#anyone else just that either he's not friends with anyone else or he's really really bad at showing it

[ellana-ravenwood]

Official Bat Soother - Batfam x fem!Reader

Synopsis : “Batmom, official Bat soother” is the ridiculous nickname your friends from the League gave you because…Well. That’s what you were. More often than not, when your husband or your children were upset, only you could sooth them. And this story ? It tells that tale exactly. 

Popping up here to drop this story. Sorry for not being around much my dudes, life just...happens, you know ? It happens, in the best of way. Hope y’all are good (and some are still around), and hope you’ll enjoy this : 

Please, do not repost my stories anywhere else, under any other form. Do not translate and then repost them either. Thank you.

My masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives

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BRUCE 

Bruce was upset. 

So upset. 

And he had every right to be, of course. The League had just came back from a big mission, which almost turned into a catastrophe after a mistake someone made. His son, HIS SON, almost got killed. 

Listen, when it was about his own safety, Bruce never really thought twice before jumping into danger. As long as he could save even just one life, he wouldn’t hesitate. 

But his kids ? And because of someone else’s mistake ?! 

“He does NOT have powers like you ! You don’t even realize how reckless this was, don’t you ?” 

And sure, some people might say : “Maybe...don’t put your kids into harms’ way if you don’t want them to get hurt ?”. And, fair enough. But Bruce and your family ? Your children ? The need to protect, and to not let anyone feel the same trauma you all went through was strong. Bruce always thought the choice was your kids’. They needed to be here, too. And he usually would make sure to always have an eye on them, and never bring them to such dire situations. 

And that was the problem. Dick did end up in a dire situation, a place he was never supposed to be. And all that, because of someone else’s mistake. 

In a few years, or even a few months, Bruce wouldn’t even remember who did said mistake. To be fair, even now, recalling the story, he wasn’t too sure. But on the moment ? 

He was upset. 

So damn upset. 

It was rare, to see him in such a state. He would usually stay neutral, calm and stoic. He could be quite asinine with his words, but rarely did he show he was upset. But when he did- 

You definitely didn’t want to be the person he was upset at. 

So when you arrived (Damian had called you as reinforcement), it was a relief for...Everyone really. 

Step 1 : Reassure him that your son is fine, that Dick barely has any bruises thanks to his quick thinking. Mistakes are human. Even super, can make some. Blahblahblah. 

Step 2 : If he’s not responsive to this, be a little more stern. 

Step 3 : In private, lots of hugs, kisses, and soothing words. Step 3 could never, NEVER happen in front of others. 

Step 1 and 2 though ? Let’s go. 

Some, like Clark or Diana, would even say there was a “step 0″, which simply was : your presence. It was already soothing in itself. 

No matter how upset, if you came in his field of vision, Bruce would (often without even realizing it) lose some degree of “upsetness”. 

Your voice then, had this instant “soothness” effect, where he felt visibly more relaxe once you started to talk to him. Especially since you always found the right words to put things in perspective. Today, step 1 (and 0) was enough. Rarely, did  you have to go to step 2. Step 3 though was unskipable. 

That day, you soothed him in record time, and from this point on, your legend was born. 

You had to shake your head there, in exasperation. “Legend” ? Damn it Barry, you always have to be so extra. But, well, it was true. Nobody could soothe a bat like you. 

If Bruce was even slightly irritated, your simple presence would soothe him. If he was angry, well and truly upset ? Only you could calm him down. It already happened so rarely, for him to lose it in front of others. 

But, to be fair, sometimes, he would be upset without it showing on his face, or in his words or body langage. He learned to hide his feelings, to protect himself. He would rarely show how he wanted to lose his cool. 

In those moments, his neutral face, closed to any emotions, wouldn’t lie to you. You always seemed to sense, when he felt upset. Maybe that was what it meant, to be soulmates ? Always sensing each other’s feelings ? 

A hand on his shoulder, or slipping in his own hand. A smile from across the room, across the table. A kiss on the cheek. A little massage of his temples. A small caress on his back. 

Such small gestures, that meant so much for him. Such small gestures, that would instantly soothe him. Such small gestures, that your friends at the League learned to notice. 

He didn’t have to be visibly upset for you to soothe him. You just knew when and how to do it. Which slowly started this “legend” of yours, and that nickname : “Bat Soother”. 

Bruce wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He wasn’t sure he liked that nickname, and what it implied about his friends’ view of you. Thing is, he couldn’t really be upset because- 

Well, you were his personal soother after all. 

DICK

Out of all your kids, Dick was the easiest to soothe. 

Especially when he was a kid, he would be prompt to spit of rage, to sudden anger, anger so big it would consume his entire world. 

He calmed down as he grew up, but Dick could hold a lot of anger. Upset at the unfairness of the World, a world which took his parents. 

What “saved” Dick though, was being adopted by you and Bruce. By Bruce, who knew all too well this seething anger that came with the grief of loosing such precious people. And because he understood so well, he knew exactly what mistakes not to do, what he could bring to Dick so he could feel better (that’s in large part why Dick became the first Robin, because he needed an outlet to let his anger out, a meaning to his life).

And by you, because you just had a magic trick to soothe him. He really wasn’t difficult. Despite the huge fit of anger, he was the easiest to soothe. 

All you really had to do was- 

Take him in your arms. 

That’s hit. Hold him against your heart, let your fingers run in his hair. No need for any words, just your presence. And your touch. 

It was as if his anger would fly away, sometimes, he could swear he literally felt the heaviness leave his body. 

Even as an adult, when he felt upset, he would sometimes drive from Bludhaven to the manor just to have a hug, and those kind words you had the secret of. 

It was hardly something he was ashamed of, still needing his mother after all those years. I mean, try to get in his shoes : if you had a sudden magic way to release all your anger, a magic way to not feel upset anymore, would you let that go just because you’re an adult now ? 

Of course not. Between, who says that you can’t have hugs from your parents after a certain age ? This always seemed like an odd “rule” to Dick. If he doesn’t feel good, and needs parental support, why couldn’t he just come see you and ask for it ?

It would be ridiculous, not to. At least, that’s what he always felt. He dreaded the day you wouldn’t be there anymore, to “chase the upset away”. 

JASON 

You had to make Jason laugh, to soothe him. Which, despite what people would think, was pretty easy. 

Before his death, Jason was a very happy kid. 

He had finally found a family that cared for him, that loved him (which made it so hard to swallow when he “died”, and thought Bruce had abandoned him). He was living the dream, having a loving home, with parents that were always there for him, a big brother that he admired, and even a “butler” that really was like a grandfather. He had his own bedroom, anything he wanted because Bruce tended to go overboard whenever he thought he liked something (”Oh he likes cars ? Let me buy him every single toy car in existence”), warm meals three times a day...What more could he want ? 

Nothing. But having everything he ever dreamed of didn’t make him permeated to sadness. 

Whenever he thought of his biological mom, of his dad, of what happened to him before he came to you - he would feel awful. 

He still had so many panic attacks, especially at night when not on patrol and sleeping in his bed. He would have horrible nightmares, and would wake up terrified. 

And because his worst fear was to be a burden for you, he wouldn’t call for help. Call it motherly instinct, but you would usually feel when such nights came. The smallest of whimper would wake you up, and you’d run to his room. 

Holding him and telling him everything was going to be okay didn’t work with Jason. You had to make him laugh. 

And it was easy, to make Jason laugh. A silly joke, a few tickles, and he would have a broad smile and hug you back, and boom, he would be upset no more. 

Before his death, it was really easy. 

When he came back...

Making him laugh was harder. At first. And then, the more he opened up to you again, the more he forgave you all, the easiest it became. 

Once again. 

And oh, how it would surprise everyone when he would be upset, angry even, and suddenly his mom came along, made a stupid joke and- 

“Ha- Haha- Hahahaha !” 

He still had a cute laugh, in your opinion, albeit with a deeper voice than when he was a kid. 

Oh the number of time you would enter a room, and would see him seethe in the corner for whatever reason. 

A fight with his dad or siblings, an altercation with other League member, an upsetting event of any kind. 

Nobody could make him smile again, when he was stuck in his own head like that. Nobody except-

His mama. He found it embarrassing, sometimes, how he would laugh for the stupidest thing (like a fart joke or something). But the more time passed, the more he realized it wasn’t really the quality of the joke, but your presence, he found soothing. 

You always just cracked him up. It was one of his favorite thing about you. How, just like that, you could make him forget all his trouble, if only for a few minutes. 

He still had the cutest laugh... 

Nobody dared to tell him, though. And once you weren’t in the vicinity again, his death stare meant one thing only : “Mention what you just saw, and you’re dead !”. Not even Clark, would make a comment. 

And, I mean, everyone was happy to see Jason smile again. 

TIM 

Tim was upset. 

And he had the right to be, of course. 

He had just entered your life not so long ago, and didn’t take well how Bruce treated him sometimes. 

Your husband never recovered from Jason death. Could never recover from it. And sometimes, he was definitely lacking some tact, to talk to Tim. 

“No.” 

“But why ?!” 

“No, means no.” 

And he would just leave Tim, without further explanation. Even if he did make effort, Bruce never quite managed to be open with his feelings. He couldn’t find the words to tell him how terrified he was of loosing him too (even if, saying just that would certainly suffice). 

Bruce was also, sometimes, a bit of a jerk. It’s not that he meant to be, but his reaction weren’t always easy to decipher for other people. You had to be around him for a long time, to crack the code of his behavior. 

And Tim ? He didn’t really get it yet. And so, he was upset. The unfairness of the situation made him so damn upset. 

That day, you discovered that Tim wasn’t too receptive to hugs. He loved them, of course, but it wouldn’t soothe him. Neither did kind words. He had, maybe, a mind way too rational to just be soothed by a “it’s going to be okay”. 

You had to admit, Tim was a tough nut to crack. It was difficult to find what would soothe him. But then, it hit you. It was so obvious !

You had to literally take his mind off of the issue. And how to occupy a literal genius’ mind ? Riddles ! Mysteries ! 

You often battled with Tim so he could take his mind off “work”, but when he was upset ? Giving him challenging enigmas and problems to solve was the way. 

It could sound so emotionless, but not everyone needed hugs and “there there” to feel better. Some people worked differently, like Tim. To soothe him, he had to think. Think hard about something he needed to figure out. 

You and Bruce came up with a huge bank of data with things for him to work on when he was upset. It always worked. If your son was not feeling alright, taking his mind off of it was the way to feel better. 

It wasn’t unhealthy, as if he never spoke of what upset him. Oh no. He communicated really well. It was just a way of distracting him from his pain, so he could come back on it later with a new view of things.

Taking a few steps back was important, especially for people like Tim. He needed to analyze his own feelings. And to do so, he had to solve mysteries. Cold cases, worked quite well too. And when his mind was at ease again, then he would get the hugs. He would even seek this motherly love. 

Maybe it’s because he grew up for quite a bit with parents who seemed detached from him, but that was how Tim was. He needed to distract his mind, to not be upset anymore, and then maybe he would seek the hug and kinds words. 

It was difficult, to find ways of soothing him. But even him couldn’t resist your ideas, and your expertise on soothing techniques.  

CASSANDRA 

Cassandra was never visibly upset. 

She grew up learning to hide all her feelings, and to always stay neutral. As if she wasn’t a person, but a weapon. An object to be used. 

But, well, let’s say you had a lot of practice with Bruce, Mr “I hide my feelings deep inside in fear of breaking down”, Mr “Behind this emotionless mask, I actually really want to cry”, Mr “I like people to think I don’t feel anything, so that they’ll never know that I actually feel everything”... 

Yes, Cassandra and your husband were very similar, in that way. Maybe that’s why Cass instantly trusted him ? After years of learning not to trust ? 

Maybe that’s why it ended up being “easy” for her to see him as her dad ? To see you as her family ? 

Maybe. The fact that Bruce had such a hard time showing his true feelings definitely made her feel at home, at first. 

It was quite a process, to learn how to communicate her true sentiments. 

Even more so since she wasn’t much of a “talker”. Words, still were difficult for her. Even easy ones, like “please” and “thank you”. She’d much rather gesture, or show with actions, than talk. This was still a difficult step to climb. 

In any case, any other person wouldn’t notice if she was upset or not. Any other person, who didn’t have YEARS of experience with their husband being the exact same. 

It was a slight change in her posture, a micro-purse of her lips, or a vein tilting slightly on her forehead. Anyone else wouldn’t notice. It was so small. But you did. Because Bruce would do the same things.

And whenever you noticed, you’d simply stand beside her and- 

Her frown would truly deepen, and she’d show sign of upsetness. She’d let herself be upset, something she was taught not to do. 

And that was as simple as that, for her to slowly be soothed by you. You were a catalyzer, someone who made her feel like it was okay to be upset. Someone who would never judge her for that, and who instead encouraged her to make it known that she was upset. 

Thanks to this, she would rarely be angry, or sad for too long when you were around. And wouldn’t bottle everything up, making it almost impossible to stop being upset. She’d acknowledge her feelings, and let them show on her face, in her entire body. 

And then she’d feel better. 

It was like, how sometimes, crying for a while makes thinks less hard, how crying actually makes you feel better. Accepting the fact she was upset, without trying to hide it, was what soothed her. 

DAMIAN

Damian was upset. 

So upset.

And he had reasons to be. You understood. Truly. 

Nobody ever taught him how to deal with his negative feelings. As a result, he only knew how to lash out, and look for a fight. 

That was how it was, before he came to your house. You couldn’t blame him, for his excessive reactions. It was survival of the fittest, in his old World. If he wasn’t agressive enough, strong enough, he would’ve died. 

But now, it was different. Yet he still didn’t know how to react, when he was upset. Today, he had a non-consequential fight with one of his older brother. Dick, out of all of them. 

And though Dick moved on quickly from the small altercation, Damian couldn’t let it go. He was upset, and had no outlet to just...lash out, like he knew how. 

He was making such grand efforts, not to act out of anger, not to turn to violence. Dick left the batcave to go fetch some cake, and Damian was just upset. 

It was such a silly fight. Damian didn’t like to admit when he was wrong, and Dick just wouldn’t have it that way. Which, understandable too. Your oldest son was trying to help his little brother, even if he didn’t see it that way. 

Since Damian didn’t really respond further, Dick just moved on, and went for cake...Which infuriated Damian even more. How dare he just go eat cake, when he was so upset ? And why wouldn’t he see that he had upset him ?! 

Maybe he was supposed to fight him ? Maybe he was suppose to break things ? But that was how he did things before, and you and Bruce told him that wasn’t a healthy reaction....aaaaaaaaah ! What was he supposed to do ?! This was so unf-

“Damian ? Are you okay ?” 

Damian turned on his heels, ready to yell that NO, he was NOT okay, but then-

It was you. And he didn’t want to yell at you. And so he took a deep breath, but his heart didn’t seem to want to slow down. And he felt so-SO upset. 

He felt silly, and a little shameful, that being proven wrong would upset him so. But he couldn’t help it. And damn, he was just a kid ! It was already difficult to regulate your emotions as an adult, when you were a child ? Especially one who grew up in his conditions ?! 

All he could see was red. He wanted to scream, he wanted to-

One hand on his cheek, turning his face towards yours. The other hand on his shoulder. He could barely feel that hand, you were so gentle and careful with him. 

“Hey there Damian, are you here with me ?” 

At first, he didn’t understand the question. What silliness was this ? Of course he was here, right in front of you. Couldn’t you see ?! 

But then, then it dawned on him. The more you looked at him, right in the eyes, the more he understood. 

When he was upset, his mind was miles away, stuck in a never-ending hamster wheel of thoughts, unable to find an outlet for all this anger. 

And here you were, with such simple words, such simple gesture. It downright stunned him. All his anger melted away all of a sudden, and he just answered : 

“Yes. I am.” 

“Good. I’ll be right there if you need anything”. You said with a smile, and then you gave him some space. And he was left on his own, wondering where all his anger went. 

How could he be so upset, and then suddenly so calm ? What kind of sorceress were you ? He had to admit, that at first, he truly thought you had magic powers. It took him a few years, to realize why you had such an effect on him, why it seemed you had access to the “off button” of his anger. 

You simply paid attention to him. Without judgement, without spite, or anything of the like. You genuinely asked him if he was okay, and if he needed anything. From your heart, you just wanted him to feel alright. 

