#An good life in that way. I just want to live and share boring normal things with someone who loves me and if they have an ambition id help

[mrfoox]

Oliver freaking tf out when im crying as we talk is an favorite thing

[woaza]

Skully J. graves X Yuu!reader

Contains : Head cannons (Mostly J. Graves coming back to live with Yuu in ramshackle)!

Word count : 460 (super short!)

Warnings : None!

A/n : I want to make a fic about him soon and post (more) Twst content! I’m definitely gonna do multiple fandoms on this account but I’m just trying to write more! So if you have any Twst request please lmk!

Also more Delico Nursery fics for sure, just trying to post shorter fics while I’m still busy.

— He retains confusing knowledge, and is strangely thoughtful. He won’t know how to do some basic things sometimes. Yet you’ll be struggling on an advanced assignment from professor Crewel and he’ll somehow know the answer???

“Skully! This assignment is so confusing? Magic theory is confusing, it hardly seems fair to give me a an assignment on advanced magic theory when I can’t even use magic!” He simply Nods his head and leans over your shoulder and glances at the paper. “Oh this is rather simple (then gives an in depth explanation)” which has you stunned for a moment “Skully you didn’t know what a casserole was yesterday? How do you know this?”

— Yet he will never forget facts about you. From your birthday to your preferences on certain foods. Especially if you’re picky he has all your icks memorized.

You and Skully were growing bored on a weekend. Normally time that would be spent with your friends was unfortunately taken from you. Everyone seemed to have plans. Including Grim which is strange (he had detention). So you two walked down to Sam’s shop. You and him stand in an isle looking at various different options. “Skully which ones should we get?” You say turning slightly to look at him. Without a beat of his hesitation, he instantly reaches for your favorite ones. “These ones.” Holding out the bag to you. “Those are my favorites! Good choice.” You smile happily and he quickly responds. “I know.”

— Adores grim! Despite Grims attitude towards him. Grim was neutral towards the man until it he decided to “Get to close to his henchmen”. Alarms went off in Grims head when he was told that Skully would be coming back to NRC with Yuu. He was extremely unhappy, but then he was told he would be staying in ramshackle? Grim practically lost it and pouted for weeks. Though Skully just thinks it’s amusing and earns his trust through tuna cans. (As you had instructed him to do.)

— I literally imagine life with this man as the Adam’s family. If you choose to marry him you all are going to be different in the best way possible. The whole nine yards, cutting off the head of the flowers and only giving you the stems. Your children sharing their father’s obsession with Halloween.

— Best friends with the ghosts in ramshackle. Often times you can overhear them gossiping through the thin walls. He compliments them on their abilities to scare people.

— Major Gentleman! He pulls out all your chairs and opens every door for you. Seven forbid you ever take off your coat without his help. He is simply so deeply Enraptured with you. When he takes off your coat he always takes a couple of moments to admire you. Always having to ground himself.

Another A/N: I’m so excited for Halloween!!

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Regarding the post about Marinette being punished for trusting people and the response to it, this is something I always have trouble explaining because it sounds callous? But fictional characters aren't people. It's not that their lives just so happen to get in the way leading to something bad happened the writers decided that should happen, and it's important that you stop and ask WHY this happens. If the camera is "on" per se, people assume it's relevant and will tie into something larger. So like if the camera is on and all we see is Alya revealing her identity and then the result is she's outed in the same way she was in Heroes Day, the audience naturally concludes it's connected and thus realizes the lesson is either "Alya learns she shouldn't share her identity" OR "Marinette learns she shouldn't trust people" or both.

Secret identities are a great example of this phenomenon. We're NOT shown every time a villain's plan is foiled because they didn't know the heroe's identity, we ARE shown every time a heroe's identity causes friction in their lives. As such, large parts of the audience think of secret identites as inconveniences because that's what's shown (not just in Miraculous Ladybug, in tons of other shows)

Like you are supposed to make connections in Television about what's being shown to you that no one would make in real life (or at the very least no one SHOULD make in real life) because there's a limited space to tell the story and the audience is assuming the writers aren't wasting our time.

If these were real people it would be unreasonable to say because people have their own lives Marinette can't trust them, but in a story where Marinette is the main character who is explicitly always supposed that's. An accurate way to read the story!

And I also understand that this is a very boring construction if you're making headcanons or thinking about these characters! But that's a different lens, it doesn't make the broader writing lens invalid. You're speaking different languages at that point.

Anyway I hope that helps someone, that's my two cents

You summed it up perfectly! There's a ton of valid criticism to be had of Miraculous, but you can tell from the narrative framing that almost all of it comes down to writing choices and not things that are supposed to be seen as in-universe issues even though a lot of fans treat them as such. It's really weird to see things like people complaining about everything revolving around Marinette as if it's a personal flaw of hers and not the result of her being the main character in a fictional world. "Main Character Syndrome" literally pulls its name from the fact that this is how main characters work in a lot of media. It's a flaw when a real person does it, but in terms of story telling, it's extremely normal - and often good story telling - to have everything revolve around your main character or a core cast.

The issue with Miraculous is that they chose a lot of poor conflicts if they wanted Marinette to be the one and only main character, but that's not her fault. She didn't decide to have the rules around identities make no sense. The writers did. She didn't decide to make the main villain Adrien's dad while also keeping Adrien from being involved in the story. The writers did. The list goes on and on and, because none of it reflects badly on Marinette in the writers' eyes, the show doesn't act like Marinette is in the wrong. Remember, these are the same writers who think that Derision was a great episode that added depth to Marinette instead of destroying her character and making her look unhinged. Their judgement is clearly a little skewed.

While the writers love to make bad plot choices, they are generally using proper story telling language to make those choices, which is why I can tell you how characters' actions are intended to be read. The Rena Furtive and Nino example is a great one because it allows me to show that the writers do understand how to set things up. In fact, once they've decided that they're going to do a thing, they pretty much always set it up at a basic level. It's rarely spectacular and often frustrating, but it's never shocking.

In Rocketear, Alya promises Marinette that Nino will never learn about Rena Furtive. The episode then ends with her breaking that promise via the following exchange:

Alya: (sighs) I'm still Rena Rouge. (Nino gasps.) But now I'm in hiding and that's why Ladybug asked me not to tell anyone. Nino: But why are you telling me if no one's supposed to know? Is Ladybug cool with this? Alya: I can't hide it from you, because I love you, Nino, and we share everything.

Look at how this confession is presented. Look at what the dialogue focuses on. When Marinette confessed her identity to Alya, it was all about the confession and supporting Marinette. There was no discussion of this being a problem for Chat Noir or anything like that because - in the writers' eyes - that wasn't a problem for some reason. This is why Chat Noir almost instantly absolves Ladybug of blame once he finds out about the identity reveal (see: Hack-San.) The writers didn't want it to be an issue so it wasn't:

Ladybug: I'm really sorry, Cat Noir. I should've told you. I mean, if I found out that you told someone about your secret identity, I'd... probably be upset, too. I'm really sorry I hurt your feelings. Cat Noir: You didn't hurt my feelings. You did everything right

But when Alya confesses her identity to Nino, the conversation is not just about her confession. It's about her confession and how she's not supposed to do this. That's why Nino's response is not loving support. Instead, he asks if this is a good idea and if Ladybug knows.

These things are getting focused on because the writers are telling you that this is a bad thing. It's supposed to feel ominous. When I first watched Rocketear, I assumed that the season was going to end with Gabriel getting the fox off of Alya due to Nino because that was an obvious way to raise the stakes and they'd just heavily implied that Nino knowing would be a bad thing. I was, unfortunately, right. The only on screen consequence of Nino knowing is that he outs Alya to everyone in an incredibly forced series of events (see: Strikeback):

(Ryuko successfully prevents the Roue de Paris from hitting them, yet, it flies to the direction where Rena Furtive is. This causes Carapace to panic.) Carapace: Rena! (takes out his shield) Shell-ter! (Carapace's superpower successfully prevents the Ferris wheel from hitting Rena Furtive on top of the Tour Montparnasse. But the information of Rena Furtive's active status shocks the heroes, as well as Shadow Moth.) The heroes: Rena?! Shadow Moth: (from the top of the Eiffel Tower) She's still active?

Of course the Ferris Wheel goes straight for Alya's hiding spot and of course Nino screams her name before casting his power and of course the villain overhears it. It's all so forced and unnatural, which should make it glaringly obvious how much the writers wanted this to happen. This wasn't something they were kind of forced to do because it made sense for the narrative and they wanted to tell a good story. Instead, they wrote an awkward series of events because they really, really, really wanted Nino knowing to be a bad thing that outs Alya so that Marinette loses all of the miraculous even though none of this makes much sense.

