#so this got emotional and angsty oops

[avastyetwats]

I can't thank you enough for all that you've done for me (ed to izzy)

The silence had been comfortable. It was the early hours of the morning, still several minutes before the full sunrise, and Izzy had come out onto the deck first. Fang, another early riser, was already out, readying himself to go catch some fish and bring back to Roach for breakfast. Early mornings were the best time to catch fish, after all, though Izzy was a little surprised to see him alone. Lately Ed had been accompanying him, learning all he could about catching fish and even catching some himself. Small ones, mostly, but the other day e did manage to catch a much larger fish and Izzy remembers how excited and proud he was when he climbed back onto The Revenge and showed off his best catch yet. The First Mate was smiling in the back, proud of Edward and glad to see him so happy about something so... different. Something so simple and mundane compared to the things they've done during their life of piracy together.

And that's what consumed Izzy's thoughts currently as he leaned against the railing of the ship, watching Fang row himself further out to sea. The man waves at him and Izzy smirks, returning the wave in kind before he lets out a heavy sigh and drops his hand, wishing he had a bottle of rum in the other, but it was too fuckin' early for that. He was trying to drink less. Trying to rely on that shit less, though it helped numb a lot of his pain. Both physically and emotionally. Hell, he could use some right now thinking about Ed and their life together. All the shit they've been through, all the shit they've put each other through, especially recently. Though, things had calmed down since and they were trying to find their way back. But it wasn't easy. Nothing in life ever was, though.

He'd been so consumed in his thoughts and the calming view of the horizon in front of him that he didn't hear anyone approach him until he heard Edward's voice, snapping Izzy from his thoughts. But it's his words that surprised the First Mate. They came out of nowhere and he hadn't even started with a good morning or anything of the sort. No. He just... thanked him for all that Izzy had done for him. He didn't expect that, especially with how tense things between them had been lately. He isn't sure what he wants to say in response because they'd never been much for the emotional and sentimental conversations. Sure they've had their deeply intimate moments, but not for a while. They hadn't even talked about all the shit that happened since Stede Bonnet came into their lives.

So, Izzy stands up straight and stretches his neck out a bit, wishing more than ever that he had a bottle of alcohol in his hand. "Was surprised to see Fang out there alone." He doesn't mean to ignore his Captain's words. He just... wasn't sure what to say to that. Not just because they hadn't really talked about everything, but because of the guilt that still ate at Izzy. All the things he had done for Edward? What about the things he had done to him? If not for Izzy, the crew wouldn't have been put in danger, nearly killed. If not for him, Lucius would've never been thrown overboard. If not for him, the others would have never been stranded. If not for him, Edward wouldn't have almost died... yes, he's been told it wasn't his fault and that he didn't deserve losing his leg and nearly dying, but fuck, he still felt guilty for it all. He felt angry and hurt and sick and guilty. He hated what became of them. Fuckin' hated it. "'s beautiful, isn't it?" A pause. "Sunrise." It wasn't the first sunrise they've watched together.

[cookiescribble]

Choose Me, Love Me

A/N: oops got a little more angsty than usual 😬 i had this in my head for a while and finally was able to write it, so I hope it came out well! (also I have no idea how guns work but i’m just going to pretend that i do for the sake of the plot 😅) - mod angel

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your temper runs high after a miscommunication during a case, making you feel like your relationship is in trouble. (based on 1x18)

CW: angst (that gets resolved), anxiety, jealousy.

~~~

It had been a long day. 

You came to check on Spencer when you had a lull in your schedule, since you knew he was the only one in charge of watching the victim. You figured he might be having a hard time with babysitting duty. 

Instead, you came in to find the house completely empty. This immediately gave you an uneasy feeling, so you took out your gun as a precaution. It was currently loaded with blanks, since you didn’t want to shoot the victim as a knee-jerk reaction if you were surprised. 

You cautiously walked through the house, a feeling of dread creeping through you. Eventually, you found the backyard doors wide open, and you approached them tentatively. You saw movement in the pool, but you didn’t have time to feel relieved that everyone was alive and safe. 

You saw Spencer, in the pool, being pulled in by his tie, looking like he was about to kiss the woman he was in charge of protecting. 

You felt a surge of emotions so intense you couldn’t even identify all of them; anger? Jealousy? Resentment? Anguish? Heartache? Whatever you were feeling, it wasn’t good. 

You couldn’t even rationalize yourself before acting; it was almost as if your body was moving on its own, since your mind was overloaded with emotions. Suddenly you were pulling out your gun, shooting a blank right at the edge of the pool, away from the both of them but close enough to make them jump. 

They practically jumped out of their skin in fright, probably thinking the unsub had come while they weren’t paying attention. They turned to look at you, your gun still pointed at the pool. A mix of confusion and annoyance was on the girl’s face, but Spencer looked practically petrified, his eyes wide and remorseful. 

You looked at both of them before you spoke, spitting out venom with each word because of how angry you were at that moment. “You’re lucky the unsub isn’t here. You would both be dead before you could even react.” With that, you just turned to walk away, striding back into the house. 

You heard Spencer calling your name, his voice strained and emotional. You didn’t turn back to look at him. You couldn’t. You had to hold your breath to stop yourself from sobbing. 

You heard Derek and Elle approaching from outside the yard, saying something about finding paparazzi taking pictures in the bushes. You heard their voices quickly getting quieter and quieter as you were angrily striding away, but you could still hear their confusion. 

“What’s wrong with her?” You heard Elle ask. “What the hell did you do? She’s pissed.”

You heard footsteps starting to follow you before they were cut off, and you could picture Derek putting a hand on Spencer’s chest when he said. “Kid, I know you don’t know women that well, so let me tell you: do not follow her right now.”

“But-“ Spencer’s voice came out shaky, agonized. “I have to talk to her-“

“No, you don’t,” Derek cut him off. “Not right now. You’re only going to make things worse. You can’t rationalize your way through that kind of anger.”

You guessed his words got through to Spencer, since you didn’t hear anyone following you after that. 

You strode through the house until you reached the car you drove here in, getting in the driver’s seat and slamming the door behind you. You ran a shaky hand through your hair, trying to calm yourself before hitting your hands once against the steering wheel. You put your head in your hands, biting your tongue to keep yourself from yelling. You couldn’t even cry; all your thoughts were jumbled in your head, your heart thrumming so hard in your chest you thought it was going to burst out of it. 

You sat in that purgatory of emotions, sometimes letting out tearless sobs, wanting to scream but having the slightest self control and just containing the sound to sobs. After what felt like a very long time, you heard your cell phone go off, indicating you have a text. You pulled it out of your pocket and looked at the screen:

HOTCH: Come to the station. Now. 

You huffed, throwing your phone in the passenger seat before starting the car. I guess word got back to Hotch already, you thought. 

You tried to compose yourself on the drive back to the station, attempting to figure out some kind of excuse for why you shouldn’t be fired. Hopefully you didn’t have to resort to begging. 

You walked through the station, trying to keep an even pace and a level head. But every time you remembered what you saw, you were filled with anger all over again. By the time you got to the door, your emotions were at a loud simmer. 

Hotch was sitting at a table in a closed off room, looking up at you as you walked in, his face as stoic as always. He gestured to a chair across the table from him. “Sit.”

You closed the door behind you, swallowing and taking a deep breath. This felt like being called into the principal’s office and being grounded by your parents at the same time. 

You took your seat across from Hotch, crossing your legs, trying to compose yourself as he spoke directly. “Care to explain yourself?”

You gritted your teeth as you remembered what happened, the anger making your blood boil all over again. “I went to check out the situation. They were being careless, so I wanted to show them that they needed to be more careful.” You tried your best to keep your voice level, but there was still a hint of animosity. 

“They were being careless?” He raised an eyebrow at you, his voice stern. “You don’t think firing a gun that close to an agent and a victim is just as, if not more, careless?”

You flared your nostrils, angry and ashamed all at once. “I fired a blank-“

“And that’s the only reason  why you’re not fired right now,” he cut you off. “I should be writing a termination letter right now, and I would be if there were real bullets in that gun.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms. “They were out in the open while the unsub, who I don’t think I have to mention has been shooting people in the head, was out looking for the victim. I was trying to protect them.”

He looked at you the whole time you spoke, boring holes into your face. You didn’t even think he blinked this whole time. 

His voice was still stern, but it was now a bit quieter. “Really? Are you sure this is about the safety of the victim, and not your personal relationship?”

You let out a frustrated breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. The team had recently found out about your relationship with Spencer, so there was no avoiding this question. “No,” you lied. “It’s not personal. All professional.” There was no point in lying; he’d be able to see right through you. But you couldn’t admit to your boss that you were tempted to shoot a victim because she put her hands on your boyfriend. 

Hotch’s expression never changed, but you could tell he didn’t believe you. “I don’t want you out in the field for the rest of this case.” He held out his hand, and he didn’t have to say anything for you to know he was asking you to give him your gun. 

You reached for your holster and placed the gun in his hand, more forcefully than you should’ve. “Can I go now?”

He started to stand up, but spoke sternly before he did. “This is a job that cannot let actions be clouded by personal feelings. Your judgment needs to be impartial and professional, and not dictated by emotions. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded curtly, letting out a deep breath before replying, “Crystal.”

He nodded back at you, standing up and motioning towards the door. “We’ll talk more about this later.”

You walked out the door, rubbing your face with your hands, the stress from the day making your whole body tense. 

You started to walk towards the exit when you heard a voice addressing you. “So, how screwed are you?”

You looked over to see Elle, who probably eavesdropped on most, if not all, of the conversation. You sighed, shaking your head. “Well, I still have a job. That’s about the only good thing that has happened today.”

She leaned on the wall, crossing her arms. “Why’d you do that? What happened?”

You buried your face in your hand, feeling the surge of anger again. You didn’t even try to hide it this time. “I went to the house because I figured Spence could use some help, or at least some company. But when I got there, that… that…” You bit your tongue, stopping yourself from calling her every bad name you could think of. “She was all over him, and if I didn’t do something she would’ve kissed him.” You sucked in a breath, feeling like tears were going to start coming if you didn’t hold your breath. 

She nodded, waiting for you to finish before speaking. “And? Would it really be the end of the world if that happened? Just a little kiss?”

You crossed your arms, your nails digging into your skin. “I just… I couldn’t let it happen. She’s this gorgeous Hollywood model, actress, whatever. If she’s interested in him, why would he want to be with me?” A sob escaped your lips involuntarily as you admit what’s been in the back of your head this whole time. “And I really don’t want that to happen, because… I love him.”

“Have you told him that?” She asked, her voice light but serious. 

You paused before shaking your head. Your relationship with Spencer was still relatively new, and you hadn’t exchanged “I love you”s yet, even though you felt it every time you looked at him

“I think it’s time you do, then,” she replied. “If it’s this important to you.”

You just nodded, knowing she was right. You wanted to tell him for a while now, but you were scared. Scared of your own feelings, of his potential reaction… everything. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I… have to go back to the hotel. I’m gonna take some time alone to think.”

She waved you off, nodding, and you finally walked back to your car, knowing you needed to sort this all out in your head. 

…

You were lying down on the hotel bed, alone with your thoughts all day, and you hadn’t heard anything about the case from anybody. You hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten when you heard a soft, familiar knock on the door. 

You held your breath, hoping that he would go away if you didn’t answer. You sat in darkness for a while, ignoring when he asked to come in. Finally, you heard a click in the door and you cursed silently, forgetting you had given Spencer a key to your room when you got here. 

You couldn’t look at him, opting instead to look at the wall opposite him. His footsteps were slow and careful, as if he were approaching a rabid animal. “… Please,” he started, his voice quiet and meek. “Just let me explain what happened today.”

You crossed your arms, still looking away from him. You knew he was making those big, pleading eyes at you, and you wouldn’t be able to handle seeing that right now. You kept silent, but you didn’t make him leave. 

He saw that as a good sign, and approached you, sitting at the edge of the other side of the bed. “Listen, nothing happened between us.” He spoke quietly, his voice level but sincere. “I didn’t know what was happening. I was panicking, trying to think of how to politely turn her down, but everything was happening so fast and I…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath. “… I messed up. I admit that. But I didn’t mean to.”

You listened to his voice, which somehow still sounded like music to your ears even though his words were filled with remorse. You just stayed still, taking everything in, not trusting yourself enough to try to respond. 

He tried to move into your line of sight, standing in front of you, but you kept your head down. 

“… I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I’m so sorry. You have every right to be angry with me, just…” His tone was so dejected, and you could tell he was truly pouring his heart out. “… Please, look at me.”

You took a deep breath, slowly picking your head up and meeting his eyes. He was making the exact face you expected, his big, sad eyes silently begging you to say something. 

You tried to search for any words to say, but they all got caught in your throat. Your lip started to quiver as a tear finally fell from your eye. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath. “I…” you started, shaking your head as if that would put all your thoughts in order. “I don’t…”

You opened your eyes to look at him again, and you could feel all your anger crumbling, disappearing all at once. Which only made it feel worse. His somber eyes made your heart ache, and you just couldn’t be the cause of them anymore. After a pause, you patted the seat next to you, and he moved to you immediately, like a puppy commanded to sit. 

You took a deep breath, looking down. “… I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, obviously. I was way over the line.” You wrung your hands together, staring at them as if they were the most interesting scenery right now. “I just, seeing you with her… I felt like all my fears were coming true. That you wanted someone else… someone better than me.” Tears started rolling down your cheeks now. “I know I’m not as pretty as her, and I thought, why would you ever want me if someone like that is within reach?” You rubbed your eyes, shaking your head. “I never thought I could feel jealousy like that, but… every bad thought I’ve ever had about myself came rushing through my head, and I thought for sure I was going to lose you.” You swallowed hard, finally looking at him again, letting the words roll off your tongue before you could take them back. “And I couldn’t bear it, because… I love you.” 

You could hear his breath hitch, bracing yourself. For what? Something bad? Something good? 

He looked straight into your eyes, his hand tilting your chin up towards him. “I love you too,” he spoke, as if he’d never been more sure of anything in his life. “And I would never replace you with anyone. You’ll never need to be jealous. I barely even gave her a second glance, and I only did because I had to protect her. It’s my job.” He wiped a tear off your cheek, his touch gentle and slow. “If I thought she was going to come onto me, I would’ve asked somebody else to go to the house.”

You could finally breathe again, the tears in your eyes now happy ones after hearing his words, a confession of love. You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, and he pressed his cheek to the top of your head. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice radiating such warmth and affection. 

“I love you,” you said again, as if testing the sound it made, like tuning an instrument. It sounded better each time you said it. 

You just sat there in each others’ arms for a while, neither of you speaking a word, just letting the feelings sink in. After a while, once all the tension faded, you both pulled back, looking at each other and smiling. 

After another few moments, you spoke lightheartedly. “I’m really glad you feel the same way, because I definitely almost got fired over this.”

He laughed softly, slight concern in his eyes. “But you didn’t, right? I still get to see you at work every day?”

“We’ll see,” you responded. “Hotch said we have to talk again, so… I’m not out of the woods yet.”

He hugged you to his chest, a hand running through your hair. “I can vouch for you. Maybe it’ll help.”

You smiled at the affectionate touch, leaning into it. “How about you talk to him, and I just skip it altogether?”

He shook his head, a playful smile on his face. “I love you, but I can’t perform miracles.” 

You stayed together the rest of the night, even sleeping in the same room even though you never did that when you were out on a case. It was like you didn’t want to be apart now that you both understood your feelings better. You felt like you could get through anything together now. 

[eoieopda]

FINE I'M HERE TO REQUEST PART 3!!! In which Chan better really GET that promotion!!!!!!! Contract signed, payroll amended!!!!!

You can make it angsty if you like, AS LONG AS you promise there will be a happy ending (in this part or........ Another 👀)

the one with chan and the promotion (iii)

you needed a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happened to be free. now, being free is the last thing he wants.

part i. part ii.

