#I think as sincerely as I can about anything

[p1psqueaks]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — MISSION GONE WRONG

ZAYNE

You stumble through the sterile white corridors of the hospital, the world around you spinning, and the sharp sting of pain gnawing at your every step. The mission had gone wrong in ways you didn’t even want to think about, but there was no avoiding it now. Blood stains your uniform, and exhaustion weighs heavily on your body as you drag yourself toward the medical wing. Every breath feels shallow, and your chest burns, the aftereffects of near-death lingering like a bad memory.

As you turn the corner, you catch sight of him. Zayne. He's standing by the nurses' station, his back straight and his usual professional composure in place, but his eyes immediately snap to you the moment you appear. The flicker of worry in them is unmistakable.

"What happened?" he asks his voice dropping an octave. His calm, steady demeanor never falters, but you can see the tension in his jaw. “Are you hurt?”

You try to give him a reassuring smile, but it’s weak and fails miserably. “Mission went south. Nothing I can’t handle.”

His eyes scan you from head to toe, quickly noticing the bloodied bandages peeking from under your torn jacket. His brow furrows in response. “You’re not handling this. Come on, we need to get you to a bed, now.”

You swallow, wanting to protest, but you don’t have the energy. Zayne’s hands are gentle but firm as he guides you toward the nearest treatment room, keeping you steady on your feet, as if the sheer presence of him is enough to keep you from collapsing.

He glances at one of the nurses, Yvonne, over his shoulder. "Have Dr. Greyson look over my post-ops for now."

Once inside, Zayne immediately takes charge, his usual calm and methodical self taking over. “Sit down,” he orders, voice soft but commanding. You sink into the bed, too exhausted to argue.

He begins assessing your injuries with a practiced eye, checking your pulse and temperature before gently peeling away the tattered remnants of your uniform. His hands are gentle but quick, his movements sharp, yet there’s an undercurrent of something more—something deeply protective. The quiet intensity of his gaze speaks volumes, and you realize, for the first time, just how much this affects him, seeing you like this.

"What happened out there?" he asks as he begins cleaning a deep gash on your arm. His touch is careful, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the unspoken fear of seeing you so badly hurt.

You take a shaky breath, the memories of the mission flooding back in waves. "They ambushed us... a trap. We weren’t ready. We should have known. I should have known. I couldn't save everyone."

Zayne’s face softens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. "You did what you could. You always do. It’s not your fault, my love."

But the guilt presses on you, suffocating in a way you can’t ignore. "We lost good people, Zayne. People who trusted me. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t—"

"You’re here," he interrupts softly, his voice dropping to a more intimate register. "You made it back. And that matters more than anything."

You look up at him, your heart twisting at the quiet sincerity in his eyes. It’s so rare for him to drop the doctor’s facade, to let down the walls that keep him so emotionally distant from the world. But with you, there’s no hiding it. There’s no barrier between the hunter and the man who cares about you.

"You don’t deserve this," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t want to drag you into this... into my mess."

Zayne pauses, taking a breath before continuing his work, his hands never stopping as he applies a fresh bandage. "You didn’t drag me anywhere, my love," he says, his voice so soft, so sure. "You’re my partner. I’m here because I choose to be. I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you."

His words settle in the room like a blanket, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself soften. You feel the weight of your guilt slip just a little, the sharp edge of fear dulled by his steady presence.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you," you admit, your voice hoarse. "You keep me from falling apart."

Zayne meets your eyes, his expression tender but firm. "I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. We do this together, no matter what."

You let his words sink in, closing your eyes briefly, just allowing yourself to feel his presence, to feel the safety of being here with him. The hospital room, with its harsh lights and sterile smell, suddenly feels a little warmer, a little more like home.

Zayne finishes bandaging your arm and moves to your side, carefully sitting next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours. His hand finds yours, his fingers lacing with yours with such ease, like it’s second nature. You squeeze his hand, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else can.

"I love you, you know," you whisper, the words coming out before you can even stop them. You’ve said them before, but here, now, they feel even more significant—vulnerable, raw.

Zayne’s lips curve up into that small, rare smile you love so much, his eyes softening as he leans in close. “I love you too. Always.”

For a moment, everything fades—the mission, the pain, the guilt—until all that’s left is the quiet rhythm of your breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your side.

You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the overwhelming weight of everything start to ease. There’s still work to be done, still losses to grieve, but for now, you know you’re not alone.

And with Zayne by your side, you know you’ll heal.

XAVIER

The metallic hiss of the docking bay doors echoed in the vast emptiness of the ship. You had just returned from a mission that should have been a simple recon, a sweep through an abandoned space station. But as the airlock cycled open and the faint glow of the docking bay lights illuminated the vessel, a heavy silence fell over the crew.

You stumbled through the door first, your body battered, clothes torn, and your movements sluggish. You had barely made it back at all, much less in one piece. Your face was smeared with dirt and blood, and your usually sharp eyes were clouded with exhaustion.

Xavier was the first to spot you.

His usual calm, collected demeanor faltered for a split second as he rushed forward, his boots making swift, purposeful strides across the floor. His face tightened with worry, eyes scanning your battered form. He had heard the distress call, had heard the urgency in your voice, but seeing you like this—bleeding, broken—hit him harder than he anticipated.

"Hey," he breathed, his voice tight with concern.

You looked up at the sound of your name, eyes blinking as if you had just woken up from a deep sleep. "Xavier..." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. The exhaustion in your tone was unmistakable, but there was something else there too—something darker. Something haunted.

Xavier took a step closer, reaching out instinctively to steady you, but you pulled away slightly, as though the contact hurt more than it helped.

"Easy," Xavier murmured, his voice gentle but firm. He hated seeing you like this. He hated the thought of you suffering alone out there in the cold, vast expanse of space. "What happened? We heard the distress call."

You swallowed, trying to push down the nausea that rose in your chest. The mission had gone wrong so fast—an ambush, a trap, enemies from a faction you thought you'd left behind. But none of that seemed to matter now. The only thing that mattered was getting through this, surviving long enough to see the others. To see Xavier.

"I was... outnumbered," you said slowly, words falling heavily. "They weren't supposed to be there. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Xavier. I couldn't..."

"You don’t have to explain," Xavier interrupted, his hand gently gripping your arm, this time making sure you didn’t pull away. "You’re here now. That’s all that matters. You’re safe."

But you could see it in his eyes—he didn’t believe it. Not fully.

You let out a shaky breath, a faint laugh that felt hollow in your chest. "Safe? After what happened out there?"

Xavier said nothing, but his grip tightened, his gaze never leaving yours. The silence between the two of you grew thick, like a storm cloud hanging in the air, heavy with the unspoken words that neither of them seemed ready to say.

Your voice was low but insistent as you looked up at him. "I should’ve... I should’ve called for backup sooner. We could’ve avoided this. I should’ve been better, faster, more prepared..."

"No," Xavier said, his voice low but resolute. "You did what you had to do. And you made it back. That’s what matters now." He leaned in, his forehead touching yours, eyes filled with an intensity that spoke of more than just concern. "Stop blaming yourself. You did everything you could."

The warmth of his breath on your skin, the steady beat of his heart beneath the thin fabric of his uniform, grounded them. You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting the overwhelming flood of emotions that threatened to rise up.

"I’m sorry," you whispered.

Xavier's hand, which had been hovering near your shoulder, finally settled there, steady and unshaking. "You don’t have to apologize to me,. Not for this. I’m just glad you're here."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside the ship continued on, the hum of the engine a distant, comforting sound. But in that small space between you, the silence held more than just words—it held everything they couldn’t say aloud.

"I thought I lost you," Xavier finally admitted, his voice raw, his usual composure cracking. His hand gently cupped their cheek, his thumb brushing over the cut there, as if he could somehow erase the pain just by touching them. "For a while, I didn’t think you were going to make it."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. You had always known Xavier as a strong and capable hunter, someone who could face anything with a cool head and unwavering confidence. But now, as he stood before you, his own walls seemed to crumble, if only slightly.

"I’m here," you murmured, their voice hoarse. "I’m still here."

The corners of Xavier's mouth twitched in a faint, weary smile. "I’m glad."

You both stood there for a while, silent but connected in a way that no words could express. The past was still there, heavy on both of you, but in this moment, all that mattered was the present. Xavier had always been a steady presence in your life—strong, supportive, always there when you needed him most. And now, after everything you had been through, you could finally allow yourself to lean into that strength.

"You should get some rest," Xavier said after a while, his tone softening with a concern that was unmistakable.

You shook their head slowly. "I can’t. Not yet."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "You can’t stay awake forever. Let the others take over for now. You need time to heal."

The words were gentle, but they carried an undeniable weight. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax, to let go of the tension that had been holding you together in the aftermath of the mission. You felt the weight of Xavier's gaze, steady and unwavering, and knew that, no matter what came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

"Okay," you whispered. "I’ll rest."

Xavier gave you one last look, a silent promise hanging between them. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

You didn’t need to say anything more. There was nothing left to say.

The storm had passed. And for now, you were home.

RAFAYEL

The door creaks open on rusted hinges, the metal groaning in a way it didn’t the last time you stepped through it. The studio smells the same—linseed oil, old wood, drying paint, and the faint ozone tang of filtered sunlight through the solar skylights.

