#i still don't even know if he can actually say this or if it's just a dead/untriggerable dialogue but. my god. actually hearing it finally

[suiana]

yandere! childhood friend who still reminisces about your childhood together. yeah, the two of you may be grown now but he's been your day 1 and he just can't help but think about how you used to cling to him and adore him so much! he wishes you'd still do that but it is what it is. no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

yandere! childhood friend who did everything with you. yeah, that also includes practicing kisses. he's your first kiss, and he's never gonna let you forget that. you said you wanted to get better and who is he to refuse? he can't pass up such a prime opportunity! and it's not like he wants anyone else to take it. god no. that would be a tragedy.

"yeah, remember our kissing practices? hah, we were such kids back then!" he watches as you snicker, feeling a warm flush creep up his spine. god, of course he remembers. young and immature as you both were, you both learned together. that's all that really matters to him. "thanks to you, i can now makeout with my partners with ease. you're the best man." and has he told you how muchit infuriates him that you're using your experience to get with others? to please them with the mouth that once touched his? nah, he really can't stand for it. but he isn't allowed to say anything. he's just a childhood friend after all. not for long though.

yandere! childhood friend who wishes he would've accepted your offer to learn how to fuck as well. but no, he just had to be way too delusional back then and tell you to wait for the right one. he must've thought that you'd feel the same and confess then he'd court you slowly before getting to that stage... that never happened unfortunately. not yet at least. he'll make it happen.

yandere! childhood friend who's still a hopeless romantic at heart. a delusional one but a romantic nonetheless. he brings you out on "platonic dates" or whatever the fuck you like to call it, comfort you after your shitty excuse of a partner dumps you, and treats you like the deity that you are. you only deserve the best and he'll be there to provide. none of these losers can't treat you well. he can. he really hopes it'll help you see him as a potential boyfriend!

"i just," you blow your nose, tears streaming down your cheeks as your childhood friend rubs at your back tenderly. "don't know why he'd want to dumo me! we've been going strong for a year already! it's so out of the blue!" yeah, out of the blue huh... not really out of the blue for someone who's been actively theeatening that poor excuse of a man. that menas him, obviously. why he's been threatening him, you ask? because he's not treating you the way you should be treated, duh! sure you look happy but are you really? probably not, he's sure of it. "hey hey, don't worry... I'm here now, aren't i?" he always is, and he always will. you just need to understand that fact and you'll start seeing him in a different light too. don't worry, he has lots of patience. just... don't go sleeping with other people again.

yandere! childhood friend who may or may not be totally super duper mega in love with you. yeah, definitely not in love with you. that would be weird, right? come on, he's your childhood friend! sure you two might've kissed when you were kids and promised to marry one another but those were kiddy promises! that's all they are! he... totally doesn't believe you actually wanna marry him and be his forever and ever.

"so have you started thinking about your future?" he pauses at your question, rubbing at his empty ring finger. future, huh? funny how you ask that when you two are destined to be together at the end of it all. i mean, the two of your promised it as kids, didn't you? sure you're exploring now but at the end if the day, it's him that you come back to, don't you? even if just as a friend. but that's the present, not the future. "nah, not really. just wanna focus on the current moment, y'know?" bullshit, and he knows it. but he doesn't wanna scare you away. not yet at least. you're still out lookign for others which means you haven't come round to the idea of you two together. not to worry, he'll give you a little more time to see how good he is. how good things could be between you two if you just gave him the chance. "i mean, you're here with me." he chuckles, taking your hand in his before placing it on his cheek. you're warm. he likes your warmth, it's so soothing. "that's more than enough for me." half lidded eyes gaze at you, full of emotion and hidden longing before he hums softly. the teo fo you sit in the park in silence, enjoying each other's presence. in the moonlight, everything seems to slow and engulf the two of you in a quiet embrace. he only wishes you would just love him back already. "yeah, I'm glad to be by your side too, best friend." ...he really hates those words. don't worry, good things come to those who wait. and you will be his in due time. you've already had his heart, now all he needs is yours.

[gloomwitchwrites]

How about some silliness.....reader/you is superrr drunk from a night out with friends or high from anesthesia and the guys are trying to take care of them and we are all like "get your hands off me or my husband will kick you ass!" Or "omg you're so hot are you single??"...and they are just dying laughing like "I am your husband!"

I just watched one too many tik toks of this 😂🤣

Oh, I love this. I don't think I've actually seen these videos before (at least on TT) but I do know what you're talking about. Maybe I've seen it more in other media? Like movies and television? Anyway, I understand what you're asking for, so I hope you enjoy what I've cooked up!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, established relationship, fluff, mild alcohol use, shenanigans due to drunkenness & anesthesia

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John stands beside you on the passenger side of the car. The car door is open, and all you need to do is slide inside. Instead, you’re arguing with him, insisting that you can get in yourself, and that you don’t need help.

“You just had surgery,” chides John.

“Minor surgery,” you correct.

“It’s still surgery.” John sighs, and then places his hand on your back. “Let me help you.”

“Hands off, sir. You’re not my husband.”

John does not move his hand. “I don’t remember us getting a divorce, love.”

You wave him off and John snorts. “He’ll kick your ass,” you insist. “Punch you right in the nose.”

John’s stern demeanor cracks, dissolving into a wide smile and a soft chuckle. He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m your bloody husband. You’re stuck with me. Forever.”

“I’m serious,” you say. Turning, you attempt to jab him in the chest with your finger. Everything tilts, and you only hit air.

John sighs, exasperated. “Get in the car, love.”

“No,” you groan, pushing at his chest. You surrender to him, allowing John to help you into the front passenger seat.

“I hope you remember this after the drugs wear off.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

You’ve been out with your friends all evening, and you have no idea what times it is. It’s dark, and you didn’t leave until the bar closed, forcing you to make an exit. Someone called for a car, and you all piled in, dropping each of off one by one.

As you enter the dark bedroom, you kick off your shoes, slightly stumbling to turn on the bedside light. You turn it on, and immediately wince. Vision swimming, you rub at your eyes, and then notice the massive lump in your bed.

“Turn off the bloody light, will you?” mumbles Johnny.

A devious plan forms in your head.

You climb onto the bed, crawling toward him. Noticing, Johnny turns toward you, eyes dreary with sleep.

“What?” he asks just before you flop your entire body onto him.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he deadpans.

You wiggle over him, pressing the tip of your nose against his. “You seeing anyone, handsome?”

Johnny arches an eyebrow. “Did you hit your head or something? I am your husband.”

“Lucky me.”

Johnny blows raspberries. With one good shove, he flips you onto your back on your side of the bed.

“Go to bed. You’re drunk.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Your liquor-addled brain tells you to do it.

Across the bar is danger, the kind you want to play with—to sink your teeth into. Why resist temptation when it’s clear that the masked man across the bar can’t seem to take his eyes off you? Every time you glance in his direction, his gaze is focused and intense, daring you to approach him.

Which is exactly what you do.

He follows your every step, even if there is a slight sway in the way you walk. As you approach, he leans back in his chair, legs widening as if in welcome. It’s easy to reach out, to place your hand on his shoulder, to straddle his thighs, and stare into his eyes.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” you slur. “Plan on going home with anyone?”

“I am,” the masked man replies.

“And who might that be?”

“My wife.”

You turn in his lap, looking around at all the other patrons in the bar. “Don’t see her.”

“Course you don’t,” he chuckles. “Because she’s sitting in my lap.”

You blink. “Is she?”

“You’re my wife,” he whispers.

“I am…aren’t I?”

He shakes his head. “I’m cutting you off.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

The alcohol is an enabler. You shouldn’t have had as many drinks as you did, but this is a party, and you’re not the one driving.

Why not have a bit of fun?

“Hi.”

Kyle arches an eyebrow. “Hi,” he replies, drawing out the greeting in slight confusion.

You cozy up next to him, shoulder brushing against shoulder.

“So,” you begin, head tilting toward him like you’re about to whisper all your secrets. “I’m going to be a bit bold…”

“Go on.”

“But I think you’re cute. Wanted to know if you’re seeing anyone.”

Kyle’s single raised eyebrow becomes two. There’s a long pause, so long that you notice the absence of conversation.

Kyle’s confusion cracks, becoming a wide smile, followed by his adorable, familiar laughter. “You’re taking the piss, love.”

“I’m not joking.”

He laughs harder, clutching his chest like he can’t breathe.

“I’m your husband,” he manages to say between wheezing breaths.

“I know,” you reply. “Just checking to make sure you’re still loyal.”

He waves his hand in the air before him. “You’ve had enough. Give me that.” He plucks your beverage right out of your hands.

“Excuse me,” you protest, but Kyle is already downing it.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@fern-reads @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @glassgulls @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @z-wantstowrite @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[teukiemomo]

It is true I didn't follow the US politics before the election. This is just based on what I've seen so far since the election (since like the debate where Trump said questionable things about dog and cat eating since that kinda blew up everywhere lol):

As far as I know Fox News is Trump's ass-kisser. CNN is the opposite. NBC, MSNBC are anti Trump's dumb things which are... all Trump's things. I'm not sure what their usual stance is before the election, but during the election it was kinda like Fox News vs. everyone (it still is now). And based on what I've seen so far on Fox News their correspondences sound so... insensitive and delusional I'd immediately question their professionalism and therefore no longer trust whatever excuse they make for Trump.

Late night shows hosts are very against Trump. They dissed him every time I saw them on youtube and this is like every night? Some of them do sound unserious so people may disregard them, but Jon Stewart and John Oliver are 2 people whom I think really look into the issues like Project 2025, gun issue, inflation, crime etc. and bring evidences to the table, lots of times, to expose Trump. Both are also very critical of Dems on certain issues but often pointed out how Trump is always the worse option. With that much exposure to Trump's darkness (and, like, with proofs) I honestly thought the result would go the other way. Unless there's something I missed.

Twitter - I know there's an agenda pushed there 'thanks to' Elon Musk but somehow most of the posts showing up on my 'For You' are against right-wing extremists, like I don't even follow, like or retweet any political tweets that should make the algorithm swing that way (and gosh I WISH they could've done the same for my favourite artist, I like him and somehow they only show tweets talking shit about him, like Elon DO BETTER PLZ?) Anyways, my point is, even on a platform that is so blatantly right-wing, I'm still able to see that many tweets (with actual proofs, logical arguments etc.) criticise Trump, warn about Trump and his ppl, etc. that reach huge amount of engagement on Twitter, I was kinda under the impression that whatever right-wing propaganda on Twitter wasn't really working that well.

Trump is just... idk after those 4 years of bad-mouthing everything everywhere, fumbling Covid terribly, leaving White House with a coup, getting into another election running his mouth about dog eating cat eating, 'i'mma do this to women don't matter if like it or not', 'criminals coming from prisons and insane asylums', convicted felony, convicted rapist, proposal to get rid of Dep of Education, performing oral thingy with the mic on stage (??????), etc. Evidences of him doing stupid shit, saying stupid shit are like everywhere, and most things he said can be easily proven a lie by a simple google search. People may be disappointed at the Dems and hate the establishment, but how a man like Trump can be a better choice, under any circumstance, seems... baffling. Lots of ppl seem to choose him for the economy, which actually can be debunked by looking at other countries after Covid and Russia-Ukraine; inflation was a common issue, and the stats showed it's already gone down considerably at the time of the election. To me it just seems very easy to figure out all the arguments Trump used are pretty bullshit: no pro free speech person will bash and threaten to harm people who don't talk nicely about him, no 'America-first' person will ever spread lies and lead a coup, and never trust a multi-billionnaire when he says he's all for the working class.

I'm not saying the US mainstream media is not to blame, or the Dems is not to blame. They should've done a better job, but at the same time, the US is one of the countries where it's easier to see through propaganda. Freedom to access information and opinions from a wide range of perspectives with little restriction is a privilege some other countries don't even have.

I'm not from the US, I only made this comment based on what I've seen, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one outside of America who experienced this bewilderment. But if I've missed something, I'm willing to learn.

Gotta admit the headline is a banger.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

You're the only person I know on Tumblr who I feel like I can send this ask so I hope this is ok.

I'm absolutely sick to my stomach terrified. People keep talking about not acquiescing early and to keep fighting and that's good but... I'm a trans person married to a trans person and we have a kid. We are so, so scared that we are going to lose our parental rights and have him taken away, even if he's biologically my partners. We are pretty fucking sure that the only way we could even possibly stay in the US and even possibly keep our family together is to detransition. But then we would still be queer, and I remember the 90s and how it was pretty recent that gay couples were considered unfit parents.

And this isn't us blowing things out of proportion, we have an education in politics so we've got a pretty good freaking idea about how bad things can and will get, but also we don't feel like we can afford to NOT take things extremely seriously. The worst case scenario is pretty horrific for us, so we've talked at lengthe about leaving the country. Which is it's own basket of heartbreaks because then there's a real chance we will never be able to come back. And I don't really feel like I can talk about it because a) the Internet doesn't feel safe to be trans on and b) there's been SO much chatter about how we need to stay and fight and people who can leave are privileged etc etc

I just... I'm scared and heartbroken and angry and I feel extremely hopeless. I guess I don't really have a question after all. I just needed to talk about it because it feels like not enough people are seeing this kind of true tragedy that could come from all this.

I wish there was actual help we could get. But there doesn't seem like there's anyone who can.

You're right, Anon - you're not blowing things out of proportion.

I want to say that I'm relieved in a sense that you are talking about where your lines in the sand are are and what you plan to do if they are crossed. There is hope and comfort to be found in a plan, even if it is a plan for the next generation's survival, instead of our own.

Every trans person needs to start thinking about real answers to the following questions:

What will I do if I'm fired tomorrow?

What will I do if I'm denied a loan? Housing?

What will I do if I lose my HRT?

What will I do if information about trans people is considered illegal to circulate?

What will I do if I I'm declared an unfit parent?

What will I do if my marriage is annulled?

What will I do if I'm declared unfit to own my own property or make my own legal decisions?

What will I do if I'm about to be arrested?

There are answers to all of these questions that aren't just "give up and die." But there's no one-size-fits all solution. People will have varying priorities based on how they see their role in fighting fascism and what resources they have access to.

