#i want them to shock me by giving a happy(ish) ending

[mintfullyyours]

something blue

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!

I'd originally written this as a multi-chap fic so this is what I have so far. Thank you so much for reading!! I really appreciate and love talking to everyone about the 141! authors here are so talented and feed me in every way that I'm grateful to have this creative outlet too.

AnYWAY!!! LMK what y'all think.

Other Simon pics for your consideration: amnesiac!simon part 1, amnesiac!simon part 2-ish, patching up exhusband!simon, ex-husband!simon part 2, to give a dog a bone (aka saving simon once),

"Baby, listen, I needed a break so I could do some... soul-searching."

You pressed your phone to your ear, weaving through the crowd as you descended the escalator toward baggage claim. "And soul-searching had to happen between your assistant's legs?"

"It was one time," James sighed, exasperation laced in his voice.

"Right. And that makes it better somehow?" You scoffed, adjusting the duffle bag slipping off your shoulder. "Listen, James, I have to go. It’s my sister's wedding week, and I’m really looking forward to explaining to my entire family why my cheating ex won’t be in attendance—for obvious reasons."

Too focused on maneuvering through the sea of travelers, you didn’t notice the hulking figure in your path until you collided—shouldering a body that felt like solid stone. A shock shot through you, something sharp and electric, like static but deeper, rippling under your skin.

"Shit—sorry," you mumbled, barely sparing the man a glance. But even in that fleeting moment, there was something about him. The sheer size of him, the weight of his gaze, the way he felt — like gravity had shifted just for him.

A grunt emanated from his lips. You shook your head and darted away from him – not wanting to deal with the locals and refocused your attention on the carousel.

“Baby, I—”

"Nope. Goodbye." You hung up mid-protest and exhaled, exasperated. The last thing you needed was James’ voice in your ear ruining the little bit of peace you had left.

The conveyor belt whirred to life and your simple black suitcase rolled into view. You grabbed it swiftly, eager to put distance between you and the airport chaos, already exhausted by the week ahead. You just needed a hot shower, a drink, and a moment to forget your disaster of a love life.

Unbeknownst to you, across the baggage claim, a towering man in a black hoodie with a camouflage print duffle bag was staring down at a suitcase identical to yours.

Simon Riley’s brow furrowed beneath his mask as he realized his luggage was missing.

At your hotel room, you finally picked up your mother’s call—something you’d been avoiding all night.

“You’re coming for... As the Brits would say afternoon tea tomorrow, right?” she asked, her voice chipper and expectant. “Your sister’s future in-laws will be there too.”

“Yeah, of course, Mom,” you mumbled, shutting the curtains to your room.

“Oh, good! Wear the pink dress I bought you then.” You shuddered at the thought of wearing something so fluffy. “And you brought your sister’s baby pictures?”

You plopped onto the floor, suitcase in front of you, already unzipping it. “Yes, they’re in my lugga—”

Your words cut off as the sight before you sank in.

This… wasn’t your luggage.

“What the fuck…” you mumbled, sifting through the unfamiliar belongings. Your mother tsked on the other end. “Language.”

“Sorry, uh—yeah. I brought them,” you said absentmindedly, but panic had already started to settle in. Your suitcase could be anywhere by now. You were so screwed.

Your fingers frantically dug into the foreign clothing, pulling out neatly folded black shirts—all black, heavy-duty material, the kind that felt expensive but built for function. Then came the cargo pants, thick straps and buckles lining the sides. You lifted a jacket that looked like it weighed more than you, feeling the sheer size of it, like it belonged to a man carved from stone.

And then—your fingers brushed against something different.

Thick. Stiff. Worn.

You pulled it out, expecting a belt or gloves���only to be met with the hollow, gaping eyes of a skull mask.

A chill ran down your spine.

The material was sturdy, molded for durability, not for show. The kind of thing that didn’t belong in civilian luggage.

A weight settled in your stomach, but before you could even process it, your fingers brushed against another.

And then another.

Your pulse spiked as you pulled them free—three, four—each identical, yet different. Some had cracks along the bone-white surface, others bore deep scuffs, dark smudges, like they’d been through hell. One of them had what looked like dried blood staining the lower jaw.

Your mind raced. What the hell kind of person needed multiple skull masks? Your throat went dry. Was he some kind of serial killer? A mercenary? A complete fucking psycho? Why the hell did you have this bag?

“Also, did James arrive with you?”

Your mother’s voice cut through the silence. Another muttered fuck under your breath. “Who? Sorry, yeah, Mom… about that.”

“Is that Sissy?” a voice chirped in the background. “Gimme, gimme — hello?”

Your sister’s voice replaced your mother’s, bright and teasing. She was always so much better at this, at life, than you. 

“Heyyy,” you said, forcing lightness into your tone, “I’m excited to see you tomorrow!”

“Ugh, same. Save me from the mom-sanity,” she giggled. “You’re bringing James, right? I’m dying to meet the guy!”

Your fingers traced the luggage lining, searching—praying—for some kind of identification. Then, finally, you found it. A small leather name tag, embossed with a name and phone number.

Without thinking, without breathing, you word-vomited the first name you saw. “Did I say James? Because I meant… Simon.”

A pause. Well you were committed to the bit now. 

“...Simon Riley.”

The name sat heavy in the air, and your fingers tightened around the mask still in your lap.

You didn’t know who Simon Riley was. But for now that didn’t matter. The name sat heavy between you and your sister, stretching the air thin. Your sister broke the silence first, “Okay… I guess I have time to change the seating card but really sissy, you have to tell me these things sooner. And Simon's your boyfriend, right?”

She asked and then, a vibration.

Your head snapped to your phone screen.

UNKNOWN CALLER.

You chose to ignore it, "Yes, I'm with Simon. Been almost a year now." The lie came easily because what else could you have said?

Then another vibration.

This time, a text.

A single message.

“Wrong bag, love. But you already knew that.”

A chill shot down your spine with skull masks staring up at you. You gulped and hung up the phone after you reassured your sister you'd be there tomorrow. This was going to be a long night.

Now you and Simon Riley had never met before. Not properly, anyway.

The first time he knew you existed was because of a simple mix-up at the baggage claim. Nothing special. Nothing deliberate. Just a wrong bag taken by the wrong person at the worst possible time.

And yet—

The moment he unzipped your suitcase, his entire world tilted.

Your scent was the first thing that hit him. Something warm, something sweet. Not perfume—no, it was deeper than that. Skin and shampoo and you. He could smell it on the soft sweater tucked inside, the delicate pink lace of something he shouldn’t be touching, but he does anyway.

Then, there was the red floor-length dress.

The dress that, for some fucking reason, he couldn't stop staring at.

His fingers flexed around the fabric, his mind already playing tricks on him—How would it fit? Would it hug her just right? Would it be easy to pull up, to push aside—

His jaw clenched.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this.

But then there were the other things—small, delicate things that told him more about you than a conversation ever could. The book tucked into the side pocket. The neatly folded socks. The half-used lipstick that made his pulse tick in his throat.

What would that color look like staining the skin around his cock?

And that was when he knew.

Knew he had to see you.

He thanked the Universe for the handy contact information on your luggage tag and reached for his phone.

It wasn't about the luggage anymore.

It was about you.

Tag list

@ebodebo @meheheasasa @thegirlintheshadows101 @galactict3a @star-buck-barnes @synamonthy @vylaris @vvenus-child @negomisan @heretoreadanddrinktea @mocalocha @icommitwarcrimes @readingcatinacorner @just-lilita @blackhawkfanatic @kristalhi

[secretl1fe0fm3]

maroon pt. 2 ~ billie eilish x fem!reader

“the mark they saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones, the lips i used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon.”

warnings: smut, angst, fighting, dom!billie, sub!reader, eating out, fingering, choking, dirty talk, hate sex, happy (ish) ending

18+ minors dni!!!

2.2k words

part one

Two months, It has been two months since that unforgettable night with Billie.

Before you had left that next morning, she had asked you for your phone number to keep in touch. You gave it to her without hesitation, and she had promised she would message you.

Radio silence. Nothing. Not a single message.

After a month, you had accepted that it was just a one-time hookup, and attempted to put your feelings aside. You tried not to let it get to you. She had been the one to initiate everything that night you first met, and you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. So you tried to move on, but you couldn’t stop thinking about her, and it didn’t help that she was everywhere.

And it also didn’t help that she was at your friends birthday party tonight.

Sitting in the corner on the couch, you sip your drink slowly, eyes narrowing as you watch Billie converse with everyone. The fact that she was even here had baffled you, and as soon as you had heard her voice when she walked in, you knew it was going to be a long night.

You stood up from your spot and walked over to the kitchen, opting for a whole bottle of wine, gripping it tightly between your fingers. Your friend sees you and smiles, calling out your name and motioning for you to come talk with her. Your eyes flicker around the group she’s standing with, noticing Billie, and your jaw clenches. Fuck it.

Walking over to them, your hands slightly shake from the tight grip on the bottle of wine.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” Your friend squeals drunkenly, putting her arm around your shoulder and pulling you into her side. A smile falls on your face momentarily, genuinely happy to be able to spend her birthday with her.

She smiles big as she introduces you to everyone in the group you’re now standing with. Billie’s eyes bore into yours, a small smirk evident on her face as she glances down at the bottle of wine you’re holding.

After a few minutes of small talk amongst everyone, the group slowly disperses, leaving just you and Billie standing there. Your eyes meet again, and a sinking feeling washes over you as you bring the bottle of wine up to your lips, taking a big sip.

“A whole bottle, really?” Billie laughs out, teasing you, but you don’t find it amusing.

“Why the fuck are you here?” You grit out, ignoring her comment.

Billie’s eyes study your face, almost as if she’s shocked at your outburst. “Looks like we have a mutual friend, small world, huh?” She grins, keeping her eyes locked on yours. You furrow your brows and glare at her.

“You never messaged me.” Your own words throw you off, not even thinking before they fall from your lips.

Her smile fades almost instantly, and she bites her lip hard, contemplating how to respond to you. You frown at her as you bring the bottle up to your lips, taking another sip.

Billie opens her mouth, about to respond to your comment, but you put your hand up, not wanting to hear what she has to say.

“Save it. You’ve had two months, two fucking months to message me, reach out, say fucking anything for all I care.” Your anger is boiling inside of you now, the wine giving you the courage to finally call her out. "And frankly, I don’t want to hear whatever sorry excuse you have. You can’t just come to this party and try to talk to me like we’re fucking cool, because we are not.” Your words continue to spew out, unable to stop them as they come.

Billie’s blue eyes flicker over your face, her mouth still slightly agape. She looks around, noticing a few people staring, watching the both of you closely. Your outburst not going unnoticed over the loud music.

"Fuck you." You spit out, your breathing heavy as you turn around on your heels, storming down the hallway into a random room, closing the door behind you.