pairing: bang chan x reader au: fuck buddies to lovers, hurt/comfort type: drabble (angst, fluff) rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my content. wc: 3.1k cw: mad!chan makes a brief appearance but otherwise remains the best boy; gn!reader (no gendered language used); reader may or may not show some degree of emotional availability (gasp!); due to the nature of their relationship, sex is referenced but not actually depicted; very briefly/incompletely edited, oops. a/n: i love you completely and am so fucking sorry it took four (4) months for me to finish this 😵‍💫 i have an epilogue i can offer in penance, if you want it! everyone else, please read the first two parts before reading this!

Chan may be an idiot, but at least he’s self-aware.

He knew it was a bad idea to get his hopes up; to expect that things would change quickly between you, if at all. Even though he saw the letdown coming from a kilometer away, he didn’t do a thing to brace himself for it. It’s his fault, he knows, for exaggerating his place in your life — but that doesn’t make the disappointment bruise any less when the week after your wisdom teeth removal flies by in radio silence.

The lack of conversation isn’t for lack of trying. As he scrolls through your half-vacant text thread now, Chan feels all his efforts staring back at him. All those attempted check-ins marked delivered but not well-received. Swings and misses.

Prior to sending each one of them, he spent minutes upon minutes agonizing over the tone — and the use of emojis — and the possible implications of the proposed emojis — and the fear that he’d just come off clingy, not invested. Reading the finished versions back now, he can recall with perfect accuracy the drafts he typed out and immediately, feverishly deleted. Considering the way they litter his brain, there may as well be a trail of crumpled-up notes in all that metadata.

Does it make Chan cringe to look back and watch himself flatline? Absolutely.

Does that stop him from salting his own wounds? Nope. It never has and likely never will.

Maybe, he figures, he’ll spot where he went wrong and find a way to un-dig this ditch he’s seemingly made.

[Sent 2024/7/23, 15:22] Just got home. Have you fallen back asleep already? Lol 

Naver says your swelling might be kind of bad tomorrow. Do you need ice packs? I have the gel kind that you can mold. Might be more comfortable than a bag of ice cubes 🤔 Lmk!

[Sent 2024/7/25, 08:03] Hi, Hamtori 🐹 How are your cheeks?

I made too much gamjaguk again. I can drop some off if

[Sent 2024/7/26, 17:49] Graduate to solid foods yet?

I hope the antibiotics aren’t making your stomach upset

DON’T LAUGH but I made you a super chill Spotify playlist with healing vibes to

Idk if you remember, but I promised to take you out for pork belly next week. If you’re up for it, are you free on

I miss y

[Sent 2024/7/29, 00:16] Hey

Or maybe, he thinks, he’ll just beat his head against his bedroom wall instead; and eventually, he’ll forget what it felt like to be yours for the day, rather than a night.

Four more days pass without a word from you. Under normal circumstances, one of you would’ve invited the other over at least twice in the eleven days since your dental appointment. No matter how infrequently the two of you chatted outside of your recurrent trysts, neither one of you has ever gone this long without summoning the other.

Something is wrong.

At this point, Chan sees two explanations for the way you’ve fallen completely off the grid: you’ve either succumbed to some tragic, post-op. complication and died, or he’s irreparably fucked something up with you without knowing how or when he misstepped. Neither one of those is an outcome he’s willing to accept. 

The voice in his head nags him so forcefully and consistently that his body eventually gives in. Undeterred by his better judgment, Chan lets it guide him up, out, and onward until he winds up on the sidewalk outside his building.

On the walk to your apartment, he mulls over the foreseeable consequences of the actions he’s already set in motion. It’s certifiably insane to pop in you like this, and once again, he only sees two options: you’ll slam the door in his face, or he’ll confirm once and for all that you’ve left this mortal coil. Bad on all counts, really, but anything is better than nothing.

His timing, as it turns out, couldn’t be better. Right as he lands at the front door, when he needs to think of a way to get in without buzzing you, a neighbor he’s seen once or twice before opens it to leave. Politely, they hold it open for him, likely mistaking him for someone with any right to be there — someone whose proximity to you actually makes sense. Chan thanks them with a nod of his head and a sheepish smile before slipping through the opening.

As the elevator ascends, his fingers move of their own accord, anxiously tapping out a rhythm on the stainless steel wall he leans against. Every worst-case scenario flashes through his mind. There’s a flash of something else there, too, though. Something even more nerve-wracking than all his catastrophizing; something that makes his stomach flip.

Hope.

“Oi, none of that,” he mutters to himself.

It doesn’t work. When Chan approaches the doors in the second before they open, he makes eye contact with his reflection and sees that easy, ill-advised smile creeping up on him.

As he exits that giant metal box, he shakes his head with an anxious laugh. If he’s this embarrassed by himself when he’s alone, the chances of him living through the way you’re about to look at him are…

Well…

Abysmal.

But that doesn’t stop him from powering his way down the hall towards your door. Coincidentally, neither does the fact that he doesn’t have a plan for what he’ll do when he reaches it.

Figuring knocking is as good a start as any, that’s precisely what Chan does, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to appear more nonchalant. 

Then, he waits.

And then, he waits some more.

After thirty seconds pass without a response, Chan knocks again, carefully balancing the weight of his fist against it so the sound of it isn’t too assertive — or too eager — or too desperate — or —

“Left about an hour ago,” a voice says from a few meters away.

Chan turns towards the sound. Several units down, an old woman’s head pokes out of an open doorway. He can’t tell if she’s intentionally frowning at him or if it’s the weight of her jowls pulling the corners of her mouth down. Either way, it feels bad.

Running an anxious hand over the back of his increasingly warm neck, he coughs, “Oh?”

The ajumma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You young people never put those cell phones down and yet you still wind up like this.” She works herself up further; her nostrils flare as she rambles, “In my day, it was rude to show up unannounced. We called ahead, and when we called ahead, people were there to answer the door.”

Chan isn’t above arguing with some personified wrinkle, but he likes to think you would be. Even though you’re not here to witness it, it feels important to be the person you might like him to be. 

So, he bites his tongue. 

He nods yet again with a polite smile.

He turns on his heels.

And when he shuffles back towards the elevator, there’s a hell of a lot less of a spring in his step.

Two days go by after Chan’s little fieldtrip. Just like the previous several, they slip away quietly. This time, however, he doesn’t check-in — doesn’t type out his thoughts just to immediately erase them; doesn’t stare at his phone and wait to prove it to himself that it won’t chime.

Lesson learned, really.

It was a bad idea to bet the house on maybes. He knew it on the front end and still chose optimism; now, it serves him right. Played stupid games and won stupid prizes, as you like to say. If only he could stop thinking about what you like to say and instead focus on the fact that you haven’t said anything at all.

Chan grits his teeth and tries hard to focus on the game lighting up his monitor. Whatever Yongbok talked him into playing doesn’t make him feel any better about fumbling you — in fact, it’s proving to be yet another thing he’s terrible at — but it’s sufficiently distracting to have his friends swearing each other up and down in their Discord voice channel.

Actually, he stands corrected. This is also terrible, albeit a different flavor of garbage than his hopeless mooning over you.

Maybe radio silence is better.

As soon as that thought crosses his mind, his phone buzzes against the surface of his desk — three long taps bookended by three short ones. 

Before Chan reaches for it, he lets the poetry of it all sink in. SOS, his phone declares whenever you text him. Originally, although he’ll never fucking tell you so, he chose that text tone because hearing from you salvaged his day, every time. Now, it reminds him that he’s in over his head with no life preserver in sight.

Not bad, he thinks. He should write that bit down in the notebook of lyrics he ruminates over but never puts to music, let alone shares.

The lack of action on his part prompts his phone to vibrate again for emphasis. 

SOS!

Beaming white light bores into his retinas when he finally opens his inbox, and Chan refuses to think about the million times you’ve told him to switch to dark mode or the infinitely-brighter shit he’s been roasting under since he started this game several hours back. All he thinks about instead is the first grey text in an ocean of blue:

[2024/8/04, 23:37] you up?

You tilt your head to the side, smiling coyly when you crack open the door and find Chan standing on your doorstep with his hood up and hands in his pockets. Outside the windows behind you, the downpour he just trudged through continues to dampen his mood.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you lilt, like nothing has changed at all.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?  

Chan lifts his chin slightly as some half-assed nod to let you know that his ears work, if nothing else. Either missing his stony expression or ignoring it, you simply open the door wider, beckoning him to follow you with a gentle wave of your free hand.

He wants so badly to smile back at you as easily as you smile at him — really, he does, but fuck, he can’t make his face do anything but harden.

Once he toes off his shoes, he expects you to lead him straight to your room — or your couch — or any of the other various surfaces the pair of you have misappropriated along the way. You don’t, though. With your lips pensively pursed, you shuffle a bit closer; and as soon as you can reach him properly, you raise both of your hands. One flattens against his now rain-soaked sweatshirt; the other goes for his zipper, tugging gently until there’s nothing left to hold him together.

Carefully, Chan eyes you; watches while you slip the fabric off his shoulders, as if it isn’t twice as heavy as it was when he put it on. Like it’s easy, you turn away, open the nearby closet, and toss that wet mess into the top-half of your standing washer-dryer.

“I think…” Your tiny, upward curve returns while your sentence peters out. Softly, you reach up and brush a damp curl off his forehead. “An umbrella would be a worthwhile investment.”

He should join in on the bit. He should banter right back. He should smile, too — for fuck’s sake — because you’re finally right here. You’re talking to him within touching distance, radiating warmth he wants to live in, and he should touch you the way you want to be touched — the way you summoned him here to touch you.

He should do a lot of things, none of which include snapping at you, and yet —

“Why the hell am I here?”

It catches you both off-guard. You, because Chan has never once spoken to you any other way but kindly. Him, because you don’t actually look all that surprised by the sentiment, even if the presentation isn’t what you expected.

Somehow, that’s the thing that stings the most; not the way your face falls at his gruffness but the inkling you must have had before you asked him over that things between you aren’t sitting right at all.

Chan doesn’t get a response, so he asks another way: “Did you notice all of those unanswered texts when you sent yours, or did you ignore them all over again?”

It dawns on you — and him too, if he’s being honest — that you’ve still got your hands resting delicately on his chest. You reel your arms back in and cross them, not defiantly but diminutively. You shrink right in front of him; and regret hits him like a fist to the side of his skull.

“I didn’t know what to do with them.” Your head lowers while you do your best to look anywhere else.

That’s —

“Bullshit. I’m sorry, but it’s really not hard to keep up a conversation, especially when someone is just asking how you’re feeling.” Instantly he feels terrible for snapping. Softening his tone slightly, he sighs, “I know you know how.”

You look up at him without tilting your head much at all. Peering over that brick wall of yours, he figures. “That’s the thing, though. I don’t know.”

The face he pulls must convey what he’s thinking: Are you fucking kidding me? But you’re quick to prevent him from jumping to any further-out conclusions, amending, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Chan opens his mouth to respond, then thinks better of it. It’s rare for you to open up to the extent you might be about to; and it’s a miracle that you might be willing to now, given the fact that he’s come at you blindly at 160 kilometers per hour.

“I don’t like needing people.” 

Your attention is drawn to your fidgeting fingers and the drawstring of the sweatpants they occupy themselves with. The overwhelming urge he feels to grab them, to hold them still, goes ignored and makes his own hands tense. He focuses hard on your face instead; the crease between your eyebrows while you plot out your next steps.

“I didn’t want to need you, but then I did need you — and you just… you came, no questions asked.” You laugh, either despite your visible discomfort or because of it. “Held my hand and all that, didn’t just drop me on the curb and say, hit me up when you’re down again.”

Chan feels as if he’s been punched, although it’s not offense he takes from your statement. Judging by that flicker of hurt in your eyes, the expectation you had wasn’t for him, personally. It was history. 

You shift where you stand from one foot to another, like that weight on your shoulders is changing. He doesn’t know if it’s getting heavier or lighter until you finally lift your chin to look at him squarely. 

“It scared the shit out of me, honestly — how easy you are to need — so, I did what I always do: I bailed.” Sighing, you finally seem to register how much anxiety you’re holding in your hands. You drop it, then drop them to your sides. “But I think I’ve figured it out.”

You smile slightly, and suddenly, he feels lighter. “I’ve been conflating them, but they’re completely different things, aren’t they?”

Chan arches an eyebrow. Truly, he’s at a loss. He can’t predict which direction you’re about to turn in. Seeming to sense this, you answer his unasked question, “Wanting to need you and wanting you.”

While this makes his brain pause, his body moves. Cautiously, he steps forward and watches you counter him until your back is flush against the wall behind you. 

“Can I have a definition, then, please?” He pleads, voice low, while his hands gently claim your hips. “Because I thought it was want behind the booty call that brought me here, and I don’t want to find myself on a completely different page again.”

You link your arms around his neck and eye him carefully. “It was,” you acknowledge with a small nod. “Different kind, though — a shallow one.”

Chan finds his mouth curving up at the corner, all on its own. His gaze drops from yours to your lips, then back again. It’d be so easy to kiss you now, but he can’t unless he gets some sort of confirmation. “We’re in the deep end now, then?”

“Moving that way, at least. I spook easily, though…” You’d probably love nothing more than to look away when you admit that bit out loud, but to your credit, you don’t. Instead, you run your fingernails softly through the hair at his nape. “I’m not entitled to any more of your patience, but would you be willing to take it one day at a time?”

Chan wishes that he’d at least pretended to consider this. He doubts you’ve ever had a vision of him as someone nonchalant — in fact, he’s the poster boy for chalance in whichever reality that word exists — but it would’ve been infinitely cooler of him not to respond immediately and wholeheartedly with a rushed sigh, “Fuckin’ right, I am,” before leaning in to kiss you absolutely stupid.

Whatever gratification he can’t find by licking into the mouth you open eagerly for him, he finds in the way you keen when he presses his body more fully against yours. The payoff is even better when he stops short, divorcing your respective lips entirely.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he announces, breathless. His grin widens; meanwhile, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. “No! Not, like, never — I don’t have that kind of resolve — but not tonight.”

The sudden switch makes you dizzy. Thankfully, it makes you laugh, too. 

“Don’t tell me you just want to enjoy my company,” you warn. You attempt to say it earnestly, but a smile cracks you wide open. “I’m still too prone to bolt when I hear cute shit like that.”

Chan shakes his head. “No, I’m telling you to plant yourself on that couch —” He pulls his right hand off your left hip and gestures blindly over his shoulder. “I’m also telling you that I am getting takeout.”

You narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. “I wonder what you could possibly be ordering.”

“Belated pork belly is better than no pork belly.” He narrows his eyes to mirror hours, then kisses you quickly, murmuring, “One for the road,” against your lips.

Then, he dashes off towards your front door. As he goes, he just barely catches you nagging him through your laughter:

“If you’re not going to wait for your sweatshirt, can you at least take an umbrella?”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

skz taglist. multi taglist. navigation.

due to tumblr being ass with tags lately, i’m going to be tagging people in the comments for the time being!

[froggibus]

The Mark of Greed - Mammon

Pairing: Mammon x reader

Genre: angst -> fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: mammon can’t help but notice that you refuse to talk about his pact mark, and he’s determined to find out why

CW: hurt/comfort, angst, violence (reader gets attacked by demons), mutual pining, self deprecating thoughts, arguing/yelling, angsty! Mammon, love confessions, misunderstandings

i definitely did not write all of this at 3am. nope. idk i had this image in my head of soft! Mammon tracing your pact mark and telling you he loves you so here it is lol. i got super carried away and ended up making this super long too oops

————

The best kept secret in the Devildom, aside from Satan’s pet cat, was your pact mark. Not just any pact mark—no, it was the shimmering gold one that marked Greed. Right from the day you got it, you knew you should keep it hidden. 

Always wearing clothes to strategically cover it, lying, deflecting and giving different answers every time someone would ask. Mammon watched all this, and said nothing. Sure, it was a little funny, but it also made him wonder. 

Did you hate him? Was the mark of greed as awful as he always thought it was? Was his touch so ugly and toxic that you didn’t want anyone to know about it? 

