#like who knows but the idea that this might have been a thought playing on casey's mind during the visit is genuinely devastating

[dollveis]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀you've got a fetish for my love

❝ ELLIE WILLIAMS ❞⠀ ✿ you always push ellie away because you're sure you couldn't work together, but maybe you can under the bed sheets. 3.3k words.

pairing. jackson!ellie x fem!reader content warning! mention of consuming alcohol, smut, vague plot tbh, the smut it's actually pretty light and there's more tension and making out than anything, a bit of fluff and maybe angst if you squint, kind of a enemies to lovers but they're not completely enemies (just don't get along), open ending, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), top!ellie, bottom! reader, there's not really a dom/sub dynamic here.

☆ this is the first thing i've wrote in like a year and a half so bear with me please, this also has been sitting in my drafts for two years already and i finished it just now. i hope this isn't that bad! if there's any grammatical mistakes please let me know, english is not my first language, enjoy ♡

The party was obviously Dina's idea. She'd been going on about it for weeks now, how the younger crowd of Jackson needed a break, no one had barely time to just be and exist with all the patrolling, hunting and just surviving in general.

The party is already in full swing when you finally arrive, half the town's twenty-somethings crowding Dina's place. The warmth it's the first thing that hits you, the house is candlelit, the soft cracking of the fireplace and the strong scent of whiskey and woodsmoke fill your nostrils. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, someone's half-drunk attempt at playing the guitar makes everyone laugh, you hear Dina's voice rising above it all, welcoming everyone, teasing people, just keeping the energy high. She really outdid herself, the whole place is alive in a way that Jackson rarely is.

And you hate it.

You immediately thought you shouldn't have come. The party is loud, too loud. It's not that you don't like the people here, you do, for most part, but crowds make you restless and you've spent the whole day convincing yourself that this? this isn't what you need, you should've stayed home but Dina insisted, said you were wound up too tight.

“Loosen up, drink a little, talk to someone who isn't your damn horse!” she said when she greeted you and saw that expression in your face, like if you were about to run back to your house.

So now you were stuck there, standing stiff against a wall, drink in hand and watching the room from a distance like it might swallow you whole.

Then your eyes land on her.

Ellie.

She's sitting in the corner, half sprawled on the couch, beer dangling from her slender fingers and her other arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, boots kicked up on the edge of a coffee table just if like she owns the fucking place. She's laughing at something Jesse just said, her head tilting back slightly, exposing the column of her throat. It's a rare sight— her guard down, her expression relaxed, warmth slipping through the usual sharp edges.

For a second you let yourself look, your gaze fixated on her. The way her shirt clings to her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tattoo catching the dim light of the place. The way her fingers absently trace the label on her beer bottle. The way her green eyes flick across the room, scanning, searching, until they land on you.

There's a pause, a beat where neither of you look away. Then—

She smirks. Fucking smirks. She lifts her beer slightly, a silent acknowledgement of your presence, before taking a slow sip. She knows exactly what she's doing, she enjoys watching you bristle.

You scoff and turn away, pulse kicking up in annoyance. You and Ellie don't get along, y'all never have, she's stubborn, reckless, too sure of herself in a way that grates on your nerves. Every patrol together turns into a heated argument, every introduction a silent battle. It's not like she's mean, if anything, it'd be easier if she was, but she's just Ellie, all sharp words and cocky grins, pressing your buttons like it's a game. And she's determined to win it. For some reason she never lets up, not with you.

Maybe it's a game of push and pull and you always push first.

An hour passes, maybe more, two? you spend most of it trying to avoid her, talking to Dina, Jesse, anyone else but you feel her presence like a weight. Every time you glance her way, she's already looking, every time you move, she's just there and it's pissing you off.

You down the rest of your drink and push through the crowd, slipping down the back hallway, you don't run but you walk fast enough that it feels like it, you dodge Jesse's half-hearted attempt to pull you into some drinking game. You just need air, space—distance.

The first door you find is half open, a guest room, mostly unused since the bed was neatly made. You step inside, inhaling deeply, relishing the silence

Then the door shuts behind you, you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter glaring at the ceiling, “do you ever take a hint?”

Ellie just chuckles, the sound low and amused, “Not when it's this much fun, to be honest,” and you don't even need to look around to know she has that stupid smirk plastered on her face.

You spin to face her, your eyes meeting her intense emerald eyes and your arms crossing tight over your chest, “What the hell do you want?”

She leans against the doorframe, her hand holding her chin like she was pretending to think, “dunno. . . maybe i just like seeing you squirm.”

Your jaw clenches and your fists close, “i'm not squirming.”

You see her smirk grow, a knowing look in her eyes, she looks at you like if she was able to read your thoughts and body language, like if she knew something you don't.

She steps closer, “no?”

You hate how easily she gets under your skin, how quickly she turns the air electric. The room feels smaller with her in it, the tension between you palpable. And the worst part? She knows.

You can feel the anger growing inside you, “why do you always do this?” you snap.

Through her lips escapes a soft chuckle as her brow raises, “do what?”

“This. You act like— like —” you exhale sharply, trying to put your mind in order and find the right words, “like you're trying to get a rise out of me.”

Another step, now you can smell the mix of beer and whiskey on her breath, the faint scent of smoke clinging to her shirt, “what if i am?” she says, her voice now lower, rougher.

You breath hitches, for a moment neither of you move, the tension is thick, suffocating, a rope pulled too tight between you, you're both too stubborn, too reckless, you'd burn each other out before you even had the chance to try.

Your heart pounds, your skin prickles, and fuck, you should push her away like you always do.

But you don't.

You take a step forward, closing the distance completely. Ellie doesn't flinch, doesn't back down, if anything she leans in, her usual green eyes now dark and heavy lidded, her smirk fading into something different. Something dangerous.

“You gonna keep pretending?” she murmurs close to your ear.

You don't answer, you can't because she's right and you both know it. So when she tilts her head, gaze flicking down to your lips— when she hesitates, waiting for you— you do the stupidest thing imaginable.

You kiss her.

The kiss is not soft, not sweet, there's frustration, months of tension unravelling all at once. Ellie makes a sound low in her throat, something between a gasp and a groan, and then she's grabbing you, fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you into her, pressing you against the door. The alcohol on her tongue is dizzying, her body solid and warm against yours and fuck, maybe you should stop. Maybe this is a mistake— but when she bites at your bottom lip, hands slipping under your jacket, pulling, teasing, demanding, you know there's no going back.

Ellie kisses like she fights, hungry, restless, all consuming. Her hands grip at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like she's trying to stake her claim. The taste of her mouth makes your head spin. You should stop, you really should, you keep repeating that to yourself in your mind but when she presses you harder against the wall, when she nips at your lower lip and swallows the soft, sweet sound it pulls from your throat— you don't. You won't.

Your hands move on their own, fisting into the front of her shirt, yanking her closer, until there's barely any space left between the both of you. You feel Ellie exhale sharply against your lips, a quiet, breathy curse before tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Months of pent-up frustration unraveling with every movement.

Her hands now drag under your jacket, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, her rough and calloused fingers grazing over your bare skin. The touch sends a shiver through you, your breath hitching as she maps the contours of your waist, ribs, back and dangerously close to your chest.

“Fuck,” Ellie mutters against your mouth, voice husky and almost desperate, “you're—” she cuts herself off, biting at your lip again before pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your chest rises and falls in tandem, lips swallowed and face flushed. And, God, that sight was delightful for her, she could feel herself getting wet just by looking at you, her pupils are blown wide, green eyes dark and unreadable as they flick between your lips and your gaze. She's still gripping at your waist, still pressing you into the door, but there's hesitation now— like she's waiting, like she's asking, like she needs you to make the next move.

You exhale, reaching up, letting your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of her neck. She shivers under your touch, just barely, and something about that sends a thrill directly to your core, making you bolder and almost demanding.

You tug her back in, Ellie groans softly as your lips crash together again, her hands gripping tighter, wandering and exploring beneath your shirt, sometimes her hands traveling to graze your chest. She moves like she's trying to memorize you, like she's been waiting too long for this moment and doesn't want to waste a second of it.

Somewhere between kisses and touches she starts backing you up slowly, steady, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and your stomach tightens.

Ellie pulls away slightly, breath ghosting over your lips, “tell me to stop.”

You obviously don't. Instead, you hook a finger into her belt loop and pull, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress, bringing her down with you. She lets out a breathless chuckle, bracing herself with her hands on either side of your head.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, voice teasing but still rough around the edges, like she's barely holding herself together.

You swallow, breath shaky, “yeah.”

And that's all she needs. She kisses you again, even deeper this time, slower, like she wants to savor it. The weight of her body presses into you, her thigh slotting between yours and pressing it softly against your core, the heat of her touch setting your skin ablaze.

She takes her time now, trailing her lips down your jaw, your neck and collarbone, her hands moving and groping deliberately, teasing your nipples over your shirt. You arch into her touch, finger gripping at her shirt, nails dragging lightly down her back.

Ellie exhales shakily, her lips barely brushing against your skin as she murmurs, “I knew you wanted me.”

You laugh, breathless and heady, tilting your head back as she marks your neck with her mouth, “shut up and prove it.”

And Ellie doesn't hesitate at all now, the second your words leave your mouth, she moves— lips tracing a slow path down your throat, hands now gripping your waist with just enough pressure to keep you grounded. The heat between you is unbearable, every inch of your body hyper aware of her. She really takes her time, dragging her fingers along the hem of your shirt but not directly touching, she's just teasing, testing. Like she's giving you again the chance to change your mind, like she wants you to stop her and you won't.

You tilt your head back, giving her more room to work, breath hitching as her lips graze over your collarbone. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer, needing more, she grins against your skin, clearly pleased, before shifting her weight just enough to pull your jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

The room is quiet except for your breaths and soft moans, the faint crackling of a candle in the dresser, the muffled sound of the party still going outside. It feels like another world, distant, unimportant. Right now it's just you and her.

Ellie leans back to look at you, her green eyes searching your gaze, “you sure?”

And that almost made you roll your eyes, wasn't the whole situation obvious enough?

You exhale, heart pounding and voice low, “Ellie.”

That's all it takes. She kisses you again, her hands slip under your shirt, fingers warm against your skin as she softly gropes your tits, sending a shiver down your spine. You press into her touch, drinking in every sensation, every little sound she makes as your hands wander, lifting the hem of her shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She groans when you drag your nails down her back and the sound sends a rush of heat directly between your thighs. A slow, aching need building, making your head spin.

The bed creaks slightly as she shifts, settling between your thighs like earlier, her weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. When her knee makes friction with your wet and aching pussy, you gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her back down to you, lips meeting in a heated, breathless rhythm.

She moves like she wants to take her time, like she's been waiting for this moment as long as you have but neither of you have the patience for that.

Clothes come off in slow, teasing increments— shirts and pants slipping, fingers tracing new paths along the bare skin. You shudder at the warmth of her mouth trailing lower and lower, her lips leaving marks you know won't fade by morning. She's restless, enjoying every reaction, every gasp and sharp inhale.

When she finally, finally, presses closer, when her wet mouth meets your core through your panties, when her fingers tighten against your hip,it's nothing like fighting. There's no sharpness, no stubborn push-and-pull, there's no battle to win.

