#I need this boy to realize his feelings already

[matchaelette]

gif by @yoongi-bts

when jungkook is a vessel of love, and love is as beautiful as the poets said it was

summary: idol!jk and oc!ash, established relationship, the first time 'I love you' was spoken out aloud. the more earlier stages of their relationship. yearning, tenderness, fluff, it's all sickeningly full of love.

genre: fluff

warnings: none.

word count: 3.4k

notes: life updates. one: i'm back. obviously. two: jung hoseok is back and ksj 1 is coming (!!!) three: I am officially a uni student and majoring in civil engineering. classes start from the first week of december. four: I have decided to officially name this drabble series *drumrolls* the hopeless romantic series. so, without further ado, welcome back, our hopeless romantic couple!

you’re in love with jungkook.

no, you’re not allowed to say that.

fuck what you’re allowed and not allowed.

you’re desperately, helplessly, hopelessly in love with jeon jungkook. your gorgeous, gorgeous boy.

yours.

then why are you not allowed to be in love with him?

because you’ve been dating him for three months. three months.

only three months, since you decided to stop pining after him, decided it was enough, after god knows how long. three months since that decision led you to be extremely nonchalant around him, calm and collected to a point where it almost looked fake (you’re a terrible actor), and the next thing you knew, you were heavily making out with him in the chilly air of a fall night. calm and collected, indeed. three months since you learned that jungkook was pining for you in the same manner, if not more, and three freaking months since both of you decided to date, being head over heels for one other ever since.

it's too soon to say ‘I love you’. even if you know deep down that you were in love with him even before dating him– but there’s no way you’re treading that water. the realization of being in love with him right now is enough to freak you out. no, it’s definitely too soon to declare ‘I love you’.

because you don’t know whether jungkook feels the same way. although it’s not like you need or expect him to feel the same way you do. just because you’re in love with him doesn’t mean he has to be. you can happily wait until he’s ready and feels the same way.

you’re just scared that he doesn’t want to feel that way. that you’ll scare him away.

look at him. does he look like he feels the same as you?

jeon jungkook looks like a slow-motion daydream, standing in front of you. tight-fitting jeans, snug around the well-defined muscles of his thighs, and a black checkered shirt, sleeves rolled up, displaying the protruding veins of his arm. his curly hair covers the vein in his forehead, almost reaching down to his lips which were pouting in distress.

yeah, you don’t care how he feels. you’re in love with him.

but you are a graveyard of all the people you ever loved.

you can’t have jungkook join those ghosts of the past.

“three hours now. we’ve been trying to fix it for three hours.”, you shake your head, frustrated. you’ve been out all day today and the last thing you wanted to do when you got back home was your laundry. but the lack of fresh clothes compelled you to do it anyway. and everything would’ve been fine had you not entered your laundry room to discover the whole floor flooded with water. panicked and disoriented, your first instinct was to call jungkook, despite it being past midnight. when your boyfriend heard what had happened, he immediately demanded you step aside and that he was already on his way over to your house.

“this thing–”, the boy of your dream grumbles out loud in real life, breaking your thought train, “–hates me!”

oh, that.

now, it’s four in the morning and you’re both dripping wet, absolutely drained, standing in a puddle of water and soap. all you could do is to stare dejectedly at the washing machine. it was a losing battle.

“oh my god!”, jungkook cries out in indignation, “a minute ago it was sprinkling water in my face, now it’s sprinkling soapy water!”

“jungkook, move away”, you hurriedly pull your boyfriend away from your washing machine. he rebels under your grip, the patience he displayed half an hour ago was now transformed into rage.

how can someone be so cute when they’re mad?

“let me go, ash”, he points a threatening finger at the washing machine, “you wanted a fight, buddy? I’ll give you!”

“jungkook!”, you laugh and wrap your arms around his waist, “it already won! look at us!”

jungkook stares down at your attached bodies, soaked from top to bottom, while the washing machine looks like it is having a field trip.

“okay, I give up”, he sighs and rests his chin on the top of your head, “unless–”

“no unless.”

“hear me out first”, he smooches your hair, “you smell amazing by the way. anyways, unless– wait, what was I going to say? I was supposed to say something amazing.”

“I’m sure it was amazing, babe”, you chuckle with fondness, “but that thing is a lost cause. I’ll call maintenance in the morning. let’s take a shower and go to sleep, okay?”

“mhm. yeah”, he replies in affirmation but only tightens his arms around you.

“I’m sorry for calling you so late. I should’ve just– I don’t know. I mean, it was just a minor inconvenience. not a big deal. I don’t know why I freaked out–”

“princess, ssh”, jungkook coos, “you have a problem, you call me. doesn’t matter how small or big it is.”

“kook, I literally called you at one in the morning.”

“and I am very glad that I am the first person that crossed your mind. even though I couldn’t help you. I swear to god, this washing machine has a personal grudge against us.”

“thank you anyways”, you mumble against his chest.

“hey, this is what boyfriends are for.”

how is it possible not to love him?

you wake up to the humming of a honey-caramel voice in the distance.

you yawn and grab the crisply folded silk robe from the foot of your bed. the clothes haphazardly tossed on the ground last night were nowhere in sight, and neither was the person who did so. yet you could hear his hums, feel his warmth.

you smile.

the clock on the wall reflects a bright 11:10, and it’s safe to say that you’ve just woken up. after staying up with your rogue washing machine till four in the morning, you can’t really blame yourself. you feel very well-rested though, for the first time in a while.

jeon jungkook’s presence has that kind of power.

you make an effort to stay silent in your own house. your bare feet tiptoe against the icy floors, carrying you to the sweet melody you’re fairly certain is your boyfriend in the kitchen. and undoubtedly it is. jeon jungkook has his back turned towards you– white tee clinging to his physique, his hair damp and disheveled, singing softly to himself while doing the dishes.

you hold your breath and hug him from the back, resting your cheek against his spine.

jungkook, momentarily confused, laughs when he realizes it’s you.

“good morning princess.”

“good morning jungkook”, you inhale him in. he smells like peaches and baby soap. and fresh laundry. “you smell heavenly.”

“I just came out of the shower–”

 “–hey!”, you cut him short when he gently peels you off him, unexpectedly devoid of warmth, but jungkook hugs you back in an instant; your ear against his ribcage, his chin on the top of yours.

“mmm, that’s better”, you mumble, “did you do the laundry? you smell like detergent.”

 you can almost reach out and touch the outlines of his smile. “you couldn’t do it last night so I thought I’d take some work off your shoulders. I folded your clothes as well!”

“aww, you didn’t have to do– wait, the washing machine is fixed?”

“yeah, I called the repairmen in the morning and they said they were coming over. I was pretty surprised at how quickly they arrived.”

“what happened?”

“one of the pipes got leaked somehow. I think I also did some damage when I tried to fix it. but don’t worry, it’s as good as new.”

“not worrying”, you let go of jungkook and let muscle memory guide you to the coffee machine, “why did you wake up so early?”

 “it’s one p.m. in the afternoon. what’re you talking about?”, jungkook laughs.

“it’s one p.m.?!”, you choke on your coffee, “the clock– but it was eleven–”

“it’s out of battery. I got new ones though”, jungkook points at the bags sitting on your counter.

“you went grocery shopping? you spent an entire lifetime while I slept!”, jungkook chuckles at your awe, “tell me from the beginning. what did you do?”

“well, I called the repairmen as soon as I woke up and then I went to take a shower. they were here by the time I was done. I made us breakfast while they fixed your machine, went grocery shopping afterward, came back and did laundry, here I am now”, jungkook kisses your forehead, “all while someone slept like a baby.”

“oh my god. thank you so much.”

I love you.

“you’re welcome, babe”, he smiles, “I gotta leave now. but listen, I got you ice cream, popcorn and those salty chips you seem to love so much. call me if you need anything else.”

“huh? why though?”, you peer in confusion. you’re usually not very big on snacking. and jungkook knows that. unless it’s your–

“your period is supposed to start tomorrow, genius”, he rolls his eyes, “you don’t remember, do you?”

you clearly didn’t.

apparently, he did.

you tiptoe forward to hug jungkook, too stunned to form any coherent word. you hope jungkook doesn’t notice the tears filling your eyes but when he lifts your face to gently kiss your eyelids, you realize that he knew you were gonna cry.

yeah, I definitely love you.

“hello, jungkookie’s girlfriend!”

kim taehyungs’s visibly enthusiastic face beams at you through the screen of your phone. your initial reaction is to wave brightly at him, despite the slight confusion of whether you accidentally called him when you picked up the phone to facetime your boyfriend.

“hi, tae!”, you say heartily, “gosh, it’s been a while since I saw you.”

“and whose fault is that, huh?”, taehyung’s voice is a warm breeze on a spring evening, “jungkookie tells me you’ve been like… hella busy”

“I was. I mean, I am. it feels like I am always busy these days”, you sigh, “but never busy enough for you guys! how are you?”

“good. busy as well, but good.”

“kook told me last night. you guys work way too hard.”

“wait”, taehyung exploded into laughter, “jungkookie was at your place last night?”

“...yeah?”

“our manager was looking for him and jungkookie was going on and on about how he was in his room all night and manager hyung didn’t knock loudly enough!”

“oh my god, he wasn’t supposed to be at mine yesterday?”

“no, I mean, he was done working but he didn’t tell anyone before leaving the dorm!”

“that might be my fault”, guilt fills your eyes, “I was doing laundry last night and my washing machine started leaking water everywhere. I panicked and called kook. I’m sorry”

“hey, it’s okay, no harm was done”, taehyung looks amused, “so you were doing laundry at midnight? no wonder jungkookie is obsessed with you.”

“obsessed with me, huh?”, you smile playfully, concealing the tiny somersault your heart does.

“he literally never stops talking about you”, taehyung grins widely, “bro is whipped”

“hmm, I did call bro’s phone, right? or did I accidentally call you?”

“how do accidentally call taehyung instead of jungkook? one starts with t and one starts with j”, taehyung suddenly looks disgusted, “unless you saved him as something weird, in that case, I don’t wanna know–”

“kim taehyung.”

