#((I'm actually falling in love with this hold on))

[the-original-skipps]

|| Abs! Abs! Abs! || Honkai Star Rail Reactions II

anaxa and his lightcome came home so imma drop this and scurry away i know some people are gonna come at me like sunday and anaxa don't got abs theyre lean yeah well stomach, abs whatever man lol

When you ask them for an ab pic.

: Aventurine. Sunday. Phainon. Mydei. Anaxa.

cw: suggestiveness. established relationship. gn!reader. possible oocness. half naked men. art used does not belong to me but credited to it's rightful owner.

❥ Aventurine can feel his smirk growing as he reads your text. You're way too predictable. He's heard about this fad trending nowadays on social media along with a bicep pic? He's not surprised you jumped on the trend too. The blonde is a definite tease so he'll have his fun teasing you by saying maybe or asking you for a picture back. You were on the verge of giving up until he suddenly sent the picture.

Aventurine is very casual about the whole thing. He knows he has a good magnificent body and he knows how to take a good picture. He takes some pictures, checking them for a moment to find the right one before pressing send. What he's looking forward to now is seeing how you'd react to it. Oh, he can't wait to tease you more.

The picture he sends is of him sitting on some lavish sofa. His signature turquoise dress shirt unbuttoned all the way showcasing his abs. A wine glass in one hand while the other angles his phone down so that his abs are fully captured on screen. 

"Mhmm I don't know, what do I get in return for sending you such a picture?"

❥ Sunday tilts his head in confusion. Ab pic? A picture of his abdominal muscles? The request came out of nowhere and it surprises and confuses him. What could you use such a picture for? He sighs, shaking his head. There's no use mulling over its purpose. A small smile graces his face. He could never deny you, no matter how strange your requests may be.

Sunday spends quite a while a few hours on taking the perfect picture. It's not his fault he keeps finding faults in every single picture he has taken. He needs it to be perfect for you! Until he realizes how long you've been waiting for the picture. After what seemed to be forever, he finally settles on a picture he's satisfied with. He hesitates on sending it until he wills himself to just do it. His feathers could fall off with how nervous he is for your reply.

It's a picture of him reluctantly/shyly holding his dress shirt up. His eyes looking away while his wings cover half of his face in embarrassment. If you look closely his cheeks are dusted pink. 

"Abs pic? I'm not sure what that is but if it will delight you...I'll do my best to fulfill your wish, my love."

❥ Phainon smiles in glee at your request. His invisible tail is wagging as he reads your text multiple times. With each read his invisible tail wagging harder. Ask and you shall receive, of course!

Phainon doesn't waste any time, he's already pulling out his phone to open his camera app. Then quickly discards his shirt - carelessly tossing it aside. He doesn't think much about the pose or what angle the picture should be taken. He claims he just knows how the picture should be taken - it's all in the feeling. He aims the camera so that his abs are in frame and spams the capture button. After a while, he does change poses. Despite how carefree he looks he's actually taking this very seriously. He needs to send the most perfect picture to you.

He doesn't just send one but he sends all the pictures he has taken. The more the better or so he claims. Your phone is ringing non stop from notifications because he sent around 24 pictures. They're all in different poses, angles and expressions. One is zoomed in on his abs while the other shows his entire very toned body. Wait, is that a rose in between his lips?

"Are you sure you're happy with just these? I can send you thirty more...!"

❥ Mydei raises his eyebrow in confusion but it is quickly replaced with a smirk on his face. So, you want a picture of his abs. Very well, he supposes he can make that happen. Only you would dare ask such a thing from the Prince of Castrum Kremnos. He finds your boldness both amusing and attractive at the same time.

Mydei doesn't waste any time. He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture before immediately sending it back to you. The golden lion knows he doesn't need to worry if the picture is good or not. He knows it's good no matter what angle it's taken from. You'll definitely be pleased, he knows it. Though, a mere image made up of pixels would never be able to beat the real thing. He thinks about asking you to come over or maybe he can go to you. The picture is great don't get him wrong but he wants you to see how much better it is in person.

He only sends one picture but it gets the message across. His abs are magnificent as if the gods themselves had sculpted them. He doesn't wear a shirt so he doesn't need to teasingly lift it up. No, he shows it in all its glory. He sits on a throne-like chair, his chin resting in his hand while the other holds the phone.

"Why want a picture when you can come see the real thing."

❥ Anaxa has to resist the urge to scoff when he sees your text pop up. Another one of these nonsensical trends he assumes. He quickly dismisses the thought, deeming it a waste of his time and effort to do - setting his phone aside in favor of grading test papers.

After a while, he finds himself thinking back to your text. He's supposed to be finished grading these test papers by now but all he can think about is your disappointed expression. He nearly slams his pen down on the table before letting out a defeated sigh. Dammit, the things you make him do for you.

Anaxa finds himself irritated at having to do such a thing. He tries taking different pictures but none of them are satisfactory enough for him. He's not very good at this. He knows he shouldn't be wasting so much time and effort for a simple picture but the thought of your lackluster reaction makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He takes a few more before finally settling on a picture. Angle? Good. Lighting? Good. Overall, not bad. He clicks the send button. Now he has distracted himself enough to not think about your response.

The picture is relatively simple. It's a picture of Anaxa sitting in his office but it's angled so that you can only see his lower half. His gloved hand lifting up his shirt revealing his abs. Might as well frame it because he might not do this for you again. He will.

"By the law of equivalent exchange, it's only fair that you send me one back too."

[yuansie]

(2) even when there was rain, sunshine came

pairing. caleb x fem! childhood friend! non mc! reader (x childhood bsf! zayne)

synopsis. caleb planted a seed in your heart when you were both young, nurturing it without meaning to until it sprouted and blossomed. it shouldn't have grown this much, not when you knew you could never have him.

genres/aus. angst, fluff, f2l, unrequited love, childhood f2l

warnings. slight ooc caleb (i have not read homecoming or wtv that chapter is called BC my laptop died on me. but maybe ill get to it today since i got it on my bros pc HELP), NOT canon compliant oops (no higher being placing a curse on zayne, no experimentation done on mc and caleb bc josephine is a good person this time BYEEEE), mentions/descriptions of crying, a kiss YUCK, caleb himself is a warning tbh. if there's anything i'm missing, please let me know!

rating. sfw but make it lowk very angsty but fluffy ish at the same time.

wc. 4 k

a/n. not proof read, we die like redacted i mean what who said that. posts this rn bc i dont want to wait till midnight to post haha #lolsies also, i feel like the mood just progressively gets worse for yn 😭 like i give yn brief happiness and then BAM im like her opp, someone needs to take me out bc why am i doing this to her 💔 sorry yn i swear i love you 💔 happy early update bc im going to be busy w hw this weekend ❤️‍🔥

winter blues seep into your skin when you’re thirteen and alone during your winter break.

mc, caleb, and granny josephine went on a vacation outside linkon city, your mom has been working night shifts at the hospital as of late, your dad is in skyhaven, and zayne won’t be coming back this break.

in fact, he hasn’t once visited during his breaks from school since he started college.

you sit at the living room’s window, watching outside the glass as white specks fall from the sky.

snow.

despite being inside the comfort of your home, shielded from the biting cold of winter, you feel like your whole body is frozen over.

it’s so cold.

and caleb isn’t there to keep you warm.

a soft chime comes from your phone that sits on the empty space of the large couch you’re on. the phone was a gift from your dad after you told him that you’d like to talk to him and zayne more often. the screen turns on, and you stare at the notification.

zayne li: Hello.

the screen dims for a second before brightening again.

zayne li: I would like to say something.

there’s a knock on the door.

you reach out, your fingers wrapping around the device. you’re getting ready to type a response when another knock is heard, then another one.

and another one.

and another one.

with a sigh, you place it back down and head towards the front door. you don't even bother to check through the peephole beforehand and just open it.

“you’re here.” you gape at the older boy standing on your porch. zayne is taller now, his hair the slightest bit longer, his features a little sharper, but his hazel gaze is still warm and gentle. he stands in front of you, a suitcase to his left, and he wears a scarf around his neck along with a black trench coat.

the corners of his lips are curved upwards into a small smile. “i’m here.”

you want to hug him, but instead you open the door wider. he walks in and his body acts like clockwork whenever he’s over: he takes off his shoes and places them neatly next to yours, he hangs his coat if he has one with him at the moment, he takes a step forwards and turns around, always looking back at you to follow.

you fling yourself at him, and he catches you with ease. the tension you held melts away with his touch. your feet are in the air as he holds you tightly, and it makes you laugh. he was always taller than you, but not this tall. zayne’s cheek is next to yours, and you’re suddenly aware that despite standing outside in the biting cold, he’s actually quite…

“you’re—”

“warm.” you mumble, nuzzling closer to his neck.

zayne hums. “so are you.” you feel his smile.

like always—before he left—you take him to your room where you both end up talking and talking until the sky is dark, both of you on your bed.

“zayne, you still haven't made any friends?”

zayne looks away from you. “have you made any friends?”

you stay silent, and he continues with a quick glance at you. “he’s still distant?”

“yes…”

caleb’s been distant ever since the start of eighth grade.

you no longer study for tests with him because she needs help, and it's not like you need to study anyways because you’re so smart. while there is truth in his words, you always study with him because you like being with him.

you’re alone at lunch because he wants to keep her company—not that she needs it since she already has a group of friends.

honestly, you saw this coming from a mile away. the perfect excuse came in the shape and form of mc. you knew he regretted it, knew that he would act like nothing happened while slowly distancing himself from you.

it was the only solution he had after what happened that night.

in the beginning of june, you come to realize that there’s been a weird tension since you gifted each other the necklace. you don't know how you didn’t notice it sooner: the way he hovers closer to you, how his hands ghost your skin when he brushes against you, how his eyes linger on you for a beat longer than usual.

he titters over the fine line that is your friendship, crossing it for a second before retreating back.

you tried, you really did try, but he makes it so easy; it’s so easy to love him.

“what’s the occasion?”

you glance to the side and find caleb peering over your shoulder with ease, the silver chain of his necklace glimmering as it dangles against your shoulder, his eyes staring at the steam wafting into the air from the apple pie, his gaze flickering over to you. his lips curl upwards, his boyish smile making you tense slightly before relaxing. you focus on the pie. “just wanted to bake one.”

“*just ‘*cause you wanted to?” his tone has a teasing lilt, but you know that underneath it lies curiosity and skepticism. he doesn’t believe you. there must be a reason because why else would you bake a pie so late? why would you invite him over in the evening and ask him to stay?

so you tell him half the truth. “i haven’t baked one in a while,” you mummer, “and…”

“and?”

you love him. you love his stupid smile and the stupid freckles on his skin.

you take a quick look at him. the yellow light above the stove casts shadows over his face from his hair as he looks down at you. he’s grown too tall and now you stand right at his shoulders, his shoulders have gotten wider. his features from his childhood are starting to grow sharper. he’s no longer the eight-year-old boy with big, round eyes; he’s a soon to be fourteen-year-old with a sharp gaze.

dang it.

you love caleb. you love caleb’s stupid laugh and his stupid personality.

you slowly breathe in. “i’m leaving tomorrow noon, so… i wanted to be the first.”

he hums. “the first to what?”

“to wish you a happy birthday.”

at this, he snorts. “my birthday is tomorrow.”

“actually,” you point at the digital clock of the stove, the green numbers reading midnight. “it’s right now.”

he remains silent as you open a drawer, fishing out a lone candle and a lighter. carefully placing the candle onto the pie, you light it and turn around, forcing caleb to take a few steps back. he blinks once and then twice, staring a the burning candle. his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, barely noticeable to the naked eye had you not been so close to him. and his eyes, a light shade of amethyst, have golden specks in them that flicker.

“happy birthday to you.” you quietly sing, a smile present on your lips. you watch as his gaze snaps to you, how he stares intently at you. “happy birthday, dear cal, happy birthday to you…” you pause before quietly adding, “make a wish.”

caleb doesn’t say anything. he looks at you for a beat longer before lowering his head and closing his eyes, pursing his lips and then blowing out the candle. he stays like that, with his eyes closed, for a few seconds. then, his eyes slowly flutter open, staring at you immediately. heat blossoms on your neck and crawls up to your cheeks. you abruptly turn and place the pie down on the counter, fumbling around in search of a knife.

“what did you wish for?” you laugh nervously, your heart skipping a beat because you can still feel his gaze on you.

he doesn’t say anything.

“cal?” you turn around, your breath hitching in your throat, eyes widening at the sudden proximity. your heart hammers inside your chest. no, it isn’t from the close proximity, it’s from his eyes. they stare at you with an intensity you have never seen directed at you.

only at her.

his pupils are dilated, his amethyst gaze flickering down before going back to your eyes. “i wished for something only you,” he pauses, licking his lips, “can grant.”

“and what would that be?” your voice is barely above that of a whisper. you tremble as he gets closer, and your back meets the rough edges of the counter. your hands grab onto it to steady yourself, and his hands rest on your hips, strong and calm.

caleb crosses the line.

he leans in closer and closer until your noses are touching, your lips almost connecting. his eyes don’t stray again and remain on yours. “do you trust me?”

“of course, i do.” you breathe out. “more than anyone.”

“then… please grant me my wish.”

and he closes his eyes, the sliver of space separating each other no longer doing so. his lips are on yours, and your eyes are shut tight. it’s brief, the kiss, and caleb pulls back. his breathing comes out heavy and unsteady before he’s diving back in, the next kiss now intense and burning.

he hums. “you’re shivering… am i making you nervous?”

of course he is.

you love him.

the words are right at the tip of your tongue.

“…screw you.” you huff, feeling embarrassed.

you love him.

caleb pulls away just the slightest bit, the corner of his lip lifting into a lazy grin. “maybe in the future, yeah.”

maybe…

“caleb xia!” you hiss, releasing a hand from its tight grip on the counter to smack his arm. “what is wrong with you?”

“a lot of things,” he sighs, resting his forehead on your own. “but you know how to deal with that.”

maybe he loves you, too. maybe he loved you all along.

“shut up.”

his grin is now soft against your lips. “whatever you say, pipsqueak.”

you freeze.

pipsqueak.

and just like that his touch is gone and he’s already a good distance away from you, almost as if you burnt him. tears prickle at your eyes, and they want to fall down your cheek. you will yourself to not cry, to not let him ever have the right to see you cry. he only stares at you with horror swimming in his purple irises.

caleb fucking xia was thinking about her while kissing you.

pipsqueak.

pipsqueak.

her.

her.