Was it truly this simple ? Someone giving him attention, and not just because he was "destined to do big things” ? Someone just wanting him to be alright, to feel at ease ? Someone genuinely just worried about his...well being ? 

It’s thanks to you, that Damian realized he didn’t really have anger issues. If he did, then how come from that point on, whenever he felt upset, instead of thinking of violence he would just think of how your care made him feel and- Instantly calm down ? 

Official bat soother indeed. And it even worked with baby bats. 

Because you just needed to ask him if he was alright, and if he needed you to do anything for him, and he would just calm down. Hell, even the thought of knowing you would be there for him would instantly soothe him, and make him upset no more ! 

Maybe there were a little sorcery in this. The strongest sorcery of all. 

The joy of feeling love. 

How could he be upset for too long, when he knew his mom was waiting for him somewhere, with warm milk and cookies, and a listening hears ? 

DUKE 

Duke grew up in a loving family, up until his early teens. He had already very healthy coping mechanism when it came to soothing himself when he felt upset. 

Did that mean that he could handle everything on his own all the time ? Oh no. His way of feeling better when upset, was to seek those he loved. And so if he was particularly around you or his siblings, you knew. 

Your presence seemed to soothe him the best. And it’s with you, that he developed even healthier ways of dealing with his emotions when upset. 

Breathing was key, to go back down. Then, admitting to himself that he was upset, anxious or angry. Then came the “reframing of his thoughts”. Instead of seeing things negatively, what is at least one good thing about the situation ? Oddly enough, he found that there were (almost) always something. Then, he would release his anger, or anxiety, and his thing to do so ? Dancing. Listening to music, and letting his body follow the flow, made him feel like the pressure was slowly getting smaller. 

If it didn’t work, you and him found that if he focused on an object, and tried to describe it as accurately as possible in his mind, he would slowly feel less upset. It worked wonders, when dancing didn’t do the trick (or when he didn’t feel like dancing). 

If this didn’t work either, he would seek you out for a hug, or seek the family dogs for the same thing. He found that he liked to be alone when upset, and only in horrible situations would he come to you. Sure, you helped him develop coping mechanism, but Duke had always been quite independent. 

Nevertheless, dogs ? It always helped him. Playing with them, being near them, instant stress relief. 

But sometimes, being alone or with animals didn’t quite cut it...and then he would come back to his original technique : being surrounded by those he loved.  

Yes. Duke always had healthy habits when it came to him being upset, and sometimes, the easier thing was to just talk about it and hug it out with siblings or parents. You helped him find his ways, and helped him find his own self-soothing techniques. 

BRUCE, again

"It’s ok, it’s ok my love.” 

There’s very few times, when you weren’t able to soothe Bruce. 

Like when you discovered that Jason was still alive, and what he became. Bruce blamed himself for his death (and if you’re being honest, you also blamed him in the beginning...but the only one to blame, was Joker). His heart never quite recovered after you lost your son. He wasn’t quite the same. 

The arrival of Tim gave him a little light, and of course, you were there. But still, Bruce was a broken man, after his son died. And he blamed himself so much... 

Even at that time, it was hard for you to soothe him. In big part because you were in deep pain too, Jason was your little one too. But you managed. You were strong for him, when he couldn’t anymore. 

Bruce was always so stoic and strong, always locking deep inside himself his emotions, his feelings. Except when with you. He held on in front of Dick, when he yelled at him for what happened to Jason. He held on in front of Alfred. He held on- Up until he was in front of you. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” he kept repeating, and it took everything in you, to be strong for him. He was strong for you so many times. It was your turn. It had been hard, but you managed. 

But today ? 

Today, you guys learned that Jason was still alive. That he was with the Al’Ghul all these times. That he...changed. 

And that was difficult for Bruce to live with. Not only his own son hated him, but he was- He was turning into something the old Jason would not like very much. 

Despite appearances, your Jason was a sweet sweet boy. Always wanting to please those he loved. And now he was- 

It was too difficult for Bruce. And the sadness he felt ran deep. 

That day, you didn’t manage to soothe him. Proof your “power” wasn’t infallible. It couldn’t always work. And that day, it didn’t. 

In the long run, it didn’t matter. Because you were still there. And Bruce still found solace in your arms. He was still upset, and sad, and felt awful...You didn’t manage to soothe him. But you were there. 

He ended up falling asleep in your arms, and didn’t have any nightmares. He woke up feeling a little better, knowing he could climb this mountain if you stayed by his side. 

Yes. Sometimes, you couldn’t soothe them. But after the rain, comes the sun. And in the end, you would manage. 

THEY SOOTHE YOU 

Sometimes, you’d need their help to feel less upset. 

You could get SO worked up if someone spread lies about your family, and Bruce would be there, calming you down with his words and hugs. 

You could get so upset when they were hurt, but Alfred was always here to ground you. 

You could get sad, for so many reasons...And you knew at least one of them would be here to pick you up. 

Maybe this was the meaning of family ? 

No matter how upset you get, there’s always someone there to soothe you. 

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And here we go. Hope you enjoyed. Don’t hesitate to reblog/leave a lil comment, it’s always greatly appreciated ! See you another day, for maybe another story. 

[dreamivyisla]

⋆˚✿˖° 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍 ⋆˚✿˖°

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ➤ Elias “Stack” Moore

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ➤ you’re soft-spoken, virgin living with her older sister sibella finally gives in to the persistent, cocky advances of elias “stack” moore—her sister’s boyfriend’s friend.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ➤ something to feed you guys because i’ve became so not active. enjoy!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ➤ 10.3k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➤ virginity loss, smut, rough sex, breathplay, choking, dirty talk, praise, overstimulation, black reader (but anyone can imagine themselves), dumbification, fingering, oral (f. receiving), backshots, size kink, modern au, slight pain from first time, post-sex soreness.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

you never really cared when sibella and her man got loud.

they could be in the next room, door cracked open, her voice moaning high-pitched and desperate while his sounded like it came from his chest—gritty and mean like he enjoyed knowing she couldn’t keep quiet. it happened too often for it to phase you. maybe the first time you’d been embarrassed. maybe you’d rolled your eyes, stuffed a pillow over your head, huffed loud enough for them to hear. but now? you were used to it. background noise. like the heater kicking on or a pot boiling over.

sibella had always been the wild one. you were soft. quiet. watched and listened more than you spoke. you liked your room, your books, your own air. sibella, on the other hand, liked attention, chaos, dick. she’d tell you things you never asked to hear—how good it felt when he held her neck, how she liked it rough, how you were too uptight for your own good.

“you gon’ die with that pussy untouched,” she said one night, fresh out the shower in a towel, her eyes still lined in smudged makeup.

you just looked at her from your bed, a little amused. “and?”

“girl,” she laughed, climbing up beside you, “you act like keeping it makes you better. ain’t nobody judging you, but you really ain’t even curious?”

you shrugged. it wasn’t that you thought you were better. you just didn’t want to fake wantin’ something you didn’t feel yet. and maybe it wasn’t even about sex, just the idea of someone close—really close. breath on your skin, hands down your thighs, someone else seeing all of you. you didn’t know what that would feel like, and you didn’t think it was something you wanted to rush. sibella had called you “old-fashioned.” her boyfriend, troy, had called you “uptight” once, but you didn’t care. it was your body. and they could live how they wanted, but so could you.

until he started coming around.

stack.

the first time he showed up at your apartment, you ignored him like you always did with troy’s friends. they’d come in loud, laughing, all of them trying too hard to impress each other. chain-smoking, playing music, shouting about basketball or some shit you didn’t care about. you usually stayed in your room. maybe came out to grab something to drink or use the bathroom. most of the time they barely noticed you. but not stack.

from the second he laid eyes on you, it was like he already knew you were gonna be a problem for him. and he decided to be one right back.

“damn,” he’d said loud, grinning, watching you walk to the fridge in your house shorts. “she don’t say hi? too good to speak?”

you didn’t answer. not even a glance. pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and walked back to your room. door closed behind you.

that was the beginning.

he started showing up more after that. it didn’t matter if troy was around or not. sometimes he’d knock on your front door with food for sibella, claiming she asked him to drop it off. sometimes he’d come by just to talk to troy, linger around the living room even when the conversation dried up. you caught him staring. a lot. and he didn’t try to hide it either.

“yo,” he said one night from the couch while you passed through in leggings and a hoodie, “you ever wear anything that don’t hug that ass?”

you gave him a flat look. “do you ever shut the fuck up?”

he grinned like he liked that answer. like you fed him instead of shut him down. “mmm. lil attitude. i like that. you actin’ mean, but i know that’s just ‘cause you shy.”

you rolled your eyes. sibella laughed from the kitchen.

“you might as well get to know him,” she said later, when y’all were alone. “he not that bad. cocky, yeah. but that’s just how he is. underneath all that extra shit, he cool.”

you weren’t convinced. but three months of him showing up, finding you in whatever room you tried to hide in, cracking jokes, complimenting your skin, your mouth, your shape—he wore you down. maybe it was the way he’d make you laugh without meaning to. or the fact that when you actually sat down and talked to him, he had more to him than you thought. he was smart. surprisingly observant. he’d tell you about his childhood, his mom, his twin brother. and when you spoke, he listened. remembered little things you said in passing and brought them up days later.

“you like strawberry cream in your coffee, right?”

“you said you like sade—put this on.”

“you was talkin’ ‘bout them earrings you saw at the mall. i got you a pair.”

and it started getting harder to treat him like the rest.

you didn’t mean to let your guard down. but it was hard not to with him. stack had a charm about him that crept up slow. he was always touching you. not in ways that crossed lines at first—just light brushes against your waist when he passed behind you in the kitchen, knuckles on your thigh when he leaned too close, fingers tucking a curl behind your ear. at first, you shut it down. pushed his hand off your leg. shifted away from his body. made sure he knew you weren’t that type of girl. but he never got mad. never pushed. he just gave you that same cocky-ass smile like he knew you’d give in eventually.

“you playin’ hard to get,” he said once, his thumb dragging lazy circles across your bare knee. “but you like that i’m on you. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.”

you didn’t even respond. but your breath had caught in your throat when he said it. and he noticed.

he always noticed.

still, you never told him you were a virgin. it wasn’t something you wanted to throw out casually. you figured he probably assumed you were just picky. maybe waiting for the right one. sibella never told him, and you doubted troy knew either. and honestly, you liked keeping that part of you tucked away.

then came that one night.

it was a friday. sibella and troy had gone out, probably wouldn’t be back ‘til the next morning. you were stretched out on the couch in your usual—short shorts, tank top, no bra, nipples pressing faintly through the fabric. you weren’t trying to be sexy, but you weren’t hiding either. you texted elias just outta boredom.

you busy?

he texted back quick.

for you? nah. slide thru? or you want me over there?

come here.

ten minutes later, he was knocking.

he smelled like his cologne, the one you were starting to recognize. brought a little weed with him, a smirk that made your stomach flutter even though you pretended it didn’t. y’all rolled up on the floor first, sitting cross-legged across from each other, talking shit. smoke drifted lazy through the room. the air got thick, quiet between laughs and teasing.

you felt good. loose. warm behind the eyes.

“i don’t get you,” he said low, leaning back on his elbows, watching you from the couch now. “you sexy as hell, smart, got that attitude on you… but you act like you scared of me.”

“i ain’t scared,” you said, biting your lip slightly.

“nah. you are. or maybe you scared of you. ‘cause if i touch you again, you gon’ fold. i see it all on your face.”

you didn’t answer. you were already crawling into his lap, slow and deliberate like your body moved before your brain. the weed had you floatin’. his eyes locked on yours, waiting.

“yeah?” he said, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, fingertips just under the edge of your shorts. “you sure you want me touchin’ you?”

you nodded, heart racing.

you kissed him. for real this time. not like the other stolen little moments when he’d pressed his mouth to yours and you turned your head too quick. this was deep. hot. full of tongue. he gripped your hips tighter, groaning into your mouth like he’d been holding back too long.

his hands moved. over your ass, up your back, fingers gripping the sides of your tank. he kissed your neck, sucked at the curve of your collarbone. heat spilled down your belly. your legs were straddling him now, his dick hard under you through his sweats, pressing up against your core.

he flipped you under him, moving slow like he was waiting for you to say no. one hand slipped down your stomach, toward the waistband of your shorts, and just when he hooked his fingers in—

“wait,” you whispered.

his eyes flicked up.

“what’s up?”

“i’m a virgin.”

his face went blank. still. he blinked, mouth parted just slightly like he didn’t hear you right.

“what?”

you looked away. “i ain’t never… like, at all.”

he sat back on his heels, staring at you for a long second.

“you serious?”

you nodded.

he exhaled slow, ran a hand down his face.

“…fuck.”

his “fuck” lingered in the air like heat.

for a second, you thought he might leave. thought maybe you read it wrong—maybe the way he’d chased you down for months didn’t mean he actually wanted you like that. maybe it was just for show, a game to get you to break. but he didn’t move. didn’t get up. didn’t pull away either.

he just looked at you different now. softer, but still sharp. eyes a little darker. mouth twitching like he had a hundred thoughts moving at once.

“…you shoulda told me that shit,” he muttered, finally. “damn.”

you swallowed, feeling small under him, but not in a bad way. just new. raw. like being seen too clearly.

“you mad?”

he shook his head slowly. “nah. i ain’t mad. just… surprised. you ain’t act like no virgin.”

“how they act?”

he leaned forward again, lips brushing your neck now, voice dropping lower. “not like this. not sittin’ in my lap wit’ no bra on. not kissin’ me like that. shit, i thought you was just takin’ your time. had no idea i was gon’ be the first.”

you shivered under his mouth.

“you want me to stop?”

you shook your head.

“aight then,” he breathed, hands sliding back down your thighs. “you sure, you let me handle it.”

he kissed you again. deeper this time. slower. like he was tasting you different now. his hands didn’t rush, but they didn’t hesitate either. he dragged your shorts down your legs, steady like he was unwrapping something delicate. your tank top went next, peeled off and tossed aside. your whole body burned. you covered your chest at first, instincts kicking in, but he gently pulled your hands down.

“nah. don’t hide all this. lemme see it.”

you looked away, but he tilted your chin back to face him. he stared for a long second, eyes trailing down your curves like he was trying to memorize every line.

“god damn, girl,” he whispered, low and reverent. “you really built like this under all them hoodies?”

you blushed, biting back a laugh.

he moved down your body slow, mouth brushing your collarbone, your chest, your stomach. then he was kneeling between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder, spreading you open like he had all the time in the world.

“shit,” he murmured, thumb dragging over your folds. “so fuckin’ pretty. pussy fat as hell.”

you squirmed under his grip, toes curling.

“you ever play wit’ it before?” he asked.

you nodded. “sometimes.”

“show me.”

you hesitated, but he gave you a look that melted any doubt in your chest. you brought your fingers to your slit, shy at first, dragging them up the center like you were doing it in secret. he watched you like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. eyes locked. jaw tight.

“mmm. there you go. you wet already?”

he ran his fingers over yours, dipped one between your lips and brought it up to your mouth.

“taste that shit.”

you sucked his finger slow, your own breath catching as you did.

he groaned. “fuck, you nasty already. i like that.”

then he lowered his head.

his tongue was slow at first. wide, wet licks that made your whole body tremble. he took his time, holding your thighs open, lips sealed around your clit, tongue dragging figure eights against it ‘til you moaned out loud without meaning to.

“don’t hold it in,” he said against you. “i wanna hear that shit.”

he sucked harder. circled your clit faster. then slid a single finger inside you and your hips jerked up from the bed.

“tight,” he growled. “fuckin’ gripping me.”

you grabbed at his hair, breathing fast now, your whole body winding tighter and tighter until everything snapped. your legs shook around his head, mouth open but nothing coming out except a breathy sob as you came for the first time with somebody else’s mouth on you.

he pulled away slow, lips shiny, licking his bottom one like he’d just finished dessert.

“damn. you taste like peaches or some shit,” he said, laughing low. “sweet ass pussy.”

you were still trembling when he moved back up your body, kissing you deep so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

then he pulled his sweats off.

your eyes widened.

“…elias.”

he smirked. “yeah?”

you didn’t even know what to say. he was thick. long. heavy. it curved up slightly, veins bulging down the shaft, head dark and already leaking. he stroked it slow, watching your face like he wanted to see your brain short-circuit.

“this too much for you?”

you nodded, honestly. “i dunno if it’ll fit.”