Just heat. Just the press of her body against yours, just the slow, aching rhythm her tongue sets, the way she whispers your name like it's the only thing she knows. Just her.

She pulled away her mouth for a moment, enjoying the sight of soaking wet panties, your own fluids mixed with her saliva. With her free hand she began to rub up and down your slit, the thin fabric of your underwear making the friction even more delicious.

The way she was edging is making you crazy, she finally decide to move the fabric aside, she iz quick to attach her warm mouth directly to your, already, sensitive clit as her two of her fingers make their way to the entrance of your needy hole. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel her calloused fingers teasing it at the same time she sucks and licks your clit. The humid sounds of her mouth making your arousal grow even more and she knows.

Her lips let your clit go for a moment, she speaks in a lustful, almost velvety, tone, “i prefer when you're like this and not fighting me back,” and you can't even fight or bite back, you just whimper in response and she grins before going back to work.

She finally stops teasing your entrance and she slips one finger inside you, slick dripping down to her wrist. She was quick to find your spongy spot and she presses exactly where you need and while a soft moans leaves your lips, she inserts another finger, feeling how your walls clench against her digits.

The feeling of her fingers pressing your g-spot as her lips latching onto your bud quickly turns to be too much, you don't even know where to grip, you feel like you need something to keep you grounded, your whines and whimpers music to her ears.

And you don't know how much time passes but the room is warm, your breath stutters as Ellie moves against you, her fingers shifting slightly inside you, every touch, every word, sending a wave of arousal. She's steady, controlled, like she's savoring every second, like she's engraving this moment in her memory.

You, on the other hand? You're unravelling, your hands grip at her naked back, your fingers pressing at her warm skin, desperate to keep her close, to pull her even closer. She responds with a quiet, breathy chuckle, but there's roughness to it, a slight tremor beneath her confidence that tells you she's just as lost in this as you are.

She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, breaths mingling, eyes half-lidded as she watches you, “you're so fucking stubborn,” she murmurs, her voice rough and teasing.

You let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head back as her lips find your throat, “look who's talking.”

Ellie hums in agreement against your pulse, her grip tightening at your waist before she started to move again inside you, it was slow and measured but intentional, the way her fingers curl inside you pulls an embarrassing sound from you, but she swallows it with her mouth, kissing you deep, hungry. She doesn't let up, doesn't rush, just takes her time learning you, every sound, every shiver, every spot that makes your breath hitch. It's infuriating and intoxicating all at once, the way she knows exactly what she's doing.

And when she finally pushes you past that point, when you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her, when you're about to hit ecstasy— she murmurs your name against your skin, like it's a confession, like she's giving you something she hasn't given to anyone else.

When the tension finally shatters, your fingers curl against her back, scratching her, pulling her down into you as everything blurs, melts, breaks. She helps you to ride your orgasm, cooing you with sweet words and praises even if everything you can say it's just “hah-ahh” and moan.

The aftershocks leave you both breathless, tangled in each other, skin sticky with heat and effort. Neither of you move for a long moment, just lying there, letting the world settle back into place around you.

Ellie shifts first, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before resting her head against your chest. Her fingers trace lazy forms over your side, absentminded.

You exhale, your body still trembling slightly, you lift a shaky hand to run through her hair, pushing damp strands from her forehead. Silence lingers between you, but it's not uncomfortable. It's new, uncertain, but not something you want to pull away from just yet.

The auburn haired girl lets out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to your marked collarbone before murmuring, “still think we don't work?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shifting beneath her, “i still think you talk too much.”

She grins, biting lightly at your shoulder in retaliation before settling back down, “yeah, sure,” a pause. Then quieter, more serious, “you're not gonna run, are you?”

Your stomach tightens at that, at the way she asks like she already knows the answer, like she's bracing herself. You hesitate, your fingers playing with her hair.

You don't know what this is, what it means, if it even means anything at all. Maybe you'll still fight on patrol, still push each other's buttons, still refuse to admit how deep this thing between you two really runs.

But right now, here, in the quiet warmth of this bed? You don't want to leave.

“No…” you finally murmur, feeling the way her body relaxes against yours at the answer, “not tonight.”

Ellie hums, pressing one last kiss to your skin before sighing, “good.”

And for now, that's enough.

[the-oblivious-writer]

The Perfect Girl

Jackie Taylor x Implied Fem!Reader

One-Shot

Summary: You and Jackie - your ever so lovely girlfriend - share precious stolen moments away from prying eyes in your very bedroom.

Warning(s): Intimate scenes/implied smut, innuendos, pre-crash/no crash au (up for interpretation), and underage substance use (marijuana)

Notes: How are we doing after ep 4? Yeah. Figured.

The smoke hangs lazy in the afternoon air of your bedroom, curling around the shafts of golden light filtering through half-drawn blinds. Robert Smith's voice floats from your record player—the one your dad gave you for your sixteenth birthday with strict instructions to "treat the vinyl with respect, for God's sake." You'd promised, never imagining that one day you'd be using his precious sound system to provide the soundtrack for making out with Jackie Taylor.

Jackie—varsity soccer captain, homecoming queen nominee, and the girl whose public image couldn't be further from this moment: her perfect hair mussed beyond repair, wearing nothing but your oversized Sonic Youth t-shirt and a pair of lacy underwear that had made your brain short-circuit when you first saw them.

"You're staring again," she murmurs, taking another hit from the joint you'd been passing back and forth. Her eyes are slightly red-rimmed, her smile looser than the one she wears in the school hallways.

"Can you blame me?" You prop yourself up on your elbows, drinking in the sight of her. "Do you have any idea how many people would lose their minds if they could see Jackie Taylor right now?"

She rolls her eyes, but you catch the pleased flush creeping up her neck. "Please. I'm hardly centerfold material."

"You're right," you agree solemnly. "You're much better."

The way she looks at you then—half-exasperated, half-adoring—makes your chest ache with how much you love her. A year and a half of sneaking around, of stolen moments between classes and elaborate excuses to your respective friend groups, and sometimes you still can't believe she's yours.

"Come here," you say, making grabby hands at her.

Jackie raises an eyebrow, taking her time with another drag before passing the joint back to you. "Demanding much?" But she moves toward you anyway, settling onto your lap with the practiced ease of someone who's been there countless times before.

"Pictures of You" starts playing, and Jackie groans, dropping her forehead against yours. "God, not this song. It's so sad."

"It's romantic," you argue, running your hands up her bare thighs, delighting in the goosebumps that rise in their wake.

"It's about loss," she counters. Her fingers toy with the collar of your shirt, brushing against your collarbone in a way that makes it hard to concentrate on the philosophical debate about Cure lyrics.

"It's about love," you insist, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "How everything fades but photographs and memories."

Jackie pulls back just enough to study your face, her expression caught between amusement and something deeper. "Since when did you become the romantic one? I thought that was my role."

"Don't worry," you laugh, hands now resting on her hips, thumbs tracing slow circles against the fabric of her borrowed shirt. "Your title as 'most likely to cry during romantic comedies' remains unchallenged."

"That was one time!" she protests, but she's laughing too. "And 'The Princess Bride' is emotional terrorism."

"Whatever you say, captain."

Her eyes narrow playfully. "You know, for someone who's currently enjoying the privileges of having me on their lap, you're being awfully snarky."

"Privileges, huh?" You raise an eyebrow, feeling bold from the weed and the warmth of her against you. "And what privileges might those be?"

Jackie's smile turns wicked, a side of her no one at Wiskayok High ever sees except you. She leans down until her lips brush your ear. "Play your cards right, and you might find out."

A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with the temperature. "I've always been good at cards."

"Hmm," she hums, unconvinced. "Is that why you lost twenty bucks to Shauna at poker night?"

"That was—" you splutter, indignant. "Shauna cheats! She has that whole quiet, innocent act down to a science."

Jackie laughs, the sound lighter than the carefully modulated one she uses at school. This laugh is just for you—unfiltered, slightly too loud, and utterly perfect.

"My point," she says, "is that you might need to work on your bluffing skills."

"I don't need to bluff with you," you say, suddenly serious despite the pleasant haze of the high. "Never have."

Something in her expression softens, the armor she wears so carefully around everyone else slipping away entirely. These are the moments you treasure most—when Jackie is just Jackie, not the perfect student, not the soccer star, not Jeff's sometimes-girlfriend (a convenient cover you both agreed on, with his reluctant cooperation).

"No," she agrees quietly. "You don't."

You reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she leans into your touch like a cat seeking affection. It still amazes you sometimes, how different she is in these private moments—how the Jackie Taylor who intimidated you during your first soccer practice freshman year transformed into the girl who now melts at your simplest touches.

"Remember when Coach Martinez paired us for drills that first day?" you ask, thinking back to how it all began. "And you told me my footwork was 'almost adequate'?"

Jackie groans, hiding her face in your neck. "Can we please not relive my bitch phase?"

"It was kind of hot, actually," you admit, laughing when she pinches your side in retaliation. "What? It was! All commanding and authoritative."

"You're deranged," she says, but she's smiling against your skin.

"Maybe. But you're the one who cornered me in the equipment shed two weeks later."

"Because you kept looking at me with those eyes!" She sits up, gesturing dramatically. "All... intense and stuff. It was distracting."

"My sincerest apologies for having eyes and using them to look at the prettiest girl on the field."

Jackie rolls her eyes, but you can tell she's pleased. She's always been a sucker for compliments, especially the earnest ones.

"Smooth talker," she accuses, before leaning down to press her lips against yours.

The kiss starts slow, languid with the unhurried confidence of people who know each other's bodies by heart. Your hands find their way under her shirt—your shirt—fingers tracing the dip of her spine, the curve of her ribs. She sighs into your mouth, shifting on your lap in a way that makes you both gasp.

"You know," you murmur against her lips, "we have the house to ourselves for at least three more hours."

Jackie pulls back just enough to look at you, her pupils dilated from more than just the weed. "Is that your subtle way of saying we should move this to a more horizontal position?"

"I was actually thinking we could finish our calculus homework," you deadpan. "You know how I get turned on by derivatives."

She snorts, an undignified sound that she'd be mortified to let slip in front of anyone else. "You're such a nerd."

"Says the girl with a 4.0 GPA."

"That's different," she insists, tracing a finger down your sternum. "I'm academically gifted. You're a genuine weirdo who reads physics books for fun."

"Only sometimes," you defend yourself. "And they have pretty pictures of space."

Jackie shakes her head, a fond smile playing at her lips. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," you suggest, waggling your eyebrows in an exaggerated way that makes her laugh again.

"Can you now?" she challenges, and then she's leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time, with an urgency that makes your head spin.

Your hands drift higher under her shirt, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She makes a soft noise against your mouth that sends heat pooling low in your belly. One of her hands tangles in your hair, the other bracing against your shoulder for leverage as she rocks against you.

When you break apart for air, her lips immediately find your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. It's your turn to gasp, head falling back to give her better access.

"Jackie," you breathe, hands now gripping her hips tightly.

She smiles against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Yes?"

"The record's about to end."

She pulls back, blinking at you in confusion before her brow furrows in annoyance. "Seriously? That's what you're thinking about right now?"

