#He doesn't go in the cabinets or do anything he just loves to SLAM

[fimbry]

Whole ass man in my kitchen slamming cabinets for attention.

#I used to think my SO was just really loud in the kitchen at night #He thought it was me #IT WAS TOBIKO #CRIMINAL #tobiko #Cat #Catblr #siamese cat #Siamese #He doesn't go in the cabinets or do anything he just loves to SLAM

[miirohs]

a little sugar and spice [v.s.s]

pairing: OPLA!Sanji Vinsmoke x Fem!Reader wc: 0.7k cw: n/a an: *in dj kahled voice* another one- also i started reading the manga! this was lowkey inspired by this one reel i saw in a series called cheese church- chessus bless guys!

"Finally awake?"

Sanji stood there, towel thrown over his shoulder as he mixed something, pausing for a moment to look at you.

There was a brief silence, in which you coughed, trying to fish a response out.

"Did i fall asleep here again?" You groaned, the sticky feeling of the leather ever present as you pulled yourself up sluggishly.

"You did, i'm not complaining. I got a lot-" He pointed to the chopped vegetables sitting to the side, "-of meal prepping done. It's just as quick as i remember it being."

"Speaking of which, when did i fall asleep? The last thing i remember was coming in here for something," You muttered, trying to recall any more you could.

"Nothing much. You came in here for a glass of water, and eventually you fell asleep on the couch," He said, smiling widely, "you tried to help me with the pastries i was making too, but you kept messing with the batter."

You shrugged, getting up and stretching.

"You want something to eat?" He asked, wiping his hands on the towel, "You haven't had anything since yesterday." Before you could protest, he gave you a pointed look, "And don't you try to protest love. As i recall, you drank the entire bar dry last night and started professing your love for m-"

"Shut up," You flushed, mouth opening and closing as he gave you a victorious smirk.

"Still, you know i'm not wrong." "Why you.... you know what? I'm not sure you'd be able to make what i want," You said, sticking your tongue out at him, "i'm very choosy about what i eat."

He gave you a deadpan look, rolling his eyes, "What? Fancying yourself a picky eater today love? I assure you, i can make anything you can imagine."

You thought long and hard, biting your lip before it hit you.

"I want a grilled cheese."

"A grilled cheese?" He let out a little laugh, putting down his knife, "Are you sure thats all?"

"Yes. That's all i want. A grilled cheese," You said, slamming your hands down on table, eyeing him up and down. "If you don't make it, you're not man enough-"

"Challenge accepted," He said, quickly putting away his other tools, "I'm assuming you know where the cheese is. Go get it-"

"Already on it," You said plainly, opening up the cabinet. Among various bottles and boxes, there sat a wrapped block in the back, wrapped with twine.

"Found something!" You pulled it out, coughing as he took it from your hands. Unwrapping it, he whistled, showing the block of cheese to you.

"Mold. I wonder how long it's been back there." He said, and you groaned, seatings yourself on the island in front of him. "Aw bummer, what are you gonna do now?"

Sanji chuckled, placing the block on the counter, "You know we never waste any food love, so now we just salvage it as best we can."

Within minutes, the sizzling of the bread filled the kitchen, and the aroma of melting butter and toasting bread wafted through the air. Sanji's concentration was evident as he flipped the sandwich with precision, ensuring it was golden brown on both sides.

As you reached for the cheese, he swat your hand away, shooing you off the counter.

"Sit down, you need to be more patient cause perfection doesn't rush itself." You huffed, sitting back down at the island, tracing the pattern of the counter.

The sound of ceramics being placed on the counter made you look up, grilled cheese and a mini green cake looking right at you.

"There you go, love. One grilled cheese, as you asked!"

"Mmm, this is amazing, Sanji," you exclaimed, stuffing the food in your mouth, "You really outdid yourself with this one."

Sanji's seemed satisfied as he watched you enjoy the sandwich, retreating to get something from the back.

"I'm glad you like it, love. By the way-" He returned, smaller plate in hand, "- i have something for you to try."

You didn't respond, looking at the mini cake he handed you.

"I'm guessing you're wondering what that is?" He said, and you nodded.

"It's a mini matcha cheesecake. You should try it," He urged you, and you obliged, taking a bite.

"Hmm. It's good..." You replied, wrinkling your nose.

"You're not telling me something," He said,

You glanced at Sanji, "Well, it's good, but it's missing something."

Sanji arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Missing something, you say? What could possibly be missing?"

"Sugar," You replied.

Sanji's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Sugar? You think my cheesecake needs more sugar?"

You nodded, a playful glint in your eye. "Definitely. It's got that nice matcha bitterness, but it needs a little sweetness to balance it out."

Sanji gave you a smile, clearly enjoying the banter. "Sugar would throw off the delicate flavor balance, but let's see if I can meet your sugar quota."

With a flourish, he reached for a small jar of powdered sugar and lightly dusted the cheesecake with it. "Now, give it another try," Sanji said, pushing the plate back to you.

You took another bite. "Mmm, that's much better," you declared with a satisfied smile.

"I guess i just didn't use as much sugar as i usually would, since you're so sweet."

"Don't forget i've got a bit of spice in me too," You rolled your eyes, leaning in closer.

"Indeed," He muttered, sealing the distance between the both of you, kisses tasting with the faintest hint of some kind of sweetness unknown to you.

"Hey Sanji I thought i smelled something really good cooking and- Oh!" You both tore away from each other, Luffy watching you as Zoro stood behind him, annoyance scribbled all over his features.

"First thing i see this morning-"

You hopped off the counter, blowing Sanji a kiss as you ran from the kitchen. Your departure was followed by an angry rupture and laughter, resounding loudly through the halls.

"Wait- You idiot why would you do that?!"

"Well i wasn't the one initiating PDA this early in the morning!"

#opla x reader #op live action #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #opla x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji one piece #opla #opla fanfiction #one piece live action #sanji vinsmoke #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader

[mindtrcks]

for tyler - maybe something about reader helping rescue him from thornhill & being the hyde’s master instead of her? love your writing style!

this is hungry work

Pairing: Tyler Galpin/Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: vague mentions of grooming/violence, smut, quite a bit of plot oops, unrealistically happy ending

Summary: You may not have a master plan or a decades long vendetta, but you do have Nathaniel Faulkner's diary, and a recurring penchant for taking wild leaps of faith.

Nathaniel Faulkner says that the Hyde is a beast lying dormant in an innocent man. Something waiting to be awakened. A creature loyally dependent on its master, subservient to its core.

Wednesday says that it’s Tyler. 

She says he’s a monster, that he killed enough people to get a taste for it, and now he’s killed his master, too. That he’s out of control and it’s only a matter of time before he does something big, before more people get hurt. She says anything he’s done before now has been a lie; he doesn’t care about you, and he never did. You were a pawn in he and Kinbott’s game, and he would've tossed you away the second you’d served your purpose. She says that he isn't the boy you thought, and he isn't to be trusted. 

But he's sitting right in front of you, with the same puppy dog frown and furrowed brows as always. He's looking up at you with something like desperation in his eyes, and for the first time since you’ve met her, you doubt Wednesday. How could this boy—quiet and sweet and scared—be the monster she claims? How could Tyler from the coffee shop—Tyler who’s soft spoken and friends with outcasts and isn’t even screaming at Wednesday for kidnapping him—be anything but good?

You don’t doubt he’s the Hyde. If Wednesday had a vision, you’re not going to question that. But you do question whether or not she knows the whole story. 

—

You’re at Nevermore when Wednesday finally pieces it all together. She’s been expelled, taking the fall for you and anybody else who’d been in that shed with her. Weems had taken it upon herself to personally escort Wednesday to the station, but evidently, even expulsion can’t stop somebody as stubborn as her.

She texts you from Eugene’s phone, the message just a single word. Thornhill.

It’s all you need to bolt up in bed, to shove your shoes on and search blindly for your jacket. You’re not sure whether it’s wishful thinking or just plain hubris, but some part of you—the outcast that wants nothing more than to fit in, to be a part of something—thinks that if you can stop Thornhill, you can stop it all. You can keep anybody else from being killed and thwart whatever Thornhill’s plan is, and best of all, you can help Tyler in the process. 

It’s either that, or die trying. 

—

Breaking into Thornhill’s classroom is easier than expected. She doesn't leave Ophelia Hall after eight anymore; the lockdown has grown too serious, the dark too dangerous. It allieves your fear, as you creep through Nevermore’s halls, to know that her classroom will be empty when you arrive. To not be afraid of Thornhill would be stupid; if Wednesday’s right, and Thornhill’s responsible for everything, you don’t doubt she’d be willing to kill you for snooping. 

The door is locked when you reach your destination, but you waste no time in picking it. You aren’t sure how urgent this is, aren’t sure where Wednesday is or where Thornhill is or where Tyler is, and you aren’t sure what she could possibly be making him do. 

You choose not to think about it as your eyes scan the room. You head to her desk first, frantically flipping through sheets of paper, turning over folders and ransacking drawers. You move to the bookshelf when the desk proves fruitless, scanning the dust on the spines of books. Nothing sticks out; the last thing you deem to try is the filing cabinet, looming in the corner of the room. There’s only one drawer that’s open, the metal dented and bent like it’d been slammed in a rush. Your feet take you to it before your brain even has time to consciously make a decision; your hands pulling it open before you know what you’re doing. 

It’s empty, save for one thing: a leatherbound journal with the name Nathaniel Faulkner engraved on the spine. 

—

Nathaniel Faulkner says that the Hyde is a beast lying dormant in an innocent man, a creature loyally dependent on its master. 

He also says that this loyalty does not run as thick as one might think.

—

The thing is, you don’t know Tyler as well as you wish you did. You don’t get to talk as much as you’d like, or to hang out without the murders hanging over your heads. But it’s not like you’re a stranger, certainly not like Thornhill was. No, you’d go as far as to say you’re his friend, maybe among his only ones. He trusts you, and despite yourself—despite everything that he’s done—you trust him.

A Hyde’s relationship to its master is built on trust, says Faulkner.

And maybe you don’t have a master plan, or a decades long vendetta, but you do have Nathaniel Faulkner’s diary, and a recurring penchant for taking wild leaps of faith.

—

He’s in the woods outside of Nevermore when you find him, looking antsy and wrong. 

You don’t want to think about what he’s doing there, about why his fingers are curled up into fists at his side. What he’s done doesn’t matter to you; all you care about is what he will do, what choice he’ll make. You approach him carefully, not wanting to set him off, or scare him away. You can’t imagine what kind of headspace he’s in, or the things going through his mind.

It’s only been hours since you’ve last seen him, but he already looks changed. Whatever act he’d been keeping up in Xavier’s shed, in the police station, he’s dropped now. His eyes are dark and his shoulders tense, mouth curled into something cruel. You hear Wednesday’s words echo in your head—he isn’t the boy you thought, he’s a monster, he’s using you—but you try to drown them out. You know Tyler. You know the good he’s capable of. So what if he’s capable of bad, too? 

“Tyler,” you say, keeping your voice steady as you step forward. He doesn’t back up, but he does narrow his eyes, leveling you with a gaze that has you on edge, shifting on your feet, your body screaming at you to back down, turn away. 

He smiles at you; not the small, shy thing you’ve seen from across the Weathervane so many times, but something sharp around the edges, showing a few too many teeth. Have his canines always been that big? Sharp enough to pierce skin? You feel something run up your spine; a shiver or a thrill, you aren’t sure, and you don’t care enough to try and discern it. Tyler’s walking towards you, and it’s hard to care about much of anything besides him in front of you and the diary weighing heavy in your bag. “You're the one they sent to fight the big, bad wolf?” he asks, looming over you. He expects you to be scared, to run away.

But scared isn’t exactly the word you would use. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

You can see his face flicker for a moment, quick enough that it would've gone unnoticed if you hadn't been looking for it. “And why is that?” he asks, nostrils flaring as he steps impossibly closer.

You refuse to let the proximity affect you, no matter how much it's trying to.  “Because it’s pointless,” you say, chin lifting up in defiance. “You know Wednesday. She won’t let you win.”

“So I should surrender, then?” he scoffs, because he thinks those are his only two options. He thinks this is kill or be killed; keep fighting or get arrested, sent away for life. But you have another option.

“Not necessarily,” you say, as your hand snakes down to your satchel and pulls out the diary. Tyler’s eyes zero in on it instantly, lighting up with recognition, with want. “How would you like to put this whole mess behind you, Thornhill included?”

He blinks a few times before glancing back up at you, narrowing his eyes. “I can’t,” he says, baring his teeth around the words, like it physically pains him to say them.

You raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Why?”

He looks mad, now. Not the simmering anger that’s been in the air the whole time, but a lighter kind of rage that’s more akin to simple frustration. More akin to something you’ve seen on Tyler before. You never thought you’d be relieved for somebody to be mad at you. “That's not how it works.