“it will,” he said, voice low and certain. “i’m gon’ go slow, baby. i got you.”

he kissed you again, then guided the head to your entrance, rubbing it through your folds.

“just breathe. let me in a lil at a time.”

he pushed slow. real slow. and it still burned. you winced, grabbing onto his arm, and he stilled right away.

“you good?”

“keep goin’,” you whispered, nails digging into his skin.

he went deeper. inch by inch, until your eyes rolled back and your breath caught. he filled you completely, bottomed out with a groan in your ear.

“fuck,” he muttered. “you tight as a fuckin’ vice. shit.”

he stayed there for a second, letting you adjust. kissed the side of your neck, your shoulder, your cheek.

“you takin’ it so good, baby. ain’t even cryin’. first dick and you already built for it.”

he moved his hips slow, dragging out, then back in, just enough for you to feel the stretch again. it was painful, but the pain faded quick. pleasure started creeping in, humming low in your belly.

“see that? told you i’d make it fit.”

you whined beneath him, eyes fluttering.

“that’s it,” he said, fucking you a little deeper now. “let me ruin you.”

your fingers gripped the sheets. he held your throat lightly—not tight yet, just enough to feel the pressure. his other hand cupped your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple.

“feel good?” he asked. “you like this dick, don’t you?”

you nodded, breathless.

he tightened his grip on your neck just enough to make your head float.

“say it.”

“i—i like it,” you stammered, brain going fuzzy from the pressure, the stretch, the sound of his voice in your ear.

“yeah you do. got that virgin pussy dumb already.”

you moaned louder.

“you ain’t never gon’ forget this dick,” he said, cock driving deeper now, hips smacking yours. “first one in it, first one to stretch it, first one to own it.”

you couldn’t even speak.

he flipped you over, pulled your hips up and fucked you from behind now, one hand on the small of your back, the other gripping your hair.

“this the angle that’ll fuck the innocence out you,” he muttered, dragging his dick slow then slamming back in, making you scream into the mattress. “you feel that in your gut?”

your whole body shook. you were drooling on the sheets, eyes wet, legs trembling.

“lemme see that face,” he said, pulling you back by your hair. “look at me while i break you in.”

you glanced over your shoulder, mouth parted, and he almost came right then.

“beautiful ass girl. i swear to god, i’m gon’ fuck you stupid.”

and he did.

he didn’t stop. kept going, made you cum again—twice, maybe three times. you couldn’t keep track. everything was wet. the sheets. his chest. your face. your thighs. he lifted your leg, drilled into you from the side, choked you through another orgasm. your moans turned into sobs. pleasure ate your brain alive.

“stack—fuck—i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he growled, pounding into you. “you takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ.”

your nails raked his back. his hand squeezed your throat again, hard enough to make the edges of your vision blur.

you came one more time, back arched, toes curling, legs locked around his waist.

he groaned deep, spilling inside you with a twitch.

everything went still.

all you heard was your heartbeat. your breath. his deep, ragged one against your skin.

you were ruined. for real.

he kissed your forehead after, gently. ran his hand up and down your back.

“you good?”

you nodded, tears drying on your cheeks.

“…i ain’t never lettin’ nobody else touch you,” he said, voice low, possessive. “you mine now. you know that, right?”

you just nodded again.

because deep down, you already knew.

you woke up before him.

barely. the sun hadn’t even fully crept through the curtains yet. just a strip of light cut across your comforter, hitting the edge of the bed where elias was sprawled out, ass-naked, sleeping like he’d just come home from war. one arm slung over his eyes, the other draped where your body had been. the sheets were a mess. the air still smelled like sex, weed, and sweat.

your thighs ached.

you groaned softly when you moved, careful not to wake him. every inch of you felt sore—inside, outside, places you didn’t even know could hurt. your hips were tender. your legs had that heavy, overworked kind of weight to them. and your pussy? bruised. not in a bad way. but like it remembered every single stroke.

you held onto the edge of the dresser for balance while you stood up, wobbling a little. took a second to catch your breath. your legs did not feel normal.

“damn…” you muttered, barely able to walk straight as you grabbed a towel and slipped out the room.

the water in the shower hit different. you stood there for a minute, letting it run over your body, steam curling around your face while you leaned a hand against the tile. your whole body was humming—raw, open, still floating a little from the night before. flashes kept replaying in your head. his hands on your throat. the way he moaned your name against your ear. how many times you came. how he kept going even after you said you couldn’t take it.

you touched between your legs under the water and winced.

he really meant that shit when he said he was gon’ ruin you.

by the time you dried off and wrapped up in a big t-shirt, your legs were moving better. you still had a little limp, but nothing dramatic. the hallway felt quieter than usual. you figured sibella and troy hadn’t come back yet. probably stayed at his place.

you walked out into the kitchen, yawning, about to fix some eggs or something light, when you saw her.

bella.

sitting on the couch in her work clothes, sipping a mug of coffee and staring right at you.

your stomach dropped.

“…you back already?”

she didn’t even blink. didn’t even answer.

just smirked.

“…you got your lil virgin ass fucked, huh?”

you blinked, froze by the fridge.

“what—?”

“don’t even try it,” she said, standing up slow, walking over to lean against the counter across from you. “we came back early. me and troy. around two. figured we’d crash here instead. we wasn’t even gon’ bother you—until we heard you screamin’.”

your face heated instantly.

“bella—”

“nah,” she cut you off, wide-eyed and laughing, “nah, girl. you was in there hollerin’ like somebody took the damn soul out your body. like—goddamn. i was impressed! my lil sis got some lungs on her!”

you groaned, turning around to hide your face behind the fridge door. “please shut the fuck up.”

“you shut the fuck up,” she cackled, sipping her coffee louder. “you had my man like, ‘ayo, is that stack in there?’ i said, ‘who else would it be?’ you know he ain’t never quiet. i shoulda known from the second he started comin’ over too often. he was locked in on you. and you was playin’ all innocent.”

you mumbled under your breath, grabbing eggs from the fridge.

“girl, spill the damn tea,” she leaned closer. “was it good? how big was it? that man fine as hell. look like he dickin’ every bitch down, and now he got you stuck.”

you refused to give her full details. your body still felt too open, too exposed from what happened just hours ago. like your skin still remembered his hands. like it wasn’t meant to be talked about yet.

so you gave her one thing.

you looked up at her, dead in the face.

then held your hands apart, slow.

a little bigger.

then a little bigger.

then wider.

her mouth dropped.

“…bitch.”

you smirked. “exactly.”

bella screamed into the kitchen towel, spinning in a circle like she just heard the juiciest gossip in her life.

“i knew it! oh my god. no wonder you limp-walkin’. ohhhh, he really broke you in!”

“bella, please go to work.”

“no, bitch, you need to call out. i know you not sittin’ in no office chair today.”

you shook your head, laughing quietly, cheeks hot, chest fluttering at the memory. she eventually left, still shaking her head and giggling like she’d just found out her favorite show got renewed. and as soon as the door clicked behind her, you walked back to your room.

he was awake.

half-sitting up on your bed now, chest bare, sheets low on his waist. eyes still a little heavy but locked on you the second you walked in.

“where you go?” he mumbled, voice thick and scratchy.

“shower.”

he yawned, then grinned slowly as his eyes trailed down your body again.

“how you feel?”

you climbed back into the bed, under the covers. still warm from where he’d been laying.

“…sore.”

he smirked, proud. “good.”

you gave him a look, rolling your eyes.

“what?”

“you proud of yourself or something?”

he pulled you in, kissed your neck slow.

“yeah,” he muttered. “you still here, ain’t you?”

you didn’t say anything. just buried your face in his chest and let your limbs tangle into his. his fingers found your thigh again. light, lazy touches.

you already knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

not even close.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚 𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐕𝐘𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀.

[cantagirldrawinpeace]

This is the main message of One Piece for me. Monkey D Luffy would say this shit if he could form media analysis thoughts.

This moment at Arlong Park is when I knew the series was gonna be different in terms of how it treats friendships (especially between women and men) and I’m so happy it’s stayed that way. (Pardon the dub but I like the line a lil better in English) I’m so happy that Oda says there will never be romance between any of the StrawHat crew - it makes their bond feel much more special to me.

And the fact that pretty much all of the iconic “I love you” scenes (Belle-mere, Corazon, Ace) or just general loving sacrifice scenes (Zoro’s “Nothing Happened”, Robin during and before Enies Lobby,, Hiriluk’s final protest, Bon Clay’s distractions, Shank’s arm, Kuma in general, Zeff’s leg, Whitebeard’s attack on Marineford, Pedro’s fight, Sanji’s willing capture, Sabo’s return to his birth family, Oden’s sacrifice, Nami’s decision to endure Arlong, and many many many more) are platonic or familial in a show this long is just so incredible.

Even as the most romantically driven character of the main cast, Sanji got a whole arc where he actively chooses to go back to his crew even while in the midst of a (garanted, very forced) marriage because he loves them so much. He subconsciously made all their favorite foods while preparing a romantic picnic for his fiancé! That’s incredible, I never see tropes like that happen in that way. It’s always the person subconsciously doing something for/that reminds them of their romantic partner when they’re not around, never for their friends while preping for a romantic thing.

I also love how gender is just never really a factor. Like the male-female relationships are silly and sweet and very true, but they are never forced into romantic territory. Luffy is Robin’s reason to live, he saved her life so many times in so many ways, and she looks at him with so much love in her eyes. But never do they have a weird blushy moment or do either of them show any interest in each other in any way other than platonically. Not cuz either of them is perusing anyone else, either. It’s cuz they love each other and they are friends and that’s it!

And the male-male friendships are honest and true and they tell each other how much they care for one another with words as well as actions, and they know about and care for each other’s feelings as well as their physical safety. Zoro and Luffy have a bond like no other, and they love each other very much. Their relationship grows to be full of hugs and exited shouts of each other’s name when they see each other after separating for a little bit. Quiet moments of contemplation together as well as loud raucous shenanigans and battles.

And the female-female friendships aren’t full of dishonesty or jealousy, they are emotional and kind and genuine whilst still being full of complexities and hardships that they wanna endure together, just as the other relationships are. Nami’s first main motivation to get physically stronger and to buff up her navigation skills was in order to help Vivi, and she says that out loud a lot. Nami is consistently one of the first people to mention/get excited about any news of Vivi, and they inspire each other a lot.

And Luffy as the main character embodies this so so so well. He values his friends so much and loves them with his whole being. He has challenged the entire world for the sake of a single one of them. He will go up against unimaginably strong people and huge systems of power without a second thought for the sake of any of them. And he’s never shown an interest EVER in becoming “more than friends” with someone, because to him being “just friends” isn’t being “”just” friends”. They are everything to him, and he loves them with the same ferocity and passion that most stories reserve for romantic relationships only.

He needs them. And he tells them that. He loves them so much and he needs them around. Them, specifically, individually, entirely.

This scene where the thought of his friends is enough to bring him back from the worst breakdown we’ve ever seen him have is tribute to that. The way this scene is composed both visually and musically is so classically romantic, but although it romanticizes, it is still so clearly platonic. And it’s beautiful, and so so very full of love.

It’s just so refreshing, and it means the whole world to me.

listen, sometimes it's more powerful for a fictional relationship to be a friendship precisely because friendship is devalued in comparison to romance. anyone can sacrifice themself for the love of their life. but for a friend? if anything, that kind of devotion can be even more moving than if the relationship is romantic. there's a real dramatic power to prioritising friendship in your narratives sometimes.

[zombiecowboy65]

Jeremy being a dirty little clothes thief. At first it’s small and innocent, and he mixes up the sweatshirt he and Jean have that look exactly the same. And maybe he doesn’t notice at first but it’s fairly obvious when he puts it on. The shoulders are slightly too far down and the sleeves cover most of his fingers and the hem swallows most of his ass, but if Jeremy bunches it up, no one will notice. And besides, it smells like Jean, and it’s warm from the dryer, and really, he already has it on, and he really needs to leave, and it’s not even that noticeable, anyway. Plus. Jean is not a hoodie wearer. Surely he will not miss it.

So Jeremy wears the hoodie around campus, and to practice, and no one says a word, and somehow, he manages to get away with it when he puts it on again at the end of practice and leaves for his house. And it’s—an awful sort of pride. To be thrilled with himself for stealing, for stealing something of Jean’s without permission.

But he’s so lonely at the house. And texting and calling his friends helps some. But the sweatshirt is like a little reminder of home away from home. And no one needs to know. Even if it makes him anxious to keep this secret.

It was only an accident. And if Jean asks, that’s just what Jeremy will tell him.

Except Jean does not ask. And Jeremy keeps wearing it, until the hoodie starts to smell more like him than Jean. And that’s—well, a problem in every sense, because Jeremy has a thousand hoodies that smell like himself. And all of them suddenly seem too small.

So the next time Jeremy’s at the Lofts, he switches them out. Throws the hoodie he’s been wearing into Jean’s hamper, and steals another one from his closet. It makes the guilt gnawing at Jeremy’s stomach double in size, especially when Jean cocks his head at the new sky blue hoodie in class the next morning, but still, he doesn’t say anything, so Jeremy doesn’t either. He just wears this hoodie until he has to swap it out again, and then steals a dark blue one.

And then the worst thing happens. Jean starts wearing hoodies. The one Jeremy stole first. The light blue one. And Jeremy starts to panic. Because of course Jean would realize that his clothes had started smelling like Jeremy. The man had noticed when Jeremy smelled like another man simply from Jeremy sitting by him. Of course he would notice the scent on his own clothing.

And maybe he hates that they smell that way now. Why else would he be wearing them so much ? To drown out the smell of Jeremy’s cologne with his own, to turn things back to normal.

And Jeremy panics. And wonders if he should just stop the thieving all together. And then the guilt wins and he (very reluctantly) slips into Jean’s room to return it the next time he’s at the lofts, and finds both the other hoodies he’s stolen folded out like an offering on the foot of Jean’s bed.

This draws Jeremy up short. Makes him blush. A god awful red that heats his face and nose. And this—this is an offering, right? Jeremy’s not reading into this the wrong way? He puts the dark blue hoodie into the hamper and walks closer to the ones on the bed. Glances back at the door to make sure no one’s following him before lifting up the light blue one and pressing it carefully to his nose.

And it smells like Jean again. If not more so than when Jeremy stole it the first time around. The realization only makes Jeremy blush more. Was that it then? Why Jean had been wearing hoodies all of a sudden? He’d realized what Jeremy was doing and…liked it?

Jeremy blinks at the wall. Disbelieving but…overwhelmingly pleased. He knew Jean had a possessive streak unlike anyone who had ever been interested in him, and he liked it, loved it, but…

He pulls on the hoodie.

Minutes later, when he rejoins his friends in the kitchen, Jean freezes where he’s cutting peppers to treat Jeremy to a once over. He snaps himself out of it after a moment, but Jeremy doesn’t miss the way his mouth curls up at the corners, satisfied. He also doesn’t miss the needy heat that starts low in his stomach.

[angelltheninth]

cuddling with jinu headcanons?? please the ones about tracing his patterns had me floored i need more cute stuff im begging (joking around, only do it if you're up to it 🫶🏼)

I was gonna write more Jinu anyway but it definitely helps knowing that people want more.

Pairing: Jinu x Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, cuddles, being protective, demon marks, weak spots, teasing, demon x human

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I never ever expected this movie to have such a hold on me. Was anyone else taken by surprise?

"You've been staring at me all day today, not just because I had a new photo shoot. If it was just my awesome dancing you would have been looking at all of us. But then… you'd make me jealous."

Jinu meant that as a joke, there was no reason for him to be jealous of anyone, least of all his friends

Teases you relentlessly when he catches you looking at him, his arms wrapping around you and welcoming you hiding your face against his chest to hide your blushing face

Won't ask to cuddle, he doesn't really know how to, it's not something he has much experience in

The only point of reference he has is when he was still alive and with his family

Safe to say he is more than touch starved by the time you start initiating cuddles so he resorts to teasing to get the upper hand

"Do you want me with the shirt on or without? I'm good either way but I know you like tracing my patterns. Don't understand why though, they're not any different than those of other demons, not thing special about them. Special cause they're on me? Ah, I see, you're trying to make me blush, not gonna work in my demon form, sweetheart, I don't blush."