Your back hits the door, and you take another swig of the wine, the bottle shaking in your hands. The loud music is now muffled as you try to calm yourself down. Your breathing finally evens out after a few moments, and you step away from the door, taking a seat on a chaise lounge. You set the bottle down on the small table next to you as your thoughts run wild. Were you too harsh? Did she deserve your outburst? Maybe it was all a misunderstanding?

A gentle yet firm knock breaks you from your thoughts as you look up at the door. Your eyes land on Billie as she walks into the room, closing the door behind her and locking it. You sit up straighter, clearing your throat quietly.

Billie keeps her gaze on you, her eyes narrowing as she walks over to you. You pull your lip between your teeth at her stern look, the familiar heat pooling in your belly.

"Im sor-" You start to apologize, but Billie cuts you off, reaching out to grip onto your chin, staring down at you with a look you can't quite distinguish.

"We could've handled this in private, and not make a scene at our friend’s birthday, you know," she sneered, her whole demeanor shifting as she continued to speak. "But you got my attention now, and you're going to regret it, pretty girl." Her hand moved down from your chin to wrap around your neck, squeezing softly.

A small smirk spreads across your face as your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of her grip on your neck. You feel Billie lean in closer, her breath fanning across your face. "You remember what I said last time?" she whispered into your ear.

Next time, you're gonna use this pretty mouth to eat me out, yeah?

A shiver ran down your spine, remembering the words she had uttered that night, her strap deep inside you. You clenched down around nothing at the thought, your core burning with need.

"Billie.." You choke out, swallowing against her grip.

“Gonna use that mouth to eat me out instead of bitching. How’s that sound?” Her voice is low, nibbling on the shell of your ear.

You nod desperately, and she releases her grip on your neck and pulls you up off the lounge. She gives you a knowing look, and you quickly shed yourself of your clothes, stripping to nothing but your lace underwear. Billie follows after you, her eyes never leaving yours as she pulls her baggy jeans down, pulling her shirt up over her head, and chucking it somewhere in the room.

Staring up at her with big eyes, you drop down to your knees as she sits where you previously were. Her legs spread as you position yourself between them. She looks down at you with hooded eyes, nodding, giving you silent permission to continue.

You reach out, hooking your hands under her thighs, pulling her core closer to your mouth. Your tongue meets her heat, and you place a small kiss on her clit.

Billie lets out a groan at the feeling, her hands coming down to tangle in your hair, pushing your head down against her. Your tongue laps at her wetness, sucking eagerly on her clit.

Her grip on your scalp tightens as she throws her head back, moaning softly. You continue to eat her out, burying your face in her heat as she lets out strings of grunts and profanities.

“Fuck, baby.” She yanks your head off her core. You whine as you’re pulled away, your lips red and soaked with her juices. Billie smirks and leans down, kissing you to get a taste of herself on your lips. You groan against her lips as she pulls your hair harshly, her other hand moving to grip your neck again.

“You’re so desperate for me, and to think you were mad at me, hmm? You’re fucking pathetic. You would do anything I told you to do, yeah?” Billie’s tone is cruel and condescending, her hand tightening around your neck. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, a high-pitched whine filling the dark and empty room.

Billie pushes your head down again, and you focus your attention solely on her clit this time. You flick your tongue rapidly over her sweet spot, sucking every so often. Her moans fill your ears, only urging you on more. You were desperate to get her to finish.

You felt Billie tense up under you, her hips jerking slightly as her orgasm started to build up. Your tongue ran up and down her folds, as your nose rubbed against her clit. You moved up and pulled her sensitive nub into your mouth, nibbling gently before sucking feverishly.

Billie grunts out as her climax hits her hard. Her fingers grip your hair, keeping your head in place as she rides out her orgasm. You continue to lick and suck at her wet heat, helping her through it.

Her heavy breathing is the only sound you can hear as you pull your face out of her core, her hand still laced in your locks. You lick your lips as you look up at her with blown pupils.

She yanks at your hair again, pulling you up onto her lap. Her hand leaves your hair as it trails down your body, gripping your hip tight.

“Such a good girl for me,” Billie mutters, her thumb brushing against your lip, smudging your lipstick even more. Her hand on your hip moves down to your lace underwear, tugging them to the side. She rubs her fingers up and down your soaked heat. “So wet for me, baby.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of her rubbing at your slit, spreading your legs even more for her. She slips two fingers in, her thumb focusing on your clit, rubbing small circles.

“More, please…” You whisper, rocking against her fingers. Billie smirks as you beg her, her other hand moving back to your neck.

“Louder,” she demanded, her fingers speeding up, fucking into you quickly.

You let out a loud, desperate whine, “Fuck, please Billie, wanna cum, please!”

She grins at your pleading, her fingers not slowing. You grind down as she thrusts them deep inside you, curling up and hitting your spot repeatedly. Her thumb continues to rub at your clit, speeding up with the movement of her other fingers inside you.

Her hand grips your throat, effectively choking you as she continues to fuck you with her fingers roughly. You throw your head back in a silent moan, pushing down against her fingers hard, chasing your own orgasm.

Billie notices you’re close, her movements speeding up even more as you clench around her. Your hand flies out to grip onto her wrist that’s holding onto your throat, your body shaking with need.

Her fingers curl up inside you, hitting your sweet spot for a final time as you fall apart. Your hips quiver as you feel your climax hit you, moaning out as she releases her grip on your neck. Billie’s movements slow as your body comes down from its high, your chest rising and falling quickly as you try to catch your breath.

You fall forward against her as she slowly slips her fingers out of you. She brings her fingers up to your mouth, pushing them past your lips. You hum as you suck, your eyes fluttering shut at the taste of your own orgasm.

Billie grins at you and pulls her fingers out of your mouth. “You did so well for me.” She murmurs, pulling you closer to her body. Her arms wrap around you. Your body relaxes against hers, your anger a long-lost thought now.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper into her shoulder, regretful of having yelled at her earlier.

“It’s okay, you had every right to be upset. I shouldn’t have ghosted you like that. Life got crazy, and I know that’s not an excuse, but I truly never meant to hurt you. Im sorry.” She mumbled, her fingers running through your hair.

You pull back at her words, eyes meeting hers, and a small smile falls on your face. Reaching out, you place your hand on her cheek, cradling it and rubbing gently. Her cheeks heat up at the gentle touch, nudging her face against your hand.

“You’re forgiven.” You laugh lightly, leaning down to kiss her gently.

Billie grins into the kiss before she feels you pull back, reaching out for the bottle of wine you had set on the table beside you earlier.

“You and that fucking wine.” She shakes her head, teasing you, as her hands fall back on your hips, squeezing.

You giggle as you take a sip, accidentally letting some dribble down your chin and onto your chest. Billie watches as the deep red color drips down, her finger reaching out to wipe it away. She grins at you and brings it up to her lips, licking the wine off the pad of her finger.

“Sweet.” she comments, and a dark blush creeps up onto your cheeks. The familiar color was so scarlet, it was maroon.

my masterlist

requests are open!! <3

[prncssguya]

my dearest is being extended by one episode. i won’t clap for joy because i remember the red sleeve being extended and we all know how that ended

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[so1arso1stice]

can u write bottom!ningning x fem!reader? Any plot you have in mind 🥹

ofc i can!

VERSACE PRINCESS

———————————————————

f!bottom!idol!ningning x fem!switch!reader

summary: ningning was gone the whole day at a Versace event, and she had missed her girl so SO much ;)

warnings: smut, tongue play, sloppy kisses, overstimulation (ish), freaky shit in general, fingering, pet names, praising, after-care, a bit of fluff at the end

an: YESS IM SO HAPPY MY FIRST ASK IS A NINGNING SUGGESTION!!! ningning my girl frfr

the ending kinda sucks ik that im bad at writing endings from time to time so give me peace 🙏🏾

———————————————————

it was 9pm, and you were on the couch watching tv, not! the tv was only just background noise to you, you were only looking at the door to see if you girlfriend, ningning had gotten back from her Versace event yet. at this point you’ve been waiting for around 2 hours for her and you’ve started to think that she’ll just come home in the morning. so you decide to try and actually find something good on tv to actually watch and you managed to find a show that’ll keep you occupied. after a couple minutes your eyes were glued to the tv.

until you heard keys jangling and the door rattling open, with an exhausted ningning walking into the house. you ran up to hug and kiss her “babe! i’ve missed you so much!” you said. you really, truly missed her; BAD. she did kiss and hug you back but they were more sloppy than her more classy, organized, kisses. you paid it no mind, it wasn’t the first time you guys were sloppy kissing.

ning says, in a more tired tone, “get on the bed, i have something for you.” she then whispers something in your ear,

“i want that pussy of yours so bad…”

you had a slight breath hitch. all you could do is just nod, go upstairs and get on the bed. you were contemplating on taking off your pants or waiting for ningning to do so, but you decided to take them off for her. (so kind of you 😊)

she walks into the bedroom and you were already on the bed, in a cute little pose for her. “damn,” “all dolled up for me?” she smirks “you really want to get ruined, huh?” you could only nod. you loved days when ningning was dominate!

she gave you a little pat on the head “mmm, my cute girl..” she sat down on the bed next to you and couldn’t stop looking at your already dripping wet pussy. she went to go and put her fingers in first, which already caused you to start opening up your legs. all she could do was lightly snicker. she loved whenever you acted like this, easily submitting to her. the sight was perfect in her eyes. she started to pump her fingers in and out, harder and harder. you couldnt help but start spewing out moans. this filled ningning with pure happiness, her favorite sound is your moans. she continue to pump her fingers in and out and you continued to moan those stunning moans.

“baby, i-im close…” you said. around this time, ningning was only fingering you for 8 minutes, that’s by far the quickest she’s ever made you cum. you could see her smirking. you could tell she was enjoying every second of this “cum for me, baby” were the only thing she said. without warning she added a third finger, very eager for you to cum “i can believe you’re about to cum so fast”

the third finger definetly you did leave you in some shock. you honestly felt like you were about to cum all over her. “your the only one who makes me feel like this, that’s why” you barely managed to speak out. you felt a pure state of joy. ningning has never really fingered you like this before, it seems like she’s extra eager to see you cum.

“ning, baby—“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence before you cummed all over her fingers. you could see her smile an actual smile of happiness. “good girl. let’s see if i can make you cum again” she smirks as she goes to face your pussy. again, without warning, she sticks her tongue up your pussy, eating up all of the excess cum still on you. you honestly felt like you could just cum again by the feeling of this. never ever has ningning been so eager to eat you out. (she had a long day so it’s ok 😄 )

ningning honestly felt like she could die at this moment. she was keeping her dominance but inside she felt an indescribable state of bliss. she didn’t even notice how fast and deep she was licking up your insides. she was pumping her tongue in and out, occasionally touching your g-spot.

again, you felt close “baby…” ningning’s eyes were closed and she could barely even speak. she just made a little “hm?” sound, with her mouth not daring to leave your cunt.

