#so I hope I get to do it sometime this year^^

[starstickerzzz]

Ight bet hold on,

1: complicated but mostly no

2: my dying grandma I’m currently leaving the hospital for the night

3: y e s

4: y e s s s

5: TAKEN !!

6: dramatically

7: edible cookie dough from da hopital cafe

8: I’m really good at skateboarding hatchet throwing (won a contest actually) and shooting hoops surprisingly

9: yessss bruh I straight up tear my fingers apart

10: bout a month ago I believe

11: my gf of five years 😏💝

12: I have severe insomnia I’ve stayed up longer

13: oh fuck yes I do!! 😋✨‼️‼️‼️💥💥💥

14: yeah all my loved ones who keep dying lol

15: Yee!!! Quite a few in my house but the one that’s officially mine is my leopard gecko and technically the fatass weirdly smart hamster named adolf hamster is mine now too since I’m the only one who takes care of him and plays and holds him so mi hermano said he’s mine now 💀

16: frustrated and exausted as fuvk also OW OW OW OW CHRONIC PAIN WHAT THE FUCK

17: …mayyyybbeee…

18: nope! :3

19: YESSSS AAAGHHH unless the universe exploded idk

20: gfs house also I had to use Alexa to figure out wtf that meant lol it said “to kiss and cuddle” so I hope that what u meant by that :b

21: try to keep my gammy , great gammy and aunt from killing eachother or themselves and try not to lose my shit despite the horrrors

22: my n da waif have considered adopting children when we get married and comfortable together n shit (asa foster victim who is great with kids it would be good I think) also I have a lot of emotionally adopted kids lolz

23: I’ve got a vertical libret and have been stabbed if that counts LMAOOO

24: art, creative writing,phycology, and general science and English I’d say (when I was in school)

25: absolutely quiet a few people fs

26: Wendy’s borger 😔💔

27: romantically? Yes I’ve had to reject a lot of people (mostly men) cuz for sum reason people crush on me a lot and it sucks cuz I’m a very taken lesbian and hate having to make people sad but I’m pretty good at being nice about it. In general? Never on purpose but probably ig??? Idk I’ve been through a lot so idk maybe

28: nope! Been with the best wife in the whole universe since like middle school so :D

29: I sure hope not but you’d have to ask @skelebab ig ? (Mi Bonita Estrella 😼✨)

30: so fucking much but mostly having to be my family’s constant therapist and dealing with my ggma in the hospital and everyone have insane angst with eachother and it being my problem all the time cuz im the only one who can help :”)

31: yuh

32: sunset colors !!

33: maybe a lil yeah but not as bad as you’d think considering my past so that’s cool

34: fucked up distorted trauma nightmare don’t wanna talk to much abt it tbh 💀

35: my grandma Anne yesterday

36: sometimes if but not a whole lot idk

37: for me probably forget if I can but I usually can’t do either very well

38: welllll…maybe second best? First getting out of residential hell was the best Fs but now shit sucks again but it’s not as bad as before as every other year was literally just violent amounts of constant trauma 😭😭😭

39: idk i think it was elementary school though if that even counts if not then middle school with da waif

40: hell naw

41: ur mom- I MEAN UHHHH…sushi, ramen, or Wendy’s tbh but I have arfid so foods hard to eat or like most of the time either way 😔💔

42: it can feel like that sometimes ig but im very atheist so ehhh

43: I can’t even remember I just passed the fuck out at some point on the couch after not sleeping at all for like 3 days 💀

44: ???no tf???

45: nahhh I go pretty out of my way to be kind asf unless you really really really hurt me or a loved one first in which case veryyyy

46: lost count tbh but I don’t start fights I’ve just learned how to finish them after so much violent bs

47: not in a spiritual way but I would call my gf that fs

48: fall weather in general or aesthetic ass grey days

49: no not reallly but it’s good for photography

50: helllllllll yeah that’s the plan!

51: if my gf did id probably die a bright red melty mess

52: the few people I truly give a shit about anymore and my hyperfixations

53: I’ve done that to many times to do it again unless I ran away or some shit but I’d probably go back to jade if I did

54: no

55: tell they ass hell naw

56: yes actually I have 2

57: a really zesty gay nurse guy from da hopital he was really cool

58: gammy

59: naw

60: yes yea yea yes yes yes yes ye s yesusysysyys

(U messed up the numbers btw but it’s chill)

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[bonus-links]

*waiting eagerly and patiently for directors commentary* :)

IT'S DONE RAHHHHHH ITS FINALLY DONE!!!!!!! I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter but I am REALLY excited to move on to what's next!!!!! i have been waiting literal years to get here,,,,

starting off with a few things: these frames are the same design from pt. 9, just damaged now. it's also uh. literally the same drawings KJSNFKJG listen sometimes I just have to make things easier on myself. also convenient crack through the hero of time's right eye >:-)

okay so the hero of time lore gives me a bit of a headache. let it be known that I understand in wolf's timeline, the events of OOT technically never happened. He knows the "hero of time" moniker bc he's met him, and i could've SWORN that name is mentioned if not somewhere in TP then in the TP manga. suspend ur disbelief for me lol

Anyway the idea is basically that post-game Wolf has done some digging to track down the person the Hero's Shade was when he was alive. I like to imagine he had some kind of bargain with Zelda where if he agreed to come to certain events she'd let him dig around in what survived of the archives after lol. I actually got stuck on this panel for a while trying to think of some other imagery that got this idea across without being so,,,idk on the nose? but i couldn't think of anything so i went with this HAHA. Even if Mask wasn't technically the "hero" in this timeline, I think he still ended up being a prominent figure, and some documentation of him would exist. An unfinished portrait, a text about the history of the royal guard, military records, correspondence between him and the castle, etc.

ALSO ALSO. how do they know they're talking about the same hero of time? well, they don't. they're making an educated guess lol. obviously whoever made this statue of the Hero of Time couldn't make it look exactly like him, but I feel like Wolf has noticed enough similarities between depictions to be like. hey wait a second

wake is trying to give a pep talk here like "come on guys, going on adventures is what we do!!" meanwhile Wolf and Loft are both like. yeah i guess leaving our loved ones behind with little notice to go on dangerous missions we may never return from IS what we do.....

speaking of which Loft is maybe technically being a little bit of a hypocrite here but I really think he's just trying to make sure Wake doesn't make the same mistake he did lol. he's feeling guilty

one of many things I really regret abt this chapter is not having Tetra and Loft have a conversation similar to the one he and BOTW Zelda have. I feel like Tetra's experience of getting to grow up outside of the pressure of the royal family or her role and then basically having it forced on her during the events of WW would be very valuable for him to hear. I had so many things I was trying to juggle this chapter and somehow that just slipped through the cracks 😭 im sorry tetra.

AT LAST!!! ANNA FROM FROZEN!!! when all that was going down a few weeks ago i was like GUYS GUYS WAIT. HE'S ALMOST HERE. does this mean I have to get a new icon now

in case its not clear (and it probably isn't) he's in the ALTTP lost woods!

okay so some of you may have noticed this, but up until now we've basically been following the thread of mainline games, starting where the timeline merged and working our way back to where it split in OOT. ALTTP is technically part of that, as the timeline where the Hero of Time dies. I have them all connected through the Lost Woods. The pitch for this was basically "wouldn't it be so fucking funny if Mage could've joined the story way earlier but didn't bc he was the only one with enough sense and also enough gall to just throw something through it." and then I couldn't NOT do that

so on that note, this is the BOTW lost woods. If you look closely, you can see Wolf in the distance.

I wanted to do something to establish him as a magic user! he could have just pulled these out of his bag but where's the fun in that. you might also notice that he's not wet because the rain isn't actually hitting him

ALTTP ZELDA MY BELOVED!!!! that's all

that's all i've got for now!!! bonus links turned 3 years old 3 days ago which is. wild. thank you all for sticking with this story for so long!!!

[starpeachjelly]

Kindred Spirits ₊˚⊹⋆

prologue part 3

part 1 / part 2

synopsis: Four years have passed since the chronorift catastrophe, since you've regained the memories of your past life, since you crossed paths with her. You two are close, and you think Caleb might not like that.

warnings: none.

word count: 1.9k

authors note: my biggest fear is mischaracterization, but i hope i did good for young caleb.

Every time she has a problem she comes to seek you out. It doesn't matter if it's a tricky problem on her homework, or a full blown fight with her friend. No matter the issue you're always the first person she comes to. You try your best to convince her to go to Caleb instead, knowing how much he appreciates it when she seeks him out for help. Sometimes she listens to you, most of the time she doesn't.

You know Caleb doesn't like this. You can tell based on the way he looks at you.

He's always polite in front of her. He smiles and talks with you casually when she's in the mix, treating you like a friend. But the moment she's no longer there something in his behaviour shifts. It's not noticeable to anyone else, but you can always tell the difference.

It's the way his eyes darken. You remember how fans used to point out the way his gaze could change so quickly. Puppy eyes that are able to turn into something so serious and dark in a matter of seconds. You used to think it was something that only started after he becomes cornel. Yet he's only fourteen and able to send shivers down your spine with how coldly he looks at you. Even when you don't look at him you can always feel it.

Music plays from your headphones as you breeze through your homework. You miss the music you used to listen to in your past life, but you've managed to find some songs in this world you enjoy too. It's a peaceful evening, but that moment of peace fades when you feel your heart tighten. The urge to cry overwhelms you, causing you to put down your pen and move away from the pages scattered across your desk. You'd think this was coming out of nowhere, but after four years you know better.

She's in a fight with Caleb.

You always get this feeling when she's arguing with him. No matter how big or small the issue is.

Right on cue your phone starts to blow up. Dozens of messages from her pop up on your screen telling you about how much of a "meanie" he is, how he never listens to her, and a bunch of other complaints. You sigh, put your phone in your pocket, and head over to Josephine's house to comfort her. Every time they argue you're always there to help her. You know that it's another thing you do that Caleb doesn't like. But with your shared connection you feel a sense of responsibility to be there for her no matter what.

Most of the time their fights are just misunderstandings or petty arguments. Things that usually resolve themselves after a couple hours of her ranting, and him buying her her favourite snacks. This time things are different.

Hours have passed. Deep purples and oranges have faded into navy blue. The sun has set fully, leaving the sky decorated with a full moon and countless stars. It's a shame such a lovely night is filled with such anger and sadness.

You've lost track of how long you've been sitting on her bed. Gently running your fingers through her hair with her curled up next to you while she rants about him. Yet despite all the ramblings she still hasn't told you what exactly it is he's done to upset her so much.

The tightness in your chest has yet to subside, an indicator that she's still as troubled as she was when this all started. You care for her, you really do. You can feel her pain like it's your own. But you need this to be resolved soon because you don't know how much more patience you have left in you. Listening to teenage drama when you're no longer a teenager yourself is like a special kind of torture.

So, in a desperate attempt to put an end to this you decide to talk to Caleb yourself, even though you know you're probably the last person he wants to see right now.

Three knocks on his bedroom door. Shuffling can immediately be heard from the other side. He peeks his out from the crack, looking like a kicked puppy. Big shiny purple eyes, brows knit together, and a small pout on his chapped lips. You can feel your heart twist at the sight. He's so cute and tiny, it's hard to believe what he'll turn into in a few years.

"What happened?" you ask.

He looks away. A red blush starts to dust across the tips of his ears. Immediately you understand that whatever they're fighting about has something to do with you.

It most likely had something to do with what happened earlier today; when she had asked you to win her some plushies while you were all at the arcade. He had tried to get her attention by winning some himself, but as appreciative as she was she clearly had a preference for the ones you had won. You'd gifted him one too in hopes of cheering him up, but you're not sure if it helped or made things worse.

"I was just messin' with her."

The look on your face must be filled with skepticism because the moment he looks at you he sighs, rubs his neck, and goes back to avoiding your gaze.

"I may have taken it a step too far–"

He staggers back as you take a step forward to look into his room. As expected, right on his bed, is one of the plushies you had won her. (And to your surprise so it the one you had gifted him.) The red on his ears immediately spreads to his cheeks.

You understand his jealousy, his protectiveness towards her. After everything they've gone through, to have someone else, someone he thinks is oblivious to what they've gone through, show up into their lives and start taking over the role he had played for years. Who wouldn't be upset with that?

If you didn't have this shared connection with her you would leave this situation for them to resolve on their own. But you can't stand this ache in your heart anymore.

"I'm sorry." You say, not just for unintentionally stealing her attention, but for becoming part of their story. For changing it no matter your attempts not to.

His eyes widen, clearly caught off guard by your apology. He stares at you, not saying a single word. So you continue. "I'll never be able to replace you, not that i want to. But even though i'm part of her life, you're still very important to her."

He's still quiet. Still staring at you with that surprised expression. Hopefully your words have finally helped him understand you're not trying to take his place, and that you'd never be able to. Whatever unexplainable bond you have with her doesn't change what they've gone through, even if she doesn't remember.

"But, you should give her the plushie back." You offer him a small smile before leaving, not wanting to push your luck.

The next morning a sudden thunk against your bedroom window startles you from whatever it is you're looking at on your phone. Another thunk comes two seconds later. You get up off your bed to see what's happening. Caleb stares up at you from your back yard.

Glass panes groan softly as you open them, peaking your head out the window.

"Can I come up?" he asks.

His words catch you off guard.

"Please," he adds when you don't answer.