There's no heartbeat when you place your head on his chest so he tries to imitate the sound and syncing it with your own heartbeat

Only pushes you enough to kiss you but wants to keep you against him as much as possible

Definitely the big spoon when you're not on top of him, he likes to feel like he's protecting you

Shivers when you move your fingers over his patterns or even worse when you kiss your way across them, that is his biggest weak spot

If he falls asleep while cuddling you then you're stuck in his arms until he wakes up, he can get quite clingy

"I fell asleep and missed the song practice. That's your fault, don't you dare put that on me. Cuddling you is way too comfortable, it even works on a demon like me. Now, my mischievous cherry blossom, how do you intend to make it up to me?"

[idyllwave]

vergil has fucked before. nero was proof of that. but with how fucking oblivious you were, dante was starting to wonder if vergil had any game at all.

or where vergil tries to flirt (key word TRIES) with oblivious reader over the course of knowing each other.

oh, and dante is there too, i guess.

Dante knew you were oblivious. Painfully oblivious to the point that it physically hurts him when he sees his brother try and fail to “woo” you. Overtime, Dante started to accept the fact that you were either cursed to never see the obvious signs that Vergil was head over heels in love with you, or you were just incredibly stupid. The latter was proving to be more true than he realized.

“Thanks Vergil,” Dante could hear your voice echo as the door to Devil May Cry opened along with accompanied footsteps, “you’re such a good friend!”

Dante could just feel Vergil's spirit get crushed from here, and when you both rounded the corner, well, Vergil may seem stoned face and quiet as he stood beside you, but Dante could tell that he was dying on the inside.

“Right.”

Then your eyes landed on Dante and you were quick to give him one of your happy-go-lucky, award-winning smiles as you waved to him, “hey Dante!”

It didn’t help him either when you ran up to him and threw your arms around his neck making him spin you around in a bone crushing hug. Such a greeting was natural to you, something that Vergil wasn’t aware of. In fact, Dante could already feel his impending doom when he set you back down.

“Looking at your chirper mood, I’m guessing the mission went well.”

“Heck yeah! You should of seen the swoosh attack Vergil did when I was about to get sliced and diced!”

“Swoosh attack?”

“Yeah, it went swching and slitchk,” you exclaimed as you made a slashing motion with your arm.

“Sounds like he really saved you there.”

You nodded as Dante chuckled, “yeah! And even though he can be kind of prickly, I can feel that we’re on the fast track of becoming great friends!”

Dante, looking behind you, could physically see Vergil going through the five stages of grief. To anyone else, Vergil looked like … well Vergil just being himself. But to Dante, he could see the twitch of the eyebrow, the downturn of his lips, the way his eyes narrowed, or how his body tensed.

Then you turned to Vergil, “right, Vergil?”

“No. I would much rather be something else to you than your friend.”

You nodded, “wait, like super best friends?!”

“No,” the word came out way faster and harsher than the last no.

“Oh! You mean like- like,” you started to tear up as you went to Vergil and grabbed his hands (something he didn’t let anyone do without accepting a death penalty), “like brother and sister?! I always wanted a big brother!”

At that, Dante lost it. His laugh echoed off the walls as Vergil was on the edge of either strangling you or just proposing marriage to you in order to get it through your thick skull that he likes you.

“I will never see you as my sister.”

Vergil, not wanting to kill you on the spot, decided to act fast and destroy the foreboding family zone quickly before it festered.

“Wha- really…?”

He looked down at you like you were the scum of the earth. A part of you completely floored that Vergil hates you that much.

“Really. However, I can view you as my wife.”

“Ohhhh,” your earlier sadness completely forgotten about. With how easily you bounced around, it was always interesting to see how you would react to things.

And finally (FINALLY) Vergil thinks he got through to you.

Until…

“Like a work wife?”

For fucks sake-

Dante tallied up the mental score between your obliviousness and Vergil’s motivation. Currently, it was sitting at you: 561 and Vergil: 0.

[bogleech]

This is why you only look at events that have actually happened or at what's being reported the same across all news sources, and not anybody's elses opinionated conclusions before forming yours.

I've never listened to a political podcast or radio show, I've never followed one person's political blog, I've never seen any of that TV news where a bunch of famous journalists sit around a table and offer their thoughts or "break it down" for the audience and I'm not really sure why anybody needs that? Sometimes I might reblog another person's post because it does a good job of highlighting what I already learned, but I assume people are learning things from original impersonal sources before they're agreeing with me, either, especially since I'm just hyperbolically venting and am not a reporter or a research paper.

The president doesn't piss me off because Bloggy McTiktok or Captain Hottake is pissed off, the president pisses me off because I looked at the regulatory changes he's actually made or read the contents of his bills that his own administration willingly publicizes and endorses. Anyone with any sense who does the same is going to get pissed off because the greed and dishonesty of their agenda is impossible to not see right up front, assuming you understand how anything about the real world actually works.

It's everyone's own responsibility to formulate feelings from information as close to the original hard data as possible and not filtered through a "persona."

This is also why I don't really hang out with people who regularly talk about politics. I am not in a friend group of angry progressives who make whole conversations of it. What would the point of that be? We already became friends because we noticed what the other person was like and how they thought and found that appealing and nice, nothing needs to be said about the state of the world in person between us but "shit sure sucks right now" .... "yeah" ......"so anyway how's your dog doing"

Venting is for the occasional internet post, to get the subject out of your head and "done with" for the day.

So, you know how certain Christian missionaries are trained to act in a very obnoxious way, so that most people they preach to will reject them outright, so they feel like the world hates them for being Christian and they can only be friends with fellow Christians? You know that thing?

I think as activists, we sometimes need to stop and ask ourselves whether we're acting like those missionaries. I think this type of behavior is a little more ingrained into our society than some of us realize, and some of us have internalized it without realizing what it's actually meant to do.

[keerysgirl]

it’s a bad idea, right? - fake bf! steve harrington x fem! reader pt 1

summary: after constant nagging from his parents about trying to find a girlfriend, steve sets up a plan to try and find a girl to pretend to go out with - and he’s got the perfect one in mind.

tw: nothing really, just some cursing

it's been almost eighteen years of living in the hellhole that is considered hawkins, indiana. almost eighteen years of being stuck in the same stupid school with the same stupid people. almost eighteen years of doing whatever the hell it is you're doing with your life.

almost eighteen years of hearing the name 'steve harrington' echoed down the hallways.

he was like, the king of hawkins high. people respected him, hell, they worshipped him. if there was a literal food chain within their school, steve would be the apex predator.

sure, he was hot. like, really hot. anyone with eyes could see that. and sure, he was a real charmer with the ladies. but there was nothing particularly special about him - he was just another popular white guy with good hair and no real distinctive personality.

you had passed by him in the halls, talked to him during class, overheard his (usually successful) attempts at wooing girls. you didn’t know him particularly, but you had crossed paths. it’s not like you guys were friends though.

which is why you were, to put it simply, very confused when you received a note in your locker from steve telling you to meet him by the parking lot at 5th period.

now, you weren’t exactly an expert when it came weird, cryptic locker notes but you knew enough to know this probably wasn’t a good thing, or else he would’ve told you in person like a normal fucking human being.

he was probably just messing with you, you knew that. either another ploy from one of his friends to embarrass someone, or maybe even a plot to get you in his bed.

but no, steve wasn’t like that. he was more of a show off - if he was gonna pull any stunts or whatever, it would be a big public spectacle in a crowded area, somewhere where his narcissistic ass could really be shown off. it wouldn’t be secretive or secluded.

which leads you to the question - what the fuck did this guy want from you?

you’re pretty wary of the guy, but unfortunately, curiosity gets the better of you which is how you find yourself skipping 5th period to head over to the parking lot.

it was a dumb idea going and you knew it. you had a lingering feeling that a bunch of dumb jocks and pretty cheerleaders would jump out behind a car, ready to bully you endlessly because you actually thought that steve harrington wanted to talk to you of all people. maybe they’d even have tomatoes to throw in your face (hey, it’s a possibility!)

which is why you were oddly surprised when you saw steve right by his car, awkwardly pacing and looking unusually frantic.

“um…hey?” u say, as you walk up to steve, seemingly matching his tentative energy.

“oh! hey!” he says, running a hand through his hair, biting down on his very pretty pink lips. “um…i honestly didn’t think you were going to come.”

“yeah. me neither.”

“well, i’m glad you did.” steve chuckles, and since when the hell does the most popular kid in fucking hawkins chuckle?

you nod, honestly cringing at how bad this is going. “so, what did you need exactly?” you ask, not really caring how rude or abrasive you sound. you just really needed to get this shit over with.

“right! of course.” steve says, seemingly unfazed by your attitude. “okay, just promise you’re not gonna totally freak out on me or whatever.”

it’s at this moment you think you might be going deaf - steve’s actually worried about you freaking out? since when the hell does he care what anyone else thinks or feels?

“and…why exactly would i freak out?

“just promise me, okay?”

“um, okay, whatever. i promise.”

“i need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

okay, yep. definitely fucking deaf.

“yeah, sorry, i think i heard you wrong, because i know you didn’t ask me to pretend to date you, so, uh, could you just repeat that for me?” you see steve visibly tense up at your harsh reaction, and for a second you kind of feel bad, but then again, what the actual hell?

“i’m not messing with you. seriously, i need you to pretend to be my girlfriend. just for a little bit.”

you scoff at his pleading tone, the way his voice softens lightly, as if he’s trying to reason with you. which, technically, he is. only he actually sounds like a nice person this time. (which, obviously he isn’t. obviously).

“okay, and first of all, why exactly do you need a fake girlfriend? and why does it have to be me?”

steve sighs, tugging at his hair lightly. “look, it’s just that my dad has been on my back about like, finding a respectable girl and whatever. i mean, he keeps trying to set me up on dates with his coworkers daughters or whatever, and i’m just really not interested. i just need him off my back, okay? that’s all.”

settle down? you think to yourself, scoffing. he’s in fucking high school. what settling down is a 17 year old boy who can’t get higher than a 70 on an english essay going to do?

“alright, but that doesn't answer the question of why me? why not any other of the dozens of eligible girls who would give up their left tit for a date with king steve?” you ask mockingly, obviously not into his little scheme.

“that’s exactly it. i can’t fake being with someone who wants me. this arrangement would only last for a couple of weeks, and that’s not exactly fair to them.”

“oh, right, because you’re so fair.” you respond, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “and let me guess - you want your dad as pissed off as possible and i’m just the person to do that.”

steve sheepishly nods at your statement. it wasn’t exactly a secret, the way you’re boldness and arrogance made you less than an ideal type to bring home from the parents. it’s not that you were rude over say, it’s just that you were, well, very opinionated to say the least. and yeah, you didn’t fuck with people like steve harrington, and you certainly didn’t fuck with people like steve harrington’s parents.

”i mean, not to be rude, but you do have a certain reputation.”

“yeah, no shit.”

“look, can you please just do this for me? please?” he asks, shining those goddamn puppy dog eyes of his at you.

and you consider it for a second. steve seems desperate, like really fucking desperate, and you knew his situation with his dad would have to be pretty bad for him to willingly be seen with you of all people during school hours. you would ask him what’s in it for you, but you knew what the answer was - nothing. there was absolutely nothing you gained from agreeing to this little plot of his. if anything, you’d just get gossiped about and ridiculed even more. and yet….

“it’s stupid, i know, just-”

“fuck it. i’ll be your fake girlfriend.”

steve’s face lights up like a kid in a candy store. “wait, really? you’ll do it?” and without even thinking, steve pulls you into a hug, wrapping arms around your neck and burying his face into your hair, leaving your face shoved into the crook of his neck. and damn, he actually smells really good.

you awkwardly hug him back, before pulling away, ignoring the way his face drops as you do so.

“so, um…call me i guess? you know, to plan this out or whatever?”

he nods quickly. “yeah, yeah, sure. of course. uh, to plan. definitely gotta plan.” he murmurs.

you scribble your number onto a crumpled piece of paper you pulled out of your backpack, the pen shaking just a little in your hand. before letting yourself overthink it, you hand it to his - your fingers brushing his just briefly - then turn to leave before you change your mind,

you head over to the bathroom, hoping for a moment to reset and. you lean over the sink, cupping cold water in your hands and splashing it onto your face, gripping the edges of the porcelain basin and stare at your reflection for a moment too long.

what the fuck did you just get yourself into?

[simpy-simpers]

Day 11 - Code

Again! I do these when I want to, how I want to, muahahhahahha.

I've had this drawn for a while but forgot about it while I was sick! Sorry yall! I was gonna schedule this for later but I'll be posting it now in the name of wanting to show my friend (and mobile tumblr being confusing)

I have a lot more versions below the cut! And a bit of poetry about it that I surprisingly did it one go. Genuinely I believe this piece started my art block, because I tried to work on arguably more important things and couldn't manage to get anything to look right, and felt like I needed to finish this one. Now that this is done I will do artfight and said important things, gah!! I couldn't figure out how I liked the lighting so made a bunch of versions (you should know that's just how I roll atp.

Also! I haven't posted because of work and the 4th, sorry! Oh well. Also I should be doing af but unless anyone attacks me I may be lazy asf.

Lots and lots of lore rambling/story details, a good amount of poetry, alternate versions of the piece that I also like, and close ups below the cut!

a lot a lot a lot beneath the cut

Lore time uhm...

He is Malhare in this Au! Used to call him Glitchtrap but lowkey sick of the -trap curse, so I changed it. The little group of people following him have different names depending. This most likely won't be explained in the story but meh. Basic explanation:

His 'Hares' - Closest and most willing followers, ones that both follow his orders and allow him to control them.

'Rabbits' - Either unwilling(Reluctant muahha) or unaware followers, like Vanessa. They're some of the easiest or hardest to deal with, as they can outright sabotage his efforts, or will give in without a fight. Some examples will be seen in "Wishes of the Mockingbird." This will expand on the depths of the cult-ish-thing that is the following of the Hare.

'Bunnies' - Either new or intensely strong minded, ones he doesn't have much hold on and therefore only work as its eyes and ears to the world. Many people don't know that they're literally possessed besides a whisper in their ear telling them things. He can't do a lot with these ones.

Why is it so over-the-top with the naming stuff? Dude's copying WILLIAM "PURPLE GUY" AFTON. The BIGGEST theater kid murderer in the whole world. He's all dramatic all the time and just BLAH BLAH BLAH scary scary. The main thing different (I'm debating about keeping this detail) is that it's not as into research, moreso just doing what William can't. Each version of the mimic copies what it knows.

anywho that's what I've got.

Debating about this detail, but I saw this story someone wrote about Glitchtrap when I was younger, it was a comic (I condemn and despise BillyBubone, but it was drawn by him for the most part), in which Vanessa would have had near-supernatural abilities when possessed/controlled by GT, and I very much do like that idea. She has to go into this deal with him through the story/a near parasitic relationship. I do like those details in and of itself and I think I may incorporate parts. Like "I fucking hate you but I'm about to die and I can't get out of this on my own, and if I die then I'm going to be unable to stop you." and GT, based on William still, is more than willing to have even the slightest bit of power over her. The whole story he's hyperfixated on these difficult 'Rabbits', defying his wishes, and needing to conquer them. Part through the story Vanessa meets another like her and they learn how to shut him out bit by bit. There's a lot to it.

Augh I love this story. I think I'll let Vanessa or maybe someone else be evil for a time. I just love those irredeemable characters who give into the manipulation, and not out of ignorance or being naïve, but purely because they're selfish and want to blame their 'letting loose of their hatred' on someone else.

Problem is I really like both versions of both bad and good Vanessa, so I may have to make an OC. I know I know, excessive ocs in an au aren't exactly my thing either, but for the sake of the story and the fact that it's MY AU I can do what I want.

"You forced me into this, I had no say!" meanwhile they could've made it stop at any time.

Anyway blah blah blah, I may draw our little crazies within the Burrow. Burrow being the wip name for the cult people. Do hares burrow? I may have to look that up.

Also I made him specifically different as a hare, because Hares ARE different than rabbits. I'm obsessed with the idea that Malhare is a hare because he doesn't have the sweet look of innocence atop his sin, like William did. I like to think William lies to himself to make it look like he's in the right. But Malhare knows what it is, and he relishes in it. I know I shouldn't make characters that are evil for the sake of being evil, but I promise there's (probably) a reason!!! I remember seeing lore in SOTM that Edwin had beaten and denounced the Mimic (reason for GT's tears, which I did keep in the Malhare design), and I think I may keep some of the bits of that. I ofc have to rework some of the lore around SOTM, but once I'm done incorporating piece of SOTM in the lore I am DOOONE with altering key lore.