“or you can just tell me that you missed me, you know”, taehyung flips his phone camera and you spot a dancing jeon jungkook in the middle of a huge practice room, “but since the only person you care about is jungkookie–”

“kim taehyung–”

“–you called him, okay?”, you hear taehyung’s laughter, “I was playing games on his phone. he’s practicing extra today.

“practicing extra?”

“he said you guys made plans to hang out tomorrow.”

“we– we did”, you’re puzzled. jungkook continues to dance furiously, his quick and precise movements almost defying gravity, completely unaware of his surroundings, “wait, we planned to meet tomorrow because both of us had a clear schedule. why is he practicing extra today?”

“hobi hyung was asking him the same thing”, taehyung nods his head in mock disappointment, “we don’t really have a free schedule tomorrow. but he said that if you couldn’t meet tomorrow it’d be a while before you did. right?”

“y-yeah”, you blink.

“soooo, yeah. as I said, bro’s so whipped.”

oh god. be still my wild heart.

“this boy”, you finally exhale after a pause; feeling bad that he’s overworking himself to meet your needs, feeling grateful that it’s worth it to him.

“this boy, indeed. no, actually, we’re kinda proud of how amazingly we raised him.”

“you really, really did. ya’ll should give out parenting lessons.”

taehyung chuckles, “okay, I’ll give the phone to him.”

“tae, don’t”, you smile, quickly stopping him from calling jungkook, “just tell him to call me whenever he’s free, okay? I’ll be up.”

“okay, then. take rest, okay? don’t overwork yourself.”

“look who’s preaching”, you shoot him a stern look, “the kings of overworking themselves. take care, okay?”

taehyung laughs, “yeah. come over to the dorm whenever you’re free. we all miss you.”

“I will. bye!”

“kook– stop it–”, you say in between a few puffs of breath, “you’re– god– tickling me!”

“am I?”, jungkook wiggles his eyebrows, and smothers his face on the exposed skin of your tummy once again, causing you to almost choke with another round of laughter. the sensation of his lips against your tummy has the butterflies inside going frenzy, but a part of you is scared shitless that it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with yourself.

you want to laugh; you want to cry. you wanna twirl into a knot and fly up in the sky. jungkook has no idea of the power he has over you– his body molds into yours, one his hands have shaped, a design he has drawn, kissed it into a sculpture.

you love him, you love this human being staring at you from between your legs with all the love in this whole fucking universe, kind and whole and happy and real, jeon jungkook, you love him so fucking say it.

I love you. I love you so much that I can’t deny it any longer, the promise stays silent on your tongue.

you wanna cry.

at least, you think you do.

“your heartbeat is going crazy”, jungkook calms down once he’s done tickling you out of your wits. he moves between your thighs and presses his ear against your heart space while gently laying his head on your chest.

yeah, do you know that is because I love you and not because you tickled the living lights outta me?

“princess?”, he asks quietly.

say it.

“princess?”, jungkook raises his head and looks at you, mildly concerned “are you okay?”

say something.

instead, you stare at him. you stare at his eyes. if eyes are actually a mirror of people’s souls, jungkook’s eyes perfectly represent his– filled to the brim with tenderness, tranquility, and mirth. a few years ago, you had read somewhere that humans were created from the burned-out embers of stars. you never believed it. the same folks who start wars, spill blood, stealing lying deceiving and doing everything evil, cannot be created from something so divine.

however, jungkook, over and over again, contradicts that belief. you have no doubt he’s born out of stardust. and fiery comets, northern lights, solar eclipses, everything magic.

“why are you crying?!”, jungkook’s anxious voice snaps you out of your reverie. without realizing you find yourself getting pulled up to sit on his lap, straddling his thighs. “is it me? did I do something?”

“itsh nn-not”, you utter weakly but the words come out as a stifled sob. when jungkook doesn’t understand what you’re saying, he completely loses his composure. he lets go of you and attempts to pry himself away, fairly convinced that he must’ve done something stupid. but you dig your fingers in his arms, trying to communicate with your firm grip that he did nothing wrong. it’s you, you’re the stupid one.

it takes him a few more seconds to realize that you’re crying for something else altogether, and only then does he relax. he wraps his arms around you, letting you break down in his little protective bubble.

what is wrong with me? why does every feeling of mine come out as tears?

“it’s okay, it’s okay”, jungkook coos, “breathe. breathe with me.”

“inhale with me”, he holds eye contact and carefully guides your breath, “good. now exhale. in. and out. it’s okay. I love you. you’re okay, princess.”

and

everything

just

freezes

for a moment.

for a moment?

seems like a lifetime.

you never realize how many types of ‘I love you’s there are until they’re spoken out aloud. most ‘I love you’s are expressed as a confession, while there are some which are born out of panic. I love you. do you love me back? these ‘I love you’s are full of anxiety, and a desperate longing for reassurance, for arms that’ll keep them safe. some are born out of anger and frustration. I’m doing this for you, because I love you, why don’t you understand? then there are those which are born out of pure terror because I love you but I’m afraid that all I’ll ever do is hurt you.

jungkook’s ‘I love you’ sounded like it was nurtured, a flower that bloomed inside a long time ago. like a blanket woven from your favorite human on the entire planet and falling asleep with someone inside your heart no matter how alone you feel outside; a promise.

not that any of you were in the right state of mind to realize that.

you and jungkook realize at the same time. the words that have been spoken out to existence.

he stares at you; you stare at him. devastated, mouth hanging, eyes bulging. none of you breathing.

jungkook closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again.

“that was not a mistake”, his voice is deep and low. you hold your breath, afraid to miss a single sound that comes out of his mouth, “I do. I will if you allow me to. not that I can help it– I mean, even if you don’t allow it I can’t help myself. I love you. it’s not like I can just un-love you! wait, why do I need your permission anyway? it’s my feelings we’re talking about! okay, but it does concern you”, jungkook looks mortified, “but still, you don’t have to say it back. it’s great if you do but like, there’s no pressure. just don’t tell me to un-love you because that one is none of your business, oka–”

you kiss him. you kiss the living lights out of him. jungkook doesn’t even register what’s happening, he just accepts everything– the way your lips smashes against his, the way your tongue envelops his, finding you in every corner of his mouth, feeling you in every inch of his skin; a drunkard clinging onto every last drop of alcohol yet never having enough.

jungkook is literally panting when you let go of him.

 “I was crying because I am in love with you. I have been in love with you for a while now and I didn’t know how to say so”, you confess. only a few words are enough to make realization flash in his eyes. after all, he knows you. he knows you well enough to know everything, even the things he doesn’t.

“I must’ve been a saint in my past life to deserve this”, jungkook closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours.

“I think this is your first life. you’re like the sugar in a cookie.”

“what? I thought I was the cookie!”, jungkook furrows his eyebrows, offended, “also, sugar isn’t good for you. what are you talking about?!”

you giggle in response.

“hey! take it back”, he overpowers you in a swift motion. he reels your bodies backward to hover over you, pinning your hands down on the mattress, smirking. “otherwise you’re gonna regret it.”

“regret? nah, I think I will enjoy it”, your smirk wipes off the one on his face.

“oh boy”, he sighs.

“jungkook?”

“yeah?”

“say it again”, you whisper.

“I love you.”

“again.”

“I love you.”

[beloveds-embrace]

brain empty only thought - TF141 are all dancers for magic mike in london and give their stage manager a private show

I love your brain anon 😩 taking free liberties with whatever a show manager does here fyi lol but i also tried to watch an actual magic mike show but i turned into a blushing mess and had to stop halfway. Fair warning tho, i’ve never written anything quite like this 😭 all of this is safe, sane and consensual

You are such a good stage manager to them, though, always ensuring everyone is on the same page, communications are going well, all props are set and the most important thing in your opinion; all the dancers are doing well. You always make sure there are plenty of drinks, they’re well-slept and ready and-

You do so much for them, such a good stage manager. It’s only right that they spoil you with a private show all carered to you, in a private room where they make you sit down on chair placed right in the middle.

Have you seen this choreography before? Yes. Are you in any shape or way ready to have Kyle kneel in front of you on one knee, gazing up at you like you are star, and spread your thighs open so he can nuzzle his face right between your tights? You aren’t.

“Smell so fuckin’ good, pretty.” Gaz mumbles, groaning low against your skin.

Your face is flaming red, feeling him kiss the soft pudge of your thighs before he slides up with a wink so Johnny takes place on your lap, leather jeans tight on his ass and bulge. He takes your hovering hands, and places them on his thighs while he grinds against you, hips pressing together.

You can barely bite your noises back, clenching your thighs shut.

“No staying silent, bonnie,” he croons, thumb rubbing your lips. You hadn’t even realized your mouth was slack and open until he pushes his thumb in for a few seconds, and you obediently, impulsively, suck on it. His eyes darken, and he leans to kiss the corner of your lips, hovering over your lap. “Good girl.”

It takes everything in you not to whine out loud, drenched between your thighs.

When he moves off with another kiss, it’s Ghost who kneels in front of her, the music slower now, deeper. He takes her hands, kissing her palms through his mask and guiding her hands to the buttons of his silk button-up that bared his defined collarbones already, scarred skin glowing the more you reveal of him.

God, you want to bite him so badly.

“Look at me, doll.” He orders, and you so easily obey you can see the crinkle in his mask. Like a snake, Ghost twists his body so his back is across your knees, shoulders and head on your lap, peering up at you with his legs spread and holding his body up.

“Si-“ you whine at last, resolve breaking. He pulls your hands down his shoulders, and you take the hint by caressing his pecs, his abs, the strong muscles taut under your exploring hands. Feeling just a little bold and knowing he doesn’t mind, your fingers tease along his belt.

“He’s so fucking handsome, isn’t he?” Captain Price croons behind you, big hands settling on your shoulders, dipping into your blouse to toy with your bra straps. “All my boys are. But you’re our girl, aren’t you? Our pretty, beautiful girl, always working so hard for us. My boys adore you, sugar.”

Your mouth dries up, staring up at him, hands still on Ghost. “I…”

“No words needed, doll.” he scoffs, smug the way only a man who knows how easily he can command a room can be. His hands leave your skin and before you can pout, he’s reaching under your thighs to carefully pull you up while still being mindful of Simon. He sits in your chair, you on his lap and Ghost still under your touch. “Let us spoil you, yeah?”