Community is going to become incredibly important. Trans people have always existed. Sympathetic cis people have always existed. Trans people have always found ways to survive and even flourish, even though it often meant not being able to pursue their original dreams.

If you don't know where to begin with strengthening our community, the Trans Literature Preservation Project is a good place to get ideas. The virtual book burnings have already begun on .gov websites, so maybe doing a little preservation work will give you more hope that you're working to make a difference.

Because the work is important, even if the progress won't happen until after our time.

[tpwk-formula1]

Hello, can I please request Charles jealous smut?

AN: Definitely went a bit of a different route than normal but I enjoyed writing this! Started it right before I went to the hospital and was able to finish it tonight! I hope you guys enjoy. I know its a bit shorter but I'm running on melatonin and oxi so bare with me haha

TW: multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, low-key asshole Charles (very beginning)

WC: 1.2K

Y/N POV

"Charles, what's wrong?" I ask for the third time since getting back into the car after leaving the end of year Ferrari dinner.

"God damn it, Y/N! Nothing I said nothing was fucking wrong," Charles snaps at me making me gasp slightly at the out burst.

"Charles Leclerc, do not ever speak to me like that again," I shout at him when we finally get back to the apartment.

I had chosen to keep quiet the rest of the way home, hoping it would help cool the both of us down but when we walked through the door and Charles instantly beelined for our bedroom mumbling to himself I finally snap.

"Then don't ever talk to Carlos Sainz again," Charles snap back while turning around to show he had fire in his eyes.

It finally had clicked for me. Charles was jealous which isn't something that happens often but when it does he tends to turn into the green monster.

"Charles, are you fucking kidding me! Carlos is leaving Ferrari, and I was telling him about how I've enjoyed his time with Ferrari," I shout back at him making Charles roll his eyes before stomping his way into the bedroom and slamming the door. The whole dramatics

A part of me just laughs softly at his childish antics but the other part of me is still raging with anger at the way he had spoken to me.

I make my way into the kitchen grabbing myself something to drink before grabbing the bottle of tequila and taking a shot of the bitter liquor.

When I feel myself cool down just enough I march into out bedroom to find Charles already under the covers ready for bed but instead of him laying in the middle of the bed like normal he's on the very edge as far away from my side as possible.

"I hope Leo pushes you off the bed," I scoff when Charles doesn't even acknowledge me.

"Maybe if you slept in Carlos's bed like you want I would have more room to cuddle with Leo," Charles replies back in a sheepish mumble showing me that he's getting close to crumbling and apologizing.

"It's actually why I came in here. Need to pack an overnight bag," I comment with a smirk on my face but before I can even make it into the closet Charles is up from his spot on the bed and storming towards me before pushing me against the wall.

"You think this is funny?" Charles seethes making me shrug my shoulders.

"I mean ya kind of Charles, we both know damn well I have never and will never be into Carlos, so ya you being jealous and threatened by him is hilarious," I reply back making Charles's eyes narrow slightly at me before I see his should relax slightly.

"I- 'm sorry," Charles mumbles clearly letting the embarrassment sink in.

"I don't know why it upset me so much tonight. I know it's not an excuse but I am sorry for getting jealous and even more sorry for how I spoke to you," Charles admits softly while pulling my face into his hand.

"I don't even care when you get jealous, if anything I find it hot as fuck, but I do care about the way you speak to me," I tell him softly feeling my anger slowly start to ease.

"I know and it was wrong, I really am sorry," Charles says again making me smile softly and nod my head.

"You're forgiven, but I demand 3 orgasms," I say with a smile and a nod.

"Deal," Charles says with a laugh before pulling me in and placing a soft kiss on my lips and pulling me by my waist towards our bed.

When Charles drops me down on the bed he quickly climbs up to join me pulling off his shirt at the same time.

When Charles joins me on the bed he wraps my legs around his hips before he leans down and pulls me in for a kiss while grinding his hard cock down into my dripping core.

"Charles please, I need you," I whine when I can feel my pleasure soaking through my flimsy panties.

Charles finally pulls back and quickly pulls my panties off before wasting no time attaching his mouth to my sensitive clit. He knew it wouldn't take long to throw me over the edge but when I feel him slipping his fingers into my soaked pussy I can't help the loud cry that falls from my lips.

"Fuck! Charlie," I cry when I feel his fingers grazing my G-spot while his lips are still sucking on my clit.

"Cum for me," Charles mumbles into my pussy making me cry out and cum all over his finger.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I moan in a chant as Charles continues to fuck me through my first orgasm.

"Too much," I cry when I realize Charles isn't letting me come down from my high but rather throwing me right into another orgasm.

"You want three no?" Charles asks with a smirk on his face before speeding his fingers up even more and attaching his mouth back to my overly sensitive clit.

"Charles," I cry out when I feel his start speeding all his actions up clearly with the intentions to bring me to another orgasm.

"Charlie," I cry out when I feel myself fall over the edge again not expecting the orgasm to hit me so fast.

"Fuck, good girl," Charles groans while fingering me harder and letting me squirt all over the bed and his face.

As soon as I started to come down from my high Charles is quickly pulling his boxer off before climbing back into bed and quickly rubbing the tip of his hard leaking cock through my soaked folds before finding my dripping hole and quickly pushing his whole cock deep into my pussy making me whimper the the stretch of his cock.

"Fuck!" Charles and I both groan put at the exact same time while he starts slowly thrusting his hips in and out of my soaked pussy.

It doesn't take long for me to fully adjust to Charles's size and once I do he quickly speeds up his trusts while making sure to hit all the good spots deep within my pussy.

"Fuck Charlie," I cry out when I feel myself crawling closer and closer to another orgasm.

"Fuck, feel so good," Charles cries out as his hips start to shutter a bit letting me know he was getting close to cumming as well.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," I cry out when I feel Charles bring his fingers down to my clit and teasing me until I fall over the edge pulling him with me.

"Fuck," Charles grunts out when I feel his hip shutter one final time before filling my pussy up with his hot cum.

As we are both trying to catch our breath I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him down to rest his body on top of mine.

"Fuck, that was good," I breath out making Charles laugh softly.

"I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you in the car and when we got home," Charles says while slowly slipping his softening cock out of me and laying on his back and pulling me into his chest.

"You're forgiven, I guess," I tease making Charles roll his eyes softly but still pull me in tighter to his chest.

"I love you and thinking about losing you makes me a bit insane," Charles admits making me smile softly. I definitely couldn't imagine my life without him either.

"I love you too," I reply back softly while curling into his side a bit closer.

[magerightsmagefights]

This reminds me of the sentiment I had when I first played the game, when I got to know both Davrin and Lucanis that I thought, "Hmm. These seem like two petri dishes of Fandom Romance, labelled "Blackwall Concept" and "Blackwall Appearance" respectively.

Let me explain.

I am not saying that either Davrin or Lucanis are based on Blackwall, nor that they are Blackwall cut in half. But in terms of story, and particularly the way the first few scenes treat Davrin/Rook vs. Blackwall/Inquisitor, there are a few striking similarities.

Their first scene introduces us to an (assumed) Grey Warden, who is gruff, action-oriented, and will take control of a dangerous situation without hesitation. Through external storytelling (Assan/Blackwall's recruits) we are also told that this man has a gentler, nurturing side to him, and a goal to protect those weaker than him. This man is not awestruck by the protagonist; indeed, he's comfortable issuing orders to them if the situation calls for it. He isn't recruited by any initial attraction to the protagonist; he agrees to join the team because he has a deep-rooted urge to help, to save, and to protect.

As we get more acquainted with this Grey Warden, we learn more about him: he's comfortable and competent in a command structure, no matter whether he is subordinate, superior, or comrade. He likes animals, is generally laid-back, and carves wood in his spare time. He protects the innocent, and admires those who do the same. He's self-sacrificing to a fault, perhaps to a worrying degree, but that's par for the course with Grey Wardens.

Here, of course, the two paths diverge. Davrin is a woodsman in the Dalish sense, with a love for nature and a soft, mischievious side he thought he'd left behind in childhood. Blackwall is, well, Blackwall, and who he appears to be is different than who he is. But that's what I'm talking about. Appearances. Because the first few scenes are how most people get their first impression of Blackwall, they don't know the truth about him.

All to say, everything Blackwall appears to be at the start, Davrin actually is. Everything you thought you were getting from Blackwall, Davrin actually delivers. Gruff, masculine with a soft side, Grey Warden warrior who self-sacrifices. Love for animals, love for those weaker than himself, and willing to cut his own throat to feed the flower of hope.

And then we have Lucanis. He is nothing at all like Blackwall, except that they are middle-aged men with long(ish) black hair and excellent black beards. There's not much else to say.

It's so clean-cut, it feels like a science experiment. If not for DAV's hellish development cycle, I'd wonder if it was deliberate. Here sit our two petri dishes, and between them sits a question: Is it the character concept, or the appearance?

Given the preceding posts, and the general nature of the DA fandom, I think the answer is self-evident. But this is about more than popularity. Blackwall wasn't the most popular Inquisition romance. This is about who the fandom is markedly aggressive to. On its own, the sentiment "Davrin is irrelevant" is, frankly, bizarre. Others have already mention how crucial he is to the main plot, so no need to retread old ground. This isn't even about relevance, because plenty of DA companions are irrelevant to their main games. That's why you can kill, send away, or simply refuse to recruit so many of them in the first place. Davrin is certainly more 'relevant' than Blackwall, and yet there is far more discourse around him. Davrin is far more crucial to the main plot, and yet there is still that constant string of questions about whether he's "really necessary? Do we really have to pay attention to him? So what? He's the least interesting companion, not because he's Black, it's just because he's badly written."

Is he, though?

Is he?

i'm sorry but the "da fandom is a little racist BUT veilguard holds most of the blame for making davrin so irrelevent in the game" excuse is the weakest shit i've ever heard. no actually i genuinely think this is almost exclusively a fandom issue. like i won't argue that the "davrin vs harding choice is reliant on assan" shit john epler pushed was unbelievably racist and i won't argue that there's merit to the fact that it was tone deaf at Best to have the black man's character arc so reliant on his animal companion but i'm sorry you cannot fucking convince me that the "knight in shining armor with a gentle heart and a cute animal companion that takes you out on picnic dates and carves you little wooden trinkets" character is not almost Perfectly Engineered to be the most popular romance option in any game ever and yes i fully believe the only reason he isn't is entirely hinged on the fact that he's black and no amount of whataboutism towards the devs can convince me otherwise

[woniedarlin]

Hi! I actually absolutely love your fic of jungwon being down bad for tsundere reader so I was wondering if you could write something where the roles are reversed and jungwon is the tsundere one 🤍

Chasing a Tsundere

pairing: tsundere! Jungwon x fem! reader

synopsis: You fell for Jungwon—hard. Unfortunately for you, he just had to be the grumpiest, most emotionally unavailable person ever to exist. He pushed you away, rolled his eyes at your persistence, and made it very clear he wasn’t the romantic type.

But giving up? Not an option. Because this is Jungwon we’re talking about.

author's note: Hello, my lovelies! This was so much fun to write. Big thanks to Anonie for the request—I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading!

caution: cursing and a bit of angst (tell me if there’s more!) , this story contains excessive tsundere behavior and a very persistent main character. Side effects may include secondhand embarrassment. Read at your own risk!

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n

You leaned over Jungwon’s desk with your brightest smile, holding out a bento box wrapped in a pink cloth. “I made this for you. It’s your favorite! I even cut the veggies into stars!”

"Tch," Jungwon dismissed. "I don't want that disgusting slop."

If only he could have tasted that heavenly creation at least once. I mean, imagine turning down a homemade dish made with such effort? Poor you, who only deserved so much more.

He barely glanced up from his textbook as his pen continued to scribble down notes. “Why would I eat food from someone who burns toast?”

You pouted and clutched the bento to your chest. “That was one time, Jungwon. One time! Besides, I didn’t burn this.”

"I don't want your germs. Who knows what kind of gross crap is in there," he said; in which you glanced around the classroom; a few of your friends sent pity looks on your way. No one understood why you were so smitten with him, but they respected it nonetheless.

A few of your classmates looked to be in a similar state of enchantment. Maybe you should try it with them instead of the grinch?

"What do I have to do to make you go away?” Jungwon's words sting a bit.

“I don’t know.’’

You weren't even slightly intimidated or bothered, which was amusing. Most people would have backed off, but you just stood there. It wasn't enjoyable but also somewhat impressive. Not that he'd ever admit that. A long sigh erupted from his lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He slammed his pen down, causing a few heads to turn, but he cared little. “Sit. Down. Go bug someone else.” He gritted out through clenched teeth.

”Please accept?’’ you showed the bento.

You were persistent with your efforts; he had to commend you for that, though he’d never admit it to your face. That would give you too much of an ego boost.

He eyed the bento in your hand, his stomach betraying him by growling quietly. He hadn’t eaten all lunch, so the aroma of the homemade food was almost too tempting to resist. But still, the stubbornness won out. "No. I’m not interested in your food. Why do you insist on wasting your efforts on me?”

“Please?”

Shit. He couldn’t help but think, “How can I say no to someone so sweet?”

He sighed, finally looking at you with that familiar, unimpressed stare. “Just leave it on the desk. I’ll think about it.”

A small victory! You quickly set the box down. “I knew you couldn’t resist. I’ll see you later!” You skipped away before he could respond.

He glanced between the bento and the door you’d disappeared through. His stomach growled once more, begging to be fed. With another sigh, he opened the bento box and slowly ate. “Not bad…”

☔️

The rain fell hard as you stood at the school gates, holding your bag to keep it dry. You sighed and watched the heavy rain, getting ready to run for it. Just as you were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to you.

"You planning on running out in that weather? Do you have a death wish or something?"

Jungwon approached you, umbrella in hand. Before you could even respond, he thrust the umbrella into your hands. “Take it,” he said curtly, glancing at you for only a second before entering the rain, completely unprotected.

“Wait!” you called after him, holding the umbrella out. “What about you?” You extended the umbrella, an offer of protection from the relentless rain. Jungwon paused, glancing at you over his shoulder.

"I don't need it."

His face didn't reveal it, but the gesture touched him. He had been trying to push you away, to make you dislike him, but all you did was offer him shelter from the downpour when you needed it. He couldn't help but admit the irony.

“Don’t catch a cold, idiot.”