It's barely 8 am on a sunday. You're not even dressed, still wearing your comfiest pajamas. "Caleb–"

"I'm comin' up."

Your eyes widen as you watch him start to climb the downspout that runs next to your bedroom window.

"Caleb!" You whisper shout, not wanting to alarm your parents, but if he hears you he doesn't seem to care.

Floor boards creak as he steps into your room, swinging himself in from the ledge of the window. He stands in front of you, fully dressed in non sleepwear. You're not sure what to do or say, too caught off guard by what you just witnessed.

"I wanted to say sorry."

His words are even more of a surprise than him climbing through your window. It must be written on your face, because he immediately explains his unexpected apology.

"For how i've been treatin' you."

"It's fine–"

He cuts you off. "It's not."

An awkward silence hangs between the two of you. A strong gust of wind shakes the trees outside, wafting in the scent of asiatic apples into your room. He's not saying anything, but you can see a vulnerability in his eyes that you've never seen before. Not even when he looks at her.

"It's okay. I know." you say.

You have a feeling that he wants to explain why he's so protective of her. But you already know everything.

His expression shifts into something you can't quite place your finger on. The vulnerability in his eyes is still present, but there's something else there. Something akin to realization.

He clears his throat and pulls something out of his pocket. In hand is a tiny charm with three apples on it. One red, one yellow, one green. All stacked up one atop the other. "It doesn't make up for how i've been actin' like a big jerk all these years. But I thought it could be like a peace offering or somethin'."

You don't pick up the charm, examining the polymer clay apples in his palm before looking back up at him. His eyes are no longer on you, instead you find them glued to his feet. He looks nervous, and a little bit embarrassed. It's odd seeing him like this, usually he always appears so confident.

You could accept the peace offering, put an end to his nervousness. But you find yourself wanting to mess with him first. After all, he deserves it for all those unnecessary chilling glares. You tap your index finger against your chin and hum in faux contemplation. It's hard not to laugh as he immediately starts to shift awkwardly.

"I'll accept this peace offering, if you promise to make me some of your famous braised chicken wings."

His head snaps up to look at you. His eyes are wide, as if stunned you're actually forgiving him despite his jealousy and past behaviour. But you do, because you understand. You know.

"Yeah. I promise." The way his gaze softens, and the smile on his face warms your heart.

After that night things between you change. When it's just the two of you he no longer ignores you. Awkward silences have changed into jokes and laughter, lighthearted banter. Icy stares melt into something more gentle. Now he looks at you the same way he looks at her, like someone he wants to protect. It's a heartwarming change. One you unfortunately don't get to experience for long.

Your mother gets a promotion that requires your family to move to the newly built city of sky haven. You try to tell yourself that this is a good thing. Living in skyhaven means you won't be nearby, you won't be able to affect the story anymore. Despite your logical reasoning, a part of you doesn't want to leave. You don't want to leave her. And with you and Caleb finally becoming friends, you don't want to leave him either. But you know this is for the best.

Things will finally return to normal.

tag list: @moonchildjae00 @elegantdeerlady @hon3yydew @chocochip-gaia @solmanel1 @wooasecret @peachystea @seung185 @mcdepressed290 @whimsiecat @shadowypeachsweets @animegamerfox @gabywho @ryuukuran-blog @insidious-innocence @hiqhkey @chiikasevennn @ehneh @mangooes @sleepydang @fictionalpeoplemmmhmm @dynastyofyearning

a/n: thank you all so much for your support and comments <3 they mean the world to me 🥺💕

[revelboo]

Hi Revel, how are things? I hope you’re doing better!

Apparently, my stalker, the one I thought I’d gotten rid of two years ago, is back to harassing me, and I’m about ready to commit a crime out of sheer rage. Would you mind sharing an update of Gravity to help distract me from my thoughts of kicking his creepy ass?

Sure! Hopefully he gets bored and leaves you be soon! 🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Gravity Pt 17

Optimus x Reader

• Spark aching when you don’t reply, it’s not like he’s surprised. You’re prickly like that sometimes. Like to tease and joke, but you almost look panicked when things get too real. “You don’t love me,” you say, hips rolling. “You love this. Love the idea of being in love.” And he frowns as you stare down at him, your hands on top of his. You’re smiling, but your eyes are distant, seeing something else entirely, lost in your own thoughts. “You don’t really know me, honey.”

• Wouldn’t say stupid things like that he loves you if he did know you. Because he’s genuinely good and you’re not. Not even close. “If you talked to me, I would,” he growls, big hands flexing on you, pinning you in place so you can’t move on him, but you can feel his spike pulsing inside you. “You don’t know me, either.” And he sounds almost hurt to make you feel guilty.

• “I know guys like you, boy scout,” you counter, scowling down at him. “You think I need to be rescued. You’re in love with that, not me.” Venting, he slides his palms up your body. Do you really think that? “No one ever rescued me when I needed it and I don’t need it anymore.” Those gorgeous eyes are defiant as you meet his optics. Angry and beautiful, wonders what you’d say if he told you he’d kneel at your feet and worship you with his mouth and body every day if you’d just let him. That you’re his temple, his peace.

• “I see you,” he says on a growl, a servo pressing against a scar on your hip. Asking silently. “Even if you are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Snorting at him, you look at the old ridge of pale, scar tissue. The map of your body a testament to having survived, because people always talk about life like it’s an experience, a journey. Maybe for those people it is, for you, life was something that happened to you. “I’d like to know you, if you’d just talk to me.” And then he’ll run, won’t look at you the same way. He’ll realize you’re not worth his time, his love. The perverse part of you that understands that good things like him don’t belong to people like you, wants to see it burn, to be the one to set it on fire because you’re in control then.

• “You make one bad decision. And it’s not even that big a deal,” you say, fingers sliding against the line of scar on your side, time distracted like you’re confessing. “Skip some classes, hang out with the wrong people, try some things you shouldn’t, and after a certain point, you can’t seem to stop sliding.” And your head falls back as your eyes fix on some middle ground only you can see. “I’m not good like you are. I’m angry. Almost all the time.”

• Angry and afraid, so you talk tough, cop an attitude like nothing can touch you. And he sits up under you suddenly, a big hand dragging you to him, his mouth crashing against yours in rough dominance. His cheek brushing yours while he’s vents on a growl. “Good?” He demands, servos flexing against your neck and jaw. “I was supposed to end this war, to light my people’s darkest hour and I led us to destroying our own world in a never ending battle. I failed them all. I did the ugly things and survived even when I didn’t always want to and they’re all looking to me.” His helm bumps against you, resting against your head and you grip his arm. “If anything, you’re the one who should be ashamed of me.”

Previous

[keirareidss]

that multilingual reader fic got me thinking...

i see so many fics where the reader only speaks English and Spencer like translates movies that always happen to be in Russian or Italian (two of the languages I speak) and so I thought: what if the reader just enjoys hearing Spencer whisper into her ear during the movies and so she doesn't tell him she's multilingual? that probably doesn't make much sense but do you see the vision??😍

thank you for requesting! hope you enjoy :)

wc: 0.6k

It was your weekly movie night, every Friday night, with your boyfriend. You'd cuddle up on your couch or sometimes in a movie theater if something good was showing, one of you picking a movie while the other made popcorn.

You'd bring every one of your cozy pillows and blankets and arrange them around your couch. Typically, the movies you picked to show Spencer were either rom-coms or, on the other end of the spectrum, horror movies. You loved the way he flinched at the jump scares burying his face in your shoulder to hide from the film. One time you picked a film in Russian, a language you were fluent in, that you knew had a scene containing dirty talk just so you could hear Spencer whisper it in your ear.

Spencer's picks usually consisted of old movies, most of the time in a different language. He'd lean closer to you, the heat of his body warming you even more, as he murmured the translations in your ear. His warm voice gave you goosebumps, his arm heavy around your waist.

It was Spencer's turn to pick the movie and he chose a French film from 1959 called 'The 400 Blows'. You cuddled up on the couch, shuffling into Spencer's side, close enough for him to whisper to you.

It's funny, sometimes he'll get too invested in the movie that he forgets to translate to you and, once he realizes himself, he'll apologize sheepishly and rewind the movie to where he left off. Little did he know, you'd understood what was happening the entire time.

The way Spencer found out about your fluency in French was on a case. The unsub's had been sending notes to each other in French and, you and Spencer being the only ones left back in the precinct, were tasked with reading and putting together the notes to see if there's any clues as to their identity or whereabouts.

You were pinning all the notes in date order on the cork board as Spencer pulled out a notebook to translate. He heard you murmuring under your breath and looked up.

"Do you want to write as I translate?" He asked.

"No, I've got it. 'Paul, I think writing each other is a better alternative-'" You began translating the letters the unsubs wrote to each other.

"Wait, you know French?" You realized your mistake, turning around to look at him, blushing slightly.

"Well..."

"When did you learn?"

"I've known since I was fourteen." His eyebrows furrow.

"I've been translating movies to you for three years now. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I... I don't know, you just did it the first time and I liked the closeness and- and your voice, and I guess I just never thought to tell you." You said, your face hot with embarrassment.

"Really?" A small smile was growing on his lips.

"Yeah." You mumbled, looking down. Spencer stood from his chair, moving towards you and stopping when he was right in front of you. He tilted your chin up to look at him and you saw the smug grin on his face.

"You know, I don't need to translate to be close to you. You can just ask." If possible, your face goes redder.

"Okay." You mumbled and he chuckled, leaning down to kiss you softly, his hand still cradling your chin.

"Je t'adore, mon amour." He murmurs against your lips.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

[waves-after-dark]

i think its interesting that in the kataang storyline katara is given grief for her endgame being mother, wife, healer A N D not being an active member of the world stage

but in most of the zutara content katara is wife, mother and in quite a few stories embraces her healing abilities because it goes great with zuko being the burn victim

now, i have not read every zutara creation in existence but i have immersed myself in a lot of zutara content for many years since the original show aired and do not mistake my point here, i enjoy zutara, i'm not anti any ship, i'm a multi shipper. this post is a matter of an observation and recent conversations on here over the topic of the katara we see in The Legend of Korra

a lot of zutara works amount to katara and zuko happily married, of course with plenty of drama on the way because it would not be a proper zutara story without all the flair and drama, and naturally, their steam babies

a big difference i see, politically speaking. politically. is katara is a monarch in one story and not in the other

in many zutara stories katara and zuko have the envied romance, beautiful, steam babies and katara is almost always heavily involved in the politics of the fire nation (zuko's court)

and this is the point where i want to offer a perspective change. maybe lok was following a more realistic approach which reality is grim and injust whereas the fantasy that katara is a leader in politics in the fire nation is less likely to be based in reality. and that's fine, it's fanfiction.

we hope and dream as writers and readers

but there is this idea that katara by marrying zuko has more political say and knowledge and influence by simply being his wife and they re-write the entire culture of the royal family, its duties, the family structure of the nation, it's wonderful! but those things do not happen overnight, it is fantasy if it does, it takes generations, centuries to sometimes see that kind of change

unfortunately, The Legend of Korra is grim

there have been a lot of great people who pushed back against abusive systems who were well-known in that bubble of a moment but history washed them away

so the writers "stripped katara's power" maybe the writers were expressing what has happened to women like katara and i know it pisses people off and it is understandable that it does

i do not deny a writer can let their ego get in their writing and just decide they do not want to care about a character and do not want to invest in said character because they no longer care about what the character cares about

all of these things are plausible and the fact that some people do not accept that all are plausible is the definition of close-minded

until bryke says: hey, this is what happened to katara, it is widely left open and let's be honest, no matter what bryke confirms about katara in those years between a:tla and what we see of her in lok, not everyone is going to be happy and that's okay too

[captain-huggy-bear]

Going to break my heart and everyone else's. I cried writing this. I'm not okay. Requests are open for specific people only, please see my pinned post for details :) Writing Masterlist

"I don't want you to go..."

You launch yourself at him, arms wrapping around him tight like if you hold on hard enough, long enough he won't have to pack his bags to get on a flight out to Buffalo tonight. Like if you hold him hard enough both teams will change their mind and let him stay in Utah, where he belongs. Like you are the one thing that's able, capable of doing the impossible.

"It'll be okay..." Michael's choked up, but you can tell he's trying to be brave for your sake, arms wrapping around you just as tight as you start to cry into his chest because he's going...because he's supposed to be here with you and now he's going to Buffalo and you don't know when you'll see him next. It might be that you see him next when he's playing against his best friends like all of the past few years never even mattered. You hate this. You hate the teams for making this decision, for putting him through it, for putting you through it...

"I...I don't want you to go, you belong here. With the team, with the guys...with me." Maybe it's the quiver in your voice, maybe it's the sobs that you can't stop letting out, the hiccupped breaths or maybe it's the way you cling to him like he's going to disappear. Whatever it is, it breaks that last hint of resolve Michael has, his next words heavy with tears, droplets falling down onto the top of your head like the splatter of rain.

"I...I don't want to go either...fuck, baby...I don't have a choice."

Both of you hold each other like that, sobbing in the other's arms for what must be at least half an hour. He's crying, you're crying, clinging to each other even as you both find yourself folded over each other on the floor, unable to hold yourselves up any long through the weight of your tears.

"I'm scared...You're gonna forget me." Your forehead presses into his shoulder but it's real, the fear, the feeling like he's going to go to Buffalo, make new friends, find a new family, find a new girl...and you'll be left behind as cold as the mountains outside your window.