HER.

it's always her.

never you.

the warmth he showed you was never truly for you. was he projecting his desires on you all this time? in his mind, was he seeing her in you?

dang it.

how could you do this to yourself? how could you forget?

he will never be yours.

“i—”

“this never happened,” you say, harshly wiping away the stray tear that managed to fall. your voice is wobbly, but you try to remain calm as you twist around and stare down at the stupid apple pie.

“y/n—”

you hate him.

you hate him.

you hate yourself.

“it’s late,” you mumble. “i have to wake up early for my trip to verona… you should go now.”

you know that caleb has been distant since then, feigning that everything is alright in front of mc when you returned a week before the start of the new school year.

now look at where you are.

the necklace that hangs around your neck is heavy and cold to the touch.

“what’s that?”

“hm?” you look down at what he’s eyeing. “oh. cal gave this to me.” you lift it with a finger.

“…caleb gave that to you?” he asks.

“uh-huh.”

he pinches his brows together. “you wear that despite how he’s acting towards you?”

you shrug, though you don't look at him. “he still—”

cares? he still what? what are you trying to say? who are you even trying to fool: zayne or yourself?

zayne says your name, his voice low. “you put far more effort into this friendship than he does. it should be the same.”

you tense up. zayne is right; you put too much effort into a friendship that won't last much longer, the fire that once burned so brightly in the beginning now dying. it’s only a matter of time before embers are all that is left.

but caleb is the sun to you, and you’re like the moon. so close yet so far, forced to only see and feel it for a brief amount of time. has your time run out with the sun? are you going back to the shadow of the earth?

and to caleb, she is like the sun. he is mercury, the closest planet to it. a planet that yearns to get closer to her even when he is right there, willing to be consumed by the sun’s fire.

“have you thought about what the principal said?”

before the winter break started, the principal of your school asked you if you’d like to skip grades. much like zayne, you were far smarter than the kids in school. according to the principal, you could graduate early like your best friend.

the front door bell rings, echoing in the silent house. you get off the bed, mumbling, “i’ll be right back.”

you head down the stairs and open the door, blinking in surprise at the girl.

“we’re back!” she grins, and holds a bag in her hands up to her eyes. “i come bearing gifts!"

“you must be freezing,” you step to the side and let her in as she laughs.

“i am! it’s pretty cold outside.” the girl slips a glove off one of her hands, pressing it against your cheek. she giggles when you flinch at her cold skin.

weird. zayne was so warm even after standing outside for who knows how long before you let him in.

she takes a step inside and slightly bounces on her feet. “i won’t take long! gran is almost done with dinner.” she quickly takes off her other glove.

“did you just come back?” you ask, closing the door.

“an hour ago!” the girl says. “i wanted to play in the park first since it's snowing, you know! caleb got too tired afterwards so he went back inside to take a nap.”

“oh.”

she doesn't seem to notice the disappointment in your voice, instead opening the bag. she takes out a box, a snow globe inside. the crystal ball holds a close replica to the night sky, and when you shake it, white specks fly. “i had it custom made! i remember that you said you liked winter and the sky when it’s nighttime because the deepspace tunnel isn't noticeable.”

“you remember?”

“of course, i do! you know, i asked caleb for advice on what to get you. he said something small would be fine, but i wanted to make it really special for you. for you two being best friends and all, he has terrible memory when it comes to what you like!” she huffs through her nose, shaking her head. “he was so surprised when i decided on a snow globe and told the old man how i’d like it to look.”

he forgot about what you like while you remember every single little detail about him. of course, he doesn't remember.

you aren't her.

“there’s a little switch at the bottom that lights the bottom up. i asked the old man if he could make the base like one of those nightlights that cast different shapes on the walls, and…” with a pause, she grabs your hands and continues, “i really hope you like it.”

you put the snow globe gently down on the nearest surface, and take hold of the girl’s hands, squeezing them. “i love it. thank you so much, mc.”

she lets out a sigh of relief, squeezing your hands back. “i’m so glad! really, i’m so happy you like it. i wanted to show you my gratitude for not treating me differently since the incident.”

“anyone could tell that you didn't like being treated like you were a frail flower.”

“caleb didn’t.”

you’re about to say something when a glint catches your eye. you look down and see a silver chain around her neck. “what’s that?” you ask.

the girl beams and takes out a necklace that was neatly tucked inside her shirt.

your heart sinks to the floor and shatters.

“isn’t it cute?” she holds the chain out, a small, silver sun hanging from it. the purple gem in the middle glimmers in the lighting of the living room. “i found this hidden in caleb’s things and he gave it to me, said he was planning on giving it to me because he said i’m like the sun.”

you’re a blind fool.

you were so blind to that fact that you’re a moth and caleb’s a flame. you got too close to the fire and now you’re left in pain.

the worse part is that you knew—you knew, and yet you still decided to get close, to delude yourself into believing that there was more to what meets the eye.

you actually accept the truth you didn’t want to: caleb can never and will never be yours.

it’s time for the sun to set in your sky.

you never imagined to experience your first and last winter break of high school when you’re fourteen. you always imagined that you’d be eighteen alongside caleb, that you’d graduate together after four years of rivalry for the valedictorian spot of your graduating class. you thought that you’d get to see him tryout for the basketball team and watch him make it, that you’d cheer him on during his games and even go to the ones at different schools. maybe you’d find a sport that you liked and try out for the team, and caleb would be there every step of the way because you know he’d say something stupid along the lines of him claiming to be your hype man. on exam weeks, you imagined that he’d somehow find a way for you to help him study and then you’d barely review a single thing because caleb would drag you to the park to hangout instead. you thought that you’d see each other apply to the academy and watch each other getting in.

your first and last year of high school couldn’t have been more different.

your goals are to reach the sky, to move to skyhaven and attend the aerospace academy, to get into the DAA afterwards and work alongside your dad in his fleet. you and caleb used to walk on the same path, yet now you walk it alone. you study alone, you work alone, you persevere alone.

caleb doesn't.

he studies with friends because she tells you about it whenever she texts you, or sometimes you happen to pass by the library and see him inside with a group of people. he works with friends, and you see it firsthand when you hurry past the gym and happen to catch a glimpse of him and group of people together. he perseveres with friends because she tells you about how caleb is always doing a group project with his classmates.

he isn’t alone.

even now during winter, you see him head out almost everyday. she tells you that sometimes it's because he’s hanging out with friends, other times he tells her it's a secret. if it's a secret, then he's probably planning a surprise for her.

and you’re proven right when you decide to scroll down the moments page, your finger hovering over a picture she had uploaded. it’s slightly blurry, but you can tell that she holds a necklace to the camera with a bright grin, caleb’s lips matching hers from behind. the caption read: caleb got me a necklace for my birthday! and it’s a pretty thing—the chain is a vibrant gold, a beautiful charm in the form of a sun hanging from it with a pink gem at the venter. it is pretty, unlike the necklace he had gifted you. the silver chain has lost its color, now sporting random splotches of bronze, and the beads have scratches on them, the color chipping off little by little.

it is a replacement; or rather, it is meant to finally get rid of the one you gifted him that he gave to her. maybe he thought it was a bothersome stain that he desperately wanted to get rid of, to finally be free of his last attachment to you.

you click on caleb’s profile and block him.

you need to uproot the already grown plant in your heart, you need to yank it and toss it out.

“earth to little star~”

little star, a nickname your dad gave you shortly after you were born. you asked him why he calls you that one time, and he told you that it’s because you likes to think you’re one of the stars he sees in the sky when he’s far from home.

you look up to find your dad standing over you, smiling.

“you were so focused you didn’t even hear me knock on your door,” he says, sitting down next to you on your bed. “what's troubling you?” his lips curl upwards into a mischievous smile. “are you sulking because zayne hasn't texted you yet?”

and just like that, caleb no longer haunts your mind—the sadness, however, clings to you. that won't leave.

you purse your lips and huff. “i do not sulk while i wait for him to respond to my texts.”

you want to tell your dad that you sulk because you prefer talking to zayne in person. you miss seeing him in front of you. but you won't tell him; you know that he’ll tease you and then tell your mom and then she’ll tell zayne’s mom and then zayne will know.

your dad cocks an eyebrow at you. “are you sure about that?”

“yes.”

“uh-huh,” he slowly says, “whatever you say then.”

you fall backwards onto your bed and squint your eyes at the older man. your dad doesn’t have his uniform on; instead, he wears his pjs. it makes you realize that you almost never see him this… free. he doesn’t wear what ties him down to the fleet. and yet… something is plaguing his mind, weighing down on his shoulders so that it slumps.

“something on your mind?” you ask.

he slowly smiles, his middle and index finger pinching your nose softly. “what would you say if i decided to retire from the fleet?”

you shoot up, eyes wide. “what?”

your dad sighs, his smile still there. “well, i’ve been thinking a lot. my little star is fourteen and she’s set to graduate this may. you’re growing up so fast, and i haven’t been there. shouldn’t it be time that i stay home to watch you keep growing?”

“…is that what you want?” you finally say. you tilt your head to the side and eye your dad, gauging his expression.

he looks content.

“yeah,” he breathes out, slow and steady. “that’s what i want.”

your dad’s shoulders are relaxed, and you think that like him, you’d like to watch him grow older with your mom.

it’s a shame that doesn't happen.

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taglist (open). @ellieevu @ryusjwks @llamabois @kazbrkker @1ncpst @babythotbox @angelwhizpers @miffysoo @justpassingdontworry @syubseokie @pirana10 @loreleis-world @babythotbox @glitterykingdomangel @lemonwithstupidity @mihanisms @jetterdonna @orianakira @perqbeth @moonlight-inthe-sea

[hedwig221b]

On the topic of OG Hale pack fics, any super good sterek ones that really focus on Stiles and the pack but have the flavor of your Derek? I love your Sterek fics but man I'm always sad the Hale Pack doesn't feature more prominently. (Og hales being derek, boyd, erica, issac, jackson, and peter.)

yk you should really ask the op @homemadesterekpie since she actually wrote that beautiful post

Stop Crossing Oceans by greenleaf

"There are no absolutes, Scott! No hard rights or hard wrongs! The world doesn’t fucking work that way and we can’t afford to think like that, because people are going to die! We signed up for that the moment we got involved with all this!” “We? We?” Scott hisses. “Don’t you think you? Don’t forget that you’re the one who dragged us into that forest the night it all started, Stiles. So if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours.” Something inside Stiles cracks, so strong and so deep that he practically hears it.

My Mother Told Me by Renmackree

Stiles joined the Emissary program to help Alpha wolves settle into their new roles and to follow in his mother’s footsteps. She had always told him he was destined to run with the wolves, but he thought she meant Scott and his pack. Instead, Stiles finds himself sent to Thingvallavatn, Iceland, with Alpha Derek Hale. It's clear the Alpha is hiding a part of him that Stiles can’t reach, but when a monster comes to threaten the pack, it’s always great to have someone in your corner with a little mischief up their sleeve

Choice by Omni

Derek knows what it feels like to not really have a choice, what it's like to be manipulated. He'd never take away someone's right to choose freely. The fear of even accidentally doing so is enough to hold him back from acting on his own feelings. Stiles has never had a problem making his own choices, and fuck anyone who would try to tell him he can't. (Or: Stiles gets bitten by a different alpha, but of course would prefer to have Derek as his alpha. And also just, you know, have Derek.)

The Comfort of Coming Down by MadcapRomantic

Stiles isn't the only human in the pack, but, more often than not, he's the most vulnerable.

Derek Didn't Know What To Do But Maybe Stiles Did by tiedtogetherwithadagger

He let his head fall onto Stiles’ shoulder with a sigh of relief. He wasn't losing his pack, at least not tonight. Erica would be okay. “Thank you,” Derek exhaled into Stiles’ hoodie. “Always,” Stiles said.

The Human of the Pack by smilingbuckley

Slowly, Derek's pack starts to act nice to Stiles and accept him in the pack after Scott basically abandoned him to have his secret moments with Allison.

The Boy Who Tamed the Sourwolf by AllTheseSquaresMakeACircle

Stiles is used to being second tier in everyone's life. How easily people forget him and move on to bigger and better things. Used to always being in someone's shadow. Leave it to Derek Hale to shatter those expectations.

Go Away, Scott by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere

After the incident at the warehouse, Stiles is fed up with Scott. He finds himself drawn into Derek’s pack and in the process, drawn to Derek himself. With the Alpha Pack closing in, Derek needs to learn how to trust his pack and those around him. And who better to help him than Stiles?

Protect and Serve by MoonlitMemories

Stiles discovers the Nemeton starting to grow again in the preserve on Hale land. What does that mean for the pack? More importantly: why does the Nemeton seem so attached to Stiles?

Anthracite by LupusScintilla (inkandblade)

It's been a quiet few years, and the McCall Pack has grown and settled. But, when the Hale Pack return to Beacon Hills they find Scott isn't as welcoming as they had hoped. Soon they, Stiles, and Lydia, find out that not everything about the McCall Pack is as it has always seemed.

also if my fics make you sad then maybe write your own with all the characters that you want ❤

[masterlist link]

[coldeforprez]

Is It The Way; 2003 • 01

Elias "Stack" Moore has "loved" and lost more than his fair share of women— and rarely thinks twice about it. But He can never seem to let go of her. There's only so much a man—alive or otherwise—can take. And he's been a gentleman long enough, right?

pairing: vampire!Stack x black!OC warnings: ORIGINAL CHARACTER (I love my bb Della Mae with my whole heart and will accept no slander - ty, mgmt. ) ANGST, this fic is VERY self-indulgent, suggestive themes, swearing, implied violence, established relationship, their relationship is kinda toxic but they're just two ppl who love each other okay?!, You get edged again cause no smut till part two :3 (this is a series we gotta do some world building besties) word count: 3.9k

dear reader 💌: hey pookie! I really appreciate the support and love that yall showed the teaser for the first installment of my new series To Have and To Hold ! I have been fighting for my life trying to get this out and honestly, I'm being super picky so I decided to just throw it out there :0 ! That and I can't focus on anything because it's taking up so much space in my head. Anyway ENJOY !

This story is told in a non-linear fashion. Like memories resurfacing.

winter of 1912.

Elias looks up from his spot leaning against the brick pillar—he and Smoke running their usual pickpocketing schemes down at the train station.

Feeling a stare on him, his eyes dart around the crowded platform looking for the source. His gaze skips over her at first—then returns.

She can’t be more than 16 years old; potentially making her only 2 years his junior. Her eyes twinkle with mischief like she’d been watching the twins longer than they knew. She stands next to an older woman and two younger boys, worn suitcases at their feet. Her hand-me-down dress fluttering softly in the winter breeze.