☔️

It was another typical day. The hallways were busy with students. But all you could think about was how warm Jungwon’s arm felt as you held onto him.

You had been walking together, but you wanted to be closer. So, you wrapped your arm around his and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt the tension leave your body as you relaxed into him. He was always warm, and being this close to him felt right.

You noticed Jungwon stiffen almost instantly, his eyes widening. “What are you—” he started, his fingers twitching slightly, unsure what to do, before reluctantly relaxing. Slowly, Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and the scowl that so often resided on his face faded away. You felt his arm loosen, “Weirdo,” he muttered.

For the rest of the walk, you were quiet. Strangely.

He led you through the crowded school corridors, expertly weaving around the students and making a ruckus. Eventually, he spoke up. " Are you okay?" he asked, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

“More than okay,” you sighed, a dreamy smile forming. “I’m in love.”

Jungwon scoffed. “Love? Seriously?” he retorted. “You fall too hard.”

Suddenly, a girl appeared out of nowhere, walking up to Jungwon and batting her eyelashes at him. “Hey, Jungwon,” she cooed, giving him a flirty smile. “You look so handsome today.”

Oh, the audacity.

You felt your grip on his arm tighten, and without thinking, you made a slight hissing noise under your breath. Like an actual cat. Because that’s totally normal behavior.

Jungwon looked at her blankly. "Uh, thanks," he said, shifting his weight to put some distance between her and himself. After a few moments of awkward silence, the girl caught the hint and excused herself, shooting you a dirty look before sauntering away.

You furrowed your eyebrows. Jungwon noticed and let out a long sigh. He reached over with his free hand, gently touching your arm. "Hey, hey, calm down, alright? I can practically see the green flames of envy raging in your eyes," he says with annoyance. "She means nothing. No one does."

He pauses, "Except you, I guess?" he mumbles under his breath, his voice so low you missed it.

☔️

You were hauling a heavy box of basketball equipment to the gym hours later when a sharp voice stopped you.

"You're an idiot to carry that much all at once. Hand it over before you collapse." Jungwon came out from the corner with a frown on his face. He eyed the box in your arms and rolled his eyes as he took it from you, holding it quickly. “This is what happens when you don’t ask for help.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you replied with a sheepish smile. “The team needed help—”

He shook his head. "There's helpful, and then there's being too nice. You've got to stop saying 'yes' to everyone. That was what? A 40-kilogram box of balls and equipment? Your back would’ve snapped in two by lunch."

Jungwon continued, "Besides, Do they not have arms? If you need help, ask me.”

You opened your mouth to protest but hesitated when you noticed his face, “I’m fine, really,” you reassured him.

"And that's the problem. 'I'm fine.' What happens when, one day, you're not? When you're tired or overwhelmed and still say 'I'm fine' while falling apart inside?" He scolded you, "It's okay to say 'no,' and it's okay to ask for help. Do you not understand? This isn’t a game, and you’re not invincible!"

He turned and walked away, his final words echoing down the hall.

"Don't wait for a mistake to learn."

You didn’t expect this from him.

☔️

For weeks, you did everything. You put in the effort that he rejects, but on rare occasions, he accepts it. Well, you force him to take it. After classes, you were sitting on the rooftop, watching the view. For once, you weren’t seeking Jungwon out; you were trying to gather your thoughts.

Were you tired of chasing someone who always seems to push you away? Absolutely.

Jungwon noticed you perched on the rooftop. He couldn't help but wonder, what's got her so down? He knew he was causing you heartache but he also knew that with every rejection, you came back with more effort. He wanted you to see him as what he truly was. A jerk. Someone not worthy of your devotion... but you never seemed to give up, that determination was something else.

He wondered if he may have gone too far…

“Hey.”

His voice startled you, and you turned to see him standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“What are you doing here?” you asked softly.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, walking closer. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

You looked away, fidgeting with your hands. “I… I don’t think I should bother you anymore.”

Jungwon froze. “What are you talking about? Bother me? You’re not…” He trailed off, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I’m an ass. I push people away and make it seem like I don’t want anyone’s company. But you… you never left, even when I wanted you to.” He sat down next to you, keeping a comfortable distance.

“I mean… you’re always annoyed with me. I just figured…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Stop saying that,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than usual.

“You think I enjoy acting like a jerk to everyone?“ He let out a humorless laugh, his eyes focusing on the horizon. ”The truth is, I am afraid to open up, to let people in because I know how easily they can break me.” He glanced at you briefly before averting his eyes again. “I’ve seen it happen to my parents and my friends. I don’t want to be another sad soul wandering the world broken.”

You hesitated before whispering, ‘’I’m sorry…’’

“Don’t apologize. Hell, I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up in pushing you away that I didn’t even realize how much you were trying to get closer to me. I don’t deserve your attention, let alone your kindness.”

He continued, “You’re not… You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met, sure. But if you stopped being around…” He trailed off, looking away as his cheeks turned red. “I’d probably hate it.”

“Jungwon…”

“What? It’s true. I don’t know when or how it happened… but my day feels..lacking if you’re not there.” He shrugged as though admitting that wasn’t a big deal. “So…don’t you dare think about stopping.” He added sternly. “I like you, alright?”

“Thank you…for liking me back’’ you said shyly.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Don’t get all mushy on me. You make it sound like I’d run into a burning building for you. I like you, but it’s not like I would get matching tattoos or serenade you under your window.”

“But will you?’’

He scoffed. “Really? Of all the things I’ve said, that’s what you focus on?” He shook his head, then looked directly into your eyes. “Fine. Yes, I'd run into a burning building for you. I’ll do anything for you. Happy now?’’

“Very.’’ You giggled, ‘’Come on, walk me home, boyfriend.’’

“Boyfriend?”

He raised an eyebrow at your quick upgrade in the relationship. “You're lucky I like you cause anyone else suggesting that might've been laughed out of the school." He stood up, dusting off his pants and offering you a hand. "Well, come on, girlfriend.“

☔️

Days later…

You sat across from Jungwon at the small restaurant table, your heart doing little flips every time he glanced your way, even though his usual unimpressed expression hadn’t faltered since you arrived. The date wasn’t even bad—just, well, awkward. But awkward in a way that had you wanting to laugh every five seconds because of how seriously Jungwon took things.

Like now.

He's been staring at his menu for ten minutes. It's three pages long, and each item has a picture next to it. How complicated can it be?

"What's taking you so long?" you say, resting your chin in your hand.

"Shut up." He replies, never taking his eyes off the menu. “Do you want water?” he asked, his brows slightly furrowed.

“Uh, sure?” you said, smiling awkwardly.

He waved the waiter over and ordered two glasses of water. After all this careful deliberation, he's just ordering water?

He barely looked at you as he added, “Bring her water. Lemon water.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, which Jungwon noticed.

Jungwon blinked at you, tilting his head slightly. “What? You don’t like lemon?”

He looked a bit hurt at the rejection of his thoughtfulness. This was the same guy who'd throw paper planes at the teacher but couldn’t handle not knowing if you liked lemon in your water? You were so endeared that it took every ounce of self-control not to squeal.

“Oh, no, you’re adorable today,” you assured him, finally letting out a soft laugh.

“Cool,” he managed, cheeks turning pink as he looked down at the table.

“No, I mean—it’s just water,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll live either way.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “It’s not a big deal. Just let me handle it.”

The corner of your lips quirked up. Why is he so serious about water?

The date went on, and the conversation flowed a little more naturally (after you decided to do most of the talking). Jungwon, though, still had his moments. “So, how much do you like me?” you teased halfway through your meal, grinning at him over the rim of your glass.

He choked on his drink.

He coughed, hitting his chest slightly as he cleared his throat. You didn’t think the question warranted that kind of reaction. But then again, you talked to the boy who spent ten minutes deciding whether he should get fries. “W-what kind of question is that?” he asked once he regained composure

You leaned in a little, resting your chin on your palm. “I’m just curious. Am I your type?”

He met your gaze, his eyes softening slightly. It was the first time all evening he'd looked directly at you without an expression of mild annoyance.

“What, you think I’m here for the ambiance?” he replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You’re… not that bad a company when you’re not talking about nothing.”

It is a backhanded compliment, but from Jungwon, it might as well be a love confession.

“So,” you continued. “How much do you think I like you?”

Jungwon avoided your gaze, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth to avoid answering. “You’re so annoying,” he muttered, cheeks puffed slightly as he chewed. He ran a hand through his hair, looking quite flustered. His eyes darted around, possibly seeking an escape route. No dice, he’s sitting opposite you in a relatively small restaurant.

He asked again, “What kind of question even is that?”

“A valid one,” you teased, grinning. “But you’ll have to pay me if you want the answer.”

He frowned, confused. “Pay you?”

“Yeah, like—give me, I don’t know... probably 500,000 won, and I’ll tell you all my secrets.” You held up your hands dramatically.

“You said 500,000 won, didn’t you?” he said, pulling out the exact amount and sliding it across the table with an entirely serious expression. “Here. Talk.”

He stared at you expectantly, looking like he expected you to take the money and answer. It was a ridiculous situation. Here you were, in a normal restaurant on a Friday night, with your new boyfriend, who had just put 500,000 won on the table, waiting to know how much you liked him.

It took every ounce of will in your body not to laugh. Oh, he’s so cute…

Your jaw dropped. “Jungwon, I was joking!”

He froze, the faintest flush creeping up his cheeks. “What?”

You could see the cogs turning in his head as if he was contemplating what to do with you now. The situation was getting more absurd, and you pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. It was probably rude to laugh in his face when he just tried to pay you for the information he thinks is valuable.

Still, you laughed.

“I didn’t actually mean it!” you laughed, pushing the money back toward him. “I wouldn’t charge you to know something like that.”

He looked down at the table, “Yeah, well, you started it,” he muttered, returning the money. After a few seconds, he slid a 50,000 won bill across the table, looking slightly embarrassed. “Fine. But this will do?”

He looked up at you, his gaze uncertain. You smiled, tucking this little tidbit of information away for later. The Jungwon is willing to pay you to know you like him. What a night.

“Jungwon, you don’t have to pay me.’’

“Look,” he said, looking at you pointedly. “Just..” He huffed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Just take the damn money, okay? It’s not like I’m breaking the bank here.”

He nudged the money towards you again, his eyes holding a silent plea. Clearly, he didn’t know how else to go about the situation, resorting to his only known means of communication: his wallet.

“Uh…okay?” You accepted it with amusement.

He smiled, nodding in relief. “Good. Now what…what were you saying before?” He asked, trying to hide his embarrassed flush with a cough. “About how much you like me,” he mumbled, his words barely audible.

“You know, you’re too serious,” you teased, poking at his hand lightly. “But I still like you anyway.”

Jungwon looked away, but a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Hmph,” he finally said, flicking a sugar packet towards you. “You’re not so bad yourself. In small doses.”

☔️

The date continued similarly. You’d offer to split the bill, but he’d insist on paying. You’d reach for the menu, but he’d swat your hand away, insisting on ordering for you instead.

He was trying hard, and you couldn’t help but adore him even more despite the awkwardness.

Just as you finished teasing Jungwon, music began to play in the restaurant. The lively beat echoed through the room as the servers clapped their hands and started encouraging diners to join them in the center of the floor to dance. You perked up immediately. “Oh my gosh, Jungwon! They’re dancing!”

He glanced at the crowd gathering in the middle of the restaurant and frowned. “Yeah, I can see that. What about it?”

“Let’s go!” you squealed.

His brows shot up. “What? No way.”

“Come on!” You were already out of your seat, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. He barely had time to protest as you dragged him toward the impromptu dance floor.

“I don’t dance,” he muttered, resisting slightly, but you didn’t let go.

“Well, you’re about to learn!” you declared with a grin, already swaying to the music as you pulled him into the crowd.

Jungwon looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but he sighed in defeat as you started twirling. He awkwardly moved his arms, shuffling his feet in time with yours. “This is embarrassing,” he grumbled, his face heating up.

“You’re doing great!” you cheered, beaming at him as you twirled again, laughing. “Come on, loosen up a little!”

“Loosen up?” he echoed incredulously. “I’m not a dancer!”

“You don’t have to be! Just have fun!” You reached for his hands, placing them on your waist as you guided his movements. “See? Not so bad!”

Jungwon muttered something under his breath, but his steps started to match yours. He tried to keep a scowl on his face, but the way you were laughing so freely made it impossible for him to stay annoyed.

“You’re smiling!” you teased,

“I’m not,” he argued, though the pink tint on his cheeks betrayed him.

“You are! Oh, Jungwon, you’re having fun!”

“I’m not having fun,” he deadpanned; his hands didn’t leave your waist as you swayed together.

“You’re lying,” you sang, twirling yourself and accidentally stepping on his foot.

“Ow—okay, now I’m definitely not having fun!” he groaned, wincing.

You gasped. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. But when you smiled sheepishly up at him, his chest felt lighter despite himself.

As the song ended and the crowd cheered, you clapped your hands excitedly. “That was so much fun!”

He sighed, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” but the faint smile never left his face as you pulled him back to your seats.

☔️

The evening had been fantastic, but it was time to say goodbye. The cool night air surrounded you as you reached your front door. Jungwon walked you home, although he hardly admitted that he liked it. Every second of it.

“Alright,” he said, avoiding your eyes as you stood by your door. “You should lock the door when you get inside. And… don’t forget to check the windows too. It’s late, and you never know.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how concerned he sounded, even though he tried so hard to hide it. “Got it, Jungwon. Thanks,” you said, already knowing how sweet he was, even if he’d never admit it.

He shuffled on his feet, clearly not ready to leave just yet. “I’ll… I’ll call you when I get home, okay? Just in case. And make sure you don’t open the door for anyone unless you’re sure it’s them. You’re… you’re too nice, okay? People could take advantage.” You could hear a slight shake in his voice as he talked on. “And, uh… make sure you stay safe, alright?” He finally looked at you with worry.

You couldn’t help but giggle at how adorable he was being. You stepped a little closer to him, surprising him with a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be fine, Jungwon,” you said softly. “And thank you. For everything.”

His face turned a deep shade of red, and he immediately turned his head away, muttering something that sounded like, “I-I wasn’t doing this for you to kiss me, okay?” But his voice was quieter now, a little softer than usual.