Michael pulls back from you, hands cupping your face and forcing you to look at him. Big brown eyes red rimmed and wet, cheeks blotchy from his crying, brown strands of hair falling cross his forehead, even like that he's perfect, he's beautiful.

"Never." Voice so serious, almost stern like if he tells you harsh enough you'll believe him, "You're it for me. I'll come back every holiday and we'll spend all the off-season together and...and you can come join me at some point? Right?" He's so hopeful because God, Michael hates this. He hates that he and Josh are being moved, upped from everything they know to somewhere else. He hates that he's leaving his best friends. His hockey family. He hates that he's leaving you...and he hates that he has to get on a plane in a matter of hours, that there's no time for you both to process, to deal with it. He's living his dream, but all dreams can turn into nightmares sometimes.

"I..."

"I know your job is here and everything and...but I want you with me, baby, even if it's in 3 years or 5 or 10." He'll wait, he can wait. He'll do the long distance thing...as long as he knows at the end of it the two of you will be together again.

"Okay..." and the truth is you'd drop everything for Michael. A new state. A new life. A new everything, just as long as you had him. Just so long as you didn't have to spend your entire life waiting for the few moments you could see him.

"I love you. No trade is going to change that, you understand that?" Thumbs wipe at the wet tracks across your cheeks, press gently under your red rimmed eyes and tap against the snotty tip of your nose.

"Yeah...yeah, I love you, Michael, you know that?"

"Yeah, baby, I know." His forehead presses to yours and maybe neither of you are okay right now, maybe it feels like your heart is breaking, but it's going to be okay...because you still have him, no matter how far away he is. He's yours, he loves you and you love him and you're both choosing this, choosing to make it work even if you're miles and miles away from each other.

It'll be okay. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day, it'll be okay.

[nexus-raven]

This is such a big internal conflict that the core principle runs through so many situations. Somebody being reckless or subjectively stupid based on my perception, and the way that base anger, sometimes rage, manifests itself can honestly be scary.

I like to believe that at least most people aren’t intentionally evil. That it’s not a good thing to wish bad upon someone. On principle I’d like to say it’s not good to do no matter what. What you wish upon others circles back around and I don’t like what wishing any kind of harm(yes even just inconveniences) on someone doesn’t feel good. Like internally it feels yucky.

That said, I absolutely have thoughts about hoping a reckless driver hits a string of red lights, or that with nobody getting hurt they have to deal with their tires not being able to keep up with them. Not that I want them getting hurt but that I think they need to reassess the level of endangerment to themselves and others. But then it still doesn’t sit well in my chest.

It feels as bad as seeing someone who’s reported as being a dangerous or violent criminal and thinking they ought to be shot. I don’t believe anyone should be shot but the amount of similar things that basically every grown up in my life would say become base thoughts that I have but don’t agree with.

Getting off topic for a second but it’s honestly the same psychological premise and when you grow up around off hand (possibly low key) racism. Nothing big enough to flag as wrong at the time, none of the known bad words, just the “harmless stereotypes”. The stuff that you don’t catch as racism until you’re older and more informed. The stuff that you can’t really call out in your high school years that you know is wrong and when you try to say something you get shut down and dismissed. Exposure to those thoughts verbally all the time for years, leads to your own brain supplying them reflexively even when you don’t agree with it.

having anti punitive justice morals sucks because you want to say "man that guy sucks he should get hit with hammers until he dies" but you also want to make it clear you don't think anyone should be put in charge of the 'hit people with hammers until they die" machine.

[yoyowrites]

au where qijiuyuan were childhood friends

like qijiu were on the streets and sy was the son of a merchant family, one that is not super rich but doing well enough. sy was the only son. when his parents were working, he'd sometimes sneak out and thats how he met qijiu.

sj is very prickly and is close to biting this privilege soft pretty boy. yq managed to calm sj down (though sy was no help. he is very much a poke the bear). sy and sj are actually the same age. they form a strong bond. one yq didn't quite understand considering the two fought like wildcats one moment and be laughing like life long friends.

they often jokingly put yue qi in the middle of it, leaving him flustered at time.

("how could you say that?" shen jiu gave a high mocking gasp. "qi-ge did you hear him?"

"qi-ge, he actually started it," shen yuan crossed his arms haughtily. "I'm right, aren't i?"

yue qi didn't get the chance to respond before shen jiu was pinching shen yuan's leg while claiming only he could call qi-ge, qi-ge)

sy would often bring them medicine and food whenever he could. he'd offered to the two of them to try to get his parents to take them in or find someone else. unfortunately, sy's family fell on hard times and they were forced to move in order to continue staying afloat

it happened nearly instantly. it was almost like they were fleeing something. sy actually had to runaway in the middle of the night to say goodbye to qijiu. he wasn't barely holding it together and begging them to know that he was going back for them. he promised them.

it was a promise he wouldn't get the chance to follow through on. shortly after sy leaves, sj is forced in the qiu manor.

--

years later, sj is in cqm, no thanks to either of those traitors. sy is not a part of cqm but he is a cultivator from a different peak. he and yq had very recently reconnected but then yq had gone in to qi deviation and then the qiu manor had burned so qiyuan were starting to mourn when sj appeared.

anyways, sj is angry at the two of them and assumes they both abandoned him.

later, sj is a peak lord. sy is also one, he joined cqm shortly after sj was found. sy is a beast peak lord.

yq and sy end up bonding over their guilt and worry over sj but go about it in different ways. yqy is indulgent overly so. sy is extremely annoying. he's constantly poking fun at sj, trying to go back to how they were.

yqy is worried abt pushing sj away but sy does a great job in getting closer to sj again.

yqy is nearly in tears when his door is slammed open and sy appears holding a (likely venomous) bird like creature.

"qi-ge! look what he did!" shen yuan gives an exaggerated pout. "my baby is hurt."

"do not call him that," shen jiu chides from behind a fan. "he is our sect leader, not your qi-ge. anyways, this one did nothing without cause."

maybe there is hope for them to go back to how it was before.

_

sy absolutely does not allow binghe to be abused. he's there when sj sees him and sy puts his foot down. (he doesn't know how bad sj would get but he knows his shen jiu is not to get his hands on this boy). shen jiu pouts and ignores them for a month but eventually lets it go.(yqy nearly bends to transferring lbh during that month but sy was there every step of the way to stop him).

so, lbh grew up under lqg. though he did cross paths sj often because lqg and sj are often at odds.

[brokenbough]

Absolutely incredible job on the first thing you posted on here! That sounds like I think I’m qualified to appraise the quality of writing and I’m not, sorry if it came off weird. I just loved it, I guess is more accurate to say.

Grumpy Simon is the very best, and you nailed him. He wants her to cuddle into him so bad he’s such an idiot. This concept was so wonderful and again you executed it beautifully :)

Not a request, just a musing, but I think this would be the PERFECT situation for jealousy playing a role in forcing Simon to admit his blossoming feelings for reader. He thinks he hates it when she lays on him, even though he’s starting to realize he craves it, he still resents her for it because he hates feeling feelings and she’s making him do that he just doesn’t realize that’s his problem with the situation.

But imagine how incredibly bothered and angry and jealous he’d be if reader curled into Johnny or Gaz or god forbid his CAPTAIN or even Graves or Los Vaqueros oh god instead of him. I think regardless or whether it happens on accident (maybe she settles with the rest of the group because Simon is on watch and when she gets sleepy she slumps onto whichever comfy shoulder is nearest) or on purpose (maybe he was being an asshole or had pushed her away so she tried her best to find a new pillow that wouldn’t upset her Lieutenant) I think he’d be so jealous and his feelings would come to the forefront and he’d have to confront them.

I also think it could be a cute idea for Simon to like prohibit her from sleeping on his shoulder and so on the mission she literally can’t sleep at all. She struggles and tries, just lays quietly while they sleep so as not to bother them, but she can’t get comfortable, needs the warmth and something softer than the ground to curl up into and lay her head on. This unexpected consequence takes a toll on Simon, as he sees how exhausted and frustrated she is - he’s pissed off that he cares about this beyond the possible impact on the mission. He’s also impressed but also saddened by how she’s trying to push through the mission even though she’s so much less experienced and is getting less rest than any of them.

Maybe these could be combined and that’s why she ended up falling asleep on someone else? Like she’s so tired her body draws her to the nearest willing shoulder.

Anyway just some fun ideas! I hope you’re well 🩷

One, so sad you don't write yourself. You 100% should, I love your brain. I hope you're well too

Two, I hope this is up to yalls standards. Sorry its so long. I watched two movies making this, i got distracted 😋😋 :>>>

Not proofread 🤕

------------

After two years of being with the team, it almost became ritual for presents for either you or Ghost to be a collection of the two of you together, one sleep or both.

You thought it was a cute tradition. It was something you almost looked forward to, more than clothes or jewelry or trinkets. It was your favorite gift and you wouldn't trade not one photo for anything else.

But cute was not something Ghost was akin to. It was kind of the... opposite of Ghost. He was a hardened, seasoned soldier, not some fluffy pillow you could kick back on.

Yes, maybe he let you lay on his lap sometimes, and maybe you've gone to him for comfort on more than one occasion, hugging him tightly, blubbering sorrys and other apologies.

He never cooed at you, reassured you, or even hugged you back... but he let you mush your tiny face into his chest whenever life got too much for you.

Maybe it was after a mission, maybe days after and the memories came back. He'd been through it himself, he knew the feeling. Only he didn't have anyone to lean on, so maybe you leaning on him gave him some sort of closure. He doesn't know, he doesn't really think about it. He can't, not with his life on the line almost everyday and yours. It was a distraction, wasted time he simply didn't have.

So, like any sane person with having good literally put in front of them, he pushed you away. He kept his distance, kept you off his shoulder, because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was growing... fond of you. Not attached. Merely... tolerant of you-- your behavior-- and that in of itself was dangerous. Fondness, trust, softness, got you killed in the field.

You didn't even notice at first, too caught up with each grueling mission. You were sputtering, running on the last fumes of your gas. Sleep didn't come easy when you were being shot at, yelled at, and pulled onto yet another plane.

But here... it's cold. And cold makes you unnaturally sleepy. It was something you've known about yourself since childhood. When it got cold, you got sleepy. That's just how it's always been. And now, in the Candian cold, in the less than warm safe house, you were getting tired.

You had last watch with Johnny, Kyle and Price first, Ghost and Price after.

Lounging on the cushy couch the safe house provided, curled up in one of the few blankets, you leaned to the side, Ghost's shoulder the comfortable pillow you remember. You yawn, nuzzling a little closer before your eyes open again.

His finger on the side of your head, pushed you away, moving you closer to Johnny before removing himself from the couch entirely.

He didn't even bother looking at you.

You frowned, watching him walk further and further away. He walked until he was completely out of your eyesight, making your frown droop even more.

You were pulled out of the sad fog by Soap. He shook you slightly, wrapping his arm around your smaller body.

"'S okay bonnie. He's usually a prick." Johnny assures with a small smile, pulling you closer as you surrendered to the fate that was Soap's shoulder.

It was warm, soft, nice. But not Ghost warm, soft, nice. Simon wasn't just warm, he was a fucking furnace, constantly burning, a crackling fire that lulled you to sleep. And he wasn't soft, he was fluff you melt into, like that one pillow you got and can only find cheap replacements for because others are too firm. And godforbid someone call his shoulder just nice. His presence, scent, the way his breath was its own type of calming was just... perfect. Soap was just... just mediocre. But it would have to do because it didn't seem like Ghost was gonna return anytime soon and you needed sleep.

------------

When Ghost had left he wasn't prepared for the anger, the fury that bubbled in his chest seeing you asleep on someone else, let alone cuddled up to fucking Johnny on the small couch. Laying on top of him like he was the softest bed you've made contact with.

He squinted his eyes at the sight, his balled up fists itching for a throwing knife. He couldn't see your bunched up face, contorted in agony because Soap, as big as he was, just wasn't thick enough to sink into. It was more uncomfortable than you would've liked to admit. Bless Soap's poor, sad face if he ever found out he wasn't comfortable enough for his favorite lass.

Ghost stormed out again, standing in the cold silently as his entire body heated up with annoyance, and anger, and every other synonym of the two.

He was on watch now, even though his mind was clouded with images of you and someone else.

You, you, you.

You and someone else.

------------

A soft shake jolted you awake, a knife in your hand before you registered the soft, amused smile and eyes of your captain.

"Easy there." He said, helping you up, watching as you stretched and groaned, cracking your neck, Johnny still out cold.

"Sorry. Force of habit." You say with a sheepish smile, looking around the ever quiet room. You caught Ghost's eyes before quickly looking away, the look in his eyes nothing short of barely controlled rage.

You didn't know how you'd made him mad, but he looked angry. Angrier than when he chewed you out for sleeping on him your very first mission.

"No need to apologize." He continues before shaking Johnny awake too.

When Johnny finally sat up-- having to be promptly smacked awake-- Price informed the two of you that you were now on watch.

You went to the window, looking out at the quiet snow that fell in unique snowflakes, catching up with its brothers and sisters, quietly laying next to its family before watching another fall.

The house was quiet, aside from Price's unbridled snores and Gaz soft muses in his sleep. You don't know where Ghost went off too, probably the very back room to lie down.

You couldn't take the silence anymore as you finally looked at Soap, beckoning him over to talk.

Your whispers surely too quiet to wake anyone else in the house. It was only the drop of something heavy that finally pulled your head up from snickering with Soap, shattering the bubble of silence that seemed to envelope the house.

