How could he deserve that? How could he let her have that?

No. He couldn’t do it. Not to her. 

So he did the only thing that made sense. He walked away.

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

Hey ya'll thank you for the support it means a lot to me. So this part is one that has been resting for a long time on my draft lmao and I decided to post it today, hope you enjoy it.

Also I'll definitely write what xcinnamonmalfoyx suggested, totally loved the idea, I'm so glad she thought about it because I was just gonna leave it like that haha.

Last but not least, sorry if I mistyped something English is not my first language and again thank you for all your kind words.

Anyways stay tunned and enjoy! :)

[cosmic-ghost-hermit]

What is your hidden talent?

Hey, everyone! It would be super helpful if yall donated to my CashApp. I want to do this kind of work full-time. I have been told by people I read for that I am meant to do tarot reading. I am inclined to believe them because fr it has been so fun for me to see how much it helps yall. Way more fun than any retail/food industry job I've had. I feel like I am actually doing something substantial with my time. If yall want me to be able to continue to do this daily it would be so awesome if yall donated. Thank you guys in advance!

Donate to my CashApp Here

The decks I am using today are The Tarot of the Divine, Believe in You Own Magic Oracle and The Healing Waters Oracle. Take everything that resonates and leave the rest behind but always be open to new experiences.

___________

PILE ONE

Astrology: Leo, Virgo, Scorpio

Song: I Set Fire To The Rain by Adele

Vibes: Teal, green, yellow/gold, shear white cloth, smelling smoke, burning house, swimming, mixed drinks, hot chocolate, braided hair, locked doors, house plants, deep skin tone, 888, shells, feathers, crayons, colored hair, ares

Cards: 2 of Wands, 9 of Cups, 5 of Wands, Mural, Gold, Cleansing, Into the Unknown

Welcome in, pile 1! You have two hidden talents. One that you use rather regularly but unknowingly and the other you have yet to unlock. The energy I am getting from the cards makes me think the two talents are intertwined. ALSO Trigger Warning for abuse in this reading. It is VERY HEAVY. Do not read if you do not think you are ready.

The first hidden talent is starting new from the ground up. I know to you it might not sound that interesting. You have no idea how hard it can be to start new things for others. Starting from the ground up is scary and intimidating. Organizing the chaos in your mind and project that chaos clearly into reality. I see you are probably an artist of some kind. You might paint, make clay sculptures, or hand-make intricate jewelry of some kind. I see you learned to hone this ability because of a karmic relationship. They made you feel adored and cherished until you were in their grasp. When you were trapped with them, they turned on you. It's giving love bombing. This person literally blew up on you over the smallest things. I see a shattered tea/coffee cup. You stayed with them for a long time even though you knew what they were doing was wrong. You had to completely shred the life you had with them. You had to start your life from scratch. Which is why you are so used to the idea of starting with nothing and building up. The pain that you felt from that past connection still hurts you to this day. You probably have PTSD from the situation you were in. I am so sorry you had to go through all that. You didn't deserve to be treated like that.

The second hidden talent is transmutation. I see that the reason you haven't unlocked it yet is because you fear change. What happened to you in that shitty relationship makes it way easier for you to start over than to change the situation. You are scared to see things to the end. I see that this fear reveals itself in your artwork. You probably have many unfinished projects because you view yourself as incapable of seeing them through. Which by the way isn't true you are so capable of anything you want to do. Heal the hurt part of you that thinks you are incapable. Your ex was the one who instilled that in you. Don't let that motherfucker get you down. Especially if they aren't in your life anymore. Don't let them have that power over you, love. You deserve to feel good. Face your fear of them being right. You and I both know they aren't. When you do unlock this ability you will be able to transmute all the pain that asshole put you through into beautiful art. You will be able to finish all of those unfinished projects. You will be able to find true love within yourself. You will find that you were never broken like that bitch said you were. You were always lovely, sweet, and accommodating. You were always creating love everywhere you went.

_______

PILE TWO

Astrology: Sagittarius, Gemini, Pisces

Song: I Love Rock n Roll by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Vibes: Navy Blue, white, peach, deer, horses, libraries, books, coffee, hot springs, scones, pillow forts, maxi-skirts, cowboys, mermaids, 333, wine, fine dining, tall trees, athena, artemis

Cards: The Hermit, 3 of Wands, Knight of Swords, Nostalgia, Stars, Water Codes, The Healing Lagoon

Hello, pile 2! You have one secret power but trust me it's a good one. You have the ability to pull information out of thin air. You are crazy smart. People might not think it when they look at you because you try not to flaunt it too wildly. You prefer to stay under the radar when it comes to intellect. This makes people underestimate you. I feel that some of yall reading like this for various reasons but others really fucking hate it. You have some insecurity around this skill. That's why you don't think it is a good skill tbh. You think a lot on the go even while in conversation which makes people see you as kind of ditzy. Even so, you absolutely obliterate at trivia night. Your friends come to you first when they need obscure information. You might have been a really lonely kid and spent a lot of your time reading away the time. For a big chunk of your childhood you found your companionship in novels. You may have been bullied for this. Don't let those people's words get you down. Honestly, they were just jealous of your intelligence. The friends you have now love to hear you infodump about your favorite books. They love to hear everything you know about sea creatures and astrology/astronomy. They ask questions not to mock you but because they genuinely are interested in what you have to say. You are magnificent. Your mind is unparalleled. How people perceive you has nothing to do with what is actually happening in your mind. It is just their projections of themselves onto you. Ignore them lmao. <3

________

PILE THREE

Astrology: Cancer, Taurus, Libra

Song: Stay by Zedd

Vibes: All shades of blue, creeks, hanging flowers, 9999, faires, watermelon, paint-brush, rabbits, bird chips, car horn, pearls, lily pads, walking in the rain, lanterns, puppies, beaches, zues

Cards: Queen of Cups, Page of Cups, Ace of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, Raindrops, Stagnant Waters, Light House

My dear pile 3, welcome to your reading. You have a hidden ability that I feel is only hidden from you. Everyone else seems to know this about you. You have the power of hospitality and refuge. You are a safe place for everyone you know to come to if they need it. You are the type of person to tell everyone you know if they need a place to stay for any reason, all they gotta do is ask. You have a motherly energy about you, even if you aren't a woman. You always have emergency snacks for occasions like that. You host parties and everyone always leaves feeling 10 times better than when they arrived. You are the friend that lends a hand when needed. You the kind of person to have a shoulder ready for anyone to lean on, even if you don't know them well. The most beautiful thing about this is that these actions are never self-sacrificing. You have an abundance of all that you need so you can be generous constantly to those in need. I see you resting when necessary and listening to your body. I see you volunteering in your community. I think recently you helped clean up a beach or something. Maybe you organized it? Your energy is so soothing. You are just amazing, my friend. Absolutely the softest heart on earth. I also see you might foster animals! You take in rescue animals and nurse them back to health until they can find a forever home. ;n; You are the definition of an earth angel. Please see how amazing you are and how big your heart is. I wanna be your friend so bad from hearing all of this. Never stop being this beautiful of a soul, my dear. You are perfect.