I aaallso did add another color to the Malhare design, being that Green right there. I know the purple represents William/The aftons, and the Green is supposed to represent the Emilys(Emelies? spelling geeez) (at least in this story, and the Schmidts/mostly just when they separate from William, are represented by blue), but I needed to add the Green to add that eerie element, and show that the one thing Vanessa had separating her/her family line from William (she's the grand daughter or daughter (still in debate) of Michael), at least in the story, is something William (at least the copy of him) now has. Idk! I don't know how much Vanessa will know about her family line, how much her siblings will, how many siblings she HAS (I know she has a sister or brother, who is one of Gregory's parents), or much about her family at all. Oopsie! Welp. Time for me to get to work (And I by that I mean doing things that actually matter).

Sorry for yapping so hard, gah! I really really really like Vanessa. Even better when more story details are added muahahha.

SOME POETRY I MADE!

I really really really liked how it sounded, and it's supposed to be like one of those "Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar" type beats, idkkkk how to describe it. It's got rhythm and a bit of subpar storytelling, hope you like it! It's about the Malhare and his grip on Vanessa, and how she really won't listen.

Watch your mouth, little one Lest it go away Keep in step, it's begun Time for us to play When my words grace your ears Listen without a pause I'm with you, have no fears And wait for the applause Tick tok goes the clock Counting down your days Tick tok, it will stop At my final say A show of my direction An actor on my stage Story, my creation The one turning the page In the dark and in the light My gaze will be on you You will never leave my sight Your actions in my view Tick tok count the seconds Slipping far away Tick tok, now I beckon For your new display No words unheard, no secrets kept Give in to my demands If you would only just accept-- You're ruining my plans Little rabbit, unwilling soul Defiance in your eyes Your cries ignored, your wishes null You will be my disguise Tick tok goes the clock Counting down your days Tick tok, it will stop At my final say

Note for this first one below! I actually did not mean to press burn on that layer but I loved how it made his eyes look like augh I loved it so much. So it's a version now.

I just messed around and it changed the vibe so drastically each time that I couldn't make a freaking choice. So take them all!!!

Gahh!!! I really do like the art. and also! Figured I'd share some close ups with the class.

Tears/drool stuff. My sister pointed out some of that and I found it really interesting.

all these random details I really spent too long on lol

___

I'm in love with the colors ok.... I couldn't live my life and not have people see these versions......

I need help.

But seriously this is good reference if you'd like to draw them! (And I'll draw them again so I'll be using it haha)

[saturn-peache]

Locked In (Buck x Reader)

NSFW (18+) MDNI | One-Shot | Smut | Evan Buckley x reader

Posted this on AOOO but I've decided to post fics on here now too :]

(Scroll to bottom for AO3 link)

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

It was the end of a long shift at the 118. It wasn’t a bad day, really, just not very many calls came in, so the hours dragged on. You were itching to get out of the firehouse all day, wanting to go get ready for your blind date that your friend set up for you with some guy. You had no idea what to expect, but you had been single for so long that you were ready to try anything.

Truthfully, the reason you had been single for so long, and why you desperately needed to meet new people, was because you had started to develop some unprofessional feelings for your co-worker, Buck. There was something about him. He could make you laugh harder than anyone you knew, he put your needs ahead of his own, he always had your back. And plus, it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. Last week, while working out at the firehouse gym area, you caught yourself staring at the muscles on his back as they contracted with every movement. Then a couple of days later he was standing next to you while you two were working on the engine, and all you could think was ‘I want to climb him like a tree.’ Needless to say, it was becoming crucial that you find someone else to date and ‘climb’ before the issue became bigger and started effecting your work.

Right before it was time to leave for the day, Buck called you to help him sort out some boxes which he was carrying into the supply closet. You were already basically changed and ready to go when he asked, but you couldn’t say no to him, even though you had plans to get to. ‘How long could it possibly take?’ You thought.

You got in the supply closet, unloading the boxes and placing their contents neatly on the shelves, as he carried more boxes into the room. When he had carried all the boxes in, he started helping you with the restocking.

“Thanks for helping, I can take it from here,” He says

“Oh, yeah, that’s great, I actually have plans tonight so, I’ll take you up on that,” You say, grabbing the door handle, and twisting it. But it doesn’t budge.

“Uhm, Buck, does this door lock from the outside?” You ask, frustration in your voice.

He furrows his brow, trying the door handle himself, trying to jimmy it open, then *pop* and the door handle comes off in his hand.

“Uhm, you might want to cancel your plans.” He said sheepishly with a small smile.

“Seriously!” You put your hands in your hair, “just great.” You were upset that you were missing your date, but even worse, here you were, stuck in a supply closet with the guy you were trying to get you mind off using the date. Just your luck. “I can’t even call to cancel, I have like no bars in here.”

“Yeah, me neither…It’s fine, right? We can just radio for help,” He assured, “except, I think I left my radio out there so, ugh…”

“Buck, I was already changed out of my uniform. My radio is not on me either. Oh, damn this day!”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. B shift will find us, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” B-shift had already left on a call when you two were still carrying boxes, “They’ll be back soon, I’m sure. Then they’ll get us out of here. I’m sure they’ll be here in no time.”

————— 2 hours later —————

The Firehouse was still quiet and empty, not a soul in there but you and Buck. Even if anyone were to walk in, they would have to go to the very back of the building near the changing rooms to even hear you banging on the door, and at that point, you had given up on trying to alert anyone of your presence. It was too late anyway, your date was probably already back home, disappointed that you blew him off. You sit on the ground defeated.

“Are you okay?” Asked Buck, with genuine concern on his face.

“I’m just peachy.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really. I’m just bummed out that I missed my plans, that’s all.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. If you were so keen on going out tonight, we can have a drink at the bar down the street when we get out of here,” He assured you, oblivious to the fact that that was the opposite of a solution to your problem. You needed someone else to take your mind off him, not after work drinks with your work crush. You smile and thank him for his offer, not wanting to come off weird.

It was ironic, the two of you stuck in there when a large part of your jobs involved getting people out of places. Usually, you would have had a team of people and actual tools. Now all you have is each other and cleaning supplies. It wasn’t too bad. No life-or-death situation. Just a few weeks ago you would have found it hilarious and maybe even fun just being stuck in a closet with Buck. But ever since you became aware of the scent of his skin, of the way his eyes gleam when he smiles, the way his veins are so visible on his forearms, you knew time alone together like this was just asking for trouble.

“What are you worried about?” He asks, pulling you out of your focus.

“What makes you think I’m worried?”

“The way your eyebrows are basically touching, for one,” He chuckled, “Is it really that bad being stuck in here with me?”

You share your head, “No, no. It’s just…really boring. There’s nothing to do in here.”

“Well it would probably be less boring if you actually talked to me, instead of playing with your fingers.”

“Fine. Yeah…what do you want to talk about?” You ask.

He ponders for a few seconds then speaks, “What plans did you have?”

Oh boy,… “A date.”

“Oh,…I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not, it’s a blind date. I’ve never even seen a picture of the guy. I just know his first name. Matt.”

“Sounds nice…Matt,” He repeats. You laugh at his response. “Okay, yeah, fine. The name doesn’t tell me much about how nice he is. I’m just being polite.” He says, laughing along with you. “Actually, when I was in middle school, there was a kid in my class called Matt and he would take his shoes off and just walk around barefoot stinking up the room, so when you said Matt that’s all I could picture,” he recounts.

You laugh, now unable to associate anything with the name Matt but smelly feet, “Way to ruin him for me.”

“Oh, you just stood him up on your first date. I don’t think it was gonna go anywhere,” He chuckled.

“Yeah,” You sighed, “guess my friend will have to set me up on a new blind date with some other guy I’ve never met.”

“Why do you want to go on dates with guys you’ve never met? It’s not like you find it hard to get guys’ attention. I’ve seen how guys look at you at bars and stuff.” He asks, a hint of pink dancing on his cheeks.

“It’s…it’s just complicated,” You sigh.

“You’re just gonna say its complicated and leave me curious?”

“It’s a long story,” You lie

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, we’ve got nothing but time.”

“I really, can’t tell you!” You blush

“That’s just making me want to know more,” he teases.

“Buck, drop it.”

“No, tell me,” He says, sitting closer to you on the closet floor.

“Seriously, stop!” You say sternly, louder than you mean to. He’s taken aback but he only shows it for a second. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just…embarrassing.”

“No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have pushed. Sometimes I forget we’re coworkers.”

“What do you mean?” You ask curious.

“Oh, just that we’re such good friends here, and we spend hours and hours together, that I just forget that there are boundaries, you know. We’re not actually friends. We’re coworkers, so I shouldn’t push you or make you uncomfortable.”

“We’re not friends?” You ask, failing to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“That’s not what I meant. This is coming out all wrong. I just shouldn’t act too familiar, that’s all. I was just trying to apologise for pushing you.” He explains. There’s silence, then he goes on, “For the record, you’re one of my favourite people. Even if we are coworkers first.”

You gulp, “I think we’re definitely not just coworkers, Buck.” This makes him smile softly, his head turning to look at your face, his eyes soft in the dim light of the closet.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, his voice barely audible.

“That we’re…friends, isn’t that what we were talking about?” You answer, searching his face for a hint of something else. Then you see it. The corner of his lip twitches, just the faintest hint of disappointment. You feel yourself get hot in the face.

“Why do you need to go on blind dates?” He whispers.

“Buck…” You look away, but he grabs your chin, gently turning you towards him.

“Tell me”

“You.”

The disappointment is gone from his face now, replaced with a smirk. You feel embarrassed. You’ll never hear the end of this. Why would you say that? Why would you cave? His hand remains on your chin, his eyes trained on you.

“Buck, it’s not a big deal, okay, just-“ You begin.

“Can I kiss you?” He cuts you off. You’re taken by surprise but you nod yes.

He leans down, closing the gap between the two of you. His lips on yours send electricity through your body. When his tongue licks your bottom lip you part them without hesitation, letting him freely explore your mouth. Your hand creeps up his arm, resting on his shoulder. You can feel how strong he is under his shirt, amplifying the desire you feel for him. The two of you get up off the floor for better leverage, still kissing. You push him against the shelves, some of the items you had been organising falling off, as your bodies collide. You tug at his uniform and he wastes no time ripping it off, his muscular chest now exposed to you. You pull your own shirt off, dropping it to the floor. You swear that he growled when he saw your body. His lips latched onto your chest, kissing and biting softly, trying to leave a mark on your breast.

“That’s to remind you of this if you get the idea to set up a blind date again,” He whispers in your ear. Soon, his hand is on your back, grabbing the band of your bra, seemingly unsure of whether he should unclasp it or if that’s too far. You decide to give him a hint by shrugging off the straps and he undoes the clasp, letting it fall to the ground.

Your head was spinning. Was this a good idea? God, no. You were at work, you could get caught. Even worse, you were half naked making out with Buck. Dear, sweet, Buck. Your favourite coworker. The golden retriever. You had heard rumours about how he was a player when he first joined the 118, stealing the engine for impromptu hookups. Something about a nickname, ‘firehose’? You weren’t sure whether to believe them, having met a more timid Buck who respects women, babysits and bakes banana bread. But right then in that closet, you were starting to realise that there might have been some truth to those stories; he definitely knew what he was doing. His hand grabbed your breast, rubbing his thumb over your nipple, while his other hand was at your hip, his thumb hooked in your jeans' belt loops. He pulled away from your neck just to stare at you, biting his bottom lip at the sight of your curves. You decide you want to tease him a little, show him he’s not the one in charge. You lower yourself onto your knees before him, looking up at him with big doe eyes. His Adams apple moved when your eyes met, his hands holding on to the shelves behind him.

He towered over you at his height, now even more apparent since you were on your knees. Your fingers fumbled with his belt, taking your time just to make him squirm. Then, you pulled down his trousers and boxers in one motion, freeing him from the tightness in his pants. His length sprung out, already hard for you. You had an idea now where the ‘firehose’ nickname came from, and you smirked to yourself, eager to taste him. You wrapped your fingers around him, earning a groan, and stroked him slowly, ghosting your thumb over his tip. His hand grabbed a fistful of hair, twirling it into a pony tail to keep it out of your face, clearly hinting at what he wanted. You obliged, using your tongue to rub the tip while still stroking him with your hand. When you swallowed him down your throat he threw his head back, a deep groan coming out of his lips. You took him as deep as you possibly could, tears forming at your eyes and fighting against your gag reflex, but the curses and moans coming from above you made it worth it. You could feel your own reaction, a wet spot forming between your legs. His grip on your hair tightened and he spilled into your mouth with a loud moan, come dripping down your chin.

He helped you back up on your feet, kissing you, tasting himself on your mouth. When he pulled away he grinned and asked if he could return the favour. You were quick to say yes, and in no time he was helping you pull your jeans off. He got on his knees where you were before and slowly pulled your panties down your legs, admiring the way your folds ever so slightly stuck to the fabric with your wetness. He grabbed one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder, and you grabbed onto his hair to steady yourself. His tongue found your clit, licking and lapping like he was starving for it. Starving for you. He licked and licked, introducing a finger to the mix, and then another. His free arm held your thigh while his other hand worked inside of you, massaging your g-spot. Soon, you felt a familiar pit in the depths of your stomach. Your legs began to shake making it harder to stay upright, but he held you in place with his strong arms. You finally let go, coming on his tongue and clenching around his fingers.

While catching your breath you couldn’t help but notice that he was already at half mast again. The act of eating you out had aroused him so much that he had already hardened again, and that turned you on even more. You leapt to him, embracing him, with a sloppy kiss on his mouth.

“I want you,” you moaned into his mouth. His eyes widened. He wanted you too, but after you had both already finished, he wasn’t sure if that was still on the table. His expression quickly turned to a crooked grin as he pushed you up against the door, then flipping you around so that your chest was pressed up against it. He grabbed your hips, roughly pulling you to him, forcing you to bend over. After licking his fingers, he ran them between your folds, making you writhe in anticipation. His fingers dug into your plush ass, holding you steady. You whimpered, wanting so badly to feel him inside you and hearing your sounds made his ego swell.

You felt his tip at your entrance, parting your lips. At the same time, his hands grabbed your hair, moving it off your neck, replacing it with his mouth. “Tell me how badly you want this,” he whispered in your ear.

“I want you more than anything,” you say obeying his request.

Without another word, he pushes his cock inside you, burying himself to the hilt. You gasp audibly the sheer size of him sending shockwaves through your body. You felt like you had been split open but somehow in a good way. You quickly adjusted to his size, the intense pleasure masking any pain.

“Good girl,” he grunts, “You’re taking me so well.”

Your heart swells at his comment and you enjoy so badly hearing how good and obedient he thinks you are. He thrusts into you faster now, somehow going deeper than before. He touches your cervix with each thrust making you groan but its not rough enough to hurt at all. Instead, every thrust makes you see fireworks.

He fucks into you like his life depends on it, grunting and moaning in your ear. Nothing too loud, but in this tiny closet you can hear his every breath and noise, and you can tell that he is enjoying himself too, which in turn maximises your pleasure. His hand snakes around you, positioning itself between your thighs, and his fingers rub your clit. His thrusts never falter, still keeping his steady rhythm. The door rattles and shakes with every movement of your bodies, and your tits pressed up against it are overstimulated from the friction.

Buck leans closer to you, his tall body enveloping you as he presses his chest to your back, now flush against your body. He’s so deep inside you you can almost taste him. His other hand, the one that isn’t playing with your clit, wraps around your chest, grabbing your tits and pulling you back towards him. You couldn’t possibly be any closer to each other than you are right now.

You feel his strained breathing and erratic thrusts and you know he is close. You let yourself get pulled towards him, your own orgasm fast approaching. Your legs are now jelly and you’re thankful he is gripping you so hard or you would not be able to stand. His mouth whispers into your ear, “God, please, baby, come for me. I need you to come for me. I’m so close…I need you to come. Be a good girl.”

The words are enough to push you over the edge. Pleasure shoots from your core, making your legs vibrate underneath you, and your back arch against his touch. When he feels you tightening around him, he is done for. You feel his balls twitch against your skin, and soon you are being filled up and painted from the inside. You aren’t sure if its just his larger-than-average size that has you feeling so full, but it feels like he came a cup full, making you feel like you’re overflowing.

