#not really but i know the girlies (gn) will appreciate this

[mirkwood]

Thinking about her.........

[acid-ixx]

moaning headcanons a.k.a how loud they moan (part 1)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this is supposed to be crack until it became serious and I can't back out. update: i forgot this draft existed so i hope u like me posting old writing (with me expanding on it). ask for part two with specific characters (next part will contain neuvillette) if you will, i dont mind!

tags:top!gn!reader. implied yandere. implied murder. jealousy. masterbation, jerking off to thoughts of you. (no i will not shut up about how nana's (@koinotame) portrayal of childe changed my entire viewpoint of him, he's my murder baby and he knows it.

— childe : loud. genuinely noisy especially when he strokes himself when envisioning you punishing him. ah, if you're rough enough, he whines and he sputters and chokes. sometimes, he'll increase the volume of his moans just to spur you on. he's a tease and although it's nice to be a good boy— he loves being a brat so you could manhadle him harshly. but when he's lonely and horny, he's always, always not afraid to release his desire. even gagging him with your underwear still wouldn't be enough to muffle his whines and gurgled moans of pleasure. if you hurt him for just the right amount, he'd be cumming even with his dick untouched and that's when he moans the loudest. sometimes, when he feels you don't give him enough attention, he'd be approaching you (and whatever you'd be doing wouldn't matter), latching onto your waist and whining into your ears about how you just haven't been noticing him lately. it's up to you to decide whether you want him kneeling on the hard floor giving you oral or kneading his hard-on through his jeans. just wish whoever your neighbor is a good luck because he won't certainly shut up when he pleasures himself on you. there's times when he's good, when all he does is whine and gasp, but that's only when he stabs his enemies and the crimson seeps into his clothes hard enough for him to feel it damp and stimulate him lightly, thinking of you and your complaints about him staining the carpets again— he hopes you'd use a ball gag this time, with a tight collar while you're at it, just so he could really feel the pain.

— kaveh : his moans are, well, similar to the moans of exasperations he releases whenever his wallet is empty or whenever his roommate irks him. but when it comes to you, it seemingly amplifies to a more modified, girly shriek and teary eyes. he releases high-pitched whines when overstimulated, when he's on the brink of cumming whenever you jerk him off, or when your tongue ventures through his pecs, circling his areola and ignoring the swell of his nipple; and he's begging you with drool running down his shiny lips to just suck his, his "breasts" (your words, not his!) already! he gasps needily whenever you thrust inside him, releasing airy and rhythmic "ah, ah, ah!"'s with every thrust. every time you hit his prostate, he'll be sucking in a breath and gripping on your back for dear life and begging you to slow down while he pants. his dignified voice loses composure though, whenever he rides you. it starts off with bated breaths until it continues with sharp gasping and girlish moaning. he wouldn't even be aware of his own loudness in the room with how his pleasure drowns out any sort of dignity he tried so hard to maintain. it's not his fault that it's rare for you to keep all your attention to him! and he wants it all to himself. so if that means embarrassing himself for a few days just so you could forget about the man who flirted with you days ago— then so be it! he'll look at you with droopy eyes and quivering lips, begging you for more with a slightly scratchy throat and swollen lips. despite being overstimulated, he could go on for more rounds just for you.

[lundenloves]

Please write a fic about price teaching an innocent reader to smoke for the first time and he like praising her and stuuuf omg im begging 🙏🏻😰😰

✧ i’m so fucking fucked for this man. what happened? who let this happen. someone has to be blamed who the FUCK was it. i’m supposed to be a simon girlie, who lives in a world of blackness and upset. there’s been a fucking mixup and malfunction. *sighs with hands on hips* request more of him.

i got him pregnant.

↳ no warnings | 700 wc | gn!reader

✧ anon, you were the straw that broke the camels back. this was typed in twenty minutes. it’s even edited for a lovely change, no i’m not trying to impress price. don’t all my readers look lovely today? *silence* no?

… never back down, never what?

→ masterlist | request info | taglist

“No, that’s—“ He chuckled, sitting forward abruptly to adjust the cigar between your dainty fingers. “We’re not in 1920’s Hollywood. You can use your thumb.” His correction of the cigar between your two fingers was his first critique, now watching intently as you pulled the thick stick from your mouth to look at it. 

“It’s so unnecessarily big.” Your words were accompanied by a raise of his brows and a small shrug, eyes pointedly focused on the lighter in your left hand. “Don’t ask me if I know how to light it.”

He sighed a long exhale, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Do you?” The taunt in his voice was one that slapped you in the face, turning to him with a mere nod. 

“It’s a fucking cigar, not a bomb.” You lit the end as one would a cigarette, pulling it back from your teeth to check it had caught. “Right?”

Price ran a hand through his hair, dropping it back down to scratch at his beard. “Listen,” He leaned forward, taking the lighter from your hand and holding the flame by the end in continuous slow circles. “Do it like this and it’ll be an even light.” He looked up at you, eyes darting down to your lips and back up. “Till those edges are blackened.”

“Why?”

“And,” He gently took it from your mouth, his own hand manually moving yours upward to meet the cigar. “Light it here, you don’t need it in your mouth.”

You do as instructed, looking up at him every so often for his nod of validation. “It’s a bit different from cigarettes then.” A mutter tumbled from your lips and Price hummed in agreement, his palms now splayed wide across his thighs after leaning back. “What if I fuck it up? Can’t you just do it.”

He shook his head, bringing a hand up to gesture to the flame you were neglecting by staring at him. “It’s just a cigar, not a bomb, remember.” 

You held the light far from the end in similar small circles as to what he was demonstrating. Tongue poking out from your mouth in concentration, lifting the smoke ever so slightly to check each and every leaf was introduced to the light in preheat before closing the gap. “Why can’t I light it from my mouth.”

“You can.” He said softly. “But it takes away from the first inhale. It's just about patience, love.”

You were predictably already growing impatient, twirling it slowly for all of ten more seconds before lifting it to your boyfriend for inspection. “Maybe half a minute or so more,” His hand rubbed at your thigh, squeezing it gently before sitting forward. 

“Yeah, that’s it.” He tilted his head. “Now blow on it, just… gently.” The way his voice almost fell to a coarse whisper sent a shiver down your spine, fighting the urge to glare at him for the unintentional innuendos. “And then a little more heat.” 

You smile at the smoke tumbling from the bottom as a result, blowing lightly one more time.

“Good girl, that looks good. Really good.” He nodded, eyes dropped to the stick in now shared appreciation. “Alright, now you can take the first draw. It’ll be untainted, d’you know why?”

“No idea.” The words come off absent for you’re entirely zoned out, smoke dancing from the cigar and out of your mouth. Price chuckled, his hands clasped together between his legs, elbows leant on his knees through a wide manspread. 

“Because, you didn’t light it from your mouth.” His eyes met yours, warm and inviting when you had passed the cigar back to him. “And after every two or so hits, you’ll just—“ He blew on the end, watching the smoke disperse. “Rid the smoke.”

“This is an art.” You say as he takes it between his teeth, a long draw sparking a bright orange light from the bottom. 

“Mh-hm.” His mumble brought smoke out in small streams, the thickness of the cigar looking much less impressive between his fingers as opposed to yours. “And you did all the work.” 

“For once.”

“For once.”

i um— i don’t have a taglist for price.

any and all cod characters taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @luvfromkat @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @mistydeyes @dilfdotgov

i wasn’t able to tag @stateofcatonia @yoluvrz and @its-bichin-belle-bitches, i’ll shoot you a dm to help sort it out! (yoluvrz keeps tagging and untagging hmmh)

as always always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every so often i’ll sit in a hole.

fucking hell i talk a lot.

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 3: Favourite Scent

Title: Candle Shopping

Pairing: Dean Winchester X gn!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Flufftober 2024, Dean Winchester x reader, established relationship, candle sniffing in the supermarket is always a fun past time

Part of the Flufftober 2024 challenge that can be found here @flufftober

Warnings:  Dean being a little misogynistic (calling candles “girly”) but we love him all the same

Word Count: 1k

Summary: To get rid of that musky, bloody, dead-monster stink out of the bunker, you convince your boyfriend to come candle shopping with you.

A/N: I'm an absolute tart for candles - I love me a candle with a crackling wick. This was a dometic-y one; I was really struggling to figure out where to go with this one so I hope you can enjoy it regardless x

As always I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated or copied

I hope you enjoy! likes, commentsand reblogs are always appreciated 💜 Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

Prev | Next | Masterlist

“Dean, please,” you plead, following your boyfriend from his man-cave to the kitchen. “it smells. Just come with me so you at least have the opportunity to choose.”

“No,” Dean replies sulkily. He’s still in his bathrobe and his hair’s a mess but somehow, he still makes it look sexy. “I don’t want any of your girly candles ruining my bat cave.” He says gruffly, making himself a coffee.

You crinkle your nose, remembering the smell of Dean’s so-called Bat Cave. “Only you call it the Bat Cave,” you huff. “And it’s starting to smell stuffy.”

He flashes you a lopsided grin and toasts his mug to you. “Smells like man.”

You roll your eyes and bite back a smile. “No – it stinks. Come with me to pick a candle.” You cosy up to him, giving your best puppy dog eyes and pout knowing it would make him melt. In your best sing-song sweet voice you add, “I’ll even let you choo-hoo-se.”

Dean tries not to look at you but it’s pointless; his heart melts at the sight and he can’t say no to you. He sighs, tilting his head back dramatically.

“Fine.” He grumbles.  “But no flowery stuff.”

You lean up on tip toes and peck a kiss to his lips, making him smile. “Thank you! I’ll go get ready.”

Dean only huffs in response watching you skip out of the kitchen triumphantly. He took a swig of coffee, secretly looking forward to your little shopping date.

Standing in the Home aisle, your eyes rake the shelves of candles before you with excitement. The excitement clearly wasn’t as contagious as you’d hoped; Dean stood arms folded, looking down the aisle away from you. You frowned at him.

“Spoilsport,” you mutter at him, picking up the first candle and giving it a whiff. Your, for lack of a better word, nosebuds are attacked with the overwhelming scent of commercial pumpkin spice. The terribly artificial scent making your nose crinkle as you put it back to the shelf.

“Can’t you just pick one?” Dean huffs. “Then we can leave and grab some food on the way back to the bunker. You know that diner we passed looked pretty go-“

“No way,” you interupt. “There’s an art to this.”

Dean rolls his eyes as you pick up another candle and bring it to your nose. This time, you smell floral scents that you’re sure would give anyone hay-fever from the smell alone. You huff, frowning thoughtfully at the shelves.

Your eyes scan each shelf meticulously, making mental notes of the scents and skimming over scents you just know your boyfriend will despise. Then you see it. Tucked away behind another candle jar, sat a Cherry Pie scented candle.

You almost dove headfirst into the shelf to grab it. You take a small sniff and and slam the lid shut again, turning to Dean with a wide smile, clutching the jar tightly like the gremlin you are. You hold the candle to him and he pulls a face at you.

“Really?” He scoffs. “Cherry Pie? Heh, yeah sure.”

“Trust me,” you say, watching Dean lower his face to the jar’s opening as you peel back the lid.

You watch with a satisfied smirk as the gentle notes of almond and vanilla caress his nose buds like it had yours, the perfect balance of cherry scent melding between them. Dean sighs almost wistfully, unable to stop himself from gazing at the candle in awe. It would be PERFECT for the Bat Cave. Smelling like pie? His favourite pie?

When he meets your smug little face over the rim of the jar, he frowns.

“You like it?” you tease.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, re-fitting the lid but not handing the candle back to you. “Can we go?”

“You want the Bat Cave to smell like cherry pie?” you grin, feeling smug.

A smile twitches at Dean’s lips. “Maybe. But you just called it the Bat Cave.”

You roll your eyes playfully. "Whatever. Is that the one you're choosing?"

Dean's face flushes slightly. He's excited to light the candle (and eat food) but he can tell by the look on your face that you're teasing him. "Why?" He asks cautiously, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Well, it’s just...” You pretend to look coyly behind you the the wall of candles. “They have an apple pie one too.”

“WHERE?!” Dean says much too quickly, excitement getting the better of him. You giggle watching his eyes go wide with childish glee as he scans the shelves, and you point at a jar that looks almost bioluminescent.

Dean shuffles the first candle in his grasp and reaches for the new candle. You watch him awkwardly open the lid and take a long, deep sniff. He hacks and turns away to cough; the strong, artifical scent of green apple and cinnamon making your own nose wrinkle.

When Dean turns back to you, he's beaming, and looking very adorable with his signature excitable smirk.

"You want to light your candles now, don't you?" You try to suppress the smile that's pulling at your own lips but Dean’s excitement is contagious.

"Yeah." He says sheepishly, carrying his pie scented candles close to his chest. "Come on. I'm hungry too, and that restaurant had some good burgers."

"Alright, alright." You shuffle along behind him to ring up the candles, chuckling softly to yourself.

Later that evening, after eating a better than average burger and fries, you and Dean are curled up on one of the chairs in the man cave watching a movie. The scent of the new apple pie candle wafted around you as Dean’s fingers traced languid patterns over your shirt. He'd insisted that the cherry pie one belonged in his bedroom; that falling asleep to cherry pie dreams was the only way to fall asleep.

"Today was fun," He rumbles softly, kissing the top of your head. "I'm glad you convinced me to go candle shopping."

You huff gently, smiling. "You're just happy to have found out pie scented candles exist."

"Happy to have found they exist with you," he quips, smugness emanating from him. You roll your eyes and shift in his lap to press a kiss to his lips.

"Shut up."

[dearsnow]

Hey girly I was wondering if maybe you could do a part two of the orange peel theory because it was super cute but I need to see what two bit and Steve would do!

THE ORANGE PEEL THEORY PT. 2

in which you ask the greasers (and cherry) to complete simple, unassuming tasks that you can easily do yourself. (the outsiders x gn!reader, fluff)

a/n - sorry this is so short :( i’ve had zero time lately and couldn’t think of any more ideas for tim and curly, but if you really want them just lmk!!

“TWO-BIT, could you zip up my jacket? I’d really appreciate it.”

He looks at you, grinning. He’s so dopey in love that he’d kill a man if you asked, but he’s also not going to let you get away without at least a little teasing. He pretends to shrug, walking away with his hands in his pockets, before turning around and fumbling with your zipper.