How the hell did Gabriel hear Nino's shout from so far away? Is he able to overhear everything the heroes are saying? How does Nino even know that Alya is hiding there? And since when was a Ferris Wheel a threat to these guys? Your girlfriend is a magical girl and she's in her magical girl form, dude. You could drop a building on her and she'd be fine, a thing you have to know because this scene literally goes on to have Chat Noir go flying into a building, hitting it so hard the cement literally cracks, and no one really cares. I guess it's fine if Adrien is a punching bag, but Alya must be protected at all costs...

Anyway, while the above series of events was annoying, none of it was surprising. In fact, it would have all be perfectly predictable even if Alya outing herself was that treated as a more neutral event. Her choice leading to bad things falls perfectly in line with a truly bizarre running theme in the show: outing your identity to the person you love romantically is a bad thing that leads to bad consequences. That's why Chat Blanc and Ephemeral ended the world and why Nino knowing cost Ladybug the fox and why the character they call Joan of Arc has to give up her miraculous to be with her love and why the Kwami's have this absolutely asinine dialogue in Kwamis' Choice:

Plagg: Sugarcube! Having to force them to choose between love and their mission is just awful! Maybe Master Fu was wrong to choose them. Tikki: No, they’re made for each other. Love is what gives them their strength. Plagg: But the impossible part of that love is destroying them, and I know a thing or two about destruction. Tikki: (sighs heavily) What can we do? Plagg: We must free them of that impossible choice. We must… free them of us.

This is the voice of the author telling you that outing the identities is not and never will be a good choice for the love square. Never mind that Alya is allowed to know Marinette's identity or that Gabriel finding out is what actually ended the world in the alternate timelines or that Felix outted himself in public but is still wielding or that freaking Gabriel was allowed to know half of the temp heroes' identities while they were still actively wielding. For some reason, those things don't matter to the narrative, probably because romantic love wasn't involved. The "identity reveals are a bad thing" rule only seems to apply when romantic love is a key element to the point where it's a reoccurring theme in this supposed power of love show.

[poemsforchan]

DO IT LIKE THAT

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: you live a cliché with your coworker and you just happened to have a crush on him. luckily he seems to feel the same.

requested: by anon -> Is it possible to get a coworker! Chan smut?where he and the reader have to share a bed and he’s really nervous because he likes her. He’s definitely a sub for her and asks her to choke him because it’s one of his fantasies.

warnings: NSFW, oral (male receiving), choking but nothing too serious, chan is a tiny bit submissive but not much, afab reader but no use of female pronouns

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You are stressed.

Stress is a feeling you are used to and is very much present in your day to day life but you don’t know the last time you felt it to this intensity.

The company you worked at had asked you and another employee to go to a meeting a few cities away. Driving back would be too tiring so you were tasked with getting two hotel rooms for the night, something you had to do multiple times in the past. You assured Chris, your coworker, that everything would be taken care of. You scheduled the entirety of the trip from the second you stepped out of your apartment to the moment you got back the day after. Everything seemed fine.

It wasn't.

After a long drive - in which Chris refused to let you switch places and drive for a bit so he could rest - and a boring meeting, you finally reach the hotel; just to find out you only had booked one room. Apparently, your sleep-deprived self forgot to change the room numbers from one to two when booking on the website and you had been so busy that you didn't stop once to confirm if everything was okay before the trip. Because of some concert happening in town, there weren't available rooms and you were presented with a choice: you either suck it up and share a bed with your attractive coworker or you deal with a long car ride back, meaning you would get home by dawn. Objectively, you should choose the second option. You are not working tomorrow so you could simply sleep all day. Going home would prevent having the awkward “do you want me to sleep on the floor?” discussion and it would most definitely keep your feelings in check. You are not a high school girl that needs an excuse to get close with her crush. Absolutely not.

“Well, I don’t mind sharing for a night.” Chan says, that big, stupid, pretty smile displaying his teeth and the perfect dimples. “Unless you don't feel comfortable, which is absolutely fine. I can just drive back and send someone to pick you up tomorrow?”

Maybe you do need an excuse to be near your crush. “I couldn't do that to you. We can just share a room.”

So, together, you make your way to the room. Like a good cliché, there was only one bed in the room but it was big enough to let you sleep without needing to be pressed against Chan’s body. It bummed you out a little. Now there wasn't an excuse to feel his warmth, maybe have your legs touch while trying to fall asleep, his face so close to yours that you could feel his hot breath…

You sigh, maybe a bit too loud since it has Chris turning to look at you. “Everything ok?” he asks but you can only nod as you drop your backpack on the bed and question every life decision you made that led you to this moment. You open your backpack to get your pajamas and almost whine when you remember that you packed the ugliest pieces you got. You were just being dramatic, of course. Your pajamas were simply a pair of old shorts (it had been kind of hot the past couple of days and you didn’t want to risk getting too warm because of pants) and an even older t-shirt with a band logo that was mostly faded. ‘Normal pajamas’, you tell yourself, but you just lost the opportunity to seduce your very handsome coworker with a sexy set.

“So unprofessional, shut up.” you murmur to yourself.

“Did you say something?”

Your head snaps in his direction and you laugh a bit awkwardly. “I said I was gonna change in the bathroom.” You say, lying through your teeth, as you gather the things you need in your arms and speed walk to the bathroom. You feel like you can breathe again when you lock the bathroom door and look at yourself in the mirror. A shower is everything you need right now and you can only hope you come out of it with a clearer mind and one less crush.

You remove your clothes and take a very cold shower so your mind can focus on your shivering figure rather than your coworker’s extremely hot body. It doesn't work. You leave the tub shaking and still thinking about Chris’ arms around you. You brush your teeth thinking about his body. Unfortunately, you can’t really come up with a plan B before you’re walking out the door. Fortunately, you’re glad you didn’t waste more time thinking of a plan B because your mind goes blank as soon as your eyes focus on Chris sitting on the bed. He’s looking at his phone, still wearing his suit and obviously waiting for you to be done so he can shower. You feel like screaming at the sight of his shirt unbuttoned almost all the way, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair messy from running his fingers through it.

At the sound of your steps, Chris looks up from his phone. You notice the way his eyes travel up your legs a bit too slowly until they settle on your face. You wished there was more noise outside because you’re not sure if Chan can hear your heavy breathing or your loud thoughts. You walk to the bed, trying not to stare too much at the man sitting next to your backpack. Carefully, you put your dirty clothes inside a plastic bag before shoving it inside the backpack. Chan still hasn't moved from his place and you can feel his intense stare. Once again, you can’t help but think this is unprofessional. Ok sure - there wasn't anything forbidding a hookup with your coworker. Your contract didn't specify anything about relationships of any kind but you still viewed it as improper.

You look again at Chris and his eyes are now on yours. You watch as his tongue licks his lips and think you don't mind being improper when the object of your dirty thoughts looks this good.

You move until you’re standing in front of him. Chris looks up at you with hooded eyes and shiny lips and something tells you he wants this as much as you.

“See something you like?” you say to the man, his legs spreading to accommodate you in between them.

“Definitely.” He replies, his ears already getting a bit red. You take off your shirt, basking in the attention Chan is giving you and your naked breasts. You slowly fall to your knees, looking up at the man through your eyelashes. This was most definitely a bad idea but how were you going to stop when Chris is looking down at you with those eyes? “I’ve been imagining you like this for so long.” He breathes out, his voice trembling a bit.

“Oh?” You finish unbuttoning his shirt. “You’ve been thinking about me on my knees? You’re sounding like a perv Channie.” You tease.

“N-no, I didn't mean it like that.” He stutters. With his help, you pull his pants and boxers down to his knees so you eye the dick standing tall and proud against his stomach. “I just… think about you.”

“Yeah? I think about you a lot too.” You admit, laying your head on his thigh as you look at him. “You always walk around the office with those tight shirts and pretty smiles. Makes me so weak.” You confess, holding the base of his cock with your hand. Chan hisses at the contact and his hand goes to your head, automatically pushing you closer.

You slightly part your lips to give an open-mouth kiss on the red-ish tip. You look up at Chris when your mouth fits his cock inside and he curses before throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. Moving your head up and down, you watch as the man above you crumbles under your touch. He curses and squeezes between his fingers the fabric underneath him. Your free hand sneaks past your shorts to touch yourself. Chris pushes your head down further when you whine around his dick as you insert a finger inside you. You gag around him and your coworker seems to like it by the way his hips start moving to fuck your face. Tears fill your waterline but Chris isn't even looking at you to see the damage, too focused on the sensations your mouth gives him.