“i’m close… a-again” you could feel ningning smirking at you. you felt kind of embarrassed but didn’t really care, she knows what she’s doing.

ningning lifted up your legs, holding them up in the air. this sight was beautiful for the both of you. your pov: had ningning beautifully eating you out. and ningning’s pov: had her eating out the girl of her dreams.

“baby, i’m gonna cum again” ningning could barely even react. you hot cum had came slowly into her mouth. finally, she had backed up from your pussy to look at her beautiful, fucked out girl. “awh baby, you tired?”

you nodded. you felt kind of ashamed because you usually last longer. the ashamed-ness quickly washed away with your beautiful girlfriend giving you praises such as “my sweet girl” “i love you” “you did great”

“i’ll be right back my sweet” she then goes to get a towel and cleans you up. “awh baby! you shouldn’t have!”

“i wanted to, you deserve after care” she goes to kiss your forehead before getting into bed next to you to cuddle.

“my versace princess” you say as you kiss her on the cheek, eventually falling asleep in her arms.

[iovebarca]

hii, could you write something about the reader being fermins sister and is secretly dating gavi? they have these cute little secret meetups in her room but fermin then catches them and isn’t very pleased🫠 you can end the fic however you want:) (i hope for fluff tho lmao)

tyy!💞

Hidden Hearts - Pablo Gavi

Authors note: thank you for a 100 followers like thats crazyyy

Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, not proofread

WC: 1350 ish

Summary: basically what the request says:))

The late afternoon sun casts a warm, golden glow through your bedroom window, illuminating the soft, pastel colors of your room. The air is filled with the scent of fresh flowers from the bouquet Pablo brought you earlier. He sits across from you on the bed, his hand gently holding yours as you talk in hushed voices, the familiarity and comfort between you undeniable. Every secret meeting with him feels like stolen moments of pure happiness.

You're both aware of the risks involved, especially living with your brother Fermín, who is not only overprotective but also Pablo's close friend. The thought of him finding out about your relationship has always been daunting. Yet, in this moment, with Pablo's warm eyes gazing into yours, the world outside seems distant.

Pablo leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. Just as you're about to deepen the kiss, you hear the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. Panic sets in, but there's no time to react. Fermín's voice calls out, "Y/N, are you home?"

Before you can even think of an excuse, the door to your bedroom swings open. Fermín stands there, his expression shifting from confusion to shock and then to anger as he takes in the scene before him. "What the hell is going on here?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

"Pablo, get out," Fermín says, his tone brooking no argument.

Pablo looks at you, worry etched on his face, but he nods and reluctantly leaves the room. The silence that follows is heavy and uncomfortable. Fermín turns to you, his eyes flashing with hurt and betrayal. "How long has this been going on?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Fermín, I can explain—"

"How long?" he repeats, more forcefully this time.

"Six months," you admit, tears welling up in your eyes. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Too late for that," he says coldly before turning and leaving the room.

The next few days are unbearable. Fermín barely speaks to you, and you know from Pablo that he's ignoring him at training too. The weight of the silence in the apartment feels crushing. You hate seeing your brother this way, but you also can't bear the thought of losing Pablo.

One afternoon, as Fermín heads out for training, you see him talking to Pedri. They stand by the door for a moment, and you can tell by the way Pedri glances your way that Fermín is telling him about you and Pablo. A little while later, you receive a text from Pablo saying that Fermín has been distant and cold during training, avoiding him completely.

The following evening, you’re sitting alone in the living room, the silence around you pressing in. You can't take it anymore. You grab your phone and text Pablo, asking him to meet you at the park. The same park where you shared countless secret moments.

When you arrive, Pablo is already there, sitting on the bench where you first confessed your feelings for each other. He looks up as you approach, his eyes filled with concern. "How are you holding up?" he asks softly.

"Horrible honestly," you admit, sitting down beside him. "I hate seeing Fermín like this. I hate that he's hurt."

Pablo wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. "We'll get through this," he says firmly. "We just need to give him time."

As the days pass, the tension between you, Fermín, and Pablo remains palpable. You try to go about your daily routine, but everything feels off. The laughter and easy conversation that once filled the apartment have been replaced by awkward silences and curt exchanges. One evening, you find Fermín in the kitchen, staring out the window. Gathering your courage, you approach him.

"Fermín, can we talk?" you ask quietly.

He turns to you, his expression guarded. "About what?"

"About everything," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "I hate this. I hate that you're upset and that you're hurt. But I love Pablo, and I need you to understand that."

Fermín sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's not just about you loving him. It's about trust. You and Pablo kept this from me. That hurts."

"I know," you say, tears welling up in your eyes. "And I'm sorry. We were scared of how you'd react. We didn't want to lose you."

He looks at you for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I get it. But it's going to take time for me to get over this."

Meanwhile, at training, Pedri watches Fermín closely. He sees the way Fermín avoids Pablo, the way his shoulders tense up whenever Pablo is nearby. During a break, Pedri approaches Fermín.

"Hey, what's going on with you lately? You've been off," Pedri says, his tone gentle but firm.

Fermín sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's Pablo and Y/N. They're dating. And they kept it from me."

Pedri nods thoughtfully. "I get that you're upset, man, but have you thought about why they might have kept it a secret? Maybe they were scared of exactly this reaction."

"They should have trusted me," Fermín mutters.

"True, but love makes people do crazy things," Pedri replies. "Do you really think Pablo would ever hurt her? And you know your sister better than anyone. If she's with Pablo, it's because she loves him. Maybe you should talk to them, understand their side."

Fermín looks down, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to something softer. "I don't know, Pedri. It's just... hard."

"I know it is," Pedri says gently. "But pushing them away isn't going to help. You're all friends, and family. Don't let this break that."

That evening, Fermín comes home and hesitates outside your door before finally knocking. "Can we talk?" he asks, his voice much softer than before.

You nod, motioning for him to sit. He takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. "I'm sorry for how I reacted. I just... I was hurt. But I realize now that I didn't give you a chance to explain."

You take his hand, squeezing it gently. "I never wanted to hurt you, Fermín. I love Pablo, but I love you too. You're my brother, and that will never change."

Fermín nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I just want you to be happy. Both of you."

Later that night, Pablo joins you and Fermín in the living room. The atmosphere is tense at first, but as the evening progresses, it starts to feel like old times. By the end of the night, Fermín pulls you both into a hug. "Let's not keep secrets anymore, okay?"

"Agreed," you and Pablo say in unison, relief flooding through you.

As the three of you sit together, laughter filling the room, Fermín suddenly turns to Pablo, his expression serious. "But Pablo, remember this: if you ever break her heart, I will break you. Understood?"

Pablo nods earnestly, "Understood. I promise I'll never hurt her."

Fermín's stern face softens into a smile. "Good. Now, let's order some pizza and enjoy the rest of the night."

In the days that follow, things slowly return to normal. Fermín starts to thaw towards Pablo during training, and the playful banter between them begins to reemerge. One afternoon, after a particularly grueling session, Fermín claps Pablo on the back.

"Good job today," he says, a genuine smile on his face.

Pablo grins, relief washing over him. "Thanks, man. Means a lot."

Back at the apartment, you and Fermín find yourselves talking more, sharing stories and laughing like you used to. One evening, as you're all sitting together, Pedri joins you, and the four of you share a meal, the camaraderie and bond stronger than ever.

As the night draws to a close, you look around at your brother, your boyfriend, and your friend, feeling a profound sense of gratitude. Despite the challenges and the initial hurt, love and understanding have prevailed.

[am-i-interrupting]

How about Vox trying to befriend one of Alastor’s close friends, to know Alastor’s secrets and weaknesses. Months later Vox falls in love and forgets about the plan. Then Alastor reveals the secret plan to make Vox look bad. Your choice if you want it to be a sad or happy ending.

Vox was tired of losing. He was done. That is when the brilliant idea came to him. Find Alastor’s weakness but how?

He saw Alastor enter a tailor’s shop, right in front of one of his store displays and he saw you.

He recognized you from his casual spying on Alastor. The two of you were together more than Alastor was around most people.

Vox tore his claw down one of his suit jackets and brought it to you.

He wasn’t shocked your recognized him.

“Get out.” “What a show of hospitality! But regardless, I don’t think I will. I require some assistance.” “Isn’t one of you Vs a fashion designer? Ask them for help.”

Vox had to squash down the offense at the phrase “one of you Vs” and even more so that you didn’t know Velvette’s name.

It took a lot of convincing and you only did it to get him out of your store.

You returned the wrong suit. You did it on purpose. It was bright red instead of his cool blue.

He returned again and again and you continued to give him the wrong jacket suit.

Over time the hostility turned to playful teasing.

“Oh, back so soon? It’s only been a week? Did you miss me that much?” “Oh, but of course.” “Predictable, men as self absorbed as you are so easy to rope in. Make them feel special and then they just won’t leave you alone.” “Maybe I’d leave you alone if you’d give me my jacket.” “What jacket?”

One day Vox walks in and sees you bent down at the skirt of some demon’s dress, with a needle between your lips.

The demon saw him and called your name several times but you were too absorbed in your work. A trait he found admirable. It wasn’t until they hit your shoulder and you stabbed yourself that your focus was broken.

“Ow! Shit! Mare, what the fuck?!” “The TV demon.”

You looked over your shoulder. He quickly replaced his soft(-ish) expression with a smirk and a wave.

“You can wait,” and he did.

It wasn’t long after that day he asked you out for dinner.

The dinner was a lot more upscale than you were used to and he could tell you felt out of place. With a seat in the back and some carefully placed words he got you to relax.

Afterwards, he walked you back to your shop because you refused to let him walk you home. He placed a kiss to your hand and didn’t walk away until you were inside.

Dates became somewhat common between the two of you. Both of you only able to clear your schedules once or twice a month for it to happen but it was something to expect.

He learned from his mistake the first time and made sure to make things more mundane.

On the second date, he brought you flowers.

On the third date, he insisted you try some of his food and brought the fork to your lips, only letting it down when you took the bite.

On the fourth date, he took you dancing and managed a kiss at the end.

On the sixth date, he tripped into a pile of blood so you took his suit to properly wash it. He had it back the next day.

On the seventh, he walked you home.

On the eighth, he told you he loved you.

Alastor came to you to commission a suit for an upcoming event.

The two of you were talking about everything and nothing as you were prone to do when he casually mentioned:

“I’ve heard rumors about you, my dear. They’ve got me worried.” “Oh? And what is the rumor mill saying about me that’s so worrisome, hm?”

You were sure it was going to be something silly. Alastor had pulled this number before because yes, he was one to follow the gossip train but he never got aboard. He never believed something until he had reason to.

“They’ve been saying you’ve been getting close to a certain picture box.”