_________

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Aries, Capricorn, Aquarius

Song: Black Girl Magic by Londrelle

Vibes: Cyan, yellow, rusty red, iridescent, sake, 4c hair, magic, spell casting, curse breaking, singing, tea, pottery, steam-train, festivals, celebration, 963, small forests, mercury/hermes, lambs, Oshun

Cards: The Star, Ace of Cups, 2 of Cups, 6 of Swords, 7 of Wands, Tower, Spaceship, Thank You

PILE 4, WOW. Welcome. Your energy is just sooo woah. You are so indescribable. All that you have been through. Everything you have seen. All I can say is, wow. Your secret power is balance. It is a well-earned hidden ability. You have been through so much to gain the skills that I see in this reading. You have traveled so far. When I first looked at the reading I could not pin down exactly what skill you had because you are just so good at EVERYTHING. I legitimately out loud said, "Everything??? Everything." You know how to take care of yourself. You are an excellent lover. If you are a parent you are good at that too. You are chasing your dreams. I see you performing as a singer or a musician and your talent stuns everyone in the room. You are the best manifester in a 20 miles radius. You are a witch for sure. You have worked so hard on breaking karmic familial curses and you succeeded. You succeeded far past your soul's initial expectations. You are everything, my love. Like literally everything. Then it hit me. You are a tightrope walker. You are balancing everything perfectly. Have you ever heard of Rock Cairns? They are stacks of rocks that hikers add to as they pass by on park trails. You have turned your life into something like that. You have perfectly balanced every stone you passed in your life in a pile and you manage it all on your own. First off, I want to tell you what a good job you are doing. What a good job you have been doing since you were born. Second thing, PLEASE REST WHEN YOU NEED IT OHMYGODS. You don't need me to tell you that though. You are probably smoking a joint right fucking now while reading this or you just got done doing that. No notes, baby. You got this. I just think Spirit wanted to remind you of your magnificence.

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 9

Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: angsty SMUT (MDNI), some fluff, domestic Russell deserves a warning, VW Beetle-shaming (yep, it’s real)

A/N: Hey, loves. I know I've been pretty absent here, and just a little fyi; my lack of responses aren't coming from a place of ignorance. I’ve been grappling with my mental health for a while now, and right now, I'm at the bottom of the rollercoaster. But don’t worry, I’m working my way back up, just like any sane person would do: with dying my hair red. No, seriously. I’m writing this with red dye in my hair. Alright, jokes aside, I really am getting there, bit by bit. Also, I'll get to reply to everyone eventually. Thank you for your patience, ily all!! 🤍💖

A/N 2.0: Oh, btw, we’re here, folks! Jumping (almost) straight into the smut. Hope you’re ready to enjoy every steamy minute of it – because trust me, it’s a bit on the longer side. Enjoy! 😏

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 8 here

Tuesday's Gone masterlist

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The morning sun beamed in through the living room curtains, casting long stripes of light on the floor carpet as you stood, nervously drumming with your leg. It was Emma’s first day back at kindergarten since the whole kidnapping ordeal – an event you now refer to simply as “the Rourke incident.” You weren’t entirely sure she was ready, but her psychiatrist, who’d been meeting with her twice a week, had insisted it was best to get her back to normal life as soon as possible.

Two months. That’s how long it had been since everything went sideways, and since Russell had worked his way back into your life. Healing had been slow, but definitely steady.

“Come on!” Russell’s irritated voice cut through the quiet. He was out in the yard, wrestling with your car, which had apparently chosen today to stage a rebellion by refusing to start. Emma, already anxious about facing her mates again after so much time away, didn’t need this kind of drama. Neither did you, to be frank.

You glanced down at yourself for the hundredth time, brushing nonexistent lint off your blazer. It had been ages since you’d worn anything like this – at least it felt like it. The kind of outfit that screamed Yes, I’m totally put together, even if you weren’t quite there yet. 

Your first day back at work as a project manager after everything. Two months of juggling nightmares, therapy appointments, and figuring out how to co-parent with Russell, who, by the way, had unofficially moved into your house, claiming the couch,  meaning, he ditched whatever motel he was residing in before. To be fair, you were the one to offer it to him. He was practically living here 24/7 anyway.

At least this wasn’t a real workday, not yet. Just a soft launch. Your boss, who’d been more than understanding (hard not to be when your life-or-death situation made the news), suggested you start with half-days for the next two weeks. A gentle easing back into the chaos, he called it.

You called it a godsend and said yes before he could change his mind.

Today wasn’t about deadlines or meetings. It was about relearning what normal was supposed to feel like. 

And this morning was serving up all the normal it could muster.

“Is it ready yet?” you called through the open window, your tone between hopeful and pleading.

Russell stood up from under the hood, wiping his hands on a rag that must have been white once. A streak of grease marked his jaw.

“Almost there” he muttered. “Damn thing’s stubborn as a mule.”

“Stubborn like its mechanic” you quipped, earning yourself a mock glare. He ducked back under the hood, muttering something you didn’t catch but hearing the faint chuckle at the end.

Emma darted into the living room, her ridicolously huge backpack bouncing on her shoulders.

“Are we going to be late?” she asked and you could hear the worry in her voice.

“Nope, Daddy’s got it handled” you said, channeling every ounce of fake confidence you had. 

Truthfully, you didn’t want to be late either.

“Alright” Russell called, slamming the hood shut. “She’s good to go.”