Maybe his brothers were right. Maybe there was something wrong with him. You were so open about your pacts with his brothers, gladly showing them the swirling coloured patterns that marked your body. You showed them off unashamedly, proudly displaying the marks as part of yourself. 

It made him jealous, really. You were his human. You were his first. His pact was your first—so why did you hate it so much? He always pegged envy as Leviathan’s emotion, but the more he watched, the more he realized his turmoil was enough to rival the otaku himself. 

You first notice Mammon withdrawing after you show a demon in class your pact mark with Beel. An orange sigil just above your belly button that you displayed proudly with crop tops and bathing suits. You could feel Mammon’s eyes on you the whole time, watching you as you explained the beauty behind the mark. 

“It’s not just cause he’s the Avatar of Gluttony,” you explain, fingers tracing the orange outline. “But it also relies on emotions. In this case, the comfort he brings me is like having a full stomach. It sits right at my core because he’s my support.”

You swear you see blue eyes roll to your left, but you shrug it off. He’s probably just upset because Lucifer confiscated Goldie again. Still, you can’t help but think he’s jealous of the way you’re talking about Beel. 

When you walk home later that day, Mammon is short with you. He barely acknowledges you or responds to anything you say, instead he slumps his shoulders and shrugs you off. 

“Mammon, is everything okay? You seem…upset,” you note. 

“The Great Mammon? Upset?” He tsks, “maybe your time in the Devildom has made you dumber, y/n.” 

“I was just checking on you…”

You don’t wait for him to say anything else and instead throw open the front door and stomp to your room in silence. If he wants to be a jerk, you’ll let him be a jerk. 

You practically throw your backpack across the room and slump on your bed. One of your pact marks aches and the thought makes you cringe. Of course it’s that one. 

Ever since you got it, you’ve tried so hard to keep it hidden. Not even telling Mammon himself where it is. I mean, if he knew, what would he even say? You could almost hear his voice in your head telling you that you’re delusional to think you could ever be with him, dismissing your feelings and breaking your heart. 

You get up and sit in front of the mirror, pulling off your shirt so that you can examine your skin. There, sitting above your heart, is the golden mark of Greed. You trace it lightly. It’s always been your favorite, the colour and the design by far the prettiest. You just wish it wasn’t where it was. 

When you first got the mark, when you felt it sear itself into your skin, you knew what it meant. It was a visual representation of the butterflies in your stomach and the clenching in your heart every time you saw the Avatar of Greed. 

Still, you found yourself flipping through the pages of Satan’s personal collection. You honestly hoped it was just random, a weird coincidence or a mistake—but the books said otherwise. They confirmed your fear. 

When the others started to make pacts with you, you worried the same thing would happen. That they would show up in the same place or worse. You can still remember the immense relief you felt when you made your pact with Levi and have the mark show up on your thigh. 

Levi was so excited to ask about his mark and when you let him touch it? He almost exploded. That was the first time Mammon asked you about his mark, and it was the first time you lied to him. 

You groan in frustration and pull your shirt back on, trying to blink away the image of his branding. A part of you always wanted to tell him, to show him and have him touch it. But the other part couldn’t get it out of your head that you’re just a burden to him. You’re his responsibility and that’s the only reason he hangs around you. 

You only wish things could be simpler. 

—

Mammon slams the door to his room and sinks down against it. He tugs on his white hair so hard it hurts, but the pain isn’t enough to wash away the frustration bubbling in his chest. 

Why did he have to be so mean to you?

Maybe if he was nicer you wouldn’t hate him or his pact mark. Maybe if he was nicer to you he might actually have a chance of being with you. 

The sound of his voice rings in his ears, echoing off his skull. He hates it. He hates how mean he was to you, and the guilt eats him up. 

Finally, it becomes too much and he forces himself to his feet. He should apologize to you. Because Lucifer would kill him if he knew how mean he was being…not for any other reason. 

You open the door to see him standing in front of you, fidgeting with his hands. “What’s up?” 

“I—Lucifer would be mad at me if I didn’t apologize to you,” he says, eyes focused on his shoes. “‘N I don’t wanna be strung up tonight so I’m sorry human.”

“It’s fine. Just—why were you so upset earlier, anyways?”

He shrugs his shoulders, still avoiding eye contact with you. How can he tell you that he’s jealous and angry that you don’t want to show off your pact mark? It’ll make him sound like a little kid. 

“Mammon, come on. It’s just me.”

He sighs, “not that I care but I don’t get why you hate my pact so much.”

You freeze, your blood like ice in your veins. All this time you’d been withdrawing from him, you knew he noticed but because he never said anything, it was easy to ignore. Not anymore. 

“I-I don’t hate it.”

“Then why do you never show anyone?”

“It’s just,” you shrug, “in a weird spot. I don’t know—I don’t hate it. I just don’t want to show it off.”

“Because it’s ugly, right?”

“Mammon—“

“Why would anyone want to be marked by Greed?”

“Mammon—!”

“Imma dirty scumbag anyway. Making a pact with you was the most selfish thing I ever did. Tying you to me for life, why would you ever want that?”

“Mammon, Jesus. Just listen to me!”

The demon stops his self deprecating rant, staring at you expectantly. He doesn’t know what you’re about to say, but all he can hope is for you to tell him that’s it’s not true. That it’s not ugly, that you want to be tied to him. 

Your words fail you. You interrupt his rant and suddenly your mouth goes dry under the gaze of his blue eyes and your words all fall away. Your heart beats a mile a minute, drawing more of your focus to the pact mark that connects the two of you.

You stare at each other for a minute, and then Mammon turns on his heel and storms out of the room.

It takes you a minute to process what just happened, and another minute for you to follow him. By the time you make it to the staircase, he’s already slamming the front door shut behind him. 

Everything is moving so fast. The illusion that you were protecting yourself from Mammon hating you has shattered—replaced by the realization that you’ve been hurting him this whole time. You can’t think of anything except for how to make this right. 

Without thinking about it, you follow him out of the door and into the streets of the Devildom. It’s dark out and you have to squint to see the familiar white hair receding into the distance. You pick up the pace, wanting to catch him before he disappears. 

You’ve never been outside alone before. It’s too dangerous, they always said. But that’s the furthest thing from your mind right now. All you want is to make things with him better. 

“Mammon!” You call, heading up the hill behind him. 

When you get to the top, the demon is no longer in sight. You spin around to see if he doubled back to the house, only to realize it’s no longer in sight either. The horrible realization that you’re lost starts to set in and you find yourself reaching into your pocket for your DDD—only to remember you left it in your backpack. 

There’s a hissing noise nearby and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how vulnerable you are here. Without thinking, you start to run back the way you think you came. You hear two pairs of footsteps behind you, they’re gaining on you. Whatever is chasing you, it’s going to catch you. 

A clawed hand takes your back and hot pain erupts within you. You fall to your knees and scream, warm blood trickling down your back. 

You try to get back up but you’re shaking so badly that your knees refuse to cooperate. There’s two demons behind you, only vaguely humanoid with glowing eyes and flickering tongues. They’re speaking, but not in any language you understand. 

They circle around you, taking some sort of sick amusement in watching their prey cower. One of them lashes out at your chest, three claws slicing the front of your shirt and causing blood to pool down your chest and stomach. 

You reach up to clutch the wounds, your fingertips brushing against the golden pact mark. I’ll never get to tell him how I feel, you realize. 

“I’m sorry, Mammon,” you murmur, tracing your pact mark one last time. 

A jolt of energy rushes through you followed by intense golden light in front of you. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting until it dims to open them again. When they’re open, you see Mammon in demon form, standing between you and your attackers. 

All it takes is a flick of his hand before they erupt into dust. You knew he was powerful, but seeing him in action only confirmed the fact. 

“Mammon..?”

He drops to his knees in front of you, his hands frantic as they search you for injury. His fingertips fall on your open shirt and clawed chest. “You’re hurt…”

“I’m sorry, Mammon,” you mumble. 

“I know.” He says, “let’s just get you home, okay?”

He scoops you up in his arms effortlessly, holding you close to him. You’re sure your blood is dripping all over him and wrecking his new shoes, but you’re too disoriented to care. 

Mammon sets you down on the counter in the bathroom, “move your hand, alright? I gotta make sure you’re not gonna die.” 

Without thinking about it, you move your blood coated hand off of the pact mark. Mammon slowly peels off your shredded shirt, his eyes going wide when he sees what your hand was covering. 

Somewhat hidden by the blood and fabric yet unmistakable, is a golden mark. Not just any golden mark—his golden mark. His pact mark and its above your heart? 

His hands shake as they brush the outline of it. “My—my pact mark is on your heart?”

You bite your lip and nod slowly, looking anywhere but at him. 

Mammon is in complete disbelief. This whole time he thought his feelings were one sided, that you hated him and hated his pact even more. But to find out that it’s on your heart of all places—right as he almost lost you? He’s almost entirely overwhelmed by his feelings. 

His hands shake the whole time he bandages and disinfects you, his mind only set on the branding above your chest. When he’s done fixing you up, he can’t stop staring at it. 

“You got lucky that the Great Mammon was here to protect you today,” he tries to play it off. 

“I-it was only cause I summoned you with the pact.”

The mention of the pact makes his head spin again. His mouth is suddenly dry and his hands sweaty. 

“Mammon,” you mumble, still unable to look at him, “please say something.”

His voice is low. “Do you know what it means when a pact mark forms over your heart?”

You shake your head, butterflies erupting in your stomach. 

He reaches out to trace the swirling lines of the mark, his touch featherlight. “It means I’ll always be there for you, y/n.”

His tone is serious, unlike anything you’ve heard from him before. You don’t dare move or interrupt him, wanting to hear what the demon has to say. 

“It means that I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he mumbles. “That I’ll take care of you no matter what. It means that you own me. It means that I—“ he swallows hard, looking at the floor. “I love you, y/n. Now and forever.”

You flinch at his words. They’re all you wanted to hear and yet hearing them has awakened something inside of you. 

Your eyes finally meet his. “You—you really mean it?”

“I love you,” he gently kisses the centre of his mark on your body. “I love you.”

“Mammon,” you say, “I love you.”

Mammon might burst at your words. He reaches up to cup your face, planting a needy kiss on your lips. His touch is desperate, needy, way overdue. You melt into him, his taste so familiar and comforting that you don’t need to think twice about it. 

Mammon smiles against you. If you had asked him a week ago, he would say that his pact with you was the most selfish thing he’s ever done. Looking at you now, though, he sees it as a sigil of his love for you, and what could be more selfless than that?

[illubean]

Hi, I'm kind of sending this to all the people I saw who write for demon slayer...so could you do a "What would it be like to be Obanai's adopted daughter and his apprentice"?

Obanai W/ a Tsuguko!Reader

Characters: Iguro Obanai Type: Platonic, Headcanons, Fem!reader implied?, Found Family

didn't explicitly make Obanai Reader's dad just because when you do the math he would've been 16 at the time of finding them but the relationship is still there

Warnings: none? spoilers maybe? tad bit angsty at the end...

even though this guy is mean and merciless he's not EVIL

bro is still human with human emotions, so when he finds a small helpless child (9-10) while out on a mission he's not just gonna leave them there

you kind of reminded him of himself

which is how he ended up taking you in

originally he was just going to bring you back to the city and let you go off wherever but you continued following him and he just couldn't get rid of you

and now he's stuck

your young impressionable mind soaked up his mannerisms like a sponge

without even being taught directly, you managed to make your way around swiftly and unnoticed, often times scaring the man who took you in

he acts annoyed by this but you're kind of growing on him and he's lwky impressed

any time he goes out he demands you stay in the estate, and not wanting to disappoint him you listen (Obanai is very much a hater of rule breakers)

you never actually got to see him in action, but once you were a tad bit older you found out his occupation (upon asking about the sword he carries) and decided you wanted to be just like him

so when he became a hashira and the test thingy came up you literally BEGGED him to let you take them

he would refuse without giving you any reason besides "because I said no" at first (because he has a soft spot for you and rather not put you in danger ever though he won't admit it)

butttttt after seeing your determination and catching you watching him train to practice later he finally decides to train you

he has this whole elaborate, harsh training regimen and he says if you can't pass it you won't be able to become a demon slayer

he's so mean throughout the whole thing...(its tough love)

despite his seemingly impossible to reach standards you end up succeeding yayyyy and you take the test thingy and don't die yayyyyyyy yayyyyyyyyyyyyyy

#very proud Obanai moment (he won't say that though)

he continues training you and now you're officially his tsuguko cus yk...you're part of the corps now

he kind of distances himself from you in public, keeping an eye on you from afar

people don't even think you're his tsukugo and when you tell them that they're like WHAT (esp zenitsu...)

whenever you guys go on missions together he lets you hold your own but is quick to step in if anything goes wrong

the first time you accidentally call him dad (or any other familiar honorific of some sort) he literally stops in his tracks like "what did you just call me"

and you're like oops my bad..heh...

if you ever say it again he won't stop you (it actually means a lot to him)

originally he tried keeping you away from Mitsuri but she thinks your guys' dynamic is the cutest which made him stop actively trying to keep you away

will smack you upside the head or chase you around if you tease him for it later

that look he gave Tanjiro after he found out he got to spend time with Mitsuri during hashira training? yeah, he does that to every other slayer (especially male) who has ever interacted with you (but in a platonic, protective sense)

he watches as you climb the ranks and hopes for you to replace him as a hashira once he dies

he thinks you're a much better person than he is and much more deserving of the life you have, and he hopes that even once he's gone you'll continue to thrive

[redocity]

Hiii i love your writing!! Currently keeping me alive 😩 im begging for some angst hurt to comfort. Maybe something involving abby but ultimately a happy ending?

MOVING ON - E.BUCKLEY

buck was finally taking the step to move out of abby’s apartment, except it’s not exactly that easy.

WARNINGS: buck has a minor breakdown oops, minor abby slander, happy ending

buck x fem!reader II hurt/comfort Il 2.3k Il requests open!

a/n: thank you for the request! і love writing angsty stuff

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

Buck had finally decided that he’d had enough.

He wasn’t going to wait for Abby to come home anymore. He needed to move on. It’d been almost five months since she’d left, and five months of the team trying to convince him she wasn’t coming back.

He’d given up trying to convince them all that their relationship was just ‘unconventional’ by now, and after a particularly lonely Friday night he decided it was time to make a move.

"Can you believe it? After five months? I’m finally moving out of her apartment." Buck lugs a half filled cardboard box over to the dining table, dropping it down with a thud.

“I’m proud’a you,” You tap his shoulder with your hand as an indication for him to move, laughing with a roll of your eyes. “Glad you actually got to this point,”

He makes no resistance to your silent instruction, shifting to lean his back against a clear area of the table and watching as you rifle through the box to properly organise his horrible packing job. "I know you were all sick of me moaning about her. I still can’t believe she just up and left me like that."

“It was definitely a dick move, but if we’re being honest here she didn’t deserve you anyway,” You wave off his unspoken apology for talking your ear off for the last few months with your hand.

“I just thought we were really something you know? Then she up and leaves out of nowhere,” Buck sighs. He was sick of her, he was sick of the fact she’d left him with nothing but a half-arsed explanation and an empty promise of them staying in touch.

But sometimes he can’t help but reminisce on how she used to make him feel and believe that maybe she really was going to come home. “She was supposed to be the one, I can’t believe I was so stupid."

“Unfortunately Buck,” You reach over the table to grab the packing tape, it making a harsh noise as you rip off a piece to tape the - now neatly organised - box. “That how real dating works,”

"No, this wasn’t ‘real’ dating. Real dating doesn’t involve her leaving after she said I could move in, she didn’t even say a real goodbye, I had to find out that she wasn’t coming back from an Instagram post of her kissing some random guy in Thailand." Buck’s voice plainly displayed his emotional exhaustion.