His dick twitches inside your mouth and he immediately stops. Chan looks at you, breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon. His lips are red, probably from biting it to keep his moans to himself. He looks good - too good for your own good, to be honest. You remove your hand from your shorts and his hand leaves your hair to settle on your cheek, a silent request for you to get up. Your knees hurt but you don't mind it. Chris moves to sit up against the headboard and you take off your remaining clothes before sitting on his thighs. His hands find a place on your waist, his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin as he now looks up at you with those intense eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers. You simply nod, leaning down to meet him halfway. His lips are soft and he tastes just like the mint he offered you after dinner. His kisses are slow and so sweet - you might actually fall in love.

“Do you have a condom?” You murmur against his lips.

“My wallet.” He replies. You get up to search for his wallet and, after following his instructions, you grab the condom. Chris had laid further down, his head now placed on the soft pillows. You go back to sitting on his thighs, opening the package before rolling the condom down his length.

“Are you sure?” You question. Chan nods as he says a small ‘yes’ and it’s enough for you to lead his tip to your entrance before sinking down on it slowly. “I need a minute…”

Chris is understanding. He stays still even if his dick is twitching like crazy inside you. He doesn't move even if you’re squeezing him like crazy. He waits for your signal before he’s moving his hips to meet yours. You place your hands on his chest for support and Chris is so focused on the way you move that he thinks that was the moment he fell in love with you. You bounce on his lap, head thrown back while you moan so sweetly, caring only about your pleasure. Seeing you like that is enough for Chris though. You look down at him, hands squeezing the flesh of his chest and arms as your moans grow a bit louder, needier. “I th-ink I’m gonna cum.” Chan manages to say.

You stop your movements immediately. “You can’t cum until I do.” Maybe it’s the authoritative voice you used (the same one you use when you’re ordering around people at the company that always has his pants tightening) or the hand that slips to his throat and squeezes just a tiny bit to make your point. Chan doesn't know, perhaps it was a mix of both. What he does know is that it has him spilling inside the condom with a strangled moan and a gasp. “You have got to be kidding me.

“I’m so sorry! I don’t know why that happened!” Chan starts rambling, saying everything that comes to mind without even thinking. You roll your eyes, get up and pull out his condom to throw away. You thank a higher entity that he had another one in his wallet or it would be a shame that your night ended like this. “I mean I’ve been thinking about- Well not with you obviously! Ok maybe with you, god I’m such a pervert and…”

“It’s not a big deal.” You interrupt his rambling. “It’s hot really.” You murmur under your breath. “Do you want me to choke you Channie?”

Chan looks like he’s about to cry, the tips of his ears a vivid red. “Yeah? Only if you’re ok with it.”

You go back to bed and repeat the same process you did a few minutes ago, except you’re now holding a softer cock. Chris’ eyes widen and he’s about to ask for a little break but then you're sinking down on him again and his dick seems to come back to life. Your hand now finds a place on his neck, fingers squeezing the sides just enough that he feels it but not enough that he struggles breathing. Chan likes the pressure there, mixed with you bouncing on his lap and moaning his name so desperately. You like the image of Chan under you, mouth parted while he whines at the stimulation and pleas to go faster. You apply a bit more pressure and Chris’ eyes roll to the back of his head as he tries to say something. The words don't come out but you still understand the warning. You keep the pressure, watching Chan suck in a breath before he’s spilling inside the condom once again. You don’t stop, set on reaching your orgasm as well. You let go of his neck to touch your clit, moving your fingers in circles while you get closer with each thrust. Chris squeezes your waist, helps you lift yourself up a few more times until you reach your high again.

You let yourself fall to his side, laying next to him on your back while breathing heavily. “Are you ok?” You hear Chris ask.

“More than ok.” You turn your head to look at him. “I’m so glad I fucked up the booking.”

“I’m glad you did too.” He sits down on the bed, stretching his arms above his head. “Let's go, we can shower together this time.”

With weak legs and a big smile, you let yourself get dragged by Chris to the bathroom. Today, you will enjoy whatever this is. Tomorrow, you will figure it out.

[lustfulslxt]

where reader gf is a shy bookworm and is dating chris. you can take this in any direction if you want to, but the boys are on live and being their normal chaotic selves so reader sits in their living room reading her book in his clothes & he ends up staring at her in awe thinking about how adorable his gf is and matt and nick point the camera at him and show what he’s staring at when fans ask (they already love her) & start making fun of him but chris just rolls his eyes at them but he never stops smiling

Admiration - Chris Sturniolo

warnings : no summary, read request. just fluff and chris being utterly in love

—

Chris’ POV

“Chris! Get in here already.” Nick complains, waving me over to the phone propped in front of him and Matt.

“The fans want to see you.” Matt adds.

I look down at my phone, reading the text from Y/N, stating that she should be here in around twenty minutes. Sighing, I put my phone in my pocket and make my way over to them. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to our fans, I really just want to spend some quality time with Y/N.

“Hey guys.” I smile, nodding to them. I can see the chat blowing up with an insane amount of people attempting to greet me, it’s actually mind blowing sometimes. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

“So, we were thinking about just doing a little Q&A because we haven’t been live in a long time, but we also didn’t want to just sit here and stare at each other.” Nick says, chuckling a bit.

Immediately, comments come flying in with an intense amount of questions, Matt having to scroll a bit just to read one.

“Where do you see yourselves in ten years?” He reads aloud.

I instantly grin, replying, “Living life with my brothers, my beautiful wife, and our two kids.”

“Hopefully, I’ll also be with my wife and dog, in a nice cabin in the woods.” Matt answers, then looking to Nick, awaiting his response.

“I don’t know, honestly. Probably exactly where I’m at.”

Matt and I both give him a bored look, “That’s lame.”

“What am I supposed to say? With my husband and our eight kids? Newsflash, I don’t like children and I don’t plan on getting married at this point.” Nick counters.

I give a look to the live, saying ‘not again’, before letting my thoughts roam. I miss Y/N. I know she’ll be here soon, but I just can’t get enough of her. I want to live in her skin. As if on cue, headlights shine through the living room window, indicating someone just pulled up.

“I’ll be right back.” I say, quickly heading down to the front door, eager to see my beautiful girlfriend.

Upon opening it, I see Y/N mid reach for the doorknob, gasping in surprise at my presence. Her shock turns into happiness, a smile taking over her face as she pulls me into a hug. I can feel my heart swell with love, enjoying every single moment we share.

“I missed you, mama.” I say to her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I missed you more, baby.” She smiles, gently kissing my lips.

I grab her bag from her, and step aside, letting her come inside, before following her up the stairs. Once we round the corner, Matt and Nick take notice in her presence.

“Oh, hey Y/N!” Nick greets, happily.

Then Matt, “Hey, I didn’t know you were coming. How’s it going?”

“Hey guys, it’s pretty chill. How bout y’all?” She walks over, giving both of them hugs, and a silent wave to the phone once she notices the live.

“We’re good. Just live, doing a Q&A.” Nick replies.

She nods and makes her way back over to me, attempting to grab her bag as she says, “Okay, well I’ll just leave you to it. I need a shower.”

I pull the bag away from her and place my hand on her back, ushering her towards the stairs leading down to my room. Upon entering, I place her bag on my bed and pull her into my arms once more. I can feel her melting into me, causing my heart to flutter. I truly love this girl with everything in me. I pull away and grab her face, bringing her lips to mine in a passionate kiss. After a moment, we part and I place my forehead on hers as we stare into each other’s eyes.

“I love you. Come upstairs when you’re done.” I state, placing another sweet kiss to her lips.

She nods, “I love you too.”

With that, I leave her to it and head back upstairs. Matt and Nick are now in the kitchen, live on one phone, making TikTok’s on another. I stroll over, immediately joining in on their silly dancing.

“Yeaahhh!” Nick hypes me up, waving his hand up and down.

I can’t help but laugh, walking over to the live to read the chat.

u guys are so cuteee

can we be friends pls?

follow me!!!

where’s y/n

play rage!!!!

I shake my head with a grin, participating in my brothers goofy behavior. We continue dancing and joking around, entertaining ourselves and our fans. Being so caught up in them, I only just now realize that Y/N is sitting in the living room, reading her book.

I can’t help the smile that pulls to my lips, my eyes taking her in. She’s so beautiful, especially wearing my clothes that are too big for her, but she still insists on doing so. I know it’s her way of feeling close to me, plus she likes the way they smell. I love the way she furrows her eyebrows when she reads, focusing all of her attention on the words that lay out across the pages. I love the way she sticks her tongue out in concentration, she looks so silly and so cute. I love the way she’s so shy, but when she’s around me, she’s comfortable enough to, unapologetically, be herself. I love the way she brushes her hair back when it falls in her face. I love the way she sits with her knee up and her face lying on it. I love the way she moves her lips around when she’s bored. I love everything about her, and just thinking about it all whilst I admire her, I cannot wipe the ginormous smile off of my face.