You laughed, enjoying the moment, but before he could say anything else, you stepped back and smiled at him. “Call me when you get home, okay?”

He nodded quickly, still blushing furiously. “Yeah, I will. You—don’t—don’t worry about me!” he stammered, turning on his heel to leave. But just as he was about to walk away, he stopped and turned back toward you, his face hidden in his hands.

“I-I love you, alright?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. He quickly turned away, clearly embarrassed, and started walking briskly down the street.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, a broad smile slowly spreading. That was all he needed to say, and you knew exactly how much he cared. You couldn’t help but laugh softly to yourself, feeling your heart flutter as you watched him walk off.

“Love you too, Jungwon,” you whispered to the night air, knowing he wouldn’t hear. But somehow, it felt like the most perfect moment.

[Extra Scene]

Months later…

Jungwon lay on his bed with his phone resting on a pillow. He looked at you through the screen.

“You miss me, don’t you?”

You scoffed as you shifted under your covers. “We saw each other three hours ago.”

He hummed. “That’s three hours too long.”

“Why are you smiling like that?” you asked while squinting at him through the screen.

He glanced at you and smirked. “What, I can’t smile?”

“Not like that,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you’re up to something.”

Jungwon sighed dramatically as he turned onto his side. “Can’t a guy just admire his girlfriend?”

You scoffed. “You’re so full of it.”

“I’m serious,” he said, resting his chin on his hand. “You look cute today.”

You blinked. “…It’s a video call. You can barely see me properly.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied smoothly. “You’re always cute.”

His door suddenly creaked open before you could even think of a response.

“Mom! He’s at it again!”

Jungwon’s head snapped toward the door, his face instantly turning sour. His older sister stood there, arms crossed, and seemed to be entertained at her brother, who was way out of character.

You burst into laughter.

Jungwon groaned. “Can you not?”

“Oh, wait—” She smirked, peeking at the screen. “Hi! Are you the poor soul who has to listen to his crap every day?”

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh. “Hi…”

“Oh my God.” Jungwon groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow and chucking it toward the door. “OUT!”

His sister dodged effortlessly. “Okay, okay, lover boy! calm down.” She wiggled her fingers at you. “Bye, future sister-in-law!”

“Just saying! You’re embarrassing,” she said to Jungwon while backing out of the room.

‘’GET OUT!’’

The door shut, leaving Jungwon lying there, face buried in his pillow.

You were still giggling. “Lover boy?”

He exhaled sharply as he peeked through the screen. “We’re never talking about this again.”

You grinned. “Sure, lover boy.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“…No, I’m not,” he admitted and groaned.

[barnesafterglow]

the art of missing someone

summary: bucky barnes was a lot, but he would always be yours

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: brief college then modern au, little bit of angst, don't ask if this is based off personal experience i will cry, smut (MINORS DNI!) [unprotected sex, oral (f receiving)], confessions, idk man i'm just here

a/n: first fic of 2025!! this was a bitch and i still lowkey hate it but it is what it is

main masterlist - i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary for updates!

The thing about Bucky Barnes was, well, he’s kind of an asshole.

In a funny way, really, but an asshole through and through and, for some reason, that did it for you.

It did it for you so much, in fact, that you had been going in circles with him for years now. You met him originally at a party in college; you didn’t know anyone except for your roommate, Natasha, and she introduced you. You immediately gravitated towards him, with his quick wit and sharp opinions, you felt like you could talk to him about anything. He kept close to you the entire night, getting more touchy as the evening dragged on, until the tipping point came.

You were finishing up a game of beer pong where you and Bucky absolutely dominated, and as you sank the last cup, he picked you up, swinging you around before setting you back on your feet. The thing is, he didn’t really let you go. You stood there, in the middle of a crowded party, with his arms around you and it was like everyone else disappeared.

Searching your eyes for permission, he bent his head down and his lips met yours and that was really the beginning of it all. It was unlike any kiss you had ever had, sweet but a little desperate and you craved more.

It became a thing, after that. You would see Bucky at a party, make nice for a few hours, then end up in a closet or empty bedroom making out until someone came to find you.

But more than that, Bucky became your friend. He was who you talked to in your darkest moments, who you sent stupid videos to, everything, and you liked it like that.

That is, until everything got turned on its head.

It happened right after graduation. You had just moved into your own apartment and were waiting for Bucky to come over for movie night. You hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, the communication very much lacking, but you figured it was just a busy time for both of you and once you got settled, everything would be fine.

That is, until you got a phone call as you closed the microwave door and started the popcorn. Immediately seeing Bucky’s name, you wiped your hands and answered.

“Hey, you almost here?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a sigh.

“I- I don’t know how to say this,” Bucky started, and you found yourself growing nervous. There was nothing you and Bucky couldn’t talk about. Well, almost nothing. “Me and Dot, well, we’ve been talking and…”

His voice trailed off, the line going quiet again. But you were going to make him say it.

“We’re getting back together. She really wants to make it work this time.”

And there it was. Dot was Bucky’s on again-off again for the last several years, stretching back to before you even knew him, and it was a sore spot in your friendship. They had mostly been “off” in the time you’d known him, save for a few memorable occasions where she wormed her way back into his life for a couple weeks just to break his heart all over again. It was safe to say she was not your favorite person, and you certainly weren’t hers.

“Bucky…” you started, but he cut you off.

“No, I know what you’re thinking.” He actually probably had no clue how evil the thoughts you had were, but you weren’t going to enlighten him. “But it’s serious this time, we’ve been talking since graduation and we’re both ready to give this a real shot, without all the bullshit.”

He sounded so sincere, and he was your best friend, so you took a deep breath and sighed, accepting the fact that if you wanted Bucky in your life, this was just something you would have to deal with.

You could hear his relieved laugh on the other end, and you felt your stomach give an odd lurch, like someone had pulled a carpet out from under you.

“I knew you would understand, thank you.”

“Of course, Buck. Now, what about movie night?”

Another beat of silence, then, just like you knew it would happen:

“I can’t, Dot is coming over.”

You wanted to argue, to scream, to make him feel bad about choosing her over you, but hadn’t he already? So instead, you mumbled a quiet agreement and hung up, not wanting to talk to him any longer. Already, it felt like the beginning of the end.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for that.

-

It didn’t even happen slowly, is the worst part. You didn’t see Bucky that night, or any night for the weeks that followed. It wasn’t until you saw him at the coffee shop by your apartment that you were able to talk to him.

You sat down at his table, no longer interested in placid excuses and apologies, and asked him point blank what was going on.

“I’m just trying to keep Dot happy.”

“By staying away from me?” You were frustrated, sure, but under that really you were just hurt. “Listen, you know I don’t like her, but I would never ask you to choose between us. That’s not fair and if she cared about you like she said she does, then she wouldn’t either.”

“It’s not like that!” His voice was raising, just a little, so you knew he was just being defensive. He must have heard it too because he cleared his throat, voicing going back to normal. “I just don’t want to cause any problems.”

You nodded, grabbing your coffee as you stood up, and headed for the door. If he was willing to let your friendship go, then you weren’t going to fight him on it. So you left, face heated with embarrassment and tears threatening to spill over.

As you passed the threshold to the coffee shop back onto the sidewalk, you pulled your headphones on, ignoring the bustle of the city and Bucky still watching you leave through the window.

-

Adjusting to a life without Bucky was weird, you had to admit, but you did it anyway. The first few weeks were the hardest, when he was the first person you wanted to text during any occasion, but eventually that muscle memory faded until you were reaching out to the people who actually valued you in their life. 

Almost a year passed, and you moved on in all the ways you could. You heard Bucky moved back across the river to Brooklyn and that was about all you knew; your friends avoided the mention of even his name if they could help it, even though you knew at the very least Steve and Natasha still talked to him.

You just hoped he was happy, no matter what he was doing.

It was a cold January night when the notification came through. Wanda had recently convinced you to get on a dating app, even though you were perfectly content being single, thank you, but you had to admit the attention didn’t hurt.

You weren’t expecting much when your phone chimed and you unlocked it without even looking at the notification. Which is how you came face to face with Bucky’s Hinge profile, and a message attached to a picture of you that you knew he had taken saying: hey, you look familiar.

Was that really how he was going to make amends, on a dating app?

You supposed it was kind of funny, in that asshole way of his, and you stared at the message for another moment before responding.

oh, i know you?

if you want to

And, well, that was the thing. You did want to. No matter what he did, no matter how much he hurt you, he was still your best friend. Your Bucky.

Instead of answering, you pulled up a contact you hadn’t opened in months and pressed call. It rang one time before a familiar voice flooded the other end.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, Buck.”

It was a healthy conversation, if you were being honest. Bucky apologized, told you he and Dot were done for good this time and, against your better judgment, you accepted it. You talked for hours after that, catching up on life and reminiscing on old memories, until you checked the time.

“Shit, it’s late,” you said as you put the phone back to your ear. “Almost midnight.”

And then, the words you dreaded but wanted desperately.

“Come over.”

“To Brooklyn? Buck I can’t take the subway this late.”

“I’ll pay for your Uber. Just come over.” You could hear the words he wanted to say, the ones on the tip of his tongue that he just wouldn’t force out.

“Well, I did miss you.” You tried to press it, to make him say it, but he only hummed on the other end.

“So is that a yes?”

You looked down at yourself, cozied up in sweatpants and a hoodie that you were almost entirely sure was Bucky’s, and sighed.

“Yes.”

“Perfect, your Uber will be there in 8 minutes.”

You didn’t have time to wonder how he got your new address - probably one of your mutual friends, maybe he had been keeping more tabs on you than you had on him - and shot up from the couch. With no time to change, you headed to the bathroom and brushed your teeth before taming your hair in the best way you could. As you were stuffing some clothes in an overnight bag - just in case, you told yourself - your phone chimed with a text from Bucky that your Uber had arrived. 

In a whirlwind, you rushed to the car where the driver seemed very put off at having to wait a whole 90 seconds for you to walk four flights of stairs, and slid in.

The whole ride there you were nervous. The thing with Bucky was, despite many drunken hookups, you’d never actually had sex. You weren’t really sure why, just that it had never happened and you had been grateful for it in the long run. You weren’t even sure if it would happen tonight, if he still wanted you like that. Even with all your talking and catching up, you hadn’t been brave enough to ask what this meant.

At nearly 1am, your Uber pulled up outside a beautiful Brooklyn brownstone and, there on the front porch, stood Bucky.

He wrapped you in his arms as he stood in front of you, and it all felt so heartbreakingly familiar you gave in immediately, all the tension leaking from your body at the feeling Bucky gave you. 

“Hey,” he said softly into your hair. “Come on in.”

Bucky’s house was so far from his old college apartment it was frightening, yet it couldn’t have felt more like Bucky. More like home. 

You took in your surroundings, shelves of books and vintage furniture and warm tones, it was almost like stepping back into your own place, the aesthetics were so similar. That was the funny feeling in your chest, you were sure.

Eventually, you ended up on Bucky’s couch with some superhero movie on, not really watching it but still grateful for its background noise to fill the room with each lull in the conversation. Not that there were many, one thing that came easy with Bucky had always been talking - although neither of you did much of that when it really mattered; you figured you could put that out of your mind for now. 

Over the course of the movie, you and Bucky shifted closer together until your thighs were pressed flush and you could feel the air from each of his exaggerated hand movements. It wasn’t until a wayward wave nearly grazed your nose that you truly realized how close you had become, and the sight of Bucky’s eyes shifting subtly to your lips has your self restraint at an all time low.

Fuck it, you thought. You had wanted this for so long, but you also knew you could live without Bucky if everything went tits up. It was a sad thought, that, but you couldn’t let this opportunity go. With every bit of courage you had, you let your hand float up to cup Bucky’s cheek, eyes searching for any sort of hesitation. When you found none, you leaned forward to close the admittedly small gap between your lips.

It was electric. Never had a kiss from someone else ever lit a fire inside you the way one from Bucky did. It started off slow, searching, a chance to reacquaint yourselves. But the second Bucky’s hand reached to tangle in your hair, everything shifted. 

Suddenly you were pulled in Bucky’s lap, legs straddling his, lips desperate for a taste of what you’d missed for so long. It was everything you hadn’t let yourself wish for, and you had a feeling you weren’t going to be missing it again anytime soon.

It wasn’t until your shirts were on the floor and Bucky was making quick work of your clasped bra that you thought maybe it would be smart to just slow down. Just for a second, just to get your bearings. 

An honest to god whine fell from his lips as you pulled back, stopping his hands from undressing you any further. 

“Buck,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his, hands cupping his face as if he was something precious. Though you supposed he was, to you at least. “What’s going on?”

“I just…” His voice trailed off, obviously unsure of himself even though this at least was familiar territory. What was to come next, however, was not. “I can’t go another day without making you mine.”

Your core tightened at the words, vivid memories of what Bucky’s hands and mouth could do; fantasies of what else he could do invaded as well as suddenly talking didn’t seem like a priority anymore. 

“Take me to bed.” And that was all he needed. 

Bucky scooped you up bridal style, carrying you across the threshold of his bedroom and laying you gently on his bed. Your eyes darted around, wanting more of snippets of the life Bucky had built here, but you were quickly distracted by his body covering yours, the weight of him pressed between your thighs was comforting and intoxicating. 

Bucky’s touch proved even more distracting as he shed you of your bra, mouth immediately latching to one nipple, the little nips and sucks enough to drive you crazy on their own, while his hands pinched at the other. He continued his assault until you were dizzy with want, then he trailed down your body with his mouth, not leaving an inch of skin undiscovered until he reached the waistband of your sweatpants.

He pulled them down just an inch, then his eyes shot up to meet yours at the discovery. 

“No underwear?” His voice was deep, husky, almost fucked out if you really thought about it. It was a thrill that your hold on him was so tight that just the thought of you without underwear was enough to leave him reeling just a little bit. 

You batted your eyes innocently. “Someone didn’t give me much warning about my Uber, I apologize.”

The giggle in your voice suggested the insincerity of your apology, but it didn’t deter Bucky as he pulled your pants from your body, mouth and hands still exploring. 

His fingers traced unknown patterns along your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart until you were fully exposed to him. You felt nervous all of a sudden, like you had never been in this position before. You had, of course, but never sober, and never with Bucky looking at you so attentively - like he was going to eat you alive. 