You felt your heart stop. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, quite the rumor, indeed! Now, I know you’d never be so thoughtless as to do such a thing but still, one worries nonetheless.” “Oh, you don’t need to worry about me, Alastor.” “Ah, but I do. Especially since it reminded me of something I overheard some months ago, why— No! It’d have been over a year ago actually. To think, the gall of the man to say his plans right in front of the radio.” “What?” “Let me see, I do believe I have it stored somewhere, just for my own amusement.”

A moment later Vox’s voice sounded through Alastor’s microphone, “It’s easy. Just go in and try to get some information out of them. That’s it. You’re a master manipulator. It’ll be easy and if they put up a fight? Well, you’re an overlord. It’ll be fine. Okay? Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

A few days passed since then when Vox came back to the tailor shop. He was befuddled to see a sign.

Closed Until Further Notice

He came back several days later to a new sign.

For Sale

He got worried. He started looking for you but no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find you.

Sold

Four and a half months passed until he got an answer. There was an overlord meeting after the extermination.

Alastor strolled out of it with Rosie beside him.

Vox didn’t pay much attention to Rosie. He paid as much attention to her as he did other overlords with the occasional sight of her when he was spying on Alastor but he noticed Rosie’s smile seemed tense. He caught her glares at him.

“Ah, Vox, my dear man! What a stunning suit you’ve got on today. No match for my own but I had a very good friend make it for me. Wonderful craftsmanship, don’t you think?” “What did you do?” “What did I do? Oh, no, no, no. What did you do?”

The knowing smile and glimmer in Alastor’s eye made it clear he knew something, something that Vox should know too.

It took a minute for Vox to remember, to remember the day he met you and all the things he’d said as well as the fact that your shop wasn’t just in front of a television but a radio too.

A fight broke out. It was big and catastrophic and took hours to finish. But in the end, Vox won or Alastor decided that he was bored. It was always hard to tell.

Rosie came up to Vox at the end of it.

He’d never spoken to her outside of a business setting but that strained smile and those looks were well deserved, he realized.

“I try to keep out of yours and Alastor’s feud but you just had to go too far, didn’t you? You know, they never told Alastor about ya but they did tell me. I feel so foolish to have told ‘em to go after you.”

She shook her head and reached into her bag. She pulled out a folded blue suit jacket and handed it to him.

“Where are—“ “You don’t get to ask that, Vox.”

He unfolded the jacket, uncaring that his blood covered hands stained it. It was mended so why did he wish it was torn?

[notafragilething]

Late Night Buck & Tommy Ramble: Shit is getting interesting

I honestly thought today was going to be fucking chill with no promo and maybe only a whisper or two about tomorrow's episode. We currently have 21 hours left until the new episode airs and we have so much to unpack because everyone is just out there wilding right now

Get yourself a drink and a snack and prepare yourself. There is a lot to discuss. Minor spoilers for tomorrow's episode in regards to stills and vague-ish comments by people who have seen the episode.

Buck & Tommy Related Chaos:

I'm going to start with the chaos: OLIVER AND LOU ARE DOING A JOINT INTERVIEW that was filmed today for Access Hollywood / Access Daily that will air tomorrow before the episode.

I am in total shock by this because I've been vocal that I didn't even think we'd get more interviews from these two before the season ended. I would have never dreamed that they'd have them doing a joint interview together.

This is a pretty huge (and good) sign, in my opinion. You wouldn't suddenly have two actors going out doing press together unless (from a marketing point of view) you're trying to promote that couple to the audience. This to me really does suggest they're planning on keeping Lou around and pushing BuckTommy.

I've heard crazy speculation about what the interview will be about but it airs before the episode so likely we won't get major spoilers. We'll likely see the two talking about their characters, what it's like working together and hinting at what is going to happen moving forward.

With that said, I'm really curious at how they're going to sell this on the show. We've already seen Ryan hitting the talking point that Eddie is straight in recent weeks, which seems to be an attempt to distancing themselves from Buddie. This interview tomorrow may possibly give us an idea where their heads are at moving forward.

Regardless, I think this is a strong indicator that Tommy isn't going anywhere anytime soon. I know some people are trying to downplay this as happening because Bi Buck was such a huge storyline but they could have easily just had Oliver on the show. Them having both of them makes this about their relationship, not just Buck coming out as Bi and that's a pretty big shift from the marketing we saw around episodes 4-5.

Lou also posted about it on his Instagram and Ryan liked it.

Also I cannot remember a time that they had Oliver doing interviews with his love interest on the show. Can anyone else?

The kiss on Instagram reels continues to do well. It's almost at 1.2 million, sitting currently at 1183k.

General Cast Information:

Let's start simple with the tweets coming out from press who saw tomorrow's episodes. The overwhelming theme with all of them seems to be a warning for us to prepare for some hurt. I'm preparing myself to watch Hen, Bobby and Eddie all go through hell tomorrow based on what we've seen on social media over the last 24 hours. So let's get into that.

Hen: Early today the official Instagram posted stills from the earlier episode where the councilwomen's son refuses treatment after he accident and dies (which leads to Hen being investigated). They then captioned this "A moment from the past can become so pivotal for your future" because clearly they want to hurt us. It also seems like that congress women is in the episode and we see her in one of the stills at the medal ceremony.

Bobby: It seems like he's going to have a nice father/son moment with Buck at some point this episode based on the stills and what Oliver has hinted at. But I think he'll also definitely be dealing with guilt.

Eddie: Dude I don't even know. Between Marisol being at the medal ceremony with him and Christopher and him taking a row boat out with Kim? This is going to get ugly.

All of the stills were really happy and we know that isn't what is happening in this episode so I'm pretty sure they're from the first 15 or 20 minutes. This show has been fucking with our heads with these promos.

We're very, very likely to get a sneak peak sometime tomorrow along with the Oliver&Lou interview.

I might attempt to make a ramble post talking about the interview prior to the episode depending on what time it airs.

So how are we all feeling? Cause I'm having all the fucking emotions.

[charafansmile]

you gotta give me some of your sans backstory hcs now- 👀

This is so many days late (and my third time trying to answer this b4 tumblr kills me)

I don't think he's from deltarune- i do think he's from another universe- just not deltarune. At least i dont head canon him as being from deltarune- i wouldn't mind if he was but i think him bleeding is too neat to ignore and monsters in deltarune dont bleed. (I think it being ketchup is a copout...) he COULD be bleeding because of DT- and like the amglamates papyrus does say sans emits slime

But if that's the case why doesn't he melt like undyne does? And papyrus is also weird as hell! guy quotes Shakespeare when you kill him! And the flying and pinpointing us based on calls he can't see- it's just the two of them are too weird to be ut monsters or dr monsters in my eyes. Alphys has also studied alternate timelines so I really like the hc that she knows the skelebros were isekaid and was helping sans try to get home. (I flip flop on that one tho- mainly because I like her being mad he DIDINT tell her he was isekaid even more- alphys fucking up so bad she starts aggressively researching alternate universes so she can literally go somewhere where nobody knows her only for the fucking hot dog seller who brings her dog food to be from one...)

But onto actual backstory hcs that aren't me just rambling with no goal (this got way too long so the rest are under the read more </3):

I dont think they were raised by two loving parents- they give off kids who were raised by their grandparent (singular) vibe- and I like the idea that sans is at least 8-10 years older than papyrus. Maybe getting custody when he was 20~ and papyrus was 11~ ish. I kinda hate the sans neglected papyrus or was an alcoholic headcanons- I think he genuinely tried really hard with him and was decent enough role model (especially like the idea that papyrus got the whole "you can be a better person if you just try" mentality from sans while sans eventually dropped it)

Sans was in the middle of finishing his thesis when gaster accidentally nabs both sans & papyrus- and I dont think sans was as upset about this as first as he eventually gets. Mainly because of shock. And also he thought if gaster could bring them there- then he could also send them back. (And proving alternate universes exist by getting stuck in one is a way better thesis than what he was working on- Shame he never gets to go back sux to suck)

I don't think Sans let's himself get very close to people- he does really like being around them and while he's not happy underground I don't think hed be able to choose between whatever his home universe is and undertale if given the choice to go back home. Especially post pacifist. And he's certainly not considering it an option in any ending where papyrus is dead either. Actually, papyrus making friends (undyne) is part of why I think that. Sans really wants his brother to be happy, and while they both put on the facade of it to each other, they also can see through each other (to an extent). So sans thinks papyrus is happier in uts universe and eventually when he can't Crack getting back he gives up and decides to just go with the flow and put all of that energy back into figuring out the anomaly and making his brother happy.

I do subscribe to the idea that gaster was the last skeleton underground (mainly because skeletons are very typical rpg monsters and we don't see any goblins or orcs so I like the hc that most of them- along with a majority of humanoid monsters were wiped out in the war since they would have been the first line of defense and being so similar to humans physically led to alot of targeting) (genealogy wise I actually hc skeleton monsters to be closer related to rock monsters on the evolutionary side than ghost or elemental ones) but thats related to gaster and not sans & papyrus- for those two they had met plenty of skeleton monsters b4 gaster so are pretty perplexed by the whole last of his kind thing. And for gaster it's just kinda quiet awe at not being alone anymore. Bringing in two random skeletons from another universe was NOT his intention- them being isekaid was an accident from his first (failed) attempt at contacting 'us'. Cue gaster trying to (gently) pry information about the other skeleton monsters from sans & papyrus only to not get much info at all due to sans and papyrus not being raised around the rest of their family. He does get to hear about some skeleton celebrities papyrus kept up with...

NOT dadster btw- not a fan of dadster sorry 😭 think more weird old guy who's really sorry about fucking up their lives but also incredibly lonely and a little cooky in the head. The two didn't/couldn't use magic in their home universe so the reason their magic is so weird and out there is because gaster told them magic was real- gave a piss poor demonstration- and then the two just figured it out from there. Running on the cartoon logic that their magic works because they don't know it's not supposed to work that way. I'm sure sans is somewhat aware he breaking the rules but I do not think he cares.

Speaking of gaster being old- he's really stupid old- like gerson old (mhmm gerster...). Both skelebros are very surprised by this and sans just doesn't believe him at first. He's half convinced alphys is lying to him when she's dreamily talking about asgore and mentions off handedly that he's hundreds of years old. In tandem with alphys knowing Sans is from another universe I like to play with her figuring it out because Sans straight up doesn't know basic monster history or culture (her first theory was that he was just really sheltered but he makes way to many your mom jokes and is also way to aware of memes for her to think that for long. See Sans trying to show her a meme from his universe only for her to not laugh and be completely unaware of it. He dies a little inside...)