He shot you a thumbs-up before opening the driver’s door and sliding in to test the ignition. The engine roared to life and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“See? Told you” you said to Emma, giving her a quick hug before letting her scramble into the backseat. You followed suit, sliding into the front passenger seat.

“I still don’t get why we couldn’t just take my car” he said, nodding toward his Chevy parked smugly beside your Beetle. “And honestly, I look ridiculous in this chick-jalopy.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offence.

“First of all, it’s not a chick-jalopy. It’s reliable, it’s efficient, and Emma loves it. Also, it’s cute,” you said, punctuating your point by wiping the grease off his jaw with a tissue.

“Cute, my a–”

He caught himself just in time.

Emma groaned dramatically from the back. “Can we please go? I don’t wanna be late!”

“Alright, boss lady. Bubble Buggy, away!” Russell declared, throwing the car into gear and earning a playful glare from you.

And with that, your little circus hit the road.

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The drop-off went surprisingly well. Emma, clutching her Veterinarian Barbie, marched into the classroom with a nervous determination that made your chest swell with pride. Russell had insisted on coming along, too – not that you were surprised. He’d been a constant in her life these past couple of months, and Emma seemed to soak up his presence like a little sunflower.

As the three of you walked toward the building, you bent down and pulled her into a quick hug, whispering a few last words of encouragement. She nodded solemnly, then turned and practically cannonballed into Russell’s arms. 

Watching her cling to him so naturally still took you by surprise.

You never doubted she’d warm up to him – he was her dad, after all. A figure she always asked about, a figure she always wanted. But the way Russell stepped into the role, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this chance? That was something you hadn’t expected. The man who once seemed allergic to responsibility was now the same man who played Barbies, kissed Emma’s scraped knees better, and read her bedtime stories in silly voices that always made her giggle. He didn’t let her leave the house without one of his big bear hugs, and she never wanted to. It was a version of Russell you hadn’t dared to imagine… but here he was, proving you wrong every damn day.

She lingered in his arms for just a second longer, her hands clutching at his shirt.  

“You’re gonna crush it, bug” he murmured, his voice soft.

With a reluctant nod, she finally let go, her sense of duty overriding her nerves. She turned and headed inside, her tiny figure disappearing into the colorful chaos of the kindergarten room. 

You and Russell stood in the doorway for a moment longer, watching her find her seat. She looked so small, dwarfed by the bright kiddy decorations and the chatter of her mates.

But before you could get too worried, her friends appeared like little magnets, pulling her into a circle of excited hugs. You saw her freeze for half a second, clearly not expecting the ambush, but then she smiled. That big, glowing smile that could light up a whole city block.

“She’s tougher than we give her credit for” Russell said, a touch of pride in his voice.

“She gets it from me” you teased lightly, though your throat tightened as you said it. You yourself didn’t quite believe it.

He chuckled with a warm and familiar sound. “Yeah, that tracks.” 

His hand brushed yours as you both turned to leave, and you didn’t pull away. 

“Come on” he said with a lopsided grin, tilting his head toward the exit. “I’ve got one more girl to drop off.” 

He took your hand in yours and guided you back toward your “Tiara Taxi”. You wondered how many goddamn names he could come up with for that poor car.

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By the time you got home, the house felt… off. Too quiet, to be more precise. You weren’t used to not hearing Emma’s chatter bouncing off the walls.

Kicking off your heels by the door, you loosened your blazer and rolled your shoulders, trying to shake off the weight of the day. The tension melted a little when you spotted Russell in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in hand. He was freshly showered, his hair still slightly damp, wearing jeans and that old Cream T-shirt, the one he wore the day you met him at the diner you used to work at. It had more holes than fabric now, but somehow it made him look maddeningly hot.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“It was… bearable” you said, reaching for the coffee pot. “Everyone at work looked at me like I was a ghost. Honestly, I felt like one. Meanwhile, I’m pretty sure Emma handled her first day better than I handled mine.”

Pouring yourself a cup, you moved to stand beside him, close enough to share the space but not enough to touch. 

“Thanks for fixing the car this morning” you said, giving him a quick sidelong glance. “I can’t even imagine the meltdown we’d have had if we’d been late.”

He grinned, his eyes staying on you a beat too long, despite the teasing tone in his voice. 

“I’ll fix that Cupcake Cruiser anytime.”

And there it was again – that unspoken something that had been simmering between you two for weeks. It filled the space between every casual brush of your arms, every shared smirk. Ever since that kiss, the tension had been building, stopping only at the occasional soft kisses, lingering touches, or the way his hand would find yours without a word.

You weren’t imagining it, and you definitely weren’t immune to it. If anything, it was getting harder to pretend it wasn’t there.

“I should change” you said, your voice a little shaky as you pointed vaguely at your blazer, like that was the problem.

“You look good” he blurted out, almost before he realized it. His ears went red, but he didn’t backpedal. “I mean… you always look good, but this… this is…” His gaze slid over you like he was taking in a masterpiece, and your pulse picked up in response.

“Russ…” you started, but he took a step closer. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him like a furnace.

“Tell me if I’m crossing a line” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual, like it took everything he had to keep it calm.

“You’re not” you whispered.

That was all the permission he needed. His hands slid around your waist, tentative at first, like he was afraid you might pull away. But when you didn’t, he closed the gap between you, kissing you like a madman. It was urgent, messy, and desperate, the kind of kiss that made you forget where you were or what you were supposed to be doing. 

It was frantic and just so different from the soft kisses before.

His hands slid up your back, pulling you as close as your bodies physically allowed and you found yourself clutching at his tee like you might fall if you didn’t hold on. Your coffee, long forgotten, sat cold on the counter behind you, watching the scene unfold silently.

He pulled away just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath coming in ragged gasps. His highly delirious eyes searched yours, silently asking if you felt it too, the same thing pulsing between you two.

You did. 

You felt it in your bones, and it was undeniable.

Without a word, he kissed you again, but this time, slower, more like he had all the time in the world. He took his sweet time, as if he needed to rediscover every inch of you, like he’d forgotten and now had to make up for lost time. His hands drifted to your waist, your back, tangled in your hair, touching you like you were the only thing that existed in that moment. 

And for him, you kind of were.

Before you knew it, you were in the bedroom, your blazer tossed somewhere on the floor along with his t-shirt. The rest of your clothes followed in a blur of fumbling hands and breathless laughter, the weight of the past two months – and the years before that – melting away with every touch.