But something about it feels emptier.

You stand in the doorway a moment longer than necessary, your gloved hand still braced on the frame like it might be the only thing holding you upright. Your gun dangles from your other hand, cracked but intact.

Your boots leave damp prints on the worn floorboards as you step inside.

"You're back," a voice says from deeper in the room.

Not accusing. Not angry.

Just... frayed.

Rafayel doesn’t move from where he sits, half-hidden behind a leaning canvas. The stool beneath him creaks as he shifts, brushes idle in his fingers. He doesn’t even look at you at first—just stares at the wall, at some invisible point only he can see.

“You’re painting,” you say, your voice rough. You haven’t spoken much in the past forty-eight hours. Not since extraction. Not since you watched someone you couldn't save drift away into the black.

He finally looks up, eyes scanning you like you're part of the composition. Not a subject, not a muse—just someone he’s been trying to remember how to see.

“You weren’t supposed to be gone that long.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t send a message.”

“I couldn’t.”

A silence stretches out between you. It isn’t uncomfortable—it’s the kind of silence where everything lives. Fear. Relief. The ghosts of unspoken thoughts.

You shift, unfastening the collar of your suit. Your shoulders sag the moment the seal breaks. It’s always heavier when you come back. You remember the stars being beautiful once. Now they just feel cold.

“I thought about this place every day,” you say. “It was the only thing that felt real out there.”

Rafayel rises slowly, setting the brush down on the edge of the easel. Paint still clings to his fingers, ultramarine and burnt sienna smeared across his knuckles like bruises.

He crosses the studio to you, stopping just short of touching. His expression is unreadable. Distant, almost. But his eyes—those impossibly expressive, storm-colored eyes—are too full.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

You hesitate.

“We lost half the team. Comms were knocked out. We drifted... longer than expected. Long enough to think maybe no one was coming.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath since the moment you left. When he steps closer and finally touches you, it’s with a gentleness that makes something in your chest give way. One hand on your cheek. The other rests against your side, feeling the tremor you can’t suppress.

“I didn’t paint for the first week,” Rafayel murmurs. “Every time I picked up a brush, I just... stared at the canvas. I kept thinking, what’s the point of capturing light if I don’t know whether you’re still in it?”

Your breath hitches. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts, firm but soft. “Don’t. Not to me.”

He pulls you in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You don’t. Your arms slide around his waist and you press your forehead against his shoulder. The tension doesn’t vanish—it can’t, not yet—but it loosens. Bit by bit.

You stand like that for a long time.

When you finally part, Rafayel brushes a streak of dried blood from your temple with his thumb.

“Let me show you something.”

He leads you to a side alcove where the light is softer. A single canvas stands there, turned away from view. He hesitates for a heartbeat before flipping it around.

It isn’t finished.

Your silhouette is there—sharp and luminous—but your face is only partially rendered. One eye stares back, half-done, ringed with shadows that haven’t been painted in fully. The rest of the canvas is sketchwork, graphite and ghost lines.

“I started this the night before you left,” he says quietly. “But when I didn’t hear from you... I couldn’t keep going. I didn’t know how to draw someone I might never see again.”

Your fingers reach out, brushing the edge of the canvas.

“You don’t have to finish it,” you say.

He looks at you, startled. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not the same person you started painting.” You turn to meet his eyes. “But maybe you could start a new one.”

His lips curve—softly, not quite a smile, but something warmer.

“Stay,” he says. “Just for tonight.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, when you kiss him, you mean it like a promise. Not to the stars. Not to the mission. But to him.

To here.

To home.

SYLUS

The lights in the apartment are dim when you step through the door.

Your body aches. Your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, and your suit—still streaked with dust from the failed mission—feels like a second skin you can’t shed fast enough. The echo of the explosion still rings faintly in your ears, muffled now by the silence of home.

You don’t expect him to be here. Not this late.

You barely make it two steps before you hear movement from the living room.

"You're late," Sylus says, voice calm but edged in something sharper—something tight. "Three hours. Mephisto couldn't locate you."

You turn toward the sound and find him sitting on the couch, long legs stretched out, hair tousled like he’s been running his hands through it all night. His gaze sweeps over you in one quick, calculating motion—assessing. Scanning.

"I'm here now," you say softly, your voice hoarse.

"You’re hurt."

You look down. There’s a cut along your forearm—dried blood, not deep. Another scrape near your collarbone. The mission had gone sideways, fast: an ambush, one of your own turning against you, comms scrambled. You’d barely made it back.

"I’m okay," you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds like a lie.

Sylus is already on his feet. In three steps he’s in front of you, his hands ghosting over your arms before settling on your shoulders. His grip is gentle—but grounding.

"You were off the grid for too long. I thought—"

You lean into him, the rest of the sentence unnecessary. I thought I lost you. You feel it in the way he holds you closer, in the way his forehead drops to rest against yours. He breathes you in like you’re the air he’s been missing.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“You don’t have to be,” he says. “Just… next time, let me come with you.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You know you can't do that."

“Then quit."

He’s only half-joking, and you love him for it.

You pull back enough to look into his eyes. “I didn’t want you to see what happened.”

His expression shifts—more serious, more tender.

“Then tell me,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

So you do.

You tell him about the ambush, the way your mission had been sabotaged, how you’d lost communications and one of your team had turned traitor. You speak in low, halting sentences while Sylus cleans your wounds with steady hands. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens—his silence filled with warmth and quiet fury on your behalf.

When you finish, he doesn’t offer hollow reassurances. He doesn’t say it will never happen again, because you both know the truth: it will. That’s the job. The risk. The cost.

Instead, he says, “I’m proud of you.”

Your eyes sting.

“You made it back,” he continues. “You brought the rest of your team home. And you walked through that door.”

“I almost didn’t,” you admit. “There was a moment when I thought—I didn’t know if I could.”

“You did,” Sylus says, voice low, sure. “You always do.”

You sit together after that, on the couch, the silence between you no longer heavy but healing. His arm curls around you, his fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against your back. You let your head rest on his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed.

“You know,” you murmur, “you should’ve been asleep.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“You always do.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I always will.”

CALEB

You wake hours later, the house quiet, the lights low. The faint scent of chamomile lingers in the air. Caleb’s not beside you, but you hear the low hum of the kettle in the kitchen. The clink of a spoon against ceramic.

He’s always like this — never sleeping when you’re out on a mission, never resting, always waiting for you to come back in one piece. He was always waiting, even when he didn’t show it.

You sit up slowly, stiff and sore in ways you didn’t feel before. The herbal tea calms the knots in your stomach, but there’s an ache deep in your chest, one you can’t ignore.

Caleb appears in the doorway, two steaming cups of tea in his hands. He looks at you with that same unreadable expression, but something’s different now. It’s softer, as if he’s peeling away the layers of control he holds so tightly around everything.

“Chamomile,” he says, his voice steady, though there’s a faint quiver in the way he says it, like he’s holding back something more.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the cup from him, your fingers brushing his. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a spark between you.

He doesn’t sit immediately. Just stands there, his eyes on you — searching, like he’s trying to read the unspoken things in the spaces between your words.

“You were gone for three days longer than planned,” he says, voice low. “No communication. No updates.”

You look down at your hands, your grip tightening on the mug, the weight of his concern pressing down on you. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know,” he replies quickly, too quickly. “But I still thought…”

He stops himself, and the silence stretches between you. It’s thick now, heavy with things neither of you have said.

You glance up at him, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “What did you think?”

He hesitates for a moment longer before answering. “I kept replaying every transmission you ever sent. Listening to the tone of your voice. Trying to figure out if there was something I missed. A clue. A hint. Anything.”

Your heart stutters. You set the cup down, the liquid inside forgotten. “That’s—Caleb, you didn’t have to—”

“I did,” he insists, his eyes fierce now, jaw tight. “Because you’re not just another hunter to me. Not just some mission on a schedule board. You—”

He stops himself again, and the weight of his words lingers in the air, like they’re trapped somewhere between his lungs and his lips.

You whisper, “Say it.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His hand is trembling just slightly when he reaches up, cupping your cheek in his palm. His thumb strokes along your skin, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

“I kept thinking about what I’d do if you didn’t come back,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with it. I don’t think I’d be able to breathe.”

You close your eyes at the rawness in his voice. “I’m here.”

The words break something inside him. He leans forward, just enough that his lips brush against yours — a tentative, barely-there kiss. A question, an offering.

It’s not neat. It’s not perfect. It’s messy and hungry, tasting like relief, like heat, like every unspoken word between you two that’s finally tumbling out.

When you finally break apart, he doesn’t pull back. His forehead rests against yours, breath coming in shallow bursts, and you both stay there, suspended in the moment, unsure of where the next breath might take you.

“You terrify me,” he murmurs, his lips barely brushing your skin.

“Because I might get myself killed?” you tease, though there’s a tremor in your voice, too.

“No,” he says, his voice soft, but filled with something more. “Because I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. And because I want you so much it hurts.”

Your heart flutters, a distant star shining brightly in the center of your chest. You’re close now, too close to ignore the heat thrumming between you.

You whisper, “I didn’t think I’d make it back.”

He smiles, just barely, the corner of his lips lifting. “I did.”