And who are you to even think about saying no to such a beautiful, tempting offer?

[ollimus-prime]

HAIIII OLLIE !!!!1!1!!!!!!1!!!!!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ IM LOWKEY SOOOOOO EXCITED THAT YOURE WRITING FOR TRANSFORMERS ON A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT BLOG ENTIRELY MADE FOR IT!!!!1! + you already KNOW who it is — ITS YOUR BOY 😼😼 /ref

i’ve been tweaking so hard over tfone b-127 bumblebae boy bc he’s so auuuhhh — 😭😭 got me on my knees bc my type in men is so golden retriever boyfriends, BUT SPEAKING OF GOLDEN RETRIEVER BOYFRIENDS!!

i hope you don’t mind me requesting b-127 with a fem cybertronian reader who’s just his female counterpart drabble or hcs? like it’s giving yapper x yapper and golden retriever x golden retriever, no freaking doubt both fell for eachother the moment they introduced themselves and started to yap together. OK I TALK TOO MUCH, PLS TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF OLLIE!!! DRINK UP, EAT UP, SLEEP WELL AND TAKE BREAKSSSS!! Loves ya much :)

Yapper Adoration

A/N, not important: Hope you like it, Frankie. I tried my best. Also, it's Gender Neutral, not fem. Sorry! Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: N/A(unless y'all see smth I need to add)

Words: 554

Summary: B-127 finally has someone to talk to

B-127 was first introduced to you via Elita-1. She had met you during her time in waste management, your bubbly and eager-to-please personality strikingly similar to B’s own. Elita-1, knowing she had two loud and boisterous bots that needed constant attention, stuck you together in hopes that you would both get along and stop bothering everyone else. To Elita-1’s delight and slight horror, the two of you stuck together like magnets.

B-127 finally had someone who not only was willing to listen to him, but someone who actively engaged in what he said. Not to mention you had worked similar jobs, causing a bond to form from the toil of sorting garbage and the dream of doing more. You were just as positive and rambunctious as him, causing B-127 to immediately latch onto you as his new best friend.

Not that you minded, of course. You had your fair share of bots who’ve been annoyed by your endless chatter, and finding someone who was similar to you in personality and mannerism was just as freeing to you as it was to B. Neither of you were much willing to separate after your first meeting. Despite Elita’s chiding of you both moving too fast, you had started dating the kind and energetic bot.

You’re also one of the only bots B-127’s met that didn’t immediately think he was insane. Sure, you’ve joked about his ‘friends’ that he made down in sub level 50 before, but he didn’t sense a hostility in your tone like most others seem to have. You encouraged his interests and helped him find new friends, showing support he’s never truly received before.

There’s never silence when either of you are around, both of you capable of listening to the other’s prattling just as much as you converse back and forth. Having someone willing to listen to your interests and engage with them is something neither of you really realized you needed. While you were definitely more socially aware than B was, you weren’t much better at keeping friends around.

You comfort him a lot after D-16’s departure, allowing him to express his feelings in a healthy way while dealing with his quick gain and loss of friends. He leans on your positive attitude to keep his intact as well, and he’s incredibly grateful to have you. He wants to have all of his friends back, but having you to lean on after losing one so quickly makes it easier to manage.

Neither of you ever stop bragging about landing each other, the both of you getting into basic lovers quarrels over who loves the other more. Whenever you’re seen together, you’re almost always touching in some way. Whether it’s holding hands, hugging, or leaning against each other, there’s not much that can make either of you stray far enough to not be glued to the other. It’s mostly for B’s sake, as being alone for so long really had to put a strain on his mental health. Being able to hang onto you is a good reminder you’re not only real, but that you’re not going anywhere.

He’s your best friend through and through, and feels super safe with you. He wants you to know you’re his favorite person and reminds you like, every few minutes. You’re everything he’s ever wanted.

[verycoolusername1]

It's you that I'll be kissin'

Summary: In which Nico may not be the dream guy, but he makes up for it in his own special way.

Warning! Nothing just pure fluff

A/N: I'm so bored I decided to write to keep my mind off the state of my country(writing this after the election so-)

I was meant to publish this later(on Sunday) but I clicked the wrong button so now it's here

You watched Nico as he slept, his brown hair falling across his face. Your hand ghosts over his cheek before raising it down.

"I can feel you staring at me." Nico mumbles.

"Sorry," you apologize. "You just look so pretty when you're sleeping."

Nico huffed a laugh as he rubbed his eyes. "I would say thank you but that sounds creepy."

You slowly got up and opened the curtains, temporarily blinding you.

"Given this scenario, it's not creepy at all." You argued. "I'm gonna get in the shower, you wanna join me?"

"It is cheaper," He hums in agreement.

You took out your hand for him to take which he did, and the two of you went to take a shower and got dressed.

You were currently drying your hair before picking one of Nico's sweaters and went down to the kitchen to find him cooking breakfast.

You sniffed the air. "Smells amazing baby."

"Well I'm not trying to end up like last time." Nico says softly.

Your face grimaced at the memory. "Those cooking lessons I've been giving Jack been passed down to you it seems."

"He always brags of how good of a teacher you are, you not ever considering being one is still a shock." Nico flips a pancake.

You looked at him in shock. "Being around little kids is something I can't handle."

"Are you gonna be able to handle our kids one day?" Nico asked.

You nodded. "Well I already do, Tracker is always a good boy."

You both knew what Nico meant but he brushed it off seemly taking that as an answer

Your dog Tracker loves the both of you and never caused all that trouble. He was visiting his uncle Jack for the week.

Nico turns around and places two plates down for the both of you, he sits beside you.

"I have the morning off, afternoon skate today. I'm all yours." Nico eats a piece of bacon.

Your eyes gleamed with joy. "Really?" Nico nods.

"Hm ooh can we go to the bookstore down the street? I've been meaning to get this book, it was romance and get this the love interest was a hockey player." You chuckles.

"That sounds familiar." Nico jokes.

"Well I didn't need it when I had the real thing." You poked his side. "I just wanna see what all the hype is about."

Nico nods as he looks at you. "Anything else you want to do today?"

"We can cuddle, I definitely missed those." You took a bite of your pancake.

"But babe we cuddle all the-" You cut Nico off before continuing. "And do a movie marathon of high school musical."

"We don't have enough time for that." Nico told you.

"Oh I know, that's for when you get back from afternoon skate." You explained.

Nico realized your intentions and his face grew in horror. "Oh no."

You began to smile wickly. "We will watch it so many times you'll know all the words to 'I can't dance' it'll be so much fun!"

"You wouldn't." Nico said.

"I'll blast the soundtrack in the car." You teased.

You then ran off to put your shoes while Nico started doing the dishes.

"Hey Nico?" You called out.

"Yes?" He washed the plate with the sponge.

"You know I love you right? I don't wanna make you watch it if you don't want to, you're the best boyfriend I ever had and I really don't want to lose you and I'm talking too much, I'm going to shut up now." You rambled.

You finished with your shoes and let out a yelp as you got up, Nico stood there staring at you.

"Baby what's wrong-" Nico cut you off this time by kissing you softly.

"Do you really mean that?" Nico asked softly.

"Of course I do, how could I not? You're just you and that's all I could ever need." You answer without hesitation.

"I love you." Nico caressed your face.

"I love you too." You smiled softly. "Now hurry up we have no time to waste!"

[kaiyunsim]

80’s makeout session —

pairing : idol!anton x non-idol gn!reader

summary : you and your boyfriend, anton, haven’t seen eachother for a while so you and his members decide to surprise him (features wonbin + shotaro + seunghan)

warnings : fluff, making out, anton being lwk touch starved

a/n : first riize fic ! hope u guys enjoy :3 also i wrote this in like 30 mins so yeah !

— w/c : ~1k — not proof read ! —

anton was always a person who liked to show affection, even if it was embarrassing for him. his members would make it their mission to try and tease him as much as possible whenever you were mentioned.

it’s been a while since you’ve seen anton since he’s been busy with his group, preparing for their upcoming comeback. he’s been texting you over and over saying how much he misses you. if the members ever saw your conversations, they would never let him hear the end of it.

missing his contact as well, you decide to take a peak at his schedule and see he has a show soon. now wanting to surprise him, you contact wonbin and see if he’ll let you in backstage. after asking the company, he was actually able to get you a backstage ticket as staff.

you make it to the concert, walking into the backstage to meet up with wonbin. you got some snacks earlier as a thank you to him for letting you in without anton knowing. you see him waiting outside, leaning on the wall, trying to appear nonchalant. you found it funny.

“hey wonbin, thanks for letting me in” you thank him before handing him the package of snacks. you can see his nonchalantness leave him for a moment as he smiles at the food but as soon as he realized he puts the straight face back on.

“we should be thanking you,” wonbin argued, “anton wouldn’t stop talking about how much he missed you”

you giggle at his word but you aren’t surprised. after all, he would always text you about how he would miss you.

wonbin takes you to an empty preparation room before leaving you there to go and grab anton. after a short delay, the door creeks open to reveal the tall brachio boy in front of you who appears stunned that you are in front of him.

“y/n..?” he spurts out, mouth opened from not expecting anything. wonbin told him that there was a surprise here but anton thought he was kidding.

you open you arms reaching for a hug before he closes the door and runs over to give you one. “oh my fucking god i miss you so much,” anton mumbles into your shoulder, “we’re so busy with the comeback and tours”

“i know, but i’m here right now,” you reply with a smile, giggling after being able to see your boyfriend after so long. “i missed you too”

anton takes any remaining words out of your mouths with a much needed kiss with lots of feeling. you could tell he needed it and too be honest, you needed it as well. he leans into you, further deepening the kiss increasing both of your heart rates.

you pull out of the kiss, regaining your breath, “jesus, someone’s needy for some kisses,” you tease anton.

“of course i am, i haven’t seen you in forever. this is the best surprise the hyungs got” he smiles, giving you butterflies in you stomach. how can someone be so cute?

anton digs in for another kiss, this time you lean into him. you could tell he was all giggly cause his hands were on you waist keeping you from leaning in further.

“calm down there y/n,” he chuckled, his smile looking bigger than ever.