It was intense, having Bucky’s eyes bore into you as he lowered his mouth to your core, starting with gentle kitten licks until your hips were bucking, searching for more friction. One of his hands pinned your hips to the bed, while the other slipped through your folds, spreading spit and slick, before he slipped one inside of you. Then two, then three, until you were begging for release.

All it took was a soft whisper of come on, baby and a crook of Bucky’s fingers and you were falling apart, the intensity of your orgasm whipping through you, and as you floated back down to your senses, Bucky was still going. 

It was feverish, like he couldn’t get enough of your pleasure, and each twitch and moan encouraged him until your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him away from your spent body.

He let out a protest, but you silenced it by pressing your lips to his, moaning at the taste of yourself as his tongue pressed into your mouth. You were lost in the sensation, letting yourself be manhandled until you were once again in Bucky’s lap. Sometime while you had been transported to another planet, his pants had been shed and you were oh so close to getting everything you ever wanted. 

With your mouth still pressed to his, you rolled your hips, feeling the weight of him sliding along you. You kept at it, teasing and grinding until he thrust his hips and there it was; one slight adjustment and the feeling of Bucky stretching you out to was more overwhelming than you could have imagined.

Your hips stilled, as did Bucky’s, letting you adjust to him until you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, your way of telling him that you were okay, that he could move.

His thrusts started slowly, letting you feel every inch of him until you were begging for more. When his hands stopped roaming to grip your hips tightly, you knew you were done for.

Bucky held you in place, his hips snapping up to fuck into you and all you could do was hold on for the ride. 

You were so overwhelmed you almost missed Bucky’s words, mixed in with his moans, but once you caught them, they were as clear as day:

I missed you.

Over and over, Bucky was repeating the words, interspersed with groans and heavy panting, but your heart restricted regardless 

He missed you. Bucky missed you.

With your thoughts such a jumbled mess, reveling in the fact that this was really happening, your orgasm snuck up on you. One second you were floating on the high of Bucky and the next you were crashing, falling, and he was right there to catch you as you came down.

His hips slowed, stuttering as he spilled into you with one final thrust.

For a moment, the world around you didn’t exist. All there was was this moment, with Bucky’s arms around you and your head buried in his shoulder. Everything came back at once: your harsh breaths, the noise of the TV far away in the living room, and Bucky’s hushed whispers as he held you.

“I missed you so much.” You didn’t respond for a moment, but you lifted your head to meet Bucky’s eyes. In them lay the sincerity of his words, vulnerable now that they weren’t being said in the heat of the moment.

“I missed you too, Buck.”

[revelboo]

My soul is yours for more Jazz 🙏 He's my absolute favorite, I love that big flirty liar so much, I'm so down bad for him

Sure!

Over It Now Pt 22

Jazz x Reader

• “Primus, I love you,” he groans, hips moving against you. And your breath catches, because it’s just sex. He doesn’t mean it. He’d just blurted it out like that about sparking you, whatever that is. It’s not like you’re under any delusions that this can work long term between you. That this can mean anything more than this. And those words only remind you that you’re a temporary diversion for him. Nothing more.

• Didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that anymore than he had about sparking you. Had imagined something romantic, figuring out your human courting rituals and doing this right. But you’re silent. Eyes shifting away instead of meeting his optics. Like maybe this is all of you he’s allowed. And it hurts, but he gets it. That you can’t love a liar. That he’s good enough for a frag, but not to keep around. But Primus it hurts. So much more than he'd thought it would. Slipping free of you, he lets you untangle yourself from him. Why won't you even look at him? "That was amazing," you say, offering him a smile, but its stilted and uncomfortable. A lie and he should know.

• Something shifted and you can feel the tension. He’s back to playing a part, lazily smiling. But there's a hardness to his jaw as he ignores you to right his plating, hiding away his spike. "Yeah. Sure, kitten. You were great." And his tone is neutral, whatever he's really thinking hidden behind that mask of smiling indifference like he had when you’d first met him. And maybe that was all he was after. Sex. Maybe he’s over you now. And you keep thinking about him blurting that he loved you. Another lie? You’d wanted it to be real, not just words. But who blurts it out like that during sex and actually means it? And it hurts because you’ve been falling for him. Think you might even love him.

• Watches you wrap your arms around yourself, awkwardly getting up and hobbling with your cast to the couch to pull a colorful throw around yourself, hiding your body from him. "So, you going to spark me?" You ask, voice awkward and teasing and that ache in his spark expands. Knows you don't understand how badly those words mock him, how much it hurts. That he'd offered you everything, confessed to you and you'd not said anything at all.

• "Drop it, doll." Not even a smile now, his expression is so oddly empty it's unsettling. And you catch his arm when he tries to walk past you. Leaving. "Really. You wanna let go of me." There's an edge to his voice you've never heard before but it makes the fine hair at your nape prickle. Yanking his arm free and walking past you and your own temper flares, hurt that you mean so little. All those days waiting for you. Sitting together talking. Laughing and getting to know each other. None of it meant anything?

• "So that's it? You just wanted to be fucked?" Stopping short at the angry edge in your voice, he doesn't quite trust himself right now. Feels almost out of control as he vents raggedly, internal fans a soft hush. You really want to play the victim now? He'd been honest with you, laid it all on the line and you hadn't been able to give him anything in return. And you're angry?

• "You couldn't even entertain me, could you? Lie to me and say it back." Low, drawling voice sharpening into a snarl, he still won't look at you as his big hands curl into fists at his sides. Say it back? Wait. Breath catching you stare at his back as his door wings drop. Had he actually meant it?

• "No one just blurts that stuff out in the moment and means it," you protest and he glares at you over his shoulder. No, because you still think he's a liar. Always smiling and lying. And why would you think he'd been honest then? Isn't that all he does? Turning and walking away, he hears you hobbling after him. "Wait. Jazz." Ignoring you, he keeps moving and then freezes as something shatters against his back. "I said wait, you idiot." Your face is red and angry when he turns, chin lifting as he looks at the broken glass you'd thrown littering the floor near his peds then at you. "I love you, too."

• And he's just staring down at you, door wings flicking slightly before slowly lifting some. Gasping when he rushes you and hooks his arms around you under your butt, hauling you up off the floor, nearly banging your head on the ceiling fan as he presses his face against you, whatever he's saying muffled against your skin. His servos almost bruising on you. Still irritated at him, but also feeling oddly light. You have no idea how this will work, but you want it to. Want him to stay.

Previous

[dragonqueenbizawagi]

You know, the thing is... most people don't know shit about ghosts. A lot of times people jump to "it's haunted" because they don't know what's going on. I want one time for Danny to realize that there's actually a carbon monoxide leak or buggy light fixture or black mold or something (maybe multiple somethings compiled), and fix it with just his common electrical engineering and household maintenance he picked up from his parents (the latter because they were too busy upgrading the house's traps to check the monoxide detector and such, and they made him clean up hazardous materials in the lab, so I feel he could handle mold).

To make this even more fun, let's continue torturing Constantine! He and Danny start working together because John wants to teach him how to at least con people properly for fucks sake! ("It's not conning if it works Connie!" "You and both know it ain't that bloody Hollywood exorcism bullshit doing the work") So on one of their first few houses, they get a case of carbon monoxide/black mold/creaky house/faulty wiring/whatever mundane explanation(s) that people mistake for ghosts. Connie doesn't realize at first, he thinks they're just here to do some fake bs and the real ghosts have all been scared off by Danny's strange aura.

Now, usually, Constantine is smarter (or more cynical) than this, and can remember to properly check for mundane explanations. But at this point he's too preoccupied by Danny's weirdness (and sass – Danny's sass is critical to properly annoying Constantine for optimal amusement) to do his job properly. That coupled with the fact that he doesn't think there really is a job this time – not with Danny around – and his guard is dropped. So when the signs of a "haunting" start popping up (flickering lights, strange smell, unsettling feelings), Constantine freaks because what the fuck could still be here that hasn't been scared off by Danny?! Last one was a bloody demon!

Danny, a bit more rational and possibly not affected by the neurological effects of black mold/carbon monoxide (or at least not to the same extent) due to ghost biology bs, calmly locates the problems and points them out. He proceeds to solve them or tell the homeowner he'll come back to fix it once he has the tools, leaving one confused/concerned homeowner (who still worries it's haunted anyway, only to be assured by Danny that they'll still cleanse the house to be safe because, "You hired us to exterminate spooks! We wouldn't be doing our job if we didn't do anything for them too!"), and one thoroughly embarrassed Constantine!

Alternatively, feel free to take this in the other direction of Constantine being the experienced one to point out how many "hauntings" are really just old houses showing their wear and tear. And Danny only then piping up when Constantine shrugs it off and just tells the homeowner to hire some repairmen, to say "I could fix that for you!" Revealing another, weirdly... normal layer to this kid, he's got actual real-life skills and was apparently a freelance electrician before this? Constantine expected a weirder backstory for someone so nonchalantly powerful (oh, little does he know....)

Anyway! Here's your random reminder to check your carbon monoxide detectors! And always check for mundane sources of problems, not just magical/supernatural ones. By all means, cleanse your house of malicious spirits, but also physically clean your house of suspicious stains. The mundane is not entirely separate from the magical, people! What if the evil spirits are trying to kill you through growing black mold in your bedroom, huh? What if that's their mode of attack? (btw, please feel free to have Danny explain any/all of this to the homeowner if you write this out)

Another dpxdc prompt (sorry it’s been so long)

So Danny, now grown up and the ghost king, is looking for a job. However bc of his responsibilities as king a normal job won’t do. He would need to be able to make his own hours and such. He tried to be a freelance repair/electrical guy (thx mum and dad for those skills) but it never made that much money.

Then one day, prompted by a joke comment from Tucker about going back to ghost fights, he has a great idea!!

That’s how ‘Spook exterminator’ is born!! (He wanted to call it ghost busters but that was trademarked)

He essentially becomes an exorcist for higher and is very good at it. See what he didn’t know before this is that the ghost his use to, realm ghost, are actually the strongest type of ghost and as the king of them he is the strongest of them. This essentially means he has a ‘top predator’ vibe that sends most non realm ghost running before he even steps into the building. All he has to do then is call upon his inter theatre kid and put on a good show before leaving with a full wallet.

It’s not like he’s scamming them or anything. He is getting rid of the ghost! He just likes putting a little flare to it! Plus it gives him better tips.

Anyway cutting over to Constantine who, drunk out of his mind, thinks it would be hilarious to higher some bogus exorcist he saw a flier for and take them to the most haunted house he knowns just to see what happens.

He was definitely not expecting every ghost to hightail it out of there before the guy even step foot in the door. For a second he thought that maybe he was wrong about the guy being bogus and that maybe he was actually an very skilled exorcist but then he proceeded to do the most fake ritual he had ever fucking seen. The guy couldn’t even speak Latin!!

Needless to say John was very confused

[captain-huggy-bear]

Ain't That a Kick in the Head

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Nudity but in a totally non-sexual way (you share a bath)

Summary: You watch Clayton take a puck to the face, suffice to say you are very much worried for your boyfriend at the end of the game.

Notes: Y'know someone needs to psychoanalyse why I thought it was so hot that he took a puck to the face, got 12 stitches, came out, played and still scored? Someone want to explain that one to me?

I've not written Clayton before but @wannabehockeygf has me hooked so...I hope this is okay?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"...that one up high caught Keller, let's hope Clayton is okay...he took that one right up in the face and he's headed to the room for some stitches I would imagine..."

"Keller's girlfriend has stood straight up from her seat, clearly not happy with what she's seen."

"Can you blame her? Keller's just taken a puck straight to the face and I imagine he's going to have more than a couple of stitches to fix that..."

It's an instinctive reaction really, to jump out of your seat at the way the puck soars into Clayton's face, the way he spins and falls to the ice. The blood that you can see pooling underneath his hand as he holds it tight to his eye and brow.

You've seen him get hurt before, seen him take hits to the boards, hits from other players, pucks to the ribs, sticks to the legs, but this...fuck, this was dangerous, this was scary. You're thankful for your seat overlooking the tunnel, thankful that you can reach a hand down as he makes his way off the ice, that even as he clutches a towel to his face to mop up the blood and try to stem the bleeding, he sees you, and reaches out briefly to touch your fingers, an attempt to reassure you that he's okay. That he'll be fine because fuck he knows you're probably freaking out about it.

Then all you can do is sit back down in your seat and wait. Waiting for him to come back out made you feel sick, stomach tied in knots, leg bouncing up and down in anxious impatience. Was he concussed? Was he in need of hospital? Or would it just be a few stitches to stop the bleeding? Had it done any serious damage to his skull? Was he actually okay? Was it just a flesh wound or something deeper?

It was taking too long, far too long, your eyes not even on the game, but on the tunnel waiting for him to reappear, watching people come and go back and forth each one not Clayton. Still you waited for that reappearance.

And reappear he did. Brow coated in blood, 12 stitches holding his face together, swollen, bruising planning it's spots as he stops at your section, looking up at you from the tunnel as you look down.

Your hand reaches out again and this time he holds it properly, fingers intertwining with yours to give your palm a tight squeeze, his ring digging into your skin slightly from how firmly he grips you. Like he needs to reassure you he's still strong, still good even as a blood drip starts to slide from the fresh stitches towards his eye.

"I'm okay, sweet girl," His voice is rough from overuse on the ice and he doesn't linger long, but it's enough to reassure you that he's at least fine, even if his face looks like he's been through the wars.

It's enough for you in that moment, enough for you to let his hand go, to watch him make his way to the bench even as that sick feeling still permeates your gut.

You spend the entirety of the second period watching him like a hawk, assessing to see if he should actually be out on the ice or not, relieved to see him skating well, stable, sturdy. Despite the physical wound he doesn't seem unwell and that is enough to settle you down a little, enough for you to start to enjoy the third period.

An enjoyment that is made 10 times better by Clay's empty net goal firmly confirming Utah's victory over the Winnipeg Jets. The moment the period is over and the players have left the ice you don't waste much time before making your way down to the locker rooms, leaning against the wall and waiting for Clayton to clean up and change.

He's out last, Kess stops to tell you he's just getting some of his stitches redone, and while you appreciate the heads up from the taller man it actually only serves to make you more anxious to see your boyfriend.