“Awww. Chrissy pooh.” I hear Matt coo from behind me.

I turn my head in his direction and I’m met with him and Nick staring at me as they point the phone in our direction. Looking at the screen, I realize they’re showing the fans Y/N in the background, and it didn’t take long for me to put two and two together. They want to know what I’m staring at.

“The fans are eating this up right now!” Nick cheers, “Kid is such a simp.”

I roll my eyes, but the smile never leaves my lips as I shrug, completely agreeing with him. I am a simp. I love the fuck out of my girl, there was no shame in it. Getting up, I walk over to her, joining her on the couch. Instantly, she’s leaning into me, placing her head on my shoulder as my arm goes around her. I press a couple of sweet kisses to her cheek, then lay my head atop hers.

She smells like heaven and it makes me want to become one with her. Pulling her impossibly closer, I place my nose into her skin, inhaling deeply, causing giggles to erupt from her mouth. The sound brings another smile to my lips, enjoying the melodic noise. My hand intertwines with her, squeezing ever so gently.

“You’re the best.” I whisper into her ear.

She turns to me with a bashful smile, “What did I do?”

“Nothing at all. You’re just you.” I shrug, staring at her with so much love. “And I love the fuck out of you.”

Another laugh leaves her mouth, before she’s placing a kiss to my lips. “I love you more, Christopher.”

She can say that over and over and over again, but it will never be true. I need this girl like I need air, because I physically cannot breathe without her.

—

a/n : heyy, i hope you liked this!! sorry it’s super short, and not proofread. ikik i suck :( i’ve recently learned i am terrible at writing fluff lmfaooo

[p0orbaby]

more Arsenal x young r please

Birds and the Bees

summary: now matter how old you are, you’ll always be a kid to the girls

warnings: suggestive themes but nothing explicit

a/n: more you say

word count: 716

-

"Hold up, what is that?"

You frustratedly swat away the hands that pull at the collar of your hoodie. "Quit poking at it, Steph”

"Is that a love bite?"

"No, Steph, it's not. It's a 'didn't duck fast enough during a corner kick' bruise. Real thrilling, I know”. The team snickers, and you continue, "Anyone else got an investigative report they want to file on my neck? No? Good, let's move on”

Steph grins, "You sure know how to kill the vibe”

"I'm here for football, not to be the subject of a teenage gossip column," you retort, the edge in your tone really showcasing your opinion on the matter.

The locker room falls into a momentary silence before Katie dares to speak up, "Alright, tough cookie. But seriously, who'd dare to leave a mark on you?"

You scoff, "Someone who I don't actually mind invading my personal space. Now, can we get back to training or are we starting a tabloid in here?"

“I’m all for tabloid. I missed Love Island last night so I’m running low on gossip” Alessia says as she settles into her cubby, arms crossed and already invested. “Spill it”

“No! My personal life is none of your businesses”

“Teammates share everything. Don’t be boring”

You shoot Beth a glare, “Teammates share strategies, not the ins and outs of my love life, okay?”

Steph smirks, “Come on, we’re practically family here. No secrets. It’s the rules”

“The rules? Since when?” You argue.

Katie adds, “We’ve all got our stories, kid. But yours just got a bit more interesting and we’ve still got a few minutes ‘til training starts”

Alessia, ever persistent, grins, “We won’t judge. Promise”

You relent, knowing you weren’t getting out of this, “Fine, but this stays within these four walls. Her name’s Eden. Happy now?”

The room erupts into whispers and excited murmurs. Caitlyn leans in, “Eden? And what does Eden like to do in her spare time? Other than suck the living daylights out of your neck, that is?”

You shoot her a deadpan look, “Eden happens to enjoy normal activities. Reading books, going for runs, you know, typical human stuff”

Alessia smirks, “Sounds acceptable enough. How about you bring her to one of our games?”

You roll your eyes, “She’s not into football, Alessia. Besides, I don’t want any of you to meet her”

A collective gasp echoes around the room, and you can’t help but laugh at how dramatic everyone is being.

Beth raises an eyebrow, “Why not? Afraid we’ll scare her away or something?”

You scoff, “yeah, actually. And I really like her so I don’t want you guys to ruin this for me by being all weird and annoying”

“We’re not annoying!” Katie exclaims. “We just look out for you”

Steph adds with a grin, “Exactly, like big sisters. Speaking of which, we might need to give you the talk, you know, now you’re sucking face with someone”

“No. Nope. That’s it. This conversation has officially ended” you state, mortified.

Despite your attempt to escape, the team forms an impromptu blockade, preventing you from leaving the locker room. Steph locks the door with a theatrical click.

Beth smirks, “Looks like you’re stuck with us for a little while longer”

You shoot another annoyed glare at Beth. "This is not what I signed up for today”

Katie chuckles, "Consider it an intervention. You'll thank us later”

Steph adds, "Exactly, it's time for the birds and the bees I think. Big sister style”

"No way. That's not happening," you state firmly, crossing your arms.

Caitlyn, leaning against a locker, grins mischievously. "Oh, we've got to cover all the bases. Safety first”

You roll your eyes. "I'm well aware of safety, thanks. So, for the record, I don't need 'the talk’”

Alessia smirks, "Come on, it's a rite of passage. We all went through it”

Steph raises an eyebrow, "Wait, you haven't had 'the talk' yet?"

"Of course I have, I’m not a child” you snap.

Beth nudges Alessia, "Should we give her the pamphlet?"

Alessia nods in mock seriousness, "Absolutely. And maybe some diagrams for good measure”

You groan, "this is ridiculous. Can we please stop this. You’re all insufferable”

Steph grins, "Sure we can, just not quite yet. We all missed Love Island, remember”

[partyanimal167]

Feelings- Grimmjow x F!Reader

An idea (kind of) finally popped into my head with our lovely boy Grimmjow! I really just want this to be spicy and filled with the tropes that get my blood going lol. Let's enjoy~

CW: fem reader, alt post canon, (slight) jealous Grimmjow, cussing, mdni, smut, pnv, biting, reader's a bit of a size queen, pleasure dom Grimmjow

For him, the adrenaline rush was like no other. It made him greedy. He didn't have to share or hint at anything. This part of his life was all his, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Grimmjow finally caved in and decided to try to have a more "normal" life as the humans would describe it. It did make sense after all. Wars had been fought. There were several dimensions and worlds to see. Grimmjow still had his dreams and goals of wanting to be the strongest. It was his foundation. But events with those damn shinigami had him thinking about things he hadn't ever really cared to.

The first time Grimmjow had seen you was when he was out running a job for Urahara. He wasn't trying to be too involved with the eccentric man, but he knew he needed to do a little work if he wanted to get some favors returned--like eventually getting a gigai.

So while he was up in the air walking, he glanced down as the humans went about their boring daily lives and saw you waving yourself in the summer heat and pulling the bottom of your cropped hoodie. You poked your straw into your boba before taking a sip and smiling for the bit of cool relief.

You then went on your way with reusable bags in one hand--beaming brightly and just seeming...happy. And it was nice.

But weird that Grimmjow even cared or was interested. He simply shrugged it off as a fluke even though he kept his eyes on you a little bit longer.

A while later, Grimmjow allowed Nel to pull him out of Hueco Mundo for a "fun night." Apparently, she had convinced Urahara to let them use some temporary, yet stable gigais' and wanted to try out the night-life-party-thing that she's heard Ichigo mention. Grimmjow didn't really care to try, but he did recall a bar fight story--that was as close to fighting humans as he could get for awhile. So why not?

And there you were again, dancing with some friends and seeming to beam with positive vibes. The music was loud and lights flashing, but Grimmjow found himself continuing to watch you. Your hips swayed in tight, white jeans and bandeau top sat pretty on your chest.

He growled when the red-head, Renji, suggested buying a drink for your group, but he didn't even have to do all that. One of your friends recognized Ichigo, so naturally the groups merged. Renji was quick to try and chat you up, and you were all smiles and laughs at his dumb jokes and easy-going smiles.

Grimmjow grunted at the scene, but for whatever reason, his eyes were still on you.

People continued to talk and walk by. Someone was running and not paying attention ended up bumping into you, but before you could tumble over too much, Grimmjow pulled you close to him with an arm around your waist.

You swore you heard him say, 'Stupid humans,' but when he didn't let go of you, you flashed him a smile and say thanks.