“okay then anton, whatever you say,” you roll your eyes but while you’re distracted he kisses you again.

the small sound of the door behind him opens up to shotaro, “the show is starting soon so get ready,” shotaro’s eyes slowly dart to you, “oh and hi y/n,” his voice softer and offering a wave before leaving to get his finishing touches done.

“you should leave and get pretty,” you joke, looking at his messed up makeup.

“you better be here after the show,” he says looking as cute as ever.

some more knocks are followed by that last statement, “hurry up anton, stop making out already,” it was likely the voice of seunghan.

anton flushes, “looks like i should go” he says as you give him a giggly nod. you know his hyungs are going to tease him for this but both of you think its all worth it.

[userautumn]

You are always 100% right and valid btw. Because like buck and Tommy are broken up, but you also have several interviews released today where Ryan calls Buck and Eddie “brothers” and where Oliver explicitly says Eddie is straight so they will most likely continue to be just friends. So if it wasn’t for Buddie, what was the point in throwing away a relationship the audience was actually behind??

Yeah, this has always been my problem with the idea of Buck and Tommy breaking up and, now that it's happened, I can finally unload all my thoughts.

Listen, my Buddie mutuals are very assured that Buck and Eddie will get together and have this lush and beautiful arc where they settle into a relationship and feel out the kinks in their dynamic and really blend together, and I respect that. I would love to see that happen. But I don't have that same confidence. Don't get me wrong, I DO think Buck and Eddie will probably get together, I just don't think it's going to happen until the last episode of the last season in a way that's more reminiscent of Johnlock "canon" (for those who did not watch BBC Sherlock: John and Sherlock continued to live together and raise John's daughter, but this was revealed in a montage without ever actually seeing them get together, or confirm that they were in a romantic relationship) than anything.

Why? Well, because it's easier to tease your audience than it is to follow through.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think Tim is teasing the fandom in a malicious way, and—if nothing else—I know he is very aware of what these boys and the implication of their relationship means to people. 9-1-1 has always handled their relationship with a particular gravitas, and I don't see that changing now. But Tim has been writing Buck and Eddie for years. He knows what gets people going, he knows what this fandom likes to see, and what they'll read into. So why would he rush into making them "endgame," especially if he knows he already wants to take them in that direction? He has no incentive to make it happen Right Now because everyone will lap up what he puts out anyway.

And I get it, because I do love Buck and Eddie's relationship. I love the way they interact with each other and, yes, I will lap up any scene between them. But that's the part I find so draining too. I'm going to be honest, I've never liked a "will-they-won't-they" couple. As a personal preference, I've always liked to have a clear vision of a story's trajectory when I go into it. That's how I write, and that's what I gravitate toward in fiction. So the idea of going through any number of love interests until Buck and Eddie are "ready for each other" (so sick of that phrase. sob.) is literally... exhausting to me, and not in a fun way. Because this is a loop that could theoretically continue on, and on, and on, until whenever the powers that be decide enough is enough.

Sure, Eddie is happy and free now. Great. But he still doesn't know he's Queer. What happens when he does realize that? Does he need to date a guy first in order to be "ready" for Buck? Similarly (because their romantic arcs always run parallel to each other), when Buck fucks and sucks his way through Los Angeles, does he stumble upon a hot girl/guy and date her/him until Eddie's "ready" for him? How many times, exactly, am I going to sit through another love interest until they're on the same page after, by my count, three false starts? You know?

I'm obviously along for the ride. Always have been, always will be, and I fought too hard over the summer to maintain my love for these boys and their relationship to let it waste away now. But I desperately, desperately need Tim to give me something substantial that CLEARLY, and EXPLICITLY indicates IMMEDIATE strides toward ROMANTIC Buddie Canon. And I mean crystal clear. Not "building a thousand words of meta off a single line/moment" clear. Not "this look probably definitely means Eddie was thinking about ripping Buck's clothes off" clear. I mean, I want it so damn clear, a sixty-five year old grandpa with cataracts can see it.

Otherwise I'm just going to get really annoyed.

[fatgirlonadate-blog]

21 Days - Day 14

They say that to know someone is to love them. But what about loving someone without really knowing them? There aren't any famous quotes or pretty sayings for it, but it's just as real. You'd know because you're living it.

There's love at first sight, you suppose. But that isn't what happened with Xavier; it was almost the opposite. He'd been so beautiful that it was hard to look at him, but he had seemed strangely wary of you. He'd looked at you like you were somehow just as dangerous as the wanderers lurking in the shadows.

No, it was definitely not love at first sight. Xavier was mysterious and intriguing, but there was no life-altering pull toward him the moment your eyes met.

Not like there was when you had met Sylus.

Fuck. Not now; not Sylus. More confusion is the last thing you need.

Xavier's fevered promises have been replaying in your mind like a song stuck on repeat since last night. It was easy to ignore them when you were focused on caring for him, and even more easy to forget them as he caressed and kissed away all of the thoughts from your mind. But in the quiet moments since, his pleading words, said so brokenly, are all you’ve been able to think about.

Whatever it is that haunts him has now also possessed you.

You want to believe that it's not important. You know you need to let it go. If he wanted you to know, then he would let you in without having to push him for it. But curiosity is in your bloodstream now, circulating through all of your thoughts and feelings.

How can you fully love him while only knowing half of him? Maybe even less.

It's not like you don't know him at all - you do. In the past two weeks, you've learned more about him than you ever thought you would. You know the exact way he likes his milk tea, the feel of his fingers moving inside you, and that, if it came to it, he’d lay down his life for you without a second thought. And yet, you don’t even know if he has a middle name or what his life was like before he woke up in yours.

"What are you thinking about?" Xavier asks, his voice dragging you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

You're curled up on the couch beside him, snug against his side, wrapped in the warmth of his arms. Most of the day has been spent right here with him, just like this. He claimed that the only surefire cure for his cold was a horror movie marathon, but you’re fairly certain it was actually just an excuse to cuddle you all day. Not a moment has gone by without him touching you somehow—a hand resting on your thigh, an arm lazily draped over your shoulder, or his legs intertwined with yours.

His fingers glide down your arm now, lightly stroking your bare skin, and you realize he's still waiting for you to answer his question.

"Your birthday," you lie, saying the first thing that comes to mind. "It's almost here."

"Yeah," he nods. "Do I still get to pick the book?"

"Only if you are a very good boy," you tease, knowing you've already picked out a book and more for his special day.

He laughs softly, and you both fall quiet as his attention turns back to the television. You try to focus on the screen, you really do, but that ghost is back and so are all of your questions.

Does he even remember the things he said while he was sick? It doesn’t seem like he does, and he probably wouldn't want to talk about it even if he did.

The day has been nearly perfect, and there's no reason to ruin it. He looks so happy and at ease with you in his arms, and being with him like this is all you ever wanted. So why do you need more?

You don't need more. You don't, you don't, you don't. You love him. And isn't that enough? Love is patient.

But you, apparently, are not.

"Xavier, how old will you be on your birthday?"

His fingers on your arm pause for the smallest fraction of a second before resuming their caress. "24. You didn't know that?"

Liar.

You knew that would be his answer, but it does not make it sting less.

You have no idea how old he actually is, but he's definitely not 24. Despite all logic, he can't be. It's obvious that he and Lumiere are the same person, no matter how often he tries to insist otherwise. It shouldn't be possible; Lumiere would have to be in his 40s and Xavier hardly looks a day over 21. But, somehow, they're the same person. You know it's true even if you don't understand how it could be.

Your silence catches Xavier’s attention, and his curious gaze flickers to your face. You force a small, tight smile, hoping to mask the disappointment you feel. But you must fail because he frowns and glances away, shifting uncomfortably.

You should say something. You should joke or tease him just to ease the tension like you always do when you know he's lying. But all you manage is a soft hum of acknowledgement, unable to trust your mouth not to betray your thoughts.

The movie continues to play, the screams and gunshots coming from the TV sounding much louder now in the quiet room. But neither of you are paying any attention to it anymore, and you can practically feel him thinking from where he sits stiffly pressed beside you.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, and his body relaxes against yours, "Ask me again."

"What?" You say, not trusting your own ears.

He shifts to turn toward you, reaching up to stroke the side of your face as he meets your gaze. "Ask me your question again. Please."

He's nervous, you realize. It's written all over him: from the slight tremor of his hand on your cheek to the way his eyes scan your face anxiously. He's afraid of this.

And maybe you are, too.

"On your birthday..." you trail off, losing momentum, caught between the fear of the truth and the sting of another lie, "will you be turning 24...for the first time?"

A silent struggle plays out in his blue eyes, torn between uncertainty and longing.

"No," he admits quietly, "not for the first time."

It's hard to remember to breathe as you absorb his words. It’s not that his answer shocks you; you’ve known for a long time that he was lying about his age. It’s his honesty that has you gaping at him in surprise.

He actually told you the truth.

You should be brimming with questions and desperate for answers, you know that. But you are neither as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a tight hug. A wave of unbridled happiness rushes through you, and you have the silly urge to cry.

It’s just a few simple words—nothing to warrant this surge of emotion. But it feels like so much more. It’s a beginning, a tentative promise that, maybe, just maybe, he’ll let you truly know him.

The look in his eyes as you pull back from the hug is hard to read. There’s fear in there, definitely, but maybe also a hint of relief shining back at you.

"So... how many candles should I get for your cake?" you ask, trying to lighten the moment and ease the worry on his face.

His brows raise in surprise, and then his shoulders shake as he laughs, "A lot. Too many for a cake."

"100?" You guess, aiming higher than seems reasonable.

"More."

"150?" You squeak, your voice pitching up an octave at the very idea.

"Many more than that."

Your mouth drops open in surprise, and you'd swear he was fucking with you right now if he did not look like a deer staring down the barrel of a hunter's rifle.

"200?" You guess again, the number sounding even more ludicrous as it leaves your lips.

Xavier scrubs a hand across his reddening face and groans, "Still more."

A choked laugh slips out as you try to process that. Just how old is he? Ancient? Prehistoric?

Xavier fidgets with the pocket of his hoodie, his smile tight and forced. It starts to fade as your stunned silence stretches on, and he lets out a shuddering breath before speaking.

"I know it sounds..." Xavier starts and then stops, shaking his head as he tries to find the right word. "...impossible."