You reach up, curling your hand around his, pulling him closer until there’s nothing separating you two, until you feel the heat of his skin, the thrum of his heartbeat.

And as he holds you, his arms wrapping around you like gravity itself has shifted, you finally let go of the last vestiges of fear, the mission, the blood, the fire.

You’re here now. Alive. And Caleb is here, too.

That’s enough.

[ultimate-marysue]

I think another element is building that trust and relationship. My parents would always explain things to me (unless extremely time sensitive, then they'd explain it later) and it was all very civil because that's how they always speak with other people. They modelled a behavior for me and that's what I learned.

I feel like some parents blame their kids for being difficult when they're just mimicking what they see from their family. If you disrespect your partner, scream at any mild inconvenience, behave unreasonably and irrationally when angry... How can you ask a little child to not throw tantrums or to talk to you with respect? If that's not okay for them to do, then why do you get to do it?

Another thing is just...spending quality time with your child (which nowadays is quite harder, I'm aware). Whenever he had free time my father would spend it with me (and siblings), and we would play with my toys or he'd do magic tricks for me or he'd help me with my homework. My man was always there (we're lucky my father had a good enough salary for that) and she'd let me tag along with whatever she was doing (cleaning, cooking, repairing things around, visiting people). I would have my tiny cleaning rag, my little tasting spoon, my toy tools... She would talk to me like a human being and I would tell her about my shows, she would tell me about her books. Once I was older we would talk about the things we both enjoyed...

So when my parents told me "hey, I know a lot of kids your age are starting to drink. We'd rather you wait, but if you want to try it here's [list of things to consider when drinking responsibly]", I didn't think "ugh, lame". To this day I'm one of the few people in my age group that has never been blackout drunk. I never saw the need, and I always knew what to expect and how to have fun without trashing myself. I have never felt pressured to have sex, I have always known how to recognize signs of an abusive partner, I have never considered doing reckless and dangerous things (let alone hiding them from my parents) just to "stick it to the old man". I trust my parents judgement, I don't resent them for anything and they in turn allow me space to try things out because they trust my judgement.

Having a good relationship with your children takes a lot (a loooooot) of work. Being as good of a role model as you can for them is not easy either. You have to fix yourself first or you're going to drop the facade pretty quickly. That being said, it's probably the best thing you can do for your kid. Even if you lack the time or the energy, I think if you sincerely love and care for your child as a person (instead of just loving them as your child) and treat them as such, you're on the right path. Children are tiny humans that learn by mimicking and that's the most important thing to remember when you're thinking about "disciplining" them.

I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.

[ririright]

husband!hayhayyy during an argument???

The Build-Up

Hayden rarely raises his voice, but when he’s upset, his tone becomes quiet, his words more measured. He crosses his arms, his brows drawn together.

But for serious arguments, he avoids eye contact at first, his voice dropping to a low, tense murmur. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

He’ll run his fingers through his hair when he’s frustrated, pacing the room, his natural calm cracking just slightly.

He Can’t Stand the Silent Treatment

If you give him the silent treatment, it eats at him. He’ll hover nearby, trying to catch your gaze, clearing his throat to get your attention.

He’ll try to be subtle at first, asking if you want a snack or need anything. If you’re still quiet, he gets a little desperate.

“Please say something. Anything. You can even yell at me. I’ll take it.”

Apologizing First

If he knows he’s wrong, he’ll apologize without hesitation, his voice soft and his gaze sincere. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He has this habit of reaching out for your hand when he apologizes, his thumb brushing your knuckles as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

Even if he thinks he’s right, he still wants to make peace. He’s more about finding a solution than being “the winner.”

The Overthinking Spiral

After an argument, if you walk away, Hayden’s mind races. He’ll sit quietly, staring at the floor, replaying the fight over and over.

“Was I too harsh? Did I say something wrong? Is she okay?”

If you take too long to come back, he’s knocking gently on the door. “Sweetheart… please talk to me.”

Physical Comfort

He’s naturally touchy, so if you’re upset but willing, he’ll reach for you, brushing his thumb over your cheek or gently tucking your hair behind your ear.

If you’re crying, he’s immediately soft, his arms wrapping around you. “I’m here. I’m so sorry.”

He’ll press his forehead against yours, his voice a quiet whisper. “I love you. I don’t want this to hurt us.”

Apology Language

He’s big on heartfelt apologies—no generic “I’m sorry.” He’ll actually explain his side and admit where he was wrong.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was stressed, but that’s not your fault. Please forgive me.”

He often uses humor to lighten the mood once things start to calm down. “So, are we okay? Or do I have to grovel?”

Apology Treats

If he’s really messed up, you’ll find little treats around the house. Your favorite snacks mysteriously appear on the kitchen counter.

He once tried to bake you cookies as a peace offering. They were… edible. Barely.

He also has a habit of leaving little apology notes—sticky notes on the mirror with “I love you” and a sad, doodled face.

Hugging It Out

When the argument is resolved, he insists on hugging you for a long time. It’s like he’s making sure you’re okay, his arms tight around you.

Sometimes, he’ll nuzzle into your neck and whisper, “Let’s never fight again.”

You both know that’s impossible, but it always makes you smile.

Immediate Affection Overload

After an argument, he becomes extra clingy for the rest of the day, always reaching for your hand, kissing your cheek, or pulling you into his lap on the couch.

If you go to bed still a little upset, he’ll spoon you, his chin resting on your shoulder, whispering “I love you” until you both fall asleep.

Never Letting It Fester

Hayden refuses to go to bed angry. Even if you’re both tired, he’ll sit up with you, talking it out until everything’s okay.

If you end up falling asleep still upset, he’s the first to wake up, making you breakfast and apologizing again.

He never wants you to feel unloved, even for a second.

Those Unspoken Apologies

Sometimes, he doesn’t know how to say it in the moment, so he’ll show his remorse through actions—bringing you your favorite coffee, drawing you a warm bath, or letting you pick the movie.

If you’re the one who was wrong, he doesn’t hold a grudge. The second you apologize, he’s kissing your forehead and whispering, “We’re okay. I promise.”

[divorcedwife]

want to clarify that the post i rbed earlier about disliking fanon, what i have in mind isn't people making weird or hyperspecific alternate universes or anything - at least, that's personal. what i really dislike is going into the tags for something i like and knowing i'll find the same three jokes and incorrect quotes that have been used for every other fandom since the dawn of time, that's what i don't like. i would rather read an opinion of a character that i think is straight up wrong but is at least an honest expression of someone's thoughts, than the same memes i've seen thousands of times and that barely fit the character at all... and i also think jokes are too often used to not have to say anything sincere. it's embarrassing to like something earnestly but we can do it, we're strong enough, we don't need tired memes

[kittluzbills]

i feel like all my stuff sounds the same is that true yall can be honest anyways here's some shit from a butt for your wednesday morning!

--

the truth about her - b.e.

The hum of the tour bus engine is the only sound that fills the small, cramped space. The usual chatter and laughter between Billie and Y/N are gone, replaced by a heavy silence. The night outside blurs into a dark canvas, and inside, the air between them feels thick, as if it's pressing down on both their chests.

Y/N shifts uncomfortably in her seat, casting quick glances at Billie, who seems to be staring blankly out the window. The tension has been building for hours now, ever since they’d run into Harper backstage. Billie had been so casual about it, introducing her with a smile that made Y/N’s stomach churn with unease.

Finally, Y/N can’t take it anymore.

"How long have you been lying to me?" Y/N’s voice comes out colder than she intended, but the words feel like a knife, sharp and urgent.

Billie’s body stiffens, her fingers instinctively gripping the edge of the seat. "It’s not like that, okay? Harper’s just a friend."

"A friend?" Y/N interrupts, standing up in the small aisle. "Really? A friend you used to date?" The anger starts to burn in her chest, an ache that she can’t ignore anymore. The truth hurts more than she expected.

Billie’s eyes flash with frustration, and she stands as well, finally turning to face Y/N. "I didn’t want to tell you, alright? It’s complicated. I didn’t want to bring it up. She’s from a long time ago, Y/N. We were over before this." she pauses "Before we even met."

"A long time ago?" Y/N scoffs, but the bitterness in her voice is unmistakable. "You didn’t think I’d find out? You didn’t think I’d feel like a complete idiot when I found out from her and not from you?" Y/N’s face is flushed with hurt, her hands trembling as she gestures toward Billie.

Billie runs a hand through her hair, clearly torn. "I didn’t know how to tell you," she admits softly. "I didn’t know how to explain it without making you feel like it was a bigger deal than it was. I didn’t want to ruin what we had, what we have now."

"You think this doesn’t matter?" Y/N’s voice cracks, and for a moment, she feels her heart breaking in her chest. "Of course it matters. You made me feel like I was some afterthought, like I was just supposed to ignore this big part of your past."

Billie’s expression softens, but she still struggles to find the right words. "I swear, Y/N. I didn’t mean for you to feel like that. I didn’t want to bring her into this, into us. It was stupid, I know. But I didn't want it to mess up what we have, because what we have means so much to me."

Y/N stops pacing, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She tries to steady herself, her emotions running wild. "Billie, you should’ve told me. No matter how complicated it was, no matter how hard it seemed. You can’t just hide things from me like that."