You can't help but laugh at her indignation. "I just thought you might want some more mood music."

"The mood," she says, deliberately shifting on your lap in a way that makes your breath catch, "is doing just fine without Robert Smith's help."

"Fair point," you concede, voice slightly strained. "But you were the one who insisted we needed The Cure specifically for our afternoon delinquency session."

"That was before you started doing that thing with your hands," she counters, leaning in to nip at your bottom lip. "Now I couldn't care less about the soundtrack."

The needle reaches the end of the record, the soft scratching sound barely registering through the haze of desire clouding your brain.

"Besides," Jackie adds, her voice dropping to a whisper as she brings her lips to your ear. "I'd rather listen to the sounds you make when I do this."

Her hands slip beneath your shirt, and suddenly the lack of music is the furthest thing from your mind.

Later, much later, when you're both lying tangled in your sheets, catching your breath, Jackie props herself up on one elbow to look down at you.

"You know," she says, tracing patterns on your bare shoulder, "we won't have to hide next year."

The thought sends a rush of warmth through you that has nothing to do with physical pleasure. College, away from Wiskayok's judgmental eyes and rigid social hierarchies. A place where Jackie won't have to pretend to be someone she's not, where you can walk across campus holding her hand without calculating who might see.

"I can't wait," you say honestly.

Something vulnerable flickers across her face. "You won't get tired of me once I'm not your dirty little secret anymore?"

The question surprises you. Jackie's always so confident, so sure of herself and what she wants. But sometimes, in these quiet moments, you get glimpses of the insecurities she hides from everyone else.

"Are you kidding?" You reach up to cup her cheek. "I've been counting down the days until I can show you off properly."

Her smile is small but genuine, relief softening the tension you hadn't even noticed in her shoulders.

"Besides," you add, unable to resist, "I've invested too much time teaching you good music taste to abandon you now."

She gasps in mock outrage, grabbing a pillow to smack you with it. "Excuse you! I knew who The Cure was before I met you!"

"Name three albums," you challenge, laughing as you try to fend off her pillow attack.

"Disintegration," she says immediately, punctuating it with another swing of the pillow. "Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me. And... uh..."

"That's what I thought," you tease, finally capturing the pillow and tossing it aside so you can pull her down for another kiss.

Against your lips, she murmurs, "You're lucky you're cute."

"I'm lucky, period," you respond honestly, and the softness that returns to her eyes makes your heart flip over in your chest.

The Cure may have stopped playing hours ago, but as Jackie settles against you, her head tucked under your chin, you think Robert Smith would approve of this particular love song—the one written in the rhythm of your synchronized heartbeats and the promise of a future where hiding is no longer necessary.

[babyjinsu]

heartlink - anton lee

it's a match!

wc; 2.8k slight fluff (for now :x) 002 here!

💭 hehehhehehhehehehhe there'll b a part 2 n a reddit post!!

you weren’t looking for love—you weren’t even looking for something casual.

it was boredom, plain and simple. besides, the semester just ended and you had nothing else to do besides attending your part-time job at a local cafe as a waitress. it was a quiet sunday night when the idea came to you—a way to kill time.

going on dating apps!

you created your profile—chose the best, prettiest selfie you have of yourself. you didn’t put much details in your bio, just a simple, just for fun! ◡̈. at first, it was just swiping for the entertainment of it. left, left, left… right, left… most of the profiles were almost the same—bad quality selfies, forced, corny bios, dudes flexing their muscles in bathroom mirrors… you weren’t expecting much, or anything at all.

then his profile appeared. 

anton lee. 20 years old. likes music n playing them.

holy shit. this guy doesn’t even look real, you thought. he looked like he had been pulled straight from a magazine—the type of guy you just know you stood no chance with—his hair was dark and it fall just past his eyes and he had those handsome features and this anton dude just looked like someone who didn’t belong in dating apps (he definitely didn’t need one too).

you hesitated—but reminded yourself that this was just for fun. if you had no chance with this guy to begin with, what’s the harm? just have fun!

you couldn’t deny that he was exactly your type. painfully so. 

you swiped right. and a second later, almost immediately, your screen flashed—

it’s a match!

——

it didn’t take long for anton to send you a text. 

in fact, it happened faster than you’d expected that it got you wondering if he was the one who had been waiting for you to initiate a conversation. you thought that anton was just one of those guys who matched with girls to boost his ego—that he’s still relevant to the market, but you might be wrong.

anton lee: hey.

even the greeting suited him. short, simple, deceptively normal. or maybe you were just sooo starstruck by his appearance to think he was weird.

upon receiving the text, you stared at your screen—your thumb hovering over the keyboard. it was just a simple hey, but you were thinking too hard on the perfect reply. one that won’t leave anton ghosting you afterwards.

you hesitated for a second before typing back.

yn: hi. i didn’t think you’d text first.

you hummed in satisfaction, giving yourself a slight nod and smile. almost immediately, you got a reply. 

anton lee: why wouldnt i?

you bit the inside of your cheek—why wouldn’t he…?—debating what and how to respond. now feeling a little bit stupid for asking him that. you should’ve just said hi back. you didn’t want to sound insecure, or ‘pick me’, but at the same time, realistically, it felt insane that someone like him, would even notice someone like you.

yn: i dont know lol. you look kinda out of my league. im surprised we even matched.

there was a pause after your text—read—and for a second, you thought you fucked up.

but then his reply came through.

anton lee: you think so?

huh, there was something about his response that made you… shift uncomfortably on your bed. a feeling—an unfamiliar one. it wasn’t a dismissal, nor was it a playful teasing. it didn’t even feel like a question…

before you could think too hard about responding, another message popped up.

anton lee: i think youre really cute though.

the unfamiliar feeling vanished as soon as it came—replaced with a now strange warmth booming in your chest. he thinks i’m cute, you thought, giggling by yourself. you reread the text over and over—flattered.

yn: i guess i got lucky then :) 

anton lee: yeah you did ;)

——

for the next few weeks, you and anton fell into an easy rhythm.

it started slow—just a few, once or twice texts a day. but somehow, the conversations never died. surprisingly, anton knew how to carry a conversation, and he always came up with different topics to talk to you. you started to realise that anton wasn’t like any other guys on the app, or any guys you’ve talked to before. 

he was calm, steady, and almost too easy to talk to—despite his looks.

the odd feeling never came back. he never bombarded you with clingy or needy texts, or pushed you for more than you were comfortable with. he never asked for your inappropriate pictures, or drifted the conversation to one. if you took hours to respond, he understood. if he sensed that you weren’t in the mood to talk, he was more than willing to hear you out. 

anton was just always ready to pick up where the conversation was left off.

you found out that anton created his profile because of a bet—which he had lost a few hours prior to meeting you. and you told him your reason as well—boredom. he was also a student like you too, studying music performance (he didn’t tell you where though, but you understood). 

additionally, anton had a sense of humour like yours—he wasn’t boring, or dry, or had no personality like most handsome guys you knew. he also wasn’t always flirting—but he’d say things that let you guess how he felt about you. there were definitely moments where talking to him was too good to be true, but you’d quickly remind yourself that it wasn’t serious.

and then, one evening, it happened, 

anton lee: so… when are you gonna let me take you out?

you blinked at your screen. 

of course this would come sooner or later��it was only a matter of time before he asked. seeing the question actually came true made your stomach flip in all directions. you bit on your bottom lip, your thumbs hovering over your keyboard.

you wanted to say yes so badly, 

but a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind told you to think it through thoroughly. you had only been talking to anton for a few weeks, and you’d heard all the horror stories about meeting guys online—creepy messages, dates gone wrong, murders…

not that you thought anton would be like that… hopefully. if anything, he had been kind, patient, easygoing, and almost too normal. but… wasn’t that how it always started…?

on the other hand, maybe you were just overthinking it. what if it actually goes well? it’s like winning a lottery, you thought.

yn: i donno. are you as charming in person as you are over the text?

his reply came fast.

anton lee: only one way to find out

you didn’t realise you were holding your breath until his reply came.

anton lee: we can go to rain report in seongsu if you’d like. 

anton lee: they have good pastries there

okay, a cafe. it’s an open, safe, neutral ground.

yn: that sounds good.

anton lee: saturday at 5? 

you hesitated again for a split second—then shook the doubt away as soon as.

yn: okies, see you then?

it took anton a few minutes to reply.

anton lee: im looking forward to it yn :) 

you stared at his response, your grip still around your phone. they felt strangely heavier than they should have. 

you locked your phone and exhaled.

it was just a date. 

what’s the worst that could happen?

——

saturday came by pretty sooner than you’d expected. too soon, honestly.

you had spent the whole week trying not to overthink it. that it was just a date. a date with a normal guy. except this guy was intimidatingly handsome and chill. in hindsight, there was nothing to be nervous about, it was anton who had asked you out. but you woke up that morning feeling like your stomach had been tied into a thousand knots and twists.

you weren’t a loser by any means. in fact, talking to guys wasn't anything new to you at all.  but this was the first time ever that you’d be meeting up with a guy you’d only ever spoken to through a screen. one with a romantic intention.

that morning, while waiting for the perfect time to start getting ready, you distracted yourself by doing the laundry, studying—just whatever to keep your mind from spiraling. but the hours ticked by and the nerves started to creep back in. by 3, you started getting ready.

throughout the whole process of prepping, your mind went through every possible scenario that existed to a man—what if he thought you don’t look like your pictures? what if the conversation was awkward in real life? what if he prefers you over the phone? 

4:30. the distance between the cafe and your apartment wasn’t that far—but it’d be nice to get there early and calm yourself. make a nice first impression.

you took a deep breath, smoothing your clothes down one last time in front of the mirror. 

it’s just a date. but the nervous pit in your stomach refused to go away.

——

when you arrived there, anton was nowhere to be seen. for a split second, you thought anton stood you up. you hated that your heart sank at the possibility. it wasn’t like you were that desperate for the date to happen, but the idea of your date not showing up…

you scanned the cafe, trying not to look too obvious as you searched for a familiar face. people—teenagers and young adults your age, specifically, were chatting and laughing amongst themselves. but there was no sign of anton. 

you exhaled sharply and stared down at your phone, debating whether or not to text him. you decided to ask; and then—

“you’re early.”

the voice came from behind you and it made you jump slightly. whipping your head around, there anton was.

he stood just a few feet away from you. dressed casually in a dark blue sweater with his hands tucked into his jeans’ pockets, his hair was slightly tousled like he had run a hand through it. he looked exactly like his pictures—better in person.

your breath hitched, and you felt stupid for thinking he wasn’t going to show up—after saying he was kind and all.

“i—” you swallowed, feeling caught. you let out a small dry laugh. “i thought maybe you stood me up.” 

anton tilted his head slightly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “why would i do that?” 

you didn’t have an answer. 

before you could think of one—anton smiled softly, god he looked so good.

“come on,” he hummed, nodding toward the open cashier. “should we order?” 

you nodded quickly and followed his lead as he made his way towards the counter. 

“what do you want?” he asked, glancing down at you beside him. the height difference was apparent. he was so tall too. you stared at the menu displayed on the television screen above, humming in thought.