“I mean, if you reeeallyyyy want me to…”

//

“I think there’s a leaf caught on my coat, STEVE. Would you get it for me, please?”

Steve is confused. You have perfectly good hands and perfectly good eyesight, so you asking this out of nowhere caught him off guard. He does it, of course, and brags about what a good boyfriend he is. He also gives you a little bit of loving shit for being “incapable”, but that’s just how he is- if you’re shocked, you’re dating the wrong man.

“Why? Have your fingers gone ta’ sleep or somethin’?”

//

“CHERRY, can you clip my necklace?”

You ask, turning towards her so she can see your predicament. You’ve never struggled with things like this in the past, but she knows that small acts of care can make you feel even more loved, so she’s happy to do it. She fastens your necklace and turns you back around so you can look at yourself in the mirror.

“There. You look wonderful.”

[koiir]

TRYING TO LET YOU KNOW, I MUST LET YOU KNOW

— In which they try to show their interest in you and how.

Characters - heizou, xiao, Cyno, alhaitham, venti, zhongli x gn!reader

Genre - fluff

a/n - ITS TWICE DAY BABYYY…only a couple more hours until I see my girlies

Heizou who you never had a crush to begin with… rather he was someone who you knew from your classes from last year and thought he was a tad bit weird. But then he suddenly starts to make conversations with in which either leave you stunned or rather… shocked to say the least. You noticed it, how could you not? You didn’t think anything of it at first, but over time his staring became more frequent. From where he sat you would see his gaze in the corner of your eye.

There were times were you two would make eye contact. Not because you wanted to! It was just by coincidence that you looked at him and he was already staring, right? You didn’t have any feelings for him, so why did you always look out for him, why purposely try to make yourself look cuter knowing he was staring at you? It was complicated to say the least. I mean, did you just like the attention or?

But even then, whenever he would walk over to you to start his schenagins, you found yourself almost smiling and feeling flustered. The way he would take any opportunity to talk to you, about anything really… even if it was wired, you would end up laughing or smiling at heizou. Everyday he always had something to say to you, that would then leave you a little flustered inside.

Xiao who always seem to have an answer. At least when it comes to you. Whether is be helping you solve or a problem or giving you directions, Xiao always seems to be there in your time of need.

Every since xiao has started feeling this way… he can’t help but want to aid you with anything. He can only hope you will appreciate his efforts. It’s cute in the way he always has a blush coating his cheeks as he tries to remain calm around you, his friends can only sigh seeing him so down bad. Xiao always ignores their comments, his only focus being to make you maybe consider being his friend.

You remember the day you and xiao ate lunch together, the day you so called “officially” became friends. He swore he had never felt this happy before, he now had his chance. He wasn’t going to ruin it. He was so greedy, taking every moment to spend with you no matter what—he especially loved it when you two had study dates, him being able to help you if you struggled with a subject.

His feelings only got stronger when he say the way you always greeted him through text or in person, it made his heart flutter while he was flushed with blush. Xiao knew from now on, he would always be by your side—this was evident in the way he always sat next to you in class and partnering up with for you with any projects. Oh, did you just blush at his contact? Is xiao dreaming right now? Does he potentially have a chance with you?

You never knew why someone like Cyno all the sudden had to start following you around no matter what. You two weren’t even friends, right? Maybe it’s cause from that one time you laughed slightly at his really bad joke…you just couldn’t hold it in! But cyno felt more intrigued by you after hearing your laugh, it was stupid yes but maybe he could become your friend to hear more of that sound.

It was always when you two spent time together that cyno started to notice more smaller things about you—for example the way you tap your foot faster after not understanding a problem or question. He used this to his advantage whenever needed, to ensure that he could always help you before someone else did.

It’s the way Cyno always try’s to think of jokes that either relate to you…or things you like. He wants to make sure these jokes only apply to you, in hopes he makes you feel special. He also ensures to always get a smile out of you, no matter how many jokes it takes—he will make sure you become a giggling mess.

Alhaitham and you have always shared a love for books, they were the reason as to how you two became friends. You remember the day you sat reading a book—you scanned through it until he appeared in front of you and asked you your purpose for reading it. You two then kept talking until you exchanged numbers.

Whenever he finds a new read, you can expect Alhaitham to send you a photo of the page he’s on…and then he will continue to text you about his thoughts and so on. You do this too, you tell him all about the book you’re reading and he can’t help but smile seeing you so into your book.

It’s the way he struggles with what to gift you, wondering what could live up to his expectations for you. As he’s deep into thought—he remembers the way you always looked for creativity, maybe he could do something outside the box…something he never thought of doing before.

You find the present of his to be a scrapbook…filled with moments of memories of you two, some photos that you took and some that he took. Wait—how did he even take this? He must have made sure you wouldn’t notice…he smiled upon seeing your reaction to the book.

Venti and you are quite the odd pair, you two seem like you hate each other in the way you always seem to brush him off when he’s annoying you, but he’s the best person you could ever ask for. No matter what you can always expect a good time with him, for example—right now, you two at an amusement park. Oh…this was going to be a long day…

It’s in the way venti always has something new to show you, how excitement evident in the way he drags you to go on a new ride. Even though he always denies it, venti was never fond of big drops on rides…but he loved it. Especially after seeing you begging him to go on, he couldn’t deny you.

Now you two sat at the very front row…venti felt his heart beat so loudly he swears he can hear it. He wanted to grip on something, the drop was so close. Venti doesn’t know what took over him…but he looked at your hand and clasped onto it.

You gasped slightly at the contact, looking down at your hands…realizing venti had his hand over yours. You looked at him as he had his eyes closed tightly, awaiting the moment where the ride would drop.

Even with the ride coming to an end, venti still had his hand over yours—never letting it go.

Zhongli being the caring soul he is, will always make sure that you are well cared for. His favorite moments are when you listen to his storytelling, drinking the tea he made for you as your in the comfort of his home—he made sure everything was cozy, to the seating, to the temperature making sure it was cool enough. Everything had to be perfect, for you.

It’s in the way zhongli always makes sure to tell you the best information, In case anything happens—his heart would break if anything went wrong with you. He often sends letters if you travel for whatever reason, always telling you to take care of yourself and of the new information he has learned. It makes him feel as if you are there with him, listening to him even if in reality you are miles away.

This doesn’t stop him though from thinking of you from all the things he views. As he takes a stroll he looks at a flower, thinking if you would like it or not. He looks at the sun setting, wishing to watch it with you. Maybe once you came back he can ask you…you do love the scenic views.

A/n; after the concert…I was so mad that we didn’t get signal…LIKE IT WAS ON THE WHEEL BRO OMFG

[wilzy-woo]

Ikemen Vampire Suitors ideal type in my eyes 👀 (also sorry if it seems more aimed at girls I tried to make it GN 😭)

Starting off simple with everyone's favourite (or not) sugar daddy COMTE 😍

• Thinks confidence is really hot and he DEFINITELY likes a little bratty type

• Likes independence but LOVES it when they need help just so he gets to look all snug, he doesn't say anything (he might) but just looks at you with his smexy smirk

• Doesn't care much for looks but loves it when they get dressed up OR LIKE THE KIND OF BEFORE SHOWER MAKEUP

• I think that he NEEDS them to be honest like he would hate the "they told me not tell anyone..." Like he doesn't care he would want ALL OF IT spilt to him whether it's serious or not

Next is the love of my life (he wouldn't like me at all)

• He wants an extrovert. I don't care he NEEDS an extrovert. May think he doesn't but Ugh he just does

• Wants someone to stand up for him, he may be able to stand up for himself but he just really appreciates when someone would do that.

• Someone cleverrr I can't stress this enough he wouldn't be able to stand someone who isn't interested or knows a thing or two about science or anything for that matter. He WANTS the "erm actually" person

• Needs someone who loves snow. It's a weird thing but I can just see him loving a snowy date in his delusions

Pookie bear Vincent (am I the only one who isn't a fan of Vincents route? Like it was painfully slow 😔 I mean don't get me wrong I love him but I didn't feel very attached)

•Loves a sweet girl, needs someone to protect and love omg can you imagine someone timid meeting Vincent UGH IT WOULD BE SO CUTE

• Needs their love language to be physical touch, he just screams it

• Wouldn't mind someone bad at art so he could help them with it if they are interested but would PREFER someone who is good at it so they could do cute little dates together

• Wants a very Smiley person like someone who smiles or laughs at the stupidest thing, broken humour type of person

Now Theodore is different his route WAS SO GOOD I WAS LITERALLY SCREAMING THE WHOLE TIME even if it was a bit weird and k!nky at some points 🤨

(Why does this photo look massive)

• Chill anyways ALSO wants a bratty person, wants pretty much the opposite of Vincent he finds it such a turn on when they give him a dirty look or roll their eyes at him UGH

• I just know he likes a busty person (ass and chest for girlies) 😔 He seems like that type of person to nonchalantly slap their ass (honestly I'm not a huge fan of that but he would probably do it)

• Definitely likes the weird yappers, the ones who get distracted from one subject they were talking about and moved onto a completely different one

• Likes the observers! People who could just analyse someone easily based on the way they are sitting or talking

UGH MY HUSBAND (this might be biased towards me but I'll try 💔)

(this photo makes me do unspeakable things)

• Wants them to be independent but not TOO independent, he wants them to depend on him for things but also have that nice balance of independence

• Also loves yappers, he's the listening type so being able to listen to their voice for hours on end would be so good for him. He doesn't care what it's about just as long as he doesn't have to pitch in much he's fine with it

• LOVES when someone is indecisive and asks for HIS help with choosing something, knowing that you think he has the best decision making compared to the others is such an ego boost

• Loves someone who isn't afraid to share their opinions. Finds it such a turn on when their mouth is faster than their mind and just says stuff that doesn't even make sense

Arthur oh Arthur let down your hair...I'm not even sure if this is accurate I never finished his route I got bored halfway through 💀

•NEEDS someone humorous, CRAVES IT someone who can take a slightly rude joke and give him one back

• Needs someone with 100+ rizz...no seriously he would find it so funny if you went up to him and said some pick up line with that certain face

•Wants someone who would put him in his place when he does something wrong like overworking or doing something risky ass gambling 💀

• LOVES when their love language is acts of service, something simple like bringing him a coffee when he's writing and sitting down with him in silence, every now and then he'd ask you for ideas or something, just being helpful would make him fold.

• (EXTRA) would laugh if you failed your English GCSES

Mozzy Mosquito is that you 🤨 (I've never done his route so I have no bloody idea 💀)

•WOULD FOLD IF THEY COULD SING. Not like one of those strong voices or rapping NONONO he wants a Lana Del Rey, Alex G and the Florence type of singer , someone with a soft sleepy like voice! He would literally be in love

•CRAVES FOR CONFIDENCE he just thinks it's so attractive for someone to be confident. Like for them initiate conversation and WON'T BACK DOWN (even when he's being a bit of arsey introvert)

• Craves praise. Needs it. Needs someone who praises him and supports him all the way, someone who will get him out of music block by just being there to share ideas or sit there with him for hours telling him if it's good or bad

•Would prefer an introverted lover, he needs someone who is calm and collected and loves it if they come home from an outing and go straight to him groaning and ranting about how much they dislike people

I finished the first chapter of Jeans route I'm sorry if this is inaccurate I literally just go from what I saw of him from the other routes I've played (which isn't a lot ,😭)

•Though he's more of a listener he would also want a listener partner, to be able to sit there in comfortable silence in each others arms. However there will obviously be conversation it would be quiet and would last hours, something deep and personal to the both of them

• would love love love someone with soft slim hands. I don't know why he just seems like the type of person to be obsessed with those types of hands

• Needs someone patient and soft spoken, someone to be able to let his tough exterior break but by bit. A soft voice and reassurance looks like it would get him head over heels

I also haven't played Sebs route I'm sorry 😔

•Probably wants someone who is capable of doing what he's capable of, a helping hand and someone he can rely on without messing up

•Someone who wouldn't mind if he was busy a lot doing something for the mansion as he is the 24/7 working butler 😭 someone patient and doesn't mind sitting in silence just holding eachother after a long day

• Prefers an ambivert, definitely wants to be able to have balanced conversations where they can be bothered listener and talker

• that's all I can think of 😭

I'm going to leave it here and do the other six in another part 😭

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Five (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors / ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: This is SO VERY ANGST. More angst than any other chapter so far. STRAP IN GIRLIES (GN). I'd love it if you feel like sharing what you think - your feedback means the world to me. ILY :-* Reblogs, comments, and asks are literal power-ups in my day and I appreciate every single one!

Word count: 8.3k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You’re spiralling. 

You’re pissed off and you’re hurt and you’re somehow still horny as hell (somehow, perhaps even more horny since Santiago helped you out in that very particular way of his). You feel all in a tizz, like you don’t know which way is up; but even so, you’re pretty sure you’ve simply been going around in circles, and it’s dizzying. Santiago makes it easy to do that when you follow his lead, after all – all the more reason that you’d had to get out finally, all those months ago. 

Safe to say, you’re a little bit worked up. Too many thoughts are racing through your head. Resentment that he could get you all riled up like that, have you come undone, and then straight up deny you. Like it was some power play all along and that all he wanted was the satisfaction. On the other hand, a dreadful longing spikes at the thought that maybe he really did just want to protect himself, because he wouldn’t know how to find his way out this time if he got lost in you all over again. 

The main thing you’re feeling though – a bitter shard of pain stabbing through any sense of pleasure you may be left with - is a singular fear. 

What if he really doesn’t want you anymore? 

He wants you, yes, on some level. His admissions in the kitchen about wanting to kiss you confirmed that much. But his desire for you had always felt like an unstoppable force. Like something he couldn’t help or hope to control. Like a raging fire. He had told you that he loved you, wanted you, needed you, all those months ago. And while you are sure that remains true at least in part, you are terrified that all you leaving had achieved was to teach him how to live without you. And, contrary to that, his touch had simply confirmed how hopelessly consumed by him you still are, all your progress - moving on and rebuilding and forgetting - unravelled in mere moments by his fingers. 

You resent that too. His power over you, when you always prided yourself on being strong – needing no-one. You have never liked to feel like the one who is compromised, in any situation. You always prefer to be the hunter as, that way, you’re not the one who gets hurt. But Santiago? Santiago is lethal, and he has always known your weak spots.  