He tilts his head, confused—he’s never seen the girl or her people around town before. Turning to his twin brother, he taps him and asks, in a low voice, “Aye’, you ever seen lil’ mama in the brown dress ‘round here befoe’?”

The elder twin looks up from where he’s counting their earnings—it won’t be enough for a satisfying meal, but it’ll keep the hunger pains away for the night.

His eyes follow Stacks’ gaze to the retreating form of the young girl and her family. He cuts his eyes at his younger brother,

“Well, since I ain’t her maker, I’m not real capable of identifying ole’ girl from the back.”

Stack curls his lip, side-eyeing him. “What you always bein’ smart for? You know what—actually, I don’t give a damn. How much money we make?”

fall of 1914. The air smelled sweet—like honey, heat and the blossoms overhead. Della was leaning back on her palms in the grass, feet bare, Elias’ hat tossed aside beside her. The magnolia tree stretched wide above them like a crown, its branches heavy with blooms, thick petals littering the ground around her.

Elias stood a few feet away, trying to toss a pebble high enough to knock down one of the blossoms—she swore she could catch it mid-air.

“You gon’ miss again,” Del teased, grinning, “and I’ma laugh just as hard as I did the last five times.” he cut his eyes at her, squinting up at the branch, tongue peeking out in concentration. “I ain’t missin’. I’m doin’ warm-up tosses lil’ girl.”

“Ohhh okay! So that’s what you gone call it?” she laughed, tipping her head back until her coils brushed the grass.

He launched another pebble;hitting the branch just right. A magnolia bloom dropped—twirling slowly towards the ground—and Del leapt up with a gleam in her eye, catching it right against her chest. “Ha!” she beamed, spinning to show him. “I was right! Told you I’d catch it.”

He looked at her for a beat too long, he thinks her cheeks should be hurting from how hard she’s grinning. Her smile wide, singular dimple showing. “You always are.” he said softly, hands slipping into his pockets.

She slowed, watching him like she wasn’t used to that tone in his voice. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he said quickly, tugging at his collar anxiously. “Just… you somethin’ else, that’s all.”

Del tucked the magnolia bloom behind her ear and shrugged, but she was smiling too big to play it cool. “I guess you ain’t too bad yourself.”

summer of 1917. The sun was dipping low, casting amber light across the magnolia tree where they always met. Della was halfway through tying her braid when Elias flopped onto the grass beside her, arms folded behind his head, like it was just another Sunday.

“You ever think ‘bout what France smell like?” he asked, watching the clouds.

She side-eyed him. “France?”

He nodded, still staring skyward. “Yeah. I heard it smell like perfume and fresh bread. Kinda place folks write poems about.”

Della squinted at him, confused. “Why you talkin’ ‘bout France?”

He sat up slower this time, like his body felt heavier than usual. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his hands, rubbing at his thumb—he was stalling.

“Got my papers.” ,he grumbled

She blinked. “For what?”

“…The war, Dove. I gotta go.”

Della’s hands dropped into her lap. “No you don’t. Ain’t nobody makin’ you—”

“They are,” he cut in gently, eyes still not quite meeting hers. “Draft notice came in yesterday. I—I ain’t wanna tell you like this, I just… I couldn’t figure out how.”

She stood sharply, fists clenched. “So that’s it? i’m just ‘sposed to sit around and wonder if you makin’ it back or not?”

He stood too, but slower, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. “It’s not like I wanna go, Del. But if I don’t show up, they gone come lookin’. Maybe even worse.”

His voice cracked just a little on that last part, and he finally met her eyes. “I ain’t gone lie and say i’m not scared,” he admitted, quietly. “But I swear to you—I’m comin’ back. I ain’t dyin’ in no field—I don’t care what I gotta do.”

She stared at him, lip trembling. “You better,” she whispered.

fall of 1932. “You think I give a fuck what you want right now?” he growled in frustration. “I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not this time. You hear me? You mine. You always been, always gone be.”

She struck him—open palm across the face, hard. His head snapped sideways. He didn’t flinch. Just turned back slow, smiling crooked, eyes glowing like wildfire. His hands tightening on her shoulders voice thick with grief and possessive need.

“You all I got left,” he breathed. “I ain’t losin’ you too. I’ll drag you with me if I have to. I swear to God, I will.”

She scoffs trying to free herself from his grip to no avail,

“No self-righteous sacrifices for me huh? No bullshit speech about keeping me safe?” she spat, eyes burning with tears. “You always pulling me towards a burning building with you, but I bet you woulda’ lost your damn life to protect her from one! Hell—Mary the one made you this way! Go spend an eternity with her ole triflin’ bloodsuckin’ ass!”

She clawed at his chest, shoved, writhed—but his hands only steadied her, held her like something precious even as he stole her breath.

“I ain’t doin’ this life without you,” he said, voice thick, almost tender. “Ain’t no world I wanna be apart of if you not in it.”

And then—Stillness.

Her body limp in his arms. Blood on his lips. The river settled.

Above them, the magnolia tree stood silent. Watching.

spring of 52’. Their magnolia was in full bloom.

Del figured if they were gonna do this, it best be at a spot that held their most precious memories. Both the good ones—and the ones that still stung.

The wind brought in a soft breeze, just enough to ruffle the edges of her white dress. Her veil fluttered around her face like a whisper.

He wore a pressed suit—bloodstain still on the cuff she couldn’t scrub out. His grin was wide, wicked, sharp fangs flashing under gold slugs.

No preacher. No piano. No guests.

Just the river hummin’ nearby, and a jar of moonshine waitin’ in the grass.

She whispered her vows into the crook of his neck. He said his with his mouth pressed to her fingertips.

“You know this don’t fix everything,” she told him with a smirk.

“Ain’t tryna fix it,” he said. “Just tryna hold onto it.”

Their old magnolia tree the only witness to their eternal union. summer of 75’. “C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it was 1951. “Let me hold you a minute.”

present day; 2003

He strolled in right at midnight, just as everything had gone quiet and the once raucous city streets were now eerily still.

She didn’t turn when the door opened. Didn’t flinch when his footsteps found her.

She’d known he would come eventually. Of course he would. Even when she didn’t want him to—he always did. The problem was that she’d never quite figured out which she preferred more: his absence or his presence.

She never had to question whether or not she still wanted him though. Hell, she spent more time than she’d like to admit reminiscing the countless ways he’d expressed his insatiable hunger for her in this almost century-old dance they’d been doing.

He doesn’t announce his presence. No smooth line. No performative charm. Doesn’t even breathe too loud.

His coat’s worn in random spots—like something time had toyed with endlessly and then tossed aside. For a quick moment, she wonders if he’s fallen on hard times since the last time he’d blessed—suffocated—her with his presence. That’s how she felt, too—every time they slipped outside each other’s orbit. Like she was just waiting breathlessly in the wings for the next act of their whirlwind—whatever it was they have.

On the exterior, she’s the picture of indifference. Takes the time to sip the drink clutched between her sharply manicured fingers. Letting the silence stretch—uncomfortable for most, but not for them.

Just as she’s worked up the nerve to acknowledge his presence—

“Del.”

A beat. The space between them has never seemed further.

“You still carryin’ the weight of the world like it belongs to you, baby.”

She breathes out a soft, humorless sound. Doesn’t smile. Refuses to turn her head to give him the satisfaction of seeing a glimpse of the mental spiral his sudden appearance has catapulted her into.

“And you still talk like a ghost that don’t know it’s dead.”

He inches closer. Slowly. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll vanish again.

“Maybe I am.”

She turns swiftly toward him—eyes sharp, expression unreadable. With a slight furrow in her brows and something cold yet vulnerable in her voice, she asks a question that likely won’t have a sufficient answer—

“Why now?”

A brief pause. His usual sly grin is noticeably missing—his mouth opens and shuts quickly, almost like he’s chewing on the words but they just don’t taste quite right. Yet he doesn’t blink when he says it:

“Ain’t know how much longer I could stay away.”

She doesn’t respond. Not right away. Just lets out a quiet chuckle and tips her glass toward him—dry, disbelieving.

“Even after all these years…” She shakes her head, almost smiling. “You still one smooth motherfucka. I’ll give ya that.”

He breaks into that infamous grin—just as intimidating as it is bright. Like he ain’t ever seen a bad day in his life. “Now you know better than anybody—I can’t contain all this pimpin’.”

She pauses mid-sip, nearly chokes. Side-eyes him, nostrils flaring, expression dry as hell. She waits a beat. Then hums a noise of indifference,

“Mmm—You dressed like a broke-ass pimp. Must be hard flyin’ with one wing, huh?”

The jab knocks him off guard. For a second, he forgets they aren’t back there—where jokes came easier, when everything felt like that rare but sweet moment when you realize you’re dreaming—and somehow, you get to keep dreaming, just to spite reality a little longer.

He smacks his lips, gaze blank, mouth cocked to the side, ignoring the subtle bite in her voice. “Aye, stop playin’ with me. You know ian ever hurtin’ for no bread. Who you think bought out half these pieces before the showcase tonight?”

That earns him her first real smile. Small. Shy. Like it slipped out before she could catch it. Like her body remembered something before her mind could lock it away. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to drop all that silent and mysterious shit. Came in here lookin’ like you auditionin’ for that vampire nigga movie.”

He squints. “You talkin’ ‘bout Blade?”

She nods, grinning. “Hell yea. You got this big-ass trench coat on like it ain’t 75 degrees outside.” He cuts her off with—“Aye shoutout Wesley Snipes, you know i’on fuck wit’ allat capitalism—taxes and shit.”

She shakes her head, earrings jingling softly—briefly catching his attention—before he hears her mutter under her breath, “Ole’ extra ass.”

He spins with a grin and a little flourish. “Owee—Don’t hate baby.” Smirking as he invades her space just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“ You ain’t gotta lie to yourself—Daddy still make that pretty thang’ hum, hm?”

The echoes of his southern drawl still makes her knees feel weak. Pause. How does he even think to say shit like that?

He does kinda have a point though.

She steps back curling her lip at him in pure annoyance, rolling her eyes quickly, “Nigga, gone on somewhere.” Giving him a slow once-over, “And don’t think you slick with that ‘I ain’t know how long I could stay away’ shit.” She drops her voice into a mocking tone—deep and dramatic, face scrunched in fake sadness. “I know you,” she says, shaking her head. “You want somethin’. So gone and come out wit’ it.”

“Why you always assumin’ I got a hidden agenda or some shit?” he scoffs.

She fixes him with a stare.

He coughs, looks away, then back again—“Okay. Never mind. Ignore that.” He sighs deeply like he’s afraid she’s going to shut him down before he can pull his thoughts together.

“Been tryna love other people—swear I have.”

She purses her lips.

“Okay damn, maybe I was just fuckin’ some of ‘em—Anyway—tried humans, but you know I get a little nibbly when I’m excited—dated some vamps, kinda hard for ‘em to live up to my expectations there though,” He scratches his beard in frustration, “Shit I even went out with a witch for a minute—she was a lil freak, I’ll tell you that—still ain’t come close to nothin’ we used to—”

She briefly stares off into space dumbfounded; then turns back to cut him off before he can remind her of anything she might still want. “Hmm—if you came to update me on all the places your dick has been the last decade, you can spare me.” She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath where he can’t hear, “Nigga goin’ on a world tour with my dick and tryna tell me all about it—fuck is he on?”

His eyes widen in realization at the implications of his words. “Hollon’, I ain’t mean it like that,” He sighs again. “What I’m tryna say is every time—every time—I start feelin’ like maybe I can build somethin’ new, your name start echoin’ in my head. Or I’d smell that stankin’ ass oil paint you used to use. Hear you narratin’ your day like somebody other than just us was around—Even started listenin’ to that white bread ass group you like so much.”

She scoffs and interrupts, “Aht Aht—not too much on Fleetwood Mac now—that might be one of the few things white folks got right.” She rolls her eyes muttering under her breath, “Surprised his ass ain’t go lookin’ for Stevie Nicks since he like witches so damn much—”

He quiets her with a blank stare. Grumbling under his breath before continuing, “Keep on rolling’ them damn eyes— hope they get stuck like that.” Clearing his throat he continues, “I kept tellin’ myself you might actually be better off without me. Maybe finally found a way to feel human again—then I heard ‘bout this place. Figured maybe you ain’t moved on neither.”

She’s suddenly busy surveying the contents of her glass—it’s been empty for the last 10 minutes.

“And that kinda fucked me up a lil’ bit, Cause if you still alone—and I’m still alone—then what the hell we been doin’ all this time, Del?”

She sighs quietly and meets his gaze with a resigned look in her eye, but before she can get the words out he interrupts,

“I ain’t come here looking for no second chances. We way past that anyway. But—you the only one who ever—survived me—Who know me better than maybe even Smoke did. And I’m not goin’ another decade wonderin’ if we could finally get it right.”

She scoffs, her eyes quickly becoming ablaze with an emotion he can only define as rage. “And that’s our problem right there—It’s all about what you want and when you’re ready to do it!”

All things considered, he’s propositioned her with worse. She’s not even sure why she’s fighting him now— aching inside to try again but too afraid to take the leap.

How much will they bleed this time around if they cut each other again?

She pauses breath catching in her throat, feeling her composure slipping. Can’t meet his eye when she opens her mouth to say, “Look, I don’t think—”

71 years and they still can’t get it right. He can feel her slipping away. She doesn’t think he’ll ever get another chance like this. He knows he won’t. She’ll make sure of it. His throat tightens—panic sets in. He’s about to be knocked out of her orbit forever.

“I’m sorry.”

He says the words like they were trying to burst from his lips. His eyes damn near projecting a short film filled with the echoes of his desperation and whispers of his guilt. It’s rushed, clumsy, boy-ish—such contrast from the way he would normally carry himself. Honestly, it’s pretty sucky as far as apologies go, especially given the tangled history the two of them share.

But somehow it works. Like most things involving the two, no reasonable explanation could be given for how two words—3 syllables—can atone for years of hurting and healing each other.