“Because she’s taught you so much about how it works.”

“More than you possibly could,” he spits out, and it’s supposed to be an insult, but instead it’s just plain wrong. Because you have the exact same diary that she did, the exact same knowledge at your fingertips. Only, you’re willing to share your toys. 

He watches as you lift up the diary, flipping to your bookmarked page. It’s power in your palms; power over Thornhill, over Tyler. It makes you sick, a little, knowing his fate is literally in your hands. How did Thornhill ever take it? “‘I have heard of Hyde’s gaining new masters only through means of battle spoils or dark magic, but I imagine there must be one other way,’” you recite, reading off of page three of Faulkner’s section on masters, the chapter you had found the most helpful in your frantic skim-through. Tyler stares down at you with something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You’ll unpack it later. “‘Seeing as the decision is always ultimately the Hyde’s—whether consciously or not—if a prospective master was ready and willing, a Hyde might simply choose them.’”

“You want…” he starts, incredulous, but doesn’t finish. He just looks at you, conflicted, confused, and maybe a little bit of something else. You understand that what you’re offering is bigger than anything you’ve done with him before now. Going from sitting across from each other at the Weathervane or being present in the same car—Wednesday or Enid or even Fester always a buffer—to offering yourself up as his master is quite the leap. Still, for whatever reason, you’re hopeful. 

“Yes,” you answer, even if he technically never finished asking his question. Yes, you want to do this, yes, you’re willing to take the leap, yes to everything. 

Tyler shifts on his feet, suddenly seeming wildly uncomfortable as his eyes skirt around the treeline. He’s looking for her, you realize. He’s scared she’s there, scared she’s watching. Scared he’s in trouble. 

A gnawing pit forms in your stomach. “Tyler,” you say, and your voice draws his eyes away from the woods. “I’m offering. All you have to do is make the choice, and all this goes away.”

It sounds simpler than it is. There will be things to do, after. Strings to tie, messes to clean. But right now, all you need is to get Tyler away from Thornhill. Permanently. 

Tyler stays silent for a moment, regarding you with something on his face that you don't recognize. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, unreadable. But you refuse to falter.

“Because you don't deserve…her,” you say.  “The things she did to you. It doesn't have to be like that.”

He seems to consider this, for a moment, eyeing you up and down. He has no reason to refuse, not really. Not unless he actually does enjoy it, like Wednesday claims. If he likes killing, gets off on the taste of blood in his mouth. You know he doesn't, though. That's Thornhill. Right? 

“So what do I do?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders up. “Since you're the expert here. What do I do?”

You close the diary, dropping it down to your side. There aren't step by step instructions, no ancient ritual for you to follow in the dead of night. All Nathaniel Faulkner had to say on the matter is that the choice is always the Hyde’s. 

You roll with it.

“The choice is yours, Tyler. Make it.”

He furrows his brows, looks like he wants to protest, but doesn't. He keeps his mouth tightly shut, ducking his head down and focusing hard on the ground. You don't know what it's like, on his side. Aren’t sure how hard it could possibly be to make a decision, but won’t comment on it. You’ll give him however long he needs. 

After what feels like an eternity but must’ve only been a few moments, he looks back up at you, and you know instinctively that it’s done. 

“Did it work?” you ask, peering up at him. He seems unchanged. The same Tyler you’ve been talking to this whole time. The same Tyler that killed all those people and put Eugene in the hospital.

He shrugs. “Tell me to do something.”

You consider it; there's a million things you could tell him to do, endless ways this could go. In the end, you land on something simple. Something with no strings. “Come here,” you request, plainly.

And he does. 

—

So you’re Tyler’s master, now. 

It’s weird to think about. Weird to think that you’re the one who figured it out, that this victory belongs to you. You expected it might go to Wednesday, that she’d be the one to help Tyler. Either that, or kill him. You thought his fate would end up in her hands, for better or for worse. 

Evidently, it did not. 

—

There are many things you come to realize about Tyler in the following months that you never thought you’d get to know. 

You know he doesn’t really drink coffee, despite his choice in occupation. He wears socks for as many hours of the day as possible, and he sleeps with three blankets instead of a comforter. You know he keeps a secret stash of twizzlers in the cabinet above the microwave, because if his dad sees them they’ll be gone before the day is over. You know what shampoo he uses, how he prefers Spotify over Apple Music, and which drawer is the sock drawer. You know his favorite TV show is Friends, and that he’s embarrassed to tell people about it. 

You’re watching it right now, curled up on his couch in pajamas, empty bowl of popcorn abandoned at your side. Moments like this feel equal parts right and bizarre. Tyler’s a killer, and yet you’re spending your Friday night watching Friends together in his living room. It’s strange, but everything about your life is strange. You barely even notice it anymore. 

Tyler shifts beside you; you’re so close on the couch that it seems less like two bodies and more like a wild conglomeration of limbs; a leg here, an arm twisting there, the brush of fingers on the back of your neck. His hipbone is digging into your thigh, but you don’t mind. You wouldn’t move if every one of your extremities had fallen asleep. If the couch had set fire.

“You should…maybe move your leg,” Tyler says, breaking you out of your haze. You don’t have to do anything but tilt your head to look at him; when you do, he’s staring back up at you with furrowed brows and flushed cheeks, working his lips together. 

It takes you a moment to realize what he means, to feel that familiar weight pressing into the skin of your thigh. When you do, it’s with a start. Yes, you’ve done this a few times. But not enough for it to be a common occurrence. It may be rare, but it’s certainly not the first time. Once you get your bearings, you find that you’re confident enough to smile down at him, to raise an eyebrow and ask, “Should I?”

He makes a little sound in the back of his throat, and you can feel his hips arch up, ever so slightly. “I mean,” he starts, breathy and quiet. “Or you could keep it there. If you want.”

“What do you want?” you ask, sneaking a hand down to the sliver of skin exposed between Tyler’s shirt and his flannel pants. He shivers, but doesn’t answer. “Tyler,” you urge, trailing your fingers over his stomach. 

“Touch me?” he asks, squeezing his eyes shut, tilting his head away. 

And you’re not really in the business of denying him. It takes some adjusting—you do have to move your leg—in order to find the right angle, but Tyler waits patiently as you shimmy your way down the couch, until you can look at him and touch him all at once. You aren’t sure how long he’s been hard, but when you trail your hand down and underneath the waistband of his pants, he gasps too loud for it to have been a short while. 

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, already a little wet, too. As you grasp him, he shoves his face into your shoulder, exhaling long and slow into your skin. “This what you mean?” you ask, maybe a little mean.

He nods. You won’t make him say it—you’re not that mean—but you could. If you asked, he’d answer. You’ve found that’s true in a lot of aspects of your life. It’s a power you’re still scared to wield, no matter how many times Tyler reassures you. You prefer subtlety, to guide him in this way, rather than by giving outright orders. You think he likes it better like this, too, if the way he’s squirming under your touch is anything to go by. 

Friends is still playing in the background, but you’re too distracted to find the remote and mute it. Instead, you tilt your head to press a kiss to Tyler’s hairline, as you start to stroke him in earnest. You try to set a slow pace, but Tyler’s hips chase the contact until it’s fast and hard, just like always. One of these days, you’ll make him sit still, but today is not that day. You let him set the pace, pumping his cock for all it’s worth as he thrusts up into your first. He’s embarrassed, you know, but he barely shows it, apart from the way he hides his face. He’s as enthusiastic as you think he can be, not shy in showing you how much he’s enjoying himself, through little punched-out moans that have the tips of your ears turning red. 

You’re not sure how much time passes like that. All you know is that your wrist is cramping and your bicep is aching, but you still feel like you could do this forever. The sight of Tyler underneath you, panting and sighing and practically shaking, is enough fuel for you for as long as he needs. Him falling apart for you has got to be one of your favorites sights; the sounds pouring out of him are music to your ears. At a particularly loud moan, you glance up, take in his state.

His shoulders are tense, his hands clenched into his fists and his hips staying shock-still. You let yourself smirk; one of the many things you know about Tyler is that he’s not always the best at lasting. “It’s okay, Ty,” you say, whispered into his jaw as you pick up the pace, moving impossibly faster.

He exhales in a gust of air, deflating almost instantaneously; now that he knows he doesn’t have to wait, he lets himself relax, sink into the couch. It’s not long after that that his hips jerk, and he jams his face into your shoulder once more, and you know.

You guide him gently back by the curls on the nape of his neck. There are many things you’ve gotten to know about Tyler, but the face he makes when he comes has got to be one of your favorites. 

#wednesday #wednesday addams #tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #reader insert #this is also for all the anons who requested more tyler smut #i got u #sorry it took me a week

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 17

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n today's self promo is catskin which is a felix x reader fantasy/fairy tale oneshot that i am pleased enough with that i might write a part two. anyway, here's more of the drama you're really here for.

previous | masterlist | next

---

At 6:05 on the dot, there's a knock on your door.

He must have been up all night waiting for your text, you think as you answer it, the way that he'd made it down the stairs within five minutes of your alarm going off. You're still in your pyjamas, a hoodie thrown over the top when you'd dragged yourself out of bed to combat the early-morning cold of your apartment. 

The boys waiting outside your door are dressed similarly, at least, padding around in clothes they've chosen at random from a laundry hamper somewhere and shoes that they kick off as soon as they pass through your doorway. You're not surprised to see Chan, hair sticking up at every end like he's gotten straight out of bed for this and not bothered to even try to stick it back down again, but you are surprised to see Changbin. You don't think you've ever seen or heard a peep from Changbin at this time of the morning.

"Good morning," Chan says as you close the door, lingering within arm's reach as Changbin wanders his way further into your apartment like he's looking for something.

"Good morning," you echo, your attention divided between the two of them. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Chan hedges, hesitating like he's not decided yet what he's going to say next. "Changbin is here to steal your cereal."

"Hyunjin ate all of mine," Changbin says, his feet carrying him one step closer to the kitchen in question.

You wave him towards it, despite warnings you've been given against ever giving him free reign over your pantry. "There's eggs in the fridge too if you want them," you offer, and your heart lifts at the way his face lights up. It's funny how such a little thing could cause such simple joy.

"Gamsamnida, noona," he says, and disappears into your kitchen. 

Chan steps into your line of vision.

"What are you doing here?" you ask when he doesn't immediately say anything, though the pit in your stomach and the sleepless night unravelling behind you say that you already know the answer.

He draws in a breath and holds it, anticipation paling his face just enough for you to notice. "I'm being honest," he says, his eyes flicking up to the kitchen door. Changbin doesn't appear - he's busy making a lot of noise with your pans in there, the slam of a cupboard door a little too obvious to be anything but deliberate. "I promised I'd be honest with you, so...I'm here."

"About the things they're saying online, or what's going to happen next?" you question; and you don't miss the way that his face falls, his brow tightening imperceptibly.

"You've seen it," he sighs, as if he'd been hoping for something different.

A grim smile twists itself around your mouth. "It's trending," you point out. "It's kind of hard to miss."

"True." He looks away, eyes casting behind him to where Changbin is being deliberately noisy in the kitchen as he hunts through your cabinets for something. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" you question. "You didn't do anything."

"They're my fans," he says and then blinks, correcting himself. "Our fans - if something I've done makes them think-"

You've seen the messages he's talking about, the back-and-forth between fans debating whether this was his idea or something that had been forced upon him by the company. Always Chan - Chan's group, Chan's members, Chan's decision. If the trending tags were anything to be believed, the general consensus was that the Chan they knew and loved would never do this to them, nor would he endorse it. It was obvious that you had forced your way into the group, and at first opportunity he would drop you right back out again; if only they screamed loudly enough in opposition, JYP would give him that choice quicker.

You didn't find that daunting at all. There wasn't a black pit opening inside your gut every time you thought about it, the urge to get back to the practice rooms and gruelling hours of work scratching at your skin. 

"You're acting like you told them to do this," you tell him wryly, and the corner of his mouth quirks upwards. Nearly a smile, despite how sardonic it feels. 

"I definitely did not," he answers, a hand pressed to his chest in honesty. "I meant what I said the other day. You're one of my people now."

Inexplicably, warmth blooms in your chest around the icy cold that has had a stranglehold around your stomach since you'd first seen...well, everything that's happening. The reminder of the conversation you'd had before all of this began is timely - it was easy to forget sometimes, around the screaming of a thousand voices that it couldn't be true, that he had chosen you, in a backwards way. That all of this was only happening now because he'd fought with the company for you. Because he'd won the fight, a feat you've never seen accomplished before, in a long career of letdowns.