When he finally pulls out of you, come runs down your legs, but he is quick to scoop it up with two fingers, pushing it back inside your needy hole, finger fucking it back inside you. The act makes you blush. You’ve never experienced anyone like him. Nothing had ever come close.You silently got dressed, both panting and trying to get your heads on straight after that intense encounter.

“That was…wow,” You say, breaking the silence.

“You liked it?” He asks, pulling you in for another kiss.

“Beats sitting here in silence waiting for someone to realise we’re in here, that’s for sure,” you teased.

“I never would’ve guessed you’re so…bold,” He whispers against your lips.

“I could say the same for you,” you smile and he laughs. He kisses you again when you hear the engine finally pulling back into the firehouse signifying that B shift was back. You quickly fixed your hair while he banged on the door. Soon enough, someone came and opened the door for you.

When you finally made it out on the street, he grabbed your arm. “I meant it about the drinks, by the way.” He said with his usual goofy smile plastered on his face.

“Buck, it’s so late. I doubt that anywhere is open right now.”

“Well,” He shrugs, “I have drinks at my place.”

You roll your eyes but you’re following him to his car. He opens the passenger door for you, helping you up into his range rover, kissing your lips softly when you’re settled.

“By the way, I don’t think I told you, I like you too, you know?”

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

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66199459

[yunashii]

"Letting her to be herself."

pairing: seungcheol x f. reader

genre: friends to lovers, slow burn, body insecurity, emotional intimacy, yearning, aching. lmk if i forgot smth!!

synopsis: She didn’t expect him to hear her.

Yuna never meant for the words to slip past her lips, not while they were surrounded by the faint hum of the city night, headlights washing over the cafe’s window they sat by.

“I’m not even as thin as every girl around you,” she whispered, hands wrapped tight around her lukewarm cup. “They look like they could be yours. In every way. I have a belly, I’m taller than average girls, … and—”

Her voice faltered, catching on the quiet shame she carried for too long. She didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

But Seungcheol did. And he didn’t say anything at first.

Instead, he just looked at her. That kind of look people rarely give — like her words weren’t ugly, but sacred. Like they weren’t confessions of insecurity, but pieces of her soul he wanted to cradle in his palms and never let fall.

a/n: hiiii!! It's my first ever au, so maybe it'll be messy, not really good, but i hope everyone enjoys it, because it's part of me too.. and english isn't my first language, please, don't judge :( About smut, if anyone wants it, i'll write it like part two^^

Yuna’s shoulders tensed. The silence stretched too long.

Then he said softly, “Why would you think that?”

Still no judgment. Still no denial either. Just a careful nudge toward the wounds she thought she’d hidden.

“I just… know what I see in the mirror,” she shrugged, finally meeting his eyes. “And I know what you could have. Someone smaller. More delicate. Someone people expect to see beside someone like you.”

His brow furrowed, faintly. A storm of words behind his still mouth. His hand reached out across the table, slow, deliberate, until it covered hers.

“You don’t see yourself the way I do,” he said quietly.

She swallowed. “Maybe not.”

“But I see you. Every day. And I don’t wish for someone else, Yuna. I wish you could believe me when I say that.”

A pause.

Then:

“You’re not less of a woman because you don’t fit some mold. You’re real. You breathe. You laugh loud when you’re tired. You forget to wipe foam from your upper lip when you’re focused. And you’re so goddamn beautiful that sometimes I have to stop myself from staring.”

Her lips parted, air catching in her chest. The vulnerability felt unbearable.

He leaned in a little closer. “You don’t have to shrink for me to love you.”

That did it. The warmth in her throat turned to a knot, the way truth always did when you weren’t ready to hear it but needed it more than anything.

Yuna didn’t answer.

Her fingers curled around her cup like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality. Her coffee had long since gone cold, but she didn’t move.

The words “You deserve more than just my friendship” kept echoing in her head — too loud, too sweet, too terrifying.

And it hurt.

God, it hurt in a way nothing ever had.

Because Seungcheol wasn’t saying it to get something from her.

He was saying it like it was the truest thing he knew.

She swallowed hard. “Don’t say things like that.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “Why not?”

“Because I want to believe you.” Her voice cracked, barely more than a breath. “But I’ve spent too long… building these walls. Telling myself you’d never look at me like that. And now you’re—saying all this and looking at me like I’m…”

“Like you’re everything?” he finished.

She flinched. Goddammit, Choi Seungcheol.

Her lip trembled. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” he said, quietly. “But loving you would be.”

She hated how fast her heart reacted to that.

Hated how badly she wanted to throw herself into his chest and cry it all out — all the years of feeling like the ‘almost girl’. Like the friend. The backup. The one who’s good enough to stand beside, but never be held.

So instead, she pulled her hands back and said the cruelest thing she could think of.

“You could have any woman you want.”

“I don’t want any woman.”

“I mean it.” Her voice rose this time, bitter and hot. “Someone who looks like she belongs in your world. Who doesn’t need extra angles when she takes photos. Who doesn’t obsess over which outfit hides her stomach best. Who doesn’t flinch when you touch her waist.”

Seungcheol’s face tightened. Pain flickered across it like lightning behind clouds. And then, his voice came — lower than before. Steadier.

“If I cared about perfect bodies, I wouldn’t be here with you every damn day, Yuna.”

She blinked. “Don’t—”

“No, listen to me,” he said. “You think I don’t notice the way you sit with your coat draped over your lap? The way you always laugh first, so no one else has a chance to say something that might hurt? You think I don’t see how hard you try to make yourself smaller, like loving you would be a burden?”

He leaned forward again, hand clenched on the table.

“I see everything you’re afraid to show. And none of it scares me away.”

Silence.

Heavy, aching silence.

Yuna couldn’t stop the tears this time. They fell slow and hot down her cheeks — quiet, but unstoppable. She had to look away.

“I’m not trying to test you,” she whispered, broken, barely audible. “I’m just… so scared you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m not what you wanted.”

He stood up. Walked around the table. She looked up, startled.

And then, without asking, without needing permission — he crouched beside her seat and held her. Right there, in the middle of the goddamn café. Arms around her trembling frame, head tucked gently into her neck. Not asking for her to say anything. Just… holding her together.

“I’ve already woken up to you,” he said against her skin. “Every time I see you, I realize it more.”

Her fingers clutched his coat without thinking. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.

And maybe for the first time in forever—

She let herself be held. Let herself fall. Just a little.

Days turned into weeks after that moment. She didn’t answer his texts. Didn’t open the three voicemails either. Didn’t go to their usual café. Took a different route to work. Blocked him on Instagram for a day, then unblocked him again because it felt too cruel.

But she didn’t reply. Not even once.

It had been five days.

And every hour without him felt like breathing through fabric — shallow, muffled, tiring.

But Yuna told herself it was necessary (it wasn't).

Necessary to put space between them. To clear the fog in her chest. To remember what she was before Seungcheol made her feel things she wasn’t allowed to feel.

Because the truth?

She didn’t believe him.Not really. Not deep down in the places she kept boarded up, where rejection always came first, and love was just the thing that broke you when you weren’t careful.

People like her didn’t get fairy tales.

They got comfortable lies and quiet disappointments.

So when she heard the knock on her door that Saturday night — just after she’d pulled her hair into a bun and buried herself under a blanket — her chest seized.

She didn’t want it to be him. Didn’t want it not to be him either.

She padded barefoot to the door. Looked through the peephole.

Of course.

It was him.

Seungcheol stood there in a hoodie and jeans, wind-blown hair, hands in his pockets.

Like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve come. Like he was giving her one last chance.

She opened the door halfway. Didn’t invite him in. Didn’t meet his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, quietly, but no heat under, just reminding.

“I know.” His voice was calm. Not angry. Not desperate. Just… real.

“Then why come?”

He took a long breath. “Because I needed you to know I meant every word I said. And I’m not sorry for saying them.”

Yuna’s grip on the door tightened. “That night… I didn’t mean to break down in front of you. I wasn’t trying to manipulate you, or beg for something—”

“I know you weren’t,” he said, instantly.

“I just…” she swallowed. “I’ve spent years trying to believe I’m enough for myself. And then you come along, and suddenly I’m supposed to believe I’m enough for you too?” That cracked her voice. Just a little.

“I never asked you to be anything but what you already are.” His words were soft. Like a balm she didn’t want to feel.

“I’m not ready,” she whispered. “To be loved like that. I don’t know how. And I can’t risk…” Her throat burned. “I can’t risk you realizing I’m not what you thought I was.”

He nodded. Slowly. Like he already knew this was coming. “Then I won’t push,” he said.

And it hurt more than any fight or plea could have. Because he meant it. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just… being there. But then, his eyes found hers. And there was something achingly sincere in the way he said:

“But I’ll be here. When you’re ready. I’ll be here.”

Yuna looked away. Not because she didn’t care. But because if she looked too long, she’d crumble. She closed the door gently. Pressed her back to it. Let the silence swallow her whole. And cried. Not because he hurt her— But because he didn’t.

For once in her life, someone saw her mess and didn’t run. Didn’t try to fix her. Didn’t try to own her pain.

He just… stayed.

Weeks passed.

Three, then four.

And Yuna did everything “right.”

Everything people online swore would make her feel more confident. More worthy.

She started waking up earlier. Drinking lemon water. Going to pilates classes where mirrors lined the walls and every time she looked over her shoulder, all she saw were smaller waists and sharper angles.

She told herself she liked it.

The ache in her muscles, the sore in her hips, the quiet discipline.

She started dressing differently too. Less oversized sweaters. More fitted jeans. Mascara, gloss, lip tint but nothing more cause she's not used to it.

People at work complimented her. Told her she was glowing. That she looked “put together.”

And still—

She felt like an actress who’d forgotten her real name. Her laughter was a little too loud. Her posture a little too stiff.

At night, she stared at herself in the mirror and whispered, “Almost.”

But it never felt true. Because none of it made his absence easier. If anything, it made it worse. Because even after everything she changed, even after everything she pushed herself to become—

She still missed Seungcheol.

Worse—

She missed the way he looked at her before she started hiding. Before the makeup. Before the extra gym hours. Before she’d decided she wasn’t good enough to be loved by someone like him.

And one night—

It all fell apart.

She was standing in her room, still dressed from the day. Tight top. High-waisted skirt. Mascara smudged beneath tired eyes. Her reflection looked like a woman who had her shit together.

But she didn’t. Oh God— she didn't..

Her chest was tight. She couldn’t breathe. And all at once, she hated the outfit. Hated the heels in the corner. Hated the protein bars, the fitness plans, the inspirational quotes. She sank to the floor beside her bed. Pressed her forehead to her knees.

And for the first time in years—

She whispered, broken and empty:

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

⸻

She didn’t plan to go to his place.

Didn’t change clothes or fix her hair. She just walked. In the dark. In silence. In a hoodie too big and shoes too thin.

By the time she stood in front of his apartment door, her hands were trembling. Not because she was afraid of rejection. But because part of her still thought she didn’t deserve to be held by someone like him.

Someone who already offered everything— and was met with silence.

She knocked.

Once.

Twice.

The door opened slowly.

And there he was.

Choi Seungcheol. The man for whom her chest aches.

In sweatpants, a plain white t-shirt, hair a little messy, eyes wide with the kind of worry that came from loving someone too long in silence.

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t explain.

So she just looked at him.

And in the softest, most broken voice she said:

“I tried to be everything you deserved.. but I lost myself trying to become her.”

His expression shattered. Not from confusion— But from understanding. Because he knew. He’d always known. And without hesitation he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

Held her like she wasn’t broken.

Held her like she was finally home.

Yuna buried her face in his chest and cried. Not because she was weak—But because she was tired.

And he whispered, again and again:

“You were already enough. You still are. Just come back to you, Yuna.”

⸻

She woke up to quiet. Not the empty kind. But the kind that only came with warmth from the sunlight slipping through the curtains. From skin-on-skin still buzzing against hers. From the soft weight of Seungcheol’s arm, still draped around her waist like he never planned to let go.

Yuna didn’t open her eyes right away.

The ache in her chest was still there — dull, familiar. Not as sharp as last night. But heavy in a way that reminded her she was still healing. Still learning.

She shifted slightly, enough to register the fabric against her skin. Not hers. Thick cotton. Soft. Faintly smelling like clean laundry and his cologne.

His shirt.

She vaguely remembered her own tearing at the hem when she pulled it off in the dark, too numb to care, her fingers trembling, her breath ragged. He’d said nothing at the time. Only returned moments later with this oversized tee, pulling it gently over her head like it was made of glass.

Now it clung loosely around her thighs, one shoulder slipping low. And beneath it, only underwear.

But she didn’t feel exposed. Not with him.

Behind her, she felt the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. The rise and fall of his chest against her back. The occasional twitch in his arm — like he was still dreaming and reaching for her in his sleep.

It was the first time she’d ever shared a bed with someone without worrying about how her body fit next to theirs. The first time she didn’t wonder if she was taking up too much space. He held her like she belonged exactly there.

Her throat tightened.

Not from sadness. Not from fear. But from that unfamiliar thing she’d been fighting for weeks:

Being known. Being safe. Being loved.

She turned slightly, careful not to wake him, just enough to see his face. Soft in sleep. Hair messy across his forehead. Mouth parted slightly. Mine..

He looked peaceful. Like he hadn’t spent weeks wondering if she would ever come back. Like holding her now was the only answer he ever needed.

And it hit her—

Last night, she didn’t give him any promises. Didn’t whisper “I’m ready.” Didn’t say “I love you” even though her heart screamed it. But he let her stay anyway. Let her fall apart in silence. Held her through it all and never once asked her to be more than what she was.

Yuna blinked against the sting in her eyes, lifted her hand, slowly. Traced her fingers lightly over the back of his wrist where it rested on her waist. He stirred. Not startled. Just barely.

“Mmh…” Voice deep. Drowsy.

“Morning,” she whispered.

His eyes opened, slow and warm. Sleep still lingering in them. But when he focused on her, they softened more. “You stayed,” he said quietly. Like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she confessed, breath catching. “I just… I couldn’t move.”

“You didn’t have to.” His fingers tightened just a little around her waist. Not to hold her down. But to remind her she could stay.

“Do you want tea?” he asked, so simple, so gentle.

She nodded, and her voice cracked. “Yeah.” But she didn’t move. Not yet. Because leaving this bed meant stepping into the real world again.

And right now, the only thing she needed was one more minute of this. Of him. Of the heartbeat behind her and the way his shirt wrapped around her like it had always been hers.

⸻

Yuna sat at the edge of the couch, Seungcheol’s oversized shirt still wrapped around her, her legs curled underneath her, the mug nestled between both palms like it was the only thing grounding her.

And Seungcheol.. he didn’t sit too close. He sat on the other end. Body turned slightly toward her. Not crowding. Not coaxing. Just… there.

It was barely 9 a.m.

Light poured in through the half-open blinds. Dust floated in the air. It smelled like mint and quiet mornings and safety. And still—

Yuna’s chest ached.

She took a breath, eyes staring down into the tea. “I’m sorry for disappearing,” she said softly.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t say “It’s okay.” Because it wasn’t.

But he was listening. Fully.

“I thought if I changed enough, worked harder, looked the way I thought I was supposed to…” She paused. Swallowed. “Maybe I’d finally feel like someone worth standing beside you.”

Seungcheol exhaled quietly. A shift in the silence.

“I thought confidence would come after the weight came off, after the skin cleared, after I stopped flinching at my own reflection. But the truth is, I’ve done everything they said would help… and I still feel like that awkward girl in high school who wore cardigans in summer to hide her arms.” She gave a small, shaky laugh. “I still avoid the mirror in public bathrooms. I still rehearse what I’m gonna say before I order food. I still… think you’ll wake up one day, look at me, and realize it doesn’t make sense.”

She looked up finally.

And Seungcheol—

He looked like he’d been punched in the heart.

But not because he didn’t understand. Because he did. Too well.

“I don’t want you to love a version of me that’s held together by fear,” she whispered. “Because I don’t even love her.”

He set his cup down carefully. And then, slowly — as if she might bolt — he reached for her hand. His fingers were warm. Big around hers. He didn’t speak right away. Just gave her silence that felt like a hug. And then, in the softest voice:

“I was never waiting for a version of you, Yuna.”