Maybe that’s why you had stormed angrily to your room, subduing your heavy footsteps reluctantly, only for the sake of your dear buddies sleeping soundly in their beds. Maybe that’s why you had hastily cleaned up, throwing on some fresh clothes from your case – a low cut top and some obscenely tight jeans. A splash of perfume. Some lipstick. All in the hopes of heading out to the local bar and searching for the kind of late-night attention which feels in your control. Seeking a desire which feels manageable. Trivial almost, instead of the kind which burns. 

Part of you – a small part of you, at least - recognises you’re being ridiculous, irrational, reactive, even as you zip on your boots. But there is another part of you that simply can’t stay here in this house with him a moment longer, feeling like he doesn’t want you the way you want him. 

You feel like, while you’ve been breaking apart for all these months, he was healing. It’s cruel maybe, that you would wish for his desire to burn him as much as it has a hold over you – but perhaps you’re not perfect. Perhaps you’re only human. 

Whatever. It doesn’t all need to make sense right now. Your head’s all over the place. You’re not really thinking straight at all. You don’t know whether you want to cry or scream or get your brains fucked out (or maybe all of the above - not in that order). And so, you’re definitely not thinking when you throw open the door to the bathroom, recalling that you’d left your necklace on the counter. If you were -thinking- perhaps you would have heard the rushing of the water. Perhaps you would have heard the muffled, bitten back groans emanating from the shower cubicle. 

Fuck. 

If you weren’t thinking straight before, every thought falls right out of your head altogether when you swing open that door. Namely, when you see Santiago, his body slanted into the wall as he palms his thick, straining length in something of a frenzy. 

You should retreat, probably. In fact, yeah. That's exactly what you should do. But, the sight of him there arrests you, and you can’t help but devour every detail of him. Your eyes skim over him only fleetingly, and yet your memory of his body fills in the gaps, meaning you’re able to see far more of him than you could otherwise in the split second your eyes rove over him. 

He is stripped down, his body curled into the tiled wall, his forehead and one shoulder bracing himself as the stream of water thunders down on the back of his neck and his broad, lightly muscled shoulders. 

His thighs are slightly spread and his full glutes are clenching as he fucks his hard, veined cock into the circle of his left hand, squeezing tight and showing no mercy, his pace relentless. 

From the way his nipples are pebbled and the way you observe the tightness of the muscles coiling in his back, you can guess that the water is cold. Perhaps, that he had attempted to cool off after what had happened downstairs, seemingly to no avail. His need is heavy and urgent and burdening his hand, the veins popping in his slick forearm as water sluices over every contour of him and still, his want is evidently raging. 

The most important detail of all, however, is that his eyes are closed, droplets of water beading in his long lashes, and a wracked moan sounding from around his own fingers as he shoves them over his tongue. 

Fuck. 

He’s licking them clean. He’s tasting you. Tasting your juices from his fingers and pumping himself raw from the thought of it. 

Holy shit. 

He wants you. 

You see it now, clear as day. He wants you to the point of desperation. Helplessness. To the point of coming undone with his need for you. His want rages even beneath the stream of a cold shower, taken in hopes of subduing himself. He works himself urgently in his fist, in hopes of finding his release. You find him here, like this. 

Unfinished. 

You can see it much more clearly now. You see how he wants you. You see what you do to him. What you still do to him. 

You see now that saying no to you likely took every scrap of control he had, and now that is gone, there is nothing left for him but you. 

As you enter, Santiago hears the door creak open – you weren’t exactly sneaking- and he immediately tilts his body to the wall. It’s automatic - showing his ass rather than his dick in his hand, likely in case one of the boys had just walked in on him. But, when he sees it’s you stood there, all slack-jawed and honey-eyed, he foregoes the need to hide. He turns towards you instead, his length twitching as it grows even more rigid and more ruddy at the sight of you. Santiago’s eyes hooded and desolate with want as he looks you up and down in your ridiculous, come-fuck-me clothes. 

Santiago knows fine well that you only wear red when you want to be shown a good time. You feel like a flare, on display, and maybe you’d feel stupid -like scrubbing this red paint from your mouth – if his need was not blatantly on display too. If his predicament did not seem even more dire than yours. 

Finally, though, as you look and he lets you, you register the intrusion, and with a series of stunted vowel noises which barely make it past your teeth, you are dragging your eyes away from his. Your legs like jelly and skin flushed beneath your tight clothes, you are clasping the door handle and turning on your heel. Your only objective is to make it out of there, even if you turn to vapour in the hallway after the fact. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” Santiago asks gruffly, and you are not sure what he means. Not sure whether he means to ask where you’re headed out to so late, or to inquire why in the hell you’re leaving the room now that you’re here, but God, you’re not sure anymore that you could answer either question in any way that would make the slightest bit of sense. 

You’re just not thinking straight. Can you be blamed? Look at him. Look at this, all for you. 

So, you freeze, breath held in your lungs as you grip the handle – your back to him, and about to swing the door open to hasten your exit. Instead, though, against every shred of good sense you have, you push the door closed, ever so gently, with you still on the inside. You turn, preposterously slowly back towards him, and when the sight of him stood there, wet and dripping, face all stern and languidly palming himself in the circle of his hand hits you, you flatten your back to the panelled door. Truth is, your legs feel so weak that you could barely stand without it. 

And, as if that wasn’t quite answer enough, Santiago continues to look at you insistently. 

Well? The quirk of his thick brow seems to enquire. Where the fuck are you going? 

Your voice comes out all breath. “Nowhere.” 

You’re going fucking nowhere, apparently. Only ever around and around in circles with Santiago “Pope” Garcia – but suddenly, you could care less.  

Your eyes lock then, and it takes less than moments for him to be on you, his wet hands fisting everywhere - in your hair and your clothes - and dragging your mouth onto his in a sudden, consuming crush. Your hands snake into his hair, squeezing cool shocks down your forearms as you wring rivulets of water from his grizzled curls, grabbing handfuls of the length at his crown to pull him deeper into you, his tongue hot and supple and buried in your mouth. Your top sticks to you, wet and sodden in all the places he has grabbed up handfuls of your flesh, or pressed his hot body flush against you. 

He drives you back, into the door and the awkward mess of towels hanging there on hooks. 

“Fuck,” he bites off into your mouth, and you surge forward with this barrelling want, walking him backward and slamming him against the cool tiles with a thwap and enough force that he grunts. Still, it barely slows him down at all, his hands all over you and his kisses still devouring, ripping the air from your mouth. 

There is no romance in this, you think. Only need, raw and animal, and you are surprised that you show enough restraint not to tear each other down to the floor and go at it right on the tiles. Still, you barely show any more restraint than that. 

“Shit. Fuck. Turn around. Turn around,” Santiago rasps, entirely wrecked already, barely able to get the words past his mouth. His cock looks almost painfully hard, and entirely insistent against your ass as he spins you and roughly bends you over the counter, pots of toothbrushes knocked into the sink and soap rolling who knows who cares where. 

“You want this?” he asks as he presses you into position, little precision or ceremony in it – just a rough, raw urgency, entirely untamed. 

You can see yourself reflected in the mirror above the sink, blurry and steamy and bent over, and that’s exactly how it feels. Everything; blurry and steamy and close and tight. He’s as hard as the cool marble surface digging painfully into your hips, and you’re as hot as steam and as wet and slick as this mirror and you’re melding into one another – not single bodies anymore but shapes and a mood and a feeling, and there is nothing else. 

“Princesa?” Santiago pleads, even as he tugs your jeans down over your ass, removing the bare minimum of clothing to give him access where he needs, the garment still tight and unforgiving around your thighs, not allowing you to move  - barely at all. “You need me?”

“Yes. Fuck me. Need you,” you beg, and you hear him spit unceremoniously into his hand -not that he’d need it- and slather it all over his length, groaning as he makes contact with his sensitive, needy dick as though he might spill over his knuckles with the anticipation of stuffing you full alone. 

Still, he holds on -by a thread – and your eyes roll back into your head as you finally feel the blunt tip of him notch clumsily at your need-swollen entrance. 

Then – ohhhhhh- then, there is the dull ache shortly after as the girth of him pushes through your wanting folds. You grunt at the initial stretch as he works himself inside of you, but pinned between the counter and his surging hips there is nowhere for you to go, and his need sinks into you inch by inch until he fills you all the way. 

You succumb to your ragged breaths and mewl for him, you arms practically giving way beneath you as you press them into the cool surface to keep you standing. He fills you, and God, you’ve missed this. Have missed how full you feel with him inside of you - in every sense of the word. The way his hands grip your hips in that specific spot he likes. 

You have missed his girth. Could swear you can feel every inch of him pressing outward against the tight grip of your heat as he fucks his cock into your hole, bottoming out with a delicious, wracked, stuttering moan, the sound alone causing pleasure to bloom around the drag of him deep inside you. 

Still, despite this fullness - you also feel the give of your walls to him, your slick and eager heat actively suckering him in. He stutters his hips as you clamp tightly around him and then, so help you, he finally begins to move. 

Jesus, this feels even better than his fingers, even better than you remember, and you relish every moment as he fucks into you, bareback and desperate, your pleasure coiling up impossibly quick as the straining mass of him works you open, hitting all of your sweet spots. Your legs tremble beneath you with adrenaline and want, and you feel Santiago’s thighs flush against the back of your legs, his hips snapping against the cushion of your ass as the counter edge bites painfully into your hinged hips. 

He's not taking his time with you. Not teasing or planning or thinking. You can tell by the undone grunts and groans he’s submitting to you already, that -for once- he is far too consumed by his own need to contemplate yours. Can tell by the sloppy pace of his thrusts and the lack of attention to your clit or your breasts or anything else but filling you - his hands fisting in the meat of your hips as he takes what he needs, gives what you crave – that he’s not even trying to make you come… but goddamn it if he isn’t going to get you there all the same. 

Soon too. 

God, the head of him is rubbing exactly where you need, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this good with a dick inside you. Your cunt is primed for him, still sensitive from where his fingers fucked you open and it isn’t going to take you long at all to reach your peak. 

Even without seeing him properly, in the misted-up mirror, you can tell that Santiago is going feral behind you. Filling you deeply and haphazardly, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin. 

You hear a snarl, and see a pearly flash of teeth as his lip curls up from how good you’re making him feel. 

“Fuucckk,” he groans, his head tipped back now, that pretty chin pointing up to the sky and his mouth dropping open – you can vaguely see in the mirror

His broad hand smooths firmly down the middle of your back and over your ass - grabbing handfuls of you- before he retraces his path, sliding his hand up between your shoulder blades and winding his hand in your hair, grabbing and pulling until your spine is curled back for him like a bow, your ass arced up and allowing him a deeper angle of penetration which sends tingles all the way to the tips of your toes when he hits just right. 

You practically yowl for him, your whole body trembling and shaking, sweat trickling down the centre of your cleavage as the layers you did not have time to dispense of overheat your skin. As your clit is nudged into the lip of the counter in a way that shouldn’t work for you, probably, but totally does, the intermittent slap of Santiago’s hips against you providing a pleasing rhythm. 

It’s uncomfortable, and hot, and cramped, and in some ways painful to be rammed up against the surface like this, but you wouldn’t tell him to stop for the world. You wouldn’t tell him to stop because the way he’s taking you feels divine, Santiago burying his want for you as deep as it will go, releasing his punctuated, abortive gusts of breath in time with his thrusts.

You feel drips land on the small of your back, and whether its water cascading from his dampened curls or beads of sweat from the exertion rolling down his temples you do not know or care. 

You only know that you want more. 

Determined as ever, you plant your hands firmly on the counter as he fucks you near boneless, driving through your hips until you meet his thrusts, working him up higher, finding the angle which hits just right and-

“Unnnngggg.” A whimper falls from his pretty mouth and his thrusts are suddenly far more shallow, slow, nudging against your nervy, sensitive entrance. His breaths are coming in deeper, heavy gusts now and you might be afraid that he was about to stop - if you weren’t so sure that he was, in fact, gearing up. 

“Santiago,” you complain as he blunts the sharp edge of your precipice with the break in rhythm. You urge him to give you more, and he uncurls his fingers from your hair and adjusts position. 

Obligingly, he wraps his stronger arm around your chest to guide you closer to standing, pressing his chest to your back, his head hooking over your shoulder. And, with his other arm, he reaches forward towards the steamed mirror, using his palm to clear a window from the condensation. 

“I wanna see you,” he rasps, a hoarse, gritty whisper in the shell of your ear. “Wanna watch you.” 

God, it’s too much. The way his arm is wrapped around your front, strong and yet tender as his forearm braces across your chest and his fingers dance tenderly over your jaw. The wracked, undone voice of him, whisper soft. The contrast between this and the certainty of his thrusts as he finds a new rhythm. As you find a new rhythm together, entirely in sync. 

Slowly, so slowly, he draws out of you, ensuring you can feel every single inch of him, the tantalising drag of him through your folds making your quiver. Then, he snaps back into you all at once, so suddenly shoving himself up into you, balls slapping against your ass, each repetition of this pattern building you up. God, you want him to spill himself inside you, and you think vaguely that it is the only thing which could quench you. 

It is your undoing when his eyes find yours in the mirror, and this all becomes real. No longer fantasy like your unreliable recollections of him all these months. No longer shapeless, tangled, blurry bodies, but now so very suddenly, you are looking at you and him, with all that means. 

The look in his eyes gives form to this act, as though the love settled in them is the very thing giving form to the way he fills you. He is at once stern - his brow burdened, heavy-lidded with need, his eyes sunk into a pit of desire - yet soft. His strong nose is crushed up against you as his lips caress your neck. His eyes dance over your face, taking you in as you languish up against him. 

His eyes are molten when they find you again, dancing with a soft, subtle heat not unlike firelight, long lashes fluttering in disbelief at the sight of you. At the feel of you wrapped around him. No longer just a body or some carnal need, shapeless and intangible. 

Instead, Santiago and you, and your bodies moving as one. 

His soft lips and rasp of stubble break from the column of your neck as his thrusts become sloppy, and you feel his hot breaths come thick and fast against your skin now. 

He missed you.

He missed you, and this is what he’d meant. Had meant he needed to feel you wrapped around his dick. Moaning his name. Needed to see you being his. Missed you being his. God, you missed that too, in so many ways. 

A moan rips through you as you approach your peak, and you plead profusely with him. 

“Don’t stop. Santi. Please.” 

You don’t ever want him to stop. 