Your teeth grit together at the thought of those voices online, hiding behind screens as if they know anything about what’s happened in the last three months or even the past six years. You had forgotten for a while last night, all the things that Chan had said; you’d felt like throwing something across the room, God’s Menu playing over and over through a tinny speaker until your body moved without thinking. You’ve contained most of that rage since, under the assurance that none of them know what they’re talking about, and truly, you don’t think that you’ll really care at all as the days wear on; but still-

"Someone should have told them that," you say without thinking, and then watch as Chan's brow furrows. "Sorry. I didn't mean you. It's not your fault."

"Someone will," he replies. "Once I've been to this meeting with management. Which I am probably going to be late for."

His phone appears in his hand, the screen lighting up to show him the time. "If you have to go-" you begin to say, already moving out of the way of the door.

"He's eating breakfast first," Changbin says from the kitchen door before Chan can argue with you himself. 

"Am I?" Chan asks; but his voice is mild and his feet are already turning towards Changbin, all the fight draining from his body before he has even begun.

"You think I'm going to eat all of the eggs myself?" Changbin fires right back. "I'm not a pig."

"But I thought you were a pig, Changbin," Chan says and watches in amusement as the sound of Changbin shouting indignantly fills the air of your apartment.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk @minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification @starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace @amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002 @hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff @splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit @jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @slutfortits @duhgurl @cheshireshiya @keepswingin

#stray kids #stray kids smau #skz smau #bang chan #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #lee minho #lee know #han jisung #skz han #seo changbin #changbin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #kim seungmin #seungmin #I.N #yang jeongin #felix #yongbok #lee felix #roo writes #queenmaker

[lovelybucky1]

Kinktober Day 1- Oral Sex

warnings: m!receiving oral, stress relief, rough oral, throat fucking, mentioned AFAB reader

kinktober masterlist

main masterlist

Bradley Bradshaw was a simple man. He loved his wife, he loved his friends, and he loved to fly. Even the things you love can become overwhelming sometimes; too much to handle, but you were always there for him when he needed to be calmed down.

It was a rough day of training. He blinked for a second and Maverick got lock on him. He was already frustrated with himself, but the teasing from his teammates grated on him the entire day.

You knew he was home when you heard the slamming of the door, followed by heavy stomps of boots on the hardwood. He was shuffling around in the kitchen, and by the way he was opening and closing cabinets and drawers, you could tell he was frustrated.

You debated going out to greet him, but you figured it would be best to let him come to you when he was ready. You know how he gets sometimes, he may just need a little time alone.

The noise subsides and about five minutes later, your husband appears in the doorway of your bedroom, still in his khakis and boots.

"Hi, Bradley," you say, softer than usual.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says, voice gruff.

"Is everything okay?"

You sit up on the edge of the bed, looking soft and domestic in the warm lighting, surrounded by the messy blankets. Rooster starkly contrast you, looking imposing with his rigid posture in the shadow of the doorway.

"Rough day," he says plainly.

"I'm sorry, baby," you frown. "Is there anything I can do?"

He walks further into the room, over to the bed and positions himself between your open thighs. The way he looks down at you makes you feel small, and you dont bother resisting the urge to wrap your arms around his middle and push your face into his belly. He hugs you back, his big, calloused hands splayed across your shoulders. You hear Rooster let out a soft chuckle, which makes you smile into his shirt.

"Just this is good for me, honey," he says.

You continue to hold him, and after a few minutes, you start the feel the zipper of his pants pressing against you. You pull back and look up at him, only to find him already looking down at you with dark eyes.

"Brad?"

"Missed you so much," he says lowly.

You chew on your bottom lip, still looking up at him as he tries to subtly rock his hips against you. He moves his hand from your shoulder to your face, lifting your chin up towards him.

"Missed your pretty face... your sweet mouth."

"Do you want it?"

Bradley looks conflicted. He doesn't want to ask you to do that, but god does he want it.

"If you... wouldn't mind.?"

You give him a smile as you lean back to give yourself room to open the fly of his pants. He's straining against the zipper, and when you finally free him, he groans in relief.

His tip is wet and pre-cum drips down the side. You swipe your fingers through it, then spit in your hand to make the slide of your hand over his cock easier.

You lick the underside of his cock slowly as you hold the base. He lets out a heavy sigh as your hot, wet tongue drags over him. Bradley's hand slides into your hair at the base of your neck, holding but not pushing.

You inch down on his cock, taking his length into your mouth. He's big, the biggest you've ever had, and it took you a lot of practice to be able to take him all.

"So good, sweetheart. So fuckin' good for me."

Heat builds in your stomach at the praise. Leave it to Bradley to know just how to wind you up. Seeking out more, you relax your throat and take him further. Soon, you're nuzzling the hairs at the base of his cock and he's filling the air with curses.

"Baby, baby," he says, getting your attention. "Can I fuck your mouth?"

The swirling heat in your body makes your head spin, and you're nodding before you can even realize.

Bradley's other hand slides into your hair and he holds you still as he begins to slowly thrust into your mouth.

"Yeah, sweetheart, just stay still for me."

His eyebrows are pinched, both in pleasure and from the tension of the day that he so desperately wants to spill into your mouth.

Your hands grip his thighs, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of the relaxed muscle. Your husband rarely does this with you, but you don't think there's much else hotter than him taking what he wants.

"God, I'm close. Your mouth is so fuckin' good, baby. Feels so good on me. Love when you let me have you like this, look so pretty stuffed with my cock."

You know that when Bradley starts running his mouth, he's close. It takes a lot to get him to abandon his inhibitions, so get him close enough to the point where he doesn't feel embarrassed for telling vou want he really feels. You absolutely Iove it.

You swirl your tongue around him as much as you can, and suddenly you feel his hot cum pumping into your mouth. You swallow all of it, just how you know he likes, and he moans loudly as he rides out his orgasm.

Once he's finished, he pulls out and lets you catch your breath. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand and smile up at him, which he returns.

"Thank you so much, baby. I love you," he says as he brushes his fingers scratch at your scalp.

"You're welcome. I'm glad I could help a little."

"Oh sweetheart," Bradley smirks, playing with your bottom lip with his thumb. "We're not done yet. I still need to return the favor."

#top gun #rooster #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun smut #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #kinktober 2022

[bullyhunter--69]

can you do a markiplier x little sister ? i need some sort of e s c a p e p l e a s e

Snack runs at 2am

Pairing: (PLATONIC) Big Brother! Markiplier x Little Sister! Reader (I'm imagining the reader to be like 17/18ish but it doesn't really matter honestly)

Summery: Boring days lead to equally boring nights filled with sleeplessness and hunger. Since Mark stole all of your snacks for the video he filmed with Ethan that day, you figured he might as well pay you back, right?

T/W: none! Just some good 'ol fluff!

A/N: my first request! I absolutely love big bro Mark and stuff like this is always so fun to write, I hope you guys enjoy! 🖤

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

Bang

Bang

BANG!

Each of the kitchen cabinet doors opened and slammed shut, progressively getting louder to match your frustration. Did Mark really have to take ALL of your sacred snacks, just because him and Ethan were filming and needed something to fulfill their hunger during it? Why couldn't they have just ordered pizza-- or even gotten McDonald's!?

With a heavy sigh, you spun around and leaned your back against the counter top. It took all of 3 seconds for this new, glorious plan to form within your magnificent brain.

The gas station down the street was open 24-hours.

And Mark was going to take you and buy you anything you wanted.

It was the least a big brother could do after ruining your late night youtube binge session by being a hog and eating all of your snacks.

With hushed footsteps you ran as fast and quietly as possible up the stairs and to Mark's bedroom. All caution stopped though when you threw his door open and jumped onto the foot of his bed, bouncing slightly as the weight on the poor mattress was now being distributed between 2 bodies and not just 1.

You made sure to jump onto a spot that was far enough away to where his attacks wouldn't get you, and boy were you glad you did. The sheets were thrown off of the bed and big, hairy limbs went everywhere. Legs kicked and arms swung, followed by various curses and threats after the initial scream died down. It's safe to say, Mark was definitely awake now.

"--OR ELSE I SWEAR I'LL REENACT THE BITE OF '87 ON YOU-- (Y/N)?" His voice was softer now and heavily dripping with confusion as he rubbed his eyes and tried to make out the shape of you in the dark, but your giggles and snorts from his empty threats gave you away instantly.

"What, the fuck, was that for?" The bedroom lamp now on and illuminating the room with soft light showed his ridiculously messy hair, and his hoodie on your body that you stole because he kept the house insanely cold.

"Get clothes on. You're taking me to the gas station down the road because you and Ethan-you big pigs- ate all of my sacred snacks." You punctuated your statement by crossing your arms after throwing the shirt that was laying on the foot of his bed at him. "I think I deserve it."

Mark's face began to dawn the most deadpan expression you've ever seen on him. The bags under his eyes were darkened by the shadows and how his hair framed his face. Exhaustion filled every invisible wrinkle upon him. He looked completely wiped out from the day he had spent filming and editing, but honestly? You could still see his lips starting to bend into a smile as he pulled his shirt on.

Within the next five minutes, you were both seated in his car and on the way to the gas station, having opted to drive since it was cold outside. The radio station played softly as you cruised down the completely dead road.

After pulling in and parking in the spot right beside the door, you both got out and entered the gas station. You skipped right back to the aisle with the chips and candy as Mark made a B-line to the fridge with the energy drinks. You met up with Mark just a few minutes later, a mix of snacks, candy, and drinks overflowing from your arms. You never typically took advantage of the times Mark spent money on you, but this was different! He ate all of your necessary snacks so this was just him repaying you!

Dumping everything on the counter, the elderly lady behind the counter started scanning everything for you while striking up a sweet conversation with Mark, as she always did when you two came in for snacks or gas. Before you knew it though, you were back in the car with at least 7 bags filled to the brim.

You looked over at Mark as he buckled his seatbelt into place. "Thank you Mark, I know you ate all my snacks, but this makes up for it." You laughed, but it got interrupted by a yawn. Mark looked over to you and followed with a laugh of his own, reaching over to ruffle your head. "I'm sorry for eating all of your snacks, kid. Let's get back to bed, yeah?"

You nodded in agreement and buckled yourself in, relaxing back in the comfy seat as Mark started driving.

"I'm still gonna beat Ethan's ass, he isn't off the hook just because you are."

#markiplier #crankgameplays #markiplier x reader #mark fischbach #markiplier x y/n #youtube

[luuuuucyscorner]

Can you pls do an angst oneshot where y/n is a very kind religious nun at Briarcliff and she steps in and saves Kit while he is tortured because she believes all humans deserves kindness and respect?

Thanks for requesting another kit angst Anon, poor boy can't catch a break lmfaooo.

catholic school religion classes really coming in strong with this one.

𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲, 𝐈𝐧 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲- 𝐊𝐢𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

Info: Sister Y/n is a nun at Briarcliff and she steps in and saves Kit while he is being disciplined because of her pure beliefs.

Tags: mentions of abuse, blood, alcohol, religion

word count: 4237

Sister Jude takes a step back in annoyance when the door to her office suddenly slams open and a kind, delicate-looking nun walks quickly towards Kit, who is lying helpless and bleeding in his bindings on the chair. "Sister! you must stop this cruelty!" the nun demands. Kit is quite surprised to see what seems to be a gentle nun in this cruel palace filled with so much pain and suffering. He can practically feel the love radiating over him from the nun. "Sister Y/n, you dare interfere with his discipline?" Sister Jude scowls and cracks her thin, unforgiving whip against the cold concrete floor. the tip catches on Sister Y/n's thigh and she cries out in pain. "oh please Sister! Allow me to tend to his wounds!" she begs.

Sister Jude looks at the nun with irritation. "If you wish to take on this patient, so be it. But do not think that just because he is a pretty boy, that he does not deserve to be disciplined for his sins." Sister Y/n carefully approaches Kit, gently brushing his sweaty hair out of his face. She takes a small cloth from her pocket and begins to dab at the blood on his forehead and cheeks. Kit looks up at her with hope in his eyes. The nun begins to gently untie him and remove the chains and shackles, freeing his weak form from the confines of his chair. then, using all her might, she helps him stand up. giving Sister Jude one last thankful look, she turns and leads Kit down the hall into the infirmary, laying him down on a hospital bed.

Sister Y/n begins to softly inspect and survey Kit's injuries. gently picking at his cuts and bruises. She sighs and looks down at him with such warmth in her eyes. "this is going to hurt a little" she says, her voice soft and comforting. He nods and smiles a little, feeling at ease in her presence. Sister Y/n pours some rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball and begins to swab around his wounds, prepping for bandages and preventing infection. She continues to work on his wounds, using all her gentleness to apply ointment and wraps. she takes particular care when cleaning around his face, being mindful of his injuries and not applying too much pressure. "why are you being so kind to me? why are you being so different from Sister Jude?" Kit asks weakly.

"That is not a religious woman. Perhaps once she was, but now she is too obsessed with her power, with greed that she forgets that God said "Every living being is deserving of respect and kindness" Sister Y/n says, her voice full of remorse.