Nel invited the girls on the dancefloor, and while Grimmjow wanted to stay cooped up in the booth, you grabbed his hand and pulled him along. You said he dances really well, but he wouldn't know. The group had gotten bigger, and everyone kept the good times going.

As the night slowed down, Renji was back to talking to you and your friends, but before he left, you quickly gave Grimmjow a hug and handed him a piece of paper.

That had caught him off guard. He looked down and saw your name written with a group of numbers below. He wasn't sure what it meant but he could feel a tug pull at his lips.

...

Grimmjow learned he needed a phone. So as much as he hated it, he pulled a couple more jobs for that candy man before calling you. Texting was more normal he had been told, but he didn't like the idea of having to wait for a reply. There must have been a reason you gave him your number, so he could just call, right?

You sounded a bit confused when you answered, but after hearing that it was Grimmjow, you giggled and told him that you thought he lost your number. Grimmjow told you he didn't have a phone which was weird, but it didn't bother you too much. You suggested that the two of you meet up, so he agreed.

It was a date. That's what he was told. But it didn't seem like those boring sappy things he's seen Nel watch. It felt...okay. You went and got some lunch and walked around. Grimmjow asked you about your job. You asked him about his makeup. The question confused him, but he realized you meant his eyes.

'I, uh, just like it like this." Real smooth.

Grimmjow couldn't really describe the way he felt around you, but he knew he didn't hate it. He knew he liked being around you--even if you two weren't battling it out. And for some reason, he didn't like the idea of you hugging and laughing others like you did with him.

When he wasn't in his gigai, he'd swing by your place and check things out. You'd relax around the house, sit outside, clean here and there. But when you had some guy over, oh Grimmjow easily recognized that anger emotion--especially when it seemed like your eyes locked and you grinned at him outside.

As soon as that guy stepped out the door, Grimmjow was standing on the railing and glared as the man waved and walked down the stairs. He puffed and grumbled before being met with your knowing look directed his way. Which should be impossible.

"You look hotter with that bone piece by the way." But of course, nothing is.

Grimmjow tried to play it cool. "So you've noticed me around?"

You leaned against your doorframe and shrugged. "I don't always see you. But I get this tingly feeling when you're close. I like it." What you should be feeling is power and fear, but Grimmjow didn't question it out loud. "Well since you're here, would you like to come inside?"

Grimmjow simply grunted and shrug. "Eh you just had someone over."

"That doesn't mean you can't come by." You laughed as he pouted. "No need to be jealous. He's my cousin."

That comment stirred something inside him. Jealous? Is that what that feeling was? He never really thought about it before. If there was something he wanted, he'd take it. Simple. And whatever he deemed his, he'd fight to get it and keep it. Could that apply to people? But the way you smugly suggested it made it seem as if he should deny the accusation.

"Tch, I don't know what you're talking about." he huffed before hopping off the rail.

"You don't?" you chuckled before taking a step closer. "So when you were close to me at the club you weren't lurking when your red-headed friend talked to me? You didnt glare at those guys who stared while we went out for lunch?" Grimmjow grunted, so you took another step. "Okay, how about this: you'd be perfectly fine if you were peeking into my bedroom window and saw someone touching me here." you placed a hand on your bosom. "Or how would you feel if they placed their hands here?" a hand came to your hip as you got closer. "Or maybe, you'd be fine with them hearing me right in their ear," you leaned up and by his ear and gave a pleased moan. "What do you think about that?" You whispered.

You were not well-versed in the supernatural things that happened in your town. Ghosts were the only thing you were sure of, so part of you was shocked when after what felt like a breath, you were in your bedroom--Grimmjow's hand around your arm. You sat down against your soft bed and beamed innocently. "How convenient."

"Take your clothes off."

You gasped dramatically placing a hand on your chest. "Excuse me?"

Yes, Grimmjow was still getting used to the annoying array of emotions and feelings that humans seemed to deal with. However- however, there was an emotion he'd consider himself well-acquainted with: desire. Your smile was sweet and tone light, but Grimmjow could see it in your eyes. They had a fiery hunger that he'd recognized anywhere from facing off a strong new opponent to the chance to prove himself in his rightful place. You were obviously desiring of him and the possibilities of rolling around in the sheets with the arrancar.

And who was Grimmjow to deny you? His eyes mirrored yours too.

"Take. Them. Off."

Your flirty, innocent shell crack at the gruffness in his tone. The heat rose in your cheeks and an embarrassing squeal escaped once your leg was pulled and you slid to the edge of the bed. It seemed you weren't moving fast enough.

Grimmjow's ear twitched at the gasp you let out after your shorts were yanked off. You were nervous and hot and excited all at the same time but managed to find your words. "Wait, no need to rush." you reached for the collar of his jacket and pulled slightly. "I haven't even kissed you."

Grimmjow knew sex to quick and passion-filled, but for some odd reason, he paused to take his time and look at you. Your words from earlier lingered in his head. He would mind if someone was putting their hands on you. Before all of this, Grimmjow had seen you peacefully and as normal as any human he could imagine. Seeing you enjoy yourself and sought him out multiple times after the club made Grimmjow want to claim you in the entire sense of the word. He wanted to keep you for his own and explore what giving you what you wanted would lead to.

You stiffened slightly as you watched the man take a step back before reaching for his jacket and pulling it off. The whole time your eyes locked. It felt as if the longer he looks at you the hotter you became--though you felt stuck in place as well. Grimmjow's gaze on you only faltered slightly watching as you gulped nervously. That made him grin.

He wasn't shy to lean forward on and cage you in between his legs on the bed. He snickered lowly as his eyes began to darken. "Don't get all shy now. I'm here to claim what's mine." And he easily moved to kiss you and press into your soft, full lips hungrily. You moaned at the contact as well as how a hand came under your cami and rest at your waist. Grimmjow groaned at the softness. "Mmm, how tempting." he said more to himself before pulling away and kissing down your neck, nipping at near your pulse and collarbone. It felt like sparks to Grimmjow. Your soft plushness nearly made him want to go feral; your reactions egged him on to keeping exploring for as much as your pleasure and his own.

Grimmjow barely made an effort as he unclasped your bra and got it off before teasing and sucking on a nipple over the shirt fabric. Your hands held onto his shoulders and hair which made him nearly moan in response. You turned your head back and forth as he continued on while moving a hand over your stomach and into your panties. After feeling your wetness on his fingers, Grimmjow released your breast with a pop and took a deep breath.

His eyes rolled close and he purred. Some of those instincts were still there, and knowing that he was making his partner aroused and needy made Grimmjow want to dive deeper and lose himself. But you were a human. And he had to remember that. He was already aware of the fragility of those bodies, but by the way you reacted to his nips and pulls, it didn't seem like he had to hold back entirely.

It was almost like a flash that Grimmjow moved between your legs. The licks and caresses up your legs were soft and almost worship-like, but even as you struggled to hold your gaze, there was an intensity that for a second made you question whether or not you were going to survive this. That look engulfed you. You wanted to cling to the way Grimmjow's eyes held onto your soul as he continued to slowly work his way up to your core.

He licked your clit and chuckled at the way you squirmed. "Heh, I don't know if want to devour you first or get right to fuckin' you." His gaze flicked back up to you as your body searched for stimulation and relief. "What do you think?" Your arm muffled your words but moved after he pinched your leg. "Words, woman."

You took a deep breath and sighed. "Fuck me, please." And the request was a blessing to the man's ears. He pushed himself up and caged his legs around your body. He was about to gather some of your slick on his fingers when your hand reached out. Grimmjow gave you a confused look. You fumbled to get your words out. "I wanna feel it stretch..." The man opened his mouth to argue, but you continued on. "Please, I know I can take it. Please,"

So who could really deny such a delicious plea? The man grinned before lining himself at your entrance and slowly pushed in. He huffed a bit at the hint of your warmth but kept his cool. He pushed in more than out slowly fucking himself into you--a tease for himself also.

You moaned and tried to stay still as he gave you more and more. Though it seemed Grimmjow was used to rough and fast, that didn't mean he couldn't give you a mix of shallow and deep strokes. The teasing and shifts in pace kept you on your toes (almost literally). However, it was soon that the man could fully bottom out. He paused for a moment before taking in your hot flustered image. "Mine." was all he growled out then those deep strokes became more consistent and full.

You didn't cover your moans as you clenched on the sheets below. Your chest heaved up and down trying to get air in while pleasure pushed through your body. You gushed out small praises at the man; eyes rolled back after a particularly deep thrust. It stretched and filled you up inside. And Grimmjow was just as lost.

