#and he would be so jealous

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

au where everything is the same except that every time someone absorbs and/or uses stormlight they get a magical girl transformation

[j4y-k4y]

aziracrow in the wild wild west 🌵

[utterlyazriel]

the green emotion

someone requested jealous!azriel and i... made up a whole plot. i hope it's decent and fulfills the craving ! i'm a firm believer than he's so silly when he gets jealous <3 friends to lovers, about 4k

Azriel was not a jealous Male.

That was what he told himself. Jealousy was something that possessed the likes of Cassian or Rhys, driven to territorial acts that likened them to wild beasts. Fueled by their protectiveness, their senses dulled beyond reason.

Jealousy was a sharp whip with a taunting bite and Azriel was one of few who did not bend beneath it.

He had adopted a strength over millennia, an iron will, that prevented him from harboring such unsavory feelings. He was a stronger male than that, not so easily willed by strong ugly emotions such as jealousy.

That was what he told himself — as he tailed behind you, hanging back far enough you could not detect his presence, his shadows shrouding him.

It was reaching evening in Velaris, the last remnants of the sun's dappled light scattered across the cobblestones. You were clothed in a velvet cloak that reached down to your ankles. Its hood was drawn up, to cover your face.

If Azriel didn’t know you so well, not the weight of your steps and the lithe you carried yourself with, you may have slipped by unnoticed.

But Azriel was the Spymaster for a reason — and you were keeping secrets.

Truly, it itched and picked at him as he turned reason over and over again in his mind as he followed you. What possible reason could you have for skirting around in the dark? To slip from your friends and cloak yourself, wishing to remain unseen on the streets of your home?

It didn’t make sense to him. No thoughts of treason ever breached his mind. You wouldn’t dare, he knew that. You treasured your family as deeply as Azriel did himself, having bled and fought for your space beside them many years ago.

But as Azriel traced the path you walked, knowing you were fully in your right to go about your business however you pleased, it couldn’t be ignored. Logic kept pointing fingers in the same direction.

If he did not suspect you of withholding vital information from your court, then his quiet tailing must be fueled by something else. Something as trivial as an emotion such as…. jealousy.

Azriel bristled at the thought and his wings shook silently behind him, as if shaking off some imaginary snow.

He did not get jealous.

He was simply… ensuring the safety of his court. Which included your own safety. Even the thought made him grimace in the shadows, knowing the smack he would receive from Cassian if his brother ever heard the implication you couldn’t fend for yourself.

You most certainly could. Azriel and Cassian had both spent their fair share of hours battling against you in the fighting ring, training you up.

And it’s hardly likely that the image of you — donned in your fighting leathers, forehead beaded with sweat, chest heaving as you gripped your sword tight and grinned across the ring — was something Azriel would forget anytime soon.

Cauldron boil him if he ever had to admit aloud just how often he thought of that image.

Still, something within him kept his feet moving, footsteps as quiet as the night.

Faelight illuminated across the cobbles, the light of the rising moon, brighter in this court than any other, cast across the doorsteps of the townhouses. You had wound through the streets and ended up two streets stray from the Palace of Threads and Jewels. On a doorstep that Azriel had never seen before.

Your hood fell to your shoulders as you pushed it back gently, revealing the column of your throat and the curve of your shoulders. The faint moonlight glided across your skin, a luminous glow curling up against your collarbones. Azriel swallowed from his place in the shadows.

It was never a surprise to find you beautiful. To revere your enchanting otherworldly beauty — that Azriel was used to. And yet still, even after all these years, he had not managed to master the way it stole the breath from his lungs every time.

A familiar hunger yawned within him. He averted his eyes from you to the door.

He forced himself to take in the details, listening as his shadows whispered things his eyes could not attest. An artist's home. Damaged and rebuilt in the last battle of Velaris. The inhabitant was a Male, living alone.

Something blistered awfully inside Azriel.