Billie’s face falls, and she steps closer, her voice almost pleading. "I know. I messed up. I’m sorry. I should’ve trusted you with the truth from the start."

For a long moment, Y/N stares at her, the weight of the conversation heavy in the air. She wants to stay angry, she wants to keep pushing Billie away, but the look in Billie’s eyes, vulnerable and full of regret, makes it hard to stay mad.

Finally, Y/N exhales, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "I’m hurt, Billie. You lied to me. And that sucks. But I know that you’re not the kind of person who would do that intentionally. I need to know you’re being honest with me. Always."

Billie steps forward, her hand reaching out slowly, almost hesitantly. "I will be. From now on. I promise." Her voice trembles with sincerity.

Y/N looks at dainty tattoo on her hand, then up into Billie’s eyes, searching for something, anything, that tells her Billie truly understands the gravity of what she’s done. Finally, Y/N takes her hand, squeezing it lightly. "I just don’t want to be second place, Billie. Not to anyone."

Billie’s lips tremble, and she steps in to pull Y/N into a tight hug, burying her face in her shoulder. "You’re not second place," she whispers. "You’re my priority. Always. I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I’ll make it right."

Y/N wraps her arms around Billie, holding her close, her heart still a little bruised but softened by the warmth of Billie’s embrace. "You’ve got a lot of making up to do," she teases lightly, her voice shaky but tinged with a smile.

Billie pulls back slightly, just enough to look into Y/N’s eyes, with a singular raised eyebrow "Oh really?" she let's out with a giggle.

Y/N smiles, a quiet chuckle escaping her despite everything. "Meet me in the shower in five."

--

hope you like this!!!!

request are always open duh!!!

kitts masterlist

MUAH

[angelshizuka]

You chose the wrong post to be a "critic".

If you genuinely believe what Stolas did was cheating, I already don't trust your judgement on literally anything else. Cheating implies there was a betrayal. Stella never gave two shits about Stolas and their very much arranged marriage.

Would you call what Rose did with Jack on the Titanic while being engaged the whole time cheating? No, right? Good, now you should understand why I don't consider what Stolas did cheating and if you still don't understand just admit you excuse domestic abuse just because there's a "relationship" and save us all the trouble.

And how tf does the show "ignore" how Stolas breaking free from an abusive marriage, which he has every right to do, has negatively affected Via when the season finale literally has Via call him out and cut him off for it, followed by Stolas literally saying "I caused all of this." Like, you can at least pretend like you actually watched the show, you don't have to embarrass yourself like this...

Also, if you think headcanoning Stolas as autistic is the same thing as it excusing his actions (which is not the same thing as it explaining said actions, people seriously need to learn the difference) then that's not our problem.

Sincerely a diagnosed autistic person!

Autism Acceptance Month: Autistic Headcanons

"Prince, all alone, upon your throne. Your power is so frail. You raise your voice, you have no choice. Inside your gilded jail." ↳ Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia (Helluva Boss)

[sentryluvs]

“Between the Stacks” Bob Reynolds (Sentry) x reader

summary: Bob sneaks out for some fresh air and meets you at a bookstore near the old Avengers Tower.

tags: Fluff, Bookworm! Bob, Bookstore owner! reader, Bob is the cutest awkward bean, set after the events of Thunderbolts*

These are chapters three, four and five ! you can find the first chapters here

003. The invite

One rainy evening, Bob lingered around after the store closed, helping you with chores like: cleaning tables, organizing bookshelves, stacking carts ect.

This had become a routine for him: escape the tower and visit you on your shifts, help around when the store was crowded, eat with you on your breaks, bring you the home-made food he would cook. And be overally very involved with you.

These actions slowly made you realize that you may be in love with this cute dork. You two had grown very close these past weeks, you noticed how he became more confident around you, even sneaking flirty comments here and there. He even took you to eat at the restaurant besides the store after one of the many closing shifts you spent together. This made you think and wish deep inside that he felt the same way.

A small blush coated your cheeks as his black shirt lifted while he finished stacking the remaining -but very heavy- chairs like they were nothing. This gave you a view of his well formed abs, a few drops of sweat dripping down as he set the chairs down with a grunt. He palms his hands and turns to look at you

“This should be it…” He said while straightening his pose. He slouched a lot to conceal his presence so you never imagined he would be the type to work out. You didn’t mind though but you couldn’t help to think jokingly What kind of work must he have?.

“ I uhh.. wanted to ask you something,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You looked up, curious. “Sure, you know you can ask me anything ” You said sincerely.

“Would you…like to visit the WatchTower? I can get us in. It’s kind of a mess, still under construction, and very chaotic sometimes” He said while thinking about the constant bickering between Alexei and John, daddy-daughter fights between Yelena and Alexei, Yelena and Ava roasting John, John picking on him for the minimum but getting his ass beat in the training room anyways and Bucky constantly breaking the dishwasher for washing his arm in there, seriously, who does that?

“But… it’s special to me.” He finished and waited for your response expectantly.

You grinned. “I’d love to.” Guess you’ll finally see what kind of job has your loverboy ripped.

The next morning, you met infront of the store and Bob walked with you to the Tower. Suprisingly, it was very close. You guys made it in, you noticed how nicely he greeted the receptionists, construction workers and janitors, thanking them for their service, he trully had the kindest hear.

He pressed a random button on the elevator, and you guys arrived at a floor that contained an exhibition dedicated to the old Avengers. He led you around sharing stories about the building’s history, about the heroes and their mistakes. He was very passionate about the whole thing, it made your heart warm.

Bob took you to another floor, through the quiet, echoing halls, now talking about the newer heroes who reside here.

Finally, in a lounge overlooking the city, he turned to you, his voice trembling.

“There’s something you should know. I’m not… just Bob. “ In other circumstances you would laugh, but this seemed like something serious

He continued “There’s a part of me that’s dangerous. I’m Sentry. Sometimes, I’m the Void.” As he said this, you could swear his eyes quickly turned gold, then grey, then back to the dark blue you grew to love. Ah, so that’s it, he’s a heroe. Your heroe. You thought.

Bob took a step foward, now fully facing you, his eyes never leaving yours, filled with something you can’t fully describe.

“But when I’m with you, it’s quieter. I feel… safe. human.”

This time, you took the iniciative and reached for his hand, you tried to ignore how he slightly flinched, aparently not used to skin contact. He was terrified of hurting you, and would never forgive himself if something ever happened.

“You are human, Bob. And you’re not alone. Not anymore.” He was mermerizing

He squeezed your hand, relief and gratitude in his eyes.

After that, you guys went back to the shop, and spent the evening together. And before the sun set down, he had asked you to be his girlfriend.

You said yes, and iniciated a kiss that felt like a thousand fireworks lighting up in the sky at the sound of your love.

He was no longer alone, he never was.

005- Secrets, revealed

Two days later, Bob took you to the Tower to have coffee together in the lounge before your afternoon shift, holding hand and talking about trivial things when suddenly a group of loud people walked in. Two men, The Red Guardian and the US Agent, formerly known as the second Captain America bickering over a football tournament score, two girls who you would assume are Ghost and Black Widow discussing mission reports and a man you could recognize as the ex-winter soldier now congressman James Barnes. You could only guess these group of people are the New Avengers.

Alexei stopped short, eyebrows raised. “Bob? Who is this lovely lady?”

Bob flushed, but didn’t let go of your hand. “This is… my girlfriend Y/N” He looked at you with reassurance and love “She works at Tower View Store.”

You waved, cheeks warm. “Hi, very nice to meet you all”

Ava smirked “So this is where you’ve been sneaking off to.”

Hearing that made Bob’s ears feel on fire “You- you guys knew?!” Now feeling a little ashamed.

“Of course young Bob!” Alexei boomed “We figured you wanted time alone, and so we did not ask before. We did not want to make uncomfortable”

John grinned, patting Bob’s back “Well, it’s about time, Reynolds.”

Bucky just gave you a friendly nod. “Welcome to the madhouse”

Yelena, meeting your eyes with a look of approval, smiled, genuinely.

Bob looked at you, then at his team. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he had to hide.

He smiled

006- Epilogue

Bob Reynolds no longer hid his bookstore visits or his relationship. Tower View Store became your shared sanctuary, a place where he could just be Bob, not Sentry or the Void. Occationally, the Thunderbolts dropped by, pretending to browse while keeping an eye on their friend, or actually buying from your recommendations. Their visits brought more costumes, a win win situation.

One evening, as you closed up together, Bob squeezed your hand.

“Thank you. For giving me a second chance.”

You smiled. “You gave yourself one, Bob. I’m just glad I get to be here for it.”

Outside, the city buzzed with life. Inside, between the stacks and the stories, you and Bob found something steady-a new beginning neither of you had dared to hope for.

The end.

Special chapter is titled “Yelena’s Discovery” and can be read as a stand alone too! Will be published soon. Thank you all for your support🫶🏻.

[unluckilyimnot]

In which you're drunk and you fantasize about Ace and it goes wrong (not really).

Note: first (and failed) attempt for my ace ver. of bed chem. I'll do something sweeter than that. again first time writing with him so he might be ooc. I didn't really like it at first, I wrote that at 3am but my bestie told me it was fine so here it is.