He didn’t want to think about Abby anymore, but it was just so hard to get her out of his head when he really thought that their relationship was going somewhere.

“Head up mister,” You tap your middle and index fingers against the underside of his chin with a sigh. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea,”

Buck laughed exasperatedly. He hated that quote, it always felt so insincere. Then again that was probably because he’s used it so many times in the past when turning down his previous hookups who wanted a more serious relationship.

Now he was on the other end of it, and it just felt ironic.

“You just don’t get it, we were a perfect match for each other,” Buck exhales dramatically, turning his head up to the ceiling. "She was beautiful. She was kind. She was smart. Our sex life was perfect, she was exactly who I was looking for but she left. She just up and left."

“It happens unfortunately,” You shrug your shoulders slightly. “Especially with someone who was dealing with so many personal issues like she was,” You give up on your organising for now as you entertain Buck’s want to get everything off his chest.

“Looks like you finally got a taste of your own medicine hey?” Your attempt at lightening the mood a little is met by a roll of Buck’s eyes and a sigh.

You had a point to an extent, he’d never really dealt with a real breakup before even though he’d been with plenty of other women. "What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone’s gotta experience heartbreak at some point, it’s part of your character development,” You mirror the way he’s leaning against the dining table yourself, pressing your lower back against the wood with your arms crossed.

"I don’t think I needed that character development," Buck sighed once again, "I wish I wasn’t experiencing it right now. I just wish she’d call me or even send me something, anything. Tell me she’s not coming back properly you know?"

He’d probably try to convince her into a long distance relationship if she did call him. But he wasn’t going to tell you that part. He was supposed to be moving on.

“I deleted her number from your phone so… she’s not going to,”

“You did what?” You could hear the immediate hurt in Buck’s tone at your confession, demonstrated further by the way his eyes turned to you in astonishment. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, you are trying to physically move on,” You gesture towards the cardboard boxes that are littered around the apartment containing Buck’s belongings. “But you haven’t mentally moved on, you need both otherwise you’re gonna crash,”

Buck hated that you were right.

You were always right.

You always knew what was best for him when he didn’t even realise what was best for himself.

"I hate that all you do is say the right things at the right time."

“It’s a talent of mine,” You nudge him gently with a smile, again trying to lift up the mood a little.

Sometimes he hated that you were so kind too.

Some twisted part of him wished that you would do something wrong, that you would say the wrong thing and give him an excuse to let out all of his pent up frustration without feeling bad about it afterwards.

But you never did. And he didn’t know whether it was a blessing or a curse.

Then he started thinking about Abby again, of course he did. She was like a parasite that had burrowed a little cavity in his brain and wouldn’t leave no matter how many times he hit himself over the head.

He’d never had a truly vulnerable conversation with her when they were together. Not without the sole focus being on her or her mother’s health. He couldn’t remember a conversation that they’d had that was actually about his problems.

He couldn’t hate her for that. Of course not. She was going through a lot. But it really put into perspective who was the primary giver of their relationship. And it’s starting to make him question whether it was authentic in the first place.

Did she see it as a proper relationship like he did? Or was she using it as a distraction from all of the stress she had looking after her mother all the time?

He didn’t even realise he was tearing up until a drop of water hit the back of his hand.

“Are you alright?” You turned your head towards him after noticing how he’d gone quiet, his head lowered to a point where you couldn’t fully see the expression on his face.

“I don’t know-” His words said one thing, but the way he shook his head said something else. He was very clearly not okay.

“Buck…” You sigh softly at his tone, sounding a little forced as if he was scared of his voice breaking halfway through his sentence.

“Can I have a hug? Please?” He asked his question hesitantly, no longer trying to hide the wavering in his tone. He felt stupid for feeling like this over something that was seemingly so trivial to him in the past, but right now he didn’t feel like doing anything but crying until he physically couldn’t anymore.

He felt even stupider acting like this in front of you of all people. You’d dealt with enough of his baggage already, and he didn’t want to do to you what Abby had done to him in essentially using you as a human diary.

You don’t hesitate in your answer at all. “C’mere,”

You barely even open your arms before the space is filled by Buck, his head hidden against the shoulder of your t-shirt to hide his expression from you.

You lean your weight fully against the edge of the table as you envelop him into a hug, rubbing your hand up and down his back in your best attempt at physically soothing him as he lets out a soft cry into your shoulder.

A fully grown man crying into the arms of someone half his size because he couldn’t handle a breakup. Who would’ve thought?

The longer you held him the less he felt like he had to be embarrassed about it. Somebody had his back, and he didn’t ever want that to end.

“You’re gonna be alright,” The hand that wasn’t gently rubbing soothing lines over his back cupped the back of his neck, holding his head securely against your shoulder.

You knew he was going to break down eventually. You were just glad he had someone present during it.

"Thank you," Buck whispered to you as he began to calm down, "Thank you so much."

Embracing you felt like home, the first time in a long time that he’d felt like he had support. Like he could be himself.

He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to let go, and for the first time in a while he felt as if everything would be okay.

“Don’t mention it,” You make no move to pull away from the hug once he’s calm enough to speak to you again, content to wait until Buck was comfortable enough to pull away in his own time.

He didn’t seem like he was going to let go any time soon.

“Can we just stay like this forever?” Buck’s voice is muffled against your shoulder as he speaks, and he links his arms together behind your waist. “That would be nice,”

You laugh shortly at the question, your shoulders shaking slightly as you do and in turn jostling Buck slightly in your arms. “I think my legs would give out after a while, you’re heavy you know,”

"They’d get stronger eventually," Buck muttered, "We could work out together. I could train you."

Buck was enjoying this more than he wanted to admit but, as usual, his mouth spoke before his brain had a chance to control it. He was just glad that you hadn’t actually pulled away yet.

“You can’t train me to do anything if you won’t let go,”You continue to laugh softly at his proposition as your hand scratches gently at the hairs at nape of his neck.

“You can just hold me then,” He drops the idea almost immediately under the favour of staying securely in your arms.

He’d never hugged any of his friends like this before, although he supposes he’s never actually wanted to. But here he is nonetheless, and it was probably the most comfortable he’d ever been in his life.

He just wanted to stay in the little cocoon your arms provided him away from reality for the rest of his life, maybe longer than that. The only question was whether you’d entertain his idea of abandoning everything productive you were supposed to be doing so that he could satiate his desire to stay exactly where he was.

“Not standing up,” You shake your head against the side of his with a small chuckle. “My legs are already starting to hurt,”

“On the couch then? We can watch that movie you were talking about,”

“We still have packing to finish Buckley,”

“Tomorrow,” Buck shakes his head as he makes a move to separate himself from you, although not fully as his hands still lay carefully positioned on your sides. “I genuinely cannot do any more packing today,”

You raise an eyebrow at him and he tilts his head at you with a sigh. “Come on, humour me here I’m emotionally vulnerable,”

He slips one of his hands towards your wrist and gives it a small tug, his grip loose enough that if you wanted to pull your arm away from him you could do so with minimal effort. You don’t of course, allowing him to tug you forward until you’re not leaning against the table any more, your weight fully supported on your feet. “We can watch that movie, order a pizza and I can wallow in my emotions for a few hours until I’m mentally fit to continue packing,”

“Sounds like you’re just trying to procrastinate,” You furrow your eyebrows accusingly, but the smile on your face betrays your feigned scolding, just grateful that he was sound enough to joke about his own misery now that he’d actually had the chance to vent his emotions.

“Oh I definitely am,” Buck’s smile mirrors yours emphatically, and he starts towards the living room with your wrist in his hand so you’re ‘forced’ to follow him. “I hate packing, it’s boring and everyone always tells me I’m doing it wrong,”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: Restless 🔞

In which Jungkook is simply restless, especially when making love to you.

Tags/Warnings: WAY MORE ANGST WHY IS IT SO ANGSTY, Idol!Jungkook, ADHD sex position challenge I guess?, Roma made me do it, obviously smut, multiple positions duh, primal feel?, angsty sex, denial is a river in egypt, protected sex (reader has an IUD), cum, body fluids oops, sweat?, he cums inside and outside lol, biting, manhandling, oops my hand slipped and now I wrote porn with feels again

Length: 1.6k baby, look at that

-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶--⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶

In the time of knowing him, Jungkook had always been restless.

He can't sit still for long, can't concentrate on one thing only, has to do something at all times it seems. Only sometimes, rarely, does he become lazy or tired, it seems. You cherish those moments just as much as the rest of the time you spend with him.

Now, you and Jungkook aren't necessarily.. a thing, at least not traditionally. He worries a lot; about his job, about you, about what could happen to the both of you if anything ever went public. But there's also this sinful feeling of doing something you're not supposed to, like a kid sneaking candy behind their parents backs. There's no denial even for you that you can't help but go back every single time. The feeling of longing sometimes just.. overwhelming.

You know this is gonna hurt you at some point. Maybe it won't hurt him as much, but it will hurt you, most definitely. He's sacrificed a lot and often throughout his lifetime already- who says he won't sacrifice you as well?

He's an Idol, a performer, singer, entertainer. He's made for the stage, made to be loved by millions, and you'd never force him to forget about that and leave this life behind. No. He's got it all, and he deserves it all. It's going to be fine. You'll just enjoy the times you have with him, the memories you're making.

It's not just sex, after all. You both often simply spend time with each other as friends as well. And you believe that that's what he actually sees you as- a friend, who's just a bit more intimate than a friend should be. And while his love might just be a daydream made up by your head to make your heart hurt less, his lust for you is most definitely real.

You don't know why he finds you so attractive, and you'll probably never fully understand it. Maybe it's because you're.. there. You're available. You're all he gets in this life, without fearing the consequences.

Jungkook is an old-school romantic with a twist here and there. He holds doors for you, helps you sit down at the dinner table whenever he cooks, opens tightly closed jars for you. He's a horribly cruel man in that department- because he always gives you attention, and something that might feel like it could potentially be love- but it's not. It's just a plastic rose that's going to catch dust at some point, never to bloom and never to rot either.

It'll just be thrown away, polluting the environment. Just like him leaving you one day will pollute your heart with feelings heavy and burning like molten lava, merciless.

"I- fuck." He gasps out as he halters his hips for a second, grip on them loosening as he kisses down your spine, your back arching downwards as you fall into the pillows below, entire bed already a mess. He's out of breath, and so are you- but you know he's not done with you yet. He's never just a hit-and-run kind of guy. He works his body until it literally gives in, never satisfied with just a one-time-high with you.

And he's also a carnal lover, raw and untamed.

He bites your skin, marks it up for you to remember, but also for himself to admire. Unbeknownst to you, he's hopelessly in love with you, no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, or scold his own emotions for acting out like that. You're just going to get hurt, and he knows this. He wants to end it every single time, but he also crawls back to you every night it seems, desperate to feel your skin beneath his fingertips, taste you on his tongue. He's starving, even though he's currently taking his fill.

Maybe that's why he feels so desperate every time he's with you like this. Maybe that's why he feels as if nothing is ever enough. As if he can't get close enough.

It scares him, admittedly.

With his hands on your hips, he slips out of your heat, obscene sounds accompanying every movement as he maneuvers you onto your back, hands pushing your knees apart in an impatient manner, before he slips back inside. With his knees digging into the mattress below, he holds your wrists close, pulls you into every thrust like that, jaw clenched and eyes unmoving, focused on you and the way you look.

Divine. Enchanting. Absolutely beautiful.

He wants to cry at how your skin seems like it's made of glass with the slight layer of sweat. He used to hate it on himself, used to hate it on others as well, but in a weird way, when it comes to intimacy with you, nothing seems to bother him at all. Not your slick coating his thighs. Not your spit drooling down his length whenever you give him head. Not the cum he covers you with at the end of every round.

He wants it all. He wants you.

His knees seem to ache after just a few moments, muscles itching to move in other ways as he pulls out yet again, making you whine. "I can't-" He stammers, unsure what he wants to say. He doesn't know why he's especially restless this time. It's like nothing feels quite right.

Until you climb onto his lap, pushing back his chest to get into a proper position to ride him. It's moments like these that simply hurt him, because you're always so attentive to his needs. You don't seem to need any verbal communication with him at all to know what he needs, what he wants.

And yet, you're oblivious of his feelings, or so he thinks.

He wants to keep you safe, hold you close, show you off and hide you at the same time. He just wants you, nothing else, and that's not just his lust speaking for him.

No, he's not like that. He knows what's right and what's wrong. He knows when to listen to his heart, and when to ignore it. But with you, he can't. It's all so loud, his thoughts, his feelings, his brain won't shut up about you it feels like.

He sits up with you again, pushes you closer by the small of your back, crosses his legs and finally kisses you again.

He keeps kissing to a minimum most of the time, hates how good it feels, how comfortable it is, how much it affects him. Your lips are so soft, moving in perfect sync, and when you tease his piercing or bite his lip, he just can't help but growl out because you just have to be sent from hell by the devil himself with the mission to drive him mad.

There's no way a person can fill his mind and body up like this simply by existing.

He's desperate by now. His cum already sticks to your tits, has already made its way down to your belly, some of it even rubbed off on his own chest, but he still isn't satisfied. He's close, so close, and his muscles are yelling at him to stop and rest, but he can't stop now.

"You close?" He murmurs between his open mouthed kisses, lips traveling along your jawline now before his head falls into the crook of your neck, teeth gripping any flesh he can as he marks you up. You just whine, and nod. You stopped trying to count your highs with him. It's surely never just one, however, that much you're sure of.

You know by now how to tell when he's close as well. His actual end, that is.

The muscles in his thighs tremble visibly under the stress he's forcing them under. The veins along his arms and hands are prominent, sweat dripping along his neck and chest. He will become more vocal, start to whine, even growl, hips becoming erratic as he collects every little last drop of strength to make sure you'll finish alongside him. "Hold it." He demands, teeth clenched together as he suddenly becomes more forceful, the sound of skin against skin loud and obscene echoing off his bedroom walls, as you whimper beneath him. "Fucking hold it.!" He growls out, palms grabbing your thighs before they slip beneath the small of your back, lifting you up a little for that very specific angle he knows will send him off the edge. "Cum baby, fuck!" He finally tells you, before your hips start to move erratically, no longer under your control as your orgasm hits you full force.

You don't notice the way his cum stays inside, this time. Because he doesn't pull out, keeps you close, falls to his side with you in his arms.

He doesn't know why he feels so incredibly emotional this time. As if he just cant hold himself together anymore, if he doesn't have his arms around you. The room smells like sex, air stuffy, bodies awfully slick from your entire endeavor. Usually, it ends like this. Usually, he will part from you, shower by himself to give you time to get your strength back up enough to clean yourself up after him. He hates leaving you on your own like that, wants to care for you before and after the act because that's how you're supposed to be treated, but he knows, the longer he keeps you close in a headspace like that, the more he will end up hurting.

But tonight, he can't bring himself to leave you.

Tonight, he holds you tenderly, kisses fluttering against your bare shoulder, as he feels your breath start to even out.

Tonight, he will clean you up first, before he will change the sheets and shower himself.

Tonight, he will let you sleep in his bed together with him while he airs out the room, cold chills forcing you both under the covers that smell like fresh laundry and unfulfilled dreams.

Tonight, he will let you have his heart.

Tonight, he will break.

And so will you.

-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶--⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶-⊶

[your-unfriendlyghost]

I have two things to ask:

1.-Can we be friends?

2.-Do you have any Outsiders headcanons (or any that you haven't submitted yet)?

I mean sure?? Idk who you are since you’re on anon, so not REALLY, but I’m always down to talk!

2. Yeah lol- tons. Too many. Here’s a few (okay like 25 oops) off the top of my head lol, some serious/angsty and some lighthearted/kinda stupid without any real order. (Lotta ‘em are about Steve tbh -there’s so little to him in canon that I have the freedom to hc pretty much whatever I want)

Steve Randle’s nearsighted and has no idea, which is why he’s literally always squinting. (I’ve had that one for like months but only recently mentioned it on here lol.) Steve thinks his vision is completely normal

Dally and Sylvia genuinely cared for each other, but they were both so horrible at having healthy emotions that they just made each other worse. In a bad way, not a fun way.