Why would you visit a home such as this? Azriel could think of a few reasons that could warrant a visit so late in the evening, with your face concealed and your footsteps light. He felt his stomach turn over. Something foul burned in his gut.

The door before you opened and Azriel turned his face fast, slicing his gaze to the ground before he could see the Fae who greeted you.

Suddenly, this felt too close to an invasion of privacy. If you wished to keep your lovers a secret, as he himself did, this was a direct violation of your wishes.

That was... if this man was, indeed, your lover.

Something vulgar, something ugly reared up in his veins. Azriel clenched his fists at his sides, siphons gleaming, and willed it down.

Jealousy would not become him. Jealousy was not— did not control him.

And yet he could feel it, coursing through his blood, choking up his throat. Azriel tried to push it down, to fight against it with reason, with logic. You were promised to no Male, least of all to him. But...

But he could've sworn.

As quickly as the words appeared in his mind, Azriel stamped them down with an icy fury.

A silent curse followed them, directed at himself for his own foolishness. How many times would he walk this road before he eventually learned?

There had been no heated moments between you, no wandering eyes, no lingering hands; none that he had not imagined. None that his mind had no conjured up in its own twisted hope.

When you sought him out in the night, tormented by your own mind and how it kept you from sleep, you were seeking... a friend, Azriel realised bitterly.

There was nothing deeper to your decision to show up at his door but no one else's. Nothing was hidden in the way you chose a seat next to him at every dinner, nor the way you found a way to be beside him at the tables at Rita's.

Sitting close enough so that he could smell the alluring scent of your perfume. Could see the gleam of your bright eyes as you glanced at him after every joke, almost as if to see what might make him smile.

No. He steeled himself, shutting down every sweet moment of you he had been subconsciously collecting, holding to a greater magnitude than you clearly did.

You were not like Mor or Cassian. You did not warm the sheets of many Fae beds, slipping in and out of them without a care.

You were... alike to himself, Azriel had thought. Dedicated yourself to one.

He scowled at himself in the dark. This— this rendezvous in the dark did not dispel what he knew about you. It did not make it untrue.

It simply meant his feeble hope, that the one, the Fae you might dedicate yourself entirely was him... was just that—a hope.

It did not sway the reality of the world, the matter of truth that you crept out in the night to meet on shadowed doorsteps. Azriel felt his shadows smoking around him, spun into a frenzy at his unwelcome revelation. He snapped in his wings a little tighter.

Coming here tonight, following you, had been a mistake.

—

It seemed perfectly logical after that night for Azriel to take a step back, to rein himself in.

Not that there was not much to rein back — but the small actions reserved just for you, the unrestrained smiles, the inside jokes ribbed back at one another.

The things he had perceived as meaning more. He knew, that if he wanted to protect his heart from further ache, he should stop doing them.

But... maybe the only thing he did better than fighting, he thought grievously, was being utterly lovesick for someone who would never feel the same.

At the very least, he would hold his feelings to secrecy. It began with the smallest retractions, like weaning an addict off their favourite drug.

Azriel knew if he pulled away too quick, it would send him into a sort of withdrawal — and after all these years spent together, he wasn't sure he knew how to live with a deficit of you. Of your brazen smile and sparkling eyes.

Slow and sure. Over the next week, he willed himself to quit bothering you, to empty a space in your life so you could invite in others, those that meant more to you. So, there could be space for your new... lover.

Even the word sounded bitter in his mind.

Azriel opted for longer training in the morning. Let his sparring sessions with Cassian bleed longer and longer, not leaving the blazing hot rooftop even when Cass winds up limping inside.

He had received a halfhearted scowl from the warrior, undoubtedly for how unrelenting he had been in his fighting this week.

The time he usually sets aside for you, to read side by side in the library, to bake, to enjoy each other's company — Azriel swept it aside for you, to free up your schedule.

Noticed how you spend your free time down in Velaris. He doesn't dare tail you again.