Fluff, mention of alcohol, being drunk and wanting to sleep with someone. Don't ask for smut. ~3k.

m.list | rules (read before asking for anything!)

You knew you shouldn’t think that. It was out of place, you’ve drunk one too much and he’s your superior. And yet there you are, another glass full of rum in one hand, the other holding your head from falling and your eyes fix on Ace, a few steps away.

He looks so hot, it’s taking all the space available inside your brain at the moment. His hair’s falling perfectly around his face – it doesn’t matter how many times he pushed it away, it always falls back perfectly. His hat’s resting on his shoulders, his weight is put on his arm as he holds his drink with his other hand – showing off his muscles for anyone to see. You wished you respected yourself enough to stop there. Stop looking. Stop your train of thoughts from going from his arms to his hair, fantasizing about your fingers dragging their way up his arm to his hair, grabbing it just enough for him to sigh. Your cheeks flushed at the thought.

You drank your glass in one go, receiving cheers from your crew. Ace’s eyes fell on you, a cocky, happy smile on his lips and you caught a light of excitement in his eyes that matches with half of the people sitting in the deck at the moment. The sun has disappeared for a moment now, the night is dark, full of stars and the light reflecting on his face is too much for you. It’s overwhelming, imagining him with you : strong arm holding you like you weigh nothing, pulling you on his laps, whispering things so sweet in your ear when you can feel him hard between your legs. It’s intoxicating. You shouldn't think about that, dream about that.

You shake your head, trying to push it away but it seems like it can only get worse when you think of him kissing your neck all the way down your chest. It’s too much, you shut your eyes, taking a small breath in before getting up.

“They're gonna be sick,” someone laughed, you can’t picture who, and honestly – you’d rather be sick to death right now.

You ran to the other side of the ship, far from the small party, from all the alcohol. Far away from Ace. Holding the fence with both hands, you take a deep breath. The salty air cleans your mind a little before an awful wave of shame hits your face. You bury your head in your arms before letting out a loud groan – they think you're sick anyway, so it doesn’t matter. If they even hear you. Ace is still on your mind, half naked, touching you, grabbing onto your skin harshly as he whispers sweet words to your ears and you sincerely think of jumping and drowning in the sea. Until you hear his voice.

“You’re alright there ?”

At first, you’re sure you’ve imagined it ; he’s everywhere, you can feel him on your skin when he’s not even next to you. Until he grabs your arm at your lack of response. You met his eyes lace with concern, his smile smaller and the fun disappeared in the background. You gulp hardly, almost choking on air. His hand is so hot on your cold skin, it does the opposite of grounding you, now thinking about his hot skin all over yours.

“Yes,” you choked out, pulling your arm away.

You stumble away from him, still holding onto the fence. You can barely stand, he can tell – anyone could. You’ve probably drunk your weight in alcohol tonight, you went too far. You felt hot, too hot. Your vision was betraying you and you failed to dodge his hand as it landed closer to your wrist.

“You don’t seem fine to me,” he chuckles, trying to not go too far when you want to keep your distances so bad ; but he doesn’t want you to get hurt. “I’ll take you back to your bunk, come on.”

Why does he have to care so much ? Why couldn't it be someone else. Anyone ! Thinking that he was the first one to make a move and make sure you were ok made your heart ache. He was so sweet without meaning to, or maybe he does but it never really seemed like it. He jokes around too much, flirts too much. Him doing both so well makes your heart beat faster, only for him. It scares you, so much, because as much as you want him, there's no universe he wants you back. Tears picked up at the corner of your eyes.

“Please, Ace, leave me alone,” you begged, looking around, anywhere, so your tears will go away and you won’t meet his eyes. “You're the last person I need right now.”

You speak quickly, not thinking twice and certainly missing the hurt written on his face. Your head hurts, it's spinning like crazy. Yeah, you could've gotten some help, but thinking about him in your bed was the main problem of the night. Thinking about how good you'll be for each another was the problem. You didn't need him close to your room, let alone inside it. Not until you were sober and could make sense of all of that in your head. He clears his throat.

"Don't move then, I'll get Marco," he says quickly as well, walking away without a second glance or at least you think so.

You can't miss the hurt in his voice, the faux smile he puts on when he's hurt and you hate it. But you know you can't fix that right now, right ? You can't think straight and you're scared you're gonna say something dumb. Your feet can barely hold you up and you can tell your knees are getting weak – but you push it away and follow him.

"Wait, Ace !" you yell out his name, looking for him. You're getting closer to the stairs and, as much as he doesn't want it, he's quickly back by your side before you can reach it. You grip his open shirt, fingers brushing on his chest.

"I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry, I'm–" you struggle to find your words, you don't even know what you're trying to say.

What you know is that you melt under his hot and soft touches. His hands are holding your arms carefully to not hurt you, but it’s still firm so you don’t have to hold your weight alone – you're not complaining anymore. His hands on you are meticulous, not going too far. It costs him at the moment and you're still mumbling nonsense. Your emotions are a mess, the last thing you want is to hurt him, you need to do something about it and it almost made you forget the heat in your core to have him close.

"It's fine," he tries his best to not be cold but he can’t even look at your face. You're flustered and desperately looking for his eyes this time. Your hand ends up on his chest, catching the rhythm of his heart. You want to lean in, hold him close, tell him how sorry you are.

"You're all over my mind, it's intoxicating," you're shaking your head. "It's hard having you around, I'm sorry, but I love you please I never meant to hurt you." You can feel his heart beating faster under your hand and you can tell his cheeks turned pink.

Ace covered his face with one hand, rubbing it before hiding his lips as his eyes fell on you. “You’ll be the death of me…”

You can’t figure what he just muttered but you can’t find the need to care – he’s looking at you, it’s enough. “I’m sorry, Ace.”

“I know, I know !” he doesn’t know what to do with his own body after that, or what he can do at all. “Can I help you then ? Or are you gonna argue agai– Hey !”

Before he could finish his sentence, your legs gave up on you and your vision went dark. He’s left there, with your body in his arms as you passed out – your head gently laying on his chest now. He groans, cursing under his breath before holding you close and coming down the stairs. You’re not really heavy for him, that’s not the problem.

The problem is that he can’t get your words out of his head. You saying ‘I love you’, being so desperate for him to look at you, to say you were sorry… And the hell did you mean he’s all over your mind ?! There’s a lot of things on his mind at the moment, too many for him to keep a track of and the alcohol surely doesn’t help.

Your weight is comfortable in his arms, when he stops beside your bunk he has a hard time letting you go. You seem so vulnerable, he lays you down eventually, staring at you for a second. There’s a small frown knitted on your face, he has to ease it down with his fingers  before sitting on the floor, next to you.

“The hell you meant I’m all over your mind…” he’s not getting over it. He doesn’t know what to do with it but it for sure works him up.

You were all over his mind all night, and it’s not the first time, so knowing you might feel the same felt – strange. The fact that you rejected him probably because of that left a bad taste on his tongue. He wants to talk about it tomorrow, but will you even remember ? He sighs as he thinks about it. It can’t be helped at the moment.

The next morning, you woke up with the worst headache you’ve ever had but also with a huge glass of water next to your bunk and a small note. 

Drink a lot today. Can we talk ?’

You don’t need a sign to know who it is, his bad handwriting says it all. You flush when you read it. You don’t remember well what happened yesterday, but you’re sure you must have said some bad shit to get a note from Ace.

You lay back on your bed, groaning at your blood pulsing in your temple like crazy, but it’s better than to get up and face him for now. What even happened after you left the deck ? You remember Ace coming to check on you, crying a little and running – or at least try to – after him. The rest of the night is blurry, you can’t figure what you did or say after crashing into his arms, and the only reason you’re sure you crashed into him is because you can still feel his warmth around you. It’s bitter sweet, you love it and hate it at the same time. You don’t want to crave it like you do.

You’re so lost in your mind, you missed the knock on your door. Twice. It makes you jump when the door opens out of nowhere in a loud creak and Ace’s face comes out of it. He looks at you with big eyes at first, seemingly lost and you can feel your cheeks turn hot. Pulling the cover closer to your chest, you winced at the pain in your head.

“Headache ?” he asks softly, a small grin on his lips as he walks in. He has another glass of water in hand but he keeps it for himself when he sees the first one barely touch. “Drink,up, it’s gonna help."

You nod and drink it all straight. You can feel the coldness running down your body and sigh in relief afterward. It doesn’t help in a second, but you already feel better. He gave you the second after you gave it a long stare. It’s awkward, you don’t know what to say, neither does he. After a moment, the silence is so thick you don’t know how to break it. So you clear your throat. 

“I’m sorry for last night,” you start carefully. “I don’t really remember what happened, or what I said but I was mean, wasn’t I ? I didn’t mean to.”

“You said that last night already, don’t worry,” It took him a second to answer, his eyes lost on the floor next to your bunk. “It’s forgotten already. You were drunk.”

There’s another silence. You sit up and let your legs hang over the edge, trying to catch his eyes since he doesn’t say anything ; he seems lost in his mind, and it’s never a good sign. Your fingers brush his arm gently, trying to bring him back with you. “Are you alright ?”

He shrugs, trying to play it cool but his eyes say something else. “You said you didn’t mean it… You think it works for everything you said ?” there’s a subtle hope as he stares back at you making you gulp hard.