When he walks out he looks like he's been through the wars or been mugged badly or had a bad boxing match. New stitches means no quick shower, no water on them for at least a day and he still looks bloody, sweaty and definitely not okay. You can't imagine how uncomfortable he was putting his suit back on when he couldn't even have a proper wash, sweat causing his clothes to stick to his skin. Clayton's always been a stickler for cleanliness and you know he probably feels disgusting, probably hates it almost as much as the injury itself.

"Shit, Clay..." You gasp at seeing his face up close, his eye is bruising into a proper shiner, closing a little from all the swelling that's happening. The skin around starting to go a deep purple. There's an array of angry stitches holding his skin together, 12 to be exact, lined up neatly but clearly the only thing stopping more blood from falling down his face. They've clearly tried to clean as much of the old blood up as possible, but there's still enough left over that he looks rough around the edges.

"Right in the money maker, huh? It's okay if you think I'm ugly now, baby.." He's joking around as he steps into your space, trying to take that god awful look off your face. You look like you've seen a ghost, like you might be sick.

"Clay..." You reach for him as he leans over you, one arm leaning against the wall by your head, while your own hands cup his cheeks tilting his head so you can get a better look at his stitches.

"Sorry, sorry, just tryin' to get my girl to smile s'all..."

"I know..." He lets you get your fill, moving his head in whatever direction you tilt it while his free hand grips your hip. He wants you to believe he's fine but he knows you won't believe him, and in truth it fucking hurts taking a puck to the face. He's surprised he doesn't have a concussion. He feels a little sick, very gross and his face aches like nothing else.

"Clay...What do you need?" You, he thinks, just this. Just the soft way your thumbs brush his cheeks and tenderness with which you cradle his face, like he's not 170lbs of hockey player. He's not delicate and he knows that, you know that, but sometimes you treat him that way and it's nice sometimes. Nice to feel cared for.

He doesn't say any of that though, instead lets out a big sigh, "I need to go home, wash at least my body because I actually feel fucking gross..." He's still sweaty and he knows he needs help washing his hair without getting water on his stitches.

"Okay, I'm driving." You're reaching for his keys in pocket as quick as a whip, but he's quicker. Clayton's hand wrapping entirely around your wrist and stopping it from delving further into his pocket.

"You're not driving my car, baby. No." There's no amount of injury that could bring him to let you drive when that's his job and the grin he gives you is the sort you give a child who thinks they know better. It makes your eyes narrow.

"Clay, you took a puck going like 80 miles per hour to the face..."

"And I can still drive, and you are still and forever my passenger princess." It's not that he doesn't trust you to drive. You're a pretty decent driver, but that's not the dynamic you have. He drives you around. Always. If he can't then you drive yourself, but if both of you are in a car together? He's driving and you get to sit, relax and look pretty.

"You're impossible." You roll your eyes but concede defeat, pulling your hand from his pocket even as he continues to grip your wrist like now that he's got it the thought of letting go is preposterous.

"Impossibly handsome." Clay's hand moves from your wrist to slip into your own, fingers twisting together as he pulls away from the wall with you. His other hand tossing his car keys about with a jingling sound.

"Impossible hard headed."

"Ouch, that hurts, sweet girl." He finally gets a smile from you at that and that's all he wants as the two of you walk hand in hand to his car. If he's got to deal with stitches, bruising, swelling, then at least he gets to see you smile.

"Did it hurt more than the puck you took to the face tonight?"

"You're determined to not let me forget this aren't you?" He asks as he opens the passenger side door, watching you slip into the pristine seats because he'd be damned if he ever let his car fall into disarray.

You're quiet for a few moments as he leans over you to pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it into place. It's the proximity of him to you that's probably the only reason he actually hears your next whispered words as you look at your hands in your lap.

"...I was really worried, Clay..."

Clayton sighs heavily, large hand cupping your cheek until you look at him. You grip his wrist, fingers playing with the array of bracelets he always has there.

"I know, baby, but I'm okay. I promise. Got some stitches, no concussion, I'll be a little ugly for a bit but..." All Clay ever wants is for you to be happy, the worst part about getting hurt is that he knows you're stressing about. He's fine, but he knows he looks like he's gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and he'll probably look like that for awhile. He also knows you worry, and you'll worry over him until he looks completely back to normal.

"You could never be ugly," He smiles at the way you frown at him, like it's the worst thing he could do right now to insult himself, "You're just fishing for compliments." Your eyes soften under his smile and the frown loses some of its bite.

"You're the one biting, sweet girl."

"Shut up and drive us home."

"As you wish." Clayton presses a quick kiss to your lips, pulling out of the passenger side and closing the door on you. He's quick to make his way round to the driver's side and even quicker to get the car started so he can start driving back to the house.

You watch him the whole time, eyes fliting from the stitches in his eyebrow to the way his left eye is swelling to the point you don't know if he'll be able to see out of it in a minute if you don't get ice on it. Clayton chooses to ignore the staring, hand reaching out to rest on your thigh, rubbing warm strokes across it as he drives, like always.

When you pull up you wait, like always, in your seat because Clay complains if he can't open the door for you and unbuckle your seatbelt. So you wait and let him do it, just as you let him wrap an arm around your shoulders and led you inside as if you're the one that needs the TLC and not him.

You only briefly watch him struggle out of the suit he'd worn to the game before stepping in to help. The medical team not letting him wash had meant his shirt and trousers stuck to him from all the sweat left on his skin, and the extra pair of hands was helpful as he shrugged off the button up he'd been wearing.

He lets you lead him into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat and watching as you fuss around the bath tub. You're running him a bath even though you know he prefers showers because there's no way those stitches are staying dry in the shower, not with his ridiculous need for the most intense waterfall shower on earth.

Still, Clayton watches as you try to make the bath more enticing. Copious amounts of bubble bath, the sort that's designed for sore muscles, being thrown in, water running warm, but not too hot because he doesn't like his bath water to be as hot as the fires of hell. Unlike you. But, he draws the line at you helping him into water, it's his face that hurts not his legs, shrugging your hands away with an eyeroll when you go to reach to help him.

"I can get in on my own, baby."

He doesn't let the fussing annoying him because he knows you fuss out of concern and that any amount of fussing is still your attention on him. Fussing means you love him and if you took a puck to the face he knows he'd be fussing over you too.

You watch as Clayton eases himself into the water, a sigh rippling out from him as he slides into the warmth. His chains hitting the water because he'd never wear anything that wasn't solid enough not to tarnish over time, expensive taste as always. You watch the way he closes his eyes and just relaxes for a minute, skin turning slightly flush under the warmth of the water, neck pulled taut as his head tips back.

"You want me to help wash your hair?"

"Please, baby." It's sighed out, eyes still closed and you kneel next to the tub without a second thought, urging him to move forward and lean back until his hair touches the water.

You're careful about it, slowly wetting his hair, trying to avoid getting water on his stitches and while he might not want to be fussed over, this though? This Clayton can't help but love. The way your fingers thread through his brunet strands, how you stop occasionally to scratch at his scalp, the feeling of sweat and grime falling away? This is pretty much heaven.

You huff a laugh when Clayton groans a little while you massage shampoo into his roots. The pressure you apply making him sigh and groan like you're relieving knots in his back and it's sweet, how he can relax into this, into you, when he's normally the one giving and doesn't necessarily prefer to receive the care.

"You good, Clay?"

"Mmmm...." He hums and you smile down at him, the way he leans back into your hands, how his eyes remain closed, the content little smile on his face that just slightly shows his teeth.

You take extra care as you rinse the shampoo from his hair thoroughly, avoiding his stitches and his eyes as you do so, before getting him to sit up a little so you can place some conditioner on the ends.

"Get in with me..." His eyes are heavy lidded, like he doesn't quite have the energy to open them the entire way, a wet hand reaching out to grip your fingers, tugging lightly.

"Clay, there's barely any room left." His legs take up half the tub, you're a little concerned that you plus water displacement will result in water all over the floor of the bathroom. Another injury waiting to happen when one of you inevitably slips on wet tile.

"Please, just want to hold you for a bit, no funny business, sweet girl, promise." His cheeky little smirk that shows the dimples on one side of his mouth doesn't exactly fill you with confidence in his words, but the water is still warm and there's something always enticing about Clay, he has a way of convincing you to do something even if you shouldn't.

"Mmm, sounds likely..."

"Seriously, just want to hold you...I'm an injured man..." He pulls the guilt trip card, biting on his bottom lip. Something which would have looked sexier if half his face wasn't swollen up like a balloon. Still, you've never been good at saying no to Clayton even if you probably should from time to time.

"Fine..." You sigh, pretending to be reluctant even as you strip your clothes off, ignoring the way his eyes light up like a kid in a candy store, and step into the bath water with him.

It's a little tight, the water rising to levels that are mildly concerning before the overflow drain does the job of removing the excess water. Your legs twine with Clayton's and his arms slide around your waist until he can pull you comfortably back to lay against him, your back to his chest. It's funny, how you can be completely naked and feel completely comfortable like this with someone, every little touch is comforting rather than sexual, every kiss to your shoulder an attempt to be connect to you rather than start something intimate.

"Clay?" You wince out, the sensation of metal digging into your back causing you to squirm slightly in his lap, water sloshing nearer to the sides of the tub.

"Mmm...?"

"Can...can you move your chains? They're digging into my shoulder."

"Shit, sorry, baby." He's quick to do so, the chains being thrown over his shoulder and out of the way until settling against him is more comfortable, the rise and fall of his chest meeting your back in a rhythm that helps any residual anxiety from the events of the day melt away.

"You comfy, sweet girl?" He presses a kiss to your temple and you smile into it, humming as you lean as much of your weight back into him as you can.

"Yeah, you?"

"Mmm, might have to stay here..." He's tracing circles on you tummy, a series of circles that meet in a variety of patterns that remind you of crop circles from all those conspiracy theory and unsolved mystery shows Clay likes to watch when he can't sleep. Every few seconds a kiss lands somewhere else, whether your temple, your cheek, your neck or your shoulder. Each is quick and soft, but no less delightful. It's all so soft, the world feels like its humming a little.

"The water'll get cold."

"Good thing I run warm..." He tries to argue with you, like always, a sassy little remark to entice you to stay in the moment even if neither of you can.

"Clay, we're not staying in here all night, we'll die of pneumonia or something."

"Would be worth it." He grins into your shoulder, eyes relaxing when you reach a hand back to scratch his scalp and play with his hair. He's tired, so fucking tired and his face still aches like a bitch but this is nice, this so nice.

"We should really get some ice on your face, try and take some of the swelling down."

"Do we have to?" The idea of putting ice on his face right now is anything but appealing, but he knows you're right. His face is already pretty swollen and bruised and it's only going to get worse if he doesn't look after it.

"Do you want to be able to see from your left eye in the morning?"

"Good point, just...5 more minutes, baby?"

"5 more minutes." You let him have his 5 more minutes and then some, using the time to get clean yourself and rinse conditioner from his hair before the two of you stand from the bath after the water has cooled significantly.

He's sat crossed legged on the bed in a cosy hoodie and boxers by the time you've put together a makeshift icepack, ice piled up into a ratty old tea towel you got when you first moved out.

The look he gives the icepack is nothing short of disdainful, a glare that's combined with a pout of his top lip like the icepack has personally offended him already when it hasn't even touched him. If anyone should glare it's you because your hands are getting cold.

"The only way that is touching my face is if you're sat in my lap, sweet girl." He pats his thighs like its a given, like you'll just go over and plonk yourself down without question.

"You already agreed to ice your face, Clayton John Keller." Your hands find your hips, a stance Clayton calls your mom stance and it's extra apt when you're using his full name like that. Not that that deters him from his goal of having you wrapped up on his lap because that's the only thing that might make ice to the face semi-bearable.

"Only if you sit in my lap."

"That is not the original agreement."

"Yeah, well, trade talks, deals get renegotiated all the time." He shrugs with a smirk, pulling out the dimples because he knows you struggle to be stubborn when he does that and as much as you hate it...he's fucking charming and it works. You're sighing and stomping over like you're not totally endeared by him, letting him pull you up and onto his lap without any real protest until your legs are wrapped around his waist, your butt sat perfectly in the hollow created by him sitting crisscrossed.

"You are incredibly difficult to care for, Mr Keller." You grumble as you cup his face with one hand and raise the makeshift icepack to his eye with the other.

"Can you really deny an injured man small comforts like his girlfriend in his lap?" His smirk only widens until it doesn't, a hiss leaving his lips at the way it pulls on his stitches as his eyebrow moves.

"Mmm, you're ridiculous." You're smiling when you say it and that alone lets Clayton know that you're enjoying this as much as him.

He hisses again when the cold finally touches his skin, almost jerking back but your hand on his cheek stops him from going very far. The icepack is cold, so fucking cold, and he knows you're going to force it to stay there until you're satisfied that some of the swelling has gone down. You're cruel like that.

Clayton's hands fall to your hips, fingers clenching and gripping onto you, not painfully, but firmly enough that you know he hates this, hates the sensation of ice on his skin even if there's a tea towel in between.

You try to make it as bearable as possible, pressing kisses to the right side of his face even as the left faces the terrible ordeal of icing. The kisses have Clayton humming, hands stroking from your hips to your waist and back down again in a rhythmic motion that brings back memories of every make out session you've ever had with the man, and that you wouldn't be having until you were certain his face wasn't swollen and bruised.

When you finally pull the icepack away his face is less swollen, eye still partially closed, but no less bruised, you know the purple is going to eventually fade to a horrible yellow. You throw the damp tea towel into the laundry basket from where you're sat, excellent aim that has you letting out a little cheer that gets Clayton smiling up at you.

"Thank you, sweet girl, always taking care of me..." He presses a kiss to your lips, short and sweet, only because you refuse to let him stay there too long, determined to let the man rest.

"Yeah, well, you're always taking care of me too."

[sirfrogsworth]

The Anger Returned

This is probably the most hurtful and infuriating paragraph I've ever read...