She blinks rapidly, shifting from foot to foot. She’d always considered herself the least prideful of the two. So she’s admittedly a bit irked that he gets to be the bigger person for saying what they’d always known they both desperately need to hear—

“I-I’m sorry, Elias. I’ve always let you take the blame for everything wrong in our relationship— and my life too, I guess” Her breath catches, looking down at her feet—arms instinctively wrapping around herself. Even to her own ears she sounds fragile. This might be the closest she’s been to feeling like herself since that night in 1932. “That wasn’t fair of me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at her like she’s some rare thing he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch anymore. Then— “I could’ve fought harder. For you. For us.” His voice is low, steady. No theatrics this time. “I made peace with the blame—meant I still had somethin’ to carry around with your name on it.” He steps forward—slow, like the wrong move might undo it all. “I ain’t never wanted you to hurt like I did. But I- I didn’t know how to stop takin’ pieces of you with me every time I left.” He reaches for her—momentarily thinking twice about whether touching her will end in him being attacked ;or if she’ll submit to the current of the moment with him. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he’d be satisfied with either reaction, he finally closes the distance between them.

The feeling can only be described as that deeply seated joy you feel when coming home after a long time away. Almost like slipping back into a dream they’d been having every night for the last 71 years.

For a long moment, neither of the two spoke. Their silence saying everything they’d probably never be able to put to words—grief, guilt, passion. Their silence creating a picture that looks something like forgiveness, a bit like anger, and a lot like love. Whispers of a maybe. Promises of a forever.

Her face tucked near his neck, where she’d always felt safe she murmured a quiet, “Missed you.”

He looks down at her with a small smile, leaning in to get a taste of her lips for the first time in a decade.

She leans her head back and places two fingers over his lips with a smirk, “You know this means you lose right ?”

His arms tighten around her waist, one hand sneakily yanking her hand into his. Kissing the tips of her fingers with a smile in his voice, “Long as I lose to you, It ain’t really losin’, huh?”

He gives a crooked grin—and kisses her like no time has passed at all.

But time has passed. And it’s in the way his hand trembles just slightly when he touches her waist. In the way her breath hitches when their mouths finally meet, not rushed, not angry, but like they’re retracing old steps in a house long abandoned.

It starts slow. Mouths hovering, teasing. The tension’s all in the pause, the promise.

Then—He bites. A tiny nip at her bottom lip, soft and sharp all at once. A low, possessive growl vibrates from his chest, deep and involuntary. She tastes like something he lost in a dream. The air shifts. The room’s still, but they aren’t. The kind of stillness that only comes before a storm.

“Hey, daddy?” she whispers, lips grazing the skin just beneath his jaw—hot, deliberate.

“Yeah, Dove,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded, voice soaked in want.

She smiles—slow, wicked. Her voice a sweet purr. “Wanna play a game?”

His hands slide lower on her waist, fingers slipping just under the hem of her shirt, just enough to make her heart skip.

“Only if I get to keep you after.”

She lets out a breathy scoff, laughing into his mouth, palms pressed flat against his chest like she might push him away—but doesn’t.

“No, seriously—how do you come up with this stuff?” she says, eyes dancing, even as her body leans closer. He just grins, lips brushing hers again.

"Been rehearsin' since 88'. "

summer of ‘75.

“You were my wife, my life, my hopes and dreams.”

Marvin Gaye’s voice curls through the room low, aching, full of a wisdom neither of them dare speak aloud. The record crackles faintly, wrapping them in a velvet cocoon, safe—for now—from the world, from the past, from the slow unraveling they’ve both felt coming.

Elias hums along, off-key. Della swaying absentmindedly in her silk robe, brush in hand, paint smudged on her cheek. He watches her from the couch, journal resting open in his lap, the morning sun painting their living room a gold hue through their sheer drapery.

“You set my soul on fire, my one desire was to love you and think of you with pride.”

“C’mere,” he murmurs, standing with his arms open.

She laughs, not looking at him yet. “You ain’t even brushed your teeth.”

“C’mon, morning dove,” he says, smiling like it’s 1951 again. “Let me hold you a minute.”

“But if you ever need me, i’ll be by your side.“

She lets herself go. Not because it’s easy—but because it’s familiar. Because even with everything cracking underneath them, the shape of him still fits against her perfectly. They dance like they’ve got forever. The lyrics echo what their souls already know—a promise for what’s to come being made without words.

“Though the many happy times we had could really never outweigh the bad…” “I never loved nobody, like I loved you baby…” “Now it’s time for us to say farewell…” “Maybe we’ll meet, down the line…”

Elias presses his cheek to her temple, eyes shut. She grips the back of his shirt like she’s bracing for a fall.

Neither one says a word. But the record keeps playing. And the silence between them says everything.

@marley1773 @justhere2bhur @mea-bby @browngirldominion @kodakbesos @thickemadame @shinywrites @kindofaintrovert @mskirara @amethyst09 @kittikrusher (lol wtf) @sk1121-blog1 @jozigrrl @childishgambinaax

leave a 💲if you'd like to keep up with this series!

[mononijikayu]

thinking about volleyball player! sukuna getting upset because astrophysicist! reader doesn't wanna go with him in the shower after a long day of not seeing each other.

all volleyball player! sukuna wants is to hold reader's hand while he's cleaning his face for the night because he wants to feel you close after being touch starved.

because god forbid a loving devoted husband like him just wants to be with and feel his dear and beloved wife close to him after a long (heartbreaking) day of not being together. god forbid that this is his love language.

"are you actually mad at me?" sukuna pouts as he stands before you, still holding your hand. "do you actually not love me anymore?"

you sighed, looking at him. "my love, i did multiple labs today. i wanna be lazy right now."

"but i missed you." he whines to you, almost like a cat after not getting the belly rubs he wants. "come on, you can sit on the stool there while i look at you prettily at the mirror, still holding my hand."

"ryomen sukuna—"

"woah, just say you don't love me anymore at this point." he cuts you off, his face looking offended. "that's not my name. how dare you?"

"my love, really....." you sighed, rolling your eyes at his antics. you looked up and saw him glaring at you, like he was ready to cry. "its just the bathroom. you're just getting cleaned up."

"god forbid a man wants to multi–task." he huffs, shaking his head at you. his eyes looked like they were begging now. a sudden change from before. his hand squeezing your own. "come on, baby. just give in."

nearly a decade or so being together with such love with ryomen sukuna, you had always known that he was clingy but you never thought that he would be this clingy after getting married to you.

in some ways, marriage didn't really change your dynamics or your feelings for each other. that's just how it was when you've been so in love and continue to be in love after all this time.

but there was something about getting married that made the intensity of his desire to hold you, to touch you even more overwhelming. his life is incomplete when he's not feeling the warmth that completes the cold sweat that comes after he sits down and leaves the court for the day.

his body demands the warmth of you to complete him when the passion of the court cools down. because at the end of the day, he will walk out of that court. he will always go and in and out of it.

but you were the only one he could never leave. you were the only one that he will never resign himself away from. you were that only exception. because you bring him to life in ways not even the thunderous intensity of that ball hitting his palm ever would.

your warmth was more than anything that could ever be in this world. and he knows it. you knew it. so, yes, you could feel annoyed at the thought of him sulking and groaning and crying and moping with neediness for you and everything about you.

but it instantly goes away. because you love this man. and he loves you. that will never go away. annoyance is temporary but wanting to love him with everything despite it all is forever.

you looked at him for one more moment, seeing the tears threaten to fall down his eyes as though he was a little child about to have a crash out over not getting his favorite lollipop. you shake your head and started smiling and then laughing.

"alright, alright. just tonight, my love. after that, we'll go to bed."

you saw the threat of tears immediately disappear as he grins widely, almost as if his melt down had never happened. almost instantly, your husband became a golden retriever who has finally gotten a treat to enjoy.

he all but embraces you with everything in him, with you being nearly falling over as you get consumed by the warmth of his much bigger built. impressively, your hands are still locked in with his.

"my love—i'm about to fall!"

he laughs. "baby, you'll never fall. not when im here to catch you!"

and you like to think that's the case. he's never let you fall anywhere. he's never let you suffer or feel like he never cares for you or loves you. instead, he keeps you high above with him in the joyous clouds, enjoying the bountiful of the love he pours everything into.

when you both go to the bathroom, he's doing his facial with his free hand while his other one still remained wrapped against your own. you continued to listen to him talk about his day with enthusiasm, his bright scarlet eyes never leaving your own, which was full of love for him.

"did you know they're finally allowing me to have my uniform and shoes engrave the 'my love' on it?"

you blinked. "you requested it? and they approved it?"

"i mean, i've asked about it the moment i signed for them babe! been wanting to keep you with me at court if i can't wear my ring." he says, beaming at you. "but since im renegotiating my contract with the tokyo great bears and with the national team, it was the demand i asked for in my contract and they said yes!"

you could feel your entire chest feel warm and your entire body turn red as the blood in pumped high with pressure, feeling overwhelmed by the love your husband has for you. you use your free hand to hide your face in your palm, out of sheer flustered feeling taking over you.

how did you ever luck out in love in a world that has such a bleak look? how could one have such a big heart to love? how could you not love him and only him? how could every bit of everything that is negative just burst out in positives when he loves you like this?

"baby, why are you lowering your head like that—"

"ah, you're so...." you groaned at him, before looking up, still red. "you're so!...."

he turns around, moved closer to you and pressed a warm kiss on your lips. you were stunned as the smell of his vanilla creme echoes into your nose. you turn redder than before.

"love you too, baby." he whispered to you, his eyes blossoming in heartfuls.

how can he always just defeat you with his love?

".....hurry up, i'm getting sleepy."

"hey, don't sleep before i can!"

[tokoyan]

Please I need the part 2 of what and where Seung-Je will get us to 😭 Bro I'm just so in love with him.

- Kneeling in fear

pairing: Geum Seong-je x reader

Warning: Abuse, dehumanization, manipulation, threats

word count: 1,232

a/n: girl i can't even blame you i'm genuinely SO obsessed with this man 😭 im thinking of making the next part nsfw but idk 🤷🏾‍♀️

pt1 // pt2

As he dragged me towards his motorcycle parked outside the school, he forcibly told me to get on without even sparing me a glance. I didn't want to get on but fearing he might hurt me, I complied.

As he waited for me to get on, he quickly lit a cigarette and placed it between his lips before getting on the bike.

"Hold tight" he said to me.

i hated those words.

he was the last person that should even care about my safety, whats the point in telking me that if you're just going to drag me to who knows where.

he then suddenly sped off. Due to the sudden speed, I quickly held onto him tightly, scared of falling off as this was also my first time on a motorcycle.

it shouldn't be my first time, espescially not like this.

After a while, he went into a few alleys and started to slow down before coming to a halt in front of a rather eerie street in front of a square-like building. I wasn't sure what it was. He got off first, took the cigarette out of his mouth, threw it on the floor, and crushed it under his foot. He then finally looked at me. "Get off" he said bluntly as he waited for me to dismount.

As I got off his bike, he parked it right there and without saying anything started walking towards the building. I quickly followed behind him in fear of what he wouldve dont to me IF i hadn't followed him. As he took out bundled up keys from his pocket, he searched for the right one and put it inside the lock of the big door, making it slide open. He then looked at me, his expression making it obvious that he wanted me to enter.

"Seong je... where are we?" I said, now actually trembling. I started fearing for my life. He didn't say anything as he walked over to the couch in the middle of the room, sat down, and spread his legs. He took out a box of cigarettes and lit another one.

"Seong je, please, I'm so sorry. I'll have the money by tomorrow, I swear," I started to say. "Ugh, shut the fuck up," he said annoyed as he leaned against the couch.

I didn't know what to say or do. What was worse was that I was locked inside this building. I saw a few motorcycles at the side and a sign that said "Union". I wasn't sure what it meant but i knew that i shouldn't be here.

"Get on your knees," he said bluntly as he looked at me from across the room. I just looked at him in complete shock. "What?"

"Are you deaf? I said get on your fucking knees," he said louder this time, his impatience growing.

Fearful that he was going to hurt me, I slowly lowered myself to the ground, putting one knee down, tears starting to fall down my face. "Oh my god, this whore is so fucking stupid," he said loudly to himself as he looked at me again.

"Dumb bitch, come here and get on your knees," he commanded. As I got up and slowly started to walk to him I began pleading and begging, "Please don't... I'll have the money by tomorrow, I swear" I said, still crying as I finally reached him. It felt like even if I did have the money, he didn't care, he just wanted me on my knees.

He didn't say anything, he just waited for me to get on my knees. So, I softly but slowly got on my knees and looked at the floor.

That sick bastard then started laughing,

"So pathetic, bitches like you are truly only good for getting on their knees and nothing more," he said as he belittled me.

"Look at me," he said, suddenly changing his demeanor as he looked at me, but my head was still down. I was scared but too embarrassed to look at him.

"Don't fuck with me right now. I said look at me," he said, now losing patience. But I was still looking down in embarrassment, fear, and a longing to just go home.

Before I knew it, he had grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me to look at him. My mascara was running down my face, I was shaking in fear, and now I was also wincing in pain due to him grabbing my hair.

"Pretty faces like yours are only good for being fucked and nothing more," he said as he took the cigarette out of his mouth and hovered the burning part close to my face.

"Don't start crying on me now, bitch. Want me to burn you?" he said, threatening to put his cigarette on my face to burn me. "N-no please.." I said, sobbing. "So then do what I fucking tell you to do," he says with that... sick grin on his face.

What he did next to me was absolutely disgusting.