The week crawls by slowly, stretching out thick, black tar.

Come Sunday, a day you normally reserved for spending with him, Azriel knows his extra insistence on training isn't enough of an excuse to keep you away. He trains late anyway.

True to his suspicions, it takes less than an hour for you to appear— having come to find him.

Azriel can sense you, even before his shadows murmur sweet things in his ears about the most beautiful Fae watching him through the window.

You're lingering at the door, unusually reserved. He can feel your hesitancy, even as he works his aching muscles through yet another set of exercises. His shadows stay in close, the edge of his body whispering in and out of darkness, his siphons gleaming.

You wait, watching quietly, until the sword he's wielding, a strong, broad Illyrian blade, is placed down to rest. Then, there's the soft pad of your feet as you step out into the training area. He hears you coming but he does not turn to face you.

“I've missed you this week.”

Even with his back turned, Azriel fights to keep his expression neutral, even as his eyes flutter at your admission. There's a tug on his shadows, their desire to wisp across to you proving a challenge to resist. He holds himself still, stern, and doesn't even a ruffle of his wings to indicate he's heard you.

"I—" Azriel begins. He still can't bear to turn to face you. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He can hear the noise of confusion that slips from your throat — evidently, it isn't the response you're expecting.

Azriel focuses on the sword before him, his bicep bulging as he lifts its weight and wanders to the stand of weapons. He pretends to be immersed in the decision of which to train with next, even though he's been out here for hours.

Even with his silent cold shoulder, he can still hear you behind him, your feet dragging softly across the ground in what is surely a hesitant nervous action. But still, you haven't left.

"Well, maybeee…" You continue on, voice still aiming for light and breezy, as if he hasn't been avoiding you. You're still trying.

Azriel's chest tightens up with a familiar ache, one that always lingers around you. Since seeing you that night, on another Male's doorstep, its sting has become particularly cruel. Jealousy has a cold bite.

"If you’re nearly done... I mean, if your somewhat obsessive workout regime is finally complete..."

You're winding on, taking jabs that would normally make him smile. You'd take a gentle rolling of his eyes at this point. Azriel turns to you, his face remaining passive.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with me in the library," You say, voice suddenly softer now that he's facing you. "If you’re not too busy, that is.”

Azriel steels himself, eyes cutting to the ground as he forces himself to not wilt beneath your hopeful gaze. He knew it would be hard to pull himself away from you but this? This is nearing torture.

He clears his throat. “I am.”

He turns and begins to peel off the layers of Illyrian leathers from his torso, remaining diligent at keeping himself from caving to you. He can feel the ugly emotion rolling just beneath the surface, a gruesome green monster that threatens his usual composure.

Behind him, he hears your soft, saddened oh. His wings give a tiny shiver at it, even as he continues the methodical process of unwinding after training.

Piece by piece, his armor comes off, until even his shirt has been shed. His skin glistens under the shine of the afternoon sun, the muscles beneath rippling and sore from exertion.

There's a moment of silence and Azriel keeps his head bowed as he gathers himself, prepared to bathe the sweat and grime off himself. It wasn't a complete lie he had told.

Perhaps, he thinks wistfully, he could wash some of his unjust jealousy away with it. Being so unwound by his feelings is taking its toll on him, considering how unused to it he is. He waits, ears keenly listening for the sign of your departure.

After a minute of quietness, he can only assume you've slipped away silently. He sighs, half in relief and half in his sorrow.

"What are you busy doing?"

Your voice pipes up and Azriel glances behind him, surprised that you haven't left after all. His wings tuck in a little tighter.

"y/n." He murmurs your name and it comes out almost as a plea. Now, faced with you pulling apart his loose lie, Azriel finds he doesn't have it within him to lie to your face. "Please."

You don't say anything.

Azriel's shadows dance around him, agitated and frenzied, and he wills them to calm— though, that had always been an impossible request in your presence. He takes a sharp inhale and walks towards the door, leaving you behind on the rooftop.