She blinked.

“I wasn’t hoping you’d change. Or glow-up. Or become something else. I fell for you exactly the way you were—before all of this. When your hair was messy and your eyes tired and you cried watching cooking shows.”

She laughed, barely, and bit her lip.

“I loved you before you realized I was allowed to.” He looked at her like it was the most obvious truth. “And I’ve been waiting… not for you to ‘fix’ yourself—but for you to believe that you never needed fixing.”

Her throat burned again.

“You deserve to be loved, even when you’re not trying.” Tears slipped down her cheeks again. Not heavy. Just quiet.

“I don’t know how to believe that yet,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand gently. “That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

And that was it. Not a declaration. Not a demand. Just a promise.

The kind that didn’t need flowers or fireworks. Just one morning. One cup of tea. One hand held like it meant everything.

They didn’t talk about that night again.

No late-night texts unpacking it. No sudden labels. No “What are we now?” But things were different. Undeniably, quietly different.

The next time they met up with friends — it was at a rooftop bar.

Yuna came late, her chest tight the entire ride there. She almost turned around twice. But when she walked in, her eyes scanned the crowd instinctively.

And there he was.

Seungcheol, in a black button-down, sleeves rolled up, drink in hand, dry laughter spilling from his lips as someone told a joke. Handsome as ever.

He didn’t see her at first. But the moment he did—

That smile.

Like everything else disappeared.

He was across the rooftop in less than ten seconds. Not running. Just moving with purpose.

“Hey,” he said, and it wasn’t casual. It was full. Soft. Like she was the thing he’d been waiting for all night.

She smiled. A little uncertain. “Hey.”

And then—

His fingers brushed against hers. Deliberately. Gently. And before she could question it—

He laced them together.

Like it was normal.

Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Like they belonged.

Her heart stumbled. But he didn’t look at her. He just kept walking beside her, hand in hers, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They reached the others — Mingyu, Jihoon, Soonyoung, a couple more — all chatting and half-drunk already.

And when someone raised an eyebrow at their linked hands, Seungcheol didn’t flinch. Didn’t explain. Didn’t even loosen his grip.

He just gave them that calm, unreadable look — the one that shut down questions before they started.

⸻

Later that night, someone did try.

“So…” Soonyoung started, drunk, giggling like always. “You two, uh—”

“We’re not,” Yuna said quickly.

But Seungcheol—

He just took a sip of his drink. And rested his palm on the small of her back. Not possessive Not loud Just there. Like a promise.

Everyone blinked. Opened their mouth. And then Seungcheol looked at them, one by one. Just looked.

And everyone wisely shut it again. Out of respect.

⸻

Things kept shifting like that. Little things.

The way Seungcheol lingered longer when they said goodbye. How his thumb brushed the back of her hand when he passed her a cup. How he shushed their friends when they joked about Yuna’s old crushes — that look in his eye quiet and fiercely protective.

One night, they sat in his car after he drove her home. No music. Just quiet rain on the windshield.

She turned her head, heart fluttering painfully at the stillness. “You’re… different lately,” she said.

He looked at her, softly, completely.

“You showed me the truth,” he murmured. “Now I’m just showing you mine.”

She looked down at her hands. “I don’t want to hurt you—”

“You won’t,” he said, instantly.

“But what if I freeze again? What if I… run?”

“Then I’ll wait. Again.”

His voice was calm. Certain.

“And I’ll still be here when you come back.”

She looked at him then. Really looked.

At the quiet strength in his posture. At the way he wasn’t asking for anything — just giving. At the way his fingers reached toward hers once more, slow and patient, waiting for her to meet him halfway.

And this time—

She did.

⸻

The cottage was tucked between tall trees and soft mist — the kind of place you only saw on mood boards, with fairy lights strung across the wooden porch and mismatched mugs in the kitchen cabinets.

Mingyu and Wonwoo had found it.

They didn’t say it was a couples’ weekend — not officially — but everyone knew.

The shared rooms. The board games. The wine. The glances.

Yuna shared a room with one of the girls, Jihoon's girlfriend, and Seungcheol was just across the hall.

The first night, everyone was loud.

Wonwoo was curled up against Mingyu’s side on the couch, long legs tangled, teasing him about his terrible drawing in Pictionary. Soonyoung was already tipsy, laughing over nothing with their friend Jiae. Yuna sat on the rug, her back pressed against the couch, knees drawn up, tea in her hands.

Seungcheol?

He was next to her. Not close enough to draw attention — but close enough that when her shoulder brushed his, she didn’t flinch anymore. And when she laughed at something stupid, he looked over, eyes warm.

Like he couldn’t help it. It was easy. Soft. Safe.

Until the next day.

⸻

They all went into town for lunch — a rustic little café with uneven tables and too-loud indie music. Yuna excused herself to the restroom, promising to grab more napkins on the way back. She didn’t expect to hear her name.

“Yuna?”

She turned. Froze. It had been years. But her stomach still dropped.

Dohoon.

Tall, smug, all sharp jaw and sharp tongue. A name she’d stopped saying out loud. Not quite an ex. Not quite a memory she could erase. A bad situationship.

Just someone who once made her feel like she should be grateful he noticed her at all.

“Wow,” he said, giving her that same once-over she remembered. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You look… different.”

Her throat went dry. “Good different?” she managed, light and shaky.

He shrugged: “Thinner, maybe. But still tall for a girl, huh?” That old shame bubbled up, thick and bitter. “And you always had a bit of a stomach, right?” He laughed. “Guess it never really goes away.”

She blinked.

Stared at him.

Waited for the floor to open up.

He kept going, oblivious.

“Not saying you don’t look nice. I mean, you’ve got that… average girl charm. That approachable thing. Like, ‘not intimidating’ you know?”

Her chest tightened. Vision blurred.

And then—

A voice.

Low. Firm. Deadly calm.

“Walk away.”

Dohoon turned.

Seungcheol stood behind him, towering over him, expression unreadable. His voice wasn’t raised. But it was ice-cold steel. “I said walk away.”

Dohoon scoffed. “Whoa. Chill. Just catching up.”

And the worst part of this situation? Seungcheol knew about him when they were still just friends with him.. when they didn't have anything going on..

“Walk. Away.”

This time, Seungcheol stepped closer. And Dohoon, smug grin faltering, held his hands up and backed off. “I was just—”

“I don’t care.”

Seungcheol didn’t even look at him again. His eyes were only on her.

When Dohoon disappeared around the corner, Yuna realized she was shaking.

Seungcheol stepped forward, slow. Not touching. Just there. “You okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

She nodded. Too fast. Too practiced. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I—” Her voice broke. Tears burned hot.

“I thought I got over it. All of it. What he used to say. What he made me feel. But I just stood there. I didn’t say a word.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I wanted to. I wanted to be strong. To prove I’m not that girl anymore. And instead, I—” She gasped.

He pulled her into his arms. Right there. In the alley behind the café. Held her like a shield.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he murmured into her hair.

“Not to him. Not to me. Not even to yourself.”

She sobbed into his chest. “Why did it hurt so much?” she whispered.

“Because it was cruel,” he said. “Because it was a lie. And because somewhere deep down, part of you still believes it.”

He cupped the back of her head, gentle and whispered, barely audible, but sincerely. “But I don’t.”

She looked up at him.

And for the first time—

She saw it. The quiet rage in his eyes Not anger at her. But for her. For the years she spent shrinking. For every word that stole her softness.

“I see you,” he said. “All of you. And I don’t care what they said. Or what they’ll say. You are more than enough. And I will spend every day proving that to you, if you let me.”

Yuna’s breath hitched.

She didn’t say “I believe you.” Not yet.

But she didn’t step back either.

And when he laced their fingers together again — tighter this time, certain — she held on like maybe, just maybe, she was ready to be held.

The group came back from the café louder than usual.

Soonyoung was telling an exaggerated story about a deer he definitely didn’t almost crash into. Jiae was giggling, arms around his, face flushed from laughter. Mingyu and Wonwoo brought up the rear — Mingyu carrying two tote bags of snacks they “definitely didn’t need,” and Wonwoo resting a lazy hand on his lower back, guiding him gently up the porch steps like no one would notice.

But Yuna was quiet.

So was Seungcheol.

Not obviously. They laughed when they were supposed to. Responded when spoken to. But something in the way they moved was different. Careful. Like they were still carrying the weight of the alley behind the café. Like they were protecting something fragile between them.

⸻

Inside, the group split.

The guys crowded into the kitchen to mess with drinks. The girls took over the living room with throw blankets, skincare bags, and gossip half-spilled already.

But the second Yuna sat down, Mira leaned in.

“Okay,” she whispered, eyes narrowing. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You disappeared from the table for twenty minutes at the café. Seungcheol came back looking like he was about to punch, God.”

Yuna exhaled. “It’s nothing.”

“Which means it’s something,” Mira said gently. “And I’m not prying, I swear. Just… you’re different. Like you’re not even here.”

Yuna blinked. Swallowed.

“I saw someone I used to know,” she started quietly. “Someone who knew exactly what to say to ruin my day.”

Mira didn’t ask who. Didn’t need to.

She just reached out, laced their fingers for a second, and squeezed. “But he didn’t ruin you,” she said. “He can’t.”

Yuna smiled — broken but real. “I didn’t say anything. Just froze. I always thought I’d be stronger by now.”

“You were strong,” another voice cut in — Minji, from her spot on the floor. “You showed up. You didn’t run. And you let Seungcheol be there for you.”

Yuna looked down.

“And speaking of…” Mira smirked. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since we walked in.”

⸻

Meanwhile in the kitchen:

“Did something happen at the café?” Jihoon asked quietly, eyes flicking toward Seungcheol, who was pouring drinks without really paying attention. Seungcheol didn’t answer right away. Mingyu glanced over, knowing. Always knowing.

“Someone hurt her,” he said, tone even. The room shifted. “I didn’t ask for details,” Seungcheol added. “She doesn’t need to retell it for me to know it cut deep.”

“And you?” Wonwoo asked softly.

Seungcheol’s hands paused. “I’m okay,” he said. “But I want to walk with her tonight. Just us. I think she needs… quiet.”

Mingyu raised a brow. “You gonna tell her how you feel?”

Seungcheol gave a soft huff of laughter.

“She already knows.”

⸻

Ten minutes later, Yuna came into the kitchen, her cup empty.

Seungcheol looked up — and just smiled at her. Not the bright kind. The quiet, warm, I’d burn the world down for you kind.

And Mira? Mira was behind her, pretending not to shove her gently forward with her hand.

“We’re out of tea,” Yuna said softly.

“I’ll walk you,” Seungcheol said before anyone else could move.

“Outside?” she blinked.

He grabbed a hoodie from the coat rack. Held it out.

“It’s cold. You’ll need this.”

She took it. Hesitated.

Then nodded. “Okay.”

⸻

The porch creaked beneath them as they stepped into the stillness of night.

No words yet.

Just the stars above and the faint sound of someone inside trying to stifle laughter.

Seungcheol shoved his hands into his pockets. Yuna adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie, oversized on her frame.

They started walking toward the forest line — slow, unhurried steps. Like time could pause for them if they asked gently enough.

“I keep hearing your name,” she said suddenly.

He looked over. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“From my friends. From yours. From inside my head.”

He waited.

“And it always sounds safe.”

He reached out. Took her hand.

“I want you to know,” she added, voice barely above a breath. “I’m still scared. I still don’t think I’m who you think I am.”

Seungcheol squeezed her fingers.

“Then let me prove you wrong,” he said. “As many times as it takes.”

The forest was hushed.

Just the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet, wind stirring the leaves above, and the low hum of night crickets somewhere in the dark.

They walked in silence, hand in hand. She hadn’t let go since the porch. Neither had he. At some point, Yuna let her head fall slightly, resting just beneath his shoulder. Not fully leaning in. Just enough to feel him there.

Like an anchor.

Like if the world cracked beneath her feet again, he’d hold.

And then—

Her voice, quiet. Crooked. “Can I ask you something?”

Seungcheol looked down at her, eyes already soft. “Anything.”

She kept her gaze forward. Like if she looked at him, it would shatter her nerve.

“If I fall apart again…” Her throat tightened. “If I get too quiet. Or too sad. If I disappear inside my head for a while, or… or say things I don’t mean, things that sound like I’m pushing you away—”

She broke. Voice cracking on the next words.

“Will you still be here?”

And there it was. Not a question. Not even a fear. A wound she held in her hands, offering it to him with shaking fingers. She braced for silence. For hesitation.

But Seungcheol—

He stopped walking. Gently pulled her to a stop too. Turned until they stood face to face beneath the trees. The moon lit his features in silver-blue shadows. And his expression—

Wasn’t soft. It was solid. Like granite carved by years of waiting.

He lifted his hand. Cradled her cheek. And said, without even blinking:

“Yes.” No pause. No maybe. Just: “Yes, I will.”

Yuna trembled.

“I’ll stay when you get quiet. When you vanish behind your smile. When you think you’re too much or not enough. I’ll stay when your thoughts get cruel, and I’ll remind you they’re lying. I’ll stay when you fall apart.”

She closed her eyes, lips quivering.

“And if you need space, I’ll give it. But if you reach for me — even once — I’ll always come back.”

Her breath hitched. Tears spilled, hot and sudden, down her cheeks.

Because no one had ever promised her that before. No one had looked her darkness in the face and said, “I’ll stay anyway.”

And Seungcheol? He wasn’t shaken. He wasn’t pulling back. He stepped closer. Rested his forehead against hers.

And whispered:

“You don’t scare me, Yuna. Not even a little.”

She broke then.

Right there. In the forest.

Wrapped in his hoodie and sobbing against his chest, her fists twisted in the front of his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to this earth.

And he didn’t let go. Not once.

He just held her tighter.

Let her fall apart.

Let her be human.

Let her be loved.

From author: Heeey, if anyone likes it, lmk, and if anyone wants something, anything, just comment it!!!

[murtagh-thorn]

Modern!Murtagh headcanons part 1

Definitely has a leather jacket. It was a gift from Tornac and it’s to the point where it’s a bit old and worn now, but somehow that makes it look cooler and he refuses to get rid of it. If it were to ever get too damaged to wear, he would immediately either repair it with magic or take it to the nearest person who could fix it (depending on where his skill level is).

I think we can all agree he listens to rock and metal (but if anyone is a Blue Stahli fan, I think he would also love him because the lyrics are so intelligently and well-written, especially given how he’s also a bit of a poet).

On that note, if his girlfriend was in any sort of band (especially rock/metal/alt music, but he’s supportive of all genres because he sees the discipline and skill required for it) he would 100% be her biggest fan. Especially if it had to do with her writing her own lyrics, because then they could bond over their love of poetry/lyrics and he would be so impressed by anything she wrote. Before they get together, that’s one of the things that attracts him to her the most and makes him think she’s so f-ing cool.

Extra determined to be a gentleman in the modern era, where there’s less societal pressure to be one like there is in the canon era. He despises “nice guys,” will proudly say he’s a feminist, and is very determined to keep chivalry alive.

I could see Modern!Murtagh being really into photography. He’s got so many pictures saved to his phone or camera of landscapes, Thorn, his friends/family, his partner, etc. that look like they were professionally done. But whenever someone tells him how professional they look, he always downplays it.

His aesthetic is kind of what I like to call “clean punk” – he’s rocking the leather jacket and combat boots, but always has a really nice shirt and jeans on underneath. This man looks phenomenal in a crisp, white button-down with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. Everything looks simple and comfortable, but fits him immaculately well, looks clean and like it was just ironed, and he always looks really put together. Especially with his hair, you can tell he makes a point to put effort into his appearance everyday. Although he does love a good hoodie and pair of sweats when he’s chilling at home alone or with his partner, when he takes his lady out, he’s making sure he looks just as nice and put together as she does.

And on that topic: hoodies. Once he discovers them, he’s obsessed. Although he goes for a more upscale style when he’s out and about, he’s changing back into the hoodie the second he gets back in his safe space alone and loves when his partner steals them.

Always carries at least a pocketknife with him in case he or someone else needs it—even if it’s just to open a package or cut a tag off something, he likes to be prepared at all times.

He’s mastered every way to order food without talking to an actual person, although of course he’s super polite to any service workers he does encounter and tips really well. If he can’t afford to tip, he decides he can’t afford to eat out.