[sqgeism]

anaxa and phainon with a reader who has nightmares? :c (i havent slept in a week plz help me ╯︿╰)

hru doing btw? i hope ure good <3

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

love mail — hi anonnie!! thank u for the request, and yes i'm doing well ♡ ≡(＞。＜) i genuinely miss my colors sk bad... writing this in a bus since i wanna finish up some requests! hope you're alright anonnie :( hugs n kisses ! i hope u sleep good soon MUWAH

i don't think anaxa gets nightmares often, but he knows you do. actually, you got one on the very first night you two began sleeping together.. queue a somewhat panicked anaxa who is unsure how to help.

now that you two have lived together for a while, he's been trying to find different ways to help. big or small gestures, whatever stops your trembling form and shaky breaths.

one night, while you sleep in and anaxa stays up late in his lab — his usual silence is changed by a knock on the door, attention shifting from his research to something more important; the pretty little thing at his door. "it's bothering you again?" he doesn't even hesitate, turning his chair around as you throw yourself into his lap, curling against him to fit nicely as anaxa sighs. not of annoyance, far from, just.. worry. "i'm here if you need me. must it be words of comfort, or just a shoulder to lean on, i'm here."

hands that he's believed were unloveable slowly rub against your back, and in this moment anaxa can only think; they are safe here. it isn't exactly a statement, no, he's processing it. you find comfort in the shell of the person he once was, when he believed that no one could love him for who he was. yet you're here, seeking his warmth, his existence. to hide away from the nightmares that eat at you.

anaxa's research is forgotten, he doesn't mind. he'll be there for as long as you need him.

waking up panting and afraid sets something off in mydei, and he's just as fast to get up as you are. he turns on the bedside lamp and gently cups your face, guiding you to look at him and ground you back into the moment. you're not in a nightmare, you're home. you're with him, as you should be. unlike the terrors that rob you of peaceful slumber, you're with the embodiment of assurance.

slowly, carefully, he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs and shushes you softly. "you're here," he mumbles, kissing your temple in a way that lingers. "nothing can hurt you. not when i'm at your side, i'll sooner burn the bridges between life and death than let something hurt you.

if you fall back asleep quickly, he cuddles you as the big spoon and whispers comforting scenarios for you. hoping it'll trick your mind (the only form of manipulation he'll do) and give you sweet dreams instead. his firm, warm arms keeping you safe and quick to wake you if you start fussing again.

if not, and you seem to be too shaken to fall asleep, he'll help you do things you love to calm you down. tracing his markings, asking him questions or stories of his life, and his personal favorite.. letting him kiss all his favorite parts of you. honestly, just an excuse to lavish you in affection, but he's glad it helps. it soothes the silent battles of his mind, after all.

phainon's probably the most lighthearted of the three, when you jolt up from the initial nightmare, he's already holding your hand and letting you squeeze him as tight as you need it. sometimes, he lets out a fake wince so you snap out of it for a second out of concern, he takes that opportunity to compose himself and tease you about being a worrywart. he notices you frown, but begin to smile as he brings your hand to his lips — kissing your knuckles as he offers an ear to listen.

should you choose to talk about your terrors, phainon takes your words seriously and sincerely. he rests on your lap, or the other way around, and you play with each others hair depending on how it's positioned. (you like how soft his hair is, it kind of looks like cotton candy..) he listens to you and comforts you with little words of affection. "i'm so sorry, i'm here for you", "that's horrible. but you're here now, alright? i love you." and something along the lines of; "nothing will ever happen as long as i'm here, okay? i'll make sure of it."

if you don't, either too tired or just don't want to talk about it, phainon tries to make you laugh instead. embarrassing tales of his adventures, stupid jokes, even showing you saved videos on his phone. little things that he's noticed help you greatly.

and when you finally yawn, and he knows his job is done, he lets you lay on top of him and 'cages' you there. listening to the heart that beats for you as you drift off again, a reminder that you'll never be alone when you wake up, because you know you'll always have someone waiting for you.

[fawniswriting]

Oh my god hun this was everything!!! 😭 I know I seem to say that about every piece you've ever written, but everything you write is just so undeniably beautiful 🥹 I'm not usually a sucker for second chance trope or exes-to-lovers, but my god if these two weren't so beautiful together 🩷

Every moment in this story was so poetic, and I just don't mean the words, but the way they respond, react, and behave towards one another. Bucky asking to capture her picture, like he is making sure to immortalize the moment they're reunited again, like he's trying to document the moment that he's falling in love all over again (or maybe he's just never stopped, really). I adore it so very much 😭

But this isn’t about you and him. This is about someone else’s love story.

Still, he looks at you as though maybe it could be.

I love the above passage so much kshdjd the way their circumstances seem to jusxtapose and mirror each other at the same time??? Perfection.

Because you’re standing in the middle of someone else’s love story, watching yours try to resurrect itself with just one syllable.

I might actually cry from this not even kidding 😭

Because how cruel is it to work inside the machinery of love? To build it for others, beautifully, meticulously, while your own version sits on the sidelines, full of maybes?

How cruel is it to be surrounded by all this promise, all this soft forever, while the only person you’ve ever really wanted to say I do to is standing three feet away, adjusting his camera strap as though it isn’t slicing into your heart?

The way you describe their bittersweet situation is a gift, my love. I wanna kiss everything about this fic and hold them forever in my chest.

Another great story, I loved it a whole lot 💞

If You Asked Me Now

Pairing: Photographer!Bucky x Wedding Planner!Reader

Summary: Years after separating for college, you reunite with Bucky while coincidentally working the same wedding.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: emotional yearning; unresolved feelings; separation and reconnection after time apart

Author’s Note: This did make me a little sad and it’s kind of bittersweet. It was such a lovely request, my dear! Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy what I did with it ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

You haven’t seen him in years.

Years of quiet. Of near-misses and almost-texts. Of birthdays remembered but never acknowledged. Of photos in your camera roll you never deleted. The ache of what-if constricting your chest during long nights spent planning other people’s happy endings.

You arrived early at the venue. It’s a private estate nestled against the shoreline of a serene lake. It’s beautiful in the kind of way that makes you breathe deeper. Light filters through the canopy like it’s blessing your skin, and you set down your clipboard, your bag, your weight.

You were made for this. Checklists. Contingency plans. Love stories that bloom under your careful curation.

But nothing in your planner, your script, your color-coded schedule has prepared you for the moment you turn around and see him.

Bucky Barnes.

Yes, it has been years since you saw him, but the sight of him still floods your chest like an old song you thought you'd forgotten, all the lyrics rushing back in the shape of his shoulders.

He is older. Broader. The kind of handsome that takes your breath in one hand and never gives it back. He’s wearing black, of course. Camera slung over one shoulder, coffee in one hand.

Your name is still caught in his mouth. He hasn’t said it yet.

Neither of you prepared for this kind of reunion.

You stare at each other from opposite ends of the sunlit ballroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Cream curtains. Gold accents. Love dripping off the walls as if it’s something that can be bottled and sold.

You were just here to meet the photographer.

You didn’t know the photographer would have blue eyes and a constellation of freckles you used to trace with your thumb. You didn’t know the photographer would be him.

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

The silence wants to say everything.

Then he smiles.

God. It’s not fair.

“Y/n,” he says. Just that. Soft, stunned.

And you’re trying to remember how to breathe around it. Around him. Around all the versions of him you’ve stored away in boxes you swore you’d never open again.

“Hey,” you say. It cracks on the way out, as though your voice wasn’t ready to time travel.

He walks toward you slowly, as if he might look at an illusion. And your feet stay planted, but your heart is already halfway across the room, tumbling back through years of memories that never got the closure they deserved.

“You’re the planner?” he asks, stopping just short of touching distance. His voice is warmer now. Familiar. It scrapes against the softest part of you.

You nod. It’s a little slow. Disbelieving. “And I assume you’re the photographer.”

You were seventeen the last time he looked at you like this.

As if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right shape for it.

Back then, it was rooftop talks and shared playlists. Passing notes between classes. His jacket draped over your shoulders when the gym got too cold.

And then came college. Different states. Different lives. The slow collapse of something you thought might survive anything.

You tried to move on.

You even believed that you had.

But now he’s here.

And everything you’ve buried rises as if it’s been waiting for air.

A beat.

A laugh.

Of course. Of course, the universe would do this.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter than it was in high school, but it still curls a little at the ends when it rains. You remember that. You remember too much.

“God, you look great,” he notes, voice quiet, reminiscent.

You take a breath long enough to gather the pieces of you that almost shattered on the spot. “You do too,” you state, voice quiet as well. And he laughs again. Softer. Sadder.

You’re supposed to be here to talk centerpieces and lighting, to walk the venue, and decide where the bride and groom should take their first look photos.

Instead, you’re here suppressing all the words you wanted to say many years ago.

Instead, you’re here looking at him like you used to - like maybe, if you just held eye contact long enough, he’d kiss you again and this time he wouldn’t stop.

But this isn’t about you and him. This is about someone else’s love story.

Still, he looks at you as though maybe it could be.

“I didn’t know you were a photographer,” you state, your voice too light, too casual, as though it’s not balancing on the edge of something steep.

“I didn’t know you were a wedding planner.”

Touché.

He grins. God, that smile. The same crooked thing he used to flash at you during chemistry class when he didn’t understand the homework.

“Guess we both ended up in the business of love,” he says with that smile on his face.

You laugh. And hate how much it sounds like home.

He exhales profoundly, sweeping his eyes over your form and not even being subtle about it.

“I thought I might never see you again,” he says, and the words punch your ribcage. “I didn’t even know you were back in the city.”

“I wasn’t for a while,” you answer, trying to keep your tone casual. “But I guess weddings pull people back.” You laugh a little, though it’s rather breathless.

His grin is going to kill you. You remember it melting behind cafeteria tables and prom night lights.

“You always loved weddings,” he says softly.

You shrug, but there is heat running along your spine. “They’re honest, I guess.”

His eyes fall down to your hands. Again, not at all subtle. “Are you..?” His voice is rough. It seems he doesn’t want to say it out loud.

“No,” you answer quickly. “Just me. Just work. You?”

He shakes his head. There is relief in his stance. In his shoulders. In his voice. In his eyes. “Nah. Don’t really have the time.”

And then the silence comes back. Not heavy but waiting.

You move toward the nearest table, brushing your fingers along the edge of the centerpiece, needing to touch something, needing to start working.

You hear the click of his camera powering on.

He raises it, almost instinctively, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you. “Can I?”

You blink. “What, take a photo?”

He nods. “I just- I want to remember this. You. Right now.”

You smirk just slightly. “So you’d forget without proof?”

Bucky’s eyes widen a little, but there is amusement glinting in his eyes. “No,” he states quickly. “‘Course not, doll,” he adds, and it seems there’s more he wants to say but he holds himself back with a bashful laugh.

But your breathing stops.

Doll.

The word falls from his mouth as if it never left. As if it hadn’t been said in years. As if he’s been saying it to ghosts all this time. As if your name has always tasted like that in his mouth - sweetened, softened, spun from golden-hour sunlight and inside jokes.

It doesn’t feel like a nickname. It feels like a door. Like a memory with a heartbeat. Like a piece of you just came home.

Because he used to say it all the time. In the hallways. After school. In the backseat of his beat-up car when your knees knocked together and the radio was too loud to hear your doubts. Hey, doll, you gonna come over tonight? Doll, you wanna split this? Come here, doll, you’re shiverin’.

He used to say it as though it’s something only you get to keep, only you get to hear. As though it’s the punctuation on every sentence you didn’t know how to finish.

And now here he is - older, broader, a little more worn in the eyes - but the word leaves his lips just the same. As if no time has passed. As if yesterday was senior prom and you were still dancing around the fact that you were in love with your best friend.

You want to say something clever. You want to laugh. Tease him. Pretend the name doesn’t matter. But it matters.

Because you’re standing in the middle of someone else’s love story, watching yours try to resurrect itself with just one syllable.

He raises his camera again, and his focused gaze cracks you right open. They’re not just blue. They’re saturated with something so much more. Like time. Like regret. Like the gravity of everything you both lost. “So, can I? Please?”

He takes a step closer. You don’t move. He’s so close you can smell his cologne now - clean, familiar, like something that never stopped lingering in your hoodie pockets long after you separated for college.

You should perhaps say no.

But the way he’s looking at you is not passive. It’s not casual.

It’s not I used to love you once.

It’s I never stopped.

There’s something so naked behind his expression it almost hurts to look at. Not just nostalgia. Not just old affection brushed off and made shiny again.

It’s hope. Hope with teeth and longing with roots and a trembling determination that seems like a vow unspoken.

You stand there, still in your wedding planner blazer and sensible shoes, and you let him see you again. Through the lens. Through the silence. Through all the almosts that never turned into certainties.

The shutter clicks.

And somehow it sounds like a beginning.

****

The couple is everywhere.

Their laughter echoes through the venue like a ribbon tied to the air, fluttering in the spaces Bucky and you fill with silence. Their fingers never stop finding each other. Their glances are magnetic, drenched in the kind of affection that dares you to look away.

They’re in the garden now, tangled in rosebushes and evening light, whispering to one another, words you’ll never know but feel anyway - like music under your skin.

Bucky photographs them while you hold the bouquet just out of frame. You try to steady your hand but your fingers are trembling. Your heart won’t behave.

And Bucky’s beside you.

He smells like pine and memory and the warmest part of the past.

You catch him smiling at the soon-to-be newlyweds through his lens and feel something strange twist behind your ribs. Because he’s good at capturing love and he does it with care. As if love is art and he’s always believed in it.

And he’s looking at them the way you used to look at him.

Then he looks at you.

And the moment snaps - clean and quick like a shutter - but it leaves an imprint.

Like film exposed to light.

Like maybe you’re still visible underneath all this distance.

You turn away too fast. Pretend to fix the placement of the aisle candles. Pretend you’re not sweating under the weight of all the things left unsaid. Pretend your heart didn’t flinch when he said doll as if it belongs to you again.

You tell yourself this is just work.

That you’ll be working with him for the next six weeks.

Six weeks of tasting and timelines and floral arrangements.

Six weeks of sharing air and avoiding eyes.

Six weeks of watching someone else’s love swell and bloom while yours sits quietly in your chest, half-buried but not dead. Never dead.

You’ll have to stand in the middle of it all.

The wedding dress fittings.

The first dance rehearsals.

The vows.

The goddamn vows.

And all the while, Bucky will be there. Photographing every moment. Documenting devotion while you wonder what it would’ve felt like to have it with him.

Because how cruel is it to work inside the machinery of love? To build it for others, beautifully, meticulously, while your own version sits on the sidelines, full of maybes?

How cruel is it to be surrounded by all this promise, all this soft forever, while the only person you’ve ever really wanted to say I do to is standing three feet away, adjusting his camera strap as though it isn’t slicing into your heart?

You breathe. You swallow down the pain. You make a note in your planner.

Tomorrow: cake testing. With the couple. With Bucky.

More love. More smiles. More of him.

God, how do you survive this?

And then you look up again and Bucky is already watching you.

Not the couple.

Not the shot.

You.

As if he is wondering the same thing.

As if maybe he’s not surviving this either.

[therebelcaptain]

While I enjoy seeing Cassian having a deep and intimate relationship with Bix as it shows his vulnerability in a way we've not seen before, it also feels at odds with the image of Cassian I’ve had since 2016—someone who had sacrificed everything for the rebellion. The impression I got from lines like “you’re not the only one who lost everything” is that he’d been virtually alone and isolated in this fight for years before we meet him in Rogue One, his only constant companion being K2. It felt like he’d been keeping himself in a prison of his own mind for the sake of the rebellion.