Impossible. Yes, it does sound impossible, and crazy, and a dozen other words that wouldn’t begin to describe how you're feeling. There are no words big enough for this. So instead, you lean forward and kiss him, hoping the press of your lips can say everything that words alone aren't enough to express.

Your fingers tangling in his hair are reassurance that it’s okay. That yes, this is crazy, but you believe him, and it doesn’t change anything—because it’s him. He could be a thousand years old, and you’d still be here.

Your tongue seeking the seam of his lips is a silent confirmation that you understand: you’re both standing at the edge of something that could change everything, but you’re not afraid. Not when he’s the one beside you.

He’s motionless against you for a fraction of a second, but then his fingers curl into your hair at the base of your neck, pulling you closer as he tilts your head to deepen the kiss. The way he parts his lips for you speaks for him, too, promising you everything. His heart, his time, and his secrets.

When he finally pulls away from the kiss, he leans back just far enough to catch his breath before brushing his nose against yours. "You're not freaked out?"

The stressed, anxious sound of his voice, even after you just poured every ounce of love and acceptance into that kiss, makes you realize for the first time that maybe he hasn’t been keeping secrets from you. Maybe he’s been keeping them for you—too afraid of scaring you away, too afraid of losing you.

"Xavier," You whisper, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. "Nothing about you could ever, ever scare me."

He holds your gaze in silence for what feels like an eternity, worry and doubt etched into the lines of his face. Then, slowly, his face begins to crumple and his shoulders sag, as if he can no longer bear whatever weight he's been carrying.

Instinctively, you guide his head to your chest, shifting to pull him into your arms, and offering him comfort in the only way you know how.

"Nothing?" He breathes out shakily.

"Nothing," You reassure him, running a comforting hand through his hair. "Not a single thing."

You sit in silence, soothing him in your arms, as you struggle to process the reality of the last few minutes. You had hoped blindly that someday he might let his walls come down, but it was a half-hearted hope. You'd spent more time trying to accept that he probably never would.

But now he has.

There’s more, you’re sure of it. His age can't be his only secret, and so many questions swirl in your mind—big questions, complicated questions, questions with the potential to hurt. But as you hold him and stroke his back, you’re surprised to find that most of the answers you wanted so badly don’t feel nearly as important as you once thought they were.

You must truly love him, because the question you want to ask most isn’t so earth-shattering after all. It’s something simpler, almost trivial, with no reason for it to matter as much as it does—except for the fact that this tiny truth is more precious to you than all the rest.

"What were you like when you were young?" You ask, smiling at just the thought of it.

It’s not what he’s expecting, clearly, and his startled laugh rumbles against your chest before he pulls back to meet your eyes.

"That's what you want to know?" he asks, his voice laced with disbelief. A smile flickers onto his face, easing any trace of the tears that had been threatening to fall.

"Uh huh," You nod eagerly.

"I was..." He tilts his head to the side, considering it, "not so different from the way I am now."

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Xav, please, you have to give me more than that. I know it was like a million years ago, but you must remember. What were you like in school? What was your family like? I don't even know if you have siblings."

His lips quirk up slightly at the edges, “A million? Really? I am not that old."

"Oh, so just half a million then?" you tease, giggling at the exasperated, offended look on his face. "Tell me. Please, pretty please."

He’s silent for several moments, and that familiar, bittersweet distance clouds his eyes. His hesitation makes you wonder if this is where his willingness to share ends, if his walls are still firmly in place and he’s only allowed you a glimpse through a narrow window. But then, miraculously, his smile wins out over the frown, and his eyes find yours, soft and open.

"I don’t have any siblings,” he begins, “but, yes, I had a family. They were...difficult. My father and I didn't agree on very many things, some of them more important than others." He swallows hard and looks away, as if that particular admission is painful. "I tried to be what they wanted, but I couldn't. We weren't close."

Had? Tried? Past tense. Your stomach twists as it hits you: Xavier is an orphan, like you. It's another piece of yourself mirrored in him—another reason he feels so much like home. Because neither of you have one anymore, and what you've found in each other is the closest thing to it.

"Are you...from here?" You ask awkwardly, not sure how to phrase your question without sounding like an idiot. Asking if he's an alien or a god or something feels too stupid to say out loud.

"No." He says softly, shaking his head. "I'm from...another place. Far from here."

"What was it like?"

"It was..." He trails off, choosing his words carefully. "...different from here. The people there live for a long time. So yeah, I'm kind of old, I guess."

You can't help the bubble of nervous laughter that erupts at the absurdity of this situation. He is kind of old, and not from this planet, and you love him, and maybe he is an alien?

It is absolutely insane, but it makes more sense than it should. Is it really that much weirder than the aethercore lodged in your heart or the wanderers showing up on Earth?

"So...just to make sure I understand," you start carefully. "You are a really, really, really old man from...outer space. Right?"

His brows furrow, and it looks like he's going to correct you for a moment, but then he laughs. "Basically," he says, rubbing a hand against the nape of his neck.

"How did you get here? Like...why are you here and not wherever your home is?"

He sighs harshly and glances away, his easy expression slipping back into that guarded one as he shakes his head.

"That is a question for another day." He answers, jaw clenched, but there's an apology in his eyes.

Disappointment flares to life in your chest at his refusal, but you squash it. He has been more honest than you ever expected him to be. It seems that whatever ghost that still stands between you cannot be banished so easily. There must be a reason for it, and you are trying to trust that it's a good one.

"What were you like as a kid then? You never answered. Did you go to school and stuff? Did you have friends?"

He nods, and some of the tension eases from his jaw, "I did go to school. A...military academy. Where do you think I learned all of my swordsmanship?" A soft smile lights his face, as if he is recalling a genuinely fond memory. "I didn't have a lot of friends. But the ones I did have were very special to me."

It’s hard to picture him with friends—not because he’s unlikable; he’s incredibly charming. But you’ve never seen him show genuine interest in anyone besides you. You wonder what they were like, and if he must miss them terribly. Is that where that mysterious, sad look in his eyes comes from? Does he want to go back?

Yes, he misses someone. You would bet your life on it. But not his family. Someone else who was important to him.

"Did you ever have a girlfriend?" You blurt out, jealousy getting the best of you. 

He hesitates, frowning, and your heart seizes in your chest. This answer shouldn't be important. But some instinct tells you that it is; that your worry that perhaps you are sharing his heart isn't just a jealous delusion.

"No, not exactly," he says, his lips pressing into a thin line, withholding any further explanation.

Not exactly? Oh, hell no. That means yes.

You want to press him on it; you want to know if this ghost has a name and if he loved her - if he still loves her. If she is the reason for that far away look in his eyes and why he gives you that bittersweet smile so often. But the question is stuck - frozen in your throat.

You open your mouth to speak, but find you can't ask it. Not when this particular answer does actually scare you.

"Do you remember your first kiss?" You ask instead, trying to move past the sick feeling of jealousy coiling in your belly.

"I do," He answers, flashing you a cheeky smile. "It wasn't very good. I don't think she really wanted to kiss me. She did it because she thought she had to."

"What?" You practically squawk, your jealousy fading to surprised disbelief. Who in their right mind would not want to kiss him?

Xavier’s smile inexplicably widens, and he laughs as if you’ve told him a joke whose punchline only he understands.

"It's true. It was more like bumping noses than kissing, and she only did it to keep up appearances." He shrugs and cups your face in his hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. "But the second kiss was much better. She let me try again, and I think we both liked that one."

Your brain nearly stops functioning as you connect the dots, and your initial disbelief is replaced by an even stronger shock. Is he describing your first kiss? He can't be.

How the hell long has he been alive? There's no way that was his first kiss. It cannot have been.

You swat his hand away from your face and scowl at him, "Very funny, Xavier."

"I'm not joking," He says, laughing quietly and catching your wrist with his hand before you can swat him again. He pulls you close and nuzzles your cheek, placing a soft kiss just beneath your ear. "It was my first kiss."

"Really?" You reply skeptically, squinting at him.

"Yes, really."

“But that’s...how is it even...200 years? 400 years?” Your words stumble over each other, incomplete, as you struggle to believe what you're hearing.

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks, and he presses a line of kisses from your ear to your cheek. “I guess I was just waiting for the right girl.”

You’re stunned into silence, caught between disbelief and wonder. If you had not already been hopelessly in love with him, then this would have done it. It would have sent you careening over the edge with no possible hope of return.

His first kiss. You were his first kiss. Of everything he has said today, this is the thing that's most shocking. How can it even be possible? Never mind the fact that this means he'd have gone hundreds of years without a kiss, he's just plain too good at it to not have more experience. He kisses you like he's done it thousands of times, and he certainly doesn't touch you like a boy who had never been kissed before.

Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute.

The evening you were caught in the rain with Xavier replays in your mind, and you remember the pained way he refused you when you'd asked him for more than just his fingers. 'Waited so long. Don't know if I can be gentle with you.' That's what he had said, and you thought he meant weeks - that he had been pent up for weeks. But did he mean...years? Centuries?

"Are you a virgin?" You squeak out, your eyes widening comically as the possibility slaps you in the face.

The blush on Xavier's cheeks turns positively crimson, and he ducks his head, refusing to meet your eyes. "Well...I mean, sort of."

"You totally are!" You counter excitedly, playfully jabbing a finger at his chest.

He mumbles something quickly, his words too fast and too low for your brain to even begin to process them. Not that you could focus enough to hear him anyway, because if your kiss had truly been his first, then you must be his first everything.

It’s nearly impossible to believe, but somehow, it fits him—just like everything else about this does. And the longer you think about it, the more it makes sense. He’s old-fashioned because he is old; so very, very old. He still blushes around you because all of this is new to him. He can’t get enough of touching you because he’s never had the chance before.

He has been starved for affection, you realize. For hundreds of years. If you were not so elated you would feel bad for him.

You have to hold back a gasp as understanding dawns on you. Is this why you've been trapped in the land of heavy petting and dry humping? Is he going to make you wait until marriage to have sex with him? The thought is funnier than it should be, and you cannot hold back the growing hysteria anymore, your giggles tumbling out of your mouth on their own.

Xavier clears his throat and reaches for your face, gently holding it in his hands, guiding your gaze to his. His eyes are an intense, electric blue as he repeats his mumbled question, this time more clearly, “Are you?”