His apartment/house aesthetic is cozy, but kind of messy with lots of warm, darker tones. Like lots of dark colored rooms/accent walls, warm toned furniture, some plants (fake, of course; gardening is Eragon’s area of expertise and he likes how they look, but not when they’re dead and attracting bugs), some cool art on the walls, little knick knacks he’s collected over the years on shelves, etc. It’s the kind of home that would be super cozy and perfect to sit in and just watch a thunderstorm through the window.

I could see him getting into some sort of stringed instrument, kind of hyper-fixating on learning about it for a while, but then when he’s halfway decent at it just sort of loses interest in it. Then he realizes he sort of liked the idea of being a musician more than actually being a musician. Sometimes he picks it back up to strum it when he’s bored, but doesn’t really ever sit back down and hone in on it anymore.

Eventually, after all the chaos of plot events has died down, Murtagh starts getting invited to the Garrowsons’ family dinners. Katrina and Roran cook delicious and healthy homemade meals once a week and invite Eragon as well as Murtagh, once they get to know him. Murtagh is a little hesitant at first, but eventually really comes to cherish them—and might’ve toppled Eragon’s Favorite Uncle status.

Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added): @the-ethereal-god @shelbyteller

[rista-senpai]

𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖕𝖔𝖙: 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖑’𝖘 𝖂𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖗

𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊 𝖝 𝖋!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: He fought demons, Gods, and won in battles where all odds were against him. Now? He’s gotta fight his brother (once again) in a no-swords war. What replaced the weapons? Actions. Was it worth it? To get your smile only for himself, hell yeah! He could have had it by now if he hadn’t given up on this, on you, to begin with. Now, it was time to reclaim what was his. The risk? To fuck up his relation with both you and his brother. This is the Devil’s gamble, and he is going all in.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘&𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Modern AU, friends to lovers (with a twist... and a twin), dark romance, irresistible temptation, emotional angst / jealousy-fueled spiral, lifelong crush (Dante x reader), established relationship (Vergil x reader), tragic devotion, the Devil doesn’t share, NEVER make Dante jealous, love triangle (but one side is way more emotionally damaged), slow burn turned Inferno, swordless war between brothers

𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖘: @RotZeichen on X

𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 & 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙

CHAPTER SIX

Your body trembled from the emotional weight of the day, but Dante’s presence was like gravity — pulling you in, anchoring you in the storm. You sat beside him on the edge of the bed, the soft fabric of your robe still clinging to your damp skin, cheeks flushed, lips bitten raw from holding everything in.

You didn’t say much. Neither did he. But that was Dante. He didn’t need to fill the silence to be heard.

At some point, without thinking, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. Lied.

His warmth was steady. His voice — calmer than you deserved.

“You don’t have to talk,” he murmured. “Just… don’t carry it alone.”

It was the gentlest thing anyone had said to you all day.

Your breathing slowed, comforted by the way he didn’t pressure you. And before you could stop yourself, your eyes fluttered shut.

And you slept.

Dante didn’t move. Not right away.

He just sat there with you leaning against him, exhaling slowly — watching over you like it was all he could offer.

But once your breathing evened out and your grip on his sleeve loosened, he slid you gently down into the bed, tucking the blanket around you with more care than he’d show anyone else.

He stood. Rolled his shoulders. Exhaled like the world was sitting heavy on his chest.

And then, reluctantly, pulled out his phone.

He stared at the name on the screen for a second too long.

Then pressed call.

It rang.

And rang.

Until —

“…What?”

Vergil. Cold. Distant.

Dante scoffed quietly. “Really? That’s all you got?”

“Why are you calling me?”

“She cried herself to sleep,” Dante snapped. “And you just left. No explanation, no goodbye — just walked out and slammed the door behind you like she didn’t matter.”

A pause.

“…Is she okay?”

“She will be,” Dante growled. “Because I stayed.”

Another beat of silence.

“Don’t twist this,” Vergil said.

“She begged you to believe her,” Dante continued, voice rising. “And instead of trusting her, you punished her for my presence. You wanna hate someone? Hate me. Not her.”

Vergil was quiet again.

Dante pressed a hand to his forehead. “You think I don’t know what it looks like? You think I’m not painfully aware every time she turns to me instead of you?” His voice cracked. “But she only ever wanted your attention. Your trust.”

More silence.

“She loves you, man,” Dante said bitterly. “I wish to hell she didn’t, but she does. So either get your head out of your ass and come back to her — or let her go so she can stop bleeding over someone too scared to hold her properly.”

Vergil didn’t answer.

So Dante hung up.

He stood there in the dim light, phone clutched tight in his hand, breathing hard.

Then, softly, his voice broke through the quiet room — not meant for anyone to hear.

“She should’ve picked someone who’d never make her cry like that…”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

But you heard it.

Every single word.

And when you curled up tighter under the blanket, you weren’t sure if your heart was aching for Vergil’s absence… or Dante’s pain.

Taglist: @mitsurisupporter @milabyxz @shadyyouthcloud @cjafjatkstke @fianur @sky-casino @lemonninq @raspberrizzz @lavishlyjayda @blackqueen2k17 @livlikelove @uobasu @sylviatherosairy @jammycheese @reth66@storacy @pikusururu @bubera974 @stormnightingale @emmathecouchpotato4583 @alebrasil0101 @amayakurusu13 @misakicchi @snowy-violet @daiyanomoichi @maria-trisha @cruziival72 @xtremlyxtra @xxeclipze @vesselofwinter @vandrirrand0m @ssolarsystm @her-majesty-horiko @karnellius @asamitaka1 @z0mb1tch33

[waves-after-dark]

aang did not deny katara's trauma because of his spirituality

he is not denying her pain and suffering, he is offering insight from his own experiences with pain and suffering and saying, forgiveness is the best course of action

he's not pushing it on her, he's standing his ground in his beliefs

so easily people misconstrue a person standing firm in their moral beliefs with dismissing someone's experiences and that's never the case

its, someone is saying, look, i've been there and this is what works, this is why i think this is right, because it works for me

aang did not force it on katara but he doesn't have to sacrifice his spiritual beliefs or be complicit in someone else's actions

he was respectful and firm and expressed his experience and opinion on the matter and that was that- he didn't stop katara from going, aang understood katara had to go on that journey herself

so. please. enough with the nonsense that aang denied katara's trauma

there really is something wrong with the culture when a person demonstrates their conviction and it is taken as denying others their experiences

that's like saying someone who is a recovering addict is giving advice to an addict and because the recovering addict's advice is improbable to comprehend or implement and one someone just doesn't agree with, doesn't mean the recovering addict is denying the pain and temptation the addict is going through. it simply means, they're saying, im not going to give you advice that would put you down that road again and im not going to be an accomplice in any situation where you have access to said drug or situation

go to the bar or drug den yourself, im not going with you and putting myself in that situation where i could also subject myself to the temptation - that is not the recovering addict denying the addict their trauma and pain, it's them saying - ive healed beyond that point and im not going into the trench again, im not putting myself in that situation

that's wisdom, that's not denying trauma

and no, a recovering addict or as my comparison is being used for aang in this situation - either do not need to go into the situation with the addict to prove anything

by the recovering addict standing their ground and saying im not walking that path because i have walked it and from my experience and my conviction in my beliefs, i do not agree with that path but please, you must walk it yourself to understand this, i cannot understand this for you

i loathe the anti-aang take on the southern raiders episode because there is this really toxic justification of relationships and how ones partner or potential partner or even a friend is supposed to bend and sacrifice their beliefs and convictions to prove their love/friendship and that's bullshit

any healthy, honorable friendship does not require ones beliefs and convictions to be temporarily tossed aside for someone else's trauma and pain- that's the definition of a toxic relationship is losing ones sense of self and what they stand for, what makes them who they are at their core

its kinda gross how so many katara fans feel this sense of entitlement on behalf of her character that everyone else in the atla universe or at least her closest friends are supposed to sacrifice and bend for her and her pain and trauma and it is literally casting her in a narcissistic image and its more damaging to character than helpful

i will never support aang not standing in his conviction in that moment

just say you don't like aang as a character but claiming he forced anything on character in that moment is bullshit

standing in ones belief is not forcing anything on anyone

its choosing for someone's else's beliefs to not be forced on them

and when katara claimed she was never going to forgive yon rha, yeah, aang could have been disappointed about that- he's allowed to have an opinion

but he didn't say anything else about because he understands grief and anger, he gets why katara would feel that way

aang is allowed to have an opinion that is not always to katara's liking

i swear... any boy in the atla universe that is not 100% in agreement with whatever katara does, is forcing her and against her and its such a crock of shit

same katara fans will tout equality and feminism and empowerment but choke on their own load of crap when a character doesn't agree with everything she says, does or think

Let's Talk About How Book 3 Ruined Aang

If you've seen any of my prior ATLA posts, you know that I don't hate Aang. In fact, I quite liked him in Books 1 and 2. He was flawed, as all characters should be, but the show didn't shy away from those flaws or justify them. He was called out for burning Katara and rushing his firebending, Sokka and Katara were rightfully upset when he hid Hakoda's letter, he willingly owns up to the fact that his actions helped drive Toph away, and his entire arc after losing Appa and finding hope again in The Serpent's Path was beautifully done.

(Hell, even in The Great Divide Katara says what Aang did was wrong and he agrees. It's played for comedy, but the show still makes the effort to point out that what he did wasn't the right thing to do. You're just meant to understand that he was fed up and acted off of that)

Those flaws and mistakes were addressed and improved upon and helped Aang to grow as a character.

But for some reason, that aspect of Aang's character was completely flipped in Book 3.

The best examples of this are in both TDBS and EIP. Both the show and the fandom are too quick to brush off that Aang kissed Katara twice without her consent, one of which after she explicitly said she was confused about her feelings.

(And yes, she is angry in response and Aang calls himself an idiot. But after this, it isn't really addressed. They go on like nothing happened for the rest of the episode. Aang's lamentation comes from screwing things up with her romantically, not that he violated boundaries)

The show never really addressed why what he did was wrong. Not only because he wasn't given consent, but also because both times he isn't thinking about what Katara wants. In both instances, Aang is only thinking about himself and his feelings. This is something that persists through a lot of the third book. And by Sozin's Comet it ultimately ruins any character development he had built up in the second book.

One thing I feel was completely disregarded was the concept of having to let go of Katara in order to master the Avatar State.

For me, the implication wasn't that he had to give up love or happiness necessarily. He was emotionally attached to and reliant on Katara, to the point where she was needed to stop him from hurting everyone around him and himself. This is obviously detrimental to his functionality as the Avatar. And the point of him "letting her go" wasn't that he had to stop caring about her, it was that his emotional dependency on her was stopping him from being the Avatar he needed to be and that was what needed to be fixed. I don't even think it's about the Avatar State itself, it's about being able to keep your emotions and duty as the Avatar separate.

(If you look at Roku, he loved and had a wife. It wasn't his love for her that messed everything up, it was his attachment to Sozin. He wasn't able to let Sozin go and not only did he lose his life for it, the world suffered for it. It's the unhealthy attachments that seem to be detrimental, not love itself)

And Aang realizes that in the catacombs, which is how he's able to easily enter the Avatar State and seemingly control it. He let Katara go.

So then why does it seem like his attachment to Katara is not only stronger, but worse in mannerism? He liked Katara in Books 1 and 2- obviously- but he was never overly jealous of Jet or Haru. He only makes one harmless comment in Book 2 when Sokka suggests Katara kiss Jet.

But suddenly he's insanely jealous of Zuko (to the point of getting frustrated with Katara over it), off the basis of the actions of actors in a clearly misrepresentative play. Katara showed a lot more interest in Jet and Aang was completely fine with it.

(Speaking of EIP, Aang's reaction to being played by a woman was interesting. He wore a flower crown in The Cave of Two Lovers. He wove Katara a flower necklace. He wore Kyoshi's clothes and makeup and made a funny girl voice. He willingly responded to Twinkle Toes and had no issue being called that. And for some reason he's genuinely upset about being played by a woman? Aang in Books 1 and 2 would have laughed and enjoyed the show like Toph did. His aversion to feminity felt vastly out of character)

I guess my point is, why did that change? Why was Aang letting go of Katara suddenly irrelevant to the Avatar State? It felt like him letting go was supposed to be a major part of his development. Why did that stop?

Myself and many others have talked about The Southern Raiders. The jist of my thought process about it is his assumption that he knew what was best for Katara. And the episode doesn't really call out why he was wrong. Maybe sparing Yon Rha was better for Katara, maybe it wasn't (the only one who's allowed to make that choice is her). Pushing forgiveness? That was wrong. But the episode has Zuko say that Aang was right when the course of action Katara took wasn't what Aang suggested.

Katara's lesson here was that killing him wouldn't bring back her mother or mend the pain she was going through and that Yon Rha wasn't worth the effort. That's what she realizes. Not that she needed to embrace forgiveness. How could she ever forgive that? The episode saying Aang was right wasn't true. Yes she forgives Zuko, but that wasn't what Aang was talking about. He was specifically talking about Yon Rha.

And that was wrong. Aang can choose the path of forgiveness, that's fine. That's his choice. But dismissing Katara's trauma in favor of his morals and upbringing wasn't okay.

I know it sounds like this is just bashing Kataang. But it's not simply because I don't like Kataang, in my opinion it brings down Aang's character too, not just Katara's. But let's steer away from Kataang and Katara for a minute.

The one thing that solidifies Aang's character being ruined in Book 3 for me is the fact that he- at the end of the story- does the same thing he did in the beginning.

He runs away when things get hard.

Aang couldn't make the choice between his duty and his morals. So he ran. Maybe it wasn't intentional, but subconsciously he wanted an out. And this is really disappointing when one of the things he was firm about in Book 2 was not running anymore. His character went backwards here and that's not even getting into the real issue in Sozin's Comet.

There's been contention about the Lion Turtle intervention. For many- including myself- it's very deus ex machina to save Aang from having to make a hard decision. And that in turn doesn't reflect kindly on his character.

Everyone- Sokka, Zuko, Roku, Kyoshi, Kuruk, and Yangchen (who was another Airbender and was raised with the same beliefs he was and would understand which was the whole point of him talking to her)- told him he had to kill Ozai. They all told him it was the only way. And he refused to listen to any of them, rotating through his past lives until he was given the answer he wanted.

And before anyone says that I'm bashing Aang for following his culture, I'm not. Ending the war peacefully, in my opinion, wasn't the problem. In a way, I think it allowed the world to heal properly. However, that doesn't make up for the fact that Aang refused to make a choice and face the consequences of that choice. Instead, he's given an out at the very last second.

Even if he couldn't kill Ozai and someone else had to deliver the final blow, that would have been better than the Lion Turtle showing up and giving him a power no one's ever had before. It would have been a good compromise, he doesn't have to have blood directly on his hands but what needs to be done needs to still get done. It would also show that being the Avatar isn't a burden he has to bear alone. That when things get hard, he can't run away but he can rely on the people closest to him to help him through hard decisions.

All these issues aren't necessarily a problem with Aang. Aang prior to Book 3 didn't have most of these problems. This is a problem with the way he was handled

[molathesunfish]

my limbus bugs mainly based on characters that may or may not show up later... and one mystery feature for your guessing fun:]

[yarrowleef-babbles]

been hearing rumors that the "i'm always straight" lines may have been cut from the GN and IF that is true, I expect everyone will be super mad about that--and ngl i'd mourn the loss of it too because it has become iconic to me

But. i can't believe i'm playing devils advocate for this, BUT it is not entirely unreasonable for an adaptation of this work to decide it does not want to reference Ronan's sexuality yet......coming to terms with his sexuality is (one) part of his arc in the 2nd book. Adam Parrish being ~the 2nd secret he doesn't want to admit to himself~ , Ronan's catholic guilt homoerotic nightmares and the like, all characterize his sexuality as something he might vaguely be aware of but seriously struggles to openly admit. I don't think he even uses the word gay or any other word to describe himself in the whole series? (unless I'm forgetting something?)

So, idk, it's not unreasonable to want the (hypothetical) audience to also not be aware of it until Ronan is forced to directly grapple with his identity next book.

i think this is one of those things that has become very dear to the fandom over time, but if i look at it objectively without my feelings, i just.....i do understand why someone could conceivably decide that this off-handed bitchy "he's gay btw" joke is not of dire importance for the sanctity of the story 😭 in the 'pros don't outweigh the cons' sort of way....