But in this season, Cassian seems more than willing to walk away for the sake of protecting Bix a mere two years before Rogue One. We're at the halfway point and Cassian is a lifetime away from the man we meet in Rogue One—he was honestly much closer at the end of season one. And maybe that's the point—that things like love can get in the way and hold people back from doing what they must in a revolution—but like others have already said here, making it the focal point of both Bix and Cassian's stories this season feels like a disservice to them as individual characters. Hell, it's not even something that hasn't already been explored in the show. Vel and Cinta's relationship in the first season already looked at how complicated it can be to fall in love while in the rebellion, so I'm not even sure of the necessity of doing the same thing with another couple, much less Bix and Cassian. It seems like the writers room decided an end point for the two of them—likely Cassian being forced to kill Bix, if his last conversation with Luthen is anything to go by—before working backwards to somehow make it feel earned instead of constructing a story that actually felt right for the characters.

While this is essentially what Andor is an exercise in, Cassian already has a specific end point that they need to work toward, but the majority of the main cast doesn't. The next batch of episodes picks up a year before the film, so Cassian's going to have to lose everything in one fell swoop in these next episodes otherwise I'm not confident that he will end up where he needs to be by the end. There are things mentioned in the Rogue One novelisation that could be explored in order show Cassian's further evolution into a fully fledged rebel who's willing to do anything for the movement. Jenoport is one such thing that comes to mind, but that probably won't happen given Cassian hasn't even met K-2 yet.

On the other hand, there is a lot more room to play with Bix as a character. Her end point isn't set in stone in the same way that Cassian's is. They could have explored a myriad of things with her character working through the trauma of being tortured and finding her own way to the rebellion as a result. While that is a factor in her story arc this season, it's frustrating to see her relevance to the story be tied so directly to her relationship with Cassian. At this point it's clear that she's only being kept around so her inevitable death can further galvanise his commitment to the rebellion. After everything she's been through as a character, Bix deserves so much more than being fridged for Cassian's story arc.

To those of you who think my opinion on this is because I'm a diehard Rebelcaptain girlie, it really isn't. Like I've said before, I actually like Bix and Cassian as a couple and would have enjoyed their scenes together more in a different context like maybe in a flashback to their youth. I'd always seen them as childhood sweethearts who still loved each other in their own ways, but had grown apart as they got older and their priorities in life changed. That made a lot of sense to me. What doesn't jive with me is that we're seeing this so close to Rogue One where Cassian is supposed to be living for the rebellion first and foremost and seemed to have been for many, many years. And at this point, the gap between these two men is the size of valley.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

hc ford mastering the bater while being out to sea thinking of you

wait.. im actually crying because im so dumb!!! when i first read “mastering the bater” my stupid ass thought it meant like. Ford doing some routine maintenance on the stan o’ war? like swabbing the deck or fixing wires or just whatever. while thoughtfully daydreaming about u. i was like “aww he’s so diligent and cute!! doing chores while thinking about his beloved,” but my intuition said smth was clearly wrong here. so i googled it and was like. oh. OH. ohhh. you meant masturbating, you meant this man is out to sea. jerking it. ahggg that's so funny how i thought it was different thing

but YES anyway thank u for this, because it’s genuinely one of my favorite sea grunks tropes in general. Stan or Ford being out at sea and getting absolutely feral over how much they miss you. and yes you KNOW it leads to sexting or at least it tries to. but I'm getting off the subjecttt. anyways

nsfw under the cut

im not sure it that's even needed but i got inspired and bored and wrote a little blurb, although I wouldn't call it that

yes. YES. Ford touching himself thinking about you. after finishing, he gets sad because he misses you so much so he just lies there, feeling stupid and alone, wishing you were there to hold.

he’s been thinking about you for days, months. he keeps replaying the last time you made love. how beautifully your voice sounded when you moaned into his mouth, and how your thighs trembled when he slid into you slowly and gently, while holding your hand. Ford can’t stop thinking about how warm and wet you were for him. how tight you felt around his cock when he bottomed out with a shaky breath. how your mouth parted when he whispered your name

he’s so touch-starved it makes him dizzy. at first he tries to be normal, like okay. just breathe. just journal about dark matter. but he keeps remembering the exact way your nails dragged down his back when he started thrusting just a little deeper, how your hips arched up into him because you always were greedy for more

so finally.. one stormy night, unable to sleep, Ford rolls onto his side, grinding his hips into the thin mattress, one hand fisting the sheets and the other tugging open his pants. he’s already half-hard just from remembering the way you cried his name begging him to go faster

he wraps a shaking hand around the base of his twitching shaft, hissing through his teeth as he strokes himself with short, stuttery movements. and it's not like hes graceful about it. he’s too worked up so he smears precum over the sensitive tip with his thumb and swears under his breath, closing his eyes, imagining his sweetheart. then presses his face into the pillow and whimpers because god. he misses your mouth. your voice. the way you gasped Ford when he filled you up to the hilt

sometimes he even humps the mattress first because he’s so far gone in the memory of your body he can’t even think clearly. he’s panting, rocking into the mattress, rutting against the sheets while the bunk creaks beneath him. his thighs are trembling. Ford cums literally in a few minutes, trembling and breathing through his mouth, panting, imagining how he fills you up. he spills over his knuckles with a soft cry, thrusting blindly into his fist while your name falls from his lips. there’s cum on his stomach, and he just lays there, staring at the ceiling and nearly crying because he gets too emotional about you when hes alone and no one sees

Ford almost regrets leaving. or at the very least, he regrets not demanding you come along. he tells himself it was safer this way, more logical and less risky. but logic doesn't help him when he’s sprawled out in the empty cabin with his sticky six fingered hand

so yeah. mastering the bater. i get it now!!! learnt a new phrase today!

[heyimkana]

Omg, idk how to start this ask, but this was basically kick started by a comment I just recently made on your post-

S/O meeting the in-laws (can be set post reincarnation cup or not-) and Kyunghye and Ilhwan absolutely adore her, like, to the point that kunghye would nah Jinwoo to marry s/o even when they're just 2 months dating or something and Ilhwan giving tips on "how to please the wife 😌" (I mean, happy wife happy life right? 😂😂😂)

I would include the s/o's family, but I don't really know if you'd mentioned any of that...? But if you did, you can add!

THEM MEETING THEIR IN-LAWS IS SO CUTE OKAY OKAY LISTEN

so this is set before jinwoo used the reincarnation cup okay so they've been dating for only 2 months like you said, a little after he brought her to the shadow realm to have a little picnic date there

so jinwoo introduced her to his family next, and from the second they saw jinwoo walking through the front door with his face looking like 🥰 THEY KNEW she was the one for him LMFAO

kyunghye was already like tearing up a bit cause jinwoo had never shown any interest in dating before and she thought he was always too busy to actually find some time to socialize so she was lowkey worried for him and suddenly jinwoo walked in like that??? with a girl holding his hand??? kyunghye could see it in his eyes just how in love he was with her and it was the cutest thing ever

kyunghye, giggling softly in ilhwan's ear: "he looks just like you when you first told me you loved me"

ilhwan: *manly blushing noises*

and his parents LOVE her OMG like they think she's the cutest thing in the world. S/O was so shy and nervous the first time they talked and she kept fumbling with her words, and she was SO polite and humble, and she was just the SWEETEST girl, immediately helping kyunghye in the kitchen to help her prepare dinner and they bonded immediately over cakes and pastries LIKE THEY'RE SO CUTE

lhwan had a serious talk with jinwoo as they waited for dinner to get ready. he took him to the balcony and they were like two cool, manly guys drinking their cool, manly beers and with their cool, manly hair swayed by the wind,

ilhwan: "she hasn't been awakened, has she?"

jinwoo: "no. and i'm hoping she never will."

and ilhwan could tell that one of the reasons why his son loved her was because she made him feel... normal. just a normal boy meeting a normal girl by accident, falling in love so naturally, and doing just the most mundane things together. ilhwan thought jinwoo must have found comfort in her, like he could forget all his burden and responsibilities when he was with her. it reminded ilhwan of kyunghye too in a way, she made him feel like he was at home whenever he was with her and ilhwan was glad to see his son finding someone like that in his life, seeing how much jinwoo needed it.

ilhwan's expression was solemn but soft when he said "try not to worry her so much, okay? i know you can't escape your duty as a hunter but now you have more people waiting for you to come home. she's a sweet girl. so innocent. i bet she gets worried easily when you're not there with her. don't make the same mistake I did with your mother. don't put her through the same situation. don't make her cry, jinwoo, that's all i ask of you."

and jinwoo looked at his dad and he saw the pain and the regret written on his face. "i won't. i promise" and jinwoo meant his words. he intended to keep it forever but ofc the war with the monarchs happened. this was the reason why he used the cup, like i said before. to make her forget about all of these. to erase the tears that she's shed for him.

(ANYWAY I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE THIS SO ANGSTY LET'S GO BACK TO FLUFF)

maybe jinah came home from campus after the dinner was over, she was like "OH UNNIE YOU'RE HERE YAAYY MAKE ME SOME CAKE PLEASEEEE" and jinwoo pinched her cheek and was like "don't order my girlfriend around" and jinah was like "oooooohhh your girlfriend~~~ 😚 so when are you gonna wife her up big bro" and he blushed and he pinched her harder "s-shut up"

but kyunghye joined in, giggling like "oh, we would love to have you in our family. isn't that right, ilhwan?"

ilhwan: *manly approval noises*

and S/O and jinwoo were just looking briefly at each other before they turned away, blushing (this is so cute in my head HELP like jinwoo was pushing his hand into his pocket, looking away, rubbing the back of his head, cheeks flaming red)

ilhwan, chuckling: "i'm sorry if we sound too excited. our little boy has never brought a girl home before."

S/O: "omg really? 🥺 i'm your first? 🥺"

jinwoo, lowkey screaming gaaaah she's so cute: "m-maybe"

S/O: "jin 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺"

jinwoo:

[vinnyvamppp]

Vinny, if you’re totally okay with it, can I pleaaase please request a smutty male reader x Dick Grayson (training together quickly escalates)? I thought Mark Grayson x male readers were hard to find, but oh my gosh, Dick Grayson ones are practically desolate (from what I could see. Honestly, I think I’ve only ever found two 😭). I’m extremely new to DC, so I’m hoping to contribute once I’m fairly acquainted with the media. 😤

Sorry for going off topic a bit. OTL If you’re okay with this request, I’d be thankful!

The Gloves Come Off

A/N: Don't apologize, feel free to let me know of your contribution later on! I'd love to support-- and this request is amazing. I WAS LITERALLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. Also, can you guys tell I was trying to show off my MMA knowledge? I’m so fucking corny, ignore me. (Fun Fact: I've trained in MMA since middle school and competed as a middleweight!)

Synopsis: Training with Dick Grayson was always intense, but when a spar spirals into something messier — something needy, and unforgiving, you learn just how well Nightwing reads a body under pressure. In the end, it’s not just your bodies on the line. It’s the way you come undone for each other — breathless and craving more.

Warnings: Mutual Masturbation, Sparring Tension, Switchy Power Dynamics (Reader's behalf), Desperation, Flirty Dialogue, Hands-on-Hands-On-Cocks Action, Overstimulation, My Attempt At Being In Character, "I'm fine" While Falling Apart, Non-Penetrative Smut, Anatomical Descriptions, etc.

Dick Grayson x Male!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

“You’re holding back,” Dick muttered, circling you again, shirt stuck to his chest with sweat, knuckles still taped. You scoffed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “So are you.” His smirk was sharp, tongue jutting out to wet his lips. “Yeah, but I’m prettier when I do it.”

He lunged forward, and this time you met him full force — fists clashing, boots scraping over the mat, sweat flying in the heavy air. It wasn’t even a real fight anymore, just tension in motion. The kind that had been brewing since day one, coiled tight behind too-long glances and shared showers and those goddamn grins he gave you when you were too tired to throw another punch.

You barely get your forearms up in time to shield your face, a fast streak of blue and black filling your vision. Impact rocks through your frame as he crashes into you chest-first, arms locking around your waist. Instinct takes over as your legs snap up, hooking around his hips, thighs squeezing just above his belt — and suddenly you’ve got him. Trapped and breathing hard above you, the mat under your back was warm, still echoing with the scuffle of your last failed counter.

“Dirty trick,” he grunts, trying to shake you loose. “Effective,” you pant, fingers digging into his shoulders. He grunts— no, actually growls— and shifts. Posts his forearm beside your head, stacks his weight forward, and twists. Just like that, he slips free. That goddamn acrobat.

You barely hit your feet before the next combo’s coming: jab, cross, hook. You block the first two and shoulder-roll the third, but he’s already circling, pushing you back with tight footwork that leaves you nowhere to go. His glove brushes your jaw on the next pass. You snap out a low kick, hard and fast for most, but he catches it, spins, and sweeps your standing leg clean out from under you. The mat slams into your back, knocking the wind out of you again.

“Still think you’ve got me?” He huffs, kneeling beside your ribs, one knee brushing your side as he pins you there. His hair's plastered to his forehead, breath ragged, but smiling.

You grin up at him, flushed and winded. “Getting warmer.” He chuckled to himself, a huff of air leaving his nose. “I win again,” he said, voice smug but husky from the chase. There was a flush on his neck that had nothing to do with exercise.

Now he was above you, straddling your hips with a crooked grin and no plans to move. Even when your thighs shifted beneath him and your sweat-soaked into his undersuit. Despite his position, in combat and in bed, you were caged—and within his clutches willfully.

You could’ve pushed him off; you should've, but instead, you said, “Only because you cheat.” Dick’s brows lifted; his smirk flickered. “What, by being hot?” You blinked up at him. “...That’s not what I said.” He clicked his tongue, head tilting at your words. “That’s what you meant.”

His smile curled — a lazy, wolfish thing — and for a second neither of you moved. The sweat beaded at your temple. His groin pressed between your legs and God help you, you twitched under him. In that instant you could feel your soul clawing from your body—you sucked in a breath as if to keep it in.

Dick felt it, and his gaze dropped, but when it rose again, it was darker. His blue eyes catch yours, swimming with your reflection like he’s trying to memorize every line of you. His lashes lower just slightly — not shy, but weighted, like seduction worn soft and natural. His gaze trails over you slow as honey, warm and dragging, and when it lingers at your lips, his Adam’s apple gives the faintest, betraying bob.

“You hard?” he asked, just like that. You swallowed thickly. “You tell me.” He looked straight down and fuck — he grinned.

The gloves came off in seconds. There wasn’t a big decision, nor a careful lead-in or dramatic kiss. Just the sharp pull of elastic, the hot throb of your cock springing free, and the echo of breathless silence when he pulled his out to match you. He leaned in close enough for his breath to brush your lips, for your sweat to mix. His voice dropped an octave, holding a slight rasp now as he grunted.