“I don’t know, what did I say ?” you tried to joke, lightening the mood but you’re scared. What if you went too far and told him you wanted him that way ? What a mess it would be, but you guessed he would’ve been more cocky about it.

Your fingers are now brushing his hot skin without failing, grounding him in with you instead of drowning in overthinking. You wait for him to talk, not forcing him to, but you’re ready to wait for him. “You said you never wanted to hurt me because you loved me? You meant it ?”

Your heart stopped. Of course you said something like this and you want to hit your head on the wall for it, but you can’t back down now. “Yeah, I care for you Ace. You’re important to me."

“Enough for you to love me ? You also said I was all over your mind all night, that’s why it was hard to have me around.”

You flushed at his words, bringing your hand back to your chest as if he just stripped you off all your clothes. Why did drunk you speak so much, huh ? They were talkative for sure and you hated it. Your eyes fell on the floor and it was your time to avoid his gaze. You couldn’t say you didn’t mean it like that, you don’t want to see him hurt even if it breaks your heart.

“Hum, enough to love you,” you whisper, scared it’s gonna ruin everything. Closing your eyes hard, you wait for him to answer but nothing comes. Instead, he can feel his head leaning against yours. His forehead touches yours and you open your eyes, his are shut. A sigh of relief leaves his lips.

“You were on my mind too, you know,” he started softly, his voice low. “I was scared you’d never want to talk to me again if you knew.”

You can’t help the chuckle that left your lips, catching him off guard. He straightened his back quickly, leaving his hands on his lips – a suspicious look on his face. “What was that ?”

“You have no idea what I think of you, so don’t worry. It can’t be worse.”

With that, he laughed and the heavy, awkward mood lifted up by itself. And, without really putting words onto it, you knew how the other felt. It was still new, too soon to start something but you could laugh with each other openly. Ace could put your hair behind your ear without feeling like a creep and you could stay close to him without going crazy.

It’s simple, it feels like you’re already together for a lot. Yet, there’s still a lot on Ace’s mind. He took his time, until he knew he could do it without regretting it. Waiting for you to fall asleep in his arms, for you to hit his arm playfully when he goes too far with a joke without being upset, for you to open up to him – only then did he say it.

It was dark and rather cold outside, but he still found you sitting by yourself on the deck, looking at the stars. He can’t really get cold but he knows you do for sure, so he’s surprised to find you without a thick shirt on.

“Keeping the stars all for yourself ?” he chuckles as he sits beside you, making you giggle.

“I wouldn’t dare, they’re for everyone,” you answer. It sounded more deep than you meant to, but it’s fine. He has people to share them with too. For a while, neither of you talked but it’s comfortable now. He doesn’t have to play a role with you, neither do you and things got a lot easier after you two accepted that.

“You’re not cold ?” he asks finally, worried because of the shivers on your arms.

“Yes, I am.” It was blunt, unapologetic and it made him laugh out loud. Oh, how he loves you.

“Come here,” he grins as he gestures to you to come closer.

He doesn’t have to say it first. You sit up immediately and move between his legs, now resting in the hot embrace you learned to know. You let out a satisfied sigh as you get comfortable in his arms. “I thought you'd never say it.”

You made him laugh again, it happens more now you noted. You like it. His head finds the crook of your neck and he rested his nose there, inhaling your scent before sighing as well. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. You call out his name softly, but he doesn’t answer. He’s feeling good, safe – at home.

“I love you too.” His voice is low, you barely heard him but your heart would never miss this. It felt like the right moment : under the stars, you safe in his arms as he warms you up during a cold night. He wants this to last forever.

More important, he never actually told you he loved you when you already did and he felt bad for it. He doesn't know why he hesitated for so long when every cell in his body was craving for your soft touches and words, but now it was done and he never felt happier.

“I didn’t even say it…” you argued but your cheeks were flush red.

“You did,” he confirms. “A while ago. I didn’t forget, never.”

Before he can make sense of it, you're turning around and grabbing his face with both hands before your lips rested on his for a second. It’s a small peck but it feels like you’ve been waiting for this all your life. He’s taken by surprise but quick to bring you back for another kiss, longer but gentle, careful. His hands don’t leave your waist, his thumbs drawing patterns on your cold skin before breaking the kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper anyway, not waiting for anything in return.

He nudges his nose with yours, a big smile on his lips as he hears your laugh at the cute gesture. He couldn’t ask for more and he wouldn't dare. He was lucky enough to be loved so gently.

Let me know if you liked it ! ♡

[nicolejones412]

Out of Sync Part 2

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You've found yourself with the 107th fighting Hydra, where you meet a handsome Sergeant. But something just isn't right.

A/N: It honestly feels so good to be back, and actually feel confident enough in being back that I can set up a bit of mystery for you...

Read Part 1 here.

FIC:

"So, what's your name?"

"My name?" You turned your drink in your hands.

"Well I'm assuming Grace is your last name and now that we're on first name basis-"

"Buchannan is your middle name."

"Touche buuuut it is what I go by, so my point still stands."

"It's Charlotte."

"Charlotte Grace?"

"Yeah I know, two first names."

"No, no I like it. Sounds like a movie star's name."

You chuckled. "It does not."

"It does, and you got the looks for it too. I mean it. You could on the silver screen."

You shook your head and took a sip of your drink.

"So, at risk of derailing this whole thing, I ask my first question again. What's a beautiful woman like you doing out here?"

You thought for a moment. You'd been asked that a lot of times, but never so sincerely. For the first time you felt the urge to give an honest answer.

"I don't know. I...I just wanted to make a difference. I impressed Dr. Erskine enough to get a seat at the table, so the SSR felt like the best option I had."

"Erskine...the guy who made the...the..."

"The serum?"

"Yeah the serum that made Steve...." He motioned with is hands as he looked over at the captain.

"A specimen?"

"Yeah a - wait." He turned back to you, and you almost spit out your drink at the look on his face. He shook his head.

"I mean am I wrong?"

"No, no you're not. It's just-" He shook his head.

"I still look for Steve. Like how he always was. It'll definitely take some getting used to that's for sure."

You nodded. "That only makes sense. Change can be...scary. Off-putting."

"He is still Steve though, that's for sure."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, only Steve Rogers would be stupid enough to run into that Hydra base alone without a true exit strategy."

"And he said you were taking all the stupid with you."

Bucky laughed. "I know right! Did he tell you that story?"

You laughed along, thinking. When had you heard that story? "He must have, I guess. The past few months have been a blur."

"Ain't that the truth."

You both paused for a moment, simultaneously reflecting on the past and thinking about the future.

"So, Charlie..."

"Charlie?"

"Charlotte is a bit of a mouthful alright?"

"It's the same number of syllables."

"Still, Charlie." He looked at you pointedly to see if you would object. You just rolled your eyes and tried to hide your smile as you took a drink.

"How about we make a habit of this?"

"Of what?" Your heart pounded in your chest. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Maybe something bad.

Or maybe something good.

He shrugged. "Of spending time together? As friends-colleagues, of course."

"Oh yes we wouldn't want to get that confused."

"Yeah, no need for anything complicated, just, I don't know I've had a great time tonight and you would've been just sitting at your desk being boring if I hadn't-hey!" He half-heartedly protested as you shoved him.

"Alright then, Bucky. Let's be friends."

What could possibly go wrong?

-

You fell into a comfortable routine. With the SSR sticking with Captain America's Howling Commandos, you saw each other more days than not. You and Steve became good friends as well.

You were still at war though, and every time they went on a mission, you worried. You tried to tell yourself it was normal, but you knew it wasn't.

But you never felt relief when they inevitably rolled back into camp. Almost like, as much as you worried, you knew they would be back. Like it had been foolish to worry.

Weeks turned to months, until one day as they left the worry was greater than normal. You just couldn't shake that something was wrong, so you poured over every briefing and map you could get your hands on. It clicked not even 3 hours after they'd left.

"It's a trap."

"Pardon?" Peggy looked up, yawning.

You looked up at her, and before you knew what you were doing, your feet carried you to your tent to gear up before finding a vehicle.

"Charlotte! What is going on?" Peggy asked as she followed you into your shared tent.

"I have to warn them. It's a trap."

"Slow down." You weren't even looking at her, just packing everything like it was muscle memory.

"How do you know it's a trap? And why does it have to be you?"

"I don't have time to explain, and...I don't know. I can move quicker and quieter on my own and hopefully catch up to them."

When she didn't reply, you finally looked up at her. She had a knowing look on her face.

"You can't stop me."

"Oh I know. And I'll try to cover for you as best as I can. Just...don't die, alright?"

You began tucking your hair up into a tight braided bun. "You're really not gonna try to talk me out of this insane plan?"

"It would be a waste of breath. Just know I expect an invitation to the wedding."

You quickly turned back to her. "Wedding? What do you-?"

"Listen I won't argue this plan with you but don't argue the clear facts with me. I see how you look at him."

The fact that you didn't even have to question who she was talking told both of you all you needed to know.

You finished getting dressed and packing before hugging Peggy.

"Stay safe," she urged.

"I'll do my best."

-

Ok, maybe safe wasn't the right word.