When Steve gets kicked out, sometimes he hangs with Johnny in the lot. They don’t really talk about anything important like their shared experiences of having lousy parents. Instead they talk about cars, girls, music, school…lighthearted stuff. Sometimes Johnny will find Steve crying, which he never mentions- he’ll just sit down as per usual, which Steve appreciates. Steve almost never finds Johnny crying though. Johnny doesn’t cry much.

Okay tangent- I love how Steve and Johnny are low-key foils. Like Steve always seems tough but then cries when pushed to his limit, while Johnny always seems skittish until he’s under a bunch of pressure- in which case he suddenly is confident. (Not necessarily thriving obviously, but confident yk? Like grinning while saving those kids in the fire.) I know SE Hinton probably didn’t intend that at all, but it’s just such an interesting detail to me. One of these days I’ll put it into words better

Johnny’s jeans-jacket is a hand-me-down from either Steve or Two-Bit. (I can’t decide which lol) (obviously Dally would make sense too, but honestly I think it’d add more depth to flesh out Johnny’s relationships with the other members of the gang)

After the events of the book, Two-Bit starts hanging around the Curtis’s place even more. At first the gang assumes he’s trying to lighten the mood. It’s only after he gets sent to the cooler for a month due to drunk driving that they realize he was actually hanging around so much because he was trying to keep his kid sister from seeing him so drunk…

Two-Bit likes to joke that he keeps failing junior year so that him and his sister can graduate together. Which is a very bad idea since his sister is a year younger than Ponyboy.

Sodapop often feels like he’s only good for looking pretty and not all that useful or interesting otherwise. He likes himself, but when he stops to think about it too much, he starts to wonder if he really has anything going for him at all

My H/C for Steve’s home life is that his Mom is sick w/ like cancer or something. Before she got sick, Steve’s life was pretty alright for an eastsider- he and his dad fought, but they always made up for the most part. They weren’t perfect, but they loved each other. But after she got sick, she wasn’t there to mediate between Steve and his Dad anymore, and the fighting got worse and worse. And then Steve’s dad started drinking more and it was pretty downhill from there. Steve’s Dad still loves him, but sometimes Steve wishes that he didn’t. If he didn’t, then he could hate him. But his dad does love him, so he can’t get himself to.

Steve and Dally taught Johnny to drive when they were all like fourteen-fifteen-ish. Johnny is a very reckless driver. He loves speeding.

Johnny also loves fast roller coasters and stuff.

Dally doesn't ‘cuz he’s low-key scared of heights- he likes riding broncos and rodeos, but put him at the top of a roller coaster and he’s convinced that it’s gonna break and he’s gonna die. He pretends he doesn’t mind. The only people who know he’s scared of them are Johnny, and before she died, Mrs. Curtis.

Steve has a napoleon complex. Johnny, who is shorter than him by a few inches, likes to bully him for it sometimes

Ponyboy and Cherry don’t interact much in the school year after the book, but in the summer after, they start to hang out. Eventually they become pretty close. They fangirl over Paul Newman together

Ponyboy still doesn’t let Cherry read his theme though until years later

Marcia and Two-Bit re-meet a few months after the book. (Two-Bit is really scared that she’s embarrassed to be dating him, and Marcia is really scared that he’s embarrassed to be dating her. Neither of them are embarrassed. They both adore each other.)

Two-Bit likes to watch Marcia barrel racing. One time while he’s there, he runs into Ponyboy watching Cherry barrel race and immediately tells everyone much to Pony’s chagrin

Evie knows a little bit about cars, and she sometimes helps out at the DX during summers. Steve is so whipped for her lol (and Soda too Steve has two hands)

Evie and Sylvia are besties, but Steve and Sylvia hate each other. They act civil in front of Evie, but as soon as her back is turned they’re growling at each other like dogs. (Well Steve is. Sylvia just acts condescending as hell. Sometimes it goes over his head, so Steve knows she’s insulting him but isn’t sure what the insult is/means. Which makes Steve kinda want to kill her.)

Steve and Soda are low-key co-dependent. (Steve more so- Soda has his family at least, while to Steve, Soda and Evie are his whole world pretty much) It’s probably not super healthy, and both of them are vaguely aware of that, but are trying not to think about it too hard rn

Ponyboy’s friend group in high school consists of Curly Shepard, Mark Jennings, Scout Jenkins (from the tv show), and eventually, in her senior year, Cherry Valance. (There’s others too but those are the main ones.)

Pony dates Cathy Carlson for a while too, idk if they’re good for each other or not- I kinda like the idea of them being a sweet couple tbh, but no one else on here seems to care about them so I haven’t really explored the idea much lol

In a Dally lives au, Mark Jennings and Dally end up spending a bit of time together through Pony, and at some point they realize that they’re half-brothers lol. Mark is a deeply obnoxious little brother to have, and he drives Dally nuts on purpose. Weirdly I think Dally’s a relatively good influence on him, as much as someone like Dally can be. And Dally does care for Mark, though not as much as he cares for Johnny- Mark is, in his head, not exactly his responsibility.

Well I have (so many) more, but I think that’s enough for now lol. Point is, even though I haven’t drawn in a minute, I love these characters and their romanticized version of 1960s Tulsa so much and I think about them way too often lol

(dw once i get more into the swing of school I’ll be doin more art!)

[tsireyqs]

but what about like a angsty smutty jake fic based off of false god by taylor 🤭 (OR TSU’TEY W! AVATAR READER???? like we’re not official na’vi and tsu’tey is like this is bad??? but they keep coming back to each other OHHHHHH)

naur but i saw false god and ran with it, kinda got carried away! oops!

reader is betrothed to add some spiciness

“I told you we couldn’t keep meeting like this,” you scold as you work a healing salve into the gash on Jake’s bicep.

 He hisses at the sting and lets out a huff, “I already told you. I’m not here for… that,”

“We both know that isn’t true. I know you, Sully. Always coming to me asking for my help,” you flick his side. “Is it no coincidence you’re only here when he isn’t?”

His ears droop down, giving you a side glance and remains silent. The feeling of your fingertips tickles and he couldn’t help the quick thump in his chest. He grimaces at the mention of your betrothed. 

There was something about you that was so magnetizing, harsh words contrast the sweetness of your movements as you work. He couldn't even be mad at other people for looking at you the way he did. Until it was too late. He felt as if his heart stopped beating when he found out you were promised to another.

You massage the salve into gash on his arm, ignoring the way your fingers sting against his skin. Jake’s tail fidgets behind him which caught your attention more than anything. He scrambles to figure out what to say before your voice interrupts his thoughts, “Spit it out.”

“Your…” He tips his head down to look at you and you look away. Taking a breath before he whispers, “Your husband… do you love him?”

This is uncharted territory. A part of him hoped your heart still held the same spot for him as he did you. Never did he want to admit the way he felt when he didn’t learn about your betrothal from yourself first. That feeling only burned deeper in his chest when you started avoiding him completely. He’d still look for you in a crowded room and brush his hand against yours when he walks past you. He still goes to the spot you used to meet in secret. Always looking over his shoulder in hopes to find you walking over to him with a wistful smile on your face like you used to.

But it was different now. Only seeing you in passing, and now when he comes back with the war party. If coming back with a few scratches meant he could feel your touch against skin, then he didn’t hesitate to jump headfirst into danger. 

“He’s not my husband-”

He interrupts. “Yet.”

“Jake,” your voice was clipped, tail swishing aggressively behind you. You ignore the hiss that escapes his lips as you tighten a bandage around his bicep. “He treats me well. I am happy.”

There was a beat of silence. 

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Stop,” Your voice was breathy, eyes pleading with him. “Please.”

Jake deflated. He’d never heard you sound the way you did now. You’re always so loud, speaking with such confidence and now he could hear the exhaustion laced in your tone.

“If you want me to leave, then I’ll leave,” his eyes fix on yours and you feel like a bug under a magnifying glass at the way he looks at you. A shiver rolls over your shoulders when your name falls from his lips, “Leave for good. But just know that… you are the one I want and nothing can change the way I feel.” 

“You don’t mean that.”

His shoulders drop and he bites the inside of his cheek. “And if I did?”

“Then you’re foolish.” 

You drop your hands to your sides and Jake follows them, ghosting his fingers with yours. His voice rang in your ears. A bundle of emotions swirl inside you and all you could do was stand there. Guilt being the one that tugs harshly at your heart. You knew it wasn’t fair to your betrothed. He was the one you were promised to after all. Yet, you curse the way his hands feel against your body. Curse the way his lips brush against yours and the sweet nothings he whispers in your ears. Perhaps you would feel differently if it was Jake.

You knew you would.

Jake’s tail comes to a halt and he sighs. He hesitates for a second before he turns on his heel, his fingers linger with yours as he pulls away.

He could only take a few steps before he was pulled back. Your hand tugs on his wrist, fingers digging firmly into his skin. He looks between your hand and your face, you felt like you were about to crumble under his gaze.

Pulling him closer, he places a hand to rest on your hip and you whisper, “I’m sorry,” your fingers intertwine with his and your heart thumps frantically in your chest. “This is wrong, I know. Yet my heart can’t help but yearn for you.”

Jake pulls you closer to him by your hips and he presses his forehead against yours. Your heart skips a beat when he stares down at you, big amber eyes filling with something you couldn’t recognize. Your eyes drift lower to his lips, feeling your body sway. Hesitantly, you bring your hand to his face. Cupping his jaw in your hand and you ghost your thumb over his bottom lip. “Why do you look at me like that?”

He tilts his head. “Like what?”

“Like you love me,” your voice is muted.

“What if I do?”

Your lips ghost up into a smile and you nuzzle your nose against his. “Then you’re foolish.” you repeat. 

His canines peer over his lips when he smiles down at you and he kisses your thumb. His hand that grips your hip cradles your face now, his eyes are soft as he admires the way yours sparkles in the moment. Jake finally dips down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his other hand still holding yours.

You smile into the kiss and he does the same when your fingers thread into his hair. He gently maneuvers you to lean against the workbench behind you, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close. His lips leave yours and he laughs when he hears you whine. 

Jake’s lips leaves open-mouthed kisses to your neck and sinks to his knees as he descends lower. He peppers kisses to your lower belly, wrapping his arms securely around your hips and you coil your tail over his back to keep him flush against you. 

His teeth nip at the waistband of your loincloth before his eyes flicker up to you. His fingers hook under the band to tug them down your legs when you nod. He nuzzles his face into your belly and places a kiss to your hip. 

Goosebumps evident on your skin as Jake skates his fingers across your body. He thumbs your inner thighs and hums happily, “You’re so wet,” he trails his fingers to your pussy and applies subtle pressure to your clit. “I do this to you, huh?” he teases.

“Shut up.” You tug at his hair, a deep blush painting the highpoints of your cheeks. 

He smiles into your skin before he lifts you on top of the workbench. Your thighs hang over his shoulders, his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips as his tongue gathers the slick leaking onto your inner thighs. Sucking a bruise into your skin before he presses a kiss to your clit and you lean back on your elbows, one of your hands discarding the fabric of your top.

The movements of his tongue are calculated, trailing over the spots that make you jolt against his mouth. He traces his name into your clit and hums when he suckles it into his mouth. You feel him smirk against you, your thighs squeeze around his head and he looks up at you through his lashes. His cock stirs when he sees your pretty face pinched up and your hands kneading at your breast.

His name is like a prayer singing from your lips as he works on your cunt. He hefts you higher on his shoulders, your hips lifting above the hard surface. Jake places a hand on the small of your back as he pulls you incredibly closer to his mouth, wanting to taste every bit of you. He swivels his tongue through your puffy folds and moans at the taste of your wetness. 

The bridge of his nose bumps against your sensitive clit as his tongue teases your entrance. A breath hitches in your throat when he eases it into you, one of his hands reaches to rub circles into your clit. Your hands fly down to his head as you feel the coil in your tummy about to snap, your fingers wind tightly into his hair. “So-- fuck! Making me feel so good, Jake,” 

Jake watches as your orgasm washes over you, one of his hands rubs up your thigh as he hums against your pussy. He places one last kiss to your cunt before he stands up between your legs. 

Your chest is still heaving when he spreads your pussy for him to see. His mouth nearly waters at the sight of your fucked out cunt, all red and puffy. He just wanted to drop back down to his knees and give you his tongue in all the right ways that makes you see stars. Until the only thing you could think about was him. 

His thumb delves in between your folds and he ghosts above your clit, making you hiss. “Sorry, baby,” he gives you an apologetic glance, amusement lacing his voice. “You’re just so fuckin’ pretty.”

He pulls you against his chest and tucks his face into your neck, sharp fangs nipping at your throat. Your hands reach down to palm over his bulge and you swipe a finger over the damped part of the fabric. “Let me take care of you,” you say as you try to pry away his hands on your hips. “I wanna taste you.”

“You know how much I love your mouth,” Jake’s lips turn upwards and he cradles the back of your head for you to look at him, his other hand toying with clit. “but I need to feel this sweet pussy, babygirl.”

You lean up to press your lips against his and fiddle with the knot in his loincloth. “Get this off, then.”

“Anything for you.”

He lets the cloth pool at his feet when you undo the ties. His hand reaches down to grasp the base of his cock, giving it one pump before he looks at you. Your pupils blown out wide and drool almost spilling from your lips as he pumps his hardened length. His thumb swipes the pre-cum pooling at the tip and he brings it up to your lips, “You said you wanted to taste, right? Open your mouth.”

You hollow your cheeks as you suck on his finger and hum at the taste. The heat between your thighs only grows when you feel him tap the head of his cock on your clit. You wrap your legs around his waist tightly, your ankles crossing on his lower back. 

His cock is covered by your slick as he glides in between your folds, his hands perched on your waist to keep you from squirming as he eyes your cunt. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says before prodding the head at your entrance. “and it’s all mine.”

You hold your breath in anticipation and your eyes fluttering shut, expecting him to ease into you. But he doesn’t. You peek an eye open to see where the tip of his cock rests on your pussy and you whimper, your nails clawing at his back.

His hand grips your jaw firmly, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Say it.”

Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest as his eyes bore into yours. His fangs peeks from his mouth as he bites down on his lower lip and you whine, “I’m yours.”

“Good girl.” 

He pushes into you in one movement as you take him greedily. Your moans intermingle with his when bottoms out, your arm wraps around his shoulders to pull him close to you. His hot breath fans against your lips and you kiss him, swallowing each other's cries.

Your breath is shallow as he feeds you deep strokes, his cock kissing the deepest parts of you that makes your head spin. Rocking your hips to meet his thrust, your arms tighten around his back and you squeeze around his length.

Jake grips the underside of your thigh as he moves his hips quicker, groaning when he hears their skin slap together. It sounded downright filthy matched with the sweetness of your pretty moans and his cock pulses inside of you.

“M’gonna cum, Jake! Please!”

A deep growl spills from his mouth as he grapples onto your hips, pounding into you hard enough to make you dizzy. Grounding you into the hardwood, each thrust knocking the air out of your lungs.

The feeling of your pussy contracting around him as the coil in your belly snapped was almost too much for him and his hips stutter. Panting into your mouth as he lets his cum fill you.

Jake lets his hips slow, gradually coming to a halt as you clung to him. He didn’t bother to pull out, not just yet. His forehead leans against yours, rubbing soothingly down your back as he coos in your ear and. Both basking in the blissfulness you had begun to know all too well.

“I think we could get away with it one more time.” he whispers.

[foodsies4me]

End of the Year Fic Recs!!!

thank you @echo-bleu for tagging me! <3

I adore this as a game because I love reccing fics (and really should do it more often because So. Much. Good.Fic). This is going to be all shadowhunters I'm afraid though because I am still very much in the shadowhunters brainrot stage and haven't read much of anything else. (Also, sorry to those I haven't left a comment for yet, I WILL, spoons have just been low this year...) Also, I'll try to keep it to one rec per author because there are so many wonderful authors, but definitely go check the other fics of these people (if you haven't already) they're all excellent.