This one is very specific but Sans teleporting is vibes based. Like actually affected by the vibes of where hes going. He can't teleport out of the underground because the barrier was designed to keep monsters in- quid pro quo he can't get passed it. For a similar reason he can't teleport out of or into the ruins because of toriel. Locking doors or being mad at him makes it more difficult for sans to teleport to the room your in but if he really likes the place (or the place is populated/associated with people that like him) then he can easily teleport to it. (I hope this makes sense- I have another explanation that gets more technical but I need a diagram for that one)

Sans Will make shit up as he goes along- if he doesn't know something, he is just as likely to say some completely fabricated bullshit as he is to say he doesn't know. Bane of floweys existence...

He Once got paid 50 bucks by some human med school students to participate in their anatomy project- he was supposed to get another 50 after but got isekaid before he could do it. Was really disappointed about it- he had so many jokes planned, and he loves making people uncomfortable. I like to think he went to alot of parties like the extroverted weirdo he is. Despite not being able to open his mouth he 100% knows how to shotgun a beer. At one of these parties is where he was asked by the aforementioned med students- he thought it was hilarious and none of them were sober enough to think what they were asking him through. Cue him showing up the next day while they are hungover to bug them about it since it sounds fun.

Physics major. That's it. He also studied quantum theory and probably took a shit load of philosophy classes. Depending on how old papyrus is (I flip flop on how old I imagine him to be lol) then sans probably took papyrus with him to some of his classes (papyrus is all of sans teachers favorite, he ask questions, stays on task, joins in discussions- doesnt play snake on his computer like his brother does)

Projecting here but I think Sans would like the good place.. papyrus would to.. so personal hc they both watched the series together and papyrus did NOT cry like a little baby at the ending!!! (Psp psp psp watch the good place) we know he likes star wars (or is it star trek?? I'm trying to find the image of papyrus saying which one he likes but I can't find it 😭) so it's my belief sans has seen space balls- and forced papyrus to watch it with him too. Also probably really liked Adam Sandler movies and Monty Python, secretly I think he likes a good romcom. Papyrus I think Is more into romances and reality TV, and also the SAW franchise and Final Destination films specifically. Why? Idk 🤷 it just feels right to me. Litol baby 8 yo papyrus begging sans to take him to the release of the 2nd SAW film.... kids love deadly spikes 🤷.

The two are different flavors of autistic in the opposite directions- papyrus is very picky sans is the opposite of picky. He has and will in the future eat food that's dropped on the ground. Guy orders the worst burger on the menu and chugs straight ketchup. He is also capable of eating the almost edible spaghetti papyrus makes. Really his only competition for the trash eating championship is frisk. See also: sans is very monotone while papyrus gets loud and has volume issues. There's more than just those two but other people have gone more in depth in reasoning for making them autistic-

Okay last one and probably the most confusing one? The constellations of sans and papyrus's og universe are different from the ones they finally get to see at the end of post pacifist. Sans and papyrus lived in a big city so they only saw the real stars once (light pollution is a bitch) - the rest of the time being through books and textbooks. Sans had one of these textbooks on hand when they were isekaid and took the pages out to put up on his ceiling. He was a bit disappointed when they finally saw the stars on the surface and they weren't the ones he remembered.

Trans undertale ❤️

[noodle-is-unstable]

I like the JJK Ending. Fight me.

Stole this idea from a moot that didn't want to post it, you know who you are 💖

Look was it perfect? No but I don't think there is such a thing as a perfect ending. But I did like it. It was a very fitting end to it all. The fact so many characters survived is the only shocking part to me.

And I'm sorry Gojo lovers, it's good he's dead. He was FINALLY happy when he was reunited with Geto. He was only ever truely happy when he was with Geto. Love was his curse and he loved his students. His love for the future generation and giving them a better future was his curse. It wasn't just about loving Geto. He sucame to his curse in the end. Truthfully I feel like the Sukuna fight was his chance to free himself. He knew his students could handle it that's why he spoke to Yuji like that in the flashback. He knew he wasn't going to live through the battle. That's why he wrote the notes. This WAS Gojo's plan. But he's free, with Geto and happy now. Let the man die happy, damn.

Honestly this is a happier ending that I was every expecting. I thought it was going to be a complete blood bath so that fact everyone but Mahito had a happy(ish) ending is pretty wild. I honestly see this as probably the best possible outcome to everything.

If you didn't enjoy the ending that's fine but I don't see it that way. I thoroughly enjoyed JJK, the journey and straight to the end. Can't wait for the Anime to drop and see how Mappa animates everything

[obxone]

Plenty Good Enough

Edited-ish. ~1.2k words

“You are being an asshole!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are.” You are grasping for straws to stay calm despite him pushing your buttons even though you are pushing him right back. “It is one dinner, one!”

“With your grandparents.”

“Well, you can’t exactly meet my parents, Jay.”

He swallows, looking away. The tragedy that had brought you to OBX is still so fresh. Before tonight, he had joked, brushed off the idea of meeting your grandparents. But then you kept pushing him, begging to meet them. Before, he would have never told you how the idea of meeting ‘the parents’ or the grandparents in this case set him on edge. Not when the desperation shined in your eyes, but the same argument over and over is driving him insane. He is a kid from The Cut, and he will never live up to their expectations. Not in his mind.

But you know better. You know that your grandparents would be thrilled that you found someone to love and enjoy spending time with. Pressing him and leading to another argument is all you know to do since they are pressuring you to meet the blonde boy you have been spending all your time with. You love him, and you gush about him every chance you get. So, of course, they are desperate to put a face to the name.

“Why not?

“Because they won’t like me!”

“What?!” You laugh, shaking your head. “Don't be silly. Of course, they will.”

He snorts before scrubbing his hand through his mussed hair. “You don’t get it! You never will!” He paces away before turning back. His cheeks reddening. “You have everything! You have every little thing you have ever wanted, Baby."

"Not everything."

He rolls his eyes. "Listen to me. I am not good enough! I will never be good enough!”

“You are plenty good enough!”

“No, Baby, I’m not.”

“You are, JJ Maybank, open your eyes and see what I see.”

“My eyes are open!”

You roll your eyes. “You are being childish.”

“No, I'm not. I’m not good enough. I’m lying myself to think this could work out.” He shakes his head. "You deserve someone that will give you a future. You deserve to have every want fulfilled. I can't do that."

The argument is turning down a dark path, a path you are worried is going to end in flames. You exhale. You are not ready to lose him and you do not think you ever will be here.

“It’s been working out fine. I’m happy. You are happy.”

“Does this seem happy to you?!” He gestures wildly, and you close your eyes, shoulders sagging.

“It’s only one argument because I want you to meet my grandparents, and you think you are not good enough.”

“Because I’m not!”

You glare at JJ, the tiny bit of patience snapping inside of you. The book you have been reading is gripped tightly in your hands as he stares back at you. “Just leave then!” His mouth opens, but you cut him off again. “If you don’t think you should be here, then leave! Take what is yours and get out.”

A hard slap of reality will hopefully set him straight. You are running low on options and hope that you are not destroying the small shred of happiness you have found in this new place.

He shakes his head, clearly aggravated with you before grabbing his ballcap from your bed and pulling it back on his head. “Fine!”

“Great!”

He stalks towards you, and you expect him to slam your bedroom door on the way out, but that is not what happens at all. Instead, he bends just enough to push his shoulder into your hips and scoop you up over his shoulder.

For a moment, you are shocked. His actions are the last thing you expected of him. Reality sets in as he storms out of your room, hand clamped over the back of your thigh. You gasp as your book smacks onto the floor harshly, and your hands grip the back of his t-shirt tightly. “JJ!”

“You said to take what is mine and leave.”

“What are you doing?!”

“I am doing what you told me to do!” He yells as he stomps down the stairs.

You yelp at the initial drop down the first stair but recover quickly. Your fingers turn white from how hard you grip his shirt. The house is silent and dark, and it is only you two here tonight. You smack his back in alarm as he jostles you, and he chuckles.

“Put me down, you idiot!”

“Well, I’m your idiot, Princess!” He continues down the last set of stairs, and you reach out for the banister to stop him, but your fingertips miss the railing by half an inch. Lightning strikes across the sky illuminating both of you as he steps into the main floor of the house.

“I swear to all that is holy if you take me outside in this fucking rainstorm, I will never forgive you.”

He smirks, patting your butt with a quick smack. “Just doing what you told me to do.”

“JJ!” You scream as he yanks the back patio door open and steps out into the summer thunderstorm. Sheets of rain pound against the back of the house, and you are both soaked instantly. You shiver as the chill of the rain seizes you. “I can’t believe you did this!”

He smirks, letting you down, and your bare feet touching the wet stones sends a chill up your spine.

“You’re fault.”

“I hate you!” You snap, slapping your palms against his chest. It is a lie and you both know it, but you are too flustered to care.

His dark blue marina shirt clings to his shoulders and chest, highlighting every band of muscle in his toned torso. He smirks at you from under his ballcap.

“I hate you, JJ!”

JJ is quick, gripping your hip and pulling you into him. Your chests smack together, and he stares down at you. “I love you too.” His mouth is searing hot on yours, and he kisses you desperately. You kiss him back, hands fisting his shirt, and walk him backward until his back collides with the side of the house. He smirks into your mouth. “There’s my girl. My fighter.”

“Shut up,” you murmur before kissing him again. He groans, his hand tangling in your wet hair. “I really hate you, but I also love the fuck out of you,” you whisper against his lips, and he laughs. “Now, I want a hot shower, and I would really enjoy it if my stubborn boyfriend joined me.”

“I can do that,” he grins as he pecks your lips. “And maybe a massage after…”

You laugh before patting his chest. “Just say you want to have cuddles, JJ.”

“Fine,” he grins, pecking your cheek. “I want to have cuddles, and then maybe..."

You blush hot, body burning at the suggestion already. "Then meet my grandparents."

He sighs, his forehead dropping to press to yours. "And you'll love me no matter what they say?"

"Absolutely."

"For you, anything."

You grin at him triumphantly.

"I love you, stubborn girl."

[voidcxltist]

WHOLESOME FANFIC EVERYONE RUN /JK

Narinder's first day out of the purgatory! Consider it'll be Narinder asking and running around, unconscious of many things happening

No serious tw, minor mention of scars, minor mention of death & small angst-ish moment

Abel had been waiting an hour or so. He had left Narinder's body to rest after the brutal fight against The One Who Waits in his monstrous, eldritch horror form, and to let him rest and fit onto his body.

A change from 12 meters to 1 and 90 was crazy, more considering it's not only due to The One Who Waits, but to the time in the purgatory.

He had to craft a body with the resurrection ritual, because well. Narinder's body on the purgatory was 17-ish, for that being his previous age...

But his mental age —known after the monstrous version said he aged up mentallly— was 35, so at the end it didn't matched.

And by now, surely it was much destroyed by the 85,775,000 years of torture he had to endure by the other side of himself. Only 235 years. on rhe normal realm. One day meant a millenia.