"But if a human does something terrible, doesn't that mean they don't deserve kindness or mercy?" Kit asks, softly. "God forgives, he is merciful." Sister Y/n replies softly, not wanting to upset him. "And besides, it's not like you have done anything so terrible that you deserve such a harsh punishment." she says soothingly.

She finishes up with Kit's bandages and opens a small locket cabinet to the right of him. She pulls out a small flask and indicates to Kit to drink. "Vodka, for the pain," she says in a hushed voice.

Kit hesitates for a moment. He isn't usually one to drink, but he supposes that the pain relief could be beneficial. He gently takes the flask and has a small sip. He is surprised at how quickly the warmth spreads throughout his body, dulling the pain and relaxing him. "Thank you," he whispers, handing the flask back to Sister Y/n.

"You are welcome Mr Walker," She says sincerely.

he smiles up at her, grateful for her kindness. "would it be alright if i ask you a question?" he asks quietly.

"of course," she says.

"Are you not afraid that you will be punished for doing this? for going up against Sister Jude?" He asks timidly. Sister Y/n pauses for a moment, considering her words carefully before replying. "I do not do this for a reward. I do it because it is right," She says simply. "I have faith in my God, he knows my heart."

"You should rest," she tells him gently, brushing a hand through his hair.

Kit doesn't even realize how fast his eyelids are starting to grow heavy. the vodka was working a little quicker than he expected. He nods his head in sleepy agreement. "Thank you," he murmurs softly as he lets his eyelashes drop, losing the grip of consciousness quickly fading and giving into the promise that sleep holds for him.

Taglist:

#evan peters #james patrick march #ahs hotel #kyle spencer #kai anderson #ahs murder house #tate langdon #american horror story #lucy speaks #fanfiction #angst #smut #kit walker angst #ahs cult #ahs asylum #kit walker smut #kit walker x reader #kit walker x reader angst

[words-like-water]

You're My Angel

or the one where running errands with peter makes you realize your feelings for him.

wooo! first published story. it has not been betad so if you're looking to be a mutual/beta reader pleeeease hit me up

peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 2,700

warnings: none really. angst if you squint bc unrequited love that ends up requited

i don't like using y/n so peter and the reader call each other lots of nicknames. 

nothing. nothing. nothing.

nothing in the fridge, nothing in the cabinets. no ingredients, barely any snacks. the only tangible things in my kitchen are a bottle of ketchup and multiple almost-rotten fruits. i slam the refrigerator door shut and lean against it with a sigh.

i guess next time i should stock up before a mission. living with my mom has its. we get along, and we don't get in each other's way; she's always at work and i'm always at "avenger club" as she likes to call it. however, being the only other person living here also means that if she doesn't buy groceries, it's my responsibility.

i'm contemplating using instacart for groceries when my phone rings in its spot on the counter. picking it up, a smile finds its way to my face as i see who's calling me.

"hiiii, angel!"

 peter parker's voice pours from my phone's speakers. it's music to my ears. peter and i have known each other since he joined the avengers, two years after i had. we've been inseparable since that week in haiti, saving civilians from a freak tropical storm. 

we had so much in common, from our love of legos to our protective sense for the people we care about. my friends like his friends, and vice versa. even my mom and may get along. 

we're like peanut butter and jelly, chicken and waffles, and cookies and milk. we're great on our own, but together, we just make something amazing. wait, what?

i shake the ridiculous thought from my head as i remember i'm on the phone.

"what do you want, parker?" there's a playful accusatory tone in my voice as I cross my arms like he can see me.

"whatever do you mean? i can't just call my best friend because i want to talk to her?"

i roll my eyes and say, "peter, you only call me angel when you want something." and i know i'm right. he's called me angel ever since we went on a mission where i basically saved his life. he knows it strokes my ego.

"fine, you caught me. may's at this thing with some ladies she met at the library. i'm soooo bored."

"well you're in luck," i proclaim, pushing off of the fridge and walking down the hallway. "i need to run errands, you can come with me."

i hear something like plastic rustling on his end of the phone before he groans, "ew, errands? no thanks." his words are almost incoherent around a snack of some sort.

making it into my room, i drop my phone on the bed and start to change out of my sweats. "okay, stay at home and be bored out of your mind. and when i go to delmar's later don't ask me to bring you anything." i smirk at the commotion i hear from his side as i pull on a different shirt. 

"delmar's? i'll be at your house in 10," he says loud and clear, then he hangs up. 

I shake my head while messing with my hair a bit. not that i care what i look like in front of peter, i just like to be decent anytime i leave the house.

---

true to his word, peter knocked on my door 10 minutes later. his cheeks tinted red and his hair unruly. 

"did you swing here?" i ask him, reaching up to comb through the curls until they lay somewhat flat. he leans down a bit and allows me to work, his hair like silk between my fingers. 

"yeah, the sooner we do boring grown-up stuff, the sooner we can get sandwiches." he looks at me with a gleam in his eyes that never disappears. 

i push his head away lightly as a grab my purse and keys. "you only wanna run errands with me so i'll buy you food? you're such a leech, parker." i say with fake hurt in my voice as i turn to lock the door. 

"awww. that's not true, i'd run errands with you anytime, angel." he coos, and i have to force myself to remain standing as he runs his fingertips down my spine.

i narrow my eyes at him to hide the fact that i'm wracking my brain for possible explanations of why he could have done that. there had to be something on my shirt. that gesture was pure friendliness, right? and better question, why did it make my knees feel weak as toothpicks?

"whatever, liar." i laugh a little to keep my voice steady as i brush past him towards the elevator.

as we get in, he asks me what kind of errands i need to run. first, the library to return some books, then groceries. then we can get delmar's i assure him.

the walk from my apartment building to the library isn't long, and once i return the books, we head for the grocery store. between the destinations, we talk about school, different shows, and our secret "club," but only with codenames in case anyone is listening. we people watch and play games, and every now and then i feel peter's hand brush mine. only slightly, like it was an accident, i pray it was an accident. 

we reach the grocery store, and like the gentleman he is, he grabs a basket while i look for the list in my purse. 

"okay, first things first, cereal." i declare, walking in one direction. they had recently rearranged the layout of the store, but i was confident that i knew where i needed to go. i turn to say something to peter when i realize he's walking the opposite way. 

"peter," i call for him, "where are you going?"

"...to..get..cereal?" he points out like i've just asked him the most obvious question.

"baby," i condescendingly say, "cereal's this way," i point in the direction i was originally going. 

"no, sweetheart, cereal is this way." he juts his thumb in the direction he was going.

"alright, parker." i walk closer to him. "since you think you know everything, let's make it a game."

"okay," he smirks as he crosses his arms, "i'm listening." his tongue swiping across his bottom lip.

my eyes catch on his thick arms, straining against his sweatshirt. stupid spider. and i have to rip my eyes away from the motion at his lips to continue my thoughts. what is wrong with me today?

"for every item on the list," i fight to keep my eyes on his, "we'll make a bet about which side of the store it's on. whoever loses the most has to buy dinner."

he nods along to what i'm saying, seemingly contemplating, but i can already see the mischief in his eyes. "i'll play your game, but when you lose just know i'm ordering everything delmar's makes."

"oh please, be my guest," i nod along with him, "i just hope you've got enough cash to back yourself up."

in the next second, he's in my space. barely three inches away as my breath catches in my throat. 

"so, cereal... lead the way."

---

i turn on my heels, speeding towards where i know the cereal is. he doesn't expect me to move so quickly, as he's still standing where i was a second ago. but he reacts, catching up to me slightly.

my heart is beating fast and hard, and i pray he can't hear it. i can't think for the life of me why he's acting like this. he can't like me. we're friends. that's how i know that peter is awkward. and he's shy, especially with girls that he likes. but he's not shy right now. he's being so forward. which means...

he doesn't like me, he's playing with me. this really is a game to him. he only calls me angel when he wants something.

i almost pass what i'm looking for in my scatterbrained state. "see," i motioned, "there it is, like i said." 

i grab what i need and put it in the basket, barely looking at him, though i can feel his confusion at my change in emotion. i take the list, putting my initial next to the first item, and read off the second item to him. we place our bets, and head in his direction first. it turns out to be correct, so i check off the item and write his initial. we continue this for the rest of the items, but my mind begins to wander again.

i can't believe peter would mess with me like this. playing with my feelings. feelings that i didn't even know i had. i try to think about when they could have developed, and it dawns on me. as i watch him put bread in the basket, an item i was right about, i realize why today is different. 

peter and i had never run errands together. being in such a domestic situation with someone i had come to care for so much made me realize just how much i like peter. of course, when i first met him, i thought he was attractive, but more so, i found him adorable. and he's funny, and he cares so much. and throughout the years he's done everything he can to make me happy. running errands with him made me think of the future. our future and how this could be us one day, making groceries for our apartment.

but it will never be us, because peter doesn't feel that way, and he's playing with me, and it hurts more than i can admit.

i don't hear whatever gloating statement he makes as he wins the next item, fruits and vegetables, and he notices. his face falls as he assesses what might be wrong, and i can feel my throat close at the thought of having this conversation. the universal, friendship-ending, i-like-you-why-don't-you-like-me-back conversation. i cough, clearing my face of any emotion except feigned annoyance. 

"good job. you're in the lead by one. the last item is jam, and i think it's this way, so let's go."

i don't give him a chance to say anything as i take the basket, and head in the direction i indicated. i can feel him keeping his distance, but i don't bother to look behind me. it's good that he can feel his game ending. maybe we can go back to being regular friends after this. hopefully. 

we reach the shelves filled with jellies, jams, syrups, and preserves. it's exactly where i thought it was, although a little high, and i mark my initials next to it. peter congratulates me quietly. i make no comment about how we're tied now, and i reach for it, just aching to hurry up and get out of this store and go home.

i can't reach it, not even on my tippy toes, so i step on the lowest shelf to give myself a boost. i feel my fingers graze the jar, and i almost have it when i hear peter.

"angel, you're gonna hurt yourself, just let me get it." 

and it's a good thing that his hand is hovering over my lower back, waiting for permission. because hearing him call me that name, the one that doesn't sound the same anymore, makes me falter, and with my weight of center because of the basket, i slip off the shelf. 

it's not that high off the ground, but in my distressed state, it startles me nonetheless. peter catches me, one arm on my back and one arm around my front. i'm sure he can feel my heavy breaths, my beating heart. 

he takes the basket, sets it on the ground, and i can feel it before he says it. it takes everything in me not to cry. it's not enough.

"are you okay, angel?"

next thing i know, i'm angrily wiping tears from my face and pushing him away from me. 

"stop it. stop calling me that," i say between deep breaths.

"okay. i'm sorry. i thought you liked it." he steps towards me, hands up, with an apologetic shrug.

he's right.  and that's the problem.

"i do; i do like it. but not like this, not when you don't mean it." i see his brows furrow.

"wh-what do you mean, 'i don't mean it'?" i don't realize he's so close now, and as he places his hands gently on my arms, i don't stop him.

steadying myself, i gaze at my shoes. unable to look at him as i rip my heart out to put it on my sleeve.

"you only call me angel when you want something. but today was different, and i hadn't put two and two together until just now. when you brushed my back in front of my apartment, and when you kept touching my hand on our walk, and when you got in my space when we first got here, it all drove me insane. and you keep calling me angel, but it's different, and now i know why. because you're messing with me, peter parker. and it hurts because i really, really like you, but this is just a game to you. which hurts even more because i never thought that you would do something like this."

i finish my rambling in sniffles, and i wait with bated breath for him to laugh in my face. 

"aw, baby," his hands cupping my face coax me to look at him. "do you know why i call you angel? hm?"

"because i saved your life," i sniffle and try to look back at the floor. but he holds me in place, dipping his head to keep eye contact with me.

"well yes, but also, because you're my angel. any time i hear you laugh, it makes my heart feel like it's gonna beat out of my chest. and you're so beautiful, all the time, it's like you're glowing. but most of all, just like an angel, you make my world a better place just by being in it."

it's easier for me to breathe now. and i don't think i've ever been happier than i am in this moment. i bet i look hysterical, covered in tears, and standing on the jelly aisle. 

"if you really like me, why did you act like that, all bold and stuff?" I'm starting to calm down, "the peter parker i know is awkward when he likes a girl, always."

peter's cheeks go pink, and it's his turn to struggle to hold eye contact.

"i don't know, when i asked mr. stark what i should do about liking you, he told be to be bold because girls like that. i guess i didn't think about if that would work with you." 

his thumbs caress back and forth against my cheeks absentmindedly.

"well, it doesn't work with me," i place my hands on his wrists, my thumbs mirroring his motion. "i want awkward peter parker."

his face is slowly inching towards mine, and this time i don't mind.