He gets halfway down the hallway, heading for his room before your voice calls out again.

"Busy avoiding me?"

You've followed him from the training ring and now you stand at the end of the hallway, your arms crossed firmly across your chest. Your face is contorted into a hard expression, a furrow between your brows.

Azriel sighs and turns back to you. He hadn't been able to keep his secret from Mor — why, oh why did he think that he would have any more luck when it came to you?

You— enigmatic, wonderful you. Maybe, all Azriel hopes to do today is to delay the inevitable rejection for a different day. An easier day.

A day where he isn't feeling so easily undone by his the enormity of his envy. Envious of what he can't have but so desperately desires.

As he turns to face you, it's impossible to miss the way your eyes dart down to his bare chest. You stare for a moment too long and it looks like it takes an effort to drag your eyes up. You swallow heavily, the bob of your throat unmissable. Even from afar, Azriel swears there's a glow to your cheeks.

No. No, he wasn't doing that to himself anymore! He wouldn't— he couldn't be having those thoughts about you anymore. You had a lover for Mother's sake.

"I'm not—"

"Oh my Gods, don't even try to say you're not avoiding me." You interrupt him sharply. You begin to stamp your way down the hallway, eyes narrowed, your annoyance clear to see.

A door in the hallway opens. Distracted by something over his shoulder, Cassian takes a blundering loud step out into the hallway before he freezes.

He spots you first, eyes widening and wings bunching up at your obvious fury. His head turns, finding Azriel down the other end of the hallway.

"Oh... Mother, this is happening now, huh? I'm just gonna— uh, get food later." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, quickly turning and disappearing back into his room. His door closes with a quiet snip.

In the moment of distraction, you don't notice how Azriel has moved away stealthily— his shadows aiding his quiet getaway. He's not entirely sure what his plan is; he doubts he can avoid this argument by simply shutting himself in his room. Turns out, he's selfish enough to be willing to try.

Sure enough, it takes another moment before his wings twitch, his shadows reporting on your incoming footsteps moments before he hears them himself.

He busies himself with digging through his drawers and sends a silent request to the House, praying it might keep the door locked against you.

He can do this— he can swallow down his burning heart and keep your friendship he values so dearly, he swears he can. Just not today.

He hears the door open.

Glancing up, he narrows his eyes at the House and calls it a foul word in his mind. The Faelights of his room seem to twinkle mischievously in response.

"Az," You breathe softly.

His name sounds unbearably tender coming from your lips. His wings give a little rustle, curling closer around himself.

Despite his lack of reply, you aren't deterred. He can hear your footsteps, gentle and not at all like your prior furious stomps down the hallway, as they wind around his bed.

Chest stirring with an old ache, he keeps himself facing away. He slips a shirt on and prays you give him one more day to rein in his treacherous heart. One more day. He just can't do it today.

"Did I... Did I do something?"

Your voice is suddenly a lot smaller.

Azriel softens instantly at the sound of it, feeling his resolve begin to crumble. He crushes his eyes closed and thinks of what he had seen down in Velaris — forces himself to imagine you with another Male, in his arms, in his bed.

But even if his jealousy is so terribly unwarranted, he cannot bring himself to lie to you.

"No," The word grates out his throat roughly.

Because it's the truth. You hadn't done anything wrong and— and Azriel refused to hurt you just because he couldn't contain a few rampant feelings.

"Really?" The tinge of annoyance is back in your words and Azriel can't even blame you.

"Because then why it is that you have been avoiding me since— since the day I was-"

You cut your own words off and Azriel fills in the blank on his own. Since the day down in the city—where I saw you entering another Male's home, hidden in your cloak, like you were meeting a lover— and even though you're completely allowed to do that, I am like every other gods forsaken jealous Male in Prythian, getting upset over this, even if you are not truly mine.

He turns to you finally, his hands clenched at his side and he wills the next sentence out.