“vanilla latte, i think.” anton nodded then turned to the cashier to order. he got himself a classic latte. the employee rang it up, and before you could even reach for your purse, anton was already tapping his card on the terminal. 

“oh, i could’ve paid…” you murmured softly, not wanting to say it outloud in front of the staff. you know it’s a thing where it is expected for a guy to pay on the first date—a gesture of chivalry. but still, you felt guilty.

anton gave you a soft smile and shrugged, tucking his wallet back in the back of his jeans. “don’t worry about it,” he said. “next date, then.” he added, casually.

your brain short-circuited for a moment. next date?

he said it so effortlessly like it was given. like anton had already known there would be a second one. you felt your face heat up, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. was it his sheer assumption that made you flustered?

either way, it didn’t seem like anton noticed. or he probably did and was just enjoying watching you squirm.

minutes later, after you both had settled at a nice, quiet table by the corner—and anton had grabbed the drinks from the counter—an odd silence sort of just… settled between you.

not awkward, exactly… just charged.

you wrapped your hands around your cup, focusing on the warmth against your skin instead of the man before you. anton, on the other hand, was a lot more calm—leaning back against his chair as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly. his eyes laid on you in quiet amusement. 

for anyone who didn’t know the context, it didn’t look like a date. 

“you always this nervous?” he asked, cocking his head to the side slightly as he tapped the mocha spoon on the rim of the cup before putting it down. 

“i’m not nervous.”

he raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was suppressing a smile. “really?”

you hummed and nodded before letting your eyes meet his’. “maybe a little. i’ve never done this before.”

anton leaned forward slightly, placing his elbow on the table. “meet guys from tinder?”

“yeah.”

he hummed in understanding, bringing his coffee to his lips. “don’t you wanna know why i swiped right on you?” he asked. you blinked at the question, slightly caught off guard. of course you do. so you nodded shyly.

anton set his cup down, his fingers traced the rim of the lid deliberately. “i thought you were pretty,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. “really pretty, actually.”

a warmth crept up your neck—you weren’t used to being complimented.

you wanted to thank him, but he cut you off. “and you looked cute too. i didn’t know you could look better in real life,” he let out a soft laugh, humming. “i’m so glad we matched.”

okay now, you were sure your face was as red as a tomato. blood was rushing, sprinting to your cheeks.

“thanks, wow,” you brought your cup to your lips, trying to conceal how flustered you were.  

anton smiled, just a little, “and i feel like i’ve known you.”

your breath hitched, “what?” 

anton tilted his head, studying your reaction. “i don’t know. i feel like i’ve seen you before.”

out of nowhere, something cold curled in your stomach. what did he mean by that? was it just one of his flirting pick up lines? you forced a small laugh, keeping your voice light. he looked way too calm, maybe you were just overreacting. “you… haven’t though, right?”

what is wrong with me? you thought, why couldn’t you shake off the uneasiness? 

anton didn’t respond right away. his eyes flickered over your face, and he wasn’t smiling. then, after what felt like hours long of pause— “no,” he finally said, lips curling slightly as he looked down on his cup. “just a feeling.” 

——

if you were being really honest, the date felt a little strange. 

you didn’t mean it in a bad way—anton was really nice. he never made you uncomfortable (in an obvious way), and he paid for your drink—oh, and he bought you some pastries to take home too. the conversation flowed as well enough, and you learned a lot about him. he had been playing the cello since he was young; and he was also a part of the swimming team during his school days. 

but there was just something—you couldn’t name it—about him that sat in your chest.

maybe it was the way anton looked, watching you when you weren’t looking at him. or maybe it was the way he spoke—so calm and collected, so nonchalant about the things he was saying. his mannerism, perhaps? the way he never broke off eye contact when you were talking about your university life? 

but then again, who were you to judge? you had never been on a proper date before. heck, you didn’t even know how a date was supposed to go, to feel. for all you know, it could be normal for girls to feel the way you did upon their first dates too. maybe you were just overthinking—so many maybes. 

anton lee: i had a really nice time today yn :) you looked even prettier up close. 

you found yourself smiling as you locked the door behind you.

yn: thanks! i had fun too ><

yn: you’re just as handsome anton 

it wasn’t a lie, at all. you did have fun, and he looked even better in person.

anton’s reply came just as fast. 

anton lee: i’d love to see you again soon.

you bit your lip, typing a response—that you too, looked forward to seeing him again.

 totally ignoring the way your stomach was twisting.

💭 AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH creepy anton ill probably proofread n edit this l8rrrrrr

[ivesambrose]

Heard the astro weather of March is supposed to be intense but I don't want to perpetuate that. I intend that you still make the best of it regardless of circumstances.

So I did something new for change 🤍

Have a good month ahead retrogrades or not xx

To book a personalized reading with me in regards to the coming months or any query you have in mind dm or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com

Click here for services offered

Tips are appreciated 🧡

Picture 1

For you,

March whispers secrets to those who listen.

This month, you stand at the edge of knowing. You might find yourself looking through a hazy veil initially but it won't mean that you're being blinded. Will you trust what you feel before you see?

Your intuition will sharpen and dreams will whisper answers.

You will have no other choice but to nurture yourself from within. Be it eliminating certain foods or fluids or adding them. You will also be reminded that growth is quiet before it flourishes. Something within you (an idea, a love, a version of yourself) will begin to blossom into fullness.

You'll feel as though some event has cleansed your path, there will be a reckoning that brings clarity. What was once uncertain will its rightful balance. Whether you believe in karma or not it feels as though a karmic justice will play out for you.

You shall be offered emotional steadiness, either from someone or it will come within yourself. A sense of emotional maturity. You'll find yourself being less reactive or in simple terms 'less crash outs over circumstances'.

Where once there was confusion, there is now control. You hold your heart like an anchor soft yet unwavering.

Subconsciously, you're being asked to dance with change. March brings shifts, but they do not shake you. They will teach you rhythm instead. You will juggle choices, emotions, and revelations, but you will not longer feel lost.

What does March bring?

A deepening. An unfolding. A knowing. This is the month your soul speaks, and for once, you listen.

Picture 2

For you,

March arrives like a storm and a sunrise all at once.

Spring cradles you in abundance and here I want to remind you, where you focus dominantly, whatever it is, will see an increase. Remind yourself this each time you find yourself wavering to a thought that feels unfavorable.

You'll find your mind being sharp as well.

You'll also learn to establish firm boundaries. I feel as though some of you may have been feeling like their authority is being challenged or are being subtly bullied, I want to remind you that you will emerge victorious not those attempting to dim your glow. They feel threatened by that's their problem to solve, not yours.

There's softness and steel, both alive within you. And you see that clearly now, even if that clarity isn't necessarily comfortable.

You will be shown the knots of your own making, fears that have kept you still. But March is not a month for stagnation for you.

You will surge forward confidently. It is important to hold your ground if you believe in something even if it's just you. You might consider travelling or make plans for the same this may not be a short distance travel either.

This month, whatever falls was never your foundation. Let it crumble, and you will find yourself standing stronger. It's okay.

At the root of it all, I'm seeing you build a wealthy foundation for yourself. Instead of slaving away for money, learn to harness it for what it is that is, energy.

What does March bring?

A breaking. A building. A reclamation. This is the month you take your power back.

Picture 3

For you,

March turns the wheel.

The tides shift

where you were once waiting, now momentum sweeps you forward. You'll find yourself being aligned with destined moments. A lot of quick confident decisions or communication will take place. I feel some of you might be musically inclined and this month will be significant when it comes to that. Since it's a general reading I can't be too specific but music plays a crucial role for you this month be it literally or symbolically.

Be mindful of what you tell yourself as well as the media you consume. You can feel a certain emotion but not make it a part of yourself.

Your once empty cup will overflow, offering love, renewal, or a heart cracked open in the best way.

Your desired business or career will begin to flourish as well. Expect wealth. A good amount of it. Beautify yourself and your surroundings please. Your environment plays a very important role in attracting what you seek and becoming who you desire to be.

I want to remind you that your patience has not been in vain. You are moving forward now, with no hesitation. You are ready.

At the core, this month reminds you that good things take root in time, it's already inevitable so why worry? What you have sown begins to bear fruit.

What does March bring?

A turning. A revelation. A harvest. This is the month your patience meets its reward.

[daeniradraconis]

plz a auston matthews with fluff prompt 5 or 6!

Thank you for requesting! 💖

Exactly the Way You Are

Auston Matthews had never been one to care what people thought of him. On the ice, he was ruthless, a powerhouse of skill and precision. Off the ice, he was a little different. A little softer, a little more particular about things like fashion, skincare, or the way he folded his sweaters. And it had never really bothered him before.

Until you.

Because suddenly, he found himself second-guessing. Suddenly, he caught himself hesitating before ordering sushi instead of a steak, before tossing on a designer coat instead of a flannel, before meticulously applying his moisturizer in the morning. Suddenly, he was hyper-aware of every single way he might not measure up to the men you had been with before.

For the first time in his life, a relationship wasn’t just about having fun—it was about you. It was about keeping you. And only two weeks in, he knew. He was in love with you, and he never wanted to let you go.

Which was why the thought of you realizing he might not be enough for you, scared the absolute hell out of him.

Because your exes? They were the kind of men who made Auston feel like he was playing pretend. A soldier, a farmer and a firefighter. Guys who could chop wood with their bare hands and fix an engine without breaking a sweat. Men who probably thought a ten-step skincare routine was some kind of witchcraft and would rather eat raw meat than admit they’d ever used lip balm.

So Auston tried. God, did he try.

He took you to steakhouses, even though he much preferred sushi. He wore rugged flannels—even though he hated how they felt, all stiff and itchy—and made a point of rolling up his sleeves when he was fixing things around the house (which, let’s be honest, usually meant watching a YouTube tutorial for an hour before calling a professional). He threw around words like “torque” and “horsepower,” even though he had no real clue what they meant.

But then, there were moments when he slipped—when the real Auston surfaced, whether he meant to or not. Like when you caught him meticulously folding his sweaters, using a technique he’d picked up from some high-end fashion influencer, just to keep his wool cardigan in pristine condition. Or when he helped you pick out the perfect moisturizer for Toronto’s brutal winter, because after just a month in the cold, your skin always felt like sandpaper. Or when he let out a frustrated sigh after a particularly bad game and you found him later in bed, a lavender sheet mask on his face and an expensive candle burning on the nightstand.

And tonight? Tonight was one of those nights.

You watched as he carefully plated the pasta he’d just made, placing each strand with precision before garnishing it with fresh basil. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in concentration—he looked like an artist at work.

“You know,” you mused, leaning against the counter with a smirk, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Auston shot you a puzzled look. “Pretend what?”

“That you’re something you’re not.” You reached across the counter, letting your hand gently slide down his forearm. “That you’re this rugged, tough guy all the time. I mean, I love that you try so hard, but Aus…” You tilted your head, offering him a warm smile. “It’s actually really sexy that you care about this kind of stuff.”

His fingers froze over the plate. “What stuff?” He tried to play it off, like he had no idea what you were talking about.

“This.” You gestured to the food, the perfectly pressed shirt he wore, the way his skin practically glowed—thanks to whatever magic serum he used—and the accessories that matched effortlessly with his outfit, right down to the purple beanie perched on his head.