"oh yeah?," his eyes flicker to my lips before returning to mine. "i promise i'll go back to being awkward, right after this."

he presses his lips gently against mine, the salt from my dried tears present between us as i kiss him back. even though we were standing in the middle of a grocery store, it was the softest, most romantic experience i've ever had. i wouldn't change a thing. as his tongue brushed against my bottom lip, i had no choice but to regard the fact that we were in public.

"okay, tiger," i pulled back, reluctantly.

the pink in his cheeks deepened drastically. 

"see," i move my hands to cup his face now, "there's my peter parker."

he turns my hand to kiss my palm, then the other. we separate long enough for him to grab the jam and place it in the basket, picking it up. then, he wraps his free arm around me and pulls me into his side.

"i know we tied, but will you still buy me dinner?", i ask as we walk towards the checkout line.

he laughs and kisses my temple, "yes angel, i'll buy you dinner."

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #peter parker #tom holland #spider man x reader #spider man

[f1-birb]

19, nortrell❤️

19. "So what if I got drunk and said I love you. I meant it, so I don't see the big deal."

"You're being weird."

Lando stops, spoon halfway to his mouth and dripping milk back into his cereal. "What?"

"You're being weird." Max says again, narrowing his eyes and shifting on the sofa.

He drops his spoon back into his bowl, "According to you, I'm always w-"

"Okay, yes, but you're being weirder than normal."

Lando doesn't answer, he doesn't know what to say and bringing up what he would want to talk about is not an option. His focus narrows to a singular point in his cereal, the last few cheerios floating aimlessly in their shallow pool of milk.

He can't talk about the other night, how he's felt since, how his world feels like it's been tilted the wrong way on its axis. How he's not been able to stop thinking about those three words, how the meaning behind them felt different, deeper, more intentional than before. He can't tell Max how angry he is, how upset and hurt and, more than anything, heartbroken he is.

He can't tell Max he wishes he meant it.

"Bob?"

Max's hand on his knee is unexpected and he jumps. His bowl flies from his hands, cheerios and milk splashing onto the floor and his spoon flings itself under the TV cabinet. Tears immediately well in his eyes, stinging as he does his best to blink them back.

"Bob?" Max calls again, softer this time, so softly and Lando leaps off the sofa to get away from it.

He hurries into the kitchen, grabbing paper towels and a wet dishcloth, cursing under his breath the whole way. He drops to his knees once back in the living room, presses the wet cloth to the milk soaking into the carpet. He's picking up cheerios, hands shaking as they drop into the bowl.

"Stupid, stupid, fucking idiot, crying over spilled milk, you're a fucking baby, stupi-"

"Lando, stop!"

Hands grab his, squeezing tightly, grounding, and Lando feels his face twist with an ugly sob that tears itself free.

"Lando," and there's Max again, voice so fucking soft and he hates it and loves it and never wants to hear anything else ever again. "Lando, look at me, babe."

He freezes, slowly looking up from his lap and the mess on the floor, dragging his eyes from Max's chest to chin to cheek. It takes him another long moment before he can look Max in the eyes, and when he does all he can see is concern.

His mouth opens, a question on his tongue but it dies in his throat when Max squeezes his hands again.

"What's going on, Lando? Ever since the other night you've been off and I just wanna know why. I want to help."

"You can't just say things if you don't mean them."

It's not what he means to say - 'I'm fine', 'don't worry', 'it's nothing' - but it's what comes out anyway. He knows it makes no sense so he's quick to elaborate before Max can ask again.

"The other night, you can just say that, it's, it's not fair. And you can't just call me babe like it's nothing either!"

He's heading towards hysterical and he hates it, but then Max's words slam into him like a tyre barrier.

"The other night? What do you me- oh. So what if I got drunk and said I love you? I meant it, so I don't see the big deal."

His jaw works around silence before he grits his teeth. His fists clench, fingers curling out of Max's grip for his nails to press harshly into his palms. The pain is a new focal point as he muddies through the mess in his head. Max gives him time and he's begrudgingly grateful. Then Max's words process again.

"What do you mean it's not a big deal? You don't just tell people you love them Max, not when-" Lando bites his tongue as he cuts himself off quickly.

Max is ever patient with him. "When what, Bob?"

He takes a deep breath, biting the bullet. "When they actually love you back."

When he looks back at Max's face, he's not expecting to see him holding in laughter. His heart clenches in his chest sharply, embarrassment hearing his cheeks and he tries to get away. He doesn't get far before Max has his hands again, pulling Lando into a cuddle he can't, doesn't want to, escape from.

"I'm not laughing at you, I promise." Lando wants to beg to differ when his brain short circuits as Max presses a kiss against his temple. "I knew I shouldn't have just assumed you knew what was going on. Babe, we've been dating for like three months."

"What?!"

Max just laughs again, pressing his hands to Lando's cheeks, squishing them softly and dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Lando, we've literally been dating. We go out all the time, we hold hands, you let me spoon you in bed when we have joint naps. I just thought you didn't want to label the shift from friends to more than that."

Lando blinks at him, dumbfounded, the embarrassment creeps back in. He groans, covering his face with his hands. "I'm so dumb, I'm so dumb. I'm an idiot!"

Max giggles, pulling his hands away from his face so they can lock eyes. "Yeah, you kind of are. But you're my idiot and I love you."

#drabble fic #longer than a drabble #nortrell #mando #max f/lando #ily anja #geooooooorge #birb writes

[drunktuesdays]

for the wrestleprompt, alpha4alpha 😈

For @wrestleprompts week 5: A reluctant trip to the zoo to make their partner happy. Nominally set in #Alpha4Alpha canon, but after the series ends.

"I'm not going to the zoo," Danny says, folding his arms over his chest.

"The hell you ain't," Eddie says, outraged. "You're the one who was like 'Oh, Mox, we'd love to babysit. No problem!' like a fuckin' suckup, and now you're tryna' wiggle out? Fuck that, bro."

"You never said we had to go to the zoo," Danny says stubbornly. "I don't like the zoo."

"Who doesn't like the zoo? What's wrong with you?"

"I don't like zoos!" Danny says. "They freak me out! Let's go bowling or some shit. Paintball."

"How old do you think Mox's kid is?" Eddie says. Then, "Whaddya mean zoos freak you out. Didn't Chris just have you guys do a photoshoot with snakes or some shit?"

"Yeah," Danny says, and preens. "That was cool as hell. That cobra loved me."

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Eddie says. "They got snakes at the zoo. Problem solved."

"Not just snakes," Danny says. He opens a kitchen cabinet and takes out a can of his bullshit protein powder. Eddie didn't know he was keeping a can here. Danny didn't ask or anything. Eddie watches him slam a scoop into a cup, and doesn't say shit about it.

Instead, he says, "Yeah, like lions and shit. C'mon, whatever, we'll walk around for a bit, get some ice cream, tire her out and—"

WHIRRRRRR The blender's so fuckin loud Eddie has to stop talking and wait for the kid to finish. He's pretty sure Danny keeps it going for way longer than he's gotta, but finally it shuts off and the kitchen is quiet again.

"You're gonna tell me why you're being a weird guy," Eddie says.

Danny's shoulders are tense, and he's refusing to turn and face Eddie, so what the hell. Eddie comes to the mountain. He crosses the kitchen and slides a hand up Danny's back until he reaches the top of Danny's spine. Curls his hand around Danny's neck, and squeezes for a beat, making a little collar of his fingers.

"Cheater," Danny says, but Eddie can feel his body going loose and liquid under Eddie's hand, so Eddie don't give a shit.

"Tell me," Eddie murmurs. Kisses the side of the kid's neck.

Danny's quiet for another beat, and then he says, "I don't like giraffes."

"You don't like giraffes," Eddie repeats.

"Or zebras," Danny says. He finally turns and faces Eddie, his eyebrows knitted together in a scowl. "Animals with eyes on the side."

"Eyes on the—are you fucking with me right now?"

"Man, I knew you'd be like this," Danny says. "That's why I don't tell you nothing. Now you're gonna go tell Mox and he's gonna look at me some more."

"He don't look at you, bighead," Eddie says. "Goats? You scared of a goat?"

"He does look at me. He looks at me like he thinks I should go away and you know it. And I'm not scared of nothing—"

"—Deer? Tell me you're not—"

"—I said they freak me out. You know deer eat meat?"

"So do I," Eddie says. The doorbell rings. He grins, steps forward, kisses Danny hard on his mouth. When Eddie pulls back, Danny sways forward, chasing him. "Come to the zoo," Eddie murmurs. "I'll protect you from the meat eating deer. And I'll make it worth your while."

"Man, fuck you—"

"Yeah, sure," Eddie says, and smirks. "That's on the table."

Danny chokes.

#friday wrestleprompts #I SKIPPED ONE BUT I'M BACK #wrestling #my work #alpha4alpha

[buttsmasher]

Breeders [repost]

Tags/Warnings: Mpreg, Roommates, Straight, Lots of Cum

You really should know better, it's rude to stare at your bro's bulge. But you have needs and urges, and you just know in the back of your head you can satisfy him better than any girl. You just don't know how to convince him of that.

"Take a picture." His voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Your eyes meet his and he's giving you a cocky smile. "Seriously take a picture. I'm starting to chub up."

You do as he says and take a photo of the situation. Tongue out, half hard in his green boxer briefs. "Now you have something to jack your faggy cock off to. You're welcome." He pushes past you and leaves the bathroom heading towards his room.

You don't really know how to process the situation, but you open the photo and examine the picture you took. Hell, you did a pretty good job on the rushed photo. And yeah, you did go to your room and rub one out to your hot roomie.

The next morning you awake and head to the kitchen where you hear him loudly talking. "Bri, come on, you know you love my cock." Bri must decline, what you assume is him trying to set an appointment to get his dick wet. "Please Bri, I'm so horny." A bit more silence. "Whatever." He slams his phone down on the kitchen counter making you jump. "Fuck." He says quietly.

You take that as your queue to walk into the kitchen. "Mornin'." You say as though you didn't hear anything. He just eyes you though with a predatory glint in his eye.

"Morning fag." He gives you a once over. "You ever taken a nine inch cock before?" You can't help but arch your eyebrow.

"That's nothing." You say nonchalantly as you slyly bend over to get a pan from a cabinet. You know you're presenting your PJ clad ass.

"Hm." He doesn't really say anything, but you take your sweet time, bent over, looking for that pan. You hear him walking out of the kitchen and you sigh in defeat.

You pull the pan out and reach up to grab the PAM spray only to hear your roomie come back. You hear a click, a bit of a squirt, and the tell tale sign of skin rubbing on skin. Before you get to turn around he roughly pushes you over to present your ass again and rips your PJ's so that your ass is exposed.

"Today's your lucky day fag." You don't even get a moment to protest before he is shoving his lubed cock up your ass. You loudly moan as he forces your hole open and fully seats his cock in you.

"Oh my god." You groan. "You're huge." You can't stop yourself from pushing your ass against his groin.

"Shut up." He pulls out slightly before slamming back in. "I don't want to hear a word out of your faggy mouth." You nod, but you continue to moan over and over again as he uses your hole. "This is all you're good for. Taking a man's cock." You nod your head frantically to show you agree. You try to stroke your hard cock, but he quickly pushes your hand away. "Fags don't get to cum."

He isn't gentle with you. His thrusts are hard and almost mechanical. This isn't a love making session, no this is him using your hole to masturbate. And then he hits something inside you that makes you scream out and shake.

"Yeah take my fat cock faggot!" He's fully seated again and he grinds his cock hitting that spot. "You feel that, that's me getting you ready for my load."

Pull out, hard thrust back in.

"Hope you don't mind I didn't wear a rubber, but I know you fags love an alpha male's cum in your ass."

He gives your ass a hard slap. "Hope you don't mind if I leave you with a little something extra." You don't get a chance to contemplate his words as he makes his balls slap against your ass. You're too focused on the mind numbing pleasure. "Here it comes faggot." He says panting.

You do your best to help push him over the edge, by pushing back on his massive tool. And then POP! You feel that wonderful sensation. "Perfect." He groans as you feel rope after rope of cum shooting inside of you. "Ah fuck." He doesn't stop, he keeps giving mini thrusts and he keeps pumping you full of his baby makers. He starts rubbing your stomach as it distends from the sheer quantity of cum he's filling you with.

And right when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls out. He's huffing as he turns you around. You're out of breath as well but you're confused as he examines your stomach. "Yeah, you're fucked." You look down at your stomach, and are confused by how bloated you look.

"What- how-"

"Let me save you some time. I come from a line of breeders." You barely pay attention to the words as you pet your stomach. "During the Cold War the US was working on an experiment to make sure the US survived a nuclear fallout." You look up at your roomie as your body starts making a gurgling sound.