Defeating TOWW was a toll. He not only attacked himself but possessed Narinder to attack him, with his own adepts on a crucifix hoping that their savior killed the beast. But, at the end, his constant dreaming to give redemption to the hurt and misguided was stronger than any danger. With a slam of his sword, he made the whole Purgatory shake, the monster finally ceived, and thus, ending with the parasite at once.

He had now to deal with Narinder, who panickedly tried to pull away and cover himself. After all, he was feee from his chains, but defeated. Abel could do whatever.

But, something stirred within him that made him answer not harshly.

"Narinder... You've been through a lot, your body doesn't even lives by how that monster tortured you. But I'll give you a chance. Give me a quarter of a day—250 years in Purgatory—I'll prepare my followers to your arrival and to accept you as the new you. Because you are someone, and as someone, you deserve to be redeemed. I'll come back. I promise it to you."

Aside from giving Narinder a second chance to try to redeem himself... Honestly he wanted to show him the delights of life. He had only known pain and more pain.

As he tried to do some quick maths and deep thoughts to think about what was wrong on how Narinder didn't aged almost an eon or 235 years in a hit, how did Narinder knew he had 35, or even so, how did he even came to defeat TOWW, he heard a hit coming out of his tent. A little gasp and then feets coming to him.

Before he turned his back, Narinder tackle-hugged him, laughing.

He was extremly confused as Narinder was visibly shaking and looking excited. He didn't even got onto the robes of an adept, so he was on a white bandage that covered his chest and arms, and black underwear, he stood up, twirled, jumped and screamed.

"ABEL! ABEL, I'M- I'M ALIVE! I'M ALIVE, I'M ALIVE!" - Narinder stammers excitedly.

"I'm glad to see the resurrection ritual worked but you should stay on rest-! - He tried to soothe him, but he already interrupted him

"LOOK, CAMELIAS! CAMELIAS! DID YOU KNOW CAMELIAS ARE LESHY'S FAVORITE FLOWERS? HE WOULD BE HAPPY TO SMELL THEM! CAMELIAS! CAMELIAS! FLOWERS!" - He yaps excitedly, almost shoving a bouquet of these red flowers in Abel's arms, he looks shocked by from where he picked them.

Narinder took Abel's hand and started rushing around the cult's fields, his eyes were vivid and glinting with hope, as he entered in the patch - "LOOK, CROPS! THOSE ARE BEETROOTS! AND PUMPKINS! THEY'RE CROPS! THEY ARE GROWING! THEY'RE SO BEAUTIFUL! HEKET MADE THESE GROW TALL! THEY'RE CROPS ABEL!"

Abel shakes his head as he sees Narinder jumping around, taking some soil and frotting it in his hands, he couldn't be more happy. He could feel. He could sense the things and touch them. No more craving.

He turned his head to Judes, who looked a bit confused for the newcome. Before Abel knew, he suddenly saw the feline run away to a tent, he tried to stop him, but he was already in.

Inside, Violette was on meditating, when Narinder stormed in, laughing. Violette forced herself to not snap.

"THIS IS YOUR TENT?! IT'S SO BIG AND BEAUTIFUL! WHO ARE YOU?! THIS IS YOURS?! ALL FOR YOURSELF?!"

"Yes, this is mine. I am Violette. Leave—" - She replied dryly, and Narinder jumped around, celebrating

"VIOLETTE! IT'S AMAZING! YOU'RE AMAZING! THANK YOU!"

Narinder took her hand and shook it violently, which Violette honestly didn't expect. Abel arrived just in time, took Narinder's hand gently and tried to drag him, but Narinder was on a possessive attack of euphoria as he runs to the temple

"IS THE TEMPLE!? IT LOOKS SO NICE! YOU REALLY DID A JOB THERE! HERE YOU PREACH?! KALLAMAR PRAYED EVERYDAY! HE IS THE SECOND NICE FO ME! LOOK! IT- IT'S RED AND BIG! AND I CAN ENTER AND GO OUTSIDE!" - Narinder compliments passing in and out of the temple's open door, interrupting Tayrn & Dario, who were praying, as he drags again Abel to his pleasing.

"What do you do here? Smells like pheromones and lust in there" - Narinder asks a little calmer, looking at the mating tent.

"Eh... sin in general. Here we do our sinful delights."

"Why would you need sin?" - He raises an eyebrow to Abel, the crown turned into the snake quickly, and Abel let it wrap around his arm.

"Uh, I need it to transmute the adept's body to one more of their liking, I also need it for the temple, beverages, etcetera" - Abel explains

"Hmm! Sounds nice! WHAT'S THAT-?!"

Narinder was already rushing away to the kitchen, he hurriedly aproximated him, as Narinder puts his hand above yet not on the stove. Calix, who was attempting to do a magnifical meat salad, looked worried as Narinder placed his hand on it quickly, pulling back with a little meowl, before chuckling happily

"ABEL, LOOK, IT- IT BURNS-! AND, AND I CAN FEEL IT! I CAN FEEL IT! I CAN FEEL THINGS!"

Before he knew, already going back to somewehrre elee, this time, on an empty space of the cult, running side to side happily and screaming.

"I'M FREE, I'M FREE, I'M FREE! I'VE BEEN FREED! I'M OUT OF THERE!"

He celebrates, rolling on the grass, and when his eyes met with a small fountain behind the lamb, he aproximated it and looked into the cristaline surfaces, touching thr eater with his hands and looking into his own reflection. He became teary as he took his wet paws to his face.

"I- I have a face!? I HAVE A FACE! IT'S MY FACE, IT'S ME! IT'S ME! LOOK ABEL, IT'S ME!" - Narinder gestures into the fountain, splashing his face, truing not to get it to the bandages.

"Despite everything you've gone through, it stills being your face" — Abel added under his breath —"You look cute"

After Narinder finally became exhaused of jumping around and around of the cult, his usual sarcastic, a bit cold and slightly sassy personality before the imprisionment setting slowly again, he layed on middle of the crops, with Abel staring at him.

"You're okay?"

Abel asks, to what Narinder answers pointing at himself

"Me? I'm really fine. I was dead on life, and I couldn't speak, couldn't feel, couldn't hear... I was isolated. Do you know how fun and happy is for me to finally be able to run; to... to be alive? I'm really, really happy. I can hear everything, can speak of pretty much everything, and feel lots of things. I know that jobs on the cult have to involve me too... I want to be something that reminds me I can do all of these things. I want to be useful as soon as possible."

Oh, the lamb had the perfect role. After all, it eas part of the biggest side of the cult, not only for the two disciples working at it, the fact it provived the cult.

"Farmer fits you then? Judes is a sweet one, yet she doesn't talks because of being mute, so on you'll have to learn rhe in-cult's sign language, and Marlene is quite difficult, she doesn't talks much, but prefers to have small talks."

Narinder nods, smiling - "For me sounds fine—"

"NARINDER."

The feline took a hand to his head, and stood up quickly. His third eye, closed by the moment, opened wide as it looked around.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

"Narinder?" - Abel stood up quickly, Narinder gestured Abel to stay back

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! GIVE IN AND LET ME INTO CONTRO."

"No! It's my bidy, you din't posess me! I'm free frin you, idiot!"

Abrl understood as the third eye turned to look at him. The One Who Waits was there, a part of Narinder after all. Akl represented by the third eye.

After Narinder successfully managed to control the rage of this parasite, he sighed.

"It's not akl pink I suppose." - He mutters.

"I'm here for you, Nari. No matter what, you'll be loved and cherished in this cult, okay? How do you feel?" - Abel placed a sweet hand over Narinder's shoulder and turned him to face the black furred to him.

His black pitch eyes with those horizontal pupils penetrated into his soul and insecurities. He cleans some soil off his fur, and took one of his hands gently, and with the other,'he placed it onto his cheek - "You'll be fine nevertheless. Can I do something to help?"

Oh.

Oh.

Narinder pushed Abel ever so slightkl and turned his back to him. He felt his breath quickened as he pkaced a shaky hand over his quickly increasing beating heart. His ears tilt to the sides as his tails wag ever so slightly.

Why did he felt this griwing warm sensation in his chest?

He soon realized: he fell deep.

"I-I gotta go to rest on my assigned tent." - Narinder stammers as he ran away, covering his face with little lovestruck giggles.

"O...kay." - Abel stammers, before shrugging. He assumed it must've been the problem with TOWW that made him feel worried for harming him.

But Narinder knew what Abel didn't.

- - - -

THANK YOU FOR READING! This is very off my usual angst-ish & detailed fanfics I fear, but I do hope you find it enjoyable!

[alex-rambles]

Can you make a oneshot of yandere Bill x Reader and he overhears the reader saying something to Dipper like “I wonder what it feels like to be possessed.” And Bill, wanting to impress them or whatever decides to possess y/n’s body without their permission and once he does, he can’t understand why the reader gets frightened and upset about it when he thought he was doing them a favor and making them happy by satisfying their curiosities. Also can you add Bill admiring and praising the reader’s body and appearance as well when he possesses it? (Not in a nsfw way. Like he’s in awe that he’s in our body and tries to be careful not to cause harm to something he loves and admires despite him being a sadomasochist and willing to do whatever it takes to make us love him back.)

Ngl tho, thinking about this is pretty sad because I bet if Bill ever truly did fall in love with someone, especially a human, he wouldn’t know how to show that love or affection at least in a healthy and non traumatic way. And even when he has genuinely good(ish) intentions, he would be absolutely dumbfounded when the reader ends up not wanting to ever see him again when he gives them what he thought was the best display of his affection and love for them. I can imagine him giving the reader something messed up as a gift and although he doesn’t show it, he’s secretly excited to see our positive reaction by his very thoughtful gift but when the reader starts to cry and not out of happiness he’s just like “…what the helllllll” he might even think we’re the weird one. 😔

AAHH, THIS WAS ROTTING IN MY INBOX BECAUSE I DIDN'T SEE IT I'M SO SORRY-

He had to trick you for access to your body, of course. Simple enough. What annoyed him was the feeling of guilt while he lied to you by ommission.

But it'll be worth it, after all, he's fulfilling your "wish," after all!

"Man, sunspot, two eyes never fails to confuse me, y'know that?" he laughs, feeling up everywhere he can. "Not used to it, after all!"

You float there, in a stunned silence. What just happened? Seriously, what just happened?

"Hey, toots, ya take really good care of your teeth, did you know that? Loads of people I've done this to have the most rotten teeth, and- hey, why the long face?"

You stare in shock. "My body- you-you-"

"What about it? You'll get it back! I just happened to hear you telling that Pinetree kid you wondered how this felt, and hey, I'm a nice guy, so I had to help you out!"

Of course he had to help you. Only you though. No one else would get this as a privilege, only when he needs a temporary puppet.

They'd also have a few random scars by the end of it too. Not you, though. He can't bring himself to hurt your perfect, fragile little human body.