"What or who you choose to spend your free time with—" He inhales a long breath, forcing his face to remain neutral even as he feels his teeth grit together. "—is none of my concern."

Your face scrunches up, confused. Then the furrow between your eyebrows is back and Azriel feels a tad nervous. You aren't often angry, least of all with him.

"Cauldron boil me," You bury your face into your hands for a second. Then you drag them down languidly with a groan, peeking up at him over your hands.

"Did you follow me?"

Azriel feels a bit off-guard. His voice isn't as sure when he says, "It is my duty to survey my court."

You bristle a little at that and the nervousness within him grows a little bigger.

"'Who I choose to spend my time with?'" You repeat his words back to him with a tone of incredulity, your hands motioning wildly before you. Faintly, Azriel begins to sense the feeling of foolishness rising within him.

"For Mother's sake, Az, I was buying you a birthday gift, not sleeping with him!"

The moment the words burst from your lips, two things happen. Azriel stiffens, the true nature of your stealthy endeavor through Velaris making a fool of him indeed.

You were... cloaked and hidden because you had been planning a surprise. For him. For his birthday. Something he hadn't even considered was around the corner as it held no high merit with him. His eyes widen and his lips part an inch.

And you — you straighten up, eyes wide, looking as though you've been struck by lightning.

"You were jealous." You gasp.

Not a question, a statement.

"No," Azriel denies, without thinking. His heart rabbits in his chest. The irony of acting out the way he did, because jealousy had blinded him in the first place, is not lost on him.

Suddenly, all his envy is washed away, replaced quickly by a bumbling foolish embarrassment. He wishes he could winnow out of the House. He considers the window behind him for a moment, if only to spare himself from revealing his true feelings to you.

One glance back at your face, your expression edging towards crestfallen, and any thoughts of running away vanishes.

"Yes." He quickly amends, voice meek.

His wings give a little shudder, twisting in closer as he realises what he's admitted aloud. How there was no coming back from this.

No one had ever made him as loose-tongued as you do. Azriel is embarrassed to be caught stumbling over his words.

"I realise..." He croaks out, suddenly finding the slats of the floorboards immensely more interesting. His shadows have slowed from their nervous frenzy, making lazy motions instead, as if to soothe him. "That may not be ideal. My feelings, that is."

A beat of silence. Azriel studies a spot on the floor intently. His heart flounders wildly behind his ribs. His embarrassment seeps something closer to mortification.

Your shoes peek into the edge of his vision and Azriel's head shifts up slowly, his hazel eyes finding yours and burning into them.

His shadows whisper a thousand things to him — but all of them are dulled, quietened, as he simply stares at you. Feels something between the pair of you hang in the balance, just a breeze from unraveling.

Your eyes are bright. Acutely, he realises he can smell relief rolling off you in heavy waves. Amongst it, too, is a hint of... happiness. Happiness.

“Oh, you big Illyrian baby,” You coo, a teasing lilt to your tone.

His cheeks grow warm. Something white-hot tips down his spine as you step in closer, swaying into his space. He can smell the alluring scent of you and his heart thrums in his chest at your nearness, aching to be closer.

"Some spymaster you are, huh?" You say, voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel stays silent but his head tilts to the side just an inch in his puzzlement, his eyebrows knitting together. Hazel eyes peer at you with such an intensity that it sends goosebumps crawling across your skin— his eyes searching your face for answers to his thousand questions.

"Knowing everything except for this." You continue, words feather-soft.

You don’t say what this is but Azriel thinks he knows. Hopes he knows. His hands at his sides clench tighter, his fingers curled up into fists, and the motion catches your attention.

Moving so slowly, you reach out and gingerly take his wrist between your delicate fingers. Azriel lets you. A whine crawls up in the back of his throat and his swallows it back down.

He watches closely as you pull his hand up, forward, cradling it with your own two. His fingers twitch, so unfamiliar with such tender touches.