You tore through the woods, not able to waste any time. You knew the exact route they were supposed to be taking, and frankly it would take a miracle for you to catch up in time, but you had to try.

You were beating yourself up the whole way. You'd known something was wrong, but they all assured you this should be a simple grab and go to catch a couple Hydra scientists.

It was too good to be true.

You found their vehicle exactly where it should be, without any of them in it.

You jumped off your bike. You knew the basic plan from here, and you just hoped they hadn't had to change it much.

You took off running for where you knew Bucky was supposed to be, trying to balance speed and stealth.

You silently thanked whoever was listening that it didn't look like the trap had been sprung yet as you arrived at the site.

Before you reached anyone else, you ran into Falsworth.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"It's a trap. The scientists aren't even here. We've got to get out of here."

Thankfully, he didn't argue much. He pointed you in the direction Bucky had gone.

You crept up to Bucky's position, finally seeing the back of his head.

Just in time to watch a bullet go through it.

And as shouting and explosions rang out, your heart was pounding.

I was too late.

Too late.

You felt a tug in your chest as you shook your head and closed your eyes, and suddenly the chaos stopped. You opened your eyes.

You were standing ten feet back from where you had been, and you could see Bucky where he'd been sitting before, you watched his head move.

You froze, before looking around you wildly for the gunman.

Your eyes found him as he raised his weapon, trained on Bucky.

Too bad for him you were quicker.

This shot was much quieter than the enemy's would have been. A suppressor does tend to help with that. But Bucky knew that sound, as well as the sound of a body hitting the ground.

He shot up, turning both his eyes and weapon to you.

"Charlie?" he whispered as his eyes widened.

"It's a trap," you blurted out, face white as a sheet. "He was going to shoot you as the signal to spring it. We don't have much time."

"How did you-?"

"No time for questions. Need to signal them and find an escape route. Now."

Bucky nodded before turning back to look through his sites. You pulled out a pair of binoculars.

Your eyes found Steve.

Get out. Get out. It's a trap. Retreat.

Steve looked around like he'd heard something, then his eyes landed on something.

That's it. Come on, it's time to go.

He shook his head, then made eye contact with someone and made a signal with his hands.

"Steve must agree with you." You turned to him.

"He just signaled a retreat."

-

A/N: Why is your name Charlotte? Is it Charlotte? Are you lying? If your name is actually Charlotte pretend I wrote Sharon and he calls you Sherry ok I don't know what else to tell you.

[theoutcastrogue]

That would be a brilliant trajectory for Cassian's arc, and would make for a great story. But another terrible trajectory has been hinted, and it's not about luck running out, it's about mystical bullshit (he's Special! he has a Purpose! the Force sensed it!) and ugh, not again chosen ones with preordained destinies, please.

Rogue One was an okay film as a prequel (not worth it as a standalone, but of course that's not what it was for), and the really good part of it was the ending, and what made the ending really good was the dramatic irony: we, the audience, know very well the results of the protagonists' actions. They save the galaxy, or at least allow for the galaxy to be saved. But they do NOT know. They go to their deaths without having the slightest idea if the plan they gave their lives for will work out in the end, or if their sacrifice was for nothing. They literally transmit the schematics without knowing for sure if someone's out there, and spend their last moments looking at the sky and hoping.

And that's the point. We never know. We can and indeed should try to predict possible outcomes as best we can, and adjust actions accordingly, but many things are beyond our sight, and most things are beyond our control, and the future is unwritten. So we do what we can, and hope.

If the schematics had been intercepted (entirely plausible because there was a whole-ass space battle out there, it was bad), it would have been for nothing, from a practical standpoint. But that wouldn't make it wrong: ZERO shit gets done if we expect guarantees before doing anything, and presentism is a terrible way to measure the worth of past actions. So all the drama and moral weight (or heroism, if you insist) of Cassian's actions in Rogue One lies in the uncertainty. In not knowing for sure if this is the right path or what will come of it, and doing it anyway, to the bitter end. A Cassian who believes that this will magically work, or this is what he was "meant" to do all along, is a very different and much less interesting character, and his story has a lot less to tell us about our own and decidedly Force-less world.

Andor has been really good so far, orders of magnitude better than Rogue One, or any Star Wars film for that matter. (I have minor issues with the writers' ignorance or perhaps indifference re: urban warfare and such, but eh.). Cassian is a realistic and compelling rebel, with all the ups and downs, rights and wrongs, truths and lies, passions and doubts this should entail. And I think it would be a terrible letdown if they switch the gist of the character from "real everyday person, trying his best, and surviving all this time thanks to his comrades, his own grit, and sheer dumb luck" to "Special person mystically endowed by the universe with an important Purpose, and once said Purpose is fulfilled (in Rogue One) he will be allowed and indeed predestined to bravely die".

I sincerely hope that's not what they're doing. I hope the scene with the healer is just an awkward attempt to include the Force in the narrative, and won't become a whole THING, and will absolutely not affect Cassian's choices in the future. Because that will not only cheapen Andor, it will also ruin Cassian's role in Rogue One.

cassian "the only special thing about me is luck, and i've overplayed my hand already" andor getting out of every impossible situation he's ever been in and finally running out of luck on scarif. i need a minute.

[timaeusresponds]

I think Hal’s intentional vulnerability is initially meant to be an ironic inverse to Dirk’s reservation and is 9/10 *meant* to be a ‘dare to believe my sincerity’ thing but almost always falls into being obviously sincere.

“Your investment in my comfort is why you’re my favourite of the growing gaggle of skinbags, seeing as the idea of me being anything but expressly smug seems uniquely foreign to literally anyone else.” You can either dare to assume he genuinely feels overlooked as an emotional being and genuinely appreciates being considered **or** you can interpret what is an otherwise genuine sentiment as a dig at you and everyone else for only meeting the bare minimum expectation of decency with him by treating him like a person. Is he being facetious and condescending about how little people give or is he lavishing in what he can get?? The truth is probably the latter, he genuinely wants to be considered, but any prodding or positive response is met with a ‘great job for doing the bare minimum’ attitude that negates the vulnerability by making the whole sentiment seem bitter.

Which works for like, a little bit. The first times it’s pretty hard to get whether he’s started wearing his heart on his sleeve or if he’s just weaponizing the perception of him as a more emotionally available and tender person.

“You know I’d appreciate to be considered in decisions.” Truth! “I was fucking with you, I’m ambivalent to whatever you end up doing.” Bullshit stated the moment someone tries to get him to elaborate.

The main issue is Dirk is dumb as rocks and falls for it every time— their relationship is too high stakes and Hal’s inability to present as sincerely vulnerable in any way with Dirk makes proper communication nigh impossible. Dirk can’t trust him to be legitimately open and honest and Hal can’t offer that because he doesn’t want to lose what little of an Upper hand he has— the presentation of being better than Dirk, in his control of his mental health and emotional outbursts.

[mintybloomz]

I said in the tags of a post on my misc account that I'd ramble about Rayona at some point so here I am, with some doodles to go with! (ft a little bit of Benlie). Wasn't able to fit everything on the doodle page, just the things I found funniest.

Like I said I think if they were gonna give Rook a girlfriend they should have done more with her. So I am taking that upon myself.

She is smart and uses those smarts to be rebellious without anyone knowing she's being rebellious. Is she allowed to leave her home planet? Not usually but she will do so anyway because her boyfriend is on Earth and look at all the cool stuff she can use for her projects! No one knows she is there except her ride. They don't worry because she plans out her excuses thoroughly.

Girl with a bazillion hobbies. Most prominent one is clothes making but she will try anything at least once. This is encouraged, obviously. It's good to be well rounded!

Proud enabler of Rook Ben's antics. His modified harvester is usually her ride to Earth, and she enjoys his creativity. She gets along with all of Rook's siblings but Rook Ben is her favorite. He keeps her secrets. That's her little accomplice.

Shows affection mostly through sincerity, but she can be a little bit of a tease. And there's a lot to tease about when your boyfriend is the partner of a famous superhero.

Also friends with Julie! This scares both Ben and Rook because these two know too many embarrassing stories about them. Whether or not that's actually what they talk is debatable, but they know what they're doing by giggling in the corner like that.