You turned, watching Ghost angrily arrange fire in the small hearth. He didn't look at you again, glaring at an oblivious Soap as the both of you made your way over, watching the lieutenant work.

"What're ya doin' Lt.?" Soap asks, looking into the fireplace.

You looked too, focusing more on the hands that worked than the actual work.

"Fuck does it look like Johnny?" Ghost said, snappier than usual.

"Why're you fillin' up the fireplace?" You ask, looking to an offended Soap and back to the pile of neatly arranged logs.

"Can't have you fallin' asleep on watch." He answers gruffly, throwing a match into the fire. His 'you' sounding like sin. Reprimand.

Soap was too enamored with the fire to question Ghost's words. Not cryptic, but unusual.

"I wouldn't fall asleep on watch-" you say in an offended tone before he cuts in.

"But you fall asleep in the cold." He says, clipped and clearly aggravated. Accusatory, like he shouldn't know that.

You stare up a him blankly, watching his eyes. Watching him watch you with the same blank look.

"How-" you start to question before he checks your shoulder, knocking you into Johnny, pulling the Scottish man back to reality. Soap pulls a rattled you back to the window, looking out at the soft, untouched snow, mindlessly continuing the conversation from before.

But him-- his words rattled around in your brain as the other man talked, his words going in one ear and out the other as Ghost's words floated around the empty space between your ears. Just him, his words, the fire that crackled behind him.

Him, him, him.

Him and his words.

------------

You were finally relieved from duty as the sun started to come up, making the snow sparkle. The sun itself tinting the sky pink and orange and red, painting the sky picturesque.

You looked away from its beauty solemnly as everyone else started to wake. You turned away, stretching again before watching the others work, looking like little ants. The thought made you smile, giggling to yourself and putting you in good spirits, something unusual from the usual bite you had in the mornings. They weren't your thing.

The rest of the task force looks at you before you just wave them off, helping with breakfast.

Price talks as the rest eat.

"Evac comes at noon, be packed up and ready by then. We have new leads to follow, so wake up." He says, a pointed look at the ever groggy Johnny. You'd say he slept as much as you, if not more on leave.

You snicker, elbowing softly. The deathly glare he gives you makes you laugh more.

Gaz starts to laugh too, seemingly more amused by how tickled you looked with Johnny than Johnny himself.

Ghost is quiet, not bothering to join in with the happy that seemed to surround you indefinitely. The sunlight crept in through the windows, shining on you softly as you literally glowed in his eyes. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes sit before opening them again. But there you sat, smile on your mouth, cheeks tinted red from laughing, your eyes crinkled in amusement, and you-- glowing.

------------

The ride back was boisterous. Well, for four out of the six people aboard it. Price and Gaz laughing, Soap-- in a better mood-- making even the pilot laugh.

But you sat alone on the other side, right in front of Ghost. You tried to sit next to him, catch up on some sleep before being deployed again, but he had sat his pack in the chair next to him, not even sparing you a glance. His jaw was clenched shut, eyes burning a hole in the side of plane.

You said nothing, walking past him and past the rest before settling on the other side. Right in front of Ghost. The silence around you deafening, the tension in between tense enough to be cut with your nails.

No one said anything, no one even looked at you two, too caught up in their own jokes and theatrics.

Luckily for you, it was a short ride back to Washington.

You'd been up on more missions than usual, which meant you'd been up for longer than usual. The sleep you got with Soap had been the most you'd gotten over a week. You'd only slept 4 hours.

The promise of a proper bed and food that wasn't MREs was the only thing fueling your near empty tank. Probably everyone else's too.

When you finally landed at base, debriefed, and ate, you were finally permitted to sleep. You couldn't even make it to your room before you crashed on the couch in the secluded area that was reserved for the 141. Soap and Gaz were already there, playing a card game.

A head peaked over one of the couches. Ghost. You took the seat next to Price, watching him read a little before scooting closer and laying on his shoulder.

You settle next to him, getting a small smile in return.

"Tired?" Price asks, looking you over before turning the page.

"Mhm." You mumble, noncommittal.

You look around for a moment, taking in the happy that enveloped the two men before switching over to Ghost who looked at you. Finally, you think.

You aren't sure why you wanted him to look at you, but he had been avoiding you since.. well yesterday. You were too tired to notice it, but now that you think about it, he hasn't talked to you in mayb a week, besides barking orders and that time by the fire.

You huff softly, shifting closer to the captain. He leaned back, wrapping an arm around you. He smelled like cigar smoke and... well, warm. Maybe Old Spice.

You drifted off to sleep, the last thing you saw being Ghost's skull balaclava. It was seared into the back of your eyelids as you closed them, trying to find solace in your dreams.

It never came.

------------

You awoke by yourself, passed out on the couch. You rubbed your eyes, lifting up and rubbing at the crick in your neck.

You found a mass of black in front of you. You were startled to say the least, pinching yourself to make sure it wasn't a dream.

It wasn't.

You looked up, catching Ghost again.

Looking away, you yawned, fighting the tiredness again. You couldn't get proper sleep anywhere.

A voice cut through your thoughts. Gruff, demanding, definite.

"Enjoying yourself?" It asked.

You looked back to Ghost, watching his mask move slightly.

"What?" You say, still a bit dazed from the short nap. You took a glance around the room. Cards discarded on a table some way off, Price's book discarded on the table in-between the two sofas.

"Sleeping around, I mean." He says, voice deeper than usual. He was ticked off.

Why?

"Sleeping-- what?" You ask again, offended, angry, annoyed. What the fuck was this man's game? Why was he bothering playing games with you in the fist place?

"First Soap, then Price. Who's next? Gaz?" He asks, glaring at you.

"What are you talking about?" You demand now, sitting up properly.

"I'm talking about you sleeping with everyone."

Your brain takes a moment to catch up before glaring at him.

"You mean on them? Because I'm tired? Because I've been up for 84 fucking hours, I think I deserve sleep." You spit out.

"On them, with them, same difference." He comments nonchalantly.

"Uhm, no. Not the same thing." You argue, eyeing him like he's grown a third head.

"They are to me."

".... Are- Ghost, are you jealous?" You ask, not expecting an answer.

He scoffs like it's the most ridiculous thing in the world, but his eyes tell-- scream a different story to you.

"You are." You laugh.

"I'm not. You're.. you're ridiculous." He says, scoffing again.

"No. I'm right. You are jealous."

"Uhm, no. I'm not." He reiterates.

"Yeah, you are." You say, full on smiling now.

He doesn't answer you a third time, opting to just look at you blankly, hoping his jealousy couldn't be seen through his mask.

It wasn't, but it was easily spotted through his eyes.

He huffed again, leaning back into the couch, crossing his arms.

"Fine. I'll only... sleep with you, if you apologize." You finally say after a moment of too long silence.

"Apologize?" He says, clearly annoyed at the prospect. "For what?"

"Do you really want me to go down the list?"

F"Go on." He taunts.

"One, for ignoring me for no reason. Two, for being jealous for no reason and making me lose out on sleep. Three, making me lose out on sleep when I could've used it. Four--"

"Okay. I get it. Jesus." He huffs again, his arms crossing tighter.

"Apologize." You say again.

He gives you a look, eyeing you like you've just spoken blasphemy.

You give him a look like you're not playing.

"...." He tsks audibly, opening his legs slightly for comfortability.

You raise an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him.

He clears his throat, his leg bouncing for a second. "And.. me..." He clears his throat again. "You only sleep with me. Okay?" He says, his authoritive voice back on.

"Mhm. I'll only sleep with you. Simon." You taunt.

"Me, and my shoulder." He continues, eyeing you seriously.

"Mhm."

"Good." He huffs out one last time before leaving.

------------

"He said that? Him and his shoulder?"

"Mhm. Cause he knows what's good for him." You nod, eating a bit more.

"Okay girl. Okay." Gaz concedes, picking off your plate before recoiling when you smack his hand.

"What're you two on?" Ghost asks, eyeing Gaz.

"She's all yours man." Gaz says, raising his hands in surrender.

Ghost's eyes narrow, eyeing you after.

You only shrug, leaning on his shoulder. Pre-deployment nap after eating? Hell yeah.

[horny-marbles]

I haven’t been active lately but I saw that sally face post and girl I would go absolutely BERSERK over some written work from you!!! ( I have a tattoo of him on my arm 😛 )

And I hope you’re doing well❤️

LET'S FUCKING GO BABYYYYY im doing so well now that i got this off my chest 🙏🏻 ill be shitting out some of these in the next week because i have so many ideas AND NO WRITER'S BLOCK CAN HOLD A BITCH BACK

Your Hands (Sal Fisher x F!Reader)

CW: lovey dovey sex with a lot of care beforehand (tf do you call that cause its not foreplay), handjob, a bit of edging, riding, creampie

a/n: this isn't completely canon, we're pretending there's no cult or death or trial in this one

summary: you love pampering your boyfriend 🩵

wordcount 4.5k

The room is quieted to a warm, comforting light from the bedside lamp and fairylights stretched haphazardly across the walls like webs — some christmas tree decorations you thought were too pretty to only take out once a year. The sheets are halfway pulled back, and Sal’s laid out flat on his back, face turned your way, prosthetic set aside neatly on the nightstand beside him.

He looks relaxed in that him kind of way: shoulders loose but still a little guarded, jaw set like he’s trying not to let himself enjoy the attention too fully. But he’s not moving away either. He’s letting you work, limp and unavoidably loved.

You’re sat next to him on your knees, bent over the bed with the tiny jar of ointment he used to keep tucked away when you first moved in together. Your fingers are slow and methodical as you press into the scarred flesh of his left cheek, free hand gingerly unsticking stray blue hairs from the oily sheen of the cream. The skin there is pink and and taut over twisted muscle and missing bone, but he never flinches away. Not from you.

You see the way his eye flutters shut at the first pass of your knuckles.

“…You okay?” you murmur, your voice just above a whisper, thumb dragging just under his empty eye socket.

Sal hums, the sound low and lazy. “Mhm. Feels nice.”

Then, after a beat:

“Still weird sometimes. Not bad weird, just—y’know.” He gestures vaguely with one hand, bare arm shifting with the motion. You do know. You've spent countless nights in this same position, palms light and tentative over skin that used to jump, willing old habits away.

“I get it,” you say gently. You lean down, pressing your lips to the uneven angle of his jaw where you were yet to lather the ointment, before smoothing your knuckles over your kiss. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He doesn’t. Just breathes a little deeper through his nose and lets his spine curve into the mattress like that's where he belongs — and he does.

Once you’ve finished smoothing the salve over the angry pink ridges of his scars, you swap it out for a light moisturizer—something scentless and barely there that he used to tease you about until he felt how soft it made his skin feel. You rub a little between your palms before tracing it over his forehead and the edge of his jaw, down his neck. He goes pliant under your hands, like melting wax.

It’s not even about skin care at this point. It’s just an excuse to touch him.

You pause for a moment, just watching him. He’s beautiful in this light: sleepy and half-undone, hair messy from how he’d pulled it out of its piggies earlier, the strands soft and curling where they rest against the pillow. You brush them aside before leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He makes a quiet noise, not quite a word.

You smile. “C’mere. Sit up for a second.”

Sal cracks open his eye, then grunts softly when he shifts, slow and heavy like gravity’s tripled. He hauls himself up to sit at the edge of the bed while you reach over to grab the cream you keep for massages, thicker than lotion, with a faint smell of vanilla and something herbal — supposed to work as a muscle relaxant, but Sal insists it's your hands doing the work. You warm it between your palms and step behind him where he sits shirtless in the lampglow, spine still curved like he’s resisting the urge to just collapse face-down.

But then your hands slide onto his shoulders, and he melts. Audibly.

He lets out this deep, involuntary sigh from his chest, head tipping forward a little like he’s already half asleep. His body slackens under your touch as you begin to work the cream into his shoulders and the nape of his neck, thumbs kneading into the knots buried deep under skin and bone, tight like he always carries something that won't leave his body without help.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, voice hoarse with how relaxed he is. “Feels fuckin' incredible.”

“Yeah?,” you hum, smiling a little. “I like taking care of you.”

You press into a tight spot at the base of his neck, and he groans again, quiet and strained, the kind of sound that makes your stomach flip just a little.

“I know.” His voice cracks when you move down between his shoulder blades. He sounds embarrassed — not ashamed, just not used to saying it out loud.

“You're getting better at letting me,” you murmur into the back of his neck, just barely grazing your lips over his skin.

He shivers. Just once.

You move further down his back, palms smoothing wide and slow, working your way to his lower spine before traveling back up again, dragging your nails lightly this time. His breath snags in his throat before puffing out in a shudder.

There’s no rush in any of it. It’s languid and quiet and intimate, the kind of care that doesn't require payment. The kind of care that repays you with a softness in his eye that undoes you.

Eventually your hands trace along his biceps, his forearms, the narrow slopes of his wrists, lingering there, massaging gently into his palms, his knuckles. He watches you do it, fingers twitching with stimulation. Quiet. Eyes a little hazy.

He shifts his leg slightly and you catch the movement. The faint bulge in his sweats is there but soft, lazy, like the rest of him. Not urgent, just… responsive. A little foggy. Warmed up by touch and trust and the way your thumbs are circling the heel of his palm right now.

“…You’re unreal,” he murmurs, voice low.

You glance up. “Hmm?”