"As for taking care of dad. We offered many times to find a place for you and dad to live closer to us so that we could take dad to his appointments and have some skilled care available. He didn't want to leave you at the house alone, so my wife searched high and low for a place that could take both of you. Dad was open to moving closer to us and had said he would have done so on several occasions but you were unwilling to give up the house and ultimately dad said no based on your opposition to moving and that you both would remain at the house. You make it sound like you were taking on this burden to relieve the pressure off me, but in reality this was the only way to retain the house for you after dad's passing. Because if you were unable to care for Dad the current situation would be very different."

That is one of the last things my brother said to me way back in August of 2023.

I don't understand how two people can be so oblivious to what is involved in taking care of a dying person.

Taking him to his appointments was probably the easiest part. And that is what they were willing to personally contribute.

And "skilled care"? What does that mean? A nurse? House cleaning?

Within my dad's budget, we could have maybe afforded someone to come a few times per week. That would have been almost no help to me at all. Plus, they could have sent "skilled care" to this house. Why was that dependent on moving closer?

It feels like they think appointments and having someone come over for a few hours here and there is all it took to care for my father.

But accusing me of wanting to stay put so I could "retain the house."

I still don't know how to process that anger.

It repeats in my head in a loop. Sometimes I will forget about it for a few weeks. Maybe a month. And then tonight it just started looping in my head again.

First, my dad lied. He kinda screwed me. He probably didn't know he was screwing me. But he did not want to leave this house. He was surrounded by my mom's things. He thought her spirit was still here. He talked to her at night when he was trying to fall asleep. I don't think he knew I could hear him.

Oh, and he threatened to kill himself if we tried to move him out of this house. So there was that, too.

But he lied and blamed it on me so my brother would stop pressuring him to move. I get it. But it gave my brother an excuse to blame me. A way to justify away his guilt. Sure, he was only 45 minutes away. But if he were only 5 minutes away, that would have somehow solved everything.

My dad couldn't go to a nursing home because he was neglected so badly in rehab (which is a nursing home) that he had to call the police on them. He said "I'll die before I go back to one of those places."

And the fact they were even considering that just shows you how out of touch they were with the situation.

And, yes, I didn't want to move. That is true. But it had nothing to do with "retaining the house." I thought the stressful process of moving would kill my dad. And I asked the doctor what moving could do to my dad's health and he said, without hesitation, "Oh yeah, that would have killed him."

Beyond that, they had no plan. They didn't say how we were going to get our belongings out of the house. How were we supposed to handle the realtor or open houses? It took me months to configure this place to my dad's needs. Were they going to help me do that in a tiny apartment? Were they going to find my dad new doctors and a new pharmacy?

I built an entire infrastructure around this house to take care of my dad. They talk about all this work they did googling apartments but they did no research or planning on how to actually move us. Was that up to me? Was I supposed to figure all that out while giving him 24/7 care?

I was watching a new show called The Pitt and it had a woman taking care of her elderly mom. And she was so overwhelmed she abandoned her at the ER. And I started crying because that is so real. Taking care of a dying person is nonstop stress.

I had to watch my dad go to the bathroom every single time to make sure he didn't fall. Which meant I never slept through the night.

Not once.

I slept on a mattress on the floor next to the hallway so every time he got up, I would wake up. And if he fell, I would pick him up. In the final few months he could not tuck himself back into bed. So 4 times per night I had to get up, watch him pee, arrange his pillows so they supported his back, pull up the covers, and then tuck them under the pillows so they wouldn't move. He was so uncomfortable all the time and that was the only way he could fall asleep.

And those were the *easy* days.

The hard days involved cleaning up pee and poop. Sometimes blood. Sometimes mystery fluids. Before I got the special lifting device, if he fell, I had to literally drag him to his electronic reclining chair so we could use the footrest to help get him up again. I once had to drag him through two rooms and hurt my back for a week. I probably should have called EMS, but I didn't know my back would go out until it was too late.

And then there were the delirium days where he talked and didn't make any sense. How do you take care of someone you can't communicate with? He had a dead toe that needed lotion applied. Nearly made me puke every time. And then there was the time the urologist had to open up his urethra. With a metal spike. My dad screamed so loud I nearly had a panic attack. Every person in that office heard him scream.

But I think his depression was probably the hardest to deal with. He had a son that never spoke to him. Never visited. And a granddaughter he only met a few times. He cried himself to sleep so many nights. Sometimes it was so bad I had to lie with him in bed and just rub his back until he fell asleep. He was so lonely without my mom. And I tried to be good company, but I was often too tired to give him any attention beyond his care.

When things were hardest he would get suicidal. And considering his quality of life, I didn't blame him. Sometimes I regret keeping him alive as long as I did. He was ready to go as soon as he lost his wife. But we both held out hope my brother would wake the fuck up and realize there was not much time to make amends. To say goodbye. To install core memories of my dad in his daughter's mind. So she'd at least have one grandparent to remember.

It never happened and I feel guilty for letting him live so long in misery when deep down I knew that hope was foolish.

That's the kind of shit no one knows or thinks about when it comes to caregiving. The easy days are hard and the hard days are impossible and you feel awful for feeling overwhelmed because you aren't the one miserable and dying. Dialysis is nearly barbaric.

For over a year, I barely slept at night. And the only time I could get uninterrupted sleep was when he was at dialysis. So the only time I ever had to myself, I had to use sleeping so I wouldn't burn out.

Hiring a "skilled worker" does nothing to help me with that. And no nursing home is going to give him that kind of care.

Only love can give someone that kind of care.

My brother doesn't think I saved him from any burden by taking care of my dad. I just wish I could figure out a way to show him just how incorrect that is.

If I refused to take care of my dad and left it all in my brother's hands, he would have put him in a nursing home and burned through all of my dad's money in a few months. Then he'd either have to pay for his care or take him in.

Was he going to watch my dad pee 4 times a night and tuck him in?

Those who have never taken care of someone like this... have you ever thought deeply about what is involved? Does your common sense tell you it is a little more than driving to appointments and hiring a "skilled worker"?

Why does my brother (and my uncles) think so little of my efforts?

I honestly thought it was common knowledge that taking care of a dying person was super duper hard.

It was the hardest thing I will ever do. And the thing I am most proud of accomplishing. And for some reason I still want my brother to say thank you. I don't know how to find closure without that gratitude. And I'm pretty sure it will never happen.

[sweetbans29]

Back to You (1) - CC Series

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: The breakup.

Warning: Angst

Word Count: 1.3k

Back to You Masterlist & Sweetbans Masterlist

Hi hi! I know it has been a long while and I can't say I am back forever but I am back for now and I feel like that is something we both have been wanting. I can't promise fast but if you hand in there, I think this series will be worth it. Love you all!

"Cait, what do you mean?" You say as you look your girlfriend dead in the eyes. Well, I guess your ex-girlfriend now. She looks away from you, looking down to her fidgeting hands.

The two of you have been dating for 3 years. Technically 2 years, 11 months and 26 days. You are days away from your 3 year anniversary.

"Caitlin, what do you mean?" You ask again, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible.

"I mean exactly what I said," she says almost inaudibly. Her eyes still locked on her hands as the words come out sounding like a mistake, like they aren't even her words to begin with.

You scoff and turn around, brining your hands to your head. You begin to pace and try to think of any sort of indication this was on the horizon.

The thing is, your relationship with Caitlin has never been conventional. For starters, if you were to ask anyone on campus, they would tell you that Caitlin is dating Connor McCaffery. If you were to ask the world, they would say she is happily in a relationship with Connor whether they agreed with it or not. Her manager thought it would be a good publicity move. Not that you had any say in the matter. It didn't matter to you - you had Caitlin and that was everything.

Another thing about your relationship is that only a select few knew about it. Her manager being one of them. Connor, of course. Your parents and your mutual best friend, Kate Martin.

Her team didn't know. Neither of your friend groups knew. She even went so far as keeping you from her parents which was always a sore point in your relationship. You didn't need the world to know but the two of you had many discussions around telling her parents.

You knew going into this relationship that she wanted to keep in hidden. You had fallen so hard for the girl that nothing mattered expect being with her. So you put your pride aside and told her it didn't matter and you meant it. Nothing mattered except being with her. The secrecy. The cover-up boyfriend. The closed doors. None of it mattered because when it was the two of you - it was right. It was good. She's your everything.

"What she means is that we are no longer faking it," Connor says with a smirk.

You lift your left hand and flip him off. You hear him laugh.

"Caitlin," you begin, trying to focus solely on her.

"Are you deaf?" Connor says. "It's over. You're finished."

"Con, maybe you should go," Caitlin says, wanting to explain what is actually going on. "I got this."

"Clearly you don't," he says as he steps in between you and her. "Look, you two had your fun but Caitlin came to her senses and she has chosen me. You were a fun experiment for the time being but she doesn't swing that way."

You can physically feel the steam coming out of your ears as you breath deeper trying to compose yourself enough to not rip his head off. You see Caitlin put a hand on his shoulder. Your eyes close.

"Don't make this harder on yourself than it needs to be," Connor says.

"I need to hear her say it," you say through gritted teeth, eyes still closed. Your head fogs, as if opening your eyes would wake you from this nightmare. "I need her to say it."

You hear the shake in Caitlin's breath as she inhales, ready to speak. After a moment, nothing comes out. Her words caught in her throat.

Connor turns to her and holds her shoulders, "I got this babe, if she is making you uncomfortable, you can wait in the car."

Little to his knowledge, that is the last thing Caitlin wants.

"Connor, can you give us a minute please?" Caitlin says, finally bringing her eyes to you.

"Just make it fast," Connor says, annoyance in his tone. He kisses the top of Caitlin's head and walks away from where the two of you are standing by your car.

No amount of fresh air seems to be enough in this moment.

You look at her, waiting for her to say something. Anything, at this point.

Her eyes grace over you, stopping at your lips and you feel like you can see her take a the slightest of inhales. Your lips were always one of her favorite spots.

Caitlin's hand twitches and the one one thing she wants to do she can't, not with what is happening the next few months that will launch her career in the W.

You close your eyes again, you can't get your mind to stop spinning.

Caitlin brings her hand up, close enough to touch your face but she hesitates. You feel her presence and hold your breath. Waiting - hoping for her to show any signs that this isn't happening.

She brings her hand back down to her side and fists her shirt to keep herself from caving.

You wait for her to speak and after a few minutes of silence you decide to break it.

"Was any of it real?" You ask. You have never doubted Caitlin before and you really don't know why you are doubting her now but with the things Connor said and hearing her start this whole avalanche has you questioning everything.

"That's not fair," Caitlin says, getting defensive that you would even think that. "Of course it was real."

Your eyes flash open.

"Not fair? Not FAIR?" You seethe. "What's not fair is the fact that I have loved you for the past 3 years and the only person to know about it was your media boy toy. I have given you all of me, everything I have to give and I was okay doing it all under your terms, your conditions. I have been nothing but willing Cait. So much so that I was willing to hide us from the people YOU love most. Never rushing you. When did we go from packing for our 3 year anniversary to here? And you have the audacity to say it’s not fair when I ask if it’s been real. How am I suppose to believe that it’s been real when I’ve been hidden for all this time?”

You take a step towards her and she takes a step back. If nothing up to this point broke your heart - that little step did. You realized in that moment that there was nothing you could say, definitely nothing you could do to take back this moment. Take back her decision.

You nod, heart finally shattering into the millions of pieces you have been trying to hold together. You take a step back. Then another.

Caitlin realizes that this is your surrender. She panics and begins to take step forward but stops. This is already hard enough without explaining why she is doing this, not that she could thanks to the contract she signed with her manager.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, as if those two words would somehow make this all a little better.

It doesn't.

You turn around, refusing to let your tears spill in front of her. You don't hear her walk away but you wish she would. You can only hold it together for so much longer.

Your breathing becomes shallow, as you throat beings to close. You let out a single sob before throwing your hand over your mouth as you wrap your other arm around your stomach. Providing little to no comfort for yourself.

Caitlin's hand comes up to your shoulder, giving it the lightest touch. Similar to the one she gave Connor not 15 minutes ago. You shrug her off and compose yourself.

"No, Caitlin. I'm the the one who's sorry," you choke out. "I'm sorry I wasn't enough."

You open your car door, get in, and drive away - leaving who you thought would be your future, in the past.

AN - I have been thinking about this series for a whole 12 hours before I started to write it lol. I don't know how long it will be but I can tell you this is only the beginning. Buckle up. Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[naamahdarling]

Set reminders on your phone to refill your scrips as soon as you can do so. This will get you a few extra days of meds a month. Set those aside to cover your ass during delays.

Your pharmacist may be able to help you move things around so all/most of your monthly things can be done at once.

Keep a list of your meds on your phone. If you're worried that this particular provider is over sensitive and it might make you look overprepared, you can always drop in a line about how your your friend or relative insisted you do it, haha, but it really has made things easier.

Keep a list of every medication you have been given, when you started it, when you stopped taking it, and why you took it and why you stopped. This is especially useful if you are trying out different medications, like for depression or ADHD or whatever, and you wind up trying two or three or five different things in a relatively short period of time. You think you'll be able to remember the first one or two and don't need to write it down, but trust me, it is very possible he will need that information and not be able to remember it.

Jot down any phone call you received or place, and the name of who you spoke to, and what time the call occurred. Make a note of what was said.

Yes, bring people to appointments.

Have people there when you are on the phone if possible.

You can introduce them as your advocate, if you think that might be advantageous. This works better on the phone, where they should introduce themselves. In person, they should be dressed nicely, even if you look like crap. They don't have to talk for you, just be there. This made a huge difference when resolving my boyfriend's major issues at a psych clinic.

If you bring someone to an appointment and want them to come back with you, go up to the front desk and ask for a release that will allow them to do so. Some places aren't super strict about it but you still want them on the record for phone calls and such. Other places, such as GAC and reproductive health clinics, can be a lot stricter (for good reasons) and you will absolutely need the release.

Always ask how long a medication will take to work, and how long you should wait before contacting them if it doesn't seem to be working. This is an extremely helpful thing to know but they often don't remember to tell you.

When trying to get a bureaucratic problem fixed, always act as though you are just so glad to be speaking to THE person who can help you. Act as though they are the solution, make them feel appreciated. If all they can do is refer you to someone else, brilliant, they still did you a tremendous favor! I know it's really hard to be polite sometimes, but if you have a beef with a clinic or insurance company, but not the person you were speaking to, it doesn't pay to be actively rude. Even if you do have beef with the person you're speaking to, it still doesn't pay to be rude.