He watches your face expectantly as your laughter fades and his question sinks in.

Oh, shit.

It never crossed your mind that he might ask you the same thing, and the way he’s staring at you—sharp, focused—makes it clear that your answer is important. It matters to him.

"Um..." You hesitate, feeling backed into a corner by the intensity in his eyes, "...kind of?"

"Kind of?" He echoes, his eyes flicking down your lips. "What does that mean?"

"It means...that I've done some things, but not all of the things. You know, touching and kissing and stuff. But not like...all of it. Not all of the way," You finish lamely, your cheeks feeling like they might actually burn you up.

He falls silent for a moment, his brows knitting together as his eyes narrow on yours. “With someone else?”

There's a rough edge to his tone, a warning and a promise wrapped into a single question. The implication is clear, and you can practically hear his possessive thoughts as he waits for your answer. It's almost intimidating.

But mostly it's fucking hot.

"Um, yes?" You squeak out.

He nods slowly, his eyes darkening as he slides his hand from your cheek to rest lightly on your neck. "Where?"

"Huh?"

"Where did they touch you?" He clarifies, his thumb gently stroking the column of your throat.

Your pulse quickens under his touch. His hand isn’t squeezing or holding your neck tightly; it simply rests there, his fingers warm against your skin. You know, deep in your bones, he’d never hurt you. But the awareness that he could, if he wanted, sends a thrill through you that makes your heart pound.

It's unfair, really, how quickly he can go from a blushing boy one moment to a man who makes you tremble the next.

"Xav, no way," You say somewhat breathlessly, and the blush on your cheeks grows even hotter, "I am not telling you that."

He hums softly, eyes searching your face, though you’re not entirely sure what he’s looking for. Whatever it is, he must find it, because he nods and begins to slide his hand down from your neck.

“Here?” he asks softly, his fingers tracing gently along your collarbone just above the neckline of your tank top. “Did they touch you here?”

You nod wordlessly, a quiet thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

He leans in, pressing a soft line of kisses from the center of your collarbone to your shoulder, gently scraping his teeth along your skin as he completes his path.

A shaky breath escapes from between your lips, and he pulls away just slightly to ask, “Did they kiss you like this?”

“N-no,” you murmur, your voice catching as every ounce of blood in your body seems to rush south, robbing you of your ability to speak.

“No? Then what about...” he trails off as his hands slide down to trace along your breasts through the thin material of your top, “has anyone else touched you like this?”

“Xavier...” you try to speak, to tell him he is being ridiculous, but you're cut off as he grasps the hem of your shirt and begins lifting it up over your chest. You lift your arms instinctively as the fabric catches under your armpits, and he pulls it off completely, tossing it onto the floor.

"Here?" He asks, not waiting for a response as he dips his head to place gentle, open-mouthed kisses along your cleavage, his hands slipping behind your back to unhook the clasp of your bra.

"Xav, it doesn't matter," you whisper, feeling the cups of your bra fall away as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it onto the floor to join your shirt.

"It does matter," he answers, palming your breasts in his hands and gently pinching your nipples between his fingers. "Because you're mine now."

A small gasp escapes your lips as a jolt of electric pleasure rushes from your nipples, down your spine, and settles between your thighs. You know you shouldn’t encourage this—he’s too jealous for his own good—but he's right. You are his now. And the thought of him replacing every touch, every kiss you've ever known with one of his own is too tempting to refuse.

You’re nodding before you even realize it. A soft “Yes” slipping from your lips as your fingers find the hem of his white hoodie, tugging it upward, needing to see him, too.

At your urging, he quickly pulls off his hoodie, then the t-shirt underneath, his muscles flexing with the movement. The sight alone is almost enough to make you moan. He’s so fucking gorgeous. You could see him like this every day for the rest of your life, and it would still never be enough.

The moment his shirt hits the floor, his hands are on your shoulders guiding you back onto the couch until he's on top of you. You can feel the hard length of his cock pressing against you through his jeans, and you have to squeeze your thighs together just to ease some of the ache between them.

He trails his lips down your chest, pausing to tease each nipple with his mouth, before kissing a slow path down to your belly button. He presses a warm, wet kiss there, and you gasp as his tongue slips into the small hollow, swirling around it. The sensation is new—unexpected—and you giggle helplessly at the wet tickle.

He lifts his head to smile up at you, and his eyes are an even brighter shade of blue now, shining with amused pride. He laughs, moving back down to nuzzle the spot with the tip of his nose, making you giggle again. "No one has kissed you here?"

You shake your head, threading your fingers through his hair and grazing your nails against his scalp as he kisses along the waistband of your leggings.

A wave of pure affection hits you as you watch him worship your skin, realizing only Xavier could make you giggle like this while your pussy throbs with need for him.

He continues his slow path of kisses across your stomach, pausing occasionally to run his tongue along a particularly sensitive patch of skin, making your back arch off the couch. You're not sure if he's teasing you on purpose or if he's just exploring. Maybe a bit of both, judging from the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth each time you gasp.

You're ready to beg, willing to promise him anything, by the time he finally moves lower and parts your thighs.

"What about here?" He asks, placing a kiss to your clothed pussy, his lips right above your clit. "Has anyone else ever touched you here?"

"God, Xavier, please," you groan, pressing your head back against the cushion and bucking your hips toward his face. But his hands are firm on your hips, holding you still, silently waiting for his answer.

"I don't remember," you lie breathlessly.

"I think you do," He argues, the heat of his mouth so fucking close, you swear you can feel it.

It's hard to think with him between your thighs, and your pussy is so slick and wet that you can feel your panties sticking to your skin. You're so desperate to feel his tongue against your clit that you'd say anything - embarrassment be damned.

"Yes," you pant, frustrated and needy, "but no one has ever kissed me there."

His eyes darken and a low groan rumbles in his throat. You can't tell if it's pleasure or disappointment, and before you can decide, he's moving off the couch.

You whine at the loss of contact, but he's already on his knees in front of you before you can complain. His hands grip your thighs, pulling you forward until your ass is on the edge of the cushion. You watch, breathless, as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your leggings and panties, and then begins dragging them down your thighs. You lift your hips to help him, and you don't miss the strangled sound that leaves his mouth when he sees your pussy - bare and wet and ready for him.

Pleasure then. Definitely a good sound.

"So perfect," He says under his breath, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes glued to the sight between your thighs.

Xavier’s hands slowly rub up your bare legs, his touch gentle but possessive. He leans in to nuzzle his face against your inner thigh, dragging his nose over your skin, and inhales deeply. You start to tremble as he trails kisses higher up your thigh, pausing every so often to nip or gently suck.

“You always smell so good,” he murmurs between kisses.

A hot spike of embarrassment shoots through you as you realize he can smell you, smell just how wet you are, and a desperate sound somewhere between a whimper and a shy giggle leaves you.

Xavier’s kisses slow to a stop as he reaches the apex of your thighs, his breath catching as he looks up at you. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are flushed, the color creeping up to his ears, which are tinged pink. He looks almost achingly shy - uncertain but starving.

He's never done this before, you realize, and you open your mouth to say something - encouragement or instruction. But your words turn into a gasp as he nuzzles your clit. The tip of his nose brushes over the small bud of nerves, sending sparks of pleasure up through your body. 

Your fingers thread into his hair, gripping gently to guide his mouth to where you need it. And it takes all your control to stay still as his tongue teases your entrance, licking a slow, deliberate path upward until he finds your clit again

“Oh God,” you gasp, your fingers tangling even tighter in his hair. “Yes, Xav—right there. More…”

He hums low and pleased, sending vibrations all the way through your body. You can feel him smiling between your thighs as you buck up, trying desperately to push against the light pressure. He takes his time - lazily circling your clit with his tongue and lapping at it until you're a whimpering, writhing mess.

You're wondering how he could possibly be so good at this as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. Stars explode in your vision as the warm, wet heat of his mouth closes around you, and you think your soul would leave your body if he were not holding you down.

There's not enough air in your lungs as you moan and squirm under his mouth. You're dying - you think, but you don't especially care as long as he doesn't stop. You think he slips one, maybe two, fingers inside you at some point; you’re not certain. The feel of his mouth against you is so good that you can't process anything else; it's the only thing that exists.

“Xav, please. Please. I'm going-”

He nods, lips still wrapped around your clit, and the slight scrape of his teeth—just enough—sends you spiraling over the edge before you can finish your sentence. The heat coiled low in your belly erupts, flooding through every nerve as waves of pleasure ripple through you. Your hips press hard against his mouth, seeking more as your pussy convulses around his fingers.

Xavier doesn’t pull away as you moan and grind your pussy against his face. His mouth follows your movements, continuing to lick and suck as your orgasm begins to fade, your walls squeezing weakly against his fingers as aftershocks pulse through you.

He keeps licking and kissing you until the sensation is overwhelming, and you're forced to pull at his hair to escape from his hungry mouth. With a final, lingering kiss to your pussy, he slowly withdraws his fingers, and rests his cheek against your thigh as he catches his breath.

He looks as wrecked as you feel—his pupils dilated, hair disheveled from your touch, and his breath shallow as your wetness shines on his lips and chin. The way he looks at you, like he wants you so bad that it hurts, makes you want to give him everything and more.

You watch as he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you, before slowly sucking on the fingers that were inside you.

"Xavier," You choke out his name as your soul really does leave your body this time. You are dying. This beautiful man is killing you, and the last thing you will see before the light at the end of the tunnel is him sucking on those fingers as his cock strains against his jeans.

But there's no way in heaven or hell that you can die without seeing him, touching him, tasting him.

"You're mine now," He whispers, dragging his mouth along your thigh, "only mine."

"I was already yours," you say in a breathless rush, tugging at his arm, any lingering shyness fading as urgency takes over.

He rises to his feet and his lips finds yours instantly. The kiss is deep and wet, and you taste good in his mouth.

Your hands fumble blindly on the button of his jeans. You finally manage to get his pants unzipped, and he groans against your mouth as you slip your hand inside to palm his cock through the cotton of his boxers. He’s so thick and hard that your fingers barely meet around him.

His breath catches at your touch, and needy desperate sounds come out of his mouth as you stroke him through the fabric.