Dick’s cock is heavy against your groin — flushed a deep pink, shaft thick, veined, and warm. It's the kind that stretches your palm when you wrap your hand around it. Not freakishly big—no, it’s worse: it’s perfect. Thick enough to make you gasp, long enough to have you hooked. And a happy trail, neat, clean, like the rest of him, but still masculine enough you could drown in it. God gave him acrobat's thighs and then got freaky with symmetry. This was so unfair.

You both stared in silence for a while, you, more or less marveling at the absolute trunk before you. And then— without warning— he spat into his hand, wrapped it around himself, and started jerking slowly. “Jesus,” you hissed, causing him to chuckle. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he muttered, pumping lazy strokes from base to tip. “How you sound when you’re close. How you’d look touching yourself for me.”

You were already leaking. You wrapped your hand around your shaft and mirrored his rhythm, hips twitching upwards instinctively. “Yeah?” you said, voice rough like sandpaper. “What else?” Dick licked his lips, his gaze locked on your cock, your tensing abs, and the heat in your eyes. “Bet you edge yourself,” he said. “Hold it right at the brink. Fuck your hand like it’s not enough. ‘Cause it’s not. Not really.”

You groaned, thighs spreading wider. His eyes dipped lower. “You get this loud?” he asked, breath catching. “When you’re alone?”

“Louder,” you admitted. “When I think about you.” He moaned. Just short and guttural—like it was punched out of him.

He was watching you like it hurt—like every twitch of your wrist, every small sound you made, went straight to his spine. “God, you’re so hot,” he rasped. “Look at us.” You did. You flicked your eyes down to the slick, flushed length of him—the way it jumped in his hand, the way his abs clenched every time you moaned. “Bet if I just—” He reached over, wrapped his free hand around yours, and tightened your grip. It was firm but not painful, giving you just the right amount of pressure to make your toes curl and your balls tighten.

You nearly choked on it. “That’s how I’d do it,” he whispered, close enough to feel his breath. “If I had you under me.” His forehead hit yours. “Fucking ruin you.” He strokes himself slowly, showing you that he wants you to see exactly what’s yours. Every inch, every pulse. His hips meet each pump like it's not enough like he's been holding back for hours. "One little squeeze and you go all soft for me, huh? Knew you’d love this." He chuckled, that deep, rich sound that rattled your chest.

Keeping the pressure, you matched him, soft groans responding to one another as your legs stiffened beneath him. Your eyes followed his hand as if in a trance, following its every move. Your thumb circled the sensitive tip of your cock, spreading the pre-cum that had been leaking steadily. You gasped, eyelids twitching as your jaw ticked. The rough calluses of your palm scratched down the vein running the underside of your dick. It was uncontrollable—a sound between a groan and whine—scratched your vocals.

He tore it out of you, a raw gasp against his throat, coming, striping your stomach in white, hot spurts as your back arched and your hand went limp. You barely had time to breathe. Your release hit like a wave, rippling through you in hot, messy pulses, your hand slipping slack over your cock as your head tipped back and your hips jerked involuntarily. His pupils were blown wide as he watched you, utter satisfaction etched into his face, his grin twitching slightly, and his brows furrowed with restraint. You were done. Or you thought you were.

Until you felt him again — hands sliding over yours, warm, and his gaze relentless. You jolted, hand flexing before cupping your face, unable to control your limbs tensing in time with each shudder, your back bowed off the mat. "Dick—fuck—" He gripped both your spent cocks together—still twitching with the aftershocks of orgasm—and wrapped his hands over them tight, slick with both your cum and his pre, and started stroking again. Not gentle, just steady and intentional, trying to milk you for everything you had.

"C'mon," he rasped, breath hot against your jaw, hips barely moving as he pressed tighter to you. "You think I’m done with you already?" Your spine arched further with each stroke. Every nerve lit up again— raw, tender, and desperate. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice wrecked but still so fucking in control. “All that pretty moaning just to give up halfway? You're not tapping out yet, are you?” You can feel the heat of his body radiating off him as he looms over you, his chest pressed against yours. His breath comes out in ragged puffs, tickling your cheek as he watches your face intently. Every twitch, every moan, every flutter of your eyelashes seems to delight him.

Your whole body trembled, head burying into his flesh. The overstimulation was blistering—every pass of his palm over your now-sensitive head made your thighs twitch and made you whimper into his throat like you hated it and needed it all at once. His free hand skates down your side, over your hip, to grip your thigh and hitch it higher, a glute bridge. The new angle allows him to thrust against you with each stroke, his thick cock sliding against yours in a delicious friction that has you seeing stars.

His hands slid faster. The thick drag of slick foreskin against yours, both your cocks pressed together— his shaft twitching each time your breath hitched. "You feel that?" he murmured, lips brushing your ear. "That’s you. Getting hard again, even though you’re already wrung out. So greedy.” You gritted your teeth. "I—I can’t—" Your head shook vehemently, eyes losing focus, but you didn't want him to stop. Ever.

His thumb swirled the leaking head of your cock—wet, tender, throbbing—and you cried out, hips trying to pull back, but he chased you, matched every buck, every jolt like it only fed him more. You couldn’t run; you didn't want to, yet your body fought with every spark short-circuiting your brain. “I can feel you pulsing —you’re close again, aren’t you? Didn’t even last a minute.”

It was sudden. Your grip tightens under his thighs, fingers curling around the weight of his sack with slow, deliberate pressure, soft enough to tease, firm enough to make him flinch. Dick groans, hips twitching against your palm. “That’s a low blow,” he breathes, eyes glittering with the heat of a challenge.

“Revenge,” you mutter, cock twitching where he’s got you in a mirrored grip, his thumb rolling slow beneath your balls like he’s mapping every nerve. “You deserved worse.” His laugh breaks on a moan, head tipping back. “You’re evil.”

“Not yet,” you hiss, squeezing gently, just enough to make him buck. “But keep playing dumb and I’ll make you see stars.” He huffs, breathless, eyes narrowing as he returns the favor, coaxing a full-body shudder out of you, your feet slipping against rubber foam.

"Please," you gasped, desperate. His fingers tightened. "One more. You can give me one more. C’mon, baby. I know you can." He leaned down, lips brushing gently against your jaw and his back hunched. “F-Fuck—if you ask like that again, I’ll give you three.” You breathed. Sweat dripped down his chin, tickling your neck as it drizzled, his harsh gasps causing gooseflesh on your skin.

The obscene, wet, and haughty mix of cum caused wet squelches to cascade across walls, his wrist swiveling every so often around your tips as you practically melted beneath him. 1… 2… 3… 4… his rhythm switching every so often like a vibrator with multiple settings, reveling in every squirt that ruptured from your slit. The head of your cock bumps against his palm with each upstroke, sending jolts of electricity through your veins. Your body curved towards him as his feet dug into the mat to stabilize you both.

“That’s right. Let it build. Let it hurt a little. I want you to feel me tomorrow. I love how wrecked you sound.” You smirked between gasps at his words, “Good. Memorize it. I want that sound stuck in your head every time you jerk off alone.” He chuckled in response, teeth bared in a smile too shaky to be smug. His cock smears cum across your stomach as he grinds against you—the head dragging slick heat over your skin as his tongue trails over your Adam's apple. You can feel your orgasm building, your balls drawing up tight against your body. Your thighs start to tremble, your stomach clenching as you welcome your inevitable release. "Fuck—Dick, I'm going to—fuck, I'm gonna cum."

It was messy. Too fast. And absolutely perfect. His thumb finds your frenulum, rubbing tight circles around it as his strokes become erratic, chasing his own pleasure. You could feel his length throbbing against you, watching as it contracted in real-time. With a loud series of groans, his cock twitched as he cursed under his breath, jaw tight. His cum hit your stomach—warm and slick—but you barely flinched. Your eye simply twitched, vision whitening as your warm and sticky release joined him, your entire body shuddering and boneless as you stared blankly at the ceiling above.

His voice range from above moments later. “I could keep you like this all night. I’ll stop when your legs stop shaking. Deal?” “Deal. Do it. Unless all that stamina’s just for show.”

You might’ve jinxed yourself.

A/N: Dick really liked that dick, huh. (ALSO, I see why you requested this, I ran into AT LEAST six variations of this ask and all were fem reader. And… I’m def editing more into this, I just liked the request so much I pushed it out, sorry if it’s bad chat😭)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[terriblepersongreatseamonster]

I've been thinking a lot about where Maomao falls on the Ace spectrum. I think a person's own experience has a lot of influence on how someone interprets what kind of asexual she is. I'm not going to go so far as to say where she falls for certain, but I'd like to share a bit about myself and my experience to explain why I approach her character the way I do when writing my fic.

Fair warning, I'm about to talk about touch abuse in church settings.

I'm both demi & bi. I grew up a pastor's kid, & if you haven't grown up in churches you may not be aware of how big a role physical touch plays in that environment. My entire childhood I was expected to allow anyone to hug me or do other things like touch my shoulders/back/face etc... I was never a big fan of touch, but I had no say in the matter. I was not allowed to say no. There were men who took advantage of this & while nothing extremely terrible happened, I do qualify what happened as sexual harassment. I had no way to avoid this stuff happening, I couldn't tell anyone. If I had, I would've been treated as a liar & it would've had negative repercussions for my family. I was regularly reminded of the fact that if I messed up it could cost my dad his job. And yes, before you ask, my parents would not have been in my corner. At best, my mom would've told me she was sorry it happened and told me never to mention it again. I might've even been forced to go apologize to those who harmed me for somehow being a stumbling block and causing their behavior.

I don't like to be touched. I also take a long time to warm up & trust people. Most people who meet me intially find me to be very quiet & withdrawn. When my now-husband & I started dating I told him right away that I didn't like to be touched. We had to take any physical interactions (even hugs) very slow. I've gotten more comfortable with his touch over the last 11 years, but even now there are plenty of times that he'll hug or kiss me & my reaction is very similar to how Maomao typically reacts to Jinshi's touch. Quite a lot of the time I don't feel one way or another about him touching me. Sometimes I get really annoyed by it. Other times I'm ok with it.

Like I said earlier, I'm not going to try to nail down where Maomao lands on the Ace spectrum. I'm also not going to go so far as to say she's completely anti-touch. She's very young & has had a lot of trauma involving touch in her life. In the light novels it even comes up at one point that her big sisters put her through some courtesan training that made her cry. I do think it's interesting that once you get past LN5 Maomao does slowly start to seem to get more ok with Jinshi's touch. By LN12 she actually goes to him and they end up holding each other and falling asleep on the floor.

I do think if she'd been more open & honest with Jinshi from the get-go about her feelings regarding touch, we would've seen some very different behavior from him in that regard. But I also understand she likely felt she couldn't do that because of the extreme gap in rank that she's always hyper-aware of.

And again, I do think that the way each person interprets Maomao's asexuality is entirely dependent upon their own personal experience. I'm not looking to start any fights or anything. Trust me I don't have the energy to do that. I'm not about to tell someone else their interpretation is wrong or insist that they should have the same interpretation that I do. I think the beauty of Maomao is that whether you're pro or anti-jinmao, you can still enjoy & love her as a character.

[kaechu1]

may I request a platonic hurt/comfort headcanons or fic with golden cheese and child reader?

basically yknow how golden cheeses kingdom and its inhabitants were all destroyed during the war? reader was the sole survivor and is traumatized by everything, especially considering they’re just a small child

since they and golden cheese are the only two survivors, all they’ve got is each other to comfort <3

golden cheese cookie with child!reader !

ᡣ𐭩⁀➴ note: this little short but i love golden cheese sm :(((

ᡣ𐭩⁀➴ warning: mentioned of death and destruction, spoilers for golden cheese cookie story (idk what it's called)

ᡣ𐭩⁀➴ content: hurt/comfort, hugs, kisses(platonic), golden cheese being a great mom

she lost everything, her treasures, her kingdom and her cookies.. she lost all of them. and there's nothing left but destruction.

She falls to the ground as the view of her destroy kingdom stands before her, cookie crumbs everywhere, her people, and everything she treasure is gone. all that because of her.

she lost everything.. almost.

as golden cheese was way too focused on everything she lost, she didn't hear the sounds of crying coming from near by.

as she heard the sound she quickly started running towards where it came from, maybe there's hope she didn't lose everything.

after she gets closer to the sounds she realizes it's coming from under the Destroyed houses, she wastes no time in quick lifting all the destruction to find the source of the sound and that when she saw it.

a small cookie sitting under there crying loudly.

golden cheese cookie couldn't believe her eyes, some cookie actually survive? but how? that's not possible everything is destroyed how does this little cookie survive.

when the small cookie notices golden cheese cookie she wastes no time in running into her arms, seeking comfort and safety.

"g.. golden cheese cookie, what happened? where's everyone... I'm scared golden cheese cookie..." said the small cookie between sobs, it was clear how raspy the small cookie voice is.

golden cheese didn't wanna question anything, whatever happened, she didn't lose anything and she's for sure aren't going to lose you too, you're all she has left of her kingdom now.

she quickly hugged you back, tightly bringing you close to insured that you're real and there's actually someone who survived this mess, that she's not alone.

"sheeesh little cookie, I'm right here, golden cheese cookie is right here for you." she said whispering comforting words to calm down the little cookie, her little cookie.

"but golden cheese cookie... where's everyone.. why everything is destroyed.. i want my parents and home back golden cheese cookie.. please bring them back"

golden cheese cookie wanted to cry, hearing one of her precious cookies begging for her, but she can't, she can't cry, not noe she needs to be strong. for herself. for you.

"don't worry my little cookie, I'm here for you. golden cheese cookie is going to take care of you from now on, and we together will bring your home- no, our home back, okay?"

said golden cheese cookie softly trying to comfort the little cookie as she stands up and holds her little cookie in her arms, now she's not doing this for herself, but for her cookie and specially for you.

"but golden cheese cookie... every is gone...and im just weak cookie.." says the little cookie as their voices cracks.

"yes everything is gone but we'll build it together, you might be a small cookie, but you're a brave and strong one, and I'll make it my life mission to bring everything back, and I'll give you your life back, promise"

said golden cheese cookie as she kissed her forehead softly, letting the little cookie rest in her arms, hiding her face away from the cruel world.

she's going to bring everything back, her treasures, her kingdom and her people, it's not gonna end like this, and with you she has more hope now, she'll protect you with everything she got, even if that cost her life.