When he finally had you beneath him, his gaze softened, the intensity giving way to something deeper. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your hands cupping his face. “I’m sure.”

He looked down at you, his long hair brushing your face as you pulled him closer, bringing his lips to yours again. This time, the kiss was a promise: one that said you were sure, you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, now your barely clothed heat just two thin fabrics away from the place where it wants to be – given you both were only in your underwear by then.

He groaned in response, his hands gripping your thighs, stopping you from rubbing yourself against his erection. 

“I’ll cream in my boxers if you keep this up.”

You giggled and popped yourself on your elbows. “I’d rather have you cream somewhere else” you said with a mischievous grin.

His laughter was sudden and rich, the kind that came straight from his chest. It was a sound of pure joy and disbelief. 

So she’s still freaky, he mentally remarked in delight. 

“God, I love you” he murmured, the words spilling out before he even realized he’d said them. He didn’t pause to dwell on his unplanned confession – he kissed you once more, but this time his hand slid to the back of your bra. It took a few clumsy tries, but when it finally gave way, he pushed the lace off your shoulders, letting it fall somewhere forgotten at the edge of the bed. 

He pulled away from your lips, taking a moment to admire the view of your perky breasts, the cool air from the AC making your nipples harden from the breeze. 

Perfect, just like he remembered. 

Without hesitation, he leaned in, pressing soft kisses along the valley of your chest before suckling each nipple, his hand gently massaging the other. The warm, teasing pressure of his mouth sent a shiver through you, drawing out a chorus of soft moans, going straight into his now desperately hard cock, unconsciously rubbing it against the sheets.

Once his mouth had given one of your nipples the attention it deserved, he moved to the other, murmuring, “So soft.” 

As your fingers brushed over familiar lines and curves, memories came rushing back like you’d just pressed play on a reel. Your palms glided over his firm chest and carved torso, stopping at the edge of his waistband. The fabric clung to his hips, daring you to go further. 

It was surprisingly easy to recollect your memories about the details of him – you could still map the old scars you knew by heart (though there were new ones now), the freckles on his shoulder and chest, the little imperfections of his body you used to love all those years ago. 

You seemed even more fascinated by them now.

Soft grunts and groans slipped from his lips as he felt your hands slip into his underwear. The hardness of his dick against your palm sent a rush of wildfire through your veins, feeling how much he still wanted you. 

Needed you, really.

But he grabbed your hand, stopping its slow movements over his member. 

“Not yet” he murmured, and though it took all his willpower, he pulled your hands out of his underwear, just to lift his head from your chest to start a slow, deliberate trail of wet kisses down your torso. Each kiss felt like a secret he was telling only your skin, moving lower and lower, until he reached the curve of your abdomen.

He paused there, pressing his lips to the spot where your lace panties met your silky skin.

His hands slid down to your hips, his thumbs tracing slow circles over the delicate lace. He glanced up at you, his green eyes still searching for reassurance that you were still on-board with all of this. 

You absolutely were.

When the lace finally hit the floor and joined the growing heap of clothes, he didn’t dive right in. Instead, he paused to just look at you, his gaze so intense it made you feel both vulnerable and powerful at once. He was looking at you like you were something sacred.

You couldn’t help it, your mind wandered. Your body wasn’t the same as it had been four years ago, not after the pregnancy. And even though you tried to push the thought away, a flicker of self-doubt crept in. Would he notice? Would it matter?

“God, you’re beautiful” he mumbled, as if reading your mind, before leaning in to press his lips against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen” he added, and the sincerity in his voice sent a flush straight to your weeping pussy, soaking the sheets beneath you. He noticed, loving the effect he had on you. And the best part is: he meant every word. “Nobody compares… nobody.”

His hands stayed firm on your hips, holding you steady as he left a trail of kisses that edged closer and closer to your slick center.

Toe-curlingly teasing.

“Fuck– Russ” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair as his lips finally found the spot where you were aching for him most. 

His tongue danced around your folds, barely using any pressure at first, licking long stripes just to drive you even wilder. He kept up the slow, teasing pace, looking up at your soft features, until he was sure he’d made you wait long enough. His hands gripped your bent legs, holding you in place, making sure you weren’t going anywhere – not like going away crossed your mind. 

“You taste so sweet, baby. Just like I remembered” he murmured, lapping lustfully at your lips.

Your needy, swollen clit ached for his mouth, his touch, anything, really, and it’s just like he heard its plea, he guided his lips to your sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking on it gently. The moan that slipped from your lips was louder than you meant it to be, but Russell didn’t seem to care. In fact, if his smirk was anything to go by, he seemed to love it, and just felt even more encouraged to be more and more daring. Bolder. Hungrier. 

He devoured you like you were the finest meal he’d ever had, like he’d been starving for years and you were the only thing that could satisfy him.

And just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, your body trembling on the precipice, he looked up at you, his face was flushed, his swollen lips and trimmed stubble glistening with your essence, looking absolutely, insanely, unbelievably hot.

"Come on, sweetheart" he murmured against your skin with a voice both rough and encouraging, like he needed this just as much as you did. "Be a good girl and let go f’me."

To help you get over the edge, he slipped one finger inside of you, plunging it in and out of your sloppy hole at a delicious pace. 

And just like that, with one final, perfectly timed and placed flick of his tongue, you came undone. Your whole body went taut, and the world blurred for a moment as a white-hot wave of bliss crashed over you and you came over his face. You didn’t have any time to overthink it, be embarrassed about it, since he didn’t stop lapping at your juices, nor the vigorous fingering of your pussy. 

He continued until you had nothing more to give, easing you back down with gentle kisses and slowly decreasing strokes. With his tongue still on your sensitive lips, you slowly floated back to reality.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, he was hovering above you. 

You could see his expression was somewhere between boyish pride and unshakable devotion.

“Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your damp forehead. “I love seeing you coming undone because of me.”

You were still catching your breath, panting heavily, but you managed to kneel on the bed in front of him. “Let me…”

“No” His hands gently brushed yours away from his waistband, and for a moment, your heart sank. 

Did he change his mind? Or worse – did he not want you to please him the way he’d just please you?