Your warmth kept him close as he felt your body cling to him. Your pleased sounds fueled him in a way he nearly forgot. The longer he looked at you the more his senses tuned into every sound you let out and cherished how your scent fogged his brain. He wanted to find all the ways he could make you feel good. He leaned forward by your ear.

"Come on pretty girl, you got what you wanted. Now it's my turn." He licked his thumb before starting to rub on your clit. "I wanna see my pretty girl cum on this dick," he huffed as you throbbed and clenched on him tighter. "You like that, huh? Wanna be all mine? Yeah, I know. You won't even think about teasing me by the time I'm done with you."

You moaned and whimpered as you felt your wave crash down on you. It was very different than any you experienced and took you a minute to realize you squirted until your ears picked up the continued praises. "What a messy girl. Good job, baby. I knew you could do it. Show me how much you like it." But Grimmjow didn't slow down, and soon you struggled to squirm and wiggle in his tight grip. His eyes focused in on where you two connected; it was like he was in trance. "I'mma fill this pussy up. Messy thing will never get enough of me." he muttered to himself before finally pulling out and painting your stomach white. He huffed a bit before looking up at your eyes.

The fiery look in those blues stirred an emotion you hadn't experienced before. The way he caressed your thighs was sweet and smile cocky, but his eyes sent a clear message while you lay below him: You were thrillingly and lustfully claimed.

~~~

Oh Grimmjow! I don't know if I could handle you in real life, but I'll definitely try my hardest!

I want there to be more Grimmjow x reader fics! I finally got this smut done, but I crave still~ I hope my fellow peeps enjoy this

Thanks for reading!

[hwanchaesong]

━⁠☞🍽️ Seventh Course: Picture perfect revenge, the definition of the burnt dessert that is brewing inside your unhinged mind. Well, he deserves it though. 🥢

🎧: Olivia Rodrigo - Jealousy, Jealousy

wc: 816

genre & warnings: angst, non-idol au, cheating, hints of insecurity, reader drinking wine, cursing, lovers to exes, etc etc

a/n: this is a part of The Sour Restaurant series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

You scroll through your phone, sipping on your red wine and laughing to yourself. Giggling like a maniac because the ridiculousness of the situation is truly astounding.

It was a magnificent occasion, one that would normally make people cry but not you.

No, you are built differently.

The discovery that you dug made you so happy you think you're about to burst in excitement.

Because finally, fucking finally! Freedom is nigh and clean air will finally clear your black lungs.

You gaze at the clock, the man that you are waiting for will be home soon, and you are so fucking ready for a confrontation.

Soon enough, your boyfriend enters your shared apartment, jumping a little when he sees your figure in the shadows, indifferently sitting there with a menacing expression.

"Are you okay? Is something wrong?" he frowned when you replied with a scoff, slowly walking in your direction.

The entire living room is dark, the only source of light is the one from the hallway near your bedroom. It gives an ominous vibe in the atmosphere, exactly what you want to exude.

"Y/N, seriously, I don't have time for this. I j-"

You rolled your eyes at his audacity, shoving your phone in his face so he can gawk at the evidence of his betrayal.

He is nothing but a mere asshole in the entirety of this relationship, so thank the heavens for giving you a reason to leave.

Ever since he entered your life, his presence always gave you the sinking feeling of insecurity.

Paranoia at its finest, you could say.

It was all good at first. You can even say with confidence that he was the perfect boyfriend. He makes you feel like you're on top of the world, the only girl that he loves, the happiest person on earth.

But who knows what will happen, right?

His sublime image is merely a performance for you to enjoy and hate later on, especially when you start seeing the signs.

Going home to you smelling like a girl's perfume. Lipstick stain on the collar of his polo shirt. Being secretive on whatever is in his phone.

"Must be your imagination, baby."

"Oh this? This is nothing. I'll wash it later."

"Listen, privacy is also an important aspect of a relationship."

Fuck that privacy. You merely wanted to play games on his phone because waiting in line in his favorite restaurant bore you to death. Must he be so stingy?

Stingy because the shit excuse of a man was hiding something.

You have been tolerating his bland show for a while now, might as well give him a tip for giving you entertainment despite it not being worth your time.

"Tell me I'm crazy now." you smirk, victorious in the battle where you have been wounded far too many times to the point that you can't even bear to look in the mirror without wanting to vomit.

You've had enough comparing yourself to the girls that he hangs out with.

Girls that are way skinnier, comfortable in showing too much skin, wear make up like it's an extension of their body.

Then you saw this very suspicious lady that seemed to be a bit closer to your boyfriend than the others.

You can't help but be jealous of her pretty face, lavish lifestyle, and it seems like her friends love her so much.

But hey, you may be a tad bit insecure but you ain't a raging loser, you are ready to let your inner sherlock holmes out and prove a point.

"What was it again? You are not cheating and it's just all in my head?" here you are, showing him the proof of your hard work and catching him red handed.

Did he really think that you won't see him and that girl making-out in a photo that was posted by his friend a week ago.

No matter how pixelated it was or even if your eyesight is bad, you will definitely see it.

"Y/N, that is not what you think." he tried to explain, and you do not understand the reason for his panic as you confidently push him out of the flat.

"Wooyoung, I've seen, heard and smelled enough. I think it's time for you to shut the fuck up." you give him a fake smile, finally giving him a harsh strike on his chest that got him stumbling in the front of the apartment.

"Please, hear me out." he begs but no, your heart is not made out of cotton to listen to him.

Whatever befalls him, he deserves it.

"Go spend the night with your bitch and come back here tomorrow to gather your belongings while I'm at work. Goodbye."

You shut the door in his face, not paying attention to his knocks and pleas.

Finally, some peace and quiet in your mind, heart and soul.

taglist:

@acciocriativity @iarayara @stolasisyourparent @xdannix @nsixns @heartssol @vixensss @shakalakaboomboo

[orchidyoonkook]

Under The Willow Tree | MYG

Title: Under The Willow Tree   

Pairing: Bad Boy!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (T) | One Shot, Small Town AU, S2F2L, Implied Age Gap, Slow Burn, Angst, Touch of Fluff, Darker Subject Matter, First Kiss, Silce of Life

Summary: The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?

Warnings: PG16, some not necessarily positive non-specific religious discussions, people using religion in a negative may, plot twisty, cursing, kissing, semi-apparent abandonment issues, discussions of dead parents and guardians, mentions of alcoholism in a parent, mentions of illness in a parent, yoongi has tattoos and a motorcycle, motorcycle lessons, longing, mishandled emotions, catharsis.

Word Count: 7401

Release Date: April 10, 2023, 4:05PM

A/N 1: This happened due to a writing prompts post I shared sometime in late march. I’m quite proud of it considering I hadn’t planned anything so the entire story was written as I was writing. Very different than my normal writing process. 

A/N 2: Thank you endlessly to @borahae-k​, @katykatmeow​, @here4btsfics​ and @phthartic-fox​​ for beta’ing this. I love you all for your help, support and kindness. 

It happened under a willow tree. A weeping willow.

Your favourite willow, to be specific. Even though there’s just the one.

It’s by the pond deep in the woods behind your house, where you watch ducks swim through the long, wispy branches that just reach its shore. Where you sit at the base, waiting for the sun to set the sky ablaze with colour as it falls into the horizon for another good night's sleep.

The one under which you had your first kiss.

You’d been waiting. Wanting it to be special, with the right person.

But a brief brush of soft, pink lips with the last person you ever expected had you wanting more, more, more.

It’d been a few months since he started coming to the willow. You’d assumed for the same reason you did.

To get away. From anyone and everything.

There aren’t many places in your hometown that allow for privacy, and you imagined he needed it more than anyone. Somewhere far from the residents' judgmental stares that were always nothing less than smothering.

Hailing from a very small, very rural, religious town where everybody’s known everyone for generations, your community is one where you follow in the footsteps of your parents and grandparents before them.

Where your life is already decided for you at birth, whether you know it or not.

Copy. Paste.

Copy.

Paste.

You’re born there; either at home with a midwife or in the one floor hospital down the main road. Raised there; a hand-me-down wearing, bike riding, creek-playing child.

You go to school there; stuck inside the same four walls from the ages of 4 to 18. Get your driver's licence there; from the sheriff after a road test that a 9 year old could pass.

You graduate there; from the same high school your friends, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents went to. Get a job; in town or on a farm, the only two options there are. 

And marry there; before 25, lest you become a spinster, subject to the gossip vultures also known as your neighbours. Then have some kids before growing old and dying, your permanent resting place dug in the same graveyard as everyone else that came before you.

Copy. 

Paste.

It’s a suffocating fate that petrified you to your core. And you’ve known you didn’t want it for as long as you can remember.

You never liked their rules. Didn’t want to become one of them, to do as they do, live the way they live.