As you clamp down on him, your fluttering core wrings his own orgasm from him too, and then he’s pulsing his load into you, thick and warm and abundant, his thighs quaking against yours and his arms gripping on to you more tightly – this time for purchase – as though this might be the time his knees finally buckle if he doesn’t hold on to you. 

You can feel his racing heartbeat hammer from his chest to yours as he holds you flush to him. Can feel his mouth suck at the column of your neck, his tongue sliding along your pulse point and tasting your perfume. 

You come down from your high, thrumming with it. Wet and messy between your legs as Santi drags his softening dick out of you, letting your juices and his seed slip down your inner thighs. 

You feel good. Blissed out. But, as ever, with you and Santiago, there’s always a catch. The joy is immense, but, guaranteed that one of you - if not both - will find a way to ensure it is short-lived. 

Indeed. All too soon, you begin to feel that creeping sense of regret hollow-out your stomach. 

You can see it on his face too. The uncertainty. The lack of understanding of what this all means. About what to do next. It is evident from the way he so quickly moves away from you, picking up his shorts and t-shirt and covering up his body. Similarly, you hike up your jeans without even cleaning up, and as much as you might have hoped for a joyful, intimate moment, you know that it’s already too late for that. The moment that the insecurity, doubt and uncertainty had crept in on each of your faces it had become self-reinforcing. A spiral. Running in circles. 

“Shit,” you sound out, in a clear peal of regret, planting a hand over your face in distress - despite everything. 

“Sounds about right,” Santiago agrees in a monotone, brows drawn down and his gaze fixing on a spot of tile, unable to look you in the eye, despite having been buried inside you only moments ago. 

“No,” you stress, bringing a second hand to your face. There’s something else. Something that makes you feel stupid and sick. “I…. I mean, shit. I changed my birth control up and I… I mean we…” Santiago snaps his eyes back up to you now, alright. You curse when you note the writhing of his taut jaw, set and a little annoyed. Your softly puffed expletive which follows is contrite, but it doesn’t help. 

It’s not like you -or him- to make a mistake like that. And yet, you had all the same. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

You bristle at his harsh, accusatory tone. How quickly things sour. “It’s not like you checked!” It is his turn to bristle now, and so you opt to be harsher still. “Besides, I didn’t exactly think you were going to be quite so quick on the trigger, Santi.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his riposte about his stamina not even required. He got you off, didn’t he? So, your attempted distraction is futile, as he manages to stay alarmingly on topic. You fold your arms across your chest as he steps towards you, feeling on the back-foot as his flattened palm nags through the air to punctuate his words. “It didn’t occur to you to mention that before we fucked?” 

“I forgot. I switched up my method and I’m not technically covered yet. It’s marginal, you know. Most likely fine. I mean, what’s another 24 hours? Besides, I didn’t exactly plan on this, did I?” 

He scoffs, then he purses his mouth until much of the colour drains from his lips. “Oh yeah. Sure you didn’t.” 

You raise your eyebrows, and jut a hip out to the side for good measure. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Santiago shakes his head softly. Plants his hands on his wide hips, making himself larger. You don’t shrink back from him, but you note it. “For real?” He flashes his line of teeth now, a lopsided, disbelieving lilt of his lips – no happiness in it. Not at all. “I know you love to pretend like I’m the bad guy, right? That serves your narrative or whatever? Bullshit, honey. You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.” You snort out a huff of air through your nose, your look all steel as you prepare to deny his claims. You falter though, with his next words. “I can’t get off without you, Santiago?” he mimics, and your comeback dies on your lips. “You wanna put this all on me now? Believe me, I gave it everything I had to stay out of-“

“-My vagina? Yeah, great job, Pope.” You throw your hands up in the air and they slump right back down again. “You’ve had everything up in there except your damn tongue.”

“Let’s go then, sweetie,” he challenges, nodding to the rear of you, his voice taut rather than inviting. “Hop up on the counter and spread your legs, I’ll make it 3 for 3.”

It’s unfamiliar to you, this tone of his. It makes your heartbeat rage. You swear you can even feel the pulse of it in your tongue. “Fuck. Whatever. I’m not having this conversation with you.” Your adrenaline spikes at the prospect of another argument and you turn on your heel, looking for an exit. 

However, before you can retreat, Santiago’s broad palm contacts your arm to stop you – open hand, no force applied – and you turn your head over your shoulder. “At least tell me you’re going to take care of this,” he bites off, with a clear attempt to restrain his aggravation, expression sullen. 

“Of course I am.”

“How?” 

You think. “I’ll go to the pharmacy in the morning. I’ll deal with it.” You pump your brows emphatically. “Okay?” 

You shrug his hand off of you then with apparent disdain for his touch, and in spite of his (relative) tolerance of your acerbic tone, that is apparently the move which fractures his composure. “You know what actually blows my mind? The way you can be nice to me just long enough to get yours. Pretty fucking convenient.” 

You feel your face twist with the weight of a sour expression, mirroring his. “Why are you always like this?” You don’t wait to hear his answer, the adrenalin propelling you away, down the hall and closer to your room, but his footfalls follow closely behind you, hot on your heels. Your voice is a whispered hiss, as, somewhere in the back of your mind, you are vaguely aware of the need to keep it down – the other boys are lights out by now. “Why can you never just fuck me and be happy about it, huh?” You spin to face him, chest to chest and facing off. 

“I knew this was a fucking mistake.” 

Your pulse is in your throat. “Right. Maybe it was. That’s all I ever was to you, I guess.” 

Your voices raise, slowly creeping up in volume as you each get lost in this intimate bubble of angst. Of resentment. On some level, you know you could stop now - before it gets worse and you say things you will only regret (or worse, hear things you’ll wish you hadn’t). You know that you should stop, but it feels�� oddly necessary. 

Like it’s inevitable. Like you’ve been waiting all this time to fuck and fight because it’s all you know how to do with him anymore. At least, it’s all you know how to do when loving him heart and soul seems off the table. 

The space your bodies create is tight, leaning into each other’s circle of personal space. 

Santiago’s fingers bridge like a claw and he taps them against his own chest, his eyes needling you like he could sew this up once and for all. Tie off all those loose threads of blame which sit frayed between you. He’s angry. Angry and riled and pissed and even so, there is still this eerie sense of calm about him. 

You’ve seen him really let loose. You’ve seen him kill, for Christ’s sake, and yet he’s still measured and restrained in the face of you. That should make it easier to bear the brunt of his sharp edges, but that’s not quite so. There’s something about the precision of his anger when it’s focussed on you. The fact it feels so considered, so targeted only makes it cut deeper. “You know what? I’m tired as shit of always being the fucking bad guy here. You wanna get into it, huh?” His voice breaks now, splitting like shrapnel, lodging in your chest. “I told you I love you and you fucking left me.” 

“That’s fucking bullshit!”  

He’s not happy that you said that. He rocks from foot to foot like he’s priming for something. Scoops a hand over his jaw, around his taut mouth. You’re close enough to hear it rasp, the fleck of his stubble bristling against his palm. “Oh, it’s bullshit?”

Your voice comes out hot now, your words bitten off between your teeth, flecks of spit cast from your mouth. “Yes! Because if I hadn’t left you never would have told me! You told me because I left you! You told me to fucking punish me. To try and drag me back in.” 

“Wow. Jesus fucking...” He laughs, but it is a cold, brief sound. “That’s fucking rich, cariño.” His eyes glint like knife licks, and he plants his hand indignantly against his chest, jutting up his chin. Puffing up his chest and making his body all angles. Protecting himself. “That’s really what you think of me, huh?” You try to look away from him, but his eyes chase you for an answer. 

Is it? Is that what you genuinely think of your best friend? Is that what you think he’s done to you? Tried to do? 

If so, no wonder you’re so fucking angry. No wonder your body is trembling with it. 

But the truth is, when pushed on it, you have no intelligible retort you can form. No evidence you can offer. So, instead, in your panic over losing ground, you opt to minimise. You throw your hand up dismissively and you turn on your heel, stomping towards your door at the end of the hall. “Fuck this.”

This time, his footsteps do not follow, even if you can still feel his eyes boring into your back. You think that might even be the end of things, until…

“No,” he sounds. A forceful, robust note which fills the whole hallway. A command to wait. This isn’t over. 

With you and him, it’s never going to be over, is it? 

You turn towards him and he is fixed in position, stance set wide and chin dipped down, eyes blackened half moons as he looks at you. “Just let me get this straight. If I’m the one who drags you back in? What the shit do you call what you just did?”

You scoff. “You were a very willing participant, Pope. Or, I dunno. Why don’t you just consider it payback for all the times you fucked me around?” 

He’s biting words back as he listens to you now. You can see them, in the tilt of his head and the flare of his nostrils. In the flip and curl of his tongue settled around his upper lip, dragging back and forth just below his filtrum. “Revenge, then? Really? Is that what this weekend has been about for you? You really that vindictive?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” You dismiss him again, as though not one of his complaints about you can possibly be valid. Or, rather, revealing you are currently unwilling to admit it even if they are. After all, you’re as stubborn as he is. Each of you trying so desperately to palm off the blame for how fucked up this became. 

Santiago paces towards you then, footfalls rhythmic and steady as he swallows the space between you in the hall. “Jesus. You don’t even give a shit, do you? Think I deserve to have my heart crushed into fucking dust?” 

Hot, angry tears spike at the corner of your eyes as you spit your words, jabbing his shoulder with your pointer finger. “Like you give a shit that I left?” 

His dense brows draw down, his whole face a grimace, his voice practically booming throughout the hallway, close enough that the sound of it rumbles in your chest. “I don’t know how else I can say it. I never wanted to lose you.”

“Yeah? Well you never fucking had to!”

Santiago is the one who turns from you now, pacing back in a loop, both hands lifting and dragging backward through his grizzled curls, flattening them to his head in disbelief. He rounds back to you, spittle glistening on his lower lip from his tirade. He’s waving his arms now, everything being thrown upward just like the hideous lurch in your stomach. “You’re the one who ran from this!”

Well, that’s the biggest pile of shit you ever heard. You fold your arms to your chest, becoming guarded and taut where he becomes more frenzied. “Oh ho ho,” you scoff. “Now that’s a grade A delusion, right there.” He mumbles something under his breath, shaking his head from side to side in a long, disbelieving drag. In denial. Still. “You’ve been running, Santiago. You’ve done nothing but run from this. Even the whole time I was right next to you. Especially then.”

He steps towards you, driving your body back into the door without making a scrap of contact with you. From the force of him alone. He leans his face in real close, his movements disconcertingly slow - cautious and deliberate. It’s not threatening – you don’t feel physically unsafe at all - but you can tell from the flare of his nostrils and that gunpowder glint in his eye that while his movements may be constrained, he’s still arming himself with a coming barrage. 

You flatten yourself – your back to the shut paneled door-  and Santiago lifts his hand, reaching up to you. Pincering your chin deceptively tenderly between his thumb and forefinger, making sure you look at him. “Right. And you’ve been so perfect, huh?” His eyes needle you, making it impossible for you to wheedle out of this one. To dismiss him. He’s making sure you take at least some accountability for your part in this. “Fucking other guys to get back at me? Insisting we keep it a secret? Pissing off to another fucking continent, two days early, by the way, before we’d even put things right?” You break eye contact, your vision of him blurred by wilful tears. He releases your chin from his grip then, but the space between you remains tight. Close, even as you feel a million miles from him. “Christ - it’s like you never fucking wanted this to work. Never believed I was worth it. How am I supposed to work with that?”

Hot, spiking tears spill over onto your cheeks. You scrub them away with a flattened palm but it still doesn’t slow them down. 

“Please,” you beg limply, shaking your head from side to side. You want him to stop this. You just want this to be over. 

“I was never the guy someone would bring home to their mama, was I? Too fucked up and too broken for that? Hands too bloody, right, to be good enough for you?” You balk audibly in protest at his words, but even so, it sends a hot flash of heat to your cheeks. 

Is there some truth in it? 

Had you been afraid of what he’d done, even though the blood on his hands matches yours? Or… maybe because of it? 

Your lower lip begins to tremble as the ire in Santiago’s eyes burns you, hot like coals. But he has more to say. “I get it. It’s easier to blame me for everything that got fucked up, right?” He beats his palm emphatically against his chest and flattens it there. “I’m hardly a fucking Saint, I’ll admit that much. But do you honestly think that I ever wanted to hurt you? That this doesn’t fucking hurt me?” 

No. You want to say “no”. No. That’s not what you believe at all, but instead the words that find their way out are cruel and petty. “Well you did. You hurt me!” 

You wish you could get rid of it, this anger in your chest. You only want to love him… but you tried that, and since it didn’t work, it somehow feels like the anger is all you have left to fill this hole in your middle.

His eyes tighten, and Santiago jabs his finger back and forth, his voice hoarse as he pushes the words out from the pit of his chest. “It never mattered, what I did or didn’t do. It was never going to be good enough for you.” 

“That’s not true. At all!” You spit back. “It’s you who thought that. Not me. Not me. You wouldn’t even fucking try.”  

Santiago scrubs a tear away from his own cheek now. His voice creaks and cracks apart. “I tried. I did. But you only want me under certain conditions right. If I quit. If I get out. Maybe if I’m someone fucking else.”

“That’s not fair, that’s not how it is. For fuck’s sake, Santi.”

You are both entirely undone now with this ugly rage, tears wetting your cheeks, and this resentment and blame twisting your words and your faces into something unrecognisable. 

That makes it all the worse when Frankie’s torso pokes out of his door in the hallway. You know that the two of you are not yourselves. Frankie’s face twists with disappointment and concern in equal measure, and you fold your arms across your chest defensively, feeling embarrassed that he is seeing you this way. At your worst. Why do you and Santiago always seem to bring out the worst in each other? You’d swear blind to anyone that he’s the best person you know. 

“Guys. What the fuck?” Frankie ventures. His voice is grogged by sleep, and you get the feeling he would step out into the hall if he wasn’t entirely nude behind the door frame. 

Feeling suddenly ashamed, with the contrasting softness of Frankie’s eyes on yours, you feel the urge to run from yourself and what you’ve become, all twisted up like this. You push past Santiago in the hallway, storming down the stairs as tears now cascade freely down your cheeks. You don’t even make an attempt to mop them up now, letting them course down and drip from the point of your chin. 

Then, with an aggravated sigh, Santiago follows you too, in pursuit, despite Frankie’s barked pleas that he “leave it alone, cabrón”. 