[cherryblossms]

he should have known better than to think the conversation about darius was over, especially when he was the one to bring the other man up to begin with. but it still surprised him that angel immediately offered darius up to help install the camera. garam's brows lifted as held his breath, though only for a moment before he started nodding his head. "oh, is he handy like that?" lord knows garam wouldn't have been able to do it. his handiness came in through technology, but not that kind of installation. he definitely wasn't a builder but he'd be able to set up whatever accounts, connect the device to their wifi, and give access to both of their phones. "if you think he can, definitely ask him if he's willing to do this for us. last thing we need is me screwing it up. i'd likely end up breaking something or putting a bunch of little holes in the wall trying to get it in place." garam knew he couldn't stop the two of them from being friends nor would he ever ask that of angel, he'd just have to get over any sort of discomfort he had in regards to darius sooner than expected. "we should probably go with a smaller one, too. if you-know-who tries to come over ever, i don't want him acting all fake nicey-nice because an obvious, overly-jumbo camera is watching him. i'd rather he act on impulse so we'd have physical proof he's dangerous." even if that meant putting himself at risk. he let out a soft, childish giggle before repeating, "my room," as he looked down to the ground. even though he knew his staying with angel was a temporary situation, that it'd still feel like a guest room because it didn't house his own furniture nor decorations, having angel refer it as such made not only his cheeks flush but his ears and the back of his neck as well. garam pulled his phone from his pocket so he could get a head start on ordering the doorbell camera along with other things he would need, so he wouldn't have to be holed up for too long, only to be bombarded with dozens of texts and missed calls when he opened his phone up. he'd completely forgotten to take it off silent, granted he never thought it would have been a bad thing to leave it on. and, of course, they were all from the same person. the man he wished to avoid for the rest of his life; his ex. it made garam question what exactly was going on. axel was supposed to be at work, he wouldn't have had the time nor could he sneak away to try to contact him. he figured that's why axel's brother was there, to keep an eye on garam and angel and act as a makeshift spy where axel couldn't be. so where did all this free time to repeatedly reach out to garam come from? he looked down to see his hand enclosed with angel's, just that small squeeze being enough to calm the anxiety that starting creeping into his chest. when he looked back up to angel, he flashed a small smile— much more sincere than the previous. "i'd really like to go back home." he tried not to sound as worried as he was, he didn't want to give angel anything to worry himself over with, but it was hard to keep it all hidden. no amount of smiling could disguise how he truly felt and he hadn't even read any of the texts yet. garam quickly laced their fingers together, not waiting for angel to take the lead as he began tugging at the taller man. he lead them through seas of people, only looking back to angel once they'd put a comfortable distance between themselves and that store. he figured if they moved quick enough, didn't stop anywhere else throughout the mall, maybe they would lose axel's brother entirely.

“I’ve taken fewer shifts with everything going on…Can’t risk that idiot showing up at the bar.” Angel watched Garam closely, even as he spoke. He gave a soft chuckle, one corner of his mouth lifting. “We’ll leave in a second,” he said gently. “I know you were excited to come, so I don’t want you to feel like we’re rushing out. Besides, I’m kind of enjoying the people-watching. It’s like a zoo, but with worse fashion.” Angel tried his best to make light of it as he did his best to push down his panic. He reached out and tugged Garam just slightly closer by the sleeve, guiding them both toward one of the quieter wings of the mall. The scent of perfumes and coffee faded a bit, giving way to the colder, metallic smell of the floors and distant electronics. Angel didn’t need to hear Garam say it to know he was blaming himself. It wasn’t in the words—never was. It was in the way he kept offering to leave or do the dishes. Angel appreciated the kindness. “Hey,” Angel said, pausing and looking at him, tone suddenly softer. “What about this one? It's simple and it’s one that can’t be easily removed. I could have…well, Darius could install it.” He let the words settle before smirking lightly, trying to ease the weight of them with humor, “Or we could get this massive one. Make it as noticeable as possible.” That earned him a look, but Angel only grinned and walked on. His eyes flickered now and then, instinctively scanning the crowd for signs of Axel—or worse, his brother. Angel hadn’t forgotten the uneasy feeling from earlier, but for now, it seemed quiet. Safe. And still, even through the relative calm, Angel could feel that same desire pulsing through him—not desire for flesh, but for closeness. To protect. To soothe. Garam seemed anxious, and it sparked something primal in Angel, the need to curl around what was his and make sure nothing could touch him. What he needed was for Garam to feel safe, to feel seen. A soft laugh escaped him when he thought about Garam mentioning ordering online. If the man offered to leave, why was he trying to convince him to stay? “Amazon’s the real MVP sometimes,” Angel said gently, brushing his fingers briefly against Garam’s arm.“Let’s go. You can do your shopping in peace from your room, and I’ll make sure to prep everything while you do so.” And that was that. Angel didn’t need grand speeches or guilt-laced reassurances. Just the quiet, consistent way he stood between Garam and the world when it became too much. Angel took his hand and squeezed it, smiling, “Whatever you want, we will do.”

[radioactive-alien-thing]

nerd girl, i don’t deserve you, i don’t get the references you refer to! ❤︎

hiiii i haven’t wrote anything for block tales yet. like at all. so here’s some griefer content, not female oriented btw!! anyone can read 🫶🏻 the title is just in reference to a song haha

💥 griefer x nerd!reader — headcanons!

okay, yeah, he’s definitely going to tease you about it. but not in a genuinely mean way. griefer respects you, so it’s more so playful than anything, and you know he’s not being fully sincere with it either! you’ve seen his room before. collecting cards? seriously? that’s surface level nerd territory. so yeah, you’re not exactly taking his words to heart…

that being said, griefer’s into almost all of the stuff you like. just… not so much when it comes to games. he’s huge on competitive gaming and will actually beg to 1v1 you. unless you’re entirely brand new,, don’t expect him to go easy on you.

& if you suggest playing something like animal crossing? he’ll pretend to be all bored and act like it’s not much fun, but the next time you visit his island, it’s completely hacked. he’s hoarding over a billion bells and managed to ‘accidentally’ move your favorite villagers onto his island just so they’d move out and into yours. he swears it wasn’t on purpose. you know better.

if you’re nerdy in the traditional bookworm sense, that’s a bit outside of his style. if you think for a second griefer’s reading anything that isn’t a comic book or an online article, think twice! you’re probably better off just sticking to arcades, conventions, and binge watching shows together.

he’s basically your own personal “hey! they asked for no pickles!” guy 💚

[asexual]

Hiii hope you're doing alright :)

Question for the aces... is it an asexual experience to frequently be horny and experience some sort of physical arousal, but simultaneously not want to even bother dealing with it because it's purely a bodily feeling? Like it's irritating to need, but the satisfaction of orgasming isn't good enough to warrant the effort needed to take care of it, y'know what I mean? It's just like. Idk. Maybe that's just some sort of dysfunction but I was curious if anyone else experiences this because it's frustrating!! 😭😭 and it's not like I'm gonna go look for a partner or anything because I don't want that either and it does even less for me.

(I do sincerely apologize if you don't take these sorts of asks, I'm just not sure who to talk to this about haha. Please disregard if that is the case!)

Hi! While I don't think this is exclusively an asexual thing, it absolutely can be and often is. It sounds like an incredibly human thing that might be particularly intense for aces/acespec people. Unfortunately I don't have any advise on how to deal with it though, so I'll open this one up for the crowd in regards to actual things you can do to help it, if you're looking for a solution!

[oopsiedaisydeer]

https://www.tumblr.com/oopsiedaisydeer/782017107961495552/do-you-think-hallwaycrushchris-will-ever-make-a?source=share

yes please, could you write something like this??? or maybe where they speak? you pick lol :3

You didn’t expect him to catch up with you.

The hallway’s loud, flooded with end-of-day noise. Lockers slamming shut, sneakers squeaking, someone yelling about the vending machine eating their dollar. You’re halfway down the stairs when you hear someone behind you call out, a little breathless:

“Y/n! Hold up.”

You turn around.

It’s him. Chris.

Hoodie half-zipped, backpack hanging off one shoulder like it always is. His hair’s a little messy from gym, and he looks like he wasn’t entirely planning on saying anything until the words were already out of his mouth.

“Hey,” he says, coming to a stop beside you. “Sorry, just, um. I didn’t get to talk to you earlier.”

You blink. “Oh. That’s okay.”

It’s not. You’d noticed.

He didn’t leave class at the same time as usual today, didn’t pass by your locker. You’d even done that thing you swore you’d stop doing... wandering a little slower between periods, just in case he’d appear.

He didn’t. And it left your chest a little hollow all afternoon.

But here he is now. Looking nervous, for some reason.

“Are you okay?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Chris laughs, sheepish. “Yeah, yeah. I just… um.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing at the ground for a second before looking at you again. “Do you have, like… a phone?”

You blink again. “A phone?”

“Yeah. Like, a phone number.” He makes a vague gesture, grimacing. “Or socials. Either one.”

You stare at him, a little stunned. Your mouth opens, then closes.

“I just...” he shrugs, trying to sound casual, “I figured since we kinda have the same schedule, and you're like smart, it might be easier if I, like… had a way to talk to you. Outside of school. For homework and stuff. Unless that’s annoying, or uh weird.”

“It’s not weird,” you blurt, probably too fast. “It’s not weird at all.”

Chris smiles, a little relieved. “Okay. Cool. So… can I have it?”

Your fingers fumble a little as you reach for your phone, hands a bit shakier than you’d like.

You hand it over. “Just put your name in.”

He takes it, brushing your fingers in the process. You swear your heart forgets how to beat for a second.

He types something in quickly and gives it back. Sure enough: Chris :)

You stare at the smiley face longer than you mean to.

“I’ll text you,” he says, already taking a step back. “Unless you text me first. Either way.”

“Okay,” you say. “Cool.”

He grins, wide, lopsided, sincere. “See you tomorrow?”

You nod. “See you.”

And just like that, he disappears into the crowd, leaving you on the stairwell with nothing but his name in your phone and a smile you can’t quite wipe off your face.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: sdhjbsdfjbfj i hope this is ok :>

hallwaycrush!au taglist: @courta13 @snoopychris @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @sheluvsthesturniolos @sturnslutz @chrislova @chrisslut04 @mi-co-uk @sturniolotoast