Sensing the hurricane of self-doubt flicker across your face, he leaned in with a soft, reassuring smile. “I want this to be about you. Last time… we didn’t exactly finish properly because–”

His words trailed off, but you both knew what he meant. Your last time together more than four years ago…. when that man broke into your home. The gunshot. The way you’d panicked and pushed him away afterward. It was a night neither of you could forget, no matter how much you tried.

“I just… want to make it up to you” he confessed. “For that night. For everything after.”

You felt the weight of his words, the sincerity in his eyes, and the softness in his touch. It wasn’t just about physical pleasure – it was about the things left unsaid, the things neither of you had been able to fix in the aftermath.

You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw as your eyes locked. 

“You don’t have to make anything up” you said softly, your words brushing against his lips. “You’re here now. You showed up when it mattered. That’s enough.” 

You kissed him, slow and sure, letting him feel every bit of what you meant. The taste of yourself on his lips just fueled the intensity of the moment. Your hands slid back to his boxers, giving the waistband a playful tug. “Now…” you said with a small smirk “let’s get rid of these before I lose my patience.”

He smiled, swallowing a chuckle, before helping you with the rest. His cock sprang free, standing tall and proud against his stomach. The girth and the delicious pattern of veins still managed to take your breath away. 

You could still remember how he felt, how he tasted… 

As his underwear hit the floor, you both knelt on the bed, your eyes locked before flicking down to his pre-cum-soaked erection. 

“Jesus fuck” you exhaled, mouth watering, your hands skimming his waist, summoning the courage to take what you needed. 

You wrapped your hand around the base, his member instantly reacting to your touch, accompanied by another strangled moan from his lips. He let you stroke him a little, his breath hitching, before he managed to ask, “Are you still on birth control?”

You froze mid-motion, caught off guard. 

“Uh, no” you admitted. “Didn’t exactly work out last time, did it?” you added with a wry smile. It stung a little to say, but it was true. And honestly, you wouldn’t change a thing – not when it meant having Emma.

Russell caught the flicker of bittersweetness in your eyes, his own softening as he started to say, “I’ve got a–“

“Bottom drawer, right side” you cut him off with a smirk, tilting your head toward the nightstand.

A laugh rumbled in his chest as he leaned back, grabbing what he needed. 

“You really are always two steps ahead, huh?” he teased, his grin widening as he slipped on the condom.

He was hovering above you, eyes locked, and yet somehow it felt like he was on the other side of the planet. 

“Are you… really, absolutely sure?” he asked, his voice a mix of doubt and desperation.

You couldn’t help but giggle again. “Stop asking, Russ. Stop second-guessing yourself.”

He smiled softly at your words and guided himself towards your slick core, the tip already nudging at your entrance. He looked down at you, giving you one last chance to back off before he let himself give in to the desire that’s been building up in him for months now. 

You nodded softly, granting him any permission he’d ever asked for. He took a shaky breath, bracing himself for what was about to come. 

Then, he eased himself in.

The intrusion was both foreign and familiar at first. He was only half-way in, but he already felt you getting tighter and tighter. 

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll go slow” he murmured as he soothed your skin on your thighs.

The slick from your previous orgasm helped him bottom out slowly but surely, and once he was fully seated, he let out a long, throaty moan. He stilled for a moment, eyes shut, grabbing into your bent thighs to steady himself.

“Missed you s’much… missed this…” he whispered. “Thought I’d never–“ 

The words died on his lips.

The rawness of his voice, the desperation, the way he said those words with so much honesty and regret, clutched your heart. You knew he meant it, you knew how much he had been hurting – just like you. But you also couldn't help but feel just as guilty. Most of his pain was caused by you, the way you handled things, the way you’d pushed him away when things got tough, the way you’d shut him out… It was all your doing, just as much as it was his.

Not being able to take the weight of it, you gently cupped his face, guiding him back to look at you.

You looked at him like you were about to say something that weighed on your shoulders for long, something that’ll change everything between the both of you. He sensed it, green irises burning into yours, waiting.

“I love you, too, Russ” you whispered, voice tight with emotion, afraid he might not have heard you right by the look on his face. “I love you” you repeated, louder this time, as if to make sure it was clear, and by the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you, he heard it loud and perfectly clear. 

“And I missed you, too”  you added.

That was it. That was all he needed to hear. His hips began to move as his lips elicited soft grunts and moans, his hands still holding on to your thighs, bruisingly tight. 

“God, sweetheart. Say it–” he grunted, burying himself inside of you, his tip brushing against your deepest parts. “Say it again.” 

“I love you, Russell. I think I never really stopped.”

It did it to him. He dived into you like a man on a mission. The tenderness was still there, yet he gave way to something more primal, something almost bestial. 

Squelching, lewd noises and moans filled the otherwise quiet room. The pace he was setting wasn’t necessarily brutal, but the way he slammed into you with such precision was almost too perfect to handle.

Your otherwise sensitive bundle of nerves screamed as he slipped his thumb on them, applying just the right amount of pressure.

You could feel how close you were. Hell, he could feel how close you were. The way your walls tightened and how you could barely hold your moans were a pretty good indication of what was about to come. Literally.

“Fuck- Russ” you moaned as he began to increase the pace of his thrusts, his fingers still rubbing on your clit.

“I know…” he panted, “I know… I’m- I’m getting close, too. But I need to feel you comin’ around me, sweetheart. You can let go, baby.  Then I’ll fill you up good.”

His own voice was strangled, barely holding on, but the urge to make you reach it first was still stronger.

“Let go f’me, pretty girl” he instructed, rubbing your clit just a bit harder.

The coil finally snapped in your stomach, feeling a sensation you can’t quite remember when you had last. 

“There you go. Such a good girl. Such a perfect girl. God, how I love it when you do this” he moaned and felt his cock twitch buried deep in your velvety walls. He looked down at your joint bodies and saw his dick laced with your essence, forming a creamy ring at the base. The sight itself was the thing to push over the edge.

He came with a groan, burying himself inside of you, his thighs and body going taut while he tried not to collapse on top of you. His member was suffocating in the confines of the condom, his seed still loading the rubber.

He didn’t want to move. Neither did you. The only sound of the room was your tangled breaths and the intense pounding of your hearts. He let himself lower himself once his eyes dared to creak open, finding your eyes still busking in the afterglow.