You push out of the threshold and into the night, the cooler air a welcome relief. You pace away from the house, wanting to leave it, to leave him entirely, but your body will not let you. Will not carry you far enough away, and your steps quickly run out of steam. 

When Santiago finds you, you are stood with your back to him, looking out towards the white crash of waves. He comes and stands next to you, hands gently clenched by his sides. 

“Look,” he begins, staring out at the expanse of water. You feel your anger cresting and with it comes a wave of sadness. “I love you. But maybe you’re right. Maybe… we’re not good for each other. Maybe we just… can’t make each other happy.” 

You shake your head softly. Tip your eyes to the sky to stave off yet more tears. “I just wish we’d never changed things.” You wish more than anything that you could simply swallow it. Go back to how things were before. 

“Don’t,” Santi implores, turning to you with his hands cupped as though in offering, soft and haphazard and trying to catch on your elbow, your shoulder, your hand. “Don’t say that. Please. No matter how fucked this got… You’re the best thing I ever-” 

But, your anger is not done. Your palms raise in the air, forming a barrier between your bodies - a defence against his brutal love - and you snatch yourself away from him. Your voice is once again harsh as it rings in accusation, words tearing from your lips like bullets. “-Let go?”

There is a beat. 

“Seriously. You’re gonna stand there and tell me I could I have fucking stopped you?” 

You raise your palms and plant them to your face, splayed fingers tugging in disbelief from your temples, sliding down to your mouth - drawing your cheeks into a grimace. You look at him and his face is once again taut with blame. His mouth a thin, downturned line. But even now….. Somehow, even now, you want to kiss him. Want to kiss him until he is soft again, like you know he can be. 

Why would he never turn soft for you - not all the way? Soft in your arms? Why would he never? 

He shifts his weight from foot-to-foot under your scrutiny. He sees the anger melt away from your face, but his is not done. “I mean, fuck. What do you want from me, huh? You want me to come with you? Just drop everything?” 

“Just stop, Santi,” you plead, weakly, but there’s no way he heard you over his own tirade.

“My whole career. This shit I’ve got going on with Lorea. Pick-up and move here? Huh? Tell me? What do you want from me?” 

You fold your arms across your chest, closing yourself off to him. “Please, just drop it.” 

“You want me to have dinners with you and your family on Sundays? Take the nephews to the playpark, huh?” 

He won’t stop. He won’t stop talking, stop pushing you, and you can’t take it. You’re going to snap. 

“Go fucking grocery shopping? And get married and have babies and-?” 

“Yes!” you finally yell, your whole body craning forward as you fire your answer out through your throat, the word coming out scuffed and sudden; but nothing if not truthful. Your eyes go wide, quivering with tears as well as the shock of your revelation. The shock of revealing something you can barely even admit to yourself. 

That is what you want. With him. 

Santiago is evidently as shocked as you are too. Stunned into silence, in fact. He takes a perceptible step back from you, punching out a breath like he’s just been struck with a body shot. All the tension drops from his limbs, and his arms flop uselessly to his sides.

But, instead of backtracking, from somewhere, somehow, you finally find the courage to stand in your truth. “Yes,” you say shakily. “I want that, you asshole.” And, at those words, you interpret the most repulsive thing you’ve seen in his eyes all night. Pity. “And you, meanwhile? You’d rather get shot in the guts than do that with me, wouldn’t you? Something so mundane as being happy? Something so fucking worthless as loving me?” You tear your head away from him, whip your gaze away as you cannot bear to look at him. Cannot bear to see your true wants rejected. With a final question, you stab your pointer finger against your sternum with enough force that it hurts. “I’m not a mission, so I’m not worth it right? Not important?”

He shoves his hands in his back pockets, his gaze dropping to the floor, to a neutral spot between you. His voice all but cracks apart, small and broken. “I told you that I love you.” 

“That wasn’t enough!” You bite your words off before you can even think, and his eyes snap back up to yours then. Wounded. Glassy. You regret the words as soon as you have spoken them, but it is far too late to recall them now. You can see that they cut him - and you can even understand why they would hurt. What an awful thing to have said, you think; that his love wasn’t enough. 

It was everything. 

Everything. 

Wasn’t it? 

Even so, here you stand, still waiting and hoping that he can offer you something more than that alone. A solution, perhaps. A way to fix this. 

Instead though, Santiago simply nods slowly. Contemplatively. In resignation. He stands eerily still. Eerily quiet. Entirely stoic. “Right. Well.” His hand rasps back and forth over his stubble, and his voice is entirely sunken. Defeated. He’s a soldier. Your friend. Your lover. But most of all, now he’s someone who appears to have stopped fighting for you. He looks you in the eye, all of his anger dissipated. Voice scrubbed clean and entirely dispassionate. “That’s too bad then. Because I don’t have anything else I can give you.”

He turns from you now, and you grab onto his arm. “Believe me. The only thing I ever wanted from you… With you, was a future, Santiago.”  

It breaks your heart when he quietly, slowly extricates his arm from your grasp, slipping through your fingers like fine sands. Did you really think that you could do that? That you could keep on pushing him, without eventually pushing him away? 

A divot notches in his brow. “Mmm-hmm. Well I guess we fucked any shot at that now, didn’t we?” 

You search his ashen eyes - almost in desperation - for some of that all too familiar fire. For any sort of spark for you. 

Godammit, as soon as the anger has gone, you want it back. You want something; only because it seems a damn sight better than nothing at all. 

You can’t handle it - the thought that any future with him is being taken off of the table once and for all. You know - if you step back from this - that you’ve been far from perfect. That you’ve been bitter, volatile, reactive. Maybe even cruel, at times. You know, in truth, that you shouldn’t be so hung up on the past -on what happened all those months ago and beyond- but it’s the only thing Santiago has ever given you to dwell on. How were you supposed to move on, when he’s never been able to look ahead with you?

Still, all of a sudden, being faced with any and all possibilities of a future with him being ripped away from you, it is all you want to talk about. The past and your grievances and the blame now seem wholly irrelevant. You feel bile rise into your mouth. “Listen. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Just… How do we get past this, Santiago? That’s what matters.”

He stops, halting his retreat back to the house. He turns, slowly. And, Santiago takes your hands into each of his. Looks at you solemnly, as your eyes flit over his face in doubt and fear and regret. He bundles your hands up together, sandwiching them together between his warm, steady palms and he gives them a squeeze - full of finality. “Maybe… Maybe we don’t,” he sounds, flatly, voice scrubbed clean of emotion. And, the only thing worse than hearing his words out loud, is that he looks like he believes them. 

For once, Santiago “Pope” Garcia seems cold, and it hurts more than any of his fire has ever burnt you. Maybe the anger, horrible as it feels, is better. Because it is better than nothing. Better than losing him altogether. 

After all, what is it that happens when the fire goes out? 

Well, you suddenly feel like you’re about to find out. 

You suddenly feel like it’s truly about to be over. 

And so, you clasp your hands over your mouth and you sob, fleeing towards the interior of the house, because you have no place else left to run but away from him.

[urlovebrini]

take me where i belong (part 1)

⋆❀ — includes: diluc, thignari x gn! reader

⋆❀ — synopsis: you had a fight with them, so you decide to escape to clear your mind, but things happend and now you only want to be in your home in the arms of your love

⋆❀ — content: gn! reader, fluff, comfort, hurt/comfort, fights, you honor they are in love, razor is here and he is a sweetheart as always, protect the wolfboy, diluc its bad at feelings, but he is also good at thi end, you will see, tighnari is serious but he means well.

⋆❀ — a/n: first part up!  hope you like it. i must admit that this is a bit self-indulgent, as i yearned for something purely comforting. there is for my girlies, boys, and people, for everyone who could use a bit of extra love and tenderness

⋆❀ — part 1 || part 2 || m.list

⋆❀˖°·🫐࿐ ࿔˚ diluc

the cold air of the forest brushed against your body, while echos of the argument still reverberated in your mind, even the cold winds couldn't fully despel the tensión your felt, it was difficult not ti feel hurt with the way diluc seemed to disregard his well being, your concerns for him were something you just couldn't easily push aside but he seemed to disregard that too.

you walked to the forest, in hopes the nature will clean your mind. the rustling of leaves and the sound of birds chirping provided a soothing backdrop as you continued your walk. you had decided to give a visit to razor in the hopes to uplif you a little, that morning you had prepared some desserts, and just wanted to share it with someone who appreciate it.

it was easy to felt fondness and concern to the wolfboy, in your time alone where you escape was the forest, you relationship with him had grown more close, and you really appreciated his friendship, so it was a nice way to forget abbout diluc for the moment.

as you spoted him, a small smile formed on your face as you approached him "hello... friend" razor talks to you as he sees you "it's late, why you here?". as he asks you try to ignore the bad feelings of earlier "nothing, i just want to share this with you, i hope you like it." you show him the basket. he accepted with a smile and you took a seat in the forest.

maybe it's the company, maybe it's the distraction, but you ignored the air getting more coolder and the light of the afternoon disappearing, until razor asked you, "friend... are you okay?" you looked at him, not wanting to spoil the moment or worry him."i'm okay, razor. just... we had an argument, you know, those things that happen sometimes," you reply, trying to downplay your feelings." he lost a little confused but nods his head to you ""razor... know friend not happy, and razor want to help" he is such a sweatheart "i am already happy to share a moment with you razor" he smiles big and you continue with you early talk.

the night started and the first raindrops fell, its was really late, but you really not wanted to return to the house yet, it was serine, but the serenity was shatared, as the rain poured more harder figures started to emerge for the dark, you heart pounding. you saw razor get in high alert, his stance more rigid and fierce his voice urgent

"friend, danger. You must run, razor handle this". you looked at him, don't wanted to leaved him but he repeats "razor will take care of friend. run, be safe."

with a lump in you chest you started to run, you could hear the sounds of the fight and felt some of the monsters following you, as you run, the sounds of the skirmish behind you resonate in your ears, blending with the pounding of the rain, you might want to catch you brain but you still felt them. and you saw it, you saw the fire, feel the heat, and the last you see the figure of the man you love most.

his eyes where on you as he was fighting, cheeking that nobady happend to you, one by one they were falling, the ire of diluc making them fall, the monsters defeated you can only say "razor, i left him diluc, he is fighting" he furrowns his brows, you could see the apprehension in his eyes, he didn't wanted to leave you alone "fuck" you heard him grumbble "keep in my camp of vision" is the last thing he says, before he continues fighting

he looks at you you can see the apprehension, he don't want to put you in danger "fuck" you hearded him grumbble as hi took you to a place when he could watch you and figh.

The rain soaked everything, as the abbys monsters are deffeated, and your heart felt heavy of fault and shame. And like the silence comes, you look to the ground as diluc approaches you, his relief and concern taking over him. his hands carefully starts to cheeking you, and then he holds you in his arms, you can't move "razor, thank you for looking after them"

"friend important, razor protect" you felt diluc relax a little but his hold is still strong, he nods to razor but the boy continues "friend is lupical, don't make them angry, important to take care" his hold is more tight in the moment razor finish to talk

"understood, I promise I will no longer make her angry" your eyes fill with tears as he enveloped you in a protective embrace, allowing you to feel his warmth "are you alright?" his voice is low, his característic stern and serious tone you can only nod your head. without saying another word diluc took a decition. carefully, he took you up into his arms.

"i'll take you home" his voice sounded softly as he began, you fall in the comfort of his arms, your home your tought, you looked quickly to his eyes, his face is stern as always, but his eyes are full of concern, relief and frustration. you only could hide your head in his neck.

"I feel so mad right now" his talks voice stern, but you can also feel his hurt and worries "staying in the forest so late, i...." you hide your face more " i am sorry love, plase, promise me not matter what, you will stay safe"

you hold his neck more tightly "i promise, i am sorry luc" your voice is low he stops a minute of his walk to kiss your cheek and continue his way to your home "don't matter what i will take you home, i love you"

⋆❀˖°🫐·࿐ ࿔˚ tighnari

you had dissagriments with tighnari before, but this time you felt it different, the tension had escalated, and the cutting words had cutted deeper than usual. commonly the disputes where trivial things, but today you couldn't bear it anymore.

sometime the way he spoke to you, made you feel dumb, insignificant. the repetitive comments about the forest, protecction, care, hygiene felt like a constant reprimand. and moreover you felt neglected, sometimes for you it felt like you werent partners.

yes you loved him and have grown accustomed to his stern ways and seriousness about his life, but today you felt so small, and belittled. you had taken a little kitten home it was lost in the forest, and it was so pretty, and you felt that maybe it could occupied your time with him, and give you company. but tighnari reaction was not so nice. his questions and comments felt like a barrage of inquiries, assessing your comprehension of the intricacies of pet ownership.

you tried to share your feelings of loneliness, the need for more emotional closeness and affection. but tighnari nstead of empathizing with your vulnerability, they seemed to latch onto the practical aspects of owning a pet. It was as though they believed that by reinforcing the importance of responsibility, they could redirect your focus from your emotional needs. leaving you feeling unheard and invalidated.

and now, after all that, you found yourself in the midst of the forest, lost and immersed in your own toughts. the rain falls around you, and each drop that touches your skin seems to reflect your internal tears. amidst the confusion and sadness, you recall the times when tighnari had scolded you and warned you about the dangers of the forest. in that moment, you yearn to hear him, to hear those words you once considered an annoying lecture.

while you stand there drenched and lost, you can't help but wish for him even if it meant enduring a nagging or sermon about safety and that right now, you'd be willing to accept any advice or warning just to feel close to him again.

the sound of the storm seems to blend with the rapid beating of your heart as you tread through the forest, searching for your way back. in the mist of the rain, you hear a voice, a shout that carries a name, your name, spoken with desperation, and you recognize the voice.

"tighnari!" you call resonates in the air. the tears that had been flowing down your cheeks find new reasons to fell. emotions mixed within you—sadness, regret, and at the same time, a deep longing to be back in his presence. "tighnari!" you cried out his name. and as the storm continues its course, you hold onto the hope that you'll soon be in his arms, where you belong.

when you saw him before you, his desperate gaze meeting yours amidst the rain and darkness, your breathing stops for a second. not sure whether to run into his arms or to stay put, bracing yourself for what might come next.

and then before you could made a decition, his arms embraced you and you let yourself fall in his arms. gradually, his embrace loosens, and he pulls back slightly and starts cheeking you for a sing of injury

"i got lost" you whisper weakly voice is barely a murmur, but it's enough for him to hear. his gaze lifts from his examination, meeting your eyes. with a soft sigh, tighnari embraces you a little tighter "i know" he said softly "i'm here"

tighnari's hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his touch tender and reassuring. "you're important to me," he continues, his voice unwavering. "i may not always show it the way you want me to, but that doesn't mean i don't care."