You’d skillfully escaped making any true friends as you grew older, but kept the people you could tolerate close enough to not be bored on weekends. They’re all temporary placeholders in your life anyway, people who sound like robots stuck in the same settings. People who would hold you back.

What’s worst of all is that you don’t share the religion they claim to be so hallowed and wonderful. The one that’s unwittingly forced them all into this life of monotonous repetition.

You dream of more. Of life outside this dreaded purgatory.

Of leaving.

But no one ever leaves. They’re stuck here, in this downwards spiral of life you’re so desperately trying to dig yourself out of. It makes you feel like a fraud, constantly pretending to be one of them. Always wearing a mask just to make it to the next day alive, unharmed by them and their values.

It makes you feel like there’s always a pair of eyes watching, waiting for you to mess up and reveal your blasphemous self.

You’re terrified they’ll discover the truth. Terrified of the ostracisation that will come the second they know you aren’t one of them.

You’ve seen it in real time. What they do to people who don’t conform.

Seen how they treat him.

Two years older. Bleach blond hair and a sleeve full of tattoos. A leather jacket he wears like armour with all black clothes to match. And last, but certainly not least, a motorcycle.

You daydreamed about that bike. Taking it and riding far, far away.

The busybodied people of your town never had a kind word to be said about him. Instead, choosing to call him any and every horrible name under the sun.

Beast, bastard, demon, monster, criminal.

Unable to understand him, understand anyone different.

They herd their children away from him in the streets; parting like the Red Sea when he walks by.

As if he were acid.

As if he was evil itself, and not just a young man.

You’ve never even heard him speak because no one dares to talk to him, worried any contact could turn them, seduce them into whatever his sick ways were.  

And you’re ashamed to admit you’re one of them…sort of.

You aren’t worried about speaking to him, you’re worried about what being seen speaking with him will do to you.

You’re someone whose only salvation from complete and total social isolation relies on fitting in.

And even if it kills you to pretend, you only need to do it for a little while longer.

You just had to make it to college. You’d be the first one in decades to go. Their mindset of ‘you have everything you need here so why bother leaving’  having not once in your life resonated.

You can deal with them and all of their beliefs about what you should do with your life for the short hours of school and occasional shifts at the diner, so long as you can escape to your willow tree, you’ll be okay.

The weeping willow in the middle of the forest behind your house is the only one in the area. You never understood why that is, but it’s your oasis away from everything you hate.

The tips of its branches sway rhythmically in the wind, and moss creeps up its trunk. It’s surrounded by dense, plush grass for you to sit on, and after all the years of sitting in the same spot, a little groove in the shape of your body has formed at its base. 

Its canopy protects you from the outside world, creating a space where you don't have to hide. Where you can proudly be yourself without fear. Where you spend as much of your time as you possibly can to keep your sanity intact.

No one bothers you here.

Your mum died years ago from an illness they never diagnosed, her plot in the town’s graveyard long since filled.

And your dad never notices you gone, too drunk in your house up on the hill to care.

So as long as there’s a constant supply of food on the counter and beer in the fridge, you’re free to do as you please.

Under the willow you do your homework and sketch. You take pictures and eat breakfasts and lunches and dinners. You listen to music and dance under the safety of its shade.

Under the willow you read great adventure novels, and dream you’re the protagonists whisked away on grand adventures. Anywhere but here.

Under the willow is your home away from home. Next to the pond, under the stars.

So it’s to your great surprise when an unexpected guest pries open the curtain of flowing foliage one spring afternoon. A bleached blond, leather jacket wearing, motorcycle riding, guest.

You don’t see him at first, too focused on the sketchpad in front of you. He steps in, and watches you work quietly, waiting for you to notice him.

You fascinate him. Every other girl in town can be found at one of three places, yet you were never at any of them. Not at the restaurant sipping on a milkshake. Not at the library studying. And not at the church volunteering. 

You’re always elsewhere. 

And he’s finally figured out where that is. 

He was nervous at first. To follow you. You’d never spoken but that wasn’t anything new to him. No one in this town ever did. 

Not to him.

But you don’t look down at him like the others do. Or jump out of the way when he walks by. You don’t tear away from his gaze as fast as the others. You hold on, even if for just a second longer. 

Unknowingly, you’ve captivated him more than anyone else he’s ever met.

So he followed you to see where you vanish off to, not expecting you to go into the forest behind your house. 

For a half second he considered you dangerous, because what on earth could you be getting up to in a forest for hours? But as he trailed the sounds of your footsteps and saw the small clearing with the tree, it began to make sense.

After jumping ten feet from seeing something tall and dark in your periphery, you exhale a large breath when you realise you aren’t in any danger, and shake out the nerves. 

You’d normally worry he was there to hurt you, but something in you knew he never would. Never could. Maybe it was the look he gave as he regarded you. 

Soft. Wistful even.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, wary. The first words you’ve ever spoken to him.

Barely contained inside the limits of the willows perimeter, he shrugs, and takes a long look around your little sanctuary.

And as he does, you get your first real look at him.

He’s handsome. Stoically so. And for only a moment do you wonder about all the stories hidden behind his eyes.  

The ones now focused on you.

“Wanted to see where you disappear to. You’re never in town.”

So what if you were never in town? Why did he care? Wait—How did he know? Does he pay attention to you?

…Why you?

You didn’t think he cared to notice anyone in this town, let alone you enough to know you don’t follow the social expectations of someone your age.

To pick up on the fact that you’re never there at all.

It makes a million things run through your mind—Why does he care about where you go? What about you is so special? Does he even know your name?—before one resounding thought hits you like a ton of bricks.

Can you trust him?

No one else in this town does, but all of their reasons are superficial bullshit.

All you know is you don’t know the first thing about him, and that now he knows about the one place you feel safe.

“That’s intentional,” you say, cautious. Not giving away anything but not saying much either.

“Can’t blame you,” he responds, before checking out the rooftop of bright green and muttering, “Eyes and ears everywhere.”

Those four words alone are all you need. 

He gets it.

“Yeah.”

Maybe you can trust him.

Observing each other for a silent minute, there seems to be an unspoken understanding forming between the two of you.

And he shoves his hands in his pockets, asking, “Mind company?”

You think about it for only a second.

No. No you didn’t.

“As long as you’re quiet. I’m trying to focus,” pointing the eraser end of your pencil to the sketchpad on your lap. “The cattail leaves are the hardest to get the lines right.”

He nods, finally breaking free of his position at the branch's edge. Nearing the base of the tree, he crouches down, about a quarter of the trunk's diameter away from you. It’s close enough to still see each other, but far enough to not bump into one another.

And before nestling in fully, he extends a tattooed hand to you.

“Yoongi.”

An introduction.

“Y/N,” you return, putting your pencil down in the crease of your pad and shaking.

His hand is calloused, the ones you get from years of working with your hands. And strong, a firm grip. The kind you’d want to pull you up if you were dangling over a cliff. 

So many stories contained in a 3 second touch. Yet you find yourself wanting to know all of them.

Releasing, he settles in.

What surprises you most about the whole encounter isn’t his arrival, or speaking to him for the first time, or even the handshake.

It’s that when he’s comfortable, with one leg up for an elbow to rest upon, he digs a book out from the confines of his jacket.

Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island.

Your favourite.

Spring fades into a wonderful summer of late nights and early mornings. Of beautiful blue skies and vivid sunsets you appreciate a little more now that you have someone to share them with.

Yoongi comes almost, if not, every day to the willow. Always a different book in hand. Always one of the classics.

The Iliad, 1984, Jane Eyre, Moby Dick, Anna Karina, Dracula, Little Women, Frankenstein, Catcher in the Rye, and those are just the ones you can remember because you’ve read them too. Some of them more than once.

You never expected to have anything in common with the boy that sits next to you. But from the little you’ve spoken to one another over the months, you’ve found that you share so much more than just reading habits.

On a warm April afternoon he told you he reads because he loves it but also to escape the daily hell that is your town.

    “Mmm, what’s your favourite?” you’d asked.

    Yoongi was lying down with an arm behind his head, staring into the treetop. Brave New World sat opened and facedown on his chest, his hand resting atop it.

    “Pride and Prejudice.”

    That was the last answer you expected.

    “Why?”

    He lifts his head to look at you.

    “I thought the answer would’ve been obvious.”

After a cold drink on a hot June morning he told you his dreams of moving across the country. As far away as he could get.

    “Just have to save up enough money first.”

    You wondered how he made any. He definitely didn’t work anywhere in town…maybe waiting to inherit?