“Are you okay? Was I too rough? Didn’t I—”

You cut him off with a gentle, breathless laugh, fingers brushing his chest as you tried to make sense of the way your heart was pounding, both from the intensity of the moment and the unexpected peace that followed it.

“Russ… I’m okay. Great, actually” You smiled, your voice soft.

His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of relief flashing through his eyes, followed by that familiar teasing grin. “Huh… You got me worried a bit. I’ve got worried it was post-but clarity on your face.” 

“No post-nut clarity here. Just... clarity” 

He smiled softly at that, then slowly pulled out of you and removed the piece of plastic, tossing it into the bin.

For a moment, he just froze, unsure of what to do next. Would it be too much to hold you? Was that stepping into too much territory?

You gave him a sleepy, amused look. “Come on” you mumbled, your voice low and slightly hoarse. “You’ve just fucked the wind out of me. You think I’d kick you out of my bed afterward?”

He laughed, the tension easing out of his shoulders. "Fair point. I just… wasn’t sure if you’d want me to stay.”

You shifted a little, making space for him beside you, your gaze soft. “Of course I do”

And so, you both just lay there. The room was quiet, the only sound your breaths slowly syncing. The space between you felt right, like it had always belonged to both of you, and the warmth of his body next to yours felt oddly familiar. Like it had always been meant to be this way. 

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the rhythm of each other’s breath comforting. And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to just be. Because you wasted way too much time already, and you won’t make the same mistake twice.

So, it was just you, and it was just him, and the world felt right again.

This was home.

Then, your phone’s alarm went off, pulling you back to reality with an almost comical jolt. You groaned softly, smiling faintly at the disruption. You climbed out of bed, the soft tug of the sheets falling off your body as you rose. “Come on” you said with a small smile. “We have to pick up our daughter.”

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Next on Tuesday's Gone (Sneak Peek from Chapter 10, aka the Epologue)

The building the dog was charging toward was a big, brick beauty, with towering windows and a brand-new sign hanging proudly above the door. It was the final product of an ongoing battle of bad brewery name ideas between you and Russell.

You’d pitched some real gems like Hop Notch Brewery, Sweet Foam Idaho, and Shawbusiness. You also reminded him of your previous, brilliant suggestions. You were obviously just having fun, knowing it was Russell’s dream project. 

“I’m just trying to help!” you exclaimed playfully. 

But still – Shawstopper was practically genius, right?

He, of course, was more into traditional names like Shaw & Co Brewery or Shawcraft. 

But then… you pitched the one name that made him crack. One that he absolutely hated. Hated it so much that, for some bizarre reason, he thought it was twistedly brilliant. So, here you were, standing beneath the freshly hung sign above the front door of…

“Shawshank Brewdemption” Emma read out loud, brows furrowed. “I don’t understand!”

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They’re home. It feels so good to finally say that. I can’t wait to share the last chapter with you all soon.

And of course, happy holidays to everyone!

xx Pam

Read Chapter 10 here

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never

[beebeeswee]

i will be a juvia defender until the day i die.

i really do welcome anyone to dm me or send me an ask and i'll talk about this more - because i really think anti-juvias completely misunderstand both her and gray's characters, and the context of the show they're in.

juvia is a character who has been excluded her entire life, her magic made her abandoned by and outcasted from her peers and former romantic partners. then she meets gray, the only person in her whole life who has stopped the rain (and when he leaves her the rain comes back), and she falls in love with him and the rest of fairy tail, where she finds people who accept her wholeheartedly. i think it's beautiful that she's able to stay resilient and wear her heart on her sleeve after everything she'd been through.

gray is a character who doesn't believe he deserves love, he has such a deep self-loathing he can't imagine a world where he's worthy of happiness after 'everything he's done', and juvia is someone who loves him unconditionally, who never turns away from him, despite everything he's done to her. part of his development over the main series and 100yr quest is him realising that about himself. they heal each other.

the biggest complain that anti-gruvias have is that she's a 'sexual predator' and a 'stalker'. @ermbehindyou made the excellent point that if she's a sexual predator by that logic so is gray - his constant stripping (even infront of minors!) would be enough to get him on a list in pretty much every country in the world. but that is naturally ridiculous.

(mentioned multiple times in this scene that he is fully nude - not just in his underwear and wendy is on the boat the entire time).

fairy tail is a show that plays on sexual gags constantly, which i do take a real issue with. but that's the show, that's the humour and standards set from the beginning of the main series, and like most of the characterisation of the show, it has become insanely exaggerated as the series progressed. having said that, i think it's misogynistic to single out juvia's actions and ignore the actions of every other character. and i mean that.

call me a crazy feminist all you want but i think many of you are seeing a confident, unashamed female character with overt sexual desires and it repulses you, because it doesn't conform to society's standards of femininity. this was definitely not mashima's intentions when writing her - but his interpretations of her aren't relevant to this debate anyway are they?

i'll end this by saying juvia and gray truly match each other's freak when the humour allows it; but who show true and serious displays of selfless love for one another when it matters, and it's beautiful.

[shinybearnerd]

"Healing Wings"

GOOD OMENS SEASON 2! SPOILER WARNING! IF YOU DID SEE IT YET, DO NOT INTERACT!

Hi!

So, I'm a mess since I finished the new season.

I tried to cope by writing something (since I'll be pretty busy for all of August). And this is the result.

Justice for my boy! He deserved his happy ending.

I wanted to thank everyone that send me requests. As I said before, I'm a bit busy but once I'll have some time, I'll write. Promise.

Enjoy!

Pair: Crowley x reader

(Hints of: Aziraphale x reader, Aziraphale x Crowley, Aziraphale x reader x Crowley)

Words: 2,8k

Genre: Smut +18, fluff and angst

Story: when Aziraphale goes away to become the archangel in heaven, Y/n and Crowley find themselves alone. They both with a feeling of abandonment. As they lean on each other for support, their relationship blossoms deeper.

English is not my first language. I'm sorry if there're any mistakes.

The ride to your house is quiet.

You don't remember much about what happened earlier. You only recall screaming at Aziraphale for deciding to go away and leaving you and Crowley alone. His eyes were covered in tears.

     << Y/n, I can- >>

     << Do not fucking bother! Go on. Go play with your little mates. Is what you wanted after all, right? >> You cut him off, returning to Crowley.