Sal just shakes his head slightly, hair falling into his face, and gives you a tired, barely-there smile. “Nothing. Just… you're unreal.”

He doesn’t pull away when you kiss the inside of his wrist.

Doesn’t stop you when your fingers start to trail back up his arms again, slow and soft and attentive. Doesn’t say a word when you press your chest to his back and wrap your arms around him loosely from behind, letting your chin rest on his shoulder as your hands splay gently over his ribs.

"You want me to stop?" you whisper behind his ear, low and breathy and just a hint teasing, nails ghosting over the ridges of his ribs.

He twitches and huffs. "Fuck no."

So you don't. He stays in that loose, half-draped sprawl on the edge of the bed for a while, boneless while you rake your fingers in one more pass down his sides, up do his chest and down to the clenching plane of his stomach, stopping just above his navel, where a thin trail of hair blends into puff. Strands of hair stick to his cheek, eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded like he could pass out sitting up. But when you press a kiss to the slope of his neck and trail your hand down his arm, guiding him back into the sheets and crawling slowly in sync with his body, he goes without argument.

You’re straddling his lap. Sort of.

More like kneeling over him, legs tucked on either side of his hips as he leans back against the headboard, shirtless, flushed, and very much not hiding the way he’s slowly hardening in his sweats. The lamp light kisses every inch of his bare chest, from the soft dip of his collarbones to the tight line of his abdomen, all the way down to the waistband that’s just barely hanging on.

He watches you through his bangs, hair mussed and falling into his face. The scarred half of his face is raw and glossy from the ointment, but his gaze lingers.

You're not really trying to be seductive, but the way your tank top clings when you shift your weight forward —climbing up his thighs to kneel just above his stomach — doesn’t leave anything to the imagination. It’s a worn-in scrap of fabric, washed soft, stretched paper-thin at the chest with low, sagging armholes that show the sides of your tits every time you lean in. And you do lean in; palms pressed to either side of his neck, hovering over him now as your thumbs start to work into the base of his throat.

His Adam’s apple shifts under your fingers as he swallows.

“Eyes up here, Fish,” you murmur with a crooked smile, even though your tits are half-out and you’re clearly not planning to hide them.

“Can’t help it,” he says, voice soft and a little hoarse. “They’re right there.”

You snort under your breath. “Honesty is the best policy, huh?”

He shrugs with a lopsided, exhausted looking grin. “Figured you’d rather hear the truth than pretend I’m not about to pop a boner during a shoulder rub.”

“About to?” You glance down. Nope, definitely already popped.

Sal flushes slightly, pink spreading from the bridge of his nose to his temples, but he doesn’t backtrack. If anything, his head leans back against the wall with a small, breathy laugh, the kind you only get from him when he’s just relaxed enough to admit he’s fucked in the best way.

His sweats are doing a terrible job hiding how hard he’s gotten, and your position sure as hell isn’t making it better. But you don’t move. You let your fingers smooth gently up his neck, rubbing slow, comforting circles into the sides of his throat and under his ears, letting your thumbs barely graze his collarbones.

“You know you can stop me,” you murmur, and you mean it.

Sal just looks up at you, half-lidded and smiling again, this time with a little more teeth. “You better fucking not.”

You laugh low, and lean down further to kiss the corner of his mouth, quick and sweet, before dragging your palms over his chest.

Your fingers slow at his sternum, pressing down gently, spreading more cream into his chest. You don’t say anything right away. Just let that little admission hang in the air between you, sweet and open and filthy in its own way. You know he means it; this isn’t seduction, it’s vulnerability with a hard-on.

Sal inhales sharply as your hands trail up again, slower now, crawling wide over his chest before curling back toward his throat. You’re careful here — fingers light, thumbs sweeping gently along the sides of his neck, not squeezing, just exploring. His pulse is jumping under your touch. You feel it throb when you graze just below his jaw, tilting his face toward you a little, eyes drinking his mouth.

He’s flushed deeper now. His eye is hazy. He looks up at you like he might actually die if you stopped.

“You’re not even touching my dick,” he mutters, “and I feel like I’m gonna blow a fuse.”

“You like it that much?”

His breath hitches.

“Are you joking?” He laughs, but it’s breathless. “You could be reading me a fucking bill right now and I’d still be hard with you sitting on me like this.”

You smile lazily, letting your fingers brush up the column of his throat, gentle, delicate.

“Oh yeah?” you murmur. “You want me to read you your water bill, baby?”

He groans loud, head falling back against the pillows. “Don’t do that.”

“What? You said you’d still be hard.”

“That was not an invitation.”

You’re both grinning now. Your hands don’t stop moving—rubbing, kneading, massaging every inch of his chest and stomach, soft and attentive, every touch sending little shockwaves of pleasure straight to where he’s already aching. You’re not trying to tease him, not really. The tension between you is already thick enough to chew through, and if he looked any more blissed-out and desperate under your hands, you’d start worrying about his blood pressure.

So, when you slip your hands back from his chest to your own body, tug that excuse of fabric up and over your head and toss it aside without fanfare, your boyfriend's eyes still go wide like you’ve just thrown a live grenade into his lap.

He swallows hard. Doesn’t say a word. Just stares.

You don’t call him out. You like the way he stares—eyes hungry but somehow still making you feel like you're being admired rather than preyed on. Jaw slack, breath catching like he forgot what oxygen was for a second. You just smile slow and sweet, and lean forward to press your palms back to his shoulders, skin to skin, chest to chest.

The warmth of your tits brushing against him draws a sound out of him he probably didn’t mean to make—a sharp inhale through gritted teeth, followed by a groan that stays caught somewhere in his throat.

“...Holy shit,” he mutters.

You pretend to hum innocently. “What?”

“You—just—you know what.”

But he doesn’t stop you when you slide your hands down again, over his stomach, trailing slow, slick paths with the leftover massage cream. He doesn’t flinch when your fingers slide under the waistband of his pants.

He just lifts his hips wordlessly so you can tug them down.

You push his sweats and boxers off in one slow motion, and his cock bounces free, flushed red and aching, laying against his stomach, tip sparkling like glitter in the cozy light.

You stare at it for a second. You can’t help it, you always stare. Flushed pink and pretty. Smooth. He’s not obnoxiously big — maybe a little above average — but the shape of it always makes your stomach clench with the memory of how it fills you with the slight curve upward, the thickness at the middle. The way the vein curves along the underside. The way it twitches like your eyes hold weight against it.

You glance up at him, and he’s got one arm thrown over his face now, blushing hard, chest rising and falling.

“...Don’t look at it like that,” he says, voice strangled.

“Like what?” you laugh, already shifting your weight to sit properly between his legs now, hands still lathered and slippery as you reach out and finally wrap your fingers around him.

He shudders. Jaw clenched, hips stiffening. His cock throbs immediately, in sync with his heartbeat.

“Like you’re about to narrate a crime scene,” he huffs.

You smile. “No crime here. Just admiring the evidence.”

Then you start stroking. Slowly.

Your palm slides up from the base to the head, twisting just a little on the way up. The lube of the cream makes it glide so smooth he lets out a full-body groan before he can stop himself. His hips buck slightly again, not on purpose. Just a natural response to how good it feels, to being touched like this by you.

“You okay?” you ask, voice syrupy.

“Fffuck,” he breathes, arm still covering his face. “That’s not a real question. You know how okay I am.”

You giggle, and your other hand comes in to cradle his balls lightly, thumbing gently at the soft skin there while your main grip works a slow rhythm up and down his shaft. He’s leaking already, a bead of precum pearling at the tip, and you spread it with your thumb, twisting lazily at the crown.

His legs twitch.

“You’re so sensitive today,” you murmur, biting your lip.

“Because you’re—fuck—because you’re doing this, with your tits out and your fucking hands—Jesus.”

You start stroking a little firmer, a little tighter, still slow, still relaxed, but more purposeful now. He’s throbbing hard, and your slick palm glides up and down with wet, lewd sounds that are only barely covered by the pipes moaning from nextdoor.

His head tips back against the wall with a dull thud. His voice comes out shaky.

“Gonna cum—seriously, I’m close already, I don’t—”

“Nope,” you cut in gently. “Not yet.”

You ease up just slightly, teasing a little swirl around the head with your fingertips, dragging your nails gently along the underside, then working your fist slow and deep again from base to tip, watching his cock pulse in your grip.

“You’re edging me?” he pants, cracking his eye open, mouth parted in a needy slit.

“No,” you say sweetly, stroking again. “I just know you can hold out a little longer.”

“...God,” he groans, hips twitching again. “That feels so good.”

You lean in close, tits pressed to his thighs now, your hand still working him in slow, even pumps. His cock is flushed, stiff, leaking freely now. You press a kiss to his hipbone, not looking up.

“I want to enjoy you,” you murmur. “You look so pretty like this."

Sal whimpers.

You stroke him long and slow, your other hand massaging lightly between his legs, and every once in a while you glance up to catch him peeking under the crook of his arm, eyes glassy and dark with need. He throbs harder, more urgent, like a heartbeat in your fist, but he doesn't beg or ask for more. He never does, and he never needs to.

You finally pry your hand off his length and pull your panties off your hips while his chest deflates with relief. You climb him, full body bare and skin warm from the lamp-lit room, calves bracketing his hips as you ease into a squat, your palms resting on his chest for balance, and fuck, the look on his face?

Wrecked. Reverent. Like he’s witnessing the second coming in real time and barely surviving it.

His good eye is already unfocused, droopy-lidded, tracking the slow roll of your hips as you press your slick heat down onto his cock. Not taking him in yet, just letting your folds glide along the length of him. Coating him. Teasing him. The whole head of his cock disappears beneath your pussy for a second, only to pop out again slick and twitching, shiny with how wet you are.

“Fffffuck,” he hisses, head lolling. “That—that is so—fuck, baby, you know how that looks?”

You do. That’s why you’re doing it.

Because you know what it does to him when you squat over him like this: tits hanging soft and heavy, thighs tight, hips dragging in long, smooth rolls, and using his cock to rub yourself off like it’s your favorite toy. His mouth is open now, chest stuttering with every breath, eyes barely hanging on to your form.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, voice cracking.

You reach down, wrap your fingers around the base of his cock to keep him in place, and grind your cunt down against the underside again, slow and hot, your clit catching on the swollen ridge of his head every time.

“I can’t—I’m gonna—fuck—please, just—”

You lift your hips slightly, cutting him off, line him up, and sink down.

No showboating, no dramatics. Just the slick, perfect glide of your pussy stretching around him, slow and smooth and hot, until he’s buried inside you all the way to the hilt.

Sal chokes. His back arches. His hands fly to your hips like instinct, like he’s trying not to black out.

“Holy fuck,” he gasps, voice gone completely hoarse. “You’re—you’re—”

You rock your hips forward and down, and his sentence dies in his throat.

You lean back just slightly, keeping your thighs spread, keeping that squat tight and low, and start riding him in slow, delicious bounces, controlled and deliberate. The way your pussy squeezes around him every time you lift, then drags down again has his mouth dropping open in this slack-jawed awe. Like he’s not even in his body anymore. Like you don't do this every few days.

You’re not trying to perform. It’s just good. So good you feel it in your teeth.

His voice is barely working. Little whines, wet groans, shaky breaths.

He looks up at you with wide, glassy-eyed look you love — and it’s desperate, but not begging. Just overwhelmed. Overcome. He’s not doing anything but taking it, just barely managing to keep his hips from jerking up.

You let one hand slip up from his chest to his throat. Not tight. Just holding him there. Thumb brushing his pulse, fingers wrapped around the soft skin under his jaw. You feel his heartbeat slam against your palm.

His eye rolls back.

“Oh my god,” he croaks. “You feel—fuck me, fuck—”

Every muscle in your legs is starting to sting, but it’s worth it. Because every single time you sink back down on him, you can see his whole body twitch. You can hear the wet slap of your ass against his hips, the obscene squelch where your bodies meet.

“I’m gonna cum,” he whispers, almost shocked.

“Not yet,” you pant. “Just let it feel good.”

You lean in more. Your tits brush his chest again, sweat slicking the space between you. His hands slip up your back, trembling just slightly. His mouth keeps falling open like he wants to say something but his brain is skipping like a record every time your pussy strangles him.

You’re watching him. He’s watching you. It’s all heat and eye contact and the feeling of his cock punching just shy of your cervix everytime you drop.

He’s wrecked. You fucking love seeing him this slutted out and unguarded. There’s drool at the corner of his mouth. His bangs are stuck to his forehead. His chest is heaving, every muscle tight, thighs shaking and bucking up just barely like he can't help it.

You press down hard and stay there, whining quiet and sticky behind your teeth, clenching tight around him, and his hips jerk so hard it knocks a sound out of him —something cracked and gorgeous, like he’s trying not to scream.

“I’m—oh my god,” he gasps.

You squeeze your hand just a little firmer around his neck, and raise your hips again once the burn eased in your thighs.

You can't slow down. You’re so deep on him you swear you can feel him in your throat, and every single time you plop your weight down, the stretch hits perfect, like he was made to fill you and your cunt was molded in the shape of his cock, made to take it.

Sal is barely breathing underneath you. His hands are gripping whatever they can find; your thighs, the sheets, the meat of your ass, your waist. He’s long past trying to be quiet about it. He’s making sounds, open and wet, like he’s too full of you to hold anything in.

And when you catch the shine of spit at the corner of his mouth — just this tiny glint on his flushed, panting face — you reach down without thinking. Swipe your thumb across it, and then lick the pad clean. Right in front of him.