"Pinetree? You mean Dipper?" you ask.

"Ahaha, is that his name? Silly me!"

Bill goes back to admiring your body. "Your skin is nice! It's not perfectly smooth, but the only humans with "perfectly smooth" skin are mysteriously only seen on the internet!"

Many oddly placed compliments later, Bill begins to get confused by your obvious fear. You should be enjoying this. Why aren't you?

"Hey, if you're gonna act like your puppy died, at least explain yourself!"

Unfortunately for him, now you're just pissed. "Get out of my body, now."

"Whaddaya mean? You wanted this!"

"No I didn't! It was a hypothetical thing!"

"Well, now it isn't! C'mon, where's my 'thank you'?"

"GET OUT AND NEVER, EVER SHOW UP IN MY DREAMS, OR MY BODY AGAIN!"

He flinches. You screamed at him.

His mind thinks he should be angry, but somehow, he just feels sad.

"Alright then, sunspot. My bad."

A few seconds pass, and you find yourself back in your entirety unharmed body.

Underwhelming, but so comforting.

Bill just stares intently, trying to figure out what he did wrong.

[misiahasahardname]

Okayyy because I mentioned them here are some T-Sisters headcanons! I'll probably think of more later but here's what I have :D

• Because Tabi and Tere were 8 and 7 respectively when Toñita was born, they would dress her up and style her hair all the time as a baby, and when she was a toddler they'd give her makeovers with makeup from Claire's

• In addition to their gossip circle, one of their other favorite ways to spend time together is karaoke nights and movie nights (they love Monster High, Barbie and Disney movies I'll die on this hill. Also I do too lol, it's projection)

• Tabi is a huuuge theatre kid! Her favorites are Six, Mean Girls and Wicked

• ^ The girls all went to see Wicked at the movie theater together and cried numerous times, especially at the end

• This HC came to me after I learned that Nomi Ruiz (Tabi's VA) is a trans woman, but Tabi is a trans girl! She realized it when she was super young (like 5-ish) because she tried on Tere's clothes one day and really loved the way they looked on her and made her feel, and Tere was the first person she told shortly after. Even though they were young and didn't really know what it meant, Tere has always supported her and they've been sharing clothes and worn matching outfits ever since!

• Tabi came out to their parents some time before Toñita was born, and Tere helped her tell them. They did it by making a little drawing of themselves that said something like "third member of the T-Sisters coming soon" (referencing Tabi being a girl/but also able to be seen as a reference to Toñita), just something cute and simple considering they were kids

• The whole family was told a couple years later, probably when Tabi was almost 10 or had just turned 10. They were all pretty accepting, even if some of them were shocked/confused (for the younger kids in the family) at first, and after she came out, Tabi became really close to Lita considering they're the only queer kids in the family + the oldest of all the girls

• Even though it was hard for everyone to understand her reaction at first, Buela was especially accepting of Tabi and took her to get her nails painted at the salon as a welcome to being a girl and she actually cried

• Tere has a YouTube channel where she uploads song covers every week and is semi famous

• Tabi also has an ASMR channel but she would never tell anyone about it, not even her sisters

• In addition to loving the Gravel Ravine comics, Toñita loves video games of all kinds

• Last but not least, Tabi chose her name (Tabitha, Tabi is her nickname that everyone calls her) because when she went to one of Tere's cheer practices before she began taking lessons with her, it was the name of one of the older/more experienced girls that amazed her and and she thought it was a pretty name, plus it went with her sister's name

Hope you like them! I'm rewatching the show constantly when I can and I'm so obsessed with them so I'm sure I'll come up with so many more ☺️😆

OHHHH THESE ARE SO COOL!!!!!!!!! i love the idea of tabi and tere styling baby toñita's hair, and tabi being a theater kid is so real!!! (this is why i drew the t sisters as the heathers as a little halloween drawing... tabi always makes her sisters engage in her interests)

i think i'll share some headcanons of my own!

starting with this one about tere, since i find it's a funny coincidence we have the same headcanon but with different sisters:

tere is a trans girl! she always idolised tabi as a little kid, wanted to be exactly like her. she started asking to dress like tabi and then a little bit after toñita was born she figured out she was also a t sister.

tabi was VERY happy to teach tere the ins and outs of being a girl when she came out, though previously she had been a bit annoyed that her brother had been following her around constantly and copying her

the t sisters have their birth certificates displayed in their trophy cabinet (tere's has been vandalised with pink crayon)

i don't know if they have canon ages, but to me, tabi is fourteen, tere is eleven, and toñita is six

after summer of la excavación, toñita started experimenting with various hobbies to see what else she likes — she thinks that the t sisters special sister bonding time would be a lot more fun if they all branched out and engaged in activities the other sisters didn't (does that make sense?)

tere is autistic and was nonverbal and for the first six years of her life she communicated using sign language. potential thing for her and lucita to bond over?

tabi fell into a teen romcom stereotype and fell in love with a girl from her school's girls football team

tabi HATESSSSS babysitting to an unreasonable degree. her sisters know to stay out of her path if they're ever left home alone

tabi calls people by their full names when she's angry

toñita makes clothes for her barbie dolls

when the sisters argue, it's usually over petty, meaningless things, like what specific style of jeans matches a shirt, which barbie movie is the best, or what kind of pet they should ask their parents for (tabi wants a cat, tere wants a rabbit and toñita wants a snake)

in the show, we sometimes see the t sisters texting on flip phones, but i'm pretty sure one time we see tabi with a proper phone. so i think the sisters don't get proper cell phones until they're old enough — which tabi is — she just alternates between her cell and her flip phones if one of them runs out of batteries

almost everything the t sisters own is matching. that's pretty much canon tbh

that's about all i have... thanks for sharing your headcanons! :D

[spacerangersam]

Tell me more about your BBC Ghosts character roleswap please? (Characters including: Mike, Alison, Kitty, Pat, Captain, Humphrey, the Plague Ghosts, Jemima, Annie)

I will tell you more than you probably ever wanted to know asdfgh

Mike’s much the same as in canon, he just happens to be the one who briefly died and can see the ghosts. I guess in this AU Fanny did it? Or maybe Julian still did - his head can be seen by people, so maybe he appeared to Mike, trying to scare him, and it ended with Mike falling out the window. Julian swears it’s an accident, but the jury is not convinced. 

Unlike Alison, I think he would love it from the get-go and be so excited about all his new ghost friends, even the weird ones that hang around in the basement and never come up. They do help him with the boiler, after all. I mean, my man tried to make a potion just to see them, he would be over the moon with it, and I think the contrast of having him so excited while Alison is still reeling from his death + the realisation that ghosts are real and haunting their house is kind of funny. 

I think he’d be close to Pat, if only because Pat is the unofficial leader of the group and can (usually) make them listen, very nervous around Fanny (he always feels like he’s about to be told off when he’s around her) and morbidly fascinated with Julian. It’s a very ‘I can fix him :)’ dynamic, with the added bonus of everyone around Mike saying ‘yeah, no you can’t’. he does though, through the power of friendship and threatening to give up Julian's TV slots unless he plays nice.

Alison is still the one with Button ties and she’s very weary of the ghosts to begin with - they did kill Mike, and no matter what he insisted she knows one of them did it, and she doesn’t like not being able to see them - but eventually comes around to them. She still thinks it’s weird and doesn’t get why Mike’s so pumped but sure, whatever keeps him happy. While she can’t communicate with all the ghosts, she can with Kitty (prior to Kitty’s death, she was fogging up the windows with her breathe and writing/drawings on it) and the two still manage to have a sister-ish dynamic, and Fanny who, armed with Julian’s powers, can bother her on google docs/send her emails (mostly to ask if she’s registered to vote)

Pat is a Home Guard captain during WW2, who moved out of Yorkshire during the war to escape the bombing. He wasn’t fit enough to fight (and probably wouldn’t have wanted to even if he was), so joined the Home Guard, stationed at Button Manor. No one in the village had ever fought in a war and his position as a scoutmaster made him the closest thing to a captain around, so he was handed the role. For my own peace of mind, he found out about Carol and Morris before he died through letters they’d been exchanging, but he never actually confronted her about it. At least because he refused to admit it, and then because he didn’t want to upset an already fairly traumatised Daley with tensions at home. But, he did decide that if Carol was going to go behind his back with other men, fuck it, so was he. I just think Pat deserves a chance to have some fun of his own, though he near got serious with anyone. [despite only flirting around in the safety of the manor though, Duke misses all of this and is still shocked when Pat mentions liking men]

Regardless, his story ends vaguely as it did in canon - he was shot by Keith, just by an adult Keith and with a bullet rather than an arrow. I kinda think it would be sweet/sad if the other guards, both to give Pat’s death a bit more dignity and to make sure Keith didn’t get blamed for the accidental death, made up a whole lie about Pat dying in a stand-off with an enemy spy where he definitely fatally injured the spy, just don’t ask where that guy is, it doesn’t matter. I think Pat would be torn between appreciating the gesture and being a bit miffed because Keith killed him and got away with it.

He tries to be optimistic and cheerful, but at the same time, he’s more jaded than canon Pat (he did live through 2 wars, after all), a bit more bitchy from the get-go, and indulges a bit more in some gallows humour. 

Captain, or the Duke of Surrey / Kently (Surrey is where the real Manor used for ghosts is, but Kently is the made-up town I tend to use) aka just ‘Duke’, is the regency poet, a man who came from a long line of army captains and generals who never made it into the army himself. He wanted to, but was a sickly kid, constantly bedridden because of this and that. To entertain himself while ill, he got into poetry and soon began writing it himself. 

He met Havers at a party, and for the two months Havers stayed in the village, the two got very close. But then Havers was sent off to the front lines and Duke stayed at home, getting sicker and sicker while writing more and more. Eventually, like in canon, Duke snuck into Button Manor to see Havers one last time (though he didn’t nick a Captain’s uniform, being way too sick and delirious to even think of something like that) and died of consumption (aka tuberculous) in the middle of the ballroom, holding Havers’ hand.

Post-death, and unbeknownst to Duke, Havers found some of the poems Duke wrote about him, and after changing the pronouns to protect Duke’s legacy, got them published. Duke was never Byron levels of well-known, but he still became a well-respected writer and is very touched by the gesture once he learns of it. [he also has one poem he wrote for havers he likes to repeat, and over time, the line about brown eyes changes to being about blue yes...]

Like canon Captain, Duke is still quite distant and militaristic at first (habits learned off his father, and not helped by Duke being isolated for most of his childhood) but does have a deep love of poetry. He doesn’t have personal beef with Byron though, and has no idea why Thomas does. Duke is also a lot more lethargic than Captain in canon, the effects of his illness lingering on, and walks with a cane (Haver’s cane) to keep himself steady.