The demon looks at the scene inside the car. He doesn't hear what you are saying but can imagine by the looks of you and the angel. He even doesn't say anything about it once you step inside the car. He only starts the engine and begins to drive.

Once you arrive, you convince Crowley to come inside without effort. Once you lock the door behind you, you see him. Sitting on the sofa. He stares blankly in front of him. Or at least you think so. He didn't take off his glasses or have any intention to.

You walk towards him without saying a word. When you take your first step, it seems like he only notices your presence at that moment.

You walk to him. Crowley's gaze fixed on you, making you feel exposed.

You're now in front of him. You try to say something, but he makes the first move by hugging your legs and placing his head on your stomach. He's tired. You both are.

You remain like this for a few minutes. You caress his red hair and try not to cry, as he enjoys your touch.

He then looks up at you.

You're starting to feel a particular jolt invading your body. Something that grows deeper when the demon stands up and obscures you with his height.

He takes your chin, his thumb exploring your lips. He then kisses you. It's a needy one. A desperate one.

You start to undress one another, but when you try to take his glasses, he freezes.

     << I... I prefer to leave them on. >>

Once Nina and Maggie get out, you pop out from your hiding spot.

Crowley hears your movement but doesn't say a word. Too scared about your reaction to actually do something. 

He listens. Listen to the way your clothes sound when they rub against each other. Listen to your increased heartbeat and your hitching breath, wishing he could feel it against his skin while-

     << Is it true? >> You finally take some courage.

Crowley physically can't turn to look at you, like something is blocking him. But he manages to stand up and put on his glasses. And suddenly, he feels like he can at least try.

When he turns around, your heart sinks a little.

     << No, please... >>

     <&lt; What? >>

You try to reach, but he takes a step behind, trying to have some space between you two.

     << You know that you don't need those >> you point at the black lenses << when you are with me. We've already been through this. Remember? >>

     << I would like to keep them on. If you don't mind. >>

You sigh, knowing that he's too stubborn to listen. So you ask again, trying to look into his eyes. << Is it true? >>

The demon doesn't respond.

     << It's pretty easy, Crowley. It's a "yes" or "no" answer... >>

Your voice seemed calm and amused by all of this, trying to ease the mood. But every fibre of your body tried to remain calm and not rush things.

Something was still blocking him. His pride, maybe. Or even the fear of you rejecting him. He doesn't know which.

     << I'm sorry... I-I can't. >>

He tries to exit the bookshop, but you stop him.

     << Where are you going? Hold on! Why can't you say it? What's wrong? >>

     << Because-... Fuck! >>

He walks in the room, stomping his feet like a wild horse that's been caught and imprisoned. He's trying to focus on something that isn't you and elaborate a clever way out. He's a demon, after all. He's the master of lying.

He can do this.                                                                                                    But once he turns to look at you, he suddenly can't lie to you anymore.

     << Because it's true, Y/n! There. I said it! >>

Your heart is bursting, but you let him talk first. You feel like he needs to.

     << You don't understand how you made me feel in all these years we knew each other! I only thought that Aziraphale would be the lo... >> he sighs, trying to calm himself by rubbing his eyes. << But then you came along. So full of life and wonder, and it j-just... happened!- >>

In the beginning, he's doubtful. The poor devil thought that was an act of pity towards him, but once he comprehend that you're not going to leave soon, he deepens it. A rush of emotions adds to the kiss. Passion, desperation and relief. All put in Crowley's kiss, who is touching and hugging you like you'll disappear.

You don't even spend time saying something. You've already waited enough.

With big steps, you end your distance. You take the demon's sunglasses with one hand while the other takes the head, smashing your lips together.

You start to caress each other. Your hair, your back, your arms... All you two can reach has been touched and loved.

     << Please tell me this is not a dream and that I'm not gonna wake up in the Bentley with a boner... >> he whispered on your lips between a kiss and another.

You smirk against his mouth while pressing yourself towards him.

     << I don't know about the dream, but I hope this isn't something you have in your pocket. >> You replied, touching his clothed erection.

The demon growls, squishing the flesh of your hips under his fingers.

     << You're playing with fire, doll. >>

His pushes are erratic and hopeless. Like he can release all that pain he's feeling.

But suddenly his pushes stop. You feel his hold tightening as he's afraid to lose you too. Little and muffled sobs start to fill the air as the demon tries to hold you as close as possible.

     << Crowley? >>

You caress his head, trying to escape his grip to look at him.

     << I'm sorry... >> he muffles in tears.

His head is against your chest. Tears are starting to wet your skin.

     << Hey... No, no, no. Hey, look at me. Please, look at me, Crowley... >>

You take off his glasses. Once you look at his eyes, your stomach tightens. His eyes are full of sorrow, ache and distress. And it all makes you feel awful. It's like you can't do anything to make him feel better...

You manage to take his face in your hand. You voluntarily start to caress his cheeks with your thumbs while you look into each other's eyes. And what you see breaks your heart.

Crowley's lips are a little parted, quick breaths leaving and entering his mouth. His cheeks are starting to get wet too. The eyebrows narrowed in an expression of pain. 

The demon makes a face, like he has something to say about that, but you don't give him the chance.

     << I-I'm sorry. I should not... >>

He tries to avoid eye contact. 

     << No, hey... Hey. It's okay, darling. It's not your fault. >>

     << But it is! >> He finally looks at you. << If I wasn't the way I am, maybe Aziraphale- >>

     << Do not dare finish what you are about to say! >> You snap.

Your voice is trembling with anger and pain. How could he think that?

<< I don't know what that idiot was thinking. But he shouldn't have said that! And mostly, you mustn't even consider that! How could you even think that there's something wrong with you? That you're the messed up one?

<< Every time I look at you, I fall in love with you even more. I love everything about you! How you say that you're evil and not nice after saying or doing the sweetest and most beautiful things that even an angel can't do! You are infinitely better than a legion of angels. Aziraphale included. >>

     << Aziraphale does not define you, my love. I know that it fucking hurts. Him choosing heaven over us hurt me, and I can't imagine how heartbroken you must feel right now... But he had no right to tell you to change for him. Love is not like that. Love is not changing the other person. Love is feeling like you own the fucking world! Like you've been struck by lightning every time you see them... Love is supposed to make you feel like this. >>

You take his hand and place it against your chest. Your heartbeat is accelerated. The demon can feel it under his hand and thinks it's the most beautiful music he's ever listened to in centuries. 