When dealing with red tape, always ask what the next step is, and whether you need to do it or whether they will do it for you. Know how long it should take something to be done, and check back in when that time arrives. Even if you have a really great relationship with a clinic, this is such a helpful thing to do for both of you.

Record all phone calls. Talker ACR and Talker ACR Helper, used together, will let you. Download them from app site, stores don't have them. Obviously, don't do this if it's illegal where you are. This is incredibly handy for reference, if you need to go back and check who you spoke to, ask a friend for an opinion, or see if they really said that absolutely batshit thing you think you heard them say.

If you are treated poorly and feel that you can do so safely without compromising your identity in a way that will lead to further poor care, leave bad reviews on major review sites, and encourage other patients to do so as well, if you know anyone in the same position. Google reviews are actually useful to people, they are one of the first places people check, but there are physician review sites as well. Leave reviews there. If you have multiple other patients leaving reviews, over time you can tank a clinic's rating. (Obviously do not have your entire friends group leave negative reviews over the same incident. That will lead to what you say being dismissed, and on some sites removed altogether.) If it prevents even one person from wasting their time or getting hurt, it's worth speaking out, especially if the issue is bigotry. I have avoided clinics and providers where homophobia/transphobia/fatphobia was mentioned, and considered that a bullet dodged.

With reviews, be clear right up front in the first line whether it was clinic staff or the provider that was the issue. Providers often work at more than one facility, so if you find out that this is the case it's perfectly acceptable to leave a bad review for them at that facility as well. I keep track of the couple of people who openly verbally abused me or who almost caused me harm, and make sure that bad reviews follow them wherever they go. Be aware you may be burning bridges, use discretion and possibly an account that is not attached to your real name. If there were identifying features to the encounter and you don't want them to know it was you, do not include those, or disguise those in a credible way. You can also wait a while. If they leave a response with the number of a clinic manager, consider calling them back. It isn't always helpful, but it can be super helpful if the clinic manager was unaware of what's going on.

Filing complaints with state licensing boards typically isn't difficult. Consider doing so if something truly egregious happened. Also, you can typically check medical licensing boards to see if there have been complaints filed or measures taken against a particular provider. Different kinds of provider may have different licensing boards, make sure you are looking at the right one for the type of provider you are seeing. If the professional does not appear on the licensing board website you may need to check a different organization, or even in a different state. The licensing boards are typically made up of medical professionals, so they are less likely to rule in favor of the patient than if they were patient-led as they should be, but a pattern of behavior, once established, can lead to future action and help others.

Do not threaten legal action. If that's the route you want to take, move in the shadows. If there's going to be a lawsuit, they should hear about that first from your lawyer. Don't give them warning, don't telegraph your actions. This is what a lawyer told me, so I'm assuming it's good advice.

That said, super politely asking for the name of the clinic manager or for regional/corporate headquarters can get things moving. It's a little aggressive, so take care with how you go about it, but a couple of times when I was in dire straits it was the only thing that got things done.

Good luck!

I've been disabled for almost 29 years. Here's what I've learned.

Tablets sink and capsules float. Separate out your tablets and capsules when you go to take them. Tip your head down when taking capsules and up when taking tablets. Liquigels don't matter, they kinda stay in the middle of whatever liquid is in your mouth.

If your pill tastes bad, coat it with a bit of butter or margarine. I learned this from my mom, who learned it from a pharmacist.

Being in pain every day isn't normal. Average people experience pain during exceptional moments, like when they stub their toe or jam their finger in a door, not when they sit cross-legged.

Make a medical binder. Make multiple medical binders. I have a small one that comes with me to appointments and two big ones that stay at home, one with old stuff and one with more recent stuff.

Find your icons. Some of mine include Daya Betty (drag queen with diabetes), Stef Sanjati (influencer with Waardenburg syndrome and ADHD), and Hank Green (guy with ulcerative colitis who... does a bunch of stuff). They don't have to be disabled in the same way as you. They don't even have to be real people. Put their pictures up somewhere if you want; I've been meaning to decorate my medical binders with pictures of my icons.

Take a bin, box, bag, basket, whatever and fill it with items to cope with. This can be stuff for mentally coping like colouring books or play clay or stuff for physically coping like pain medicine or physio tape.

Decorate your shit! My cane for at home has a plushie backpack clip hanging from the end of the handle and my cane for going places is covered in stickers. All of my medical binders have fun scrapbooking paper on the outside. Sometimes, I put stickers and washi tape on my inhalers and pill bottles. I used my Cricut to decorate my coping bin with quotes from my icons, like "I've seen enough of Ba Sing Se" and "I need you to be angrier with that bell".

If a flare-up is making you unable to eat or keep food down, consider going to the ER. A pharmacist once told me that since my eye flares can make me so nauseous that I cannot eat, then I need to go to the hospital when that happens.

Cola works wonders for nausea. I have mini cans of Diet Pepsi in my coping bin.

Shortbread is one of the only things I can eat when nauseous. Giant Tiger sells individually-wrapped servings of shortbread around Christmas or the British import store sells them year-round. I also keep these in my coping bin.

Unless it violates a pain contract or something, don't be afraid to go behind your doctor's back to get something they are refusing you. I got my cardiologist referral by getting in with a different NP at my primary care clinic than who I usually saw. I switched from Seroquel to Abilify by visiting a walk-in.

If you have a condition affecting your abdomen in some way (GI issues, reproductive problems, y'know) then invest in track pants that are too big. I bought some for my laparoscopy over a year ago and they've been handy for pelvic pain days, too. I've also heard loose pants are good for after colonoscopies.

Do whatever works, even if it's weird. I've sat on the floor of the Eaton Centre to take my pills. I've shoved heating pads down my front waistband to reach my uterus.

High-top Converse are good for weak ankles. I almost exclusively wear them.

You can reuse your pill bottles for stuff. I use my jumbo ones to store makeup sponges and my long skinny ones to hold a travel-size amount of Q-Tips.

Just because your diagnostics come back with nothing, it doesn't mean nothing is wrong. Maybe you were checking the wrong thing, or the diagnostic tool wasn't sensitive enough. I have bradycardia episodes even though multiple cardiac tests caught nothing. I probably have endometriosis even though my gynecologist didn't see anything.

You can bring your comfort item to appointments, and it's generally a green flag when someone talks to you about it. I brought a Squishmallow turkey (named Ulana) to my laparoscopy and they had her wearing my mask when I woke up. I brought a Build-A-Bear cat (named Blinx) to another procedure and a nurse told me that everyone in the hall on the way to the procedure room saw him and were talking about how cute he was. Both of those ended up being positive experiences and every person who talked to me about my plushies was nice to me. If you don't feel comfortable having it visible to your provider during the appointment, you can hide it in your bag and just know it's there, or if you're in a video appointment, you can hold it below frame in your lap.

Get a small bucket, fill it with stuff, and stick it in your bed (if you have room for it). I filled a bucket with Ensure, juice boxes, oatmeal bars, lotion, my rescue inhaler, etc. in October 2023 in anticipation of my laparoscopy and I still have it in my bed as of January 2025.

If your disability impacts your impulse control (e.g. ADHD, bipolar disorder), you should consider setting limits around your spending -- no more than X dollars at a time, nothing online unless it's absolutely necessary, and so on. Or, run these purchases by someone you trust before committing to them; I use my BFF groupchat to help talk sense into myself when I buy stuff.

Feel free to add on what you've learned about disability!

[turtle-paced]

Have you ever felt like Martin doesn't like Cersei? The way he writes about her made me question? I mean she is both evil and stupid and it seems like we are supposed to laugh at her.

Cersei is pretty evil, and while I don't believe she's stupid, it's hard not to laugh (incredulously or otherwise) at her many, many bad ideas over the course of the series. Especially in AFFC.

But it's also clear to me that GRRM has compassion for this villain he's created - and that he has right from the start.

Let's put this under a cut for domestic violence and sheer length.

Ned touched her cheek gently. "Has he done this before?" "Once or twice." She shied away from his hand. "Never on the face before. Jaime would have killed him, even if it meant his own life." Cersei looked at him defiantly. "My brother is worth a hundred of your friend." Eddard XII, AGoT

GRRM chooses to frame the pivotal confrontation between Ned and Cersei with the reality of the domestic violence Cersei has experienced. Whatever else happens in that scene, whatever else she's done that might or might not be justified, the author makes sure the reader knows, Ned knows, that Cersei has good reason to hate Robert.

When she hesitated, then sat, Tyrion knew she was lost, despite her loud declaration of, "I will not marry again!" "You will marry and you will breed. Every child you birth makes Stannis more a liar." Their father's eyes seemed to pin her to her chair. Tyrion III, ASoS

This is re-emphasised as Tyrion witnesses Tywin's abuse of Cersei. Even Tyrion, who also has good reason to hate Cersei, cannot help but see how their father completely ignores Cersei's desires, reduces her autonomy to rubble, and above all makes her feel small. This is quite deliberately in Tyrion's PoV to make that dissonance stronger. Cersei is awful, but Tyrion can take no satisfaction in Tywin mistreating her.

Similarly,

His sister sat in a puddle of wine, cradling her son's body. Her gown was torn and stained, her face white as chalk. A thin black dog crept up beside her, sniffing at Joffrey's corpse. "The boy is gone, Cersei," Lord Tywin said. He put his gloved hand on his daughter's shoulder as one of his guardsmen shooed away the dog. "Unhand him now. Let him go." She did not hear. It took two Kingsguard to pry loose her fingers, so the body of King Joffrey Baratheon could slide limp and lifeless to the floor. Tyrion VIII, ASoS

Cersei's grief over watching her son murdered in front of her is a key character moment for her. Is Joffrey a good person? No. Is Cersei's immediate response of demanding Tyrion's arrest a good and just idea? No. Is that grief still real? Absolutely.

It was more than Cersei could stand. I cannot let them see me cry, she thought, when she felt the tears welling in her eyes. She walked past Ser Meryn Trant and out into the back passage. Alone beneath a tallow candle, she allowed herself a shuddering sob, then another. A woman may weep, but not a queen. Cersei III, AFFC

That lasts. It's not healthy but it is genuine. The author isn't putting this in here so we laugh at her. The author is putting this here to help us remember throughout the parade of evil and stupid crap Cersei's about to do that Cersei is a human with human emotions.

And when all that crap has backfired on Cersei, the author makes sure we know that the punishment inflicted on her is not for her sins but instead for her biological sex. He shows her break from that treatment.

Words are wind, she thought, words cannot hurt me. I am beautiful, the most beautiful woman in all Westeros, Jaime says so, Jaime would never lie to me. Even Robert, Robert never loved me, but he saw that I was beautiful, he wanted me. She did not feel beautiful, though. She felt old, used, filthy, ugly. Cersei II, ADWD

The walk of shame is just misogyny, pure and simple, nothing to do with what Cersei's actually done wrong. It is deliberately not karma out to get Cersei. It is deliberately not comeuppance. It is a reminder that Cersei has a point all those times when she points out she's been treated differently because of her sex - even if it's not the whole of the reason people don't respect her.

Even if a reader doesn't think Cersei deserves mercy, even if a reader finds her political bumbling funny, there's a lot around her that shows us that the reader wants us to think carefully about what made Cersei both a horrible person and a horrible politician. She is most definitely not there just to be the butt of the author's joke. That's Victarion.

[purinfelix]

pretty as a picture - sim jake ˚⟡˖ ࣪

summary - in which your job as a photographer becomes unexpectedly difficult because of your new model ──── jake x photographer! reader || fluff, first meeting, they're both a little smitten || w/c; 566

a/n: idk what it is with my sudden bursts of inspiration to write for enha but i hope y'all enjoy this !!- the idea literally came to me as soon as i saw the first pic on pinterest lol

"Just a little to the left Jake."

"Like this?" you watch as his brows knit together, curving upwards as he follows your instructions obediently.

"Yes, exactly," you say with a smile, positioning yourself behind the camera lens once more.

You have to say he's one of the most difficult clients you've worked with so far, and being a professional photographer you don't say that often. Though it definitely isn't because of his inexperience or uncooperativeness - actually it's the complete opposite. He follows your instructions exactly, and you can tell he's not new to these sorts of photoshoots. The issue is that every time you find yourself looking through your camera, into his eyes you're caught off guard at the sight of him looking back at you so earnestly - making you lose focus.

It's to the point where this photoshoot, which was only supposed to take twenty minutes, has stretched out to an unbearable one-hour-long challenge. You told yourself you'd finish up soon, though there's something about this concept that you feel you're struggling to capture - or maybe it's the fact that your subject matter is too frustratingly handsome. Whatever it is, it's taking forever and you can feel fatigue taking its toll on you as you let out a soft yawn before walking towards him again.

"Actually, try going back to the right, and maybe straighten up a little," you say, chewing your bottom lip in thought. You're endeared by how obedient he is though - it's almost as if he understands exactly what you want out of him, and is more than eager to deliver.

Still, something doesn't seem right and you can't help but let out a soft laugh at how ridiculously tired you feel - though it's clear this intention didn't come across.

"Wh- am I doing it wrong?" he suddenly asks, round eyes flicking up to you in worry.

"Oh, no-" you rush to reassure him, "it's just, I'm sorry this is taking forever you must be so tired," you sigh.

He only offers a soft smile in response, and a small shrug, "I'm alright, it's not too bad."

You nod back, feeling spurred on by his suddenly genuine response, now determined to complete the shoot for the sake of repaying his patience with you. Before you realise it you're grabbing his wrist gently, pulling it up to rest on the block in front of him and guiding his chin into its hold. It's only when you snap out of your sudden burst of inspiration that you notice just how close you are to him and how softly his gaze lands on you, in a way that makes him look almost in awe with you.

"Like this?" he says, barely above a whisper and you can't help but feel a small amount of pride at the fact that he's only talking to you now.

"Perfect," you hum back, holding back a smile as you rush back to the camera to capture his pose. It's only once you're behind the lens that you notice the smile spread across his face and light blush tinging his cheeks, which you tell yourself is just the job of the makeup department. Though it's hard to deny the way he looks straight into the camera lens, almost through it to you - meeting your eyes warmly as you take his picture and without even checking it you know it's perfect.