You hold him tighter, and let out a surprised sound as he lifts you onto his arms "lets take you home, there is a kitten waiting for you, and well i need you there to"

⋆❀ — a/n: i want to write more but i am working on my thesis and my brain is fried with so much words and letters, and yes i write this because i need a hug. second part will have ayato and alhaitham, so yes more stern boys with a big heart. ask are oppen if you had a idea, coment or suggestion

[bookshelf-dust]

🪩 Ok, I desperately need a Billy letter. Maybe it’s like a love confession and he has to write it down because every time he’s tried to say it, he can’t get it out ‘cause he’s still in the mindset of emotions being bad/“girly.” Maybe you could turn this into a ficlet (I forget what the emoji is) and maybe after you read it, you tell him you love him too and he gets so excited/relieved and he’s like “I fuckin’ love you so much.”😁😁

That was longer than I thought it’d be.

slumber party shenanigans

billy hargrove x gn!reader

a/n: sweetheart!! my love!! my dearest!! this is so sweet. and it’s totally okay that it ended up being a little longer. i tried to capture him the best i could in this way. i really hope you’re happy with it <333

————

🪩 you want me to paint your nails?— i’ll write you a mock love letter from the character of your choice. just give me a little something for them to write to you about! this one will be very new for me to try and i won’t make them terribly long, but i hope they might turn out sweet.

🖋️ want another blanket?—i will write you a little ficlet (under 1000 words) for the character of your choice. i would appreciate if you’d specify whether you want comfort/fluff/angst/whatever and i will try and come up with something for you!

Last night, he said fuck it. He was overwhelmed with everything he was feeling. Everything he was feeling for you. Everything he feels for you.

He’d been afraid he wouldn’t remember all of this come morning, or whenever else he attempted to tell you. So he rummaged around in his bag for paper, because he swore he fucking had some, and he stole a pen from Max.

Billy settled on the floor, back resting against the foot of his bed, and got to writing.

He kept having to take breaks though, or blink really hard, or shake his head. Sometimes squeeze his nails against his palm. Anything to stop that voice in his head.

You’re a pussy, feeling like this over some chick. She’s just going to break your heart. She doesn’t care about you. Even if she does, you don’t deserve her. You’re a piece of shit.

Enough, he’d tell himself, and he’d keep going.

The next morning, Billy gives you the letter he’s written in the car.

“Read this. Don’t look at me, or I’ll probably fucking throw up. Actually, you stay here. I’ll wait outside.”

Billy pushes his door open, and paces around within a few feet of the Camaro, waiting for you to read what he’s written for you. It feels like he’s laid out on a table, like you’re looking at his guts.

He hates this. He fucking hates it.

You unfold the notebook paper Billy’s given you, eyes dancing around the page. You love his handwriting. It’s one of your favorite things about him. He writes small, all of his letters in lowercase. Except when he writes his name, where in that case he capitalizes as he should, but the B and the H are always oversized and signature-esque. He does the same when writes your name.

You decide to hurry up and read the damn thing. He’s already nervous enough.

Y/n

i’ve been trying to say this for weeks. fucking weeks. but every time i try, it’s like he’s watching me. and i can’t. but this doesn’t have shit to do with him. it has to do with you and me.

i’m in love with you. i love you. there. damn.

you’re the best thing that’s every happened to me, and i know it’s cheesy, but i don’t give a shit. because i know i’m an asshole. but somehow you’ve found a way to help me be less of one, and you care about me. you look at me like i’m fucking magical or something.

you’re so sweet to Max, and you help her with stuff i don’t really understand. you help me work out things i don’t understand. you’re such a smartass. and you’re so gorgeous. there’s so much more, but i’m drawing a blank because of course i am. i’ll tell you later.

i love you. i love you, Y/n.

Billy

You take a deep breath and fold the paper back up, before getting out of the car. Billy things something’s wrong.

You round the side of the Camaro and walk straight up to him. You throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him into a hug. Billy relaxes in your hold almost immediately, body molding against yours.

You pull back enough to take his face in your hands. His cheeks are warm and red.

“Billy. I love you too.”

He presses his forehead against yours, a breath of a laugh leaving him.

“Don’t fuck with me.” He squeezes your side.

“I’m not fucking with you.”

Billy abruptly lets you go. He shakes his head like he doesn’t believe this.

“Are you sure? You’re being dead-fucking-serious with me right now?”

You nod. “I’m positive. I’m being dead-fucking-serious with you right now.”

Billy moves closer to you again, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips. He tastes like cigarettes and fruity gum. You try to pull away for breath, but he doesn’t let you. He kisses you once, twice more.

The smile on his face is one of the ones you only ever get to see. It’s bright and happy and beautiful. “I fuckin’ love you so much,” Billy tells you.

He falters, though, immediately after that. “Wait, you’re not mad, are you? That I had to write it down first?”

You don’t break eye contact with him. “No! Of course not Billy. I just want you to be comfortable.” You smile at him and kiss the tip of his nose. He wrinkles it at you and tries to push away.

You slip your hands into his hair. “I love you, Billy.”

He’s smiling again. “I love you more.”

[goosewriting]

Why? Because.

summary: reader gets trapped with an injured Zeb in a cave, and they come clean about their feelings.

relationship: Zeb Orellios x GN reader

warnings: mention of injury, blood, age gap i guess?

word count: 3.6k

A/N: i loved zeb in rebels and lost my marbles when he appeared in the mandalorian. and statistically speaking i can’t be the only zeb girlie (gender neutral), right? so this one goes to all of you out there, wherever you may be <3

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

It has been some time since you joined the Ghost crew, and you’re happy to say that you get along with everyone (except maybe Chopper at times). They had kinda taken you in like they ended up letting Ezra stay, though you were no Jedi. So the running joke was that Kanan brought “strays” on board. But you did and still do try your best to pull your weight around. You’re extremely thankful they decided to let you stay and considered you skilled enough to keep around. 

Your homeworld had been brought to near extinction, similar to how Zeb’s planet got destroyed, so now you have no place to go back home to either. Hence why you got along with him from the start. He seemed gruff on the outside but you could see through it; that was the façade of a man who lived through pain and regret. But you know beneath it lies a rather charming personality and a caring friend. 

A friend you like a little bit too much perhaps. A friend you find yourself drawn to constantly, torn between pushing your feelings aside and letting them out into the world. 

That’s a problem for later though, because right now, you find yourself running for your life next to Zeb. 

The latest mission brought the team to a wild jungle on some desolate planet, and you and Zeb got separated from the group. With the Empire hot on your trails, no less, because why would you have a normal, relaxing day? That would be boring.

You trip over a root peeking out from the ground littered in leaves, but catch your step just in time to keep running. The vegetation is dense, and you can’t really see much ahead of you except for splotches in several shades of green. Your legs are carrying you as fast as they can, but you can feel their stamina draining rapidly as your lungs burn, begging for a break.

From somewhere above you, you can hear the unequivocal engine of a TIE fighter, and you instinctively duck. You call out to Zeb, who’s a couple of metres ahead of you.

“They’re getting closer!” you scream at him.

“Then run faster!” he retorts over his shoulder.

“Well that’s easy for you to say!” you tell him between your breaths. “Look at your legs compared to mine!”

Suddenly, Zeb disappears from your view, swallowed by a dense bush. You do hear him cry out in surprise though.

“Zeb!” you call for him, worried.

Without lowering your speed, you take the last couple of steps to reach the point where he was, pushing the leaves out of your way, when your foot suddenly lands on air instead of the ground. Imitating the Lasat’s earlier scream, you also fall, as the vegetation had hidden away the very abrupt stop the cliff came to, the edge ending at a nearly perfect 90 degree angle, which sent you tumbling downwards.

On the way down, you feel yourself hit the side of the hill with an “oomph!”, then continue rolling down, protectively holding your arms over your head however you can, given the speed you’re spinning at. 

When you finally make it to the ground, you hit a dead trunk with your back. For a second all air is knocked out of your lungs as you come to a sudden stop, and you need a second to recover your breath. Everything is still spinning, you hold your head, and all you can see are blurs of greens, yellows and browns.

After taking a moment to reorient yourself, you call out to Zeb. The only response you get is a pained groan from a little further away. You get to your feet, ignoring the pain that shoots up from your knee to your hip. The contents of your backpack got strewn around, so you go around hurriedly collecting everything before looking for Zeb. Following the sound of his grunts and heavy breaths, you find him leaning on a rock. You almost drop your pack when you notice the thick branch impaled in his side. He must have hit a tree on the way down.

You approach him quickly, kneeling down at his side.

“Hey, hey,” you say, waving your hand in front of his face. “Stay with me!”

“Ugh…” is all the response he can muster. 

You check your comm; it’s busted. 

“Where’s your comm, Zeb?” you ask. He paws at his leg with a groan. 

You rummage through his pockets and take out the device, which is all but flattened. Great.

“We have to find shelter somewhere,” you say, getting up to your feet. 

Taking a look around, you realise it all looks the same. The trees are so dense that you can’t even properly see the sky. Turning back to Zeb, you catch him just in time how he’s about to pull out the branch stuck in his abdomen. You fall back to your knees and swat away his hand.

“Leave it!” you order. “If you pull it out now you’ll bleed out.”

He growls, but doesn’t fight you. Taking in his state, you suddenly feel lost and small and helpless.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Zeb!” You try to sound threatening.

“‘Tis but a flesh wound,” he says with a chuckle that quickly turns into unpleasant sounding coughs.

Great, he's delusional. 

“Did you break anything?” you ask him, checking for injuries. “Can you move your arms, legs, fingers?”

He first moves his ankles around, then slightly lifts one leg. With the other one he inhales sharply as it is the one on the side where he got hit. 

“How about your hands?” you continue. 

You talk to him in an attempt to keep him conscious. Meanwhile you rummage through your backpack for a rope. Zeb tries moving his arms but with his right one he groans in pain.

“Think i’s broken,” he says through gritted teeth, then his face starts relaxing, his eyes about to close shut.

“Hey, no no no. Look at me,” you demand, waving your hand in front of his face again; no response. “Hey!” 

You slightly slap his cheeks, and his eyes snap open to shoot you a half-glare. Then you look down and see he’s losing blood, fast.

“Dank farrik, Zeb!” you curse, looking around again. Your gaze falls on the Lasat one last time before you run in the opposite direction you fell from, looking for some sort of shelter. Not far, you luckily find a cave.

Running back to him, you fall to your knees at his side once again.

“Wake up! I can’t carry you alone!” you demand, desperation starting to creep into your voice.

But he’s too weak to stand up, so you pass the rope you had under his armpits and back, throwing the ends over your shoulder, and pulling with all your might to drag him. He drifts in and out of consciousness but tries helping you with his legs and good arm.

It takes you what feels like an eternity and a full workout to drag him into the cave, and just in time. Of course, it has to start raining. You wonder how the water even gets down here when the trees seem to have built a solid roof over the whole place.

Once you have Zeb in the cave, you take a moment to shake some life back into your limbs. Don’t fail me now! you plead with your arms and legs, and you get to work. Using some wood you found on the way here you build a makeshift splint for his broken arm. Then you prepare some bandages, bacta patches and bacta gel. You’re glad that you weren’t carrying anything in glass vials in your backpack that could have broken; all supplies survived the fall.

You kneel at Zeb's side, whose forehead is now covered in a thin layer of sweat; he’s probably running a fever. You exhale slowly through your nose, trying to calm yourself for what you’re about to do.

“Zeb, I’m gonna take it out now, okay?” you warn him, pointing to the branch he got impaled with. “This is gonna hurt… I’m sorry.”

“Ugh… Just- just do it,” he replies with shallow breaths. 

“Okay,” you say more to yourself than him, and place your hands around the splintered branch. “One, two, three!”

As you pull out the piece of wood, Zeb clenches his teeth with a groan, and blood comes gurgling out of the wound. You’re quick to generously apply the bacta gel to disinfect the area, put a bacta patch on top and some gauze over it all to stop the bleeding. It takes a little bit of effort on both sides to get Zeb to lift his back enough so you can wrap the bandage around him, but it works. 

Now that the most critical part is taken care of, you inspect him further. He’s got a couple of scratches on his arms and face. You take a clean piece of gauze and step to the cave entrance to dampen it in the rain, then come back inside and start cleaning the dried blood and grime off him as best as you can. He tries swatting you away with his good arm a couple of times.

“‘S okay. Take care of yourself first,” he speaks through heavy breaths. But you insist.

Once you're sure you cleaned him up to the best of your abilities and minimised the risk of something getting infected given your precarious situation, only then do you repeat the process for yourself. You also got a couple scratches all over you, and you're sure your back and hip are gonna bruise because of that rock earlier. 

Once you're done cleaning yourself up, you sit back and heave a deep sigh. For a moment, the cave is silent save for Zeb’s laboured breathing and the patter of the rain. You take a moment to think about what the next best course of action is. You need water, food, and you have to find a way to contact the Ghost.

From your backpack you take out your busted comm. Zeb’s one got absolutely obliterated, but yours seems in better condition. 

“Hey, do you think that we could fix this and send some message to Hera at all?” you ask.

Zeb is struggling to keep his eyes open, trying to focus on the device you’re holding in front of him.

“Do- d’you know how to… rewire?”, he asks.

“Not really… but you can talk me through it?” you offer. 

It takes several attempts, but through broken sentences and you having to shake Zeb awake a couple of times, you actually do it. You manage to more or less recall your coordinates given your last known position before the fall, and send that plus the fact that Zeb is hurt. You couldn't fix it enough to know if it actually got through or if you received a response. But you hope and pray to the Force and every other deity out there that Hera and Kanan got the message and come to find you soon.

Now that that is taken care of, you go through your mental list again. Next up: water and food. 

You give your past self a pat on the back for packing so much stuff when everyone said the weight would just slow you down. You could really never know when you’d need all this. 

You find your emergency light; it's like a bag filled with gel that emits both light and warmth. You hit it in the right spot to activate it and place it next to Zeb, who’s starting to tremble slightly, you now notice. 