Your eyes lock one last time. Every limb of your body is linked to the other, trying both be close.

You discover that you're crying once Crowley slowly slides his hand from your chest, then to your neck and to one of your cheeks, wiping the tears from your skin. He then cups your head with both hands, leaning closer to kiss the new tears forming. Your eyes are closed. You try to enjoy this moment that you indulge with the other. You put your hands on Crowley's wrists, rubbing them with your thumbs. Suddenly you feel something odd.

     << You have a heartbeat... >>

You open your eyes only to see that Crowley is already looking at you.

Under your fingers, you can feel his fast heartbeat.

     << I didn't know you had one. >>

     << In your defence, I didn't tell you... >> replied, starting to wander his hand along your hips. He felts like the luckiest entity in the entire universe.

     << Is it supposed to be this rapid? >>

You see him smile a little, then look at your eyes.

     << Didn't you say that love was supposed to feel like that? >>

Crowley leans closer, one hand on your hair. Once your lips meet, you feel fireworks spreading all over you. The demon's lips are so soft against yours. Kissing you with gentleness as if you were made out of porcelain.

You blush and smile.

He does the same. The first real smile after Aziraphale's departure, even if it's little.

His trusts are slow but deep.

Then, he slips the other hand around your hips, bringing you close as he thrusts deep inside you. A moan dies in your mouth.

Crowley smirks a little before he resumes kissing you. His hands are both on your hips as he's helping you move.

Your eyes are locked as your messy breaths get mixed. Sometimes you kiss, but you prefer to look at each other. You can't explain why. You just feel a deeper connection between you. Like you are making love with your souls too.

-.-.-.-.-.-

You continue moving without saying a word. Smiling, touching, squeezing and scratching (on your part) one another.

And when you come, it's like you feel complete and truly loved.

Your foreheads touch as you start panting and giggling. 

Moments before, after you got dressed, you asked your favourite demon if he could pick a movie while you were calling your favourite takeaway restaurant.

     << What are you doing? >>

Crowley quickly turns towards you. A pillow is still in his hands.

Once the call ended, you saw his figure walk the hallway one last time before disappearing. You came to understand that he went outside, in the garden. You decide to sneak out and follow him.

As you were talking with one of the staff, in the corner of your eye, you could see Crowley walking the hallway front and back multiple times. Different things in his hands every time he passed in front of you.

You were so curious and amused that you almost forgot you were ordering food.

Under the moon's soft light, you can see that the grass is covered with blankets and pillows. Over them, there's a bottle of wine and two glasses; while the outside was filled with battery candles.

You can't move or form a single sentence. Your mouth, on the other hand, is curved in the most beautiful smile the demon has ever seen.

Crowley's now looking at you. A nervous smile on his lips.

     << Surprise!>> He throws the pillow on the blankets with the others. << Do you like it? >>

     << I-I... don't know what to say.>>

He walked closer, putting his hands on your hips. << I thought we'd have a post-love-making/little night picnic date under the stars. I figured it'd be nice to talk about the constellations and all that celestial stuff you enjoy while we get drunk. >> he smugly smirks as he hears your chuckle.

-.-.-.-.-.-

With a snap, the two glasses get filled. Crowley passes you one. << What do you say? >>

     << I'm all yours.>>

He smiles at you and kisses you passionately.

     << You know... I've always wanted to ask something. >>

You two have just finished eating and are now on the blankets, cuddling and trying to get drunk.

     Crowley has spent all dinner talking about the stars. He also told you about his time as a nebula creator. You could see a sparkle in his eyes as he spoke. Some sadness behind it, too. Even if he tried to hide it.

Crowley was amused by all of this.

     << Shoot. >>

     << What's it like having someone making up stories about your work? You know, the constellations and so on... >>

     << Oh. Well... I don't mind. It's like reading- What is that you read... Ehm... -Yes! Fanfiction. It's like reading a fanfiction. I don't mind. >>

     You chuckle, a little flustered. << I don't read fanfiction! >>

     He brings the glass to his lips. << Oh yes, you do! Every time I see you with your phone and reading something, you always giggle and kick your feet- >>

     << How dare you! I do not! >>

     << Oh, yes, you do! >>

You laugh. Your face turn all red by now. << You liar! >>

You both chuckle and lean against the other. The demon's free hand is now running up and down your arm. His head is on yours as he leaves a kiss.

     << Thank you. >> you said, breaking the silence. << I loved all of this. >>

Crowley smiles, proud of himself. << Glad you like it. >>

He put his glass near yours and made them touch. A little high-pitched "tin" followed after. << To the perfect night. >>

     << But I have to admit... >> You continue, teasingly raising an eyebrow. << you seemed flustered when I found you setting all up.>>

     &lt;< Flustered? Me? Nonsense!>>

You chuckle, leaning in to peck him on the cheek. Your affectionate gaze never leaves his.

He couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth in his heart that had nothing to do with the wine. 

     << Jokes aside, you know how to make a moment last forever.>>

Crowley looks at the wine in his glass. A soft and smug smile on his face.

     << Well, I must admit, this wasn't originally on my plan... >> he confesses.

     << What do you mean? >>

Crowley shifted slightly, trying to find the right words to explain himself.

     << I mean... I had planned to take you and... Azirapahle out on a proper date tonight. >> He admitted, his voice soft and hesitant. << I wanted it to be perfect, you know? Wine, dine, and all that... >>

A suffering smile is on his face as he gunks down his wine.

     << I wanted tonight to be special...>> he softly admitted, looking at his empty glass before grabbing the bottle. << You know... after a week of... well, hell. >> He pours the rubin liquor. << For you. For me... for him. For us. >> 

     You take his hand and kiss it. << Well, I must say, this night picnic under the stars was a perfect first day. >>

     He looks at you, uncertain. << Really? >>

     You kiss him and nod, smiling. << Today was hard... >>

     << Yep. >> he takes another sip of wine and clicks his tongue.

     << But this has been the best date I have ever been to! >>

He smiles, looks again into your eyes and says only two words: << Thank you. >>

You know that he's not talking about the date.

You kiss him again and look at him, stroking his tattoed cheek.

     << Don't even mention it. >>