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

Running from the Night by @to-the-stars-writing. My forever fic spouse and the fic I reread themost this year goes to the fantastic, angsty Alec goes to live in a small village to get away from the Clave because the poor dude is traumatized fic from to-the-stars. This fic is my fics spouse (yes I got @to-the-stars-writing's permission to marry this fic) and I love, love, love it so much.

Flames to Embers by @notcrypticbutcoy: teenage!Alec is poofed into the timeline of his older self and it is lovely, sad, and heartwarming all at the same time. Also, teenage Alec is delightfully grumpy and Adult Alec is even more delightfully Done with teenage!Alec's grumpiness.

starshine and moonlight by she_who_reads (all_fandoms_reader) A three +1 fic where Alec isn't enough until he finally is. This fic is angsty and delves into Alec's (not all that great) self-worth issues and it hurts. Might or might not have cried reading it.

The Warlock's Cat by @dreaming-marchling. I hesitated a while which one I should pick from Marchling, but I ended up choosing this one (that said PLEASE go read Bleed for Me as well it is so goooood). The Warlock's Cat is a delightful "Alec gets turned into a cat and ends up in Magnus's care" fic. I adore it, and while it has its angsty or whumpy spots, it's mostly a nice, feel-good read.

Magnus Bane: Menace by AceOnIce To give some reprieve from all of the angst in this list, here is a fic of pure, unabashed fluff. Starring: Warlock Alec and Shadowhunter Magnus, the latter of which writes some truly ridiculous mission reports to HOTI Ragnor's grief.

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

The river cannot go back by @lawsofchaos1. Alec being Alec and completely in love with Magnus which leads to him committing treason like it's nothing. It is a short, brilliant fic that had me screeching like any @lawsofchaos1 fic does.

I'm finding it hard to breath by Honey_Hued_Hermes This one is pretty heave, but it does have a Hopeful Ending. Alec never promised he would tell Magnus if things ever got that bad...and sadly they do. Diving into Alec's Suicidal Thoughts and his Self-Harm tendencies.

A Most Fundamental Truth by autisticalec A missing scene from 2X10 when Alec tells Magnus that he's never been as terrified as when he feared Magnus had died from the Soul Sword. This one-shot dives into the "Alec was really very not okay emotionally" in this scene, so go read it!

The Difficult Task by @dani-dabbles: Another Alec is going through it emotionally fic (there are quite a lot of these on this list I just realized, oops). Thankfully, Magnus is there to offer support when Alec needs it because Magnus is still the best boyfriend. (also the repeated "not good enough"is evil and I am suing for emotion damages, please and thank you very much)

come to me (in the night hours) by @moonlight-breeze-44 Izzy is a supportive sister and is there emotionally for Alec right before his wedding to Lydia. This fic left me feeling all sad and weepy. This fic is technically part of a series, but as no other parts have been posted yet I am posting this in the one-shot part.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies).

I've Always Dreamed of Meeting Someone Like You by ColorfulWarlock A non-magical Alternate Universe this time around. Single-dad, fashion designer, and CEO Magnus needs someone to draw his designs for him after a hit-and-run leaves him unable to draw for himself. Insert Alec, the wonderful babysitter, and game designer who seems to understand what Magnus envisions and draw them into reality!

Angelus ex Machina by BlueA The series starts with the sudden disappearance of demon activity and the way that lack of activity impacts the local Shadow World. I love the way the parabatai bond is portrayed in this fic (especially in the third installment).

through the fire and pain by alxndrlightwoods is another parabatai-bond deep-dive that goes deep into how a parabatai bond can change shadowhunters. It also explains why, if parabatai are so powerful, there aren't that many of them. Love this fic!

i cannot touch because they are too near by @faejilly nobody manages to write poetry without writing poetry quite like @faejilly for me, seriously the words are always so beautiful I am in awe. This fic has to be my absolute favorite though because deep-dives into the parabatai bond are interesting to begin with but the way Jilly decides to do so in this fic makes it go from interesting to absolutely brilliant.

Greater Love Hath No Man by @lawsofchaos1 Okay, I lied, here is a second Laws fic, but considering this fic led to the demise of my laptop, I felt that it deserved to be on the list. (No, that wasn't a joke). Dad!Alec is forced to send baby!Max away to a warlock orphanage when his magic grows too strong for him and leaves him injured. The pain is real and it is excruciating, tissues are advised.

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

As much as I adore reccing fics, doing self-recs is awkward, so I'm going to keep this to one rec before I combust into flames.

All Was Golden (everyone has probably read that one already because it's my most-read fic which makes this slightly less awkward than reccing any other of my fics.) Anyway, soulmate AU with a kind of ugly meet that has some angst.

Tagging, without any kind of pressure, the authors I tagged in the rec-list (if they haven't participated already) as well as @miss-mouse.

[dirtytransmasc]

u got any hc’s for miles for earth 42 and miles from 1610 interactions? they’re besties to me fr fr

(first few are sorta theories for btsv, the rest are general hc's for their dynamic. these got kinda angsty, oops)

they definitely fight a few times before realizing they can be on the same side of things, Miles 42 being more the aggressor, but Miles 1610 wants to get even each time, cause he's a teenage boy, sue him. its in their moments of weakness that they start to see that they don't have to be enemies. they're also fair fighters, to some point, and fight generally clean, which definalty plays into their bond later on. there was always some level of mutual trust and respect.

its when they reluctantly team up and they get beaten to absolute pulps, and are forced to see each other as not only equals, but kids, both forced into lives they didn't want, or at least positions, they didn't want, that they start to bond.

its the act of picking each other up and dusting each other off that the bond cements, when Miles 1610 sees the kid in Miles 42, the kid that's tired and scared and not entirely there after living life hidden away in the back of his head that makes him extend his trust and his friendship. for Miles 42, its seeing Miles 1610 be so kind and good and trusting and strong, despite being a kid and being scared and tired and hurting, that makes him want to accept Miles' offer of friendship, and in a way, safety.

once they're friends, they're the definition of terror twins, like, generally they're sweethearts when not in combat, but they are capable of so much mischief, oml. and in combat, together, they're down right terrifying.

I totally think they would see each other like twins too, so they have such a brotherly dynamic in my mind. both are technically only children, so at first they're just kinda in this blissful awe of how nice it feels to not be alone in the world, to know they always have a shoulder to lean on, someone to protect them.

definitely both physically affectionate, and both of them have that AuDHD in them, so they spend a lot of their free time justlying in a pile somewhere.

Miles 42 does Miles 1610's hair and helps him with Spanish, in return Miles 1610 helps Miles 42 reconnect with his artistic side that had been buried while he was the prowler.

Miles 1610 sneaks him into HQ all the time, to the point that Miguel just gives the kid his own watch for the sake of his sanity.

it takes a while for Miles 42 to be down with intimacy of any kind, even just stuff like small talk and brushing shoulders, cause he feels like any attempts at connection from anyone is just them looking for a weak spot to use against him. Miles 1610 definitely helped him feel safe by just blabbering on and on about just about anything, making it abundantly clear that he trusted him (42) to keep his 'secrets' safe, and therefore he could trust Miles 1610 to do the same. once he's ok with small talk, they start tackling physical touch, slowly but surely. Miles 1610 is always supportive of him, always trying to understand better so he can be helpful, trying to make his 'twin' feel safe.

Miles 1610 forces Miles 42 to join his friend group, like he is so insistent that Miles 42 just caves. he doesn't regret it.

Miles 1610 is the more emotional protector, making sure Miles 42 feels safe and secure in a give situation and helping him get away and ground when he doesn't. Miles 42 is a physical protector, and he will end anyone who harms a hair on Miles 1610's head.

very competitive, in everything, absolutely everything.

steal from each other all the time, and almost never return the items.

Miles 1610 will indulge in childish things as if they're the norm for kids his age, so that way Miles 42 doesn't feel so ashamed of reliving the parts of childhood he lost.

they're both afraid of thunder and will huddle up under the covers during a storm. (once Miles 1610 has kindled a bond between his mom and especially his dad and Miles 42, they totally climb into their parent's bed, cause they're just big little kids and they want their parents when the thunder starts shaking the house ok? leave them be)

vigilante Miles 42, who tries to be someone Miles 1610 would be proud of, even in his fucked up dimension and with his already fucked up reputation.

they kinda forget they're basically the same person, so they're all ways surprised when the other likes the same thing or has the same habit, etc.

1610; orange cat. 42; black cat. vibes; amazing

it should be so obvious, but they do the good old twin switch every once and a while, sometimes just for shits and giggles to see how long it takes others to notice.

they guilt trip people when they take too long to notice. they don't actually care, they just think its funny.

they make each other more confident. Miles 1610 is less of a people pleaser and does more for himself. Miles 42 feels secure in being selfless and nice and having his own feelings on things.

for some reason, Miles 42 is really good with babies, and Miles 1610 is subpar at best (he's better with little kids, not babies) and they always babysit mayday together.

they're with each other more often than not. especially after migeul just gives up on trying to keep him off of missions, cause it takes more time and effort to do so, especially when he ultimately fails every time.

Miles 42 blackmailed Miguel into apologizing to Miles 1610, while he was already in the process of apologizing... he just wasn't doing enough in Miles's mind, he needed a little push, a little reminder of what would happen to him if he chickened out.

thats all I've got for now, hope you enjoy my brain worms.

[angelbambisworld]

I saw these cool orbs and knew I had to incorporate magical orbs into Glam Metal Heart somehow.

Trouble is, idk who to give them to. I have a few ideas tho...

1. Cinderella(Cuz yknow, fairy tale motifs and whatnot. Their whole villain backstory is that after Cinderella became inactive, they lost their magic powers and they were kinda angsty about that and their inability to be as big as other glam metal bands. And then in 2021, Jeff LaBar died and that just added more angst to the angsty emotional dumpster fire.

And then Traci Michaelz from Peppermint Creeps(I'll elaborate on his role in the story in another long post but TL;DR he came back from the dead because "GRRR I died before my time UGH all these other bands that came before and after me are alive and well RAWWWR I'll show them!" Something like that)shows up and is like "Now this looks like a job for me." and does some evil magic bullshit to help give Cinderella back their powers and bring Jeff LaBar back from the dead.

But Traci's magic(And the magical orb too, if I decide to give the band one)corrupts the band, turning them evil.

2. Michael Monroe(He's got crystal powers in this AU and the battle between him and Angel take place in an crystal-like setting, so I see no reason why he shouldn't have a very cool crystal ball of his own)

3. Steel Panther(They're basically evil wizards in this AU. I'm sure there's a ball joke I could make here.)

4. Vinnie Vincent(He's a pretty princess and he deserves all the pretty orbs in the world and a pretty little castle to lock Angel away in...Oops, I'm spoiling his chapter, aren't I?)

5. Blackie Lawless(As per my last update, I'm still keeping Blackie in my AU but he won't be joining the main cast. I think it'd be funny for him to watch them from his crystal ball and be like "Oooh I'm gonna destroy them oooh I'm so evil!" Or something dumb like that lol)

Tagging: @peanutbutter-doodles @ravenh37 @ladyshandioftheendless @spacedoutman @gh0stfl0ra

[cowgurrrl]

Pine Point

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: 😮‍💨 (ps fic is named after this song)

Summary: You and Joel deal with the aftermath of your accident [4.7k!!]

Warnings: hospital settings, a very quick mention of a miscarriage not experienced by the reader, questionable Hollywood motives once again, quick mention of Ellie’s foster home situation, kinda angsty actually, arguing (oops), language, not a super cohesive ending

Joel stays with you all night and into the morning. You're not sure if he got any rest while sitting in the uncomfortable chair next to your bed, but you know that he never let go of your hand. Every time you woke up from a bad dream or because a nurse was prodding at you, the callouses on his hands helped remind you that you were safe. He asked questions about your injuries and what recovery would look like for you. He listened, watched, and even recorded the nurse's voice (with her permission, of course) so he could reference it later. You wonder if he did the same thing when Sarah was born. You imagine him, eighteen years younger, furiously scribbling down notes on the best way to swaddle his newborn daughter. The image makes you smile, and when Joel asks what you're smiling about, you shake your head and mumble, "Nothing."

Carolina, being the goddess that she is, stops by your house to get you a clean change of clothes before stopping by her own house for Ryan. Joel helps you change into sweatpants and a flannel button-up from your house. He recognizes it but doesn't say anything or try to take it back; he actually smiles when he pulls it out of the bag. "Looks better on you," he mumbles as he kisses you and tugs the fabric over your shoulders, shaky fingers buttoning the shirt closed for you. The air seems lighter, and the hospital less stuffy in the morning light. Your body is still sore and aching as you sit on the edge of the hospital bed, but you're in better spirits. You're ready to go home and put this all behind you.

"Hey there, stranger," a gravelly voice says, and you turn to see Carolina wheeling Ryan into your room in a wheelchair. Your tear ducts betray your better mood, and you immediately burst into tears at the sight of him. He's bruised and swollen and stitched up, but he's alive. You step off the bed with Joel's help and bend to hug him, sobbing into his shoulder. You think Carolina and Joel exchange hugs and cheek kisses, too, but you can't see through bleary eyes. Ryan reaches up and smooths your hair down like he does and has done every single time he's ever held you while you cried. For some reason, the gesture makes you even more emotional. "I knew I looked bad, but I didn't think it'd be enough to make you cry." He says, and you laugh.

"Shut up," you sniffle as you step back to look at him, carefully wiping tears from your puffy face. Ryan grabs your hand and kisses the top of it. "Besides, I look like shit, too."

"Never." He smiles, and you take a deep breath. You look up at Carolina and swallow thickly. She looks exhausted, her hazel eyes more brown than anything under the hospital lights, and her lips are cracked from pulling at the skin all night. You stare at her, and she stares back, and something unspoken passes between you. Joel keeps you upright, and Ryan holds your hand in his as you hug her as tight as you can and fight more tears. She rubs your back and gently rocks you back and forth like a baby. You've always said Ryan and Carolina were your Mom and Dad friends because they are so parental and nurturing, but it feels especially true now.

"I'm so sorry." Your voice catches in your throat, and you feel her shake her head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're not the one who ran the red light." She says.

"But, I should've been paying attention. I should've seen him coming. I should've,"

"You're both safe. You protected Ryan the best you could and brought him home to me. There is nothing more I could've asked of you, okay? "

"He could've died," you say. Carolina says your name quietly, like she's scolding you, and pulls your face out of her neck, her hands framing your face. Ryan squeezes your hand, and you pinch your thigh with your other hand to stop crying.

"This was an accident. You didn't get in the car thinking someone was gonna hit you, right?" She asks, and you shake your head. "But when you did get hit, the first thing you did was check on him. You did everything possible to make sure he was taken care of because you are a good fucking friend. Maybe one of the best. So, I don't want to hear you apologizing because I should be thanking you." She hugs you again, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you feel like she's pressing all your broken pieces together again. 

You could probably count on one hand the number of times she's hugged you like this. Once when she and Ryan got married, and you managed to keep her divorced parents from fighting the whole night with copious amounts of liquor and strategic pulls to the dance floor. Once when she had a miscarriage about a year before they had Elizabeth, and you flew home early from shooting in Maine to be with them. You weren't supposed to see them for another two months, and she broke down the second you stepped into their bedroom. And once, when your childhood dog died, and you couldn't make it home in time to say goodbye. Pieces of each of you that you never thought would ever come close to resembling what they used to have been meticulously pulled back together by each other. You can't go back and stop the accident from happening, but slowly, you can let yourself be put back together. 

"I love you," you whisper, and she kisses your temple.

"I love you, too." 

After a few more minutes of crying and hugging, Carolina and Ryan go home. You promise to come over and see them once you feel a little stronger, but they don't rush you. Joel hands you a tissue once they're down the hallway, and you smile before taking and wiping it under your eyes and nose. 

"Feel better?" He asks, and you nod. You step into him and rest your head on his chest. It's partially so you can be close to him and partially because your body hurts too much to stay upright anymore. 