[babextoken]

Slow like Mold in the Vents in the Wall

✧・┈・chapter 1

pairing: vessel x fem!reader summary:  you're running from something (and your) and find yourself as the lone girl on staff at one of the few video rental stores left in the area. everyone sees you as good coworker, if not a bit of a wallflower, expect for one. Ves sees right through your mask. And you hate him for it. wc: 1.9k head's up: series, slowish burn, enemies to lovers, coworkers, plus size reader, nerd!vessel, rude!vessel, hitting on people at work, reader and ves are a bit unlikable, slightly jealous!vessel, gatekeeping, Taylor Swift slander (it was for the plot, I'm not interested in entertaining this), tragic reader backstory, idiots who aren't in love YET a/n: I am both terrified and excited to share this. it's a mix of requests, my own thoughts, and my own ways of working through things while keeping that boy in a situation ♡ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ Situation Enjoyers™: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga-sustenna @adenobabe  @jeriiicho @milk--bones  @myaudiocommentary  @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @killed-by-thegods @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi  @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder  @evisnotok @cheomain @chaosandchaos @object-of-my-desire @dreamer-lost-in-wonderland @blvckmvgicwoman @canopies-of-gold-and-evergreen

recommended listening:

Vessel’s talking again. About nerd shit. Always with the nerd shit.

It started as a chat about video games. Sure, fine. Then it became video game soundtracks. Bit out there for some, ok. But then it veered to music. The question is posed, again, (because most zone out) about what kind of music Ves likes and makes on the side. But it only got worse. Everyone saw the change happen in slow motion; Vessel’s brows shot up, his dimples deepened, the normally soft spoken, stoic demeanor he had turned almost frantic. The music theory professor was in…and all because a sweet plump little thing beside him piped up saying, “An 11/8 time signature? That’s not even a real fraction!” 

Vessel didn’t know you yet. He saw you come in for your interview and onboarding but didn’t bother to approach you. Welcome you to the video store. At first he thinks you’re fucking with him. Busting his balls for the time signature thing, but you’re persistent. 

“No, seriously, how would that even sound? Come on, explain like we’re back in music class.”

The sheer glee radiating off this man could power a small country. He takes on a matter-of-fact but kind tone as he claps out the beats and explains what one could accomplish with such an interesting and complex and… It all fades out. You’re listening, yes, but you’re not retaining. The fact that you watched him go from a quiet participant in this little conversation you were cornered in to someone who was confident and expressive was, honestly, really hot. He’s tall enough that you have to lift your head a bit to look him in the eye, making you feel a bit like you’re being lectured. Guided. If the thought-police are real, they should put you away now because this is…really fucking hot. 

But Ves is none the wiser. He’s now moved on to name dropping bands that excel at weird time signatures and that even though math rock and progressive metal both utilize it they’re actually, in essence, quite different and that—

“You know, honestly,” you look around and whisper almost conspiratorially, “I don’t know any of the bands you just mentioned but—”

Vessel interrupts you, as nerdy boys on a roll are want to do. “Well, yes, that’s to be expected, but just because they—“

You raise your chin and your hand to stop him. “Hold on, I wasn’t done.” His face falls. Damnit. He’s done it again. He’s info-dumped too close to the sun to a new coworker, much less a GIRL. “I was going to say that maybe you could help me…expand my musical horizons,” you say with a tiny smirk. 

“Right! Right, yeah! Pull up your Spotify then and I’ll add some stuff for you.”

Years of being rejected allowed you to mask your disappointment. You shouldn’t be looking for a date at work and especially not at your brand new job. What you don’t realize is that Ves is masking, too. He won’t even give himself the chance to IMAGINE you’re dropping hints about a date. Instead of asking for clarification or, god forbid, explaining yourself further, you sheepishly take your phone out and let him start saving playlists and albums to your library. He hands your phone back, looking smug. 

“There we are…a much needed upgrade. Looks like you needed it…'This is Taylor Swift.’ Come now,” Vessel titters. “Listen to something that pushes the envelope.”

“Hah. Wow, alright.” You scoff with a humorless laugh. 

Oh. 

Cringe. 

Goddamnit. 

Vessel barely realizes now his sarcasm was NOT detected at all. He chuckles nervously and pats your shoulder. “Lighten up. Joking. I’m joking.”

“I actually meant we should spend some time together,” there’s a subtle emphasis on the phrase as your eyes roll back in exasperation, “and talk about it more. Get to know each other. Seems like we dodged a bullet then, hm?” 

Vessel stands there for a bit. Why did she want to wait until another time to talk about this?  Surely she’s just saying this because it’s like when you see an old friend and say “let’s get coffee” and then you never do and…wait. WAIT. “Do you…surely you don’t mean a…a date!” Vessel’s cheeks are stained maroon now from the sheer thought of a DATE. “This really did it for you? Hearing me drone on?”

Your face scrunches as if to say “dude, yes, obviously,” because to you it is obvious. Why not him? Yeah you just met him (and you’re at work. Please do not forget you’re at work) and he seemed fairly safe and nice, but maybe a bit of a gatekeeper-type? Or just a sarcastic jerk. All you know is that now you’re turned off a little. And Vessel’s just gawps at you. Thank god everyone else left to do closing duties when it was clear you two were having a one-on-one. No one needed to see you taking a joke too seriously and Vessel dropping the ball and probably missing out on one of those “for the plot” opportunities. It’s awkward now. Both of you had questionable dating history so no one really knows how to gracefully end the conversation (or have one, it seemed). And maybe you’ve got the right idea by just nodding and pursing your lips saying, “well…good talk,” and walking away to choose some tapes for your Staff Recommendations. 

Thus began the "Great Ignoring." It wasn’t to the point that you called in sick when you knew you were working with him, but you certainly felt a pit in your stomach. But you kept your head down and just worked. That’s why you were here. To start over. And do "The Work," as they say. 

It wasn’t like you wanted to be sent away last year when this big adventure started. Well, “sent away” was an overreaction (or at least that’s what you were told. Must be true then, yes?). You were “encouraged to seriously consider” taking time off and “enjoying a break.” And when paired with a queasy smile, it translated both literally and perfectly into “get yourself together, bitch, and do it far away. Come back when you’re normal.”

Fine. Like a child sent to her room, you huffed and pouted as you planned your mini vacation that instead turned into you completely upending your life a county over. No big deal! But beginnings are overrated. Finally getting some distance between a certain ex-boyfriend and a life you were comfortable with does not evoke feelings of “fresh starts.” It’s a death within and of itself. The physical move was easy. You didn’t own much. Such is the nature of breaking off an engagement that was over long before you even left. Long before the first emotional blow was struck. Family and friends offered more than you thought you deserved—money, secondhand furniture, food, the number of “a guy.” It was too much for you. The kindness didn’t cancel out any of the cruelty, and the small cruelties were magnified. 

Vessel gatekeeping “superior” music should have been the equivalent of a gnat in your general vicinity. You know it’s there, it’s not bothering you immediately, but when it does you can wave it off. No. For you it was worse. It was coming home knowing mom was mad at you. It was facing the tribunal. Or at least that’s how it felt. Normally he just ignored you, which gave you great comfort and dread. Comfort because “ok, he has no reason to bother me,” and dread because “ah shit the other shoe is about to drop and it’s gonna fucking suuuucckk.” 

“Hey are you listening?”

Fingers snapping drags you out of your haze. 

“Jesus. Come on, please tell me you actually sorted the new releases." Vessel, looking tired as usual, leans against the counter with his arms crossed and waits with bated breath for your answer. It was the dreaded closing shift with him. 

You return his tired gaze with a blank one, proffering your hand towards the fully stocked end cap boasting “New Releases? More like New Favourites!” 

The heaviest sigh comes out as he throws his head back, exposing his neck. You’d been here only a month but you were already keenly aware of Vessel’s body. You’d seen him do this multiple times a week. When a customer was difficult. When the regional manager had some asinine quota. When you…well…existed? But that got you acquainted with the delicate column of his throat. The strength of the sides sloping into his traps. Despite him icing you out, he was still hot.

“Yes, V. It’s stocked.”

“S’all you had to say. Taking my 15. Cheers.”

“Hey, on your way out can you take out th—“ but he’s already gone, “…trash?” You sigh heavily. “Fucker.” 

Not two minutes later, a lone guy comes in. He gives you a polite wave when you welcome him in, seems nice enough. Probably the kind of guy who knows exactly what he wants, he’ll pay, and that’s it. But he lingers for a bit at the Staff Recs with a big grin. He picks up one of yours, the third of a wacky but popular horror franchise. 

“This one yours?” He asks with a quirked up grin. 

You laugh softly and do a little bow. “That it is. And I’m not going to apologize for it.”

“Oh you shouldn’t.” He shakes the box as he refers to the movie saying, “this subverts tropes as much as it regurgitates. People should apologize for shitting on it!”

“Exxaaccccttttlllyyyy,” you exclaim. 

Finally. Someone who matches wits. You enjoy an animated conversation with about the franchise, the rumored reboots, other franchises…it’s refreshing. You barely realize Ves has come back from his break. He squeezes by you at the register mumbling, “lucky there isn’t a line right now.” But you ignore it. You have a handle on this. As you’re finally ringing up the guy, he mentions a series he thinks you might enjoy. And when you tell him you’d never heard about it before he gives you a smirk and leans forward as he takes his receipt.

“Maybe we should get together sometime…could get the box set. Takeaway even?” He winks. “Be seeing you.” He does a quick nod behind you, and you realize it was to Vessel, who was sulking in the corner of the little checkout boat.

“Oohhh let’s get together and talk about it…you’ll have to tell me all about it…I don’t know aaaannnnyythiing about anything,” he mocks. “You get off on that, don’t you?”

“What? Stimulating conversation about media? Yeah. It’s my kink.”

“Smart ass. No! Playing dumb.”

If looks could kill. But Vessel doesn’t care. He returns your icy gaze. “You’re just jealous.”

He scoffs and looks away, cheeks burning. “What’s there to be jealous of? You two aren’t actually going to meet up. Just like when you pulled that shit with me. Honestly…”

“Hah! No. You’re the one who fumbled that. You insulted my taste.”

“And you’re the one who took a joke wrong. And had the audacity to hit on me within your first two weeks here.” You swallow hard. He had a point. Here’s the other shoe dropping, but you weren’t going to run. Or fawn. 

“I deserve that. I’m sorry.” You nod and lower your eyes. 

“It’s…” Vessel seems shocked. Unbeknownst to you, Vessel has received maybe 3 genuine apologies in his whole life, each from family. “All’s forgiven.” 

A sheepish smile pulls at your lips.  “I’m going to take that trash out, yeah?” You say referring to the trash you had wanted him to take care of. He doesn’t protest and even thanks you. 

As you’re tossing the garbage in the alley, you realize immediately…you’re not alone. 

[nicohii]

Sylus x Non-MC plot bunny in my mind where:

You have served him as his right hand. Cleaned whatever mess or potential ones that had come his way. You've been with him for as long as you can remember -- even before Luke and Kieran.

The softness in your eyes when you look at him does not escape him. He is observant, hell, he wouldn't be where he is now if he wasn't. There is a softness and fondness I'm the way you move around him and the boys. There is a part of you that knows that he knows; but you also know that he is here with a mission of lifetimes. There is someone out there he keeps looking for and it isn't you.

You see it -- the longing in his eyes, one that transcends the presence you offer even if he hides it from you. In the moments that the universe allows, there is exchanged softnes. Exchange of something of the heart but you both don't dare call what it is because... because... and you actually can't think of any reason why. And it hurts.

Then comes a hunter, and everything falls into place. The why's. The what's. The mission of his lifetimes. There is a growing distance that both of you hate but choose not to address. She makes him happy and that makes you happy. She makes you happy. You understand why, but understanding doesn't make you numb.

It takes a while before you choose to make ammends with yourself. To make peace that there isn't anything here for you anymore. Your service isn't needed anymore .

It's a party, you don't remember what for. She is on a vacation in Skyhaven so your boss opts to take you. Surprisingly, this isn't a mission. Just a small something that a friend invited him to. You find him in a balcony, just coming off from a phone call with a voice to familiar.

You hand him a glass of wine which he accepts. The N109 zone is harsh, but there is beauty in it during these hours. The illuminating lights, the sounds of the city, the feel of him. There is an ache in your stomach that makes you want to hurl.

"You have been distant... " his voice breaks the silence and you look at him from your periphery before taking a sip of your own drink. So direct, so Sylus.

"Yes. Yes, I have been. I suppose. " You smile. He leans against the railings arms crossed and you know he wants you to tell him more. You think about the plans you have made within your time to yourself. The decisions you have come up with... And where to go from here.

You down the whole drink before letting a small scoff and laugh, eyes wandering everywhere but him.

"Sylus, you have got to know by now. " You're voice starts to crack, and you can't do anything, he makes you vulnerable. He takes you apart piece by piece just by being within reach.

"Know what? "

"That I love you."

He chooses to remain silent. What is there to say to that? He supposes. He knows. That's the thing between the both of you, the deep understanding that transcends words. He caresses your face. You look at him in the eyes, and he swear he doesn't mean to, but there is weakness in the moment, when your eyes yearn and tell him to take a peak at the dreams you have locked away because you both know there is no return from this, might as well lay all the cards on the table.

He sees it, the soft dreams of a future. Two bodies dancing in the living room, early mornings, late nights, a small him, a small you, childlike laughter flooding his home. Something stings within him when he gets down from the illusions, and all that's left is the look of resignation from your eyes. Like you already know what he is going to say.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I--"

"I know." You tell him as you softly remove his hands from your face. There is a sad smile in your face before you nurse your empty glass between your hands. You hold it close in your hands, cradling it against your chest as the moisture from the glass stains your dress.

"I think... " your breath shakes, a ragged breath before you look at him again, "I think my work here is done."

Sylus is by no means a sentimental man for everyone, but there is a pang in his chest that feels to familiar and foreign at the same time. He takes prides in his well sewn words, they are calculated and factual, well spoken and funny if he tried, but right now there is no words.

You ask him for your freedom that night. You've already done enough for him, you tell him. There is no need for you here and it's time for the move forward.

It's the last time he hears of you.

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

It's not everyday that Luke and Kieran leaves important documents haphazardly at the base. But Sylus supposes that boys will be boys. He cleans his gun, a particular habit he picked up to relax. Before he notices a white envelope left opened and read on the deskdesk, intricately designed and scented, with your name written in fancy script.

Your hand writing is on the card,

Boys,

I don't really have family to walk me down the aisle. So I figured and hope, will you to do it? It would mean the world to me.

(But if there's an important mission Sylus assigned you to do please for the love of all things holy, don't bail on him.)

P. S: Please don't tell him.