Even if Auston had toned down his fashion choices a bit, trying to seem more traditionally “manly” for you, he still looked perfectly put together. Stylish. And, honestly? Mouthwateringly sexy.

“You take care of yourself. You care about the details. And honestly? That’s peak masculinity to me.”

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “But your exes—”

“They’re my exes for a reason,” you interrupted, stepping around the counter and wrapping your arms around his neck. “I want you, Matty. Believe it or not.”

You could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he hesitated, like he was waiting for you to take it all back. Like he was still unsure whether the way he was was enough for you.

“I know you use a women’s deodorant just because you love the smell,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I know you put SPF on your face every morning, then secretly reapply it every few hours, thinking I don’t notice.” A small smile played on your lips. “I see you spending hours in the kitchen, making sure everything is perfect, just to do something nice for us. You try to hide those things, like they don’t fit into some idea of what a man is supposed to be.”

You leaned in, pressing your cheek against his chest. “But Matty, I love those things about you. I love that you care, that you pay attention, that you take care of yourself—and us. That’s not something to hide. That’s not less masculine.” Your voice softened, becoming a gentle reassurance. “That’s what makes you, you. And that’s exactly who I want.”

His arms circled your waist, but there was still a hint of hesitation in his touch. “Yeah, but… what if you wake up one day and realize you’d rather be with someone who can actually build you a bookshelf, instead of paying someone else to do it?”

You laughed softly, standing on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Baby, I’m not looking for a guy who can build a bookshelf—I need someone to build a life with me. And, ideally, someone who knows the difference between La Mer and drugstore moisturizer. Because if I ever get pregnant and can’t use retinol, at least one of us needs to keep my skincare game strong.”

He huffed out a laugh, pulling you closer. “You really don’t want me to start chopping wood in the backyard?”

You grinned, dragging your fingers through his hair. “I mean, you could, just for fun. But let’s be real—you’d spend more time making sure your flannel matched your beanie than actually chopping.”

“Wow.” He pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow at you. “You’re really coming for me right now.”

“I’m just saying,” you teased, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “I love you exactly the way you are. No flannel required.”

He exhaled, something in his expression softening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, pulling him down for another soft kiss. “But for the record, if you ever do grow a full blown beard, I reserve the right to call you Lumberjack Papi.”

Auston groaned. “Oh my God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” You smiled mischievously.

He shook his head with a playful grin before crashing his lips against yours, deeper this time, his hands sliding to your waist as he pulled you even closer. The kiss became more urgent, more desperate, as the world around you seemed to blur. The pasta sat forgotten on the counter, the only thing that mattered was the heat between you.

–

Later that night, you both found yourselves tangled in the sheets, his head resting against your chest, the warmth of his body pressing into yours like he belonged there. His slow, steady breathing was like a soft rhythm, a lullaby that pulled you into a calm, peaceful quiet. His arm was draped over you, fingers lightly curling into the fabric of your shirt, as if trying to keep you close. You lovingly ran your fingers through his hair, the soft curls brushing against your fingertips as his breath warmed your skin.

His golden tan glowed faintly under the dim light, the perfect contrast to the dark mess of his hair, and every now and then, the faintest shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. You felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, the steady beat of his heart a comforting presence against yours. His mustache—still that goofy, charming thing—brushed against your skin as he shifted slightly, mumbling something you couldn’t quite make out.

"You look so peaceful when you sleep," you murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head, feeling his warmth sink deeper into you.

Auston hummed, a soft, contented noise that sounded like a mix between a sigh and a half-chuckle. His grip on you tightened just a little, pulling you in closer as his sleepy eyes flickered open, barely adjusting to the dark. His gaze was hazy, unfocused, the deep brown of his eyes soft and distant, as if he was still caught in the in-between of sleep and wakefulness.

"'S’cause of you," he mumbled in that thick, sleepy voice of his, barely more than a whisper. "Always you. Don’ ever wanna let you go, babe."

Your heart skipped a beat, a gentle ache blossoming in your chest. It wasn’t even intentional, the way he said it—his words muffled by sleep, heavy with the warmth of his affection, like a confession he didn’t even realize he was sharing.

"You’re not even awake right now," you teased gently, your fingers grazing over his jawline.

He huffed a little, a sleepy laugh escaping him, and his arms tightened around you instinctively, pulling you closer, like he wanted to make sure you were right there. His face nuzzled into your chest, his nose brushing against your skin, and he sighed deeply, like the world could melt away as long as he stayed wrapped up in you.

As you lay there, his warmth surrounding you, everything else felt so distant. There were no worries, no doubts—just the steady beat of his heart against yours. He was exactly what you needed—his quiet strength, the little ways he cared for you, the way he made you feel safe even in the simplest moments. It was those small, real things that mattered most.

In his arms, there was no pressure to be anything other than what you were. Just him—Auston. The guy who could make you laugh, who made you feel seen and heard, and most importantly, who made you feel loved.

And as you drifted off to sleep, tangled in him, you just knew. He was yours. Forever.

[mo-jo-jo]

Do you ever see something that straight from the concept is the perfect blend of unique + hilarious, which you just know it's gonna be good? That's how I felt about the Pilot Animatic for "I Don't Want to Be a Magical Girl". This show is absolute fun, like, without question.

I've been following the creator @kianamaiart here on tumblr for a while and it's so cool both to see this concept come together and to have it arrive with such pizazz.

"I Don't Want to Be a Magical Girl" is a refreshing, fun story. They spend time to simultaneously redefine and pay homage classic tropes of the genre. The pilot is also doing it's own thing though; particularly with it's sleek, modern feeling character designs and pacing.

The writing and comedy is likewise kept very modern. It feels clean with a good balance of work and play to move the story along. The series main characters are (freshmen?) in high school and I think the creators did a great job at writing youthful without it feeling kiddy.

I would say there is something for everyone within the 11 minute Pilot, but the series definitely takes a few steps back from all-ages. It contains light swearing and cartoon violence. With dark-ish humor and attitudes presented. Quite a few of the jokes had me snickering, which is more than I can say for a number of full-fledged adult comedy cartoons.

They really struck a good balance of funny without overly meme-ing it up. While there was the occasional moment where I felt a bit to much second-hand-awkwardness, that's definitely a personal take. I find myself feeling that way with plenty of other modern shows and movies with a similar tone (that I enjoyed) such as Disney's Turning Red, just as an example. For every moment that felt a bit awkward though, there was two jokes I thought landed.

The idea of a parodying or playing with the magical girl genre is a concept that I've seen before, and usually always love. There are so many different avenues to take it, and limitless stories to tell.

A few webcomics that you might consider checking out which take the magical girl genre and runs with it are:

🌟 Magical Boy by The Kao features another magic user, disgruntled with their title and expectations. However, in Magical Boy we follow the story of Max, a young transman dealing with his gender identity alongside his fantastical powers. Originally a webcomic, it also available in print.

🌟 Retired Magical Girl Support Group by Anne Soderborg - In this comic we explore the life of Aiko and a few other women who have aged-out of their magical girl personas. How can they adjust when the magic they had throughout their youth is gone and they suddenly have to move onward into an ordinary life?

🌟 Glitter and Guilt by Sierra Ray tells the story of Sweetheart, magical girl fueled by the power of love. Alongside her archenemy (boyfriend?) Bitterbat; a multidimensional prince of evil. <-- Be advised, This comic is intended for a more mature audience.

But yeah, please also watch the Animatic Pilot for "I Don't Want to Be a Magical Girl" - it's great.

[spiderb00bs]

- REACH ME

Tara Carpenter x reader 

“Maybe Tara wanted to be more than your friend” 

Genre – smut    Warnings – mentions distant parents 

(request) 

Now playing – What You Need, by The Weeknd

Tara Carpenter was never very open about how she felt. She struggled with her emotions, most of the time keeping everything to herself until she couldn't take it anymore and exploded. She knew it was a bad thing to do, something that would only harm herself, but she still couldn't act any other way.   

Any feeling, anger, sadness, sometimes even happiness, Tara kept inside her, even if her heart was on the verge of exploding. Even though Tara had been doing this since she was practically a child, she still couldn't hide certain feelings from her friends. Which meant that everyone knew about Tara's huge crush on you.   

You and Tara were complicated to say the least, always flirting with each other, holding hands around the campus, kissing at some frat parties, you've certainly lost potential people who were interested in the two of you because they thought you and Tara were dating. All this just so that at the end of the day, you and Tara could raise the flag of friendship and make everyone around you want to kick your asses.  

Your friends had had enough. Holy shit! Sam had had enough. All they wanted most was to see you finally admit your feelings for each other, and believe me, they tried everything. Double dates with Anika and Mindy, going out bowling as a couple with Chad and Liv, Ethan and Bailey even tried flirting with both of you to see if you'd get any reaction, but Bailey just got scared of Tara's stares and Ethan backed off because he was sure he'd get punched by you if he stayed by Tara's side for one more second. Amber even locked you in the bathroom once! But that only earned her screams and more screams.   

At some point, everyone was convinced that you might have to figure it out on your own. They didn't know when, they didn't know where, and they certainly had no idea how close it was to happening. Which brings us to the present moment.  

You and Tara always liked to do everything together, and with a big test coming up, you and the Carpenter girl decided it would be a good idea to study together. Your house wasn't noisy, you're sure your brother would stay at his girlfriend's for many days, and your parents were never home, preferring work to spending any time with the family they decided to build themselves.   

Walking to your room - where you and Tara were studying - you carried two glasses of lemonade. Summer was coming and the cold drink seemed perfect to quench your thirst.   

“Man, this is really good.” You said, taking a sip of the liquid in the glass after handing Tara's glass to her.   

Convinced by your tone, Tara brought the glass to her lips, her eyes widening slightly when she saw that you were right. “Wow, you really know how to make something.” Tara says, mocking you.   

“Hey! Of course I know, who the hell do you think I am?”  

Practically throwing yourself into your chair, you felt yourself going slightly backwards in a jolt. Momentarily forgetting that the wheelchair would move if you threw yourself onto it. The sudden movement caused the glass to tip slightly, causing much of the liquid to splash onto your white shirt.   

“Oh, fuck!” Getting up quickly, you heard Tara laughing, glancing at the girl in time to catch her looking at you with a funny face.   

“ Dude, you're such a loser.” Laughing even harder at the scowl on your face, Tara turned around in her wheelchair, following you with her eyes as you walked towards your closet, pulling at your shirt to remove it from your body.   

“Yeah, very funny. Suck my dick, Carpenter."   

Tara knew you meant it in another way, but seeing your muscly back and catching a glimpse of your abdomen and the muscles in your arms made Tara wish you had meant it in the way she was thinking.   

Who could blame her? You were always Tara's ideal type, from the first day she saw you she knew she'd have a fucking crush on you. You were tall, strong, beautiful, had a style to envy, you were polite and funny at the same time. You were everything Tara had always asked the heavens for. But she was afraid, afraid of ruining the friendship you had created over all these years. So she kept accepting the crumbs you gave her, because that was better than losing you completely.   

You and Tara had made out before, but it never went beyond that. Tara knew you had a nice body, and she was even more sure now. With your closet doors open, Tara could see you perfectly well, innocently looking for another shirt, totally oblivious to the hungry gaze the younger Carpenter had in your direction.   