Also, in a very dad move, after Kitty dies he asks her all about the modern technology in her home, and that doesn’t stop even as more modern ghosts show up. As the decades go on she has even less clue what’s what, but that doesn’t stop her from making up answers.

Humphrey’s from the Stuart era, an unmarried Lord, and there kind of two ways my mind goes with his story. One is the straightforward way that mirrors his canon death, like in this fic, where Sophie is accused of witchcraft so Humphrey takes the blame and hangs in her place.

Or there’s my slightly more convoluted backstory where Sophie is married off to a different lord, and even more unhappy with the arrangement, and while hiding away from her husband, Humphrey. The two strike up a friendship - they’re not married so Sophie doesn’t resent him for her situation and is willing to talk to him - bordering on something more, but Sophie’s husband catches wind. Either, it follows the previous options where he accuses Sophie of witchcraft and Humphrey takes the blame, or he just straight-up accuses Humphrey. In the latter, I like to imagine Sophie tried to stop her husband but was locked up in their manor. She managed to escape and arrive on Button grounds just in time for Humphrey to be hanged. She can’t save him, but she can take revenge, so accuses her husband not of witchcraft, but of plotting against the king, forging letters proving so. Maybe she even tries to claim that Humphrey knew this and that’s why her husband hanged him, so Humphrey still goes down in history as being a part of something he wasn’t. 

In death, he still has the noose around his neck and though he can loosen it a bit, he still gets breathless very quickly.

I just realised there are a lot of people in this au who can’t run for shit: Captain can’t because of his illness, Humphrey can’t because of the hanging, I imagine Mary wouldn’t have great lungs from asphyxiation, Pat has asthma, and Fanny has some proper heels slowing her down. This is the AU where nobody runs, they all do a slow jog at most asdfgh

He also, understandably, has quite a sore neck, and like how in canon Pat massages Julian’s finger after use (possibly the weirdest sentence I’ve written for this au, but that is a thing that happens in canon) he does the same for Humphrey with his neck. 

He’s obviously not in pieces like in canon so gets involved with the gang more, but he still drifts off on his own sometimes to sit by the lake where he first met Sophie and just mope. Thomas also likes to mope around and in the lake though, so sometimes they just sit there awkwardly, moping together

The Plague Ghosts are Puritans who weren’t all that hung up on being pure and died of some illness that Mick brought to the town - pneumonia maybe. They still hang out in the basement and are basically the same except I guess they look a little less horrifying. 

Jemima is another Puritan-era ghost who maybe died a bit before or a bit after the plagues, but still from pneumonia. She spends a bit more time upstairs with the other ghosts and bonds with them, encouraged to do so by MIke. He is very scared of the creepy child who hangs around in his pantry, but that’s still a child and she should probably not spend all of her time in the pantry. He eventually gets used to her ominously appearing around corners and singing at random hours in the night, especially after he introduces her to some more modern music - it’s a bit less bone-chilling when the ghost girl is signing Reach for the Stars by Club 7

Annie’s era is switched with the plagues so she’d from the () ages, but she doesn’t die of the plague. She somehow avoided that, despite pretty much everyone else in the village dying from it, but like in canon, kicks it choking on bread. She’s a bit miffed, but kind of glad she died from that rather than the plague. 

In order to meet Mary, she has to stay around for much longer and therefore has a bit more history with the other ghosts (ie, she bullied most of them for longer), and is quite protective over Kitty / develops a close friendship with the Captain. She still made fun of him, of course, but they were judgey and mean together, you know? Kind of like Fanny and Cap. And if Annie does stay around unlike canon, or stayed for a little longer after meeting Mary at least, I think her and Fanny could kick it together. Maybe all three of them could, just a weird little trio of women who will insult you to your face.

Before that though, when Mary first shows up, Annie is just fascinated by her. Mary’s a modern woman, she talks about strange machines and devices and people, (some sort of device), she knows how to shoot an arrow and how to read and write, she can manage her finances on her own - Annie thinks she’s a marvel. She doesn’t understand how Mary doesn’t see that and is still so anxious and quiet, and pools all her effort into helping Mary be more confident. 

i hope you wanted a lot because a lot was what you got asdfh

[poochiray]

10 OffGun-ish fics you should read

So I’m coming up on my anniversary soon. This month it’s been a year since my first OffGun story I’ve published. Within this year, I’ve read and wrote a ton of OffGun. So I thought I’d celebrate the occasion by recognizing some of my favorites from the fandom. These are not really in any particular order, so please keep that in mind. I’m not ranking one over the other. And each story has its own special things I like about them. Some of my favorite tropes I tend to gravitate towards are slow burn, pining, angst, smut, humor, switching (be it sexual position or partner), happy endings, & getting together stories. Almost all of these stories have a couple of these things in them. So without further ado, the list~

1) Picking Flowers by allourheroes | 13.3k, Explicit, Pick/Rome

Ya’ll, it was so hard to pick a story by this author. I like a lot of their stories and honestly anything you read by them is going to slam. But there are two stories I think back on even months later. This is one of them. The synopsis of this story is that Pick (as a veterinarian) sometimes has to take care of supernatural creatures. And as such, he comes across a half-pixie named Rome. It’s just such a unique take on Pick/Rome and even though it’s a fantasy AU, their personalities still shine through. It’s cute, romantic, a little angsty, and honestly I remember it being a little slow burn too. Just a very very cute story and definitely worth the read.

2) our hands speak for us by Rioana | 12.1k, Explicit, Off/Gun

K this author has three works, and honestly you should read all of them. I’m not even kidding here. Rioana just gets Gun. Her first story is basically an extensive character study on Gun and as you read through it, you just accept it as reality. Her stories just make sense as plausible explanations, and the same can be said for our hands speak for us. The premise of this story is set during Puppy Honey era, and Gun casually decides to give Off a blowjob to get him to be more comfortable to work with. Then things go from there. I won’t spoil it too much, but be forewarned, Off is not painted in the best light here. This is during his earlier filming career with Gun. As such, there is real situations referenced and the whole thing feels like we’re just going back in time. It’s very real. But very good. 

3) A Savage Gang by piningbisexuals | 53.4k, Explicit, Khai/Third

Maybe an unpopular opinion, but this is my favorite Theory of Love story. It’s definitely a darker, more gritty tale. This was inspired by the Not Me trailer and what resulted was an amazing story where the Savage Gang are actually...well, a gang. There’s drugs, there’s sex, there’s the typical Third pining over Khai. It has everything I ever wanted in a story and the slow burn is just ughhh. So well done. This is a story that sticks around and stays in your head for weeks later. If you’re going to read any Theory of Love story, read this one.

4) make a wish by Feyrelynn | 7.7k, Explicit, Off/Gun

This was the very first OffGun story I bookmarked, so it kinda has a special place in my heart. I’d been dabbling in the fandom, going absolutely feral over edits of these two clingy men, and then I stumbled across this story and that was pretty much it for me. This is a birthday fic, with a very simple concept. Off places a wish on his birthday to see what life would be like if he was really with Gun. And then he gets his glimpse into that reality. Short, simple, and adorably sexy.

5) Provocation by hedgielettuce | 5k, Explicit, Third/Khai

Ok, if you are at all familiar with the things I write/read, this one won’t come as any shock to people on why it’s listed here. This is by far the sexiest Theory of Love story I’ve ever read. And why? Because this author embraces BOSSY THIRD. One of the reasons I love Third so much is because he calls the shots. He instills fear into his hot shot playboy boyfriend. He’s not playing.  And this story expands on it, going so far as to show a jealous dom side to Third that makes perfect sense and leaves Khai in shambles.    

6) love and eggs are best when they are fresh by pancakelady | 10.7k, Teen, Sean/White

Making this list made me realize I’m sorely lacking on Sean/White stories to recommend lmao. I think the reason being is that I just love their canon story so much. So, I don’t feel the need to read more about them? Does that make any sense? I dunno. But either way, this story stuck out more than any other for this particular pairing. It’s the classic high school AU where they are partnered to take care of a “child” for a school project. The “child” being an egg. This is just a very fucking cute story and pretty wholesome too. I think it’s the only story not rated E that I’ll be reccing, so there ya go haha. 

7) The Initiation Series by pallidvixen | 30k+, Explicit, Pick Your Not Me Pairing, it’s all there

Now for the complete opposite of wholesome because I’m fucked up like that lmao. Wow. What’s there to say about this one? Well, for one, it’s a series. You have to read each story because it gradually builds up and gets crazier as it goes. But the basic premise is that Gumpa has an initiation ceremony that all the members of the gang must undergo to prove their loyalty and devotion to the cause. The ceremony? Group sex. It’s everyone fucking everyone. Gumpa with big dom energy, Black just pissed off and not wanting to be there, Gram being an eager fluffer for Black, Sean the virgin, Yok the slut...it’s just. It’s so fucking amazing. And shocking. And I could write so much more but I’ll stop. I get it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but ya’ll. This is the story I think about more than any other, it’s so fucking messed up and perfect.

8) Meant to Be by lililyyli | 76k, Explicit, Maetee/T-Rex

Ya’ll. I have a specific need, and it’s more of this pairing. I started this story because on the word count alone, ngl. Finding longer OffGun stories in general is such a rare treat. But to have one for this pairing too? Sign me the fuck up. The plot on this one was super cute too. Maetee has magical powers and is an exorcist, meanwhile T-Rex is a demon. Together they run into each other as kids and grow up as friends. Things happen, they part ways. They come back as adults and slowly fall in love with each other. I just remember binge reading this entire story in a day, it was so interesting and cute and lovely. And I still think about Maetee getting to dress up as a princess.

9) How Old My Heart by Xagan | 44.3k, Mature, Khai/Third

Ok one of my favorite tropes to read is pining. The thing is with this story is that all the pining is off screen. It's in the background. And it's fucking brilliant. As the reader, you get to piece it all together. You get to watch Khai wait and wait, always playing off as this fuckboy friend. You get to watch Third fall in and out of love with someone else. You then finally get to watch them both come together and create something beautiful, only for one to think it's all casual, the other not. It's a slow burn story, but well worth the read, and the ending was just perfect.

10) there’s a word for it by smyx | 8.7k, Explicit, Yok/Everyone

Lol so this story isn't even technically OffGun focused. This author has written some spicy stories that do feature more OG pairings, but, y'all. This story has a special place in my heart and there's a reason I'm reccing it over the others. It has charm. It is hilarious. Yok is basically a flirty slut who works his way around the gang. Yet in the end, he ends up attempting a threesome with SeanWhite and lol. It's so bad. I just like how sometimes the sex isn't omg amazingly mind-blowing. There is a realness there that I appreciated reading. And Yok's casual approach was just adorable and had me roaring with laughter throughout.

💚 If you've gotten to the end, thanks for reading my list! I'll probably be creating a new list for next year. Drop your recs in the comments! I'm always looking forward to reading new content of OffGun and their associated ships. 💚