Your water canteen is a bit banged up but still usable, so you step to the cave entrance to collect some rainwater. While you're here you focus on any sounds of ships or blasters, but you only hear the jungle around you.

You take a couple of swigs from the bottle, then fill it back up. With a sigh, you go back into the cave and take out one last thing from your backpack: ration bars. Not the yummiest but enough to get out of a pinch.

You offer Zeb some water, which he accepts. After he’s done drinking, he leans his head back down with a groan. It must be uncomfortable. Unfortunately, you didn't bring any shock blankets or anything. In fact you don't even have a jacket because of the planet’s tropical weather. 

You look up at the cave’s roof again, ticking off the items from your mental list. Now that everything is taken care of, there’s only one thing to do: wait. And hope for the best. Your nose crinkles at the thought. Waiting is the worst part. 

Zeb’s shuffling as he moves around trying to find a comfortable position to lie in catches your attention. You grab your blaster and move in between him and the cave wall.

“Here,” you say softly and carefully lift his head to sit down, so he can use your lap as a pillow while you lean back onto the cave wall. You prop up your hand with the blaster on your other leg, aiming at the cave entrance. “You rest up now. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

He groans, trying to get comfortable, and then silence surrounds you two. 

You’re trying to keep watch but your eyes keep drifting back to the Lasat on your lap. His breathing is evening out, so you assume he’s trying to fall asleep. You take a moment to roam over his face, his meiloorun shaped head, his big ears, his beard. You notice the wrinkles between his brows, a testament to his almost constant scowl, and you have to gather every ounce of self control in your body not to smooth out the skin with your fingers. 

“I can feel you staring,” he remarked suddenly, startling you. He opens his eyes and looks up at you.

“Sorry…” you apologise with a sheepish smile. 

He holds your gaze for a second longer than you’d have deemed necessary, then closes his eyes again and turns his head slightly away from you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, softer this time.

“Huh? Like what?” you ask. 

“Like a sad, lovestruck Loth-pup.”

Heat rises up to your cheeks, and you turn your face away as well, but then realise that you don’t care anymore if he sees you. You knew that at some point you had developed a crush for the guy but you’ve been trying your hardest to push the feelings down, and evidently failed. It did occur to you that lately things seemed to have changed; but you didn’t want to get your hopes up. So you weren’t imagining it after all, the lingering looks and quick glances your way when he thought you weren’t looking.

And if he really decides to bring this up in a cave in who knows where, then so be it. You might as well have the conversation you’ve been procrastinating on right here and now, since he can’t really run away either. 

“That’s not how I would describe it,” you start. “But I can’t help it…”

“You can do better,” he says, still not looking at you. 

“Try me,” you retort. 

He hesitates for a second, considering if he should give in to this or not. For an instant you think that’s it, and are about to keep watch again, but then he speaks. 

“I’m old, and scarred,” he tries to convince you.

“You’ve lived through a lot of things, and yet you kept your kind soul,” you counter, ready to disarm any argument he gives you.

“I get angry easily.”

“You have a strong sense of justice.”

“I’m stubborn.”

“So am I,” you say with a chuckle. 

He sighs deeply, and finally turns to face you.

“Why? Why me?” he asks and you can tell he’s genuinely wondering.

“Do I need a reason?” you ask, slightly shrugging your shoulders. “When I’m with you, I feel safe, and understood.”

“Who knew the bar was so low,” he teases, and you playfully nudge his shoulder.

“I’m serious. You’re someone I know I can confide in, someone who can read the room and differentiate playtime from ‘time to be serious’. You get things done. You’re loyal. You know what you want and what you fight for,” you recount. Then with a smile and a poke to his cheek, you add, “And for all it’s worth, I do think you’re rather handsome.”

Zeb makes a sound between a snort and a mock-offended gasp, averting his eyes from yours. You could swear his ear just twitched as well. Is that his tell-tale sign for when he’s flustered? Cute.

He remains silent, looking back to you with a soft gaze that holds something else, maybe resignation, or a little bit of sadness. 

“But, you know, now that we’ve established how I feel, I do wonder about you,” you point out. “You don’t have to answer now, though. In fact, you don’t have to answer at all if you don’t want to–”

“That wouldn’t be fair, now would it?” he cuts you short. 

“Then, do you have anything you want to add?” you ask, hopeful.

He thinks about it for a moment, then gives you an apologetic look.

“Whatever it is I want to say, I don’t think I could properly put it into words right now,” he says, gesturing to himself. “Let’s continue this conversation when I’m… not on the possible brink of death?”

“Right,” you answer, only slightly disappointed, but you try not to show it. 

“And hey,” he calls for your attention, and you look back at him. “Thank you.”

“You would have done the same thing for me,” you smile back at him, thinking he means treating his wound.

“Not just for patching me up”, he remarks. “Also for… For your words. And honesty. I can’t deny it’s nice to have someone like you looking at me the way you do. Hopefully I can be half as eloquent as you.”

He then takes your hand with his good one, bringing it to his chest. Once again, you feel your face burn. Zeb Orellios is holding your hand. While his head rests on your lap no less. With that little spurt of courage you just got from his gesture, you lean down and place a gentle kiss on his forehead. He squeezes your hand lightly at that, sighs, and closes his eyes. 

You lean back up, resting your head on the hard cave wall behind you, but you don’t mind. You’re on cloud nine right now.

Just as you remind yourself that you’re supposed to be on watch, you hear some rustling from outside. Quickly you lift the blaster, pointing at the entrance. It sounds like someone is approaching. You aim, and–

“Found them!”

It’s Sabine.

You slump back onto the wall, lowering your weapon, letting go of the breath you were holding. 

“Are you guys okay?” she asks as she approaches you.

“I got away with just a couple bruises, but Zeb got essentially skewered, and I think his arm is broken,” you explain, turning to show her the wound on his abdomen and tell her how it happened, when you realise Zeb is still holding your hand. 

You stop mid-sentence, your eyes meeting Zeb’s, who’s looking at you with a cheeky smirk. That little–

“What happened? Are you okay?” Now it’s Ezra’s turn to step into the cave.

You let go of Zeb’s hand to carefully remove yourself from under him and stand up. You manage to get up but are a little wobbly on your legs, since you’ve been sitting for so long. Sabine quickly helps to support you and guides you outside.

Kanan is the last to get into the cave. With Ezra they try their best to support Zeb to walk but he’s still too weak to get up, so they decide to essentially fly him just outside of the cave by means of the Force, where the Phantom is parked. Zeb did not like that one bit.

– – – – –

Bonus: 

Once Zeb is in his bunk on the Ghost with fresh bacta patches and bandages, you give him one last once-over to check if he’s comfortable.

“Anything else you need?” you ask him, packing the remaining gauze and bacta you didn’t use into the first aid kit.

“I think a ‘get better kiss’ would help,” he says matter-of-factly. 

You jump a little, his comment having taken you off-guard.

“Well I’m no doctor, but let’s see what I can do,” you try saying as nonchalantly as possible, but your flustered cheeks betray you.

You gently hold his face as you kiss the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes.

“Uhm?!” comes a startled noise from Ezra who’s standing at the now open door. Oh right, for a second there you forgot they shared the room.

“Is this gonna be a thing from now on?” the boy asks, pointing between you and Zeb.

You don’t really know how to answer because you haven’t had the second part of your conversation yet, but the Lasat chuckles and folds his good arm under his head. 

“You better knock from now on,” is all he says and proceeds to close his eyes to nap.

“But it’s my room too?” Ezra looks at you for help, but you just shrug with an apologetic smile.

Walking past him, you go to your own bunk, trying to calm your pounding heart on the way.

[thrawns-babygirl]

A Life Here With You (Tech x GN!Reader)

Same author as "Get You Home" has delivered another banger of a fic for all the Tech girlies. (Not my writing, posted upon their request)

This was meant to be posted on Tech Tuesday but I got called into work so I had to delay the posting so just pretend that it was posted on Tuesday

I am also under strict instructions to tag @nahoney22 and say "Happy Birthday you British biscuit"

Rating: G No warnings, Spoilers for "Pabu", fluffy. Feedback still greatly appreciated

Yellow had never been so beautiful before.

The sky took so many colors over so many different worlds, each a mix of what was reflected from the ground below into a display above that couldn't be touched by a hand but felt in the heart as it painted everything around it. A combination of efforts that created a cycle of beauty that was individual and unique from one planet to the next. And this one- the one that cast a warmth across the island of Pabu? This was perhaps your favorite one thus far.

It was how the people were kind in such an honest way, untouched by the cruelty that caused so many to grow defensive and curl into hardened shells to protect what was left to save, and it was so painfully refreshing to view a world that was thought to only exist anywhere but within your reach.

How when there was a problem, it wasn't an enemy from afar or a past coming back to haunt you or anything more than a simple happening of the world, and everyone came out just fine with the only wounds dealt being the worn and winded buildings that needed to be rebuilt when the water ended its reign of terror.

How Omega laughed with someone her age as she played like the child she had probably forgotten she was, how Hunter felt at ease and the sharp frame of impending caution had finally slipped from under him, how Wrecker found something besides an explosive to rave about with genuine passion; then there was Tech.

Tech wasn't so easily read in such a regard. The man had a cadence to him that could be perceived as preservation, though that was nothing more than an assumption based on what was taken at face value, your time with him had told you this behavior wasn't so much an act to be controlled more than the fact he simply didn't know how to express things that weren't facts and figures. Yet even he had his own means to express his desire to stay in such a warm and welcome place.

You just had to know how to look.

At the end of it, after the tides subsided and the ground dried and the repairs began: he stood there overlooking it all. That same yellow flooded his figure and turned it soft, blending into the scene as if he had been painted in it originally. Though to you he didn't need the addition of lights or color to be considered something worthy of a framed remembrance.

An appreciation could be had for every one of the batchers you had come to know, though you'd be blind not to realize Tech in particular seemed to catch your attention far more than the rest. An attraction that had been blatantly ignored until even Wrecker had been able to point out how your behavior shifted around the other clone. Then suddenly those small pokes Hunter made about your relationship with Tech made sense; they were never teases as you chose to take them, but small nudges as he realized that the two of you were being pulled towards one another but never fully coming close enough to touch as you stood still, so he tried to push. It had you wondering if he ever pushed Tech the same way he did you?

And really, just how long had this thing been flying blind before you finally decided to open your eyes and acknowledge what spurred the wings to spread and glide.

Tech was insightful in such a technical way, as if he could strip opinions from facts and view them from an objective point of view that you always struggled to fully comprehend. And yet- despite that- he was always willing to explain it time and time again until you found a view that made sense or managed to catch on after the sixth time. He never seemed annoyed or frustrated by it, either, always so eager to take a different approach until he knew your mind so well he knew how to go about explaining himself that had you understanding right away.

His love was not given so easily in words, his best in that line ended in a short and quick praise when someone had a good idea that not even he thought of. Rather his love spoke in his actions and behavior. In the sort of ways that almost couldn't be spoken verbally, as if love was another one of his projects he worked on meticulously with keen attention to detail and a devotion that couldn't be shattered as it was built on a foundation of curiosity and passion.

His love was when he was always ready to offer a helping hand when he noticed you stumped at a wall with a problem, having some degree of envy to the clone's ability to simply think of a rather creative solution quite quickly whereas you might have never reached the same conclusion no matter how long you thought. He could knock walls down with his expansive knowledge of their weakest points while you were the one trying to jump over it. Yet you had never been made to feel a fool. Should you become bashful, Tech would stabilize your confidence by taking the moment to teach, making sure to stress that intelligence and education are not the same, and often vary from each individual in ways even the Kaminoans couldn't stop when they tried time and time again to create a perfect clone of their host. The mind was complex in very many ways, or so he would say.

His love was the way he was willing to tolerate doing the little things you enjoy that he perhaps was not so fond of. And while he would make very specific comments of what he didn't like, he would also occasionally find a silver lining he could appreciate; never quite enough to convince his joy to appear from the activity itself, though even you couldn't help but notice a bit of a light in him shine from behind a curtain, leaking out in the moments that held you captive with such a passion that you too spilled from closed doors.

His love was sharing information on a subject he knew you loved because he ran across it on his own time, but that time then began to be shared until it was "our" time and not "my" time because he preferred to speculate as a pair than simply roll ideas around in his own mind, and when he said that so blatantly as if it were simple and easy had you speechless for a rather awkward few seconds. Because how does one up and respond to such a true confession of love?

His love was going out in nature and observing whatever you could, whenever you could, and however you could; learning more than you ever knew existed or could at the guidance of someone happier than he had been before to share. While his brothers would tolerate and occasionally reciprocate the effort, they never truly engaged like you did.

His love was watching the sunset as he explained something about the atmosphere and colors you didn't quite catch, because his voice had a calming quality to it despite also sharing a rather interesting kick that you found yourself dozing off at his side, his words rippling like a drop of rain in a puddle stretched across your mind until you woke sometime in the night far closer than you had been when the sun was sneaking away.

His love was teaching you how to fly the Marauder. You had never asked directly, always wanting to learn and never asking to, finding it a privilege to be earned as you found your place among this family of clones gone rogue; therefore when it was offered one day you were sure Tech noticed just how you jumped up with an eager question to confirm what you just heard was true. For he also had a flash of joy run across him as a hand was placed on your shoulder and he told you to meet him in the cockpit the following morning.

His love was growing defensive whenever there was a threat. A feat you often only saw when Omega was present, though one day came to discover the same sentiment had somehow fallen onto you. Trying to take a shortcut through an alleyway ended in his hand hovering over his blaster while the other moved to pull you behind him. It didn't occur to you then just what that was, but as you stood here in this moment that had yellow dancing around it in the most poetic of ways- you had begun to realize just how much affection bridged the two of you together. 

Because he wasn't the only one who spoke his love without the primary usage of words, and that became the duracrete that bridged the two of you together.

Your love was always finding the will to listen when he needed to speak en masse of a passion he had, no matter how bored it made you. And while you couldn't share the enthusiasm you could always ask a question to give him reason to explain more.

Your love was throwing a blanket over him when he fell asleep working on something or another, a common happening when missions were particularly rough and Tech used whatever project was current to unwind. Then at the time it became a shared moment you often found yourself losing the will to get up and go to a proper bed, more inclined to stay put whenever the night grew long and he began to lean on you until he eventually slipped away fully resting his weight onto your side.