“You know, it's not a bad idea.” Frowning at what Tara had said, you continued looking for a clean, stylish shirt to wear, oblivious to Carpenter's movement around your room.  

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused when a strangely nervous Tara approached you.   

“It wouldn't be a bad idea for me to suck your dick.” In disbelief, you looked at Tara with slightly wide eyes.   

You'd never even talked about sex, let alone considered it. “You're kidding, right?”   

“Why? Do you think you can't handle me?” Tara asked, her fingers gripping the belt loops of your pants, pulling you closer and making you slightly nervous.  

“I can handle it. Can you handle it, Carpenter?” You said, pulling the shorter girl closer by the waist.   

God, you loved Tara's waist, it was so small in your hands, it made you feel so big.   

“Why don't you come and find out...”   

In all the talk, that was more than enough to make you move forward, kissing Tara's lips with desire. Your hands squeezed the girl's slender waist and Tara's sighs were like music to your ears. Her lips tasted like strawberries from the lipstick, and the kiss had a slight aftertaste of the lemonade you were drinking a few minutes ago.   

You couldn't believe it, Tara was simply the most beautiful girl you'd ever seen, and here you were, about to have sex with her. You were nervous, but you had to get over it. You wanted it to be good for Tara, as much as you knew it would be for you.  

Tara gasps as you lift her off the floor, wrapping her legs around your waist, Tara noticing that you were holding her with just one arm, while the other groped the walls, looking for the way out, as you were too busy kissing Tara's neck to lift your head. Finally emerging from the closet, you walk over to the bed, carefully tossing Tara onto it before climbing on top of her.   

“Fuck, you're so hot, Tara.” Lowering your kisses to her breasts, you tugged at the hem of Carpenter's shirt in a silent request to take it off.   

“ Fuck, Yn. Do whatever you want to me!” With a smile on your face, you pulled Tara's shirt off, your fingers quickly going up and opening the clasp of the girl's bra.   

“God, you're so beautiful, Tara.” Hearing your words, the Carpenter girl's body shivered, making her let out a moan as you massaged her breasts - now free of the fabric -.   

“Do you like it?” Looking at you in bewilderment, Tara saw you laugh a little. “Do you like it when I compliment you, Tara?”   

Tara moaned, confirming what you wanted to know.   

“Do you like it when I say you're being a good girl for me?” Tara moaned awkwardly as you took her nipple in your mouth, sucking slowly without giving the girl a chance to respond to your teasing.   

Taking advantage of Tara's distraction in the fog, you unbuttoned the girl's pants, pulling the garment off her body, seeing the damp stain forming on her panties.   

“Fuck, are you already wet?” You teased, leaving a kiss on Tara's clit under the fabric of her underwear, only for the Carpenter girl to let out a loud moan.   

“You do that to me.” Tara said, pulling your hair closer to her intimacy. “Please fuck me.”  

You smiled, knowing that you were making the most of this moment. Even as you felt your cock growing in your pants, you decided that you wanted to make the most of that moment.   

Removing Tara's panties, you gave her pussy an experimental lick, collecting all the juices that flowed from it. “Uhmm, you're delicious, Tara.” Hearing Tara moan, you continued your work.   

Grabbing the brunette's legs, you gained more access to her intimacy, sucking her clit and making the woman squirm in your arms. “Please, Yn. I need more.”  

Looking at the woman, you could see Tara's watery eyes, those eyes that seemed to beg for your pity, those eyes that made you want to torture her even more with pleasure. But at that moment, those eyes made you give in.  

Standing up, you unbuttoned your pants, making Tara lean on her elbows so she wouldn't miss a second of the show. When Tara saw the bulge in your underwear, her mouth was already dry, she had imagined how big you were, even felt it a few times when she was sitting on your lap at parties, but she never thought she would see it up close.   

Seeing Tara look at you as if you were a piece of meat, you let out a snort, reaching out to grab a condom from the drawer of your bedside table. “Drooling too much?”  

“Shut up.” Tara said, the smile on her lips letting you know she was enjoying the moment. “I think you talk too much.”   

Looking at Tara with a raised eyebrow, you watched the girl kneel on the bed, reaching up only to take the condom from your hand, settling back on the bed with a predatory look on her face. “You don't know what you're talking about...”  

“Come here and show me.” Overcome by desire, you took off your underwear, making your cock jump free and hit your abs.   

Climbing onto the bed, you made your way between Tara's legs, kissing the Carpenter girl as soon as you had the chance. You gasped into the kiss as soon as you felt Tara's hand reach your cock, feeling her pump a few times, you spread kisses across her neck, distracting yourself while the younger Carpenter put the condom on you.   

Moving up from her neck to Tara's jaw, you pulled away from her slightly, looking into her brown eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”   

Rolling her eyes, Tara put a sarcastic smile on her face. “Why? Don't you think you can handle it?”   

Getting onto your knees properly, you watched Tara lie back comfortably on your pillows. “I just want to make sure you're comfortable with it, Tara.”   

Seeing that you were serious, the Carpenter girl stretched out her arm, her hand resting on your waist, only for her to shake her head, as if finally realizing that you wanted a sincere answer from her.   

“Of course I do.” Sitting up properly on the bed, Tara's hand reached for the back of your neck, pulling you until your forehead was resting against hers. “I've never wanted anything as much as I want this, Yn.”  

Seeing you nod, Tara smiled, pulling you into a kiss and making you lie on top of her. One of your hands was on her waist, while the other guided your cock to her wet pussy.  

Carefully, you slid the head of your cock into Tara, making the woman moan into the kiss. “Fuck, you're so big!”   

“You like that, pretty girl?” Tara moaned at the nickname, ecstatic as you sank into her inch by inch.   

“Fuck, I love it.” Taking your hand in hers, she looked up at you, almost as if asking your permission.   

With your cock all impaled inside Tara, you took both her hands, intertwining them with yours and placing them on top of her head. Your thrusts began at a slow pace, but increased in line with Tara's desperate pleas.   

The brunette underneath you was ecstatic, she was loving it, you were even better than Tara had imagined. You could make the hard feel soft, and the fast feel loving, you could make Tara feel two ways at the same time. She had never had sex with someone who made her feel loved and dirty at the same time.   

The words and compliments you whispered to her made Tara's stomach churn with pleasure, your big, sturdy form on top of her gave her the feeling of protection and imposingness that she used to hate with guys out there. But Tara knew you weren't a guy, and you weren't even close to being a jerk like them either.  

You managed to be gentle and loving amidst the brutality of your thrusts, you managed to leave Tara wanting more, you were making the brunette see stars. And it was only when Tara felt that no forming that she let out a loud moan, which was quickly muffled by your lips on hers.   

You knew Tara was coming, when you pulled away from the kiss, you saw her eyes roll back, her hands squeezing yours as it became harder and harder to move inside her. Slowing your thrusts, you followed Tara all the way up her, still hitting her g-spot as you chased your own orgasm.  

Kissing Tara's forehead, you thrust a few more times, seeing tears of pleasure in the woman's eyes. Grunting, you pulled your cock out of Tara, masturbating quickly and watching the jets of your come fill the condom.   

“Fuck...” Taking off the condom, you went to the bathroom, disposing of it in the trash and getting back into bed as quickly as possible, worried that Tara would think it meant nothing to you.   

Lying next to the brunette, you could see the smile on her face. Crawling closer to her, you left a kiss on the younger Carpenter's cheek, making her look at you with heartfelt eyes.   

“Was it good for you?” you asked, still worried that you hadn't satisfied the woman.   

“Are you kidding?” Tara asked, settling down on your bare chest. “It was the best fuck of my life.” She said laughing.   

Smiling, you looked at Tara, the words stuck in your throat. “Did that... mean anything? Or like, are we just friends who fuck?” You asked, laughing nervously.   

“Yn, I never wanted to be just your friend.” Tara said, leaning in and kissing your lips.   

A feeling of relief ran through your body. Finally, you had the girl you'd always wanted, and you were going to do everything to make her happy. 

hey guys, I hope you're well.

I'm very happy to be posting here today, I hope I'll be able to post some short requests and some thoughts that you send as well.

did you see the oscars? honestly, i'm very happy that “i'm still here” won an award. And although I was rooting for Fernanda until the last minute, I'm also very happy for Mikey. And I want to say that this profile does not support ANY kind of hate or misogyny towards Mikey.

Mikey is a kind and loving soul, and she's just doing her job. So I want to make it clear that I don't support any kind of hate.

anyway, that's it. drink water, stay safe

xoxo, spider.

[dreamerdrop]

Could you tell us more about the WIP called Zebras?

Zebras is an episode related little what if based on If Wishes Were Horses, wherein Julian falls asleep reading medical notes about Bajoran war orphans and finds himself dreaming about his own childhood, and thus wakes up to a small imaginary version of himself pre-augmentation.

I need to rewrite the bulk of it, but here’s a snippet from the ending without any further context.

Julian doesn't really want to be around people, but he does want to drink until he blacks out, so he finds himself sitting in a corner at Quarks, tossing back synthehol like his life depends on it, when Jadzia approaches him, looking uncomfortable.

“You know... What I meant was, does this mean you have a secret yearning to be a father,” Jadzia says softly, almost whispering so that nobody else will hear. “I was… trying to joke about you maybe having a pregnancy fetish or something, and… maybe that was why you liked the idea that I already had a worm in my belly…?” she sits across from him, her smile is very contrite.

Julian grimaces. Of course, that had been what she was trying to joke about... Leave it to Jadzia to phrase it in the most awkward way possible, and for Julian to interpret it as incorrectly as imaginable.

They really did make quite a pair.

“So… who was he?” she asks, and Julian had so very much been dreading when that question would finally come up. His throat feels dry.

“He was… a friend. I knew him a long time ago…” he finds himself staring into the middle distance, several memories playing through his mind.

“What happened?”

Julian breathes slowly, trying not to get lost in the flood of thoughts and emotions that he feels like he might as well be drowning in.

“He died. He was... He was sick. His parents, they… it was difficult for them. Looking after him, because he was… they… they wanted to help him, to fix him, to make him…” Julian chokes on the words, crying. His face heats with shame.

“He was stupid. He was stupid, and annoying, and nobody liked him, and his parents…” he doesn't mean the words at all. He’s not sure where they’re coming from, but he can’t seem to stop them. Jadzia is looking at him in almost horror.

“They took him away to fix him, but… he didn't come back. I think... I think his parents were happier without him,” he says quietly. Jadzia shakes her head, opening her mouth to protest.

“They were. They had another child. I heard… I heard them telling their new child how much better he was. How much smarter, and easier to handle he was. They… I… They didn’t miss him at all…”

Jadzia isn’t stupid. Julian knows she can tell there’s more to this than he’s willing to admit. Julian knows he’s giving away too much. He knows he’ll regret this one day. Right now, the image of watching Jules die all over again is fresh in his mind.

“Sometimes, I think… I might be the only one who misses him at all.”

Jadzia reaches a hand out and squeezes his shoulder. She lifts her own glass and clinks it against Julian’s.

“We can miss him together, at least for tonight,” she says.