"Thank you," you say. He kisses the top of your head and tucks your hair behind your ears so he can see you clearly.

"You don't have to thank me."

"I want to," you look up at him, and he smiles. Your phone buzzes on the side table, and you reach for it, but Joel stops you. His smile has dropped, and he suddenly looks worried. You furrow your brows and glance between him and your phone. "Joel, what's up?"

"Mel called this morning," he says, and your heart immediately sinks. "Um, she asked if you and Ryan would be ready to do reshoots in two weeks." You nod and bite the inside of your cheek before laughing. You feel crazy standing there, laughing so hard that the ache in your chest blossoms into sharp pain. Joel says your name softly, and you shake your head.

"I just had the scariest experience of my life, and the only thing she called to ask about was my fucking reshoot schedule?"

"I told her to wait."

"No, that's not how it works with her. She needs an answer immediately, or she doesn't get auditions, and if she doesn't get auditions, then I don't work, and she drops me," you scrub a hand down your face and take a deep breath. "I'll call her when I get home."

"What're you gonna say?"

"I'm gonna say yes."

"What?" He asks. "You just said this was the scariest experience you've ever had, and you wanna just go back to work?"

"I don't have a choice. The entire schedule gets thrown off if we don't go in and do whatever they need us to do. Thousands of people are relying on us so they can make money to feed their families. If I say no, production gets halted, it takes longer to get the movie to screens, and we lose money," you shrug. "And they'll put makeup on the bruises and stuff. It'll be like it never even happened. Just how they want it."

"You don't have to go through with this. I'm sure Mel would understand." He insists. 

"You don't know Mel, then," you say. "I'll message her later. It's easier to just shut up and do it than fight about it."

"But-"

"It's fine, Joel. Please, just drop it." You blame your brain pulsing against your skull and the searing pain in your knees for snapping at him. It's not what you wanted to say, but you're so tired. And angry. And in pain. You pull away from him and sit back down on your hospital bed as a nurse comes in with your discharge paperwork. She's incredibly cheerful for ten in the morning. It almost hurts your head having to listen to her describe different types of infection and how to prevent it. Joel nods as she speaks, obviously taking in every piece of information he can and clutching the paperwork to his chest. 

"Other than that, I think you guys are good to go. Do you have a way of getting home?" The nurse asks you.

"I'm takin' her back to my house," Joel answers, and you have to bite your tongue before you say something about him speaking on your behalf. The nurse leaves you with a wheelchair so you don't have to walk all the way to the car, and you look at Joel.

"I can take care of myself,"

"I know you can," he says as he begins gathering your things around the room. "I just wanna take care of you, too." He's being incredibly kind and helpful, you realize that, but that does nothing to stop your frustration with the whole situation. 

Mel will always be Mel, this much you concluded years ago. But Joel butting into your professional life feels like a step too far. You know this business like the back of your hand. He doesn't. It's unfair for him to try to tell you how to deal with your agent when he doesn't know the repercussions. He doesn't understand just how many people are relying on you and Ryan to come back to set for a few reshoots. It would literally waste hundreds of thousands of dollars in studio money to push this back. Answering the nurse's question without consulting you first did nothing to make you feel better. 

Joel seems to notice the silence filling the space between you at the same time as you because he turns and leans down so he can look you in the eye. All your things are stuffed into the huge bag Carolina fished from your closet, and the hospital room looks identical to when you arrived. Joel takes a deep breath and grinds his teeth as he thinks.

"Please, let me take care of you." He says quietly, his tone gentle and borderline begging. Nobody's taken care of you during a sickness or an injury since you left your parent's house. Especially after you started becoming more famous, you didn't want anyone to see you in that vulnerable state and exploit it. People like you are expected to suck it up, keep going and hope it'll go away in a week or two. 

This is different. This is letting Joel assume responsibility for you for at least a few days, something you're sure you'll feel horrible about after the fact. This is staying at his house, eating his food, and sleeping in his bed because you're too wobbly to do those things alone. This is trusting him way more than you ever have. But he wants to. He told you he does. He took notes on how to change the bandages on your fucking stitches. He obviously cares. So, why does this feel so hard? You sigh and swallow your pride, and nod.

"Okay."

Joel's house is not what you expected it to look like. Most musicians you know stick to a very sleek, very boring black and white theme for their homes. White couch, black coffee table, white rug, black piano, white walls, black art. It's typical and almost a running joke between you and your friends each time you end up in a musician's house, but Joel's is different. His house looks lived in with scattered shoes by the door, backpacks slung over chairs, and colorful art on the walls. Some frames depict vast Texas landscapes or longhorns mean mugging the camera, while others are just abstract, bright paint splashes. There are smaller ones, too, with Ellie's loopy signature at the bottom. The couch is oversized and plush, with pillows and blankets nearby for movie nights. Report cards and family pictures hang on the fridge via silly magnets from different states and countries. You realize it feels like a real home after your first night.

You've gotten into a routine by the third day at Joel's house. Joel will wake up before you, sneak out of bed to make breakfast, and gather the pills you need to take to get through the day. Sometimes, he brings it to you, and other times, he helps you down the stairs and into the kitchen. You'll drink coffee and eat breakfast together as the sun slowly peeks over the Los Angeles skyscrapers. After you eat, he'll check your stitches and change the bandage to ensure they're healing correctly. Then, you'll just sit together and hold hands until one of the girls stirs awake, and you get to watch Joel be a dad. 

Sarah is the next one up every morning, but especially this morning, walking down the stairs a full hour and a half before school starts and giving Joel the rundown of her schedule for the day as he makes her breakfast. She asks how you're feeling and then makes sure her dad gave you your medication. You really can take it yourself, but watching them work together to make sure you're alright is sweet. They tease each other for a while before Joel checks his watch and curses under his breath, making his way to the stairs after kissing your and Sarah's foreheads. 

"I'm surprised he doesn't just yell up the stairs for her. That's what my dad used to do." You say as you sip what's left of your coffee, and Sarah shrugs.

"He doesn't yell very often. It scares Ellie. Besides, she wouldn't wake up even if he did." She says nonchalantly, and you immediately want to stuff the words back down your throat. 

"I'm sorry."

"For what? You didn't know," she shrugs, and you shake your head. "In the wise words of Hank Miller," she says before assuming a slouched posture and putting a hand on your wrist. "You're too hard on yourself, darlin'." You laugh at her Texas accent but still can't shake the feeling that you keep getting this— your relationship with the girls— wrong. 

"Well, your grandfather sounds like a very smart man."

"And he's right, y'know," she says, looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes. You wonder if she can see right through you like Joel can. "The whole time you've been here, you keep apologizing."

"I only apologized once this morning."

"Yeah, to me. How many times have you apologized to my dad?" She asks, raising her eyebrows, and you sigh. "It was a family decision to have you come stay with us. Three out of three Millers voted yes. I promise it's really okay."

"It's not that." 

"Then, what is it?" 

"I don't... I've never..." You struggle with the words. "I've never dated someone with kids, and I don't want to overstep or make you guys feel like I'm taking your dad away from you. I don't know how to do this, so I keep saying things and then just feeling stupid or like I messed up. Like I should've remembered the thing about Ellie's foster homes." You don't know why you're disclosing all the information to an eighteen-year-old, but she seems receptive. 

"Ellie doesn't want any of us to treat her differently because of her past, and I'm pretty sure if you tried, she'd rip you a new one. The fact that you're even trying makes such a difference. My dad has dated... some really not great people he never even told about us. But not only do you know about us, you care about us enough to freak out about us, which is totally unnecessary, by the way," she says. "My dad, Ellie, and I are a team, and we have been for a really long time, so we were a little worried when he told us he was dating again. But he's so happy. Like annoyingly happy." You both laugh at that and feel the weight on your shoulders ease off. 

"And Ellie and I kinda agreed that as long as you made my dad happy, we'd find a way to be happy for him, but you make it pretty easy. I like having you around. We both do."

"Yeah?" You ask, and she hums with a big smile on her face. You bump her shoulder with your own and smile too. "I like having you around, too." 

"So, no more worrying about us, okay?" 

"I can't guarantee anything, but thank you. I really appreciate you saying all that." 

"You're welcome." She says as you wrap an arm around her shoulder and kiss her temple. Joel walks back into the kitchen with a knowing look but doesn't say anything, and you wonder how much he heard. A groggy Ellie, still in her pajamas, trails behind him and blindly reaches for the orange juice in the fridge. 

"Oh, motherfucker," Ellie mutters as she sloshes around the last inch of orange juice. She holds up the mostly empty container and gives Joel a deadly serious look. "This is child abuse."

"That ain't child abuse," Joel says, already halfway to the garage. Ellie rolls her eyes before landing on you and softening.

"How're you feeling?" She asks, and you laugh.

"Better after watching you fuck with your dad."

"He's easy to fuck with," she says as the garage door opens again and Joel's footsteps get closer. "Watch this." 

"Here you go," Joel says, handing Ellie a new container of orange juice. She furrows her eyebrows and looks at him.

"I didn't ask for this."

"What? Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Oh, my God, Dad's losing it." Sarah chimes in. Joel looks confused and like he's genuinely trying to remember if Ellie asked for it, and you can't stop the snort from leaving you.

"You little shit," Joel says, making Ellie laugh. Then, in the blink of an eye, Joel tickles Ellie, and her screeching laughter fills the kitchen. You and Sarah laugh, too, especially when the laughter turns into squeaks. Ellie tries to slip out of his grip, but he picks her up, hauls her over his shoulder, and makes for the backdoor. 

"Joel Miller, do not throw your daughter in the pool!" You yell, and he groans before turning back around and dumping a still giggling Ellie on the couch.

"You win this round, kid," Joel points in her face before kissing her cheek. "Alright, we're gonna have to leave for school soon. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?" 

"Yes, I'm not Sarah."

"Hey!" Sarah shouts as Ellie runs back up the stairs to get dressed, giggling the whole way to her room.

As you and Sarah talk about school, Joel puts eggs, bacon, and toast on a plastic plate for Ellie to eat in the car, forever worried about her missing meals. He takes a little longer than he needs to so he can watch how you two interact, his eyes twinkling in the sunshine. You and Sarah have been friends from the jump, but you have to admit that there's something a little more sacred about her letting you into her space. You and Sarah do your best to ignore his puppy dog eyes, but when Ellie comes downstairs with her backpack slung over her shoulder, she makes a face.

"Why do you look like that?" She asks, making Joel quickly snap out of it.

"Why do you look like that?"

"That's so funny. Did you come up with that yourself?" She rolls her eyes. Joel does a squeaky, high-pitched voice to mock her as he grabs his keys from the counter. He walks over and pecks your lips before walking to the front door.

"Alright, Miller bus is leavin'! Let's roll out!" He yells. The girls bid you a quick goodbye before chasing after him, leaving you completely alone in the house. 

After putting your dirty dishes away, you venture through the house now that you feel a little stronger. You start at the fridge, looking through all the little pictures and magnets deemed worthy of being seen daily. You decide that your favorite is the one of Joel, Tommy, and the girls at the Grand Canyon. It looks like it was taken a few years ago based on the babyish plumpness of Ellie's face and the braces on Sarah's teeth as she smiles. Joel is squinting in the sun, but he's so completely in his element in the desert with his family, hands on the girls' shoulders. It's pinned to the fridge with a Washington, D.C. magnet depicting the Lincoln Memorial. 

As you glide through the house, you keep finding new favorites. Many other celebrities you've met either don't hang up their family photos because they run the risk of ruining the aesthetic of their home or because they don't want people to see them. Joel, however, has massive frames holding multiple pictures of his family throughout the years. A picture of a much younger Joel with a baby strapped to his chest sets you back on your heels because of just how little he looks. He can't be older than twenty-three as he poses, one hand on baby Sarah's back and the other holding a diaper bag. You watch them grow alongside each other as you move down the wall. 

You see pictures from an elementary school career day where Joel and Sarah pose with different tools. Pictures of Tommy, Joel, and Sarah lined up for what looks like a Fourth of July parade when Sarah was a toddler, her chubby hands latched to her dad's as she sat on his shoulders. Then, suddenly and without warning, a round little face framed with wavy brown hair enters the pictures, but it feels like she was always meant to be there. There's a framed photo strip of the three of them making goofy faces at the camera and pretending their dad isn't cool as he kisses their cheeks and rests his head on Ellie's shoulder. You feel almost emotional looking at the worn photos and seeing their love for each other transcend a camera lens. Though, a buzzing in your pocket stops you from thinking any more about it, and you roll your eyes as you read a text from Melanie.

Heard what happened. I'm so sorry :( I got all those pictures from the crash taken down 👍 Still good for reshoots in two weeks?

You sigh and type out a response as the front door opens and Joel walks back in. 

"What're you doin'? I thought you'd be in bed." He says, and you shake your head.

"I wanted to snoop, and I'm responding to Melanie about scheduling." 

"Oh, good. When are you gonna move reshoots to?" He asks as he walks over, his keys still jingling in his hands from dropping off the girls. 

"I'm not moving them."

"What? I thought you were gonna try and change it." He says as you press send on your message confirming the dates and look up at him, confused. 

"I never said that." 

"We talked about it at the hospital."

"Yeah, but I never said I'd change the time just because you didn't agree." You say, and he scoffs. You tuck your phone away and cross your arms over your chest while he searches your face like he's waiting for the punchline to a joke he's never heard. When it doesn't come, he shakes his head.

"Wow." He breathes, and you furrow your brows.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Something."

"I just can't believe you didn't even try to fight her on it." He says in a frustrated tone, and you give him three beats of silence to rethink what he just said. 

"Melanie can be a bitch, but she's also responsible for my career. If I fuck her over, I fuck myself over." You say when he doesn't backtrack.

"Is that what she told you?" 

"Joel," you warn, but he doesn't stop.

"If you keep goin' like this, it's gonna kill you. Do you realize that?" He asks incredulously, and you throw your arms up.

"We are in entirely different worlds when it comes to our careers, so can you please stop telling me how to run mine? I don't get on you this much about your job."

"Because I don't work myself to the bone like you do."

"You're right. You don't," you snap, and he takes a deep breath. You're not quite sure where to go from here. You don't know if this counts as a fight, but you know you feel bad. "I already confirmed. I can't change it now." You say softer than the harshness that took over your voice moments ago.

"Okay," he nods. "Then, 'm comin' to set with you because we both know that if somethin' goes wrong, Mel isn't gonna do shit to help you." He says, all of his frustration pointed at your manager now, and you want to argue that what he said isn't true but can't find the words. You think it's because, deep down, you know he's right, but you won't say it. Not now. So, instead, you just nod and unclench your jaw.

"Fine." You say as you pull out your phone to add an addendum to your previous confirmation. Joel walks into the kitchen and puts his keys on the counter before leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest. Once you're done typing, you look up and stare at him, watching the gears in his head shift.

"I really thought the car accident would've made you wanna slow down or, at least, take the time to recover. Make you see there's more to life than just work." He scoffs, and you bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. You move from your place by the photos and reach the bottom of the stairs, fighting tears, before you turn to him. He hasn't moved, but he's watching you.

"I hope you know that was a really fucking shitty thing to say to me. I would never take something like this and spin it against you because I care about you."

"I do care about you."

"Then, let me do my fucking job and stay out of my way." You walk up the stairs with a little stomp in your step. It feels very juvenile and petulant, but you're pissed and embarrassed. Who is he to dictate what you do and when? It's none of his fucking business how you run your own career. Who is he to make you feel bad for working? To fight with you about something that doesn't concern him? 

Still, even as these angry thoughts spiral in your mind, you cry the second you close the bedroom door behind you. The physical pain, nightmares, arguments, and guilt eat you from the inside out. And as you sit in that big house overflowing with love so real you can feel it in the floorboards and the man who showed up at the hospital for you downstairs, you feel completely and utterly alone for the first time since you signed your name on that stupid contract. 

[omgstarks]

Shadow of Doubt (Stephen Strange x Reader)

Summary: A hidden revelation about Stephen's attendance at Christine's wedding casts a shadow of doubt on your relationship, provoking emotions of insecurity and uncertainty.