Your love was a silent comfort when Tech grew quiet at times. Always so unsure on what made him suddenly pull up a ray shield over his normal self and isolate in a silence so rare for him to display. Often it seemed as if the words could only come in one way, lacking the understanding to come out in another far more vulnerable way. Though that hardly mattered when you would rest at his side and his hand would find its way to yours in an unspoken "thank you" when he gave it a gentle squeeze.

Your love was giving him first person insights to your culture, something he never seemed to grow tired of as he would request the same story again and again. At first you couldn't entirely understand why, though as you replayed the memories of your past you found yourself uncovering more and more and having new details to add each time you spoke the tale.

Your love was becoming aware of the small tasks that Tech wasn't fond of, but would do as he understood the importance of responsibility, then finding a way to complete it without his knowing. Leaving him only a little note with a poorly drawn tooka smiling with a check mark to indicate that the tooka chore thief was at it again.

Your love was taking over Omega's studies when Tech was overwhelmed. Not wishing to allow the tension to grow as he did his best to not let his emotions bleed into his tone as he taught her. You were far from a skilled teacher, though it didn't much matter when it always devolved into Omega managing to get you to tell her of your perilously great adventures before kicking it with the Batch, and though he knew this Tech never refused your offer to take over studies that would be forsaken at that point.

Your love was a challenge you knew you'd lose in only the worst way possible, since you would never beat the man in anything that fell into the territory of intelligence, but knowing that none of the other Batchers ever wished to challenge him with the predetermined results- so you were game. Losing every round was hardly unexpected, though even you had noticed an improvement over time that honed you into a more worthy opponent every match.

Your love was understanding that he would never be able to directly say what he felt, and when he did it could only ever be through a scope of what could be deemed "facts" in his own mind. Learning how to understand him in ways others hadn't, his own brothers started to fall short in the shared understanding that each trooper had for one another. Losing the smallest of signs that Tech had learned to hide well, yet not well enough to evade the eye of someone who wished to read him like a favorite book.

And your love was, apparently, not realizing you had gotten so bewitched in watching a sunset flow over him until you noticed the distinct yellow tint of goggles turned to you. Reality kicked in just enough for you to notice him facing you completely and calling your name for more times than was not embarrassing to admit.

"Sorry, the sunset-" You started, finding the words slow to come as you tried to figure out how to justify whatever weird behavior that was.

"I imagine it would look better from over here," Tech replied in his usual cadence, though you could tell that there were thoughts unspoken and weren't entirely convinced it was your awkwardness that caused it to be so.

"Yeah, I guess it would," Trying to laugh it off as you approached the railing and placed a delicate grasp on it, feeling the texture beneath your fingers as you allowed the fleeting sunshine to cast over you, "It's a nice place."

"That it is," Something in the clone's tone had your interest piqued. A cadence that wasn't uncommon per se, but usually preceded a very particular kind of Tech confession. One that often took quite awhile to get to as the man tripped over his words trying to find the right combination to present as representation to his thoughts.

"It'd be a good place for Omega to grow up," So you figured you'd help him, having a feeling you knew what it was he wanted to say, "You could be free from fighting to survive, in war or otherwise. Cut out Cid once and for all. Really, you could live the life you always wanted."

You didn't dare turn to face him, holding your eyes steady at the setting sun and feeling the pulse rise in the fingertips that graced the cold surface of the rails. So strange how the moment grew with such a cautious heat, seconds adding to the weight of the warmth and pushing you further and further to a moment you had only ever thought of in a fantasy sense.

"I agree, as do the rest of us," Tech too was mirroring your actions, standing up straighter as he looked at the sun through lenses that started to grow pink as the colors changed from yellow to orange to the deepest of reds.

"So, what is it?" You prodded, knowing that this little dance would go on forever if you didn't cut to it early on.

Meaning the clone needed a moment, not so keen on jumping to it when it came to these matters, always having to think harder than he did on even his most complex projects.

Though even so it didn't take him too terribly long to know what he wanted to say.

"We've decided to stay, and we'd like you to stay with us," Tech spoke the words as if they were fighting not to be voiced, hardly able to offer you a slight look from the side which only spoke great volumes of just what he was asking.

"You mean that?" You answered with a question almost in shock, understanding the unspoken invite as you found yourself often on the border of being a true member and merely a pal who tagged along sometimes.

"I seldom say what I do not mean," Tech replied, a tension taking over him as he fought a war of words in his mind. Something you had come to notice when he grew rigid and curled inwards the slightest amount in contemplation.

With only a final deep breath, Tech closed his eyes and spoke the words that had been running a ruckus around his mind since Hunter announced their decision to stay.

"I would enjoy not only a life here, but a life here with you- if you are willing to share it with me," Speaking his truth in the simplest of words, the spare times when he could share a sentiment in a sentence rather than a speech.

For as much as you adored those long rants of passion filled with words you've never heard before… 

This was far better.

And it had you wondering just how long he had been contemplating that thought. Knowing him far too well to think he found them on the spot, not when it came to matters of the heart rather than the head.

"I think I'd like that," You couldn't help but smile, the spark of heat that shot through you causing your words to spill with the gentlest of joys.

You allowed your gaze to trail over to his, meeting it as the last bits of light fell behind the waves and became drowned beneath them. Part of you wanted to look away, as if suddenly becoming shy as the full realization of a new life became paved beneath your feet, yet you couldn't, not yet.

It was only the first flicker of light that drew both your attention away from one another as you looked down at the staggered structures below. Despite the waves that destroyed the buildings and swept away everything but the lives of the citizens, the lights had continued to come. Flooding across the village and into every open space as the people offered a gentle illumination to the streets that grew dark. 

Strange, how even when these lights were smaller and dimmer they carried far more meaning in this showing than they had before. Dull only in a visual sense, as you felt a brightness burn with such warmth you could do nothing but close your eyes and take in the moment while it lasted.

[finchinmoria]

So I got an idea for an Adar fic featuring an original male character that just would not let go, so I started writing it down. I’ve now outlined 11 chapters and have written a considerable bit of the first three chapters. I’ve only ever written fic for myself or shared it only with a few friends, but I think Adar has the power to take my AO3 posting virginity. At least, at this point, I’ve decided I really want to finish the fic and post it.

I’ve had tremendous health issues the past year that have interfered with my creative life, and I almost didn’t start writing this story down, but oh, am I glad I did. I have not experienced such joy creating in quite a long time, and it is such a salve to all the stressful things in my life right now.

I have to say though, in writing for Adar the most embarrassing thing to admit is that it’s a cozy romance. Extreme fluff. We’re talking like, a scene in a pumpkin patch level of fluff. Don’t get me wrong, I have been licking up every bit of Adar smut in the AO3 tags but it’s just not the story I want to write atm. Besides, fluff is kind of its own smut if you know what I mean. (Fluff girlies [gn] unite.)

All this to say I don’t know when I’ll start posting the story. I go in for surgery in two days. I’ll be in the hospital around 4 weeks recovering and doing IV treatments then another 3-ish weeks of at home recovery and rehab. I know I’ll have bad days but I will also be getting better and have good days, too. Plus the extended medical leave from my Day Job will give me time to focus on stuff I actually want to do. (Like write tooth rottingly sweet Adar m/m fanfic, thanks much.)

Whatever happens I’m looking forward to writing this fic and in a genuinely not overdramatic way, the next chapter of my life. This is the healing power of stories and characters. Life doesn’t stop and fandoms don’t exist in little snow globes separate from real life. They hold our hands on too-short work breaks and early morning rushes, in waiting rooms and even hospital beds.

I’m not deep into fandom but I’ve been having so much fun seeing post from the Adar brigade and many have given me such a warm welcome. I’m so glad to be here, with all the smutty, fluffy, tender, after dark moments that our favorite character has brought us. I just wanted to write something to show my appreciation, and encourage future me on the darker days.

[cupcakeinat0r]

Me again!! I just wanted to say that my exams went really well :) 🙌🙌

Honestly I just want to thank you again and I’m gonna sound like a broken record but it really is lovely and calming reading things you’ve written. Even if it’s just your thoughts thrown into a tumblr post.

Exams were really hard for me especially because I am VERY anxious and I’ve been looking for things that I can rely on to soothe me and to calm me down and …… I found your tumblr from a moot’s reblog. Immediately I was like “oh this person is AWESOME” and I still stand by it. When you announced part 7 I was eagerly checking my phone every morning .. I love the series so much. I’m absolutely your no.1 fan please please please keep being fantastic and take your time writing!!! Always gonna be admiring from afar no matter what happens in the series haha

Also what do you hope will happen in BTSV? Me personally I really REALLY hope Miguel gets a redemption arc. He is absolutely not the typical villain and I will be so mad if he gets killed off - Sony did NOT set us up with his lore and give us obvious hints at his potential to heal & change for nothing.

- 🌵

Omg hi, 🌵, my luv!!! That’s so great to hear!! I’m so happy your exams went well!!

Omg, no, don’t worry about sounding like a broken record!! I’ll happily listen to it regardless of how many times it loops haha <3 And if there’s anything you’d like to tell or ask me outside of the series, please feel free to reach out through the ask box or direct message, those are always open <3 It fills me with joy to know that my page does this for you. I want nothing more than to create a safe, welcoming space for us ATSV girlies(gn) <3 I know sometimes I get a bit silly on here or talk nonsense or make cringe memes but I do it to make at least one person chuckle, and if it does at least that, then I’m happy <3 I greatly appreciate your kind words, you are too sweet and your asks always brighten my day 🌵 <3

I TOTALLY get it, I get super nervous when doing exams as well😭 But omg, thank you!! YOURE awesome for being so supportive and kind!!! Thank you for loving my series, I kinda really love it, too <3 And thank you for the reminder, sometimes it’s tempting to push content out or to rush the storyline, but it’s true, I need to take my time and fully flesh everything that I wanna share out so that I have no regrets later on.

Respectfully, I want Sony to give us a shower scene of Miguel, and also a scene where he’s only wearing pants. I think it would be crucial for both character development and plot complexity.

Nah jk (kinda…)

Oof… this is a good yet tough question. I received another ask asking the same thing!

I def agree with you. I’m hoping we not only get redemption (whether it’s Miguel outwardly apologizing to Miles or him simply changing his mind about the canon), but I also hope we see Miguel receive closure. It would most definitely be a waste if Sony k***s him off, but I truly don’t believe they’ll do that. They’ve been setting him up since itsv, introducing him in that credit scene. They wouldn’t do all that for nothing, so I have my predictions that they’ll expand on his character more. I also really hope we just see Miguel doing simple tasks; maybe drinking a cup of coffee while strategizing on how to capture Jonathan (spot). Ion kno, I’m just saying things atp, I just really wanna see Miguel be soft. Like, not in a suit and being the cold person that the script wrote him out to be. The man has a lot of love to give and it’s evident from his relationship with his daughter (yes I know she wasn’t actually “his” but I like to pretend she was).

It’s realistic to expect that he won’t be like completely cured and all of a sudden happy by the end of the movie because that’s simply just not how tr**ma and grief works, but I wouldn’t mind at least one heart to heart between Miguel and another character. Or even if it’s one with himself. I’d be happy with that honestly. Like so happy!

(And the shower scene. Or a shirtless scene.)

[cherubispunk]

Grogu and I have been having a catch up over tea. And it got me thinking. You know what I really love about this site? THE thing that keeps me here and keeps this hellscape going? The fact that I can re-blog another persons post so all my fellow internet girlies (gn) can see it too! Isn’t that neat? I know I bloody love it!

So…why don’t other people?

I know you’ve probably heard people go on and on and on about the importance of re-blogging. It gets a little boring hearing content creators ask and ask for re-blogs. Like…

Yes.

BUT — and here’s the real kicker, it really (and I mean REALLY) helps. What you’ve heard is 100% true. No Bullshit. No lies to get our work recognised. It keeps fandom going. It engages both writers and readers. It shows us that you appreciate what we do. It really isn’t much time out of your day. It’s two buttons to press at most. You can say what you really liked about it if you want. All I’m asking is that you consider that instead of (or as well as) liking a post.

That fic was well written? Why not give it a re-blog? That piece of art and the colours and the style was just brain melting? Hell yeah, why not, I’ll share that. The moots are gonna love it! THAT GIFSET? I short circuited. You know, I SHALL RE-BLOG TO SHARE THE BRAINROT!

Not only does it bring traction to writers. It brings traction to YOU.

Yeah!

YOU!

You wonderful human being.

It gains the attention of the content creator. Of the fandom as a whole. It’s how you make connections. How you make friends and mutuals. Through the gift of re-blogging.

Not to mention it can be a little disheartening when you pour your soul into something for it to hit a brick wall. It’s a bit like throwing a rock into a well and not hearing anything at the bottom. It gets lost to the void. And let me tell you, as someone who’s been on this website for YEARS, tumblr is the void of all voids.

I promise, people won’t judge you for what you put on your blog. It’s YOUR blog. It belongs to you! (That doesn’t mean you can be rude though. This is not an invitation to spread hate speech about individuals or groups of people)

Anyway, I’m not trying to preach to you. I’m not trying to be difficult. But it REALLY REALLY makes all the difference to ANY content creator. Engage with your content creators and they will engage with you. Thank you for reading this and to those who do reblog: thank you from the very bottom of my heart! 💕💕💕

tldr: re-blogs benefit YOU and CONTENT CREATORS.

[readyforthegarden]

Hey! Just wanted to say that I know you totally mean this o be inclusive saying (gn) but girls is still a gendered term and it’s just as easy to say Josh lane if you want to use a gender neutral term! I don’t mean this as hate I see it used so so often on tumblr especially so more than anything I’d like to hear people’s opinions on it! I don’t want to make it seem that you’re doing something wrong I think it’s just a topic worth discussing maybe!

Good morning! I appreciate you coming to me like this. Yes, it was meant to be inclusive, I have seen using girl(gn) or girlies(gn) almost like a colloquialism, since things in the fandom are more often than not referred to as girlies, and referencing the “I’m a Jake girl/Sam girl” etc shirts. I can see where instead of being inclusive like we want it to mean (meaning you don’t have to be/identify as a girl or girlie to be included it’s a “state of mind”, like you’re one of us even if you aren’t type of thing) it can be more dividing! And since I identify as a girl, I guess I don’t always consider that even in doing that and trying to be inclusive, it’s really not at all!

Thank you for calling it out and recognizing it’s coming from a good place! You’re actually the first (that I’ve seen) to bring it up. I will try and be more thoughtful towards this in the future!