"Part of that experiment was to make breeders." He flashes air quotes around breeders. "Their job was to make sure that we could repopulate the US. Meaning, their spunk has the ability to get men or women pregnant. Whatever situation was needed." Your eyes widen. "My dad was one of the thousand people they experimented on."

"You mean-"

"Yup, you're carrying my baby." You look down in horror again.

"You're lying, it's not possible."

"Unfortunately for you, it is." He shrugs. "Welp, good luck."

"No, no, no."

You watch as he looks down at his dick. "What, you're ready again?" He signs before looking back at you. "Turn back around, it's time for round two."

You let him turn you back around and pound another load into your already abused hole. "Don't worry, this is the last time and I'm done."

A few months later, and you're starting to show. There's definitely something inside of you growing. There's no denying that he did indeed knock you up. The worst part of it, it turns you on more than anything. You see your swollen belly and you can't help but chub up.

You're lying in bed when he knocks on your door. You're about to yell wait as soon as he opens the door. "Aw, you thinking about me?"

"Get out!" You cover your junk.

“I just wanted to see if the baby is hungry.” You see his fully erect cock out in the open.

“Dontcha have someone else you can bother.” You try not to look at his cock, but you can’t help the glances you give.

“Sure, I mean look at me.” He gestures at himself and then gives his cock a pump. “But, you’re right here, and I’m horny.” You take a gulp knowing you're going to give.

“Fine.”

And without any fanfare, he’s fucking your mouth and dropping large amounts of cum down your throat. You can’t help feeling that this just feels right.

Even later, you're in the hospital surrounded by confused doctors and nurses. They don’t stall too long though and work on helping you give birth to the child. A beautiful boy that you named Jack. When you finally get home, you go to show your roomie the baby, but he’s gone. His room completely deserted leaving you with the child alone.

You end up moving back in with your parents to raise your son. You try your best to look him up and find several, old, social media pages that haven’t had much activity. You start a group and end up finding others who have had the children of breeders.

In the end you got what you wanted. He definitely used you like you wished. But maybe, you got a bit more than what you bargained for.

[moss-bride]

You make me want to believe in love. Chapter 12

Cautiously Anguish spends a few seconds each day with her drinking tea.

She glumly sits. Unwilling to admit being grateful for the attempt to aid her deteriorating mental health. She grasps on to this one kindness and tries to make the most of her lot.

They don't talk much. But when they do it always ends as a debate of wits stared by a passing line that the other won't let go, a chess game that he always throws aside when she gains the upper hand, a sore loser.

In the gap of moments in leisure, she makes her way to the rug with half a pint of Horchata to enjoy as she tumbles into the room.

The bear is eager to talk to her and once the door closes he begins.

“White veins. White palace.” That's what the Gilead repeated to her. He won't answer how or why and the retractive no answer is obviously a form of trying to trick her. It drives up her suspicion of a trap yet can't let the possibility go.

She doesn't see the dribble of spit at the corner of his mouth as he says these words . He hides it the best he can so that the only thing she notices when gazing at his six eyes is the dumb stare of an imploring animal.

He cranes his head up, the movement seemingly costing him an enormous amount of strength. “Hop in my mouth. I can save you.”

What kind of idiot would I be if I fell for that? What kind of fool would I be to pass it up? Up is down and the belly of the beast can take me home with its Alice in wonderland logic.

Her back beads with sweat and Gilead conjoles what littles sanity she has left. “Jump in. Climb in. A bite won't harm. You can't save those poor sods, stop thinking yourself a hero and flee ”. Escape at the tip of her fingers she just needs to reach her hand to grasp it.

She should take her chances with the cabinet. The scientific method from middle school is always left of her scholarly graces.

It's tempting her with the possibility. “I won't unless you can give me an explanation! Is that so much to ask for! For someone in this stupid fucking town to answer me?!”

“What good would an answer be? Something's have none. I cannot explain as you can't explain why you exist.”

Excuses. That is what everyone is full of. She should slam her head into a wall until it makes sense, it certainly has more guarantee then considering a magical alien bear’s mouth is a portal to earth.

“I can stretch my mouth wider. I can fit stars and their circling moons .”

She's unmoved by his feats. Impatiently tapping her foot. “Let me see. You can't just say you can and then not do anything to prove it “

The bear grumbles.

She put her hands between his open jaws and pried. Expecting resistance but his muscles stretch. Just enough to crouch into his empty body

Back on earth an animal pelt is cut in a way that leaves swaths of skin missing , to make it an aesthetically pleasing symmetrical size. The stomach and neck strips need to go. A byproduct that is also commonly sold.

Under his head and top half is more fur. There are no puncture marks or knife cuts. His body is sound and the only possible way that he is this way is that Gilead’s organs and bones were sucked out through his mouth or another orifice. Removed without the touch of a blade

She peers inside seeing nothing except empty blackness . A flash light would have been handy to look inside Gilead's mouth.

Releasing a struggling breath she reaches in. Wrist then elbow deep, feels empty space.

No, her hand hit something, she rubs at it to figure out the texture and concludes that it is rock.

Brick Wall pattern. No other notes or furniture. However there is something that convinces her. On her upturned palm a soft breeze brushes. Cool air.

She grabs a loose rock and retracts her hand.

Gray little pebble,Turning it in her hand there is nothing remarkable about the stone, it is an ordinary rock.

She closes her eyes and breathes. When she opens them her decision is made.“Okay. I'm trusting you.”

“You will not regret it. The stasis is controlled by the hanged king. The magic that bore him away from mortality now imprisons them all. The ambassador , I have heard, gloats about this deal to any other entities that would listen. The sheer power they hold. Best do it soon. “You've seen it! Here they ruin each other for amusement, growing sicker and sicker . Stuck in a decaying picture frame. Sooner this will happen to you.”

The strange energy that courses through the upside down stairs and topsy-turvy buildings has a name, neither she nor the bear know.

When you cut your hand it heals without a scar . A fever can turn your brain to liquid and this place will fight to keep your body as a puppet. This place keeps you frozen.

Aether as a replacement for gravity pulls together cobblestone and marble.

This queer essence cannot be described by words. One can only feel it's stagnation.

Churning time and space to a dull stop.

“I can't right now though. I have to get the others.” she gets off her knees

“….. alright.”

Gilead the great bear rug. Gilead who doesn't leave room for doubt. He circles her mind after she leaves.

Left to lay in bed as her maid dims the candles one by one until her night stand is left. She still clutches the rock in her hand. Head resting against her pillows and tucked in, she stares at the closed hand that holds it.

She nuzzles her mask into the pillow. “Are there any occupants of the palace other than you, me and the lord? Ones that can think and feel.”

The maid tilts her head in question. “Yes. All have their own circles, the staff have duties to uphold to run the palace, some aren't ever to leave, as part of this castle as the walls.”

“Anyone else?” she clears her throat and nonchalantly asks.

“Why do you ask?” her mask lightens in recognition and the corner of her eye holes narrow. “They'd sooner make a slave out of you then help.” She's startled at the mention of slavery. An ugly reality of this world.

‘I found an alien bear that is being kept prisoner the same as me and he wants to help me escape by climbing into his mouth’ she keeps the words in her throat and off her mind to avoid further inquiry.

“No reason, I just see recurring figures in the halls.” it's a freak show, to be honest, some of them slither pass and she stupidly gawks after them.

“What about the stuff that was gifted to him?”

“He keeps all his memorabilia here. The battles both won and lost along with ledgers of debts. Gifts. Our Lord is admired far and wide. His gifts litter the palace. Knowledge, slaves and war trophies. Some in the form of thinking organisms.”

Giorgia gives her a pointed look. “You'd be wise to not involve yourself with them.”

Too late. She has a plan. The aether that surrounds allagadda keeps its occupants drunk. And she is prepared to use that to its full advantage.

At the party that white is hosting everyone will be distracted and she'll descend to the depths of White's palace and search for the dungeons.

Find captive humans. Escape with them. Abandon the black lord to his schemes.

Giorgia isn't the most friendly figure but she would hate for something to happen to hurt her. Hopefully she won't be punished for her escape

The recent sympathy she felt for Anguish and his crew of misfits is irrelevant to the larger picture. Cara mia… . The words swirl in her ears . She's a bit dizzy at the recollection. Not a taunt or tease. An endearment that exists without reason. He tossed it into the air

The honest feel of her hand encased by someone else's.

The bear has been ready and begging her to use his favor already. (Starving)

Anguish interrupted her daily moping, snapping her finger tips until she groaned and stood up. He grabs her hand and announces in that theatrical way of his. “We are going dress shopping!”

#x reader #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #scp fandom #scp 035 #scp foundation #alagadda #fem reader

[sebsxphia]

Hi! It's the anon who sent the drabbles of Jake with a WSO wife that dies, again. I must say it again, you are honestly the sweetest! And thank you again for appreciating the ideas so much xxx I hope you are doing well, and congratulations for quiting your job! I really hope you'll find something much better xxx

So, I got yet another idea relating to this scenario. I hope you'll enjoy this as well xxx I can't wait to read your thoughts! xxx

It is the week leading up to the anniversary of Jake's wife's death. He is snappier, doesn't make jokes about anything or anyone and generally is either angry or downright sad. Usually it isn't something the people around him notice, since he didn't spend nearly enough time with them. But after the uranium mission, he has spent more time with the Dagger squad.

They are surprised by this sudden, negative change in his behaviour, which seemingly came out of the blue. At first everyone goes to Coyote to ask him what's the matter, but even he doesn't know and has never seen him like this.

When they try to ask Jake what's wrong, he either leaves them without saying a word, says he's fine, "it's none of your business" or, when he is really deep in, something uncalled for.

The team doesn't just leave it alone. After the mission, Jake has broken his rule of keeping people as far as possible and has let the Dagger squad closer in, if only just a little. But that was enough for them to start caring about him and want to dig deeper under the facade he spends so much energy on maintaining.

So, during one of their get-togethers at the Hard Deck, to which Jake did not come, yet again (for the third time in a week), even though they wanted to tie it together with a birthday surprise for him too (his birthday was a while ago, but their schedule did not allow for a proper celebration, like the ones they did for the others'), they decide to take the surprise to him and also finally get to the bottom of what causes his foul mood.

When they arrive at his house, it seems empty, but they see his car parked, so they ring the bell anyways.

Meanwhile, inside, Jake was going through the usual routine he always did on the anniversary of his wife's death. He placed his favourite, most meaningful pictures of her on the little coffee table, and lit a few candles (of her favourite sent) in front of them, next to her wedding ring. He was reading a letter she wrote him before their mission, which was found in the pocket of her flight suit. A goodbye of sorts. Telling him not to balme himself if anything happened to her. Telling how in love with him she is. He has tears steadily flowing down his cheeks.

He hears the bell ring. Thinking it's the takeout he ordered (his wife's favourite), he opens the door. Only to come face to face with the Dagger squad.

They yell "surprise" and start going in. Jake is too shocked to slam the door in their face. Only when they near his livingroom does he catch on what is happening. Alarm bells go off in his mind, they can't see the pictures! He dashes forward, while panicking "what the Hell are you doing here? Get out!". He is frantically gathering all the photoes, but he's too late and can't pick the all up.

"Who's that?" comes the dreaded question. He screws his eyes shut, hoping this is just a nightmare. The others see the ring on the table and start to put things together, but are still very confused.

Jake exhales shakily. The damage has been done. He might as well tell them. "My wife"

Everyone is silent.

Then Fanboy breaks it "she away on deployment?"

Jake can't help the bitter laugh at the innocent question. "I wish" he croaks. He walks over to the small cabinet to place the pictures down. That's when they see the folded up flag sitting on top of it, and suddenly understand.

"What was her name?" comes the quiet question.

"She was called-..." he chokes and can't finish, sobs overtaking his ability to speak. Immediately, he has the whole team gathered around him, trying to comfort him.

Hours later, they all sit in the livingroom, Jake having told what happened and answered whatever they wanted to ask about her. They moved on to other topics too, the atmosphere much lighter.

He never intended to tell anyone. But now, sitting with the people he let himself care about, and has let them care about him, he feels more at peace than he had in years.

*

I'm sorry, this got incredibly long...

my beloved anon!! you return with more beautiful pieces AS ALWAYS 🥺🥺🥺

i absolutely adore this!! during the uranium mission, jake clearly cared and they thought this would be a turning point in their relationship with jake, but weeks after, it turned sour again. by this point they already have established a solid enough ground to just outright ask him what’s got him all wound up, but they’re incredibly grateful they didn’t, understanding this is far deeper than any of them.

it also explains why and how hangman was during the uranium mission. explains the fear he had because he couldn’t bare going through it again and why he wanted to put himself forward. furthermore, they also realize it’s because he cared for them like he did his wife. there’s so many layers!

after this night, they’re kinder and softer with him. bradley even offers to stay the night in the spare room just to have some company. “bradshaw, last thing i want is you staying in my house.” he chuckles, putting on a brave face again as his usual demeanor.