"Please, I need..." he begs, his voice breathless as his hands move quickly to strip off his boxers and pants. He kicks them aside, and before you can fully take in the sight of him, he’s pushing you back onto the couch and climbing on top of you.

"What do you need, Xav?" You ask, reaching between your bodies to wrap your hand around his hard length. It's so silky and hot, and it twitches in your hand when you swipe your thumb over the tip, slick with precum.

"I need..." He says again, burying his face against your neck and rocking his hips to thrust into your fist hard.

You’re waiting, praying, and hoping he’ll say he needs to be inside you. You've never been more ready in your life and the slide of him against your hand has you ready to beg him for it. But then he moans deeply against your neck and you feel warm, wet heat spilling over your hand, coating your stomach.

Oh.

He collapses on top of you, burying his face into the curve of your shoulder, hiding his face as he catches his breath. His chest rises and falls with the intensity of it, and a rush of pure, tender affection floods through you. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, fighting the urge to laugh at the sweetness of the moment.

"That was... I’m..." he mumbles.

"Perfect," You finish for him. "You're perfect. And that was perfect."

He breathes out a laugh against your neck, then lifts himself on one arm to look down at you. A smile spreads across his face as his eyes meet yours, and in this moment, he looks lighter—happier than you’ve ever seen him.

He looks free.

[idorukiss]

Heres a sorta drabble/headcanon of sorts of how I picture MC's relationship with Rafayel would devleop~ I'm not much of a writer but the brainrot is real and im working on making similar ones for the other boys too!

1,051 words || You can also read it on ao3

‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙⁺˚･༓･˚⁺‧͙ Xavier �� Zayne ・ Sylus

There have been many different things in Rafayel's life that inspired him when it comes to his art, But nothing took control of his heart so intensely as much as you have. Like a whirlpool you shook him to his core from that first meeting, and all he wants to do is capture you on his canvas for eternity.

It really was quite the blessing with how willing you were to become his bodyguard- not only can he keep you within arms reach but you can also protect him from all the shady people after his life. Like killing 2 birds with one stone, except you were so much stronger and beautiful than any stone he’s ever set eyes on before

He absolutely felt like a flirt to you at the start with all of the compliments and casual physical touch between you guys, He just loved to say how amazing you are while enclosing you in a deep bear hug. It was strange at first you'd admit, but it never felt like he was trying to make any passes at you or act like he was expecting anything in return. Perhaps that's just how he acts with people he trusts?

When Rafayel isnt painting, you two spend a lot of time outside finding inspiration all around. He usually has a sketchbook with him scribbling away anytime he sees something interesting- the landscapes, pretty flowers, or even a parfait you guys got to share. You’ve seen some of these sketches as he works on them, it always amazes you how much detail he can capture with so few lines.

He never let you fully flip through the sketchbook however, claiming all sorts of reasons why, like that the drawings were scared of the sunlight or you had to go through many trials to be worthy. It was obvious how much he cherished it and you respected his wishes, though it would be nice to reminisce on some of the good times you guys had together again. Though its not like your phone wasn't filled to the brim with photos already

Late one night, you stop by his place to make sure he didn't need any motivation to finish a painting for a deadline set the next morning. You have confidence he could make it in time, he always did, but you want to help him as best as you can otherwise. When you arrive you spot a stunning completed painting and a Rafayel sleeping on the sofa below it- both stunning as they're illuminated by the moonlight.

Taking it upon yourself to clean up his supplies a little, just enough to not be a walking hazard of course, you spot his precious travel sketchbook on the floor. Surely he wouldn't mind if you took a little peak in it, you'd love to see how he finished the last landscape you guys saw before he locked himself up to work. As you flip through the pages you see so many familiar sights from your time together so far, but scattered around them filling maybe even more pages was many drawings of a person. Of you. All surrounded by hearts and little notes about things you've said.

When did he have a chance to draw all of these? Is this how you look to him?? Questions race your mind as your face flushes at the image of him intensely scribbling in the sketchbook as you dance around the beach being dumb. You decide to grab a pencil and add your attempt of a sketch of him in the back, signing it with a little heart of your own. It’s nowhere near his skill level but something that captures how you feel, and maybe he would get a chuckle out of it once he spots it.

You don’t realize when the casual acts of affection he started out with turn slightly more romantic- going from linking arms together to holding your hand, and you swear you feel him press little kisses on the top of your head every time he wraps his arms around you. But you don't hate it, in fact it makes your heart flutter every time you realize it

Rafayel often messages you at the most random times to meet him somewhere, usually it was because he found a stunning view and wanted to share the experience with you. Sometimes he would even show up at your apartment to whisk you away, and every time it filled you with joy. These dates and every moment you get to spend with him fill your heart with so much warmth.

One particularly warm night you were woken up by a call inviting you to the beach near his studio. It was worth crawling out of the bed at an ungodly hour, not only for the view but for him. While you were admiring the waves, he couldn't keep his eyes off you as a cautious pinky is hooked around yours. Two faces flush as you look at him, it lasts for only a moment before its interrupted by your watch.

Your face falls as you read the notification “It looks like I got a last minute mission in the morning…I guess this means I have to head back already.” As you take a heavy step to start walking away he reaches out to stop you with a pleading look on his face “Wait, don’t go yet” “Rafayel…. I’m sorry, I really am. This night- everything was wonderful, it really was” “Can’t you just stay the night?” He wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your neck “Please just stay the night, I don’t want you to leave.” Your heart flutters as you wrap your arms around him in return “Okay, I’ll stay for you my sweet painter”

He is the most clingy man you’ve ever met, constantly torn between wrapping himself around you while peppering every inch of skin with kisses and diving headfirst into hundreds of paintings with you as his muse. His studio would be covered in nothing but paintings of you if he didn't have to focus on his commissions.

He sculpted out a place in your heart that held him, and in turn you've devoted yourself to him- loving him with every fiber of your being

[blackenedsnow]

Love your writing so bad like I wanna rq this cause It's so fun seeing how you write for every dude even the postal movie dude he is my cutiepie i swear /real

How would the dudes react being showered with kisses by their s/o then realizing they are covered in lipstick marks? cause these boys need sum kisses

the dudes being showered in kisses by their s/o ; headcanons

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Postal (1) Dude x Reader, Postal (2) Dude x Reader, Postal (3) Dude x Reader, Postal (4) Dude x Reader, Postal (BD) Dude x Reader, Postal (Movie) Dude x Reader

NOTE: I had so much fun writing these, and I’m thrilled you enjoy my take on each Dude! Enjoy!!

P1 DUDE

It’s the first time in a long while that he actually stops to live in the moment.

As your kisses cover his face, he’s initially tense, unsure of how to respond.

He stands rigid, clearly unused to affection of any kind.

But as you press more kisses to his cheek, forehead, and nose, he can’t help but soften a little.

When he finally pulls back and realizes he’s covered in lipstick marks, he’s… dumbfounded.

He stares at himself in the mirror, almost as if he can’t believe someone would willingly mark him with so much love.

“You… really like me, huh?”

he mumbles, almost as if he’s talking to himself.

You can tell he’s trying to process the warmth, the affection, and the idea that someone cares this much about him.

P2 DUDE

He’s already smirking as you start covering his face in lipstick marks, raising an eyebrow as if to say, Oh, really?

But he lets you keep going, his grin only growing as he playfully rolls his eyes and leans into each kiss, clearly enjoying the attention.

When he finally pulls back and checks himself out in the mirror, he laughs, reaching up to touch one of the lipstick marks on his jaw.

“Well, look at me��real killer, aren’t I?”

he jokes, half-proud and half-amused at the evidence of your affection.

“Guess I’m just too damn irresistible, huh?”

he says, throwing an arm around you with a smirk.

But there’s a genuine warmth to him underneath the teasing, and he’ll find little ways to keep the affection going, maybe pulling you in for a surprise kiss or making playful remarks all day.

P3 DUDE

He laughs when you start showering him with kisses, clearly flustered but trying to play it off.

“Whoa there, sweetheart, didn’t know you were this eager!”

When he realizes he’s covered in lipstick marks, he’s totally stunned.

He blinks a few times, then looks at you with a huge grin.

“Oh, hell yeah. Look at me, covered in love.”

He’s definitely the type to wear it with pride.

He might even show off to random strangers, pointing to a lipstick mark on his neck.

“See that? That’s from my babe. Lucky, huh?”

P4 DUDE

He raises an eyebrow when you start showering him in kisses, giving a dry chuckle.

“What’s this? Trying to leave me lookin’ like a clown?”

But when he sees the lipstick marks, there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.

He looks at himself, then back at you, a small smile breaking through his usual deadpan expression.

“Alright, I admit it… you got me.”

He keeps grumbling about it, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased.

He doesn’t wipe a single mark off, and later, he catches his reflection and lets out a quiet, affectionate sigh.

“Guess even a guy like me can get lucky.”

He gives you a playful nudge, muttering something about how he’ll get you back for all the ‘paint,’ but his smile says otherwise.

BD DUDE

He’s half-asleep, eyes barely open, lying in bed when you start covering his face with kisses, one after the other.

At first, he doesn’t even register it, thinking maybe he’s dreaming.

But the more you kiss him, the more he starts to mumble and groan, shifting just enough to get a better feel of your touch.

His reaction is hazy at first, a mumbled,

“Mmph… ‘s nice…”

as he melts under the attention, a sleepy smile crossing his face.

As he slowly blinks awake, he touches his cheek and feels the smudge of lipstick, finally noticing all the marks.

When he realizes you’ve covered him in kisses, he raises an eyebrow with a lopsided smirk, rubbing his jaw like he’s trying to remember how he got so lucky.

“Hey,… how come you’re givin’ me all this,?”

he mutters, still half-asleep but looking at you with appreciation in his eyes.

He’ll go right back to lying there, patting the spot next to him, only half-caring about all the marks.

“C’mon, don’t stop… feels pretty damn nice.”

He doesn’t care if he ends up a mess of lipstick smudges and soft bites because all that matters to him is that you’re the one who put them there.

He even playfully pulls you in closer to keep the kisses going, mumbling how he totally doesn’t mind being your canvas if it means waking up to more mornings like this.

MOVIE DUDE

He’s surprised, his eyes going wide as he registers your kisses peppering every part of his face.