Warnings: SMUT over 18+ ONLY, creampie, unprotected sex, porn without plot, hint of angst

A/N: this was supposed to be a short, angsty drabble, but I got caught up in the smut oops (but not really) also just wrote quickly so if you see mistakes, what mistakes?

----

“Sweetie?” You heard Stephen call from outside the bathroom. You wrapped yourself in a black robe before stepping out to meet him. 

“Stephen.” You gave him a smile, knowing full well that he had just been at Christine’s wedding. It was just last week you noticed a card sticking out from his coat pocket. Upon further inspection, you read it as an invitation card to Christine’s wedding. 

He rarely spoke of her with you, just saying she was an old co-worker who he used to date in his surgeon days. But a part you knew it was something more. From the broken watch he still wore on his arm, to this, you knew very well Christine wasn’t just some ex.

He moved across the room and hugged you tightly. You wondered if he had spoken to her today. If he felt a sense of regret letting her go seeing her in a white dress. If he even loved you. 

“I’ve missed you, sweetie.”

“Yeah? Busy day today?” You replied, trying to remain oblivious. He only nodded, dodging the question all together.

“Just needed to see you.” He kissed your cheek and rested his forehead against yours, holding you by your waist. You grazed your fingers against the side of his face, studying his features carefully. He took your head in his grasp, his fingers weaving through your hair before he kissed you. You leaned into him, submitting to his passionate kisses, moving your lips in tandem of his. 

Stephen pulled away slowly, looking down between you and moved his hands down to the knot at your bathrobe. He slowly loosened it, opening it with ease. He pushed his hands between the silk fabric and touched your bare skin. His warm touch always made you quiver slightly, which he was able to calm with his lips. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on your shoulder before moving his hand around your waist-  squeezing firmly. 

Stephen looked up at you with his cold, blue eyes. It expressed a particular longing expression- one of which you knew he wanted to take this further. He rested his forehead against yours once again as his hand slowly moved down from your stomach. Slow and careful until he brushed his middle finger against your sensitive bud. He pushed it back and forth, teasing your slit until you coated his fingers in your slick. He watched your every reaction intently, gauging when to slow or to move faster.

You bared your neck to him as your head fell back and let out a soft moan.  He continued his work between your legs, moving his lips to latch on your neck. His fingers thrummed against your clit, as they circled around it. 

With the other arm, Stephen wrapped it around your waist and lifted you up, placing you gently down on the bed. He pushed the robe off your shoulders, moving his lips down from your collarbone to your shoulders. He made sure both sides were taken care of, then helped you to lean back onto the bed. 

With a sudden change in pace, he quickly removed his clothes and got on top of you, spreading your legs wide with his knee and settling down between your legs. You looked up at him and saw a primal hunger on his face. Before you knew it, he was pushing his cock into you, desperate to be wrapped in your heat. And you let him. He grunted with every thrust, trying to chase his high. 

You reciprocated his hunger- hooking your legs behind his, pulling him close to you, wanting to be engulfed by him. Although, a part of you still hung on those questions but in this moment, it was only you and him.

He breathed against your temple, his breath hot and wet against your skin. You took his face in your hands, kissing his deeply, you took his bottom lip between your teeth and playfully bit it. This only made Stephen more lustful, his eyes growing darker as he claimed you. 

His movements started to become erratic, almost animalistic as he chased his release. His hold on your waist would probably leave bruises in the morning. The sweat that was beading above his brow fell onto you with every thrust.

He moaned and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you. After a couple more thrusts, he stilled and you could feel his cock twitching with every spurt of his cum.

“Oh fuck-“ He grunted through his teeth before collapsing on top of you. He kissed you messily before rolling off and settling by your side. 

You remained on your back, laying in the silence apart from heavy breaths. After a couple minutes, Stephen turned to you and smiled with closed eyes and an exhausted expression.

“I love you, y/n.” He spoke before drifting off. Your mind lingered on that statement, constantly fighting whether it was really true or not.

A flicker of doubt crossed your face, a silent reflection of the turmoil within your heart. Knowing his secret attendance at Christine's wedding had shattered the trust you had in him and made you question any authenticity of his past and future affections. 

Could you ever truly trust Stephen again? Or would the ghost of Christine forever haunt your relationship, a constant reminder of a love that never truly belonged to you?

[tonowarii]

Hi! Can i ask a fic for tsireya? 😭 I read all of them and I need more. Where reader accidentally ignores tsireya and continues to hang out with their other friend, tsireya gets jealous and ignores reader and reader gets all sad and confused on why tsireya's ignoring them and more fluff

oop

likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are most welcome and appreciated! let me know your thoughts!

Clueless

tsireya x gn! metkayina! reader

wc: 1.6k

warning/s: angsty, swearing, reader ignoring tsireya, sad tsireya, hurt/comfort, fluff

gif is mine! (i want to give her a hug aaa look at her :<)

As the all-famous saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

But as for Tsireya, your own curiosity was beginning to be her own kryptonite.

The Sully’s arriving was both a blessing and a curse. At first Tsireya had welcomed them with open arms, so did you. Unlike his brother and his friends.

However, in the following weeks they had stayed, you and Tsireya were interacting less.

You were always with the Sully’s, always asking them about the life in the forest and such. Tsireya could admit that she had the same curiosity, however, they were beginning to get closer to you.

Tsireya was starting to not like it at all.

Don’t get her wrong, she absolutely is kind and respectful, but when her significant other’s attention was beginning to be a contest, well…

She’s bound to get jealous.

How could she not? The times where she’d make plans for the both of you, you either end up having your schedule suddenly full, or it was one of them asking you to go with them.

Nonetheless, a sad kind of jealousy settled within her, thinking back to your last interaction, exactly just a few minutes ago.

“(Y/N)... wait up!” Tsireya said, running over to you as you turned to the sound of her voice.

“Reya, hey!” You greeted her by grabbing her hand and kissing the back of her hand, something you had taken a liking to do.

Tsireya’s cheeks turned a shade darker but she smiles. “I thought we were supposed to hang out today?”

She then saw your face contort into realization, but before you could speak, Tsireya from the corner of her eye, could spot Tuktirey.

“(Y/N)! Let’s go they’re going to leave us!”

Tsireya then watched as you turned your head towards Tuk, then back at her, with a new look on your face.

Apologetic.

“Neteyam, Kiri, and Lo’ak wanted me to teach them a few tricks on their ilus and I had already promised them,” You began, frowning when you saw Tsireya do the same. The smile on her face long gone.

“But you could come! Come on, it’ll be fun.” You tried cheering her up, holding her hands.

Tsireya puts on a fake smile, although on the inside she felt like her heart was being squeezed out. She missed hanging out with you and you only. No one else. But it seems like she was the only one with that feeling.

With a fake smile on her face, she shakes her head, slowly pulling away from your grasp.

“That reminds me, mother just asked for me earlier, I should go check on her… but you guys have fun!”

And the worst part is, you didn’t even question her.

You nodded in understanding, a genuine smile on your face that Tsireya just wanted to erase right now.

“Ahh, okay then, but tell your mother I said hi—"

 You got cut off by Tuk calling out for you again. You laugh and look at Tsireya.

“We’ve got to go, but I’ll make it up to you next time, I promise.” You said goodbye with a quick kiss to her cheek, smiling at her before you were turning around and catching up with them.

Tsireya stood there, watching your retreating form, her lip almost quivering as she hid her true emotion.

Now a few days had passed and it seemed like you had completely forgotten about her at all.

If you didn’t miss her, then why should she?

Then Tsireya had come up with a plan, even if this plan hurt, it would slowly but surely have you coming back to her in no time.

Going back to you, you had hung out with the Sully’s more often, trying to teach them other stuff that wasn’t taught by Rotxo or Aonung before.

However, there was a point in time when you had begun to wonder where was Tsireya.

You had begun to also miss her presence, you did your tasks daily, but this time the only difference was- there was no Tsireya in sight to talk to you, or even just to keep you company.

You tried to look everywhere you can when you had your free time, but it looks like she doesn’t want to be found.

Then the amount of longing you have to see your mate only surfaced further as you asked around the people, but they would only give vague answers.

“I’m pretty sure she was just right there”

“I saw her walking not to long ago over there”

“She just passed by, haven’t you seen?”

Then a desolate feeling began to settle in your veins. Where could she be? Was she ignoring you?

With those questions planted in your head, you slowly lessened the time you’ve spent hanging out with the Sully’s and had spent more time on finding Tsireya, it was unusual.

Usually, she’d just be right by your side, clinging onto your arm and rambling on about your day.

Now you were just walking alone, hoping to be given a sign on where your significant other could be.

Of course, the Sully’s had also began to get curious as to why you were going around looking like a lost viperwolf pup, but they had understood once you had explained why.

“Ooh, that sucks.” Lo’ak said, earning him a smack on the arm from Kiri. Neteyam shakes his head at Lo’ak’s comment.

“We’re sorry, (Y/N), I hope you can make it up with Tsireya.” Kiri said, offering a sympathetic smile.

“If you need some backup, we’re glad to help.” Neteyam said.

“Don’t worry guys, I can handle this.” You smiled at them.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you had spotted a similar figure of a certain Metkayina round the corner, holding a basket.

Wasting no time, your walk had turn into a jog in order to catch up to the figure.

“Reya!” You called out, you watch as the Metkayina pause in their steps, spotting their ears flicking to the sound of your voice, before they walked again, this time turning into a speed walk.

You huff, relieved at the same time not so as she ignored you.

“Tsireya, hey, wait up!” You then caught up to her, placing your hand on her shoulder to halt her movements.

You waited for her to turn around, and she did.

What you expected was for her to greet you with an amicable expression, however, it was the complete opposite.

Her face had been scrunched, a frown much evident on her mouth as her eyebrows were almost stuck together as she looked at you with a hint of sadness and angry frustration.

You doubled back, having unseen this expression on her face for a while. You gave a light squeeze on her shoulder.

“Reya… what’s wrong? Why are you upset? Did someone hurt you?”

Tsireya could almost feel an exasperated laugh leave from her lips, but she had prevented it.

She shrugged off your touch even if she didn’t want to.

“You’ve… I’ve been trying to find you for days… even weeks now, Reya, what’s wrong?”

“Really? Now you come to me when you have been doing the exact same thing, (Y/N). I can’t believe you, why don’t you go back to the Sully’s.” Tsireya snapped. As much as she’d like to stay and finally talk things through, she found herself walking away, with tears building up in her eyes that she was quick to wipe with her free hand.

She hadn’t expected her plan to backfire on her emotions.

You felt a sting in your heart once you’ve realized what you’ve done.

You completely blasted her off without thinking, ignoring her just to spend time with your friends.

Fuck.

Frowning, your ears picked up a sob coming from her retreating form, making the feeling of guilt hook into your heart even deeper.

By the time you’ve realized what you were doing, you were grabbing her hand and making her face you.

“I’m sorry, Tsireya. I’m an idiot for not realizing it sooner- Please, let me make it up to you, okay?”

You spoke, the basket being discarded on the floor as you held both her hands now.

Tsireya was relieved you had acknowledged your mistake and promised to do better, that was enough, but she was still observant.

“You promise? I don’t want you leaving me hanging again… you have to know that hurts.”

You squeezed her hands, nodding, understanding that you have caused her pain and she was just letting you feel the same thing she did. You cannot blame her.

“I promise, Reya, all right? I won’t ditch you again, promise. I’m sorry for hurting you.” You spoke softly.

The edges of Tsireya’s mouth turned upwards into a small smile, making your heart warm at the sight as she slowly nods. “I trust you.”

“Come here.” You said, raising your hand to cup her cheek, pulling her close and nuzzling your nose against hers and leaving a peck on her lips. She then suddenly turns a shade darker, flustered. Her frustration obliterated by your simple affection.

Seeing Tsireya with an even wider smile on her face makes you mirror her expression, then your eyes had caught on the thrown basket on the ground.

“Oh shit, sorry.” You spoke, bending down to grab the basket sheepishly.

Tsireya eyed you while you held the basket, and she already knew how you were going to pay her back.

Her genuine smile turned into a teasing one as she tilts her head. “I guess I’ve found my helper for today…”

You looked up at her, a dumbfounded smile on your face as you let out a small ‘huh?’

Tsireya makes a quick glance to you and the basket in hand, leading you to connect the dots.

You laugh, holding the basket high and standing straight, causing Tsireya to laugh that sounded heavenly in your ears, perking up.

“In that case; where to, ma’am?”

[notasapleasure]

Wild hopes for Andor S2:

Oh, apparently blorbo *might* be in the trailer? Riding a speeder on Dantooine you say? Aughhhh don't toy with my emotions like this!!

So for posterity, before anything about s2 does actually become clear, my vague hopes/'if I got to write their story' headcanons for my Ferrix badasses are a jumble of the following:

I don't see them immediately going back to Ferrix, they're recognisable (Bix is known to the Empire, Wilmon will be known by association with Salman, Bee is known as Maarva's droid, they had an eye on Brasso as 'the big guy' even before he fucked shit up with the funerary brick...and I can't remember Jezzi doing anything specific but she'll have been seen round Maarva's home and funeral), and riot or not, I'd say the Empire will be in the mood to make an example of Ferrix rather than to go 'oops our bad we'll leave you in peace'. So it seems a bad idea for the fugitives to return there for their rebellion as soon as they've left.

On that ship we know there's a skilled electrician (Wilmon) and mechanic (Bix), and I've always presumed Brasso must know his way around a ship well enough to be able to take it apart, and that Jezzi has some similarly Ferrixian industrial skill. I thought it would be very sexy if they all got involved in making/repurposing tech for the rebellion. In my heart of hearts they're patching together the first fleet of X-Wings.

Orange. Ferrix orange (Brasso's felt jacket orange) and rebel pilot orange. And there's the shot of Cassian in an orange pilot's suit in the trailer. I just. I just have hopes. And dreams. And colour was so significant in Rogue One (the red of the force/rebellion...there was an awesome post on here pointing out way more examples than I'd noticed, but I always think of the lining of Jyn's vest). Maybe it's reclaiming Narkina orange, even? But the look of the Ferrix clothes reminds me so much of the OT aesthetic, I think that's got to be the more likely connection.

Bee? Kay? Do they meet? ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ trying to suppress the thought 'what if Bee helps to make Kay possible?' but the thought has been thunk. (ETA: NOT into the theory that they're the same person that's not what I mean. I'm talking hardware donation. Wires and chips. Not personality)

Dantooine. Dantooine base. After all this time!!!! What Legends book did I first read about the base on Dantooine in?? idek but if I'd ever written the epic angsty plot follow-up to that one fic (only ever just one night) it would have involved the Ferrix gang making X-Wings work on Dantooine :') I have feelings about Brasso the wrecker learning to make things instead :))

It should go without saying that I want to see Bix channel her healing into getting stuff done and fucking up the Empire.

I guess my feeling is that if we're time-skipping over a five year period in a, what, 12 episode season? There's not time for a huge arc for all the Ferrix characters alongside everything else the show needs to cover. My cautious assumption is that this either means a load of them get killed off/sidelined early, or they're kept together in the same setting so their stories are interlinked, but presumably with focus remaining on Bix (and Bee). Dantooine/wherever the rebel base is beforehand/the move to Yavin struck me as a good place for this, where they can still be brought in and out of episodes through whatever time-skips happen because it's a place the title character is going to be coming and going from regularly, like Ferrix is in S1. Naturally it is a selfish thought to want to recreate the S1 dynamic :)) because I want my blorbo(s) to get to be relevant and a part of Cassian's life still, but if that suggestion about Brasso on a speeder on Dantooine in the trailer is remotely accurate then I will cry happy tears.

Who knows, if they get to survive, maybe all those heart-pulverising fics and fanarts about Cassian's (glass) stone being laid on Ferrix will find a place at the end of the series?