He blinks up at you, stunned and smitten, jaw slack like he’s actually about to ascend through the ceiling. Like he cannot believe you just did that, but also please do it again.

“…That was—fuck, that was hot,” he mumbles, voice ruined.

You smirk, but it slips fast. The pressure's getting overwhelming. Your hips are slowing just enough now for depth, not pace —each drop has you bottoming out so perfectly it makes your toes curl. You’re soaked. He’s twitching inside you, every vein dragging against your walls, his cock so hard you can feel it pulsing behind your clit like some god-made rose toy.

Then you feel his hand slide between you, a little awkward but determined.

His thumb finds your clit without fumbling, palm gripping the inside of your thigh so he doesn't tremble away. Just presses down, firm and slow, rubbing in twitchy circles like he knows you’re right there on the edge and he needs you to cum like he needs air.

Your breath snags.

“Sal—fuck—”

“Need to feel it,” he pants, eye locked on your face. “Need to feel you cum on me, I can’t—fuck—I can’t take it anymore.”

You whimper.

You keep bouncing, barely now, more like rolling and grinding, letting him stay deep while his thumb works just right, pressure steady, no teasing, no delay. You’re so close it’s already burning.

“Come on,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “Let me feel it. Please.”

That does it.

Your whole body locks for a second, like every muscle’s bracing against the quake of it, and then it washes through you in hot, fast waves, pussy clenching tight and wet and shuddering around him. You cry out loud and sudden. Legs trembling, back arching so deep you almost fold backwards.

Sal gasps like he’s just been electrocuted. His cock jumps inside you so hard it almost punches another orgasm out of you on the spot.

“Oh my god,” he moans. “That—that, baby, it— Fuck yes—”

He’s babbling now, voice shaky and low and almost breaking. “Please—please can I cum? Inside you? Please—fuck—I’ll lose it if you say no—”

You grab his face, pressinj your forehead to his. Your hips still moving, grinding through your own aftershocks, knocking his body back and forth under you with the urgency of it, squeezing around him like your body’s begging for it too.

“Yes,” you choke. “Yes, fuck, please—”

And Sal breaks.

He makes this low, guttural sound that cuts short in his throat, fingers digging into your hips, and then he’s thrusting up into you, sudden and deep, once, twice, again. You feel him spill inside you, hot and messy and so much, like he’s been holding it back for hours. He chokes high on a moan, wraps his arms around you, clutches you to his chest as he empties himself inside you in thick pulses.

You don’t stop moving.

You ride him through every second of it, tight and slow and sweet, until he’s sagging underneath you, twitching, body limp but still inside, still gasping softly against your collarbone.

Your thighs shake. Your whole lower half is dripping.

He finally exhales, ragged and wrecked.

“…I think I just saw God,” he mutters into your skin.

You laugh, breathless and still sticking to him like velcro.

“No,” you whisper back, voice hoarse. “That was just me.”

[juletheghoul]

Is there ever a time where marcus and girl ever go out just the two of themselves? like a stay on the country side, while their daughter is watched back home. (sometimes ya just gotta get a break from duties and taking care of a kid)

i’d feel like they’d both take their time enjoying the quiet time to relax (and very possibly engage in other “Activities”) cough cough.

they both deserve it, but they deserve everything in my book tbh LMAO.

OUUUUU you’re really onto something with this one 👀

Warnings; Marcus eating pussy because he’s a king, fingering, pov sex (18+), slight dirty talk, worrying about Diana, night out with the hubby, Marcus being perfect

Word count: 1.4K 😏

Masterlist series masterlist

-

The moon is so bright it shines in his hair. Your fingers slip through it and he hums happily. Your other hand holds onto him tightly.

Silently he guides the horse you both ride through the open air, the night is quiet but for the sounds of the horse breathing, the click of its hooves, the insects chirping. You press your face into his shoulder, breathe in the comforting smell of him, smile when you catch the scent of your daughter's hair in his robes. You worry about her for a moment, hope she won’t cry when you aren’t there to tend to her in the morning.

“She is fine, I promise you.” He speaks softly over his shoulder and you frown, had you spoken out loud?

“I did not say–” He laughs low, knowingly.

“You did not have to, I felt you tense up. There is only one thing that would make you worry and that is Diana. I promise you my love, she is well cared for, and we will be back before midday.” He pulls your hand up from where it sits at his sternum and presses a kiss to it.

“Are you a mindreader now then? An oracle in the shape of a General?” You tease him, rubbing his heart through his robes.

“I am attuned to my wife.” You can hear the smile in his voice. You press your lips to his neck, and give in to the trust you have for him, and the people in your house.

He turns off the road, and guides the horse through a copse of trees, following a path he must know by heart until you reach a small clearing. A tent, much like the one you inhabited during his battle, sits alone.

“Marcus, when did you do this?” He helps you down, smiling wide at the look of shock on your face as he ties the horse to a tree.

“I had a few of my men tend to it earlier. Come.” He holds your hand, guiding you towards it.

The inside is even more impressive than the surprise when he hurries to light the candles, a plush bedroll big enough for two, woven carpets, a table with two chairs, wine and food to last through the night and well into the morning.

“Do you like it?” He moves to stand behind you at the mouth of the tent, arms wrapping around your waist to press you close.

“Yes, it’s perfect.”

“You have been so busy tending to Diana, and to me in truth. I thought that tonight, I could tend to you.” His lips press to your neck, his tongue tastes your skin and for a moment you’re lost in the feeling of it. Until he presses one last kiss, and moves away.

“Come, my Sun, let us eat.” He pulls the chair out for you, and you follow.

-

The meal is eaten leisurely. Conversation flows like water, natural and free. You make a jest, and he laughs a deep laugh, the sound of which fills you with light. He pours for you, despite your assurances that you can pour for yourself, he waves it away, stands and caters to you.

The candles burn down to nothing while you talk about anything and everything that comes to mind. Diana, the house, meetings and gatherings he must attend, festivities you must host. You speak of your years together, your years alone. He asks questions about your time before him for the hundredth time, and you answer them. You ask questions about his life as a soldier, and he answers with candor.

The conversation eventually slows to a lull, a sweet, comfortable quiet between the two of you, filled with sly smiles, and hungry eyes.

“It feels strange to be so relaxed.” You confess as he takes your hand in his, presses it to his mouth.

“It does, feels quite nice though. I am happy to have you all to myself once more.” He rises, pulling you up to embrace him.

“Are you now? Am I too often called away from you?” Your fingers stroke his hair, he will need a cut soon.

“Yes, far too often. You know the love I have for our little blessing but she is far too greedy with you.” You laugh, pressing yourself closer.

“I think you may now know how I have felt all these years.” The look on his face makes you laugh all the harder, mock outrage, playful shock. “Do not play coy Marcus, wars and delegations and tours of Rome. I have had to content myself alone for many a moon’s turn.”

He hangs his head in a pantomime of shame.

“You are right, of course. As always.” His lips descend, landing soft upon your shoulder. “This is for us both, then.” His fingers tip your chin up, and then his mouth is on yours.

It takes him an instant to divest you of your robes.

It’s a passionate scramble onto his bed roll, full of kisses, and excited laughter. He bites his lip, lifts your leg to kiss the inside of your knee. He trails his lips up your inner thigh, up towards where you ache for him.

“I have longed for the taste of you, but we never seem to have enough time.” He settles, keeps your legs open with the breadth of his shoulders, your heart races. It never fails to shock you, the sight of his mouth descending onto your sex.

“Gods above.” His tongue makes you dizzy, swirling, tasting, probing, stroking you into a frenzy. He hums while he feasts, wide licks over the whole of you, enjoying you, savouring you like he does a fine wine.

“Yes, yes, there, Gods, just there–” He presses closer, suctions his lips around the pearl of you and strokes. The pleasure climbs so quickly, so steadily that your words of encouragement shift to an incomprehensible babble. It only spurs him on.

Fingers circle around your opening and then two breach, thick and all-consuming. He pets at the spot only he’s ever found, firmly, devastatingly until your whole body clenches, suspended in ecstasy. He’s smiling when you come back into your body, licking his fingers as though you’re the finest delicacy.

Your limbs are heavy, a bone deep relaxation, a pink haze in the shape of him.

“You cannot know how much I love seeing you like this. Naked, wet, drunk on what I do to you.”

“On your tongue, and those deft fingers.” You pull him up, taste yourself in his mouth.

“And my cock.” You feel it then, the blunt tip of him rubbing against the sensitive mess he has made of your sex.

“Oh yes, how could I forget–” You gasp, a sharp intake of breath when he slips inside. It does not seem to matter how many times he’s taken you, or how wet you are, the heavy weight of him always makes your mind blank. That filling stretch, the one you know you’ll feel in the morning always makes you forget how to speak.

“Does that feel good?” He pants out the words, sweat beading on his brow with the effort of fucking into you.

“Yes, so good, harder.” You wrap your arms tighter around his neck and he obeys, buries his face into your neck and snaps his hips hard enough to make you gasp and whimper with each stroke. It’s too good to speak, too good to think of anything except the feeling of him. His cock hits almost too deep, but there is nothing in this world that would ever make you ask him to stop.

His moans in your ear, the unabashed way he sings his pleasure only makes it better, only makes you wetter and another climax creeps through your limbs.

You know he’s close when the groans turn into sharp pants, hot enough against your skin to raise goosebumps. Your fingers dip into his mouth and he sucks them with a filthy groan before you slip them between your bodies and swirl them around your clit.

The slip of his spit, the knowledge that you are alone here in this tent shoves you into a second, more intense climax, and it brings him down with you. The warm jet of his gift deep inside makes you glow, makes you preen under his love-glazed eyes, makes you laugh with the joy of his embrace.

“God’s above.” He laughs, watching himself pull out of you. He rolls over, pulls you into his arms where you both catch your breath.

“Indeed.” You hum, tracing patterns onto his chest. “Gratitude my love, for planning this.” You push his hair out of his face, admire the lines and the scars and the softness in his eyes you’ve only ever seen directed at you, or Diana.

“I do not want your gratitude, only your love.” He smiles, pressing his mouth to yours.

-

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[lovemepartly]

of all days ✩ choi seung-hyun

part of the GD&TOP writing event | 🎵 of all days

warnings: none!

a/n: so excited to be part of this amazing writing event!! make sure to read everyone else's works ☺️

also i'm gonna be offline for a while so that i don't get spoilers for squid game season 3... but i'm slowly working on some new fics and requests!

 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 

before it all slipped through your fingers, there was warmth.

you met seung-hyun through a friend of a friend, like most normal couples do. and he liked that— being a normal couple. when you met, it was at the peak of his musical career. he was touring with bigbang and working long hours every night, but you never saw that side of him. and he loved you for it. 

you learned the rhythm of each other quickly. he’d come home to you, leaving his shoes messily arranged by the door, and kiss you softly. when he was touring, you’d call almost every day. timezones didn’t matter, seung-hyun would stay up until 3am wherever he was just to talk to you. when he was on stage in seoul, he’d always invite you, getting you some private seats on the side of the stage on the balcony. it didn’t matter that he couldn’t see your face in the crowd, because he knew once the stage lift lowered him out of sight, you’d be waiting for him backstage, with the same comforting smile. 

on the nights where he wasn’t at the studio, he’d rest his head on your lap while you watched a movie, falling asleep almost instantly. you hardly ever liked the movie, but you always stayed still so he could sleep. some nights you’d stay up talking until sunrise. other times, he’d fall asleep mid-sentence and you’d kiss his temple softly, pulling the sheets over him. mornings with him were soft. he’d always compliment how you looked in the morning, wrapped in his arms, the golden light shining onto your bare skin. he never wanted to leave for work then, always pressing his forehead to yours and murmuring, “just five more minutes.” 

you used to joke that he only rested when you made him— and he used to say that was the point. with you, he could breathe. with you, he didn’t feel like an idol or a public figure or a product. he just felt like seung-hyun. and that, he told you once, was the most dangerous feeling of all.

the love was real. that might’ve been the worst part. the cracks started to form in your relationship quietly, without you realizing it. dates were cancelled, nights were spent waiting up for him to come home, and him just being gone too long. you never doubted seung-hyun’s love, but you started doubting if love was enough. 

it didn’t happen during a fight. there were no raised voices, no slammed doors. just a tuesday evening and takeout growing cold on the kitchen table. he was late again. you sat on the couch, legs tucked under you, flipping through a book you weren’t reading. seung-hyun walked in, hair damp from rain, discarding his shoes messily by the door like he always did. there was stillness. not a peaceful kind, but an ominous kind. 