His first reaction is a surprised laugh, not used to being shown so much affection so freely.

The sweetness catches him off-guard in the best way.

When he finally pulls back, he looks at you with that boyish grin, touching his cheek and noticing all the lipstick marks you left behind.

He’s more amused than anything, his hands still holding your face as he shakes his head a little.

“Wow, I’m like... a work of art here. You sure you’re not just tryin’ to show me off?”

he teases, touching the marks on his cheeks and forehead with a growing grin.

He lightly traces the ones on his neck, feeling a warm rush but enjoying it.

“Not that I mind...hah”

He’s gentle, practically glowing with happiness as he pulls you close again.

He’s not embarrassed about walking around with all the marks on his face—if anything, he takes it as a proud badge of honor, evidence of how loved he feels.

[the-universal-sun]

fiddleford finding stanley regressed upset about ford PLEASE 🙏

“Oh Captain, My Captain! Where are ya! Good ol’ Fidds’ made some lunch!” Fiddleford called out into the living room where he sat Stanley down in front of the Television with some blocks to keep him occupied while he whipped up a quick lunch. He looks around, the blocks and TV abandoned, Mr Wizard’a World playing softly on the screen. “Stanley?” He calls again, hoping for some sort of noise to alert him to where he’s gone.

Heart beginning to beat faster in his chest, he rushes to check the front door. Closed and locked. He sprints to the back door. Also closed and locked. His heart rate slows down, knowing his boy is still in the house. He goes by the basement door, and sees that it’s still locked. This makes finding him much easier, he doesn’t have to go down there, down to the portal. He heads upstairs to check the bathroom, it’s empty. He checks his and Stan’s room, he’s not on either of their beds, or in the closet. So he didn’t go an get more of his little toys.

“Stanley, hon! Come on out! It’s time for lunch, not hide n’ seek!” He calls out once more, heading towards Ford’s room. He hopes Stan isn’t in there, he knows going there always makes his boy upset, missing his big brother. He hears muffled sobs as he gets closer. He pushes open the cracked door and finds Stan on that ugly blue carpet, wrapped in one of Ford’s sweaters, crying his eyes out. Fiddleford crouches down as he comes closer to Stanley, angling his head down to catch his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Pumpkin Pie? Tell ol’ Fiddlesticks what’s got your eyes so wet, hmm?” He asks gently, already having an inkling on what’s got his boy so down and out. He hopes Stan’s up for talking, but he has a feeling, between his tears and how nonverbal he typically is when feeling small, that it ain’t happening.

He was right, too. Stan takes a heaving breathe, the deep breathe causing him to cough when it gets stuck in his chest. Fiddleford gently pats his back, helping rub the air from inside his chest. He waits until Stan’s stopped coughing, breathing a little more even now. When Stan gathers himself, he just points to the calendar on the wall. He insists on keeping the calendar in Ford’s room up to date so he knows the date when they rescue him from the portal (if they rescue him-no bad Fiddleford!), the date reads June 8th, and circled right under it is June 15…oh. Stan and Ford’s birthday, the first one they’re truly separated for.

“Oh my Honey Bun, I’m so sorry, I haven’t been keeping track of the days, I didn’t realize it was coming up so soon. Oh come here, lovey,” Fiddleford leans Stan on his lap, the man’s frame too burly to hold in his lap without the support of a chair, couch, or bed, “I know, I know, you miss your brother, I miss ‘im too. My little Bookworm. But we won’t forget him, we’ll make a cake for him, and get him some presents too, so he’ll have them when we get him back.” He pets Stan’s head rhythmically, rubbing his fingers down the bridge of his nose, up his cheek, and tucking some long hair behind his ears, trying to calm his tears down.

Fiddleford holds back his tears, he needs to be strong for Stanley, but…but…but he misses his Fordsey, his Chatterbox. He wants to celebrate his boys’ birthday with both of them, to see their joy, to see them okay and playing together all happy and family like. He sniffles, the thoughts getting to him, making his eyes burn. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels a hand wipe his cheeks. He opens his eyes to see Stan looking up at him, a frown marring his face. Stan sits up and pull Fiddleford down for a hug, rocking the both of them side to side as they cry together. Both missing Stanford Pines.

They sit like that for what feels like hours, just holding each other, consoling the other in the silence of Ford’s room. When Fiddleford feels like he’s got himself a bit more under control, he sits up, a slight blush on his cheeks as he stammers a bit, feeling better but also a tad bit embarrassed that he had to be consoled, he’s the adult right now, he needs to keep his emotions strong and in check in front of Stan, to be brave for him while he’s little. He can’t even do that! What kind of a man are you, Fiddleford-

“Wha-?” He feels Stan grab his hands and pull him up with him. When he gives Stan a questioning look, he points to his stomach and rubs it. Oh, right, it’s lunch time. He made Stan a sandwich with all the fixings, “Right, right. Come along, El Capitan! Your pal, Fidds has whipped you up the best sandwich you’ve ever done had in your life!” He quickly gathers himself, switching gears, and holding Stan’s hands as they leave Ford’s room. He slowly walks down the stairs, looking back to make sure Stan doesn’t trip on a loose board to step on a nail before leading him into the kitchen. He sits his boy down in front of his little plate, the one with playing cards decorating it, with a sippy cup of fruit juice next to it (Stan will pour the whole thing on his face trying to drink it as fast as possible), his sandwich cut into four squares. Fiddleford learned that difference between his twins. Ford likes his sandwiches cut into four triangles when little, Stanley will only eat it if it’s cut into four squares.

He ruffles Stanley’s hair, kissing his head and giving him a soft “thank you” as he goes to sit across from him at his own plate. As he settled down to eat, he feels Stan hands clasp his own, he looks up to see his Pumpkin slowly eating his sandwich. He says nothing, eating his own sandwich with one hand, his sweet boys hand in his other. The rest of the day has the same air as lunch, Stan following him around, holding his hand and cuddling him everytime he sits down. Fiddleford can tell Stan needs him, he’s his safe place from his despair and pain. But Fidds needs his Captain, too, his anchor from his nasty thoughts and grief over Ford, over his memories, and that damn portal.

As Fiddleford and Stanley make a fort to sleep in in the living room, they really need to get one larger bed to sleep in together when needs be (maybe a king for all three of them), Fiddleford resolves to take Stanley shopping for birthday gifts for Ford. He knows it’ll be bittersweet for both of them, but it could also help lessen this pressure they both feel at the thought of missing Ford on his birthday. As he finishes reading Possum Magic, his snuggle bugs favorite book, he looks down and sees Stan’s open mouth, spilling some drool out, and laughs softly. He wraps his arms securely around him, hoping to shield his dreams from any nightmares he may have, and buries his nose into Stan’s hair, smelling his “arctic mountain” shampoo, and wills his own dreams to be good.

And of course they are, how could they not when he’s wrapped around his baby.

[elisabethc01]

no you don’t understand just how much I love them 😭😭😭😭

just 10 seconds

[queercontrarian]

i can't figure out what i think is worse

lucien and tamlin already being close friends by the time amarantha comes around and their friendship slowly deteriorating under the curse, the hopelessness, tamlin's issues and the unspoken guilt he feels for what amarantha did to lucien

or

lucien and tamlin barely knowing each other before the curse, being friendly but not overly familiar, lucien stepping up to defend the high lord who took a chance on him only to get beaten down so brutally, them slowly growing closer through the years as they watch their friends fall around them until all they have left is each other

[reeama-the-mage]

The difference between the tragedy of Edwin's and Charles' lives and deaths and what makes Charles' much more compelling to me is that Edwin never had anyone he could trust: he grew up with distant parents who i imagine he saw rarely and could not confide in, then he went to school and was immediately recognized as other in a way he had not fully realized of himself yet and was killed for it, and then comes hell and well who can u trust in hell? Certainly not the things that chase you until your legs ache, and even if your compatriots in the whole ordeal are as innocent as you, trapped in the same technicality, what is the good of trusting them, when they are just as helpless as you?

But Charles? Everyone Charles was supposed to trust betrayed him. His parents were close to him, atleast somewhat, atleast his father was around enough to get sick of hearing owner of a lonely heart, and his mother was around enough to watch his father beat him and be silently horrified and ultimately not do anything about it, maybe she stepped in once and we just never saw it, but I wouldn't bet on it, Charles' mom is 'quiet' that's her defining feature to Charles not protective or gentle just 'quiet', then Charles gets to school and he is popular he has friends! He has people who care for him (or should maybe, as long as he's good at sports like he's needed to be) and then he stands up for one person, because he has always wanted to be good and maybe he trusts himself to do it just this once and his friends kill him and his own actions signed the death warrant and he cannot even trust himself to do the right thing properly (it never got better and then you died)

And maybe, maybe Edwin does it too, with less intention to hurt, and with less knowledge but Charles and Edwin trust eachother maybe more than anything (maybe Charles would sooner slip away from earth's gravity than stop putting his trust in Edwin who he thinks is good and smart and brills and aces) and maybe Edwin still looks at Charles trying to protect him after Charles has had maybe the worst week of his existence and says "that was a bit...... extreme" and Edwin still promises Charles can tell him anything while hiding himself in a way that makes Charles feel untrustworthy

So yeah I'll never stop thinking about the tragedy of Charles Rowland actually 👍 think about him with me

[all-i-do-is-live-in-daydreams]

I can't get over every little thing spencer reid does. like his little mannerisms are EVERYTHING TO ME. The way he talks with his hands, how he presses his middle finger to his thumb and rubs them together sometimes or moves it as if he's writing when talking, the way he scrunches his face up sometimes, the way he wrings his hands at all really like just playing with the fingers of his other hand or sometimes I've seen him just press his knuckles together and rub them together, the thin lipped pressed together smile he does as he awkwardly waves to new people he's being introduced to, when his hair is a long enough length and he tucks it behind his ears all the time. I think he does both sides sometimes and and and UGHHHHH I LOVE HIM

[chipjrwibignaturals]

THOUGHT ABT CHIP JRWI INCIDENT 40 DEAD 32 WOUNDED

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

Pokémon Horizons Episode 33 spoilers under the cut!

RAYQUAZA STOP HE'S ALREADY DEAD !!! 😭😭😭💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