“jake.” bradley places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “please. i understand. you should know, of all people, i understand.”

jake pauses and doesn’t let another quick whit comment slip again. “thank you.”

thank you so so much for this, as always, and thank you so much for your kind words bless you!! you’re so incredibly sweet and thoughtful and i just adore it when you pop by! i hope you have a wonderful rest of your week and you’re doing well yourself!! 💖🫶🏼💝

#💌you’ve got mail #ilysm! mwah! <33 #💐 these are for you!! #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman x you #hangman x you

[iknow-thisisallinmyhead]

Do You Love Him?

Post 6x10 - Chris has some questions for his dad - 2.5k - read on a03

Special shout out to my biffle @they-them-mayhem you inspire me you drive me you flatter me. love you babe. 

Christopher hasn’t ever really seen his dad like this. 

He’s seen Dad upset and he’s seen him worried, he’s seen him stressed and he’s even seen him at rock bottom just last year when he was silently warring with himself. When Dad is upset he doesn't want anyone to know, doesn’t want anyone to see that he’s vulnerable. In every situation, no matter how it’s affecting him, he usually shuts down; sits still, pinches his mouth shut, balls his hands into fists so tight his knuckles are white. He doesn’t pace, he doesn’t fidget, he doesn’t frantically find things to keep him busy. And it scares Chris that he is. 

Is he lying about how badly Buck’s hurt? He thought his dad was being truthful when explaining what happened at that fire: Buck was struck by lightning and his heart stopped and it took time to get him down, it took time to get his heart restarted, it took time to get him to the hospital which left too much time for things to go wrong. But they got him there, they passed him off to the doctors who know how to help. Chris saw him yesterday; he was lying on that small bed looking fragile and fried, asleep just like he has been since he got to the hospital the other night. Dad could barely even look at him lying there connected to all those tubes and machines. The doctors said they were keeping him unconscious so his body could heal, which, Chris knows from his own tenure in hospital beds, is a good thing most of the time. So why is Dad so distraught? 

Christopher’s so worried about Buck he starts Googling. 

There’s only a small percentage of people who actually die when hit by lightning, which helps for only a moment when Chris keeps reading. Neurological issues and muscle problems can be bad, not to mention what happens if it takes too long for you to start breathing again. A lack of oxygen has never been good for anyone’s brain. He puts his tablet away when he starts learning more than he wants to about organ damage. Muscle and neuro issues can be helped with physical therapy. Chris and his dad are pros at physical therapy by now and would be able to help Buck through it. But that kind of organ damage…. 

Chris doesn’t want to think about it. 

He gets up, grabbing his crutches and crossing to his bedroom door to crack it open. He can hear dad out in the kitchen, clattering things around like the silence is the reason Buck got hurt. Slowly, Christopher eases out of his room, shuffling down the hall as quietly as his uneven gait allows. He reaches the living room and peaks in. He can see dad’s shadow through the door to the kitchen, walking back and forth across the room. Chris thinks he’s putting dishes away, but it’s way louder than normal. With his stomach in knots, he creeps across the living room until he can peer into the kitchen. 

Dad forcefully tosses some plates into a cabinet, slamming the door behind them. He turns to the dish drainer, but it’s empty. As Christopher watches, his dad’s tornado of negativity stops waging a war on the kitchen and turns inward; leaning forward, he places his hands on the edge of the sink, head bowed and shoulders slumped. 

“Dad?”

He startles, jerking in surprise. It worries Chris; Dad normally knows he’s there long before he says anything. “Yeah, buddy?”

“Can we go visit Buck?”

Dad takes a shuddering breath before answering, voice shaky as the words come out. “In the morning we can. It’s too late now, the hospital won’t let us go in his room.” 

“Okay,” Chris murmurs.

Dad still hasn’t turned around. 

And it’s just- 

Chris never sees his dad upset. He’s good at sliding on a frozen mask and forcing down his reactions, good at faking a smile, good at sounding convincing when he says,”I’m fine.” Christopher can probably count with the fingers of one hand the times Dad has let him see the truth of what he’s feeling. Since he started going to see Frank again last year things have been getting better bit by bit. He's been working on himself, on being honest with his emotions and being honest with his son. He’s gotten better at opening up, he has. 

But Christopher knows just how much his dad does not like to feel vulnerable. He doesn’t like to admit when things are bothering him, doesn’t like to burden others with his problems, and doesn't like to ask for help. Well, that isn’t entirely true, Dad’s never had a problem with those things when it comes to Buck. Buck can pry the truth from Dad no problem, can offer help without triggering his defenses, can sooth the worries that he’s an encumbrance. Buck’s always been the only exception to Dad’s strictly enforced rules. 

Dad gives so much away to Buck, so much that never gets shared with or shown to anyone and Chris doesn’t think Buck realizes how much of a big deal that is. There is no one else that Dad trusts like that, no one else who is allowed to have so much authority over Chris, no one else who gets to see so much of Dad’s heart. There’s never been another of his father’s friends who stuck around, who has made the effort with Christopher, who has had such a noticeable impact on their lives. 

And that’s not even considering the impact Buck has on just Dad. Chris remembers what it was like in Texas after Mom left, he remembers how much Dad shut himself off from everyone, remembers how much Dad struggled before meeting the blond. Buck showed up and Christopher watched his dad become a different person right in front of his eyes. He has never seen his dad so carefree and cheerful, never seen him smile so much.

Buck is there almost everyday; bringing donuts in the morning and helping with Chris’s homework in the afternoon and spending hours upon hours in the kitchen perfecting a home cooked meal for two boys who can’t cook for themselves. Days that pass without an appearance from the tall blond are days that feel off to Chris, empty and quiet and boring. He’s never asked, but he knows Dad feels the same. There’s an emptiness to his eyes that doesn’t get filled until blond hair and blue eyes and a big goofy grin walk through the front door. Don’t get him wrong, Christopher and his dad get on fine by themselves if they have to, but they haven't had to in so long. Because Buck is always there.

Buck is always there with a smile, pulling dad out of his quiet shell and getting the Diazes to experience the world. He plans hikes and zoo outings and beach picnics and drags them along no matter how much they complain. He’s always there, always glad to see his Diaz boys no matter what’s on the schedule. And Christopher knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Dad is just as happy to see Buck, too. Eddie all but expects Buck to be with them all day, every day, and never complains when Buck wants to do something, even when the younger man has something insane planned. The three of them can pass the time so easily; their outings and shenanigans are always fun, always full of laughter, always just what each of them needs.

Christopher loves Buck, he loves Buck almost as much as he loves his dad. He’s funny and kind and he never makes Chris feel dumb or bad or childish for anything. He’s always there when Chris needs advice or wants to surprise Dad. He’s always there when Chris needs a ride or a distraction. He’s always there when Dad can’t be, and sometimes Chris has to remind himself that Buck isn’t his dad, Buck isn’t even his step-dad.

That doesn’t stop Christopher from wondering what it would be like if he was though.

He knows his dad loves Buck, too, even if he’s never said it in so many words. He knows because Buck is the only one of Dad’s friend’s that has stuck. He knows because Buck is trusted with Christopher’s safety. He knows because Dad is just different when Buck is around. He’s lighter, he’s happier, he’s more at ease than Christopher has ever seen. It gets him thinking about Ana Flores and how stiff and anxious Dad would get talking about her. They dated for a few months and Dad liked her, sure, but she never clicked, she never became a part of their lives. Not like Buck already was at the time, like he has been the whole time.

Ana was his favorite teacher, and he was so happy when Dad brought her home, even if it felt weird that he brought home someone who wasn’t Mom. Chris was so excited at first, so glad it was Ms. Flores. Ms. Flores who told him he was brilliant, who made sure he was listened to, who kept him engaged and interested in learning. Christopher thought she would do the same with Dad, but though Dad seemed to like her, he didn’t like her as much as Chris did. Truthfully, he wasn’t all that surprised when Dad sat him down to tell him she wouldn’t be back. She never became theirs, she was just there. He’s still young, just venturing into his teenage years, but Christopher believes, deep in his gut, that the reason Ana didn’t last, the reason she didn’t become more enmeshed with the Diazes, has something to do with the way Dad compares her to Buck. 

He knows his dad loves Buck and recently Christopher has been wondering if Dad loves Buck a little more than he lets on. If he loves him a little more than you love just a friend. Because Dad doesn’t react like this to just anything; doesn’t cry and fidget and slam doors but here he is with shaky shoulders and shuddering breaths and twitching fingers like the only thing keeping him still is Christopher’s gaze on his back. Like the moment Chris blinks Dad will begin the onslaught again, fighting against the kitchen in the place of the universe. 

Stepping further into the room, Christopher makes a decision. He’s not a baby any more and he and Dad agreed to be more honest with each other. This question won’t get brushed off or given an untruthful answer, not if Chris asks it right now. He doesn’t think his dad has it in him to lie, not when he’s so upset, so tired, so close to reaching another breaking point.

“Dad?”

“Mmm?” Dad turns his head a fraction, still not looking at Chris. It sends a flare of unease through the knots in his belly. 

So he waits. 

Eventually Dad turns around fully, putting his back to the sink and facing his son. “What, mijo?”

Even though Christopher is determined to get an answer he’s suddenly terrified that it won’t match the one he wants, the one he’s been wishing for, the one he knows would make them all happy. His mouth opens, but the words don’t come out. 

If he asks the question things might change. 

Doesn’t he want them to change, though? Dad and Buck are on the edge of something, something that’s been building for years, something that is going to make or break them. Something that is getting harder and harder to ignore. Someone’s got to give them the push.

Stealing himself, Chris steps forward and forces himself to speak. To say the words, ask the question, drop the bomb on their lives. “Do you love him?”

Dad’s eyebrows shoot up as his jaw drops open. For a fraction of a second he looks like a deer caught in the headlights and then he snaps his mouth shut, closing off the expression on his face. He can't meet Chris's eyes, staring instead over his head. “Of course, he’s my best friend, he's family.” He steps away from the sink, heading across the kitchen to Chris looking like he’s about to bolt from the room. 

Chris takes one step back, placing himself in the middle of the doorway. Dad comes to a stop in front of him, eyeing his escape over Christopher’s shoulder. Chris calculated his spot well, though, Dad will have to push him out of the way to escape. “No, Dad,” he starts, looking up to meet his dad's eyes, nearly the same shade of brown as his own. “Are you in love with him? With Buck?” Chris adds, in case his dad wants to continue to play dumb.

Dad inhales sharply through his nose. His face passes through several complicated expressions, none of which last long enough for Chris to get a good read on until it seems to crack right down the middle, fissures spreading across the surface to reveal an entirely new face underneath, one never shown before. The raw love and sadness escaping through the cracks steal the breath right out of Christopher's lungs. 

Dad swallows thickly, closing his eyes briefly. Looking down, he chews on his bottom lip for a moment, deliberating with himself. He opens his mouth but can’t seem to get any words out. He meets Chris's eyes and jerks his head once, twice, three times before licking his lips. “Y-Yeah,” he whispers. He takes in another deep, shuddering breath and it seems like a weight is lifted from his shoulders. Dad opens his eyes back up, purposefully meeting his son’s eyes this time. “Yeah, Chris, I’m-I’m in love with Buck.”

Elation runs through Chris, because he was right! Because both of them are on the same page! Because this means Buck will always be theirs! He grins happily up at his dad, stepping forward. He reaches a hand out to dad, who takes it right away. “Good. He deserves to be loved.” 

He’s not dumb, he knows how much Dad has probably fretted over this. How many nights he’s laid awake terrified over what he feels for his best friend,, over what Chris would think and definitely over what Buck would think about it. He doesn’t have all the answers, but for now he can give his dad this. 

Chris steps forward, opening his arms. Dad pulls him in immediately, hunching around his son’s body and squeezing tight. Christopher hugs back as hard as he can. 

#christopher diaz #eddie diaz #evan buck buckely #fanfiction #fic #911 on fox #post 6x10 #what if #chris has eyes and ears #he knows SOMETHING is going on with his dad and buck

[whumpcloud]

Routine

taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @gala1981 @whump-in-the-moonlight @ohwhumpydays @morning-star-whump

content: extremely toxic relationship (arguing and physical fighting), implied past injury, broken arm, punching mirrors and walls

"Can you please come back?" Derian whispers.

Charlie covers his other ear and sighs. Again? "Derian, I--"

"Please." Derian's voice cracks. "I need you."

Charlie bites his lip. "Fine. Give me ten minutes, okay?"

"Can you stay on the phone?" Derian asks.

"Fine."

"I love you."

Charlie sighs. Softens. "I love you too."