“i’m sorry.” he murmured softly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, but not close enough to touch you. you nodded. because what else was there to say? 

it was almost worse that way. no dramatic final kiss in the rain. no tears. just a final silence that neither of you tried to fill.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

two months later. 22:16. seoul, south korea. 

he used to tell you “just one more tour.” you stopped asking when that tour would end. but now, it was actually over. for the first time in what felt like years, seung-hyun had nothing to do. and no one to come home to. 

he tried to keep busy by writing songs and going to the studio. he wondered if his name was still in your journal, the way yours never left his songs. 

he’d been distant at work and with the guys. jiyong told him to call you, but what he didn’t know was that seung-hyun’s call history was filled with outgoing calls. he knew you wouldn’t pick up— although, the fact that you hadn’t blocked him yet gave him hope. sometimes he just needed to hear your voice on the voicemail.

you picked up once, about a month ago. neither of you said anything. six seconds of silence. then, he hung up and the line went dead. 

tonight, he left the studio early, jiyong’s words ringing in his ears to call you. he thought maybe you’d pick up today. today, of all days, was what would’ve been your two year anniversary. 

it started to rain as he walked home, the pavement slick. he supposed it would’ve been poetic to continue walking, letting the rain drench him in his sorrows, but he decided to duck into a nearby coffee shop that was still open at the late hour to escape the rain. 

the bell jingled as someone walked into the cafe. you looked up, meeting eyes with seung-hyun. it felt like time slowed in that moment. he looked at you, his expression unreadable. you met his gaze, startled, but steady. he blinked once, twice, and after a second, walked up to the counter to order a coffee. 

you watched him, gaze still silently following him as he walked up to the counter. he waited by the counter for the barista to make his coffee, flicking his eyes over to you once, but you quickly looked away. 

he walked over to where you were sitting, placing his coffee cup down with a small clink on your table. you looked up to meet his gaze. 

“can i sit with you?” he asked, voice soft and low, just how you remembered it. 

you nodded almost automatically. “yeah, of course.” 

seung-hyun took a seat in front of you, fingers fidgeting with the handle of the coffee cup in front of him. he cleared his throat softly before lifting his gaze from the mug to look at you. “so, how have you been?” he asked awkwardly, but sincerely. 

“good,” you murmured softly, offering him a small smile, “i’ve been good. what about you?”

seung-hyun couldn’t help but notice the way your smile was polite now. not soft, not his. just a formality. “i’ve been good too.” he finally mumbled. he wanted to say something else, to tell you he was sorry again and again. 

“you look tired.” you murmured softly, eyes studying the dark circles under his eyes and solemn expression. 

your voice was etched with it’s familiar softness and concern. he wanted to laugh. he’d been tired since you left. “tour’s over,” is what he decided to say instead. 

you hesitated for a moment before softly replying, “i saw.” you did, online. but you also knew his schedule better than he did. 

your words caught him off guard. you saw. of course you did. he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it meant you still cared about him. 

“i’m proud of you,” you added, “i know how much that tour meant to you.”

he nodded softly. it did. not as much as you, he wanted to say, but bit his tongue. he was able to cough up a small “thank you.” 

“still get plain black coffee?” you murmur softly, a small but genuine smile appearing on your face as your eyes flickered down to the drink in front of him before back up.

he nodded, returning the smile. “do you still get an oat milk latte?” 

“yeah,” you murmured, gaze soft as you looked at him. “i guess we haven’t changed all that much.”

that’s the problem, isn’t it? he wanted to say. “i guess not.” he paused for another moment before softly adding, “i was thinking about you today.” it wasn’t a lie—  he’d been thinking about you everyday since you left. but today, on what would’ve been your anniversary, it felt like the only thought in his mind. 

“me too.” you murmured softly. there was a silent understanding between the two of you. you remembered. he remembered. 

you didn’t say anything after that. you were unsure what to say. every single time you set your coffee cup down on the table, the sound was too loud. the rain outside tapped on the window like it was waiting. 

seung-hyun took a deep breath, blurting out the words before he could regret them, “it would be nice to get dinner sometime. now that i’m back in town.”

you nodded softly, biting the inside of your lip to hold back a small smile. “i’d like that.”

a silent hope filled the air between you two. you didn’t know what this meant. but for the first time in a long time, you were both sitting at the same table and neither of you were in a rush to leave.

writing event taglist: @szonyix6277, @raynamorono23, @mintymuse, @millytugby

[willofthequill]

Sleep Sweet

Welcome back to another adventures in Mouse's Mini-verse! It's Father's Day and the one year anniversary of the start of my Daddy Duty series! I cannot believe I have been writing these silly stories about Mouse and Sukuna for a year! I have had such a blast working on this series, and I have no intentions or desire to stop! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, given Kudos, likes, or reblogs! I appreciate you all and hope you have many happy days ahead!!

If you prefer to read this story on AO3 click here !

Author's Note: For anyone new to my Daddy Duty Series, Mouse is Sukuna's, currently, 3 year old daughter with reader. Monkey is their infant son.

Summary: Sukuna is home alone with both children for the first time when the battle for nap time begins.

WC: 1300+

CW: reader is referred to as 'Mama' but not described and no pronouns used for reader, use of the word 'boob' in a reference to breast feeding, kiseru smoking (outside away from kids), but it is all around fluff and SFW.

Fic Divider by: @strangergraphics

“Mama definitely does it better, Papa,” Mouse said from where she sat across from her father on a zabuton. Her legs were crossed as were her arms across her chest. Sukuna recognized the scowl across her face as being a mirror of his own. 

“Does what better, Mouse?” Sukuna asked, trying to soothe the fussy baby in his arms. 

You and Uraume had decided to go to town together, leaving him alone for the first time with both of his children. He had scoffed at you when you asked if he could handle it. Of course he could! 

A few hours in and he had already decided that going forward he owed you a night of absolute pampering for every time he was away. As the minutes dragged by he decided he owed you for all the past trips he had gone on too… How did you do this for sometimes weeks at a time without any aid? 

Every time he got Mouse occupied, Monkey cried. Every time he got Monkey satisfied, Mouse was getting into something…

“Puts him to sleep,” she said, giving him a look that questioned his level of intelligence. 

“Well, Mama has certain… abilities that I do not,” Sukuna said as he tried again to get Monkey to take the bottle.

“Yup! He likes the boob. Papa got boobs, but them not food boobs.”

“I do not have boobs. I have pectoral muscles. But otherwise, your assessment is… accurate.” Once again, Sukuna was flabbergasted by the conversations he wound up engaging in.

Mouse puffed out her cheeks and pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes on her baby brother. She suddenly sat up with a big smile on her face. “Mmmm, Papa! I has an idea!”

Oh, he couldn’t wait to hear this. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“I take a turn to try to make him go sleepy, now. Please and Thank you, Papa!”

Unless her idea was to smother her brother, she could not do worse than he was. Fuck it. “Alright. What do you need me to do?”

“Let's go to the bedroom, Papa!” Mouse got to her feet and did one of her little jumps, signaling her level of excitement. He hoped he did not regret this.

Sukuna stood with Monkey in his arms and followed Mouse to the master bedroom. She clambered up onto the bed and laid on her side. Mouse patted the bed next to her and gave him instructions. “Monkey needs to go here, please and thank you, Papa!” Mouse instructed.

He moved to kneel on the soft mattress and gently laid the baby down on his back next to his sister. “Alright, now what?”

“Papa do something else, please and thank you” she said, resting one hand on her brother’s stomach. 

“Do something else?” Mouse strikes again with her infamous audacity.

Tuna jumped up on the bed and made his way over to the two demon seeds laying in the middle of the giant bed. He moved to wiggle himself between Sukuna's knee and Monkey’s side so that the baby was sandwiched between a bossy toddler and a kitsune with a death wish. 

Mouse gave him a grin and the hand on Monkey’s stomach gave him a thumbs up. “I gots this, Papa! I the big sister, remember!”

To his surprise, Monkey was already starting to fuss less. He let out a dejected sigh and shrugged. “Fine. But you are not to pick him up and I am only giving you 5 minutes.”

“10 minutes.”

“7 minutes,” he countered.

“6 minutes!” she countered back.

“Done!” Who was he to tell her she had short changed herself? An image popped into his mind of the look that you would shoot him when Mouse told you about this exact conversation over dinner tonight… Mouse was right. You were scary. “7 is bigger than 6, Mouse.”

“Then I wants 7 minutes, please and thank you,” she said before she began shushing softly at Monkey.

“7 minutes. And-”

“I no pick him up, promise, Papa.”

Sukuna leaned over to give both of his children gentle kisses on their foreheads and he was pulling away when Mouse said his name. He glanced down to see his daughter’s eyes suddenly starting to get heavy with tiredness as well. “What do you need, Mouse?”

“I need to kiss you too, Papa,” she gave him a tired but toothy grin. She rubbed her face against the soft pillow case and lifted her hand from her brother’s tummy to reach for him.

Sukuna felt his heart melt at the sight and leaned forward. He let Mouse pull his head down so she could place a gentle kiss on his nose. He smiled softly at her and kissed her forehead again, one of his hands reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Sleep sweet.”

Sukuna moved to open the shoji door to the back yard. He stepped outside to sit on the engawa and loaded his kiseru as he listened to Mouse quietly singing the song you sang to them every night at bed time. 

He took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs and breathing the hazy mist out his belly mouth. 

He smirked as he remembered the first time he had done that in your presence. He had expected you to be at least mildly disgusted or slightly disturbed. He had expected to see that adorable look you got on your face when you were perturbed by his actions.

But oh no, not his precious one. Your eyes had lit up like fire works in the dark of night and you had immediately handed the kiseru back to him, demanding he do it again. And again. And he did. 

Sukuna would do anything to see you smile and laugh like you did that night. If it meant spending several moments behaving like some damn street performer doing cheap sleight of hand tricks for a few coins, then so be it. 

The same went for his daughter and his son. Anything to protect you guys. Anything to see you smile. 

He was unsure how long he had been lost in his thoughts when his name was called softly from the bed, calling his focus back to the present. He set his kiseru down and headed inside. Noting the quiet of the room he made sure to keep his footsteps light as he approached the bed. 

“Good job, Mouse,” Sukuna praised, seeing that Monkey and Tuna were both sound asleep beside her. 

“I can’t sleep though, Papa,” she said softly. Just like her brother had not long before, Mouse was now fighting her own nap. 

“And why not?” he asked, arching his brow.

“I need Papa cuddles, please and thank you, Papa,” she said, yawning. She moved the hand from Monkey’s belly to point directly behind her at his side of the bed. 

“And why should I?” Sukuna asked, two hands on his hips and two arms folded across his chest.

“Because Papa loves Mouse!” she said, matter of factly. Monkey started to stir and Mouse rubbed his belly, humming softly and whispering. “It okay, Monkey. Oneechan is right here. Oneechan always be right here. Papa be right here soon too.”

She really was your daughter through and through. 

“You are lucky that is true.” With a sigh he laid down next to her, wrapping one large arm across his children and even letting his fingers rest on Tuna’s back, giving the kitsune’s fir a few gentle strokes. “You did good too, Tuna.”

“Shshh, please and thank you, Papa. Don’t wake the Monkey.,” Mouse said in a whisper as she  fit her head under his chin like usual. In a sleepy voice she said, “Sleep sweet, Papa.”

He adjusted his head to kiss the top of her head before resting his chin on it again. “Sleep sweet, Mouse. Now stop talking.”

“Okay, Papa.”

His daughter just had to have the last word. He grinned as he let his own eyes close. That’s my girl.

[michaelnordeman]

Hi there! I wanted to ask you, if it's alright, how you usually go about finding such beautiful nature to photograph?

For example, do you travel to specific locations to find specific wildlife? How long do you usually have to wait and search before finding these critters?

I've been trying to learn more about animal photography, doing it myself for a few years now, but I always wonder if I'm doing it right--thoughts like "do other photographers sit quietly crouched in the bushes for an hour waiting for that one bird to land again, or is it just me?" often pop in to my head 🤣

I'm blessed with large untouched fields bursting with life around my home, so I'd like to learn how to utilize this to the fullest extent and capture that beauty in my photos!

I apologize for writing so much, I truly appreciate your time reading all this. Please know that you're such an inspiration to me, and I always look forward to admiring what you share next!

Wishing you a wonderful day ☺️💗

Hi!

And thank you so much for your kind words – they truly mean a lot! And no need to apologise for writing “so much” – I loved reading your message.

Your questions really resonate with me, and to answer the most important one first: no, it’s definitely not just you crouching in the bushes waiting for that one bird to return! I do that too – a lot.😄Sometimes it pays off, sometimes it doesn’t. But either way, I still get to spend time in nature, which is always rewarding in itself.

Like you, I’m lucky to live surrounded by nature – forests, meadows, lakes. Over the years, I’ve got to know my local area very well. I know where the deer tend to pass, where the snakes (my beloved grass snakes/snokar!) like to bask in the sun, what kind of bush a certain bird might choose for its nest, or where to sit quietly if I want to spot a vole. Knowing the habits of wildlife really helps – so my biggest piece of advice is: learn your subjects. If you know what they eat, how they behave, and what habitats they prefer, you’ll start to get a sense of where (and when!) to look.

Time of day matters too – early morning is usually your best bet. It’s when many animals are most active, and the light is often beautiful. But I’m sure you already knew that. Hopefully, you’re a morning person – I’m definitely not! But hey, the things we do for the things we love, right? 😉

Patience is key. I don’t always hide, although that can help sometimes. Often I just sit still and let the animals get used to me. Many birds will tolerate your presence if you move slowly and show you’re not a threat. That said, a good zoom lens helps – but don’t worry too much about getting close-ups. Photos that show an animal in its environment can be just as striking as tight shots.

And one more thing that can’t be said enough: never disturb the animals, especially during nesting season. No photo is worth that cost.

I’m not an expert – just a happy amateur who happens to live for nature. But I hope some of these thoughts are helpful. Enjoy your photography – but most of all, enjoy the beauty that’s already right outside your door. Sounds like you're in a wonderful place to do just that.💛

Wishing you many quiet, wild, and magical moments to come!