The shadows scouring around his shoulders burst into a frenzy, circling down his arms and twirling around your intertwined hands. It's as though they're... dancing, Azriel thinks.

"I... hoped." He admits quietly, his voice full of longing.

You shift his mottled hand, turning it gently so his palm is facing yours. Then you hold your own up against it, like you're comparing hand sizes.

Azriel can barely tear his eyes off where your hand presses into his to look up at you. Something molten hot begins to scorch through his veins. A realisation. A dream that may be finally answered. It feels like pure starlight.

Your hand is dwarfed against his own scarred one — and when Azriel curls his fingers, they hug the top of yours gently. You press back against his hand, like the smallest hug back.

You murmur back. "You don't need hope."

Your gaze skirts up from your joined hands, your lips twitching into a nervous smile.

Your eyebrows have drawn together in the middle, just a bit, as though what's happening is something you find devastatingly beautiful. As though you think that way about him. About the two of you, together.

Azriel finds himself thinking of all he would give in the world —all the mountains he'd move and dragons he'd slay— for you to keep looking at him that way.

"You already have me."

[calamitoustide]

thinking about frat boy James who tells Regulus he doesn't do "relationships" and Regulus agrees to just be casual and see other people which is completely fine... until there's a party they both attend with different dates and James sees Regulus with someone else for the first time and he loses his fucking mind

[silver-horse]

apparently when Astarion is reading the Necromancy of Thay book and he says "No I won't kill them. Well maybe [character name]" the companion he mentions is always the one who has the highest approval with the player (or second highest if he has the highest approval) Lmao He is jealous. I didn't know how this works. I thought it's random but he always said Shadowheart in my game and I never figured out why.

[thegreatidk]

My biggest beef with the way Annabeth was written in the show is that I think Rick fell into his own trap. Like his whole thing with Annabeth is that just because someone doesn’t look smart doesn’t mean they aren’t. And while it’s about their literal looks for both the show and the book, book Annabeth also sometimes acted in ways that people wouldn’t stereotypically associate with “smart” because I think we’ve all be condition to think bbc sherlock no emotions genius is the only way to be smart. Book Annabeth acts super flustered around Luke because she's a kid and she has a crush on him, she's afraid of spiders, and wanted to see the arch just because she thought it was cool. In general book Annabeth is allowed to be sillier and have a wider range of emotions than show Annabeth without it detracting from the fact that Annabeth is smart. I find this whole "stoic genius" idea is often used to put down teenage girls for being dumb and superficial just because they show emotions and the only way to beat it is to be cold, calculating, and emotionless and most people just aren't like that.

[homkamiro]

can you draw fem scout and dad spy pls?? I think it's going to be fun 🤣

That's a really nice thought!!! And a funny dynamic

[chinelacanta]

i just know he’d be a really awkward but supportive dad (< delusional)

[lesbiradshaw]

Jacob Elordi for Man About Town

[rustyparable]

Don't look at me look at the tags, Stanley!

[ryllen]

i saw here (at the end strips) how jade is jealous of other fish, it's too cute that i have to draw it myself ♡( ,,◡‿◡,, )

[here-comes-the-moose]

Okay but imagine being Hunter during the Clone Wars Bad Batch arc (in my and some others’ headcanons at least)- you have this closed-off, bratty little brother who hates most clones, is constantly bitching and picking fights with the clones assigned to your mission, and did not care about this mission in the first place, and all of a sudden he’s imprinted like a duckling on this crazy ARC trooper who was cracking jokes and fighting after just being rescued from being a POW and asking you with big puppy eyes if you can keep him before you yourself trust said ARC trooper yet.

[hawnks]

It’s not a date. You make that known, loud and clear from the outset.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo murmurs absently. “Whatever you say sweetie.”

It’s not a date when he picks you up from your apartment. It’s not a date when he insists you change out of your ratty sweats, or when he buys you a new outfit to his exacting standards (how did he know your measurements?).