He makes his way out of the party without too much notice. It's not as though he had anything to drink, or talked to anyone, except to greet them. He doesn't like going to parties. He likes getting out of his apartment, and away from Derian. He feels like he's going stir-crazy when the two of them are in the same space for too long.

Derian doesn't really talk. He makes soft noises of response when Charlie asks him a question to make sure he's still conscious, but he keeps quiet. Maybe he thinks that Charlie will only get more annoyed if he speaks. It's probably true.

When Charlie finally pulls into the parking lot, Derian hangs up. Charlie takes a deep breath, slams his head against the steering wheel, and gets out of the car.

Derian isn't in the living room, or in the section of it with the kitchen. Charlie quickly finds him huddled on the bathroom floor, surrounded by glass shards, bleeding from the knuckles. The mirror is no longer on the medicine cabinet. Derian doesn't look up, just digs his nails into his arms and softly sobs.

Under his breath, Charlie mumbles a string of words in Japanese to calm himself, then sighs. "Just sit tight and I'll clean up the glass, okay?"

"Mhm."

It's no effort to brush the glass shards into a dustpan and give the floor a vacuum to clean the rest. Derian staggers upwards, leaning heavily on Charlie, and lets Charlie lead him out of the bathroom and onto the sofa. There's a moment of silence.

"I'll get some bandages," Charlie says.

"Mhm."

Charlie is careful, picking the glass from Derian's skin. Practiced, gentle movements. How many times have the two of them sat here and done this exact thing? Charlie drops the tiny shards into the dustpan with the rest of it.

"I'm sorry," Derian says.

"It's fine," Charlie replies. "I didn't wanna be there anyway."

"I always do this," Derian mumbles.

"Stop." Charlie already sees where this conversation is going. "Just be quiet."

"Sorry." Derian's voice is barely audible.

Routine. Derian's hands are bandaged more often than not, so often that the artistic director at the ballet company has started checking on Derian twice a week. Derian doesn't think Charlie knows that. Charlie is always, always the one bandaging him.

"I'm going to bed," Charlie says.

"I won't sleep," Derian whispers. "Please stay."

Why does he always do it? Because he loves Derian? He knows he did, once. A long time ago. When he was a first year art student looking for study references, and instead they made out on Charlie's shitty leather sofa that his mom forced him to take when he moved out.

Charlie puts an arm around Derian and kisses him on the cheek. Yeah, Charlie loves him. More than anything. He's fucking terrified that one day he's going to lose him.

"I'm sorry," Derian says again.

"Stop apologising."

"I keep--"

"And stop trying to start a fight."

Derian's eyes widen, and he curls in on himself. "I'm not trying to."

"Whether you're doing it on purpose or not, you are," Charlie says flatly. "So stop."

Derian bites his tongue, and presses up against Charlie, bandaged hand wrapping itself in the fabric of Charlie's shirt.

"You wore the nice cologne," Derian whispers.

"Yeah." It's the one Derian got Charlie for his last birthday, that he saved for to the point where Charlie had to start making him meals so that he would eat. "I feel like I never really wear it, so…"

"You should wear it more." Derian flinches. "I-If you want to."

"Maybe."

"I'm sorry you have to keep taking care of me."

"I know."

"I'm sorry I make you mad."

"Jesus, shut up!"

"I-I'm just trying to--"

"I get it!" Charlie doesn't mean to snap like this, but he always does. "Just stop. Seriously."

"Can't you let me apologise?" Now Derian's starting to get angry. He pulls away from Charlie. "If you're gonna be like this--"

"Stop talking." Charlie hides his face in his hands and groans. "I'm going to bed."

"Don't just leave!" Derian chases Charlie into the hallway, grabbing at his shirt. "I'm trying to be fucking nice for once-"

"Don't start with your self-hating shit!" 

Charlie shakes Derian off, and Derian grabs him by the wrist instead. Charlie shoves him, directly in the chest, but only forces the both of them forward, toppling onto the floor.

"Let go of me!" Charlie snaps, clawing at Derian's wrist. "You fucking asshole!"

"I was just trying to apologise!"

"Is this apologising to you?!"

"You're so fucking condescending!"

Charlie usually throws the first punch. He always just wants Derian to shut his goddamn mouth. But Derian has the advantage of being smaller, and better at using underhanded methods. He spits blood into Charlie's eye.

In the moments while Charlie can't see right in front of him, Derian gets to his feet. Charlie stumbles upright, and catches Derian as he rushes at Charlie, shoving him up against the wall.

"We can never be nice to each other, huh?" Charlie hisses. "You always have to cause a fucking problem."

"I didn't start this! You're the one who--" Derian dodges Charlie's next punch. "Swing at me again and I will bite your fingers off, I swear to God!"

Derian shoves his knee into Charlie's stomach and slips out of reach. He takes a deep breath, digs his nails into his forearm, swallows back all the venom in his voice.

"I don't wanna fight," he says, suddenly quiet. "Can we please not fight?"

"You're the one who grabbed me." Charlie clutches his stomach and breathes heavily. "And before you say I punched you, I wouldn't have fucking done that without the grabbing."

"Why is it always my fault?" Derian squeaks. "You always make it my fault."

"It is your fault!" Charlie hits the wall and inhales sharply. "No. I'm not having this argument with you. I'm going to fucking bed."

"I'll sleep on the couch, I guess," Derian mumbles.

Charlie bites his lip sharply, and screams a little. "Just. Come to bed. When you're ready. Okay?"

"You clearly don't--"

"Derian!"

"I'll leave the house if you want," Derian whispers.

Charlie whips around and storms towards him.

They underestimate each other. Someone gets seriously injured, every time they fight, but they never expect it until it happens. Until they hear the snap, or the crunch, or the choked gasp.

It's Charlie, this time. As soon as he's in reach, Derian grabs his arm. Twists it. Charlie slaps his hand to his mouth, muffling his cry.

Derian lets go just as suddenly, stumbling back. "I- I thought--"

"Get out," Charlie snarls, squeezing his eyes shut. "Get the fuck out of my apartment."

"I-It could be broken!"

"I don't care. Get out."

Derian swallows. "You can't drive yourself to the ER with a broken arm, cariño."

Charlie swears. Bites his tongue so hard that he's sure he can taste blood. The worst part of it all is that he has to admit that Derian is right about something.

"Fine."

They're lucky enough not to be recognised this time. It's not broken. Just fractured. Needs a cast. They go through the motions. Derian doesn't say a word, not until they get back into the car.

"I'll go to my dad's," he mumbles.

"Don't bother," Charlie sighs. "I just wanna go to bed. Can we just go to bed?"

"...okay."

They've put Charlie's arm in a splint for now, and Derian is careful not to touch it. He presses up against Charlie's back in bed, and chews his lip.

"I'm sorry," Derian whispers. "I love you."

Charlie sighs. "I'm sorry too. Goodnight."

A pause. Charlie has no excuse for this. Derian has the tragic life and the severe mental health issues and all that other bullshit that makes him the way he is. Charlie is just the type of person who has to try so damn hard to be good, to be nice, to not lose it constantly. Derian makes it so easy to lose it. It's not his fault that everything seems like his fault.

"I love you too," Charlie says.

#polly's prose #whump #whump writing #derian rodriquez #charlie aikyō #they are so problematic actually. #derian is. derian we all know him. and charlie has undiagnosed bipolar disorder. literally nothing can go wrong (lying) #athazagoraphobia

[kidgetrash]

Oh wow, somehow I totally kissed that! Some stuff I agreed with, some stuff I didn't, but I enjoyed every bit of reading it regardless! Ok... most common argument and who says I love you first?

Most Common Argument?

Between these two, the crew often don't know if they're actually having an argument or just sassing one another! They will argue the pros and cons of sweet vs salty popcorn as passionately as if it were life or death. Pidge will tell Keith he's crazy for thinking the sequel is better than the first movie, which will lead them to loudly debate every single plot point that outweighs the other. But they love it!

'You're doing it wrong.'

'No, YOU'RE doing it wrong.'

'That doesn't even make any sense, I'm not the one doing it.'

'Which is why YOU'RE doing it wrong!'

But as for big arguments, boy howdy, do these two go off! And for both of them it's the safety of the other. Even if it wasn't their fault, even if it was Keith doing some risky manoeuvre, even if it was Pidge not paying attention and nearly tripping, YOU MUST BE MORE CAREFUL! WHAT WOULD I DO IF SOMETHING HAPPENED TO YOU? It takes some time before they both realise they're worried about the exact same thing. But that doesn't stop them. They get so angry, so fired up, honestly the team didn't know Pidge had it in her to get angry enough to go toe to toe with Keith in the raging stakes. Their fights can last for days, the whole crew walking on eggshells as they slam cabinets, ignoring one another, snapping the head of whoever dares talk to them.

But eventually they miss one another, the one who started the argument apologising. Keith will meander sheepishly into Pidge's office/lab and make his way through the layers of burning steam she was putting off at his presence. He'd just stop beside her and rub the back of his neck.

'So, I might have overreacted, and I'm sorry.'

'Might have?'

'Definitely. I'm just...I don't want anything to happen to you. I'm scared I might lose you.'

She turns in her seat and looks up at him, finally worry showing through instead of anger.

'Stupid emo.' She gets up and wraps him in a tight hug. 'With you there to save me, what could ever happen to me?'

As for Pidge, she approaches things a little differently.

'Hey!' She'll march into whatever room he is in, regardless of who he is with.

'What?' It's the first thing they've said to one another for days and he feigns absolute disinterest, because he already know where this is going.

'My room, now!' And she turns on her heels and leaves, not even bothering to check he's following.

He sighs, puts down whatever it was he was doing, and heads out of the room with an eyeroll at whoever else might be in the room, and if it's Lance he will get a; 'oooooo Keith's in trouble!'

Keith knows he is, but he really doesn't mind, because he knows when he gets to Pidge's room he's about to get absolutely dominated by his tiny girlfriend in some of the best angry sex ever.

Once it's all over, and they're lying in bed, the covers, and most of the room actually, in absolute shambles, themselves a tangle of arms and legs, that she will look up at him with her bottom lip trembling.

'You know I only got mad because you were stupid, right?'

'I know.' He kisses her forehead tenderly. 'And it was warranted.'

'But still, I didn't have to get that mad. I didn't have to yell at you as much as I did.'

'I think I probably deserved it. Maybe not the spanner you threw at me, but the yelling, sure.' He smiled at her and that was her undoing.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she pressed her lips together to try and quell them but couldn't. And when she spoke her voice was so choked up it broke his heart. 'It's just, when I thought I lost Dad and Matt, I felt so empty, like my whole world shattered. I can't bear the thought of losing you like I thought I lost them.' She gave in to her tears then, Keith holding her close and shushing her.

When she finally calms, he rolls onto his side, putting her on her back beside him. He strokes her cheek, kisses her tears away, and gives her the most sincere look.

'We don't live normal lives, there's always going to be danger, and I will always put myself in positions you don't want me to,' she opened her mouth to argue but he pressed his finger to her lips, 'but it's only because I would give my life for you. To keep you safe I would give up everything I have. I would literally die for you.'

She pushed away his finger. 'But, I don't want you to die for me. Can't you fight and live for me instead?'

Keith physically started at that. He hadn't actually realised that that was an option. He figured sacrifice was all about giving up your life but, it dawned on him, that there were other kinds of sacrifice. Like giving up what you thought was a given and changing your ways.

'You know?' He leaned down and kissed her softly. 'That actually seems like a much better idea.'

Who Says I Love You First?

Surprisingly, it's Keith! It just kind of...slipped out! They were just sitting on Pidge's bed, curled up watching a movie, and she turned and kissed him softly with no prompting. It completely threw him for a loop. He thought they were just watching the movie when suddenly she has his brain fritzing and his stomach flip flopping, his heart is racing, and it was just a kiss! She gave a simple little hum when they parted, planning on going back to the movie, having got her fix, but he caught her cheek with his palm, keeping her facing him. He studied her in a way that had her giving him a look of amused curiosity.

'What?' She whispered, their closeness guaranteeing he would hear her.

'I love you.' He just stated it out of thin air, his words almost as much a surprise to him as it was to her.

Her cheeks flushed, and she blinked rapidly. It was her turn for her brain to short out. 'Wow. I mean, yeah!' She shook herself mentally. 'I love you too!'

She all but threw herself at him, knocking him onto his back as she hugged him tightly. He couldn't help the grin that slid onto his face. He hadn't meant to confess, not now, he had figured he would do so in some romantic setting, but that was when he realised it didn't really matter where they were, so long as they were together it was the most perfect place in the world.

I wrote this at 7am after a shockingly bad night and the pain meds aren't taking the edge off! I hope I didn't make too many mistakes and that you like it!

All the ship memes are done now (or waiting to be done!) but if you have any other ideas/questions that you want me to have a go at, hit me up!

#kidge #ship memes #kidgetrash