The burn of synthehol doesn’t warm him as much as the genuine kindness in Jadzia’s eyes, nor does it sting as much as the still-present pity.

He supposes that one day, she’ll look at him normally again, but just for tonight… he’s grateful that someone else can feel sorry for Jules. He’s glad he won’t be the only one to miss him anymore.

END.

I’m not quite sure what to do with the rest of it in the lead up to that yet though, since I’ve been puzzling over the character voices for a while for this… I think I’ve got Julian being too much of a jerk and being sort of too… idk, softboy-ish? Rather than like… himself. And I think it makes zero sense for me not to have Sisko and Miles more involved as well, since y’know, they’re both parents and here is Julian with a tiny kid.

Anyway, it’s been a WIP since maybe November last year and I come back to it occasionally and hopefully one day I will finish it. Hopefully. Maybe. We’ll see!

[twist3dd4ydr34ms]

“Angel, would you read to me?”

Hello lovelies! This is an older fic from my ao3 account but I thought I’d post for you tonight while I get some more ideas for more content! Please keep in mind I did have a good friend of mine check my fics when I wrote this and it might be different from some of my other works!

Fandom: Good Omens

Pairing(s): Crowley X Aziraphale

Ratings: fluff with a hint of spicyness!!

Warnings: substance use, and a bit spicy behavior from both Crowley and Aziraphale!!

________________________________

The cloudy haze of tobacco that chases the oxygen into Crowley’s lungs makes his stomach churn just exactly right . An unsettling feeling Crowley had gotten accustomed to and even welcomed openly now that he’d fully adjusted to his human body. He has not graced a morsel of food in the past 48 hours, human or celestial for that matter. Celestial food is not meant to be consumed the same as human food and is a rather unpleasant process for demons. Angels had the luxury of having a pleasant form of energy consumption as it were. All they had to do was stand still and let the nutrients replenish them, something to help keep their celestial qualities intact, to fuel the miracles and such.

Demons, specifically those that fell, had a more violent way of accepting it. The nutrients are forced into the hellish celestials quite violently. Rather than a pleasant energy replenishment, the form forces its way through their vessels. Luckily for Crowley, human food was enough, so he need not to worry about nutrient implementation as often as any of his other demonic associates. He quite enjoyed human food anyways.

And My God, did he love to watch Aziraphale partake in it. It ignited some sort of sinful desire within him, he let burn inside his core. The seemingly innocent act was, in Crowley’s mind, anything but. The way the angel devours any sweet, delightful, treat as if he’s been starved and famished for years. The way his delicate, soft skin interacts with the edible items makes Crowley feel things. Something he never wants to do. Feelings are not something he would admit to being familiar with as a demon, but something he had been experiencing with the angel for centuries now. Though if you ask Crowley, he would trip you onto the crowded pavement outside of his angels beloved bookshop for even daring, and you’d be grateful it wasn’t worse.

The alluring aura of A.Z. Fell & Co. was always one that catered to Aziraphale’s aesthetic, and feelings. Usually lit by candlelight and stunning, vintage chandeliers even in broad daylight, all window shades were shut around in the shop at all hours of the day. The air is always heavily filtered with the scent of vanilla cake, lavender, and the distinct sweet smell of old paper. Each book rested on its proper shelf and designated position remaining untouched unless it had been by the angel himself. A few covered in dust, some with broken binds, or chips in the paint of the cover, but each one absolutely perfect in every way to the angel who owned them. It is a true privilege to be deemed worthy enough to touch one of the angels books.

Crowley, who’s spent at least the last century earning this privilege, often busies himself in the botanical section when he knows his angel is not around. Aziraphale, ever so innocent, pretends not to notice, or at the very least he doesn’t scold Crowley for ‘Clumsily and carelessly rearranging my work’ as he likes to phrase it when humans put their hands all over his precious books. It’s only over dinner one late Saturday evening that it’s brought up in casual conversation.

Crowley, aware that the shop has long since closed and the doors had been miracle locked to the public, the angel’s doing of course, ordered sushi for the pair of them to enjoy for a meal as they conversed as usual. This particular evening was different. The sushi had arrived and Crowley, who had been a bit preoccupied with his headphones at their maximum volume playing every sort of music the angel despised, put out his cigarette carefully and went to retrieve the sushi from the delivery man.

He turned on his heels and shouted out toward the blonde’s private study, “Angel! Dinner!” He shouted almost too loudly. Crowley flicked his longer slender fingers in the direction of the small table, and armchair with a lamp where he was reading a botanical book and transformed it into a bigger space for the two of them to eat as usual. He was grateful the food had arrived so quickly as he was growing increasingly bored as he missed his angel after keeping himself holed up in his study all afternoon and all evening, it almost left Crowley feeling lonely. He chose not to dwell on this feeling for long as he continued to set the table for their dinner.

Almost as if on queue, Crowley set down the bag and the dark heavy oak, double doors to Aziraphale’s private study swung open loudly as the heels of his signature brown boots clicked against the hardwood floors rhythmically. True music to the demon's ears, and Crowley would know about music. Aziraphale defending the stairs and making his way towards the brown paper bag with haste as his hunger settled in, greets Crowley sweetly. “Hello, my dear! Have you been waiting long?” He asks quietly, starting to open the bag. Crowley murmurs cursing sharply under his breath. Even a simple ‘my dear’ is enough to make him weak after a day without his angel. “N-not long, angel...Muriel was here she only just left, so I did have some company even if a bit insufferable.”

Aziraphale contorted his angelic features into a look of amusement as well as understanding. As much as he has come to love the new angelic addition to their environment, she was quite chatty and a bit too curious, maybe that’s why Crowley tries not to get too attached. But don’t let him fool you, it’s not like the angel doesn’t see the demon’s fondness for the young angel.

Aziraphale brushed off the subject and handed the demon his sushi and moved his own sushi to his side of the table. He miracled himself some tea before glancing down towards Crowley’s end of the table. It was then he noticed he hadn’t touched the book that was on the demonic end of the table, once today, he was quite sure of it. He gave a small amused hum and made a mental note before turning back to his meal. Crowley had finally sat down from grabbing the chopsticks from the bag where he reminded himself how to use them properly. Aziraphale needs no reminder, he is ‘an expert, who is not above bragging.’ As he loves to put it, always making Crowley, quite crabby when it came time to use them. He sat down and started to eat with him, watching his angel carefully. He couldn’t get enough of watching Aziraphale eat. It was mesmerizing, for some unknown reason this drew him in. The act of watching the angel do something as simple as eating food felt so sinful in all the right ways. Crowley eventually snapped himself out of his sinful thoughts with a shake of his head and now flustered face as he focused on his own food and the book next to him.

Crowley, who hadn’t always been so demonic, was not illiterate like the other demons. He was actually quite the reader. Anytime he wasn’t in Aziraphale’s shop, he was reading something. Whether it be a small article about ducks, or a short history of something he needed to know, or other books on stubborn plants, he was well read it would seem. So when the cheerful angel glances down at the end of the table where Crowley appears to be excessively demolishing his sushi, he gets a little too curious.

“Crowley?” He pipes up finally his voice is firm and commanding but not too loud or unkind. The demon lets out a snorting choked sound before acknowledging the angel “hhhck! Y-es angel?” He says swallowing thickly just to answer him. “Is that one of mine?” He asked, glancing pointedly towards the small green book. Crowley looked confused for a moment before he understood, “Oh! Yes, from the botanical section I believe. Sorry angel, I know you’re very particular with your books.” He said a bit sheepishly, pushing his glasses back over his slitted eyes hastily. Since the fall, Crowley was always one to hide his true emotions, especially when it was the angel making him feel something. He didn’t dwell on it too long, busying himself with his sushi once more.

Aziraphale, persistent as always, continued on with his questioning. “I thought your lot had trouble with that sort of thing?” Crowley had no issues lying to his angel, especially if it was harmless, Aziraphale usually saw through it anyways. Besides, he’s never truly lied about anything truly important since they became romantic, at least Aziraphale had hoped.

The demon’s expression showed clear aggravation with the question. “we do.” he said shortly trying to move on from the subject. Aziraphale gazed at him knowingly relentless white his questioning anyways, “Didn’t get very far then did you?” Crowley rolled his eyes “ No angel, I didn’t .” He said thickly, annoyance coating his voice. Aziraphale nodded with understanding and said nothing more. They finished their dinner in comfortable silence.

With the dim lighting in the room and Crowley’s heavily tinted eyeglasses, he hoped it would be enough to cover the flustered expression on his face as he plopped himself down on the floor in front of Aziraphale’s soft armchair, minding his legs being sure to be close but to not make contact, as the angel insisted on sitting up properly even when relaxed. He relaxed against the chair, his right arm brushing the angel’s calf gently. “Apologies angel.” He managed quickly moving his arm, though he didn’t seem to notice or mind “It’s quite alright, my dear.” was the small simple response. ‘My dear’ the blasted angel was driving him crazy and he could do nothing about it.

Their relationship rule was simple: Crowley mustn’t initiate physical contact without permission unless absolutely necessary, but once physical contact is made by the angel, he is allowed to reciprocate. This left Aziraphale in total control of his demon. Of course there was a time and place for this rule, it didn’t apply in public settings as they could both be a bit skittish in crowds, but when the two were alone and becoming more intimate it was very much enforced by the angel. He loved having subtle control over Crowley. But if you’d mention it to Crowley it would be possible you wouldn’t ever see the light of day again.

Crowley continued to “struggle” with his book as Aziraphale read his rather cheerfully humming in appreciation for the knowledge. The truth is Crowley can read, but he does find it difficult, not because he struggles with the words like other demons, but that the mere presence of his angel makes it impossible for him to focus on anything, especially a book.

He sighs heavily hoping to get his angel’s attention. “What is it you need from me, dear?” He says sweetly, softly sliding a delicate hand into Crowley’s heavily styled curls, never taking his eyes away from his book. Crowley makes an inhuman noise and melts into his angel’s hand sitting up a little bit. “A-angel…” he mumbles softly, his body finally snaking around the angel's leg. He missed being able to touch his angel, it was cruel that Aziraphale made him wait this long. “Yes, my darling? Is there something you need from me?” His voice was terribly sweet and thick it felt like honey, but only Crowley knew how sinful it truly was in that moment as the words practically dripped from his mouth. He looked up at his angel, his piercing yellow eyes staring up into the soft blue ones that accompanied the warm bright entity sat above him. “Angel, would you read to me?” His voice was quiet and pleading. The angel’s response was a small delightful hum and a chuckle. “Having trouble after all, dearest?” He was amused, Crowley however, was quite the opposite, so he tried again. “Angel, please ?” It was a whisper but more desperate this time. Aziraphale stretched out his unused hand that wasn’t occupied by the fiery red curls belonging to his grumpy lover, “Of course, dear” he said with an amused hum. The demon wordlessly handed his angel the book and smiled softly as he commented fondly on the quality of the book and his memory of the author from years ago. Crowley settled in comfortably against his leg and listened intently to the sound of his angel's voice.

The soft sound of his voice droning on about plants, kept Crowley’s mind occupied, though he couldn’t quite keep his focus on the words when he started to get lost in the angel’s features. The sound of his voice lingering but the words having no real value over the beauty of his face.