    Who knew?

    Both on a blanket you’d brought, Yoongi’s lying opposite and beside you, his feet by your hips. He used his balled up jacket as a pillow while you sat in your usual spot, capturing the way the branches swayed in your sketchpad.

    He’d taken to reading to you while you drew, including you in the grand stories he now knew you loved to read too.

    That day he had The Great Gatsby, a story you’d read about 20 times.

    You often dreamed of attending one of his parties. Of seeing the green light across the way, or having a conversation with Nick, why he stayed.

    “Are you anywhere close?” you asked, in reference to his saving goals.           

    “Getting there,” was all he gave.

And on a miserable, rainy night in the middle of August, is when you learned he’s all on his own.

    Sitting beside each other, you both huddled underneath his jacket for what little protection from the rain it could give. Water droplets fell from the tips of his bangs as he spoke.

    “My parents died in a car crash when I was 9, and then my grandma who took care of me, when I was 15.”

    You grieved for him as he told you his story.

    How he had to raise himself.

    Just like you did.

    “I’m sorry,” you’d replied gently. Softly. Knowing how it felt to have no one support you. No one to help you.

    Knowing how it felt to be alone.

    You understood.

    You did, you did, you did.

    Yoongi just stared at the ground, unable to meet your eyes. And you’d wondered if any of the water on his face was salty as he breathed out a quiet and heartbreaking, “Thank you.”  

    It made you question how many kind words he’d heard since his family passed.

    And also incredibly pissed off at the people in your town for how they’d treated him.

    How you’d…treated him.

    A silent promise was made then and there. Never having felt more embarrassed and furious with yourself than in that moment. You’d learned your lesson, and hoped that offering up your own piece of vulnerability might help him feel not so alone.

    Though you watched the rain turn the pond into a canvas of vibration as you did. Words dragged from the deepest parts of your soul, burning the back of your throat as they left.

    “My dad hasn’t been sober a day since my mom died. His eyes are turning yellow,” you said, hugging yourself to stop shaking, convinced yourself it was because of the cold.

    Even though it was August.

    “He doesn’t recognize me most of the time.”

    You closed your eyes, a familiar tang washing over your tongue as you licked the water dripping from your lips.     He gave no response, but an arm found its way over your shoulders and squeezed.

    He understood.

It’s the beginning of September. The air’s started to nip at your cheeks, and the ground crunches a little more everyday with all of the leaves falling underfoot.

The tips of the willows leaves have begun to turn the colour of the morning sun, and by the time mid October rolls around, it’ll look like golden hour every hour of the day.

Yoongi finally tells you about the job he has at a mechanic's in the next town over. He explains how they don’t pay him nearly what they should, but he doesn’t complain because every cent brings him closer to leaving.

Just him and his bike.

You turn sheepish.

“Can I tell you something?”

He sits closer after all this time, more comfortable around one another. Still not enough to touch, not crossing that invisible boundary line, but enough that you don’t have to turn your head much anymore to see his eyes.

Brown and endless.

“Yeah, sure.”

You take a deep breath.

“I kind of always dreamed of taking your bike to get away from here and never come back.” He gives you a look and you shrug. “Seemed the easiest route to take.”

A smile that starts as a smirk turns into a healthy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You demand. He has to calm himself down a bit before answering.

“You just uhm…don’t seem the criminal type to me, Cattails.”

There’s a flutter of something in your chest at the stupid nickname. For the drawing you did the day you met.

He continues, unaware of the goings on inside you. “Stealing? You? Nah. Not a chance.”

You open your mouth in mock outrage, scrunching your brow and bringing a hand to your chest.

“I’ll have you know I’d make an excellent criminal,” you lie to his face. He knows it too. 

But giving in, you detail the plan you’d always kept in your head for emergencies, heat slowly rising in your cheeks with every word.

“I’d take the key from you when you weren’t looking, duplicate it at the hardware store, and slip it back into your pocket before you ever noticed it was gone. Then go to your place in the middle of the night and be halfway across the country before morning.”

“Oh yeah?” he says with a raised brow you don’t trust.

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little too much faux confidence.

“And where do I keep my key, Y/N? Hmm?”

“Your jacket pocket,” you’d deduced long ago.

“Mmm,” he tsks with a shake of his head. “Nope.”

Oh. Well then it must be,

“Your pants pocket?”  

“Nuh uh, try again.”

Damnit!

You’d never thought much about it. How many places can someone keep a key on them without a bag and it not be in their pockets?

“Ummm, in your wallet?” Far-fetched but worth a shot.

“Ooo,” he blows through pursed lips before smirking at you again, but this one was different. It caused something very deep inside of you to turn to lava. “Good guess, but also no.”

Closing his book and setting it down, Yoongi straightens and reaches inside the collar of his shirt, retrieving a necklace you didn’t know he wore.

It’s small, the key, and almost silver. The colouring is tarnished from years of use, with worn teeth and some lettering at its base.

He holds it against a palm to show you.

“Why there?” You ask, wondering if there’s a reason aside from convenience.

With a sad tug of his lips, he answers. “Bike was my dads. I like to keep him close.”

A tender smile meets your own plush as you stare at the little key, appreciating it more after learning the importance it has to him.

And Yoongi watches you, viewing his ticket to freedom with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen, full of that same compassion and understanding you’ve always given him.

An understanding he didn’t think he’d ever see again from this place.

One he doesn’t know if he deserves.

Before you can respond, he’s taking the chain off and sliding it over your head, hand lingering for a second longer than necessary at your nape.

“Yoongi,” you hesitate.

It’s the first time you’ve said his name out loud.

You like the way it feels on your tongue. Warm, sweet. Like honey.

What you don’t know is he loves the way it sounds coming from you.

You falter. “W-what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“But it’s your key! Don’t you need it?”

“Nah, got a spare in the storage compartment of the bike,” he says, gesturing to the one you now hold in your palms. “This way you won’t have to go through the hassle of stealing it.”

“But I—”

“Keep it,” he cuts you off. “In case you need it more than I do.”

It never leaves your neck.

“You want me to what?” You ask as you walk towards the forest edge, Yoongi trailing on your left.

“Take her out for a spin. See if you even can. You’re the one who has all these grand plans but doesn’t even know how to turn it on,” he explains, referring to his motorcycle.

“Those were just daydreamed plans! I never thought I’d actually use them! What if I crash?”

He was kidding right? He must be.

For all the time you two have spent together, you’ve never spoken or been around one another in public. An unspoken agreement.

What happens under the willow tree, stays under the willow tree.

So to be out in the open? On his bike? You don’t know if you can. Or if you should.

But then you remember a promise you made not long ago.

“You won’t crash,” he says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“How do you know? Like you said, I don’t even know how to turn it on,” you hmph.

“Because I’ll be there.”

And maybe it’s the tone of voice he uses, or the fact that you trust him, you find yourself saying,

“Okay, fine.”

Minutes later you’re swinging a leg over the bike, and sinking on to the surprisingly comfortable seat.

“Where do I put the key?” You ask, taking it from your neck and handing it over.

Yoongi puts it in the side of the motorcycle, somewhere close to your knee.

“Here,” he shows as he turns it to the ‘ON’ position.

“Oh.”

What a weird place for an ignition. 

“Mhm,” he acknowledges, then points. “Put your hand on the brake, it’s the part that sticks out on the right hand side. Hold it firmly against the handlebar. Don’t roll the handle bar itself back though, okay? That’s the throttle.”

Doing what he says, you hold the brake tight against the handle bar, murmuring an ‘okay’ under your breath.

“Now hit that button there on the right to let the fuel pump start up,” referring to the button beside the brake near your thumb. You do so.

He checks a little gauge on the side near the ignition. Seemingly pleased, he continues. “And now hit the button on the left to start it.”

Following his words once again, the engine roars to life the second the button is pressed, purring powerfully.

You feel exhilarated and a little terrified. But he’s here. You know you’re safe.

Voice a little louder to combat the noise from the motor, he says, “Okay, now on the left handle bar, grab the clutch. I’ll show you how to move into first gear, and look at me,” your eyes meet his, “do not let go of the clutch.”

You nod, but for extra precaution, he clamps his hand over the one you have holding it. You watch as he bends to put your left foot on a pedal and presses it down till you hear a pop, pushing up the kickstand when he rises.

The bike is heavy, now that you’re the only thing keeping it up right, you can feel its weight. And you understand why they’re designed to be able to have your feet on the ground even when sitting. You’d probably fall over otherwise.

“If you’re uncomfortable you let me know, yeah? And if you get scared just do what you’re doing now with this hand,” he squeezes for emphasis, “it’ll take all the power away from the engine and you’ll just coast until you stop, okay?”

“Okay!” You say, more excited by the minute. Your toes and fingertips are starting to