It’s not a date when he treats you to Fancy Lunch, or when he splits his desert with you, feeding you from his own fork.

It’s not a date when he takes your hand, doesn’t let go.

And it’s definitely not a date when you finally arrive at the luxury leathergoods store, the whole point of this outing. He hovers around you, watching. He seems to be waiting on you to do something, but since he’s the one who insisted on this you’re not sure what he wants.

Finally he’s had enough of you floundering.

“Pick one,” he murmurs, eyes bright as he corals you to the collar section.

Suddenly your throat is dry as you look down the long row of them. Shiny and bold. Precious. “You want me to… pick a collar for you?”

He’s watching you, keen and hungry. He’s so close you can feel the heat of him all along your side where he’s huddled against you.

Collars have a huge significance to omegas, but you’re not quite in tune with their cultural meaning. Something about ownership, claim. You feel like you should reject this, whatever he’s trying to do here. It’s not right, and you’re not right for each other. This is a job for someone who knows what they’re doing, and besides that, someone of his social standing. You should tell him as much.

But you don’t.

You spend long minutes poring over the options. Feeling the material, testing it’s texture. Careful, you choose one with a soft inner lining, that won’t catch on the neck of his button downs, that won’t chafe when he’s running around. A subtle color, unobtrusive in his loud, bold life.

(He doesn’t ask you to put it on him, knowing, somehow that it would be too much for you, cause you to recede into your shell. He can be patient.)

It’s still not a date.

So you have no reason to be pissy when yet another alpha taps him on the shoulder, says some cheesy line about his eyes.

Gojo just snorts, rolling his eyes, not even gracing the man with a response as he pulls you along down the sidewalk, talking about what to get for dinner.

But this is the fourth time it’s happened today, and you feel like you’ve reached your limit.

You yank out of his grasp.

Immediately, he makes a grab for your hand again, scowling when you pull away, no longer acquiescing to his whims.

“What?” he demands, “What is it?”

“You could be a little more put off by it,” you say finally. It sounds petulant even to your own ears. “Like… offended, or whatever.”

It takes him a second to realize what you’re talking about.

“Comes with the territory, sweetheart,” he drawls. He’s smiling, but you can tell he’s unhappy with your peevishness. Why are you denying him? Are you disturbed by what he is, too? “Omega and all that.”

You shift on your feet, uncomfortable with your own discomfort. “How often do alphas hit on you, anyway?”

He freezes. Grins. “Are you jealous?”

You can’t even get out a denial before he’s grabbing you, spinning you both in a bear hug. “Holy shit that’s so hot, baby,” he moans.

He’s got you by the shoulders as he starts dragging you down a side street, not at all in the direction of the station you were supposed to part ways at.

“Gojo, what are you doing?”

“Making it up to you,” he says, pinching your cheek. “I think I saw a hotel this way earlier.”

[buttercupshands]

Siffrin in a Stardust Cookie event outfit because the name speaks for itself now if you excuse me, I need to sleep

[small-spark-of-light]

so i came up with a wekiddy au recently!!! Wekiddy Slasher Au!!! perfect for october too :DD

the premise is that: El cool p gets extremely jealous of the rest of the cast because of the attention they get. He starts murdering them so he can have it all to himself

[sweetlullabyebye]

Already made a post about Charles not being the biggest fan of Monty but rewatching the show just makes it even more obvious like

Edwin might've been worried about Crystal but Charles looks like a kicked puppy seeing him go talk to Monty

Then Edwin's just acting super weird and so is Monty and Charles is taking it very well

And all of a sudden Monty is nice to Charles?? And Charles looks so smug like "everyone likes me eventually" and all (meanwhile Niko cannot be bothered, stay hydrated)

Also if he wanted to keep up the friendliness after Monty's been nice to him, maybe he could've not refused the case despite everyone else agreeing (even Edwin)

And then he's just thrilled everytime Monty and Edwin are together 👍