“Ngk! Aziraphale! What was that?” He mumbled startled when he felt a small tug on his curls. Of course nothing that would hurt, but just enough to grab his attention and raise interest. Aziraphale couldn’t help but stifle a giggle as he swallowed down a gulp of red wine. “You are meant to be paying attention, pet~” Crowley grumbled some flustered profanities and rested his head on the angel’s knee again. “Apologies angel.” He mumbled into his thigh as he listened to Aziraphale once more. Crowley would never mention this again, and though he often asked his angelic lover to read to him, it was very clear to them both he could do it on his own and didn’t need the help.

But if Aziraphale knew his demon, he would never admit to that.

[everythingheard]

The sensation of fingers spreading just a little further against his fur wasn't one Zeb had anticipated when placing Kallus' hand on the back of his neck, yet there it was. It felt as if every nerve ending in his body was suddenly clustered beneath his friend's palm, sending a pleasurable ripple down his back. Thus, when Kallus' voice followed his own, he was relieved — for more than one reason. Honing his focus instead on the response, Zeb was reminded of the fact that he had come to like the way that the other man didn't shy away from making use of his full name at times. On Bahryn, he had been thoroughly taken aback that Kallus was already aware of it ( not the first time he had been surprised during their little detour, and it hadn't been the last, either ). If interrupting wasn't the last thing he wanted to do at the moment, he would have been inclined to say as much.

The lean forward and earnest underscoring of each word as it was repeated back ensured there was no dubiety to be found as to whether Kallus approached the exchange with as much solemnity as it ought to be. Perhaps this wouldn't be viewed by others around them in the same manner it would have been on Lasan ( where such an oath was proclaimed in front of comrades who understood the gravity and degree of such loyalty, in whatever form it took, and honored it ) but now, alone with no eyes on him except those of honey-gold gazing into his, a certainty sparked in Zeb that it didn't matter. All he cared about was the hand against his fur, the quiet words assuring him that how keenly he felt their bond was reciprocated, and the subtle rise and fall of Kallus' bare chest with each breath.

Maybe, eventually, when Lasat don't need to hide, we can say it all again on Lira San.

The ease with which the thought arose in his mind was simultaneously as shocking as being hit by lightning, and as natural as a heartbeat. Kallus had practically chased Zeb through that star cluster beyond the Outer Rim to Lira San. Wasn't that right? Chava had said that Kallus was the warrior from the prophecy she knew would help them get there, and he had scorned the idea that the person he hated so much could have anything to do with a hopeful future for the Lasat — if a future for them even existed. How was it that everything was completely different now? It was insane. Impossible. Unbelievable. At one time, he would have punched someone's lights out for insinuating that what was happening right in this moment could ever be real! And here Zeb was, somehow completely wrong and happy about it. Everything really was upside down. Or perhaps it was right-side up now, the way it should be.

Whatever that meant. Better to leave the sentimental riddle-talk to Kanan.

Lifting a hand of his own to rest on the back of Kallus' neck, he used the other atop the bench as easy leverage to press their foreheads together. Traditionally, it would be the one accepting the pledge who initiated the contact, but he wasn't about to suggest it with that injury still at play, even as minimal as the shift was. Like it really mattered how it happened, anyway; the warmth of Kallus' skin beneath Zeb's gave credence to the notion of leaving his palm there as long as he possibly could before it was deemed weird. "Might have to start calling you Alexsandr now," he mused, the grin slowly rising to his lips both teasing and pleased in equal measure. It sounded nice in his head, too: Alexsandr. "Unless you've got a nickname I don't know about."

'Huh.' Perhaps that would be the end of it. Alexsandr had left space for Zeb's decision, and if that was refusal then he wouldn't complain. He knew the other had no obligation to share any part of Lasat culture, particularly with him - much less to bring him into any vow or ritual. It was an honor to be given, not demanded nor even requested.

Alexsandr's focus returned to the bacta patch's application, a quiet sigh leaving his nose at its coolness against the wound. His movements would likely remain restricted until they returned to base and the medics could take a look at him, but —

His thoughts crashed to a halt, at the sound of his name on Zeb's tongue.

He swallowed hard as their gazes met again. The briefest flicker of a furrow arose on his brow while he listened to his dearest friend's formal phrasing, before he realized. He hadn't been refused at all. Heart thrumming in the backs of his ears, Alexsandr solemnly treasured every word. The start of yet another blush clung high on his cheeks, but he didn't dare move. Not until Zeb's gentle hold closed around his wrist, sparking a faint gasp. His fingers splayed a little further against violet fur, basking in the texture and the warmth. Alexsandr already knew his answer, before Zeb's touch even retreated.

"Garazeb." It came out in a whisper. He straightened up with support from his other arm, just enough to lean closer for sincere and affectionate emphasis of his recitation. "My heart beats to the same rhythm as yours. Ashla knows the truth of this."

Of course he wanted to. Alexsandr would give Zeb anything and everything, and he was a man of his word.

[batsplat]

NEW CASEY INTERVIEW NEW CASEY INTERVIEW

"Valentino Rossi and I were enemies, now we have overcome the past"

https://www.gazzetta.it/motori/la-mia-moto/27-11-2024/casey-stoner-al-ranch-di-valentino-rossi-gli-inizi-con-nolan-il-ritorno-alle-corse.shtml

(link) anon you are my hero and I love you. I was about to say I also love gazzetta for being my most reliable allies in getting fun interview quotes from casey, but I'm feeling somewhat less well-disposed towards them after having had to fight their website to even see what he said, let alone actually clip it. as ever, obviously go read the whole thing (might need arm surgery??) - does read a bit like paid content by the helmet company but still interesting. here, however, we shall be focusing just on the casey/vale stuff. the clip in question + transcript:

No, it's good, Valentino and I've put the past behind us many years ago now... I never stopped respecting anything Valentino did, but we certainly had our time where we were very very fierce rivals, almost "enemies" I would say on the track. And, you know, this is something that when you step away from racing and you have a different perspective, you can see things in a different light. So... I think for both of us, we stepped away, we have families. It's a very very different way of life for us now. And to get to share the track with him in an enjoyable way - something that I would have wanted to do in my early career, before we became let's say enemies - it's been a real real pleasure to spend some time with him, to see everything, this program that he's built... It's more or less a dream of mine to do what he's done, to have this opportunity to work with young riders like he is. He has the teams which he can implement and bring the riders through, and all of his riders now are at such a high level - it's a testament to what he's done. And I think it's such an amazing opportunity for anybody that gets to work with him.

crazy how I simply never lose

first off, this is something he's hinted at before, but there's just something really... you know. about casey talking about it being his dream to do what valentino's done training young riders :( and what he says about what an "amazing opportunity" it is for anyone who gets to work with valentino... can't help but think about that ask I answered recently about how much good it would have done casey to have a vr46-esque structure looking out for him. and maybe... just maybe... a thought he's had too...? read the answer as a whole and, come on - you can kind of see where I'm coming from, right. just this slight edge of wistfulness

second of all, again, it is just so extremely true to this rivalry that casey says they'd put the past behind them "many years ago now" when you just keep in mind what he's actually been saying about valentino in the last few years. "a different perspective", "you can see things in a different light"... well, sure, but not THAT different going by your interview output I would say. which isn't necessarily going to be completely reflective of casey's thinking over this time period - he's telling a story about that rivalry in the press, after all, and it's one that has increasingly become accepted in the mainstream consciousness. there have also been some gentle hints of him reassessing a few specific valentino-related elements of his career, like for instance his speculation that yamaha had strung him along to use as a negotiating tactic against their preferred pick (from late 2023). which (whether true or not) is ofc a different line from the *wink wink nudge nudge* approach deployed in his autobiography and elsewhere to heavily imply valentino blocked him from that seat

now, look, I STILL think he's going to go back to some of the old hits in future interviews... he's never going to stop having complicated feelings about valentino, and he does want the public to understand his grievances. BUT, as last stated on the 2k24 feud round-up, that internal conflict does not always survive actual direct exposure to valentino. casey does have a little bit of form where 'contact with valentino temporarily softening his rhetoric' is concerned. portimao 2021 was ofc when they did that helmet swap thing, casey gave some nice quotes about valentino at his presser there - including "but over time, there is no resentment and a lot of respect"... which obviously feels like it's quite detached from how people think casey feels, in large part due to what he's said since that presser!! and it took him as long as an entire month before he got a few more digs in (memorably that was when casey said valentino couldn't be fast without a tow, which again is factually questionably but undoubtedly extremely amusing). and surely we'll get at least a little bit of a relapse, but who cares: "real real pleasure" to spend time with valentino!! real 2 me

incidentally, casey has used the 'enemy' word previously in relation to valentino - generally when discussing his belief that valentino deliberately made an enemy out of him. he also said about laguna '08 a few years ago, "before we were rivals, after that we were not enemies but we were a lot stronger rivals". (discussed here.) obviously there's no way to objectively distinguish between 'rivals' and 'enemies' - and I'd agree with casey in that 'enemies' would be quite a strong word for post-laguna but maybe a bit more accurate by 2011-12 - but as ever it's interesting how he himself characterises their dynamic. "very very fierce rivals" indeed lol. and they're no longer enemies :) peace and friendship wins the day

thirdly. third of all. number three.

And to get to share the track with him in an enjoyable way - something that I would have wanted to do in my early career, before we became let's say enemies...

HUH. huh! huh

well, I mean. obviously. but, you know. thanks for saying it? oh man, casey... his wry little smile... lonely young casey, who looked at valentino and saw an attitude towards the sport he was never going to be able to adopt as his own. who would have liked some of that joy for himself - maybe dreamed that one day he too could have fun like that - only for those emotions to remain mostly foreign to him. ofc casey's complicated feelings towards valentino and why that early idolisation turned sour has been discussed in a fair bit of depth on this blog, but well, here's another piece of the puzzle. he would have liked to share the track with valentino in an enjoyable way!! unfortunately, given the circumstances in which the two of them got to know each other, casey was never going to get what he wanted out of valentino. beyond any specific crimes committed by valentino... the more you study that rivalry, the more you come to the conclusion that casey's disillusionment was unavoidable. valentino never could have been what casey needed him to be - not as long as he was casey's rival, rather than his mentor and friend. maybe in another life

[variationsonacloud]

its been 4 years since i first watched be more chill how has it been that long

[phagodyke]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[gu6chan]

99% just my autism speaking here but something ive been noticing lately that im sorta kinda 😶 about is when ppl are like "I think you'll like this" but not bc they ACTUALLY think you'll like it, rather they just got into it and want you to also get into it so "I think you'll like this" is a nice personal hook. i love chill stuff as much as any other person ofc but given i don't divulge that EVER, what makes you think my berserk reading, made in abyss watching, drakengard playing ass would like YURU CAMP????

[the-acid-pear]

today's prompts are spiders and self insert so i've been thinking of drawing nembone and a uh, bunger. but Im still thinking around the uh. ? i cant remember the word HELP the fucking COMPOSITION there.

[exopelagic]

my players don’t know it yet but the adventure we’re doing rn is me being silly goofy bc they hadn’t made their characters in time for me to plan around them. now that I Know Things the game can really start