[pohtaytoh]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗬/𝗟/𝗡

*ೃ༄ Megan Skiendiel x f!reader

Everyone ships Megan Skiendiel with your brother Gabriel, convinced they're endgame. He's always taking credit for the sweet gestures that make Megan swoon, and she totally believes he's the one. But you, Y/N Y/L/N, have been secretly head over heels for Megan for years. You're the one leaving those thoughtful gifts and sending those encouraging messages, watching your brother bask in the glory.

But as Megan starts spending more time with you, she can't shake this feeling. Now Megan's wondering if the person she's really meant to be with has been right in front of her all this time.

part: one. two. three. <four.> five. six.

Y/N Y/L/N felt like she was floating or maybe, she was living inside a very delicate, beautiful bubble.

Megan’s words, whispered under the old mango tree, kept playing in her mind. "You just get me... I actually feel more like myself when I'm with you more than I do... with anyone else."

And then, that last quiet, almost sad thought from Megan. "Gabriel's great... but sometimes it feels like he's acting... it doesn't always feel real, you know? But with you, it's always real. Always."

It was a dangerous feeling, this hope. For years, Y/N had felt like a ghost, watching the girl she loved be charmed by her brother, accepting the deep ache as her normal but now? Now, Megan was seeing her. Truly seeing her. It was scary and wonderful all at once.

Y/N’s heart hammered a wild beat against her ribs, a mix of pure joy and utter panic. “Is this real? Can this really be happening?” she wondered, rubbing her temples, trying to calm the storm of feelings inside her.

The change wasn't like a sudden, loud boom. It was more like a slow, steady tide coming in, gently washing away the old ways. Megan started seeking Y/N out even more often. It wasn't just about needing help with a class anymore. It was about needing Y/N's presence, Y/N's thoughts, Y/N's quiet way of understanding everything.

Megan had stopped looking for the showy gestures and started looking for the real connection. She realized that Y/N saw the parts of her that Gabriel never seemed to notice. Y/N saw her quiet joys, her silly thoughts, her true worries and that felt like a breath of fresh air.

One afternoon, Y/N was sitting by the big window in the student lounge, sipping a cold calamansi juice and trying to finish a very tricky essay. She was frowning, staring hard at her laptop screen, feeling completely stuck.

Suddenly, a warm hand rested lightly on her shoulder, making her jump. "Lost in thought, Y/N/N?" Megan's voice was soft, playful, very close behind her. Y/N turned, startled, her heart doing its usual little flutter-kick. Megan was holding two cups of coffee, steam gently rising from them.

"Megs! You scared me!" Y/N laughed, a little breathless, her hand flying to her chest. "Yeah, this essay is totally fighting me. I'm trying to explain why ancient civilizations needed really good plumbing, and honestly, it's less exciting than it sounds."

Megan giggled, a bright, clear sound that made Y/N's whole world feel a little lighter, like sunshine breaking through clouds. She slid into the seat beside Y/N, pushing one of the coffee cups closer.

"Here, I figured you might need a boost. Gabriel was going to get us coffee, but he got distracted by a new video game ad on his phone. He literally just stopped mid-sentence. So, I just grabbed them myself." There was a tiny roll of her eyes as she said Gabriel's name, but it was playful, not mean.

Y/N’s eyebrows went up slightly. “Gabriel got distracted? And Megan just… went without him? That's definitely new.”

"Thanks, Megs," Y/N said, taking a grateful sip of the coffee. It was exactly how she liked it – black, no sugar. Megan always remembered these small things.

"So about that essay, I was thinking that I will write it this way, if your water system fails, everyone gets sick, right? No one wants a city full of sick people. So, good plumbing means a healthy, strong city, ready to conquer the world!" Y/N tried to make a silly, serious face, doing her best to inject some humor into the very boring topic.

Megan burst out laughing, a full, joyful sound that echoed lightly in the lounge.

"Oh my god, Y/N, you're brilliant! See, that’s what I mean! You take something totally boring and make it make sense, and even make me laugh while doing it. If it were Gabriel, he would say, 'It's a sanitation thing, just write about that, Megs.' So helpful, right?" Megan shook her head again, a soft, amused smile on her face as she looked at Y/N.

"He’s great, he’s fun, but sometimes... he just misses the whole point, you know?" Her eyes met Y/N’s, a shared understanding passing between them, a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot coffee.

It was in these small, everyday moments that their closeness truly bloomed. Study sessions in the library became less about Y/N "helping" Megan and more about them just studying together because it was simply better, more fun, with each other.

They'd sit across from each other at a big table, notes spread out everywhere, but every now and then, Megan would toss a crumpled paper ball at Y/N, or doodle a silly monster on Y/N's notepad.

"Hey, Y/N/N," Megan whispered one afternoon, her voice barely audible over the quiet rustle of pages. "Do you think a historical economist from the 1800s would have TikTok? Like, seriously."

Y/N looked up from her book, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. "Probably not, Megs. They were too busy writing super long, boring letters with fancy quill pens and no internet. Aside from that, they don't really have access to the internet yet."

"But imagine! All those dusty old dudes in powdered wigs doing silly dances while talking about trade routes!" Megan giggled, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound. "Like, 'Here's my thoughts on the price of cotton!” The latter stated, doing a little dance move to add to her statement.

Y/N laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that echoed lightly in the quiet library. “That would be a sight to see,”

These were the funny conversations, the easy laughter, the silly jokes that started to fill Y/N's days. With Gabriel, it was always a show, a performance for others, something loud and attention-grabbing. With Megan, it was just... them. Unfiltered. Real. No pressure, no acting. Megan felt like she could finally relax. She started looking forward to these moments more than anything else. She knew Y/N wouldn't judge her for a weird thought or a silly idea.

One afternoon, a sudden, heavy downpour caught them by surprise as they were leaving a class. They huddled under the narrow overhang of a building, laughing as the rain hammered down, forming puddles on the ground.

"Well, this is just great," Megan sighed, running a hand through her damp hair, which was starting to curl from the humidity. "I totally forgot my umbrella. Gabriel probably has one, but he’s already halfway to the gym. Said he couldn't miss leg day."

“I can't believe that idiot would choose the gym over this gorgeous woman. I’ll cut off his legs so he’ll be missing both,” Y/N thought but kept it to herself.

"Hold on," Y/N said, digging into her backpack. She pulled out a small, foldable umbrella. It wasn't very big, just enough for one person, really. "It's not much, but it's better than nothing. We can share. Squeeze in!" she offered with a small grin.

Megan’s eyes widened slightly, a surprised, grateful look on her face. "You carry an umbrella everywhere? You're so prepared, Y/N! My hero!" she grinned, a genuine, delighted look that made Y/N’s chest warm.

"You never know when a sudden storm hits,” Y/N said, opening the umbrella. It was tight, but they managed to huddle close beneath it, their shoulders brushing as they started walking toward the dorms.

The rain created a cozy little world around them, muffling the sounds of the campus. Y/N could feel her heart pounding with their closeness.

Under the small umbrella, walking so close that their arms brushed with every step, they talked about everything and nothing. Megan shared a silly, rambling story about a tiny, very stubborn dog she once had, and Y/N told her about her embarrassing first attempt at baking bread that ended up looking like a rock.

They laughed, their voices hushed by the steady drumming of the rain. Y/N could feel Megan’s arm brush hers, the gentle warmth of her body next to her, the faint, clean scent of her shampoo. It wasn't just physical closeness, it was an emotional closeness that felt breathtakingly new and real. Megan felt truly at peace beside Y/N, a comfort she hadn't realized she was missing.

Megan also started to open up more about her deeper worries, things she never shared with Gabriel. One evening, as they shared a late-night delivery of noodles in Y/N's dorm room, Megan confessed her fears about her upcoming soccer tryouts for a national team.

"What if I'm not good enough, Y/N?" she whispered, her voice small, almost unheard over the slurp of noodles. "Everyone expects me to be amazing, but what if I let them down? What if I fail?"

Y/N reached out, gently touching Megan’s arm, a soft, comforting squeeze. "Hey," she said softly, her voice firm, looking directly into Megan's anxious eyes.

"You are Megan Skiendiel. You are one of the most talented, hard working people I know. You don't 'let people down.' You inspire them. You inspire me. Every single day and even if you don't make that team, you're still incredible. Your worth isn't tied to a tryout, Megs. It's tied to who you are."

Megan looked at her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "No one's ever said that to me before," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"Everyone always just says 'you'll crush it' or 'just push harder.' Gabriel just says, 'Don't worry, Megs, you're a shoe-in, stop stressing.' But you actually... you actually see how much it means to me, and you don't just brush it off. You understand."

She leaned her head lightly on Y/N's shoulder for a moment, a moment so intimate and unexpected that Y/N’s entire body went still, her heart aching with a tenderness so vast it almost hurt.

It was these moments, built on shared laughter, deep talks, silly jokes, and quiet comfort, that Megan started truly understanding the difference between Gabriel's effortless charm and Y/N's genuine, steady presence.

Y/N wasn't performing, she was just being and Megan felt safe enough to be herself with Y/N, truly and completely. She saw that Y/N remembered the small things, listened to the big things, and understood the quiet things in between.

Y/N felt a constant, dizzying battle inside her. The soaring hope that Megan might, just might, feel something more for her than friendship and the crushing fear that it was all a dream or that Gabriel would somehow ruin this too, just like he always did.

Every time Gabriel would casually greet Megan or throw an arm around her in public, Y/N would feel a cold dread creep into her stomach. Now, she noticed Megan's reactions. Sometimes, Megan would stiffen slightly when Gabriel touched her. Sometimes, her smile for him would be a little less bright, a little more forced, like she was wearing a mask.

"Gabriel's just so... busy, lately," Megan sighed one day, watching him walk away after a quick, hurried conversation with her, where he seemed more interested in his phone than her words.

"He's always got something going on. Sometimes I feel like I'm just a side note in his very exciting life. Like I'm not really important to him, not truly."

Y/N just listened, offering a quiet nod, her heart aching for Megan's unspoken sadness. She didn't want to badmouth her brother, even if her heart screamed for the truth to come out but Megan was seeing it for herself.

The subtle differences between Y/N’s quiet sincerity and Gabriel’s showy charm were becoming glaringly obvious to Megan. Gabriel’s charm was wide, reaching everyone, but shallow. Y/N’s kindness was deep, personal, meant just for Megan.

The breaking point, or perhaps, the breakthrough came during the university's annual "Talent Night." Gabriel was performing a cover of a popular song, and, as usual, he was the center of attention, soaking up the cheers.

Megan was there, cheering loudly, her voice bright, but Y/N noticed her eyes kept wandering. They kept finding Y/N, who was sitting a few rows back, mostly hidden in the shadows, quietly enjoying the show, a small smile on her face.

After Gabriel’s performance, which got a huge roar of applause, he went straight to Megan, pulling her into a big, public hug, posing for photos with a wide, confident grin. Megan smiled, but Y/N saw a flicker of something in her eyes, a fleeting tiredness, a faint shadow that looked like a sigh.

A few minutes later, Y/N decided to slip out for some fresh air. The auditorium was hot and noisy. She walked towards the quiet courtyard, the sounds of cheering fading behind her. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, trying to make sense of all the swirling emotions inside her.

"Y/N!" a voice called out, making Y/N jump. She turned, surprised, her heart leaping into her throat, to see Megan running towards her, her face flushed, her hair falling across her eyes, looking a little breathless.

"Megs? What are you doing out here? Aren't you with Gabriel? He just finished his song," Y/N asked, confusion mixing with the sudden, overwhelming rush of hope.

Megan stopped in front of her, breathing a little heavily, but her eyes were shining, filled with a newfound clarity. "I needed a break," she confessed, a small, wry smile on her face.

"It's all so loud sometimes and Gabriel... he's great, but sometimes I feel like I can't breathe when he's around, like I have to be 'on' all the time, playing a part." She paused, her gaze settling on Y/N, soft and deep, like a warm blanket. "I was looking for you."

Y/N’s breath hitched. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought Megan must surely hear it. "You were looking for... me?"

Megan nodded, stepping a little closer, her hand slowly reaching out. The air between them suddenly felt thick, charged with unspoken feelings, a silent electricity.

"Yeah because you're quiet, because you just... listen and you see me. All of me. Not just 'Megan Skiendiel, the soccer star' or 'Gabriel's girl.’" Her voice dropped, a vulnerable whisper that tore at Y/N's heart in the best way possible.

"You see Megan Skiendiel, the person with all the messy thoughts and silly jokes and secret fears. The one who just wants to be understood." She reached out, her hand gently touching Y/N's arm, sending a jolt through Y/N's entire body, like a spark of pure light.

"And honestly, Y/N? I think... I think I like that person a lot more. The one who is just... you."

The words hung in the cool night air, clearer than any song Gabriel had ever sung. Y/N felt a tear escape her eye, tracing a warm path down her cheek.

It wasn't a sad tear. It was a tear of pure, overwhelming relief. Megan wasn't just seeing her, she was choosing her. Not with grand words of love yet, but with something far more profound, genuine understanding, deep connection, and a quiet, undeniable preference for Y/N's realness over anyone else's show.

In that moment, under the quiet stars, Y/N knew, with a trembling certainty that settled deep into her bones, that the game had finally changed.

But then, a voice, sharp and cold, sliced through the quiet bubble they had created.

"Megan?"

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a/n: Please let me know your thoughts! that would really help me and if you got requests, don't hesitate to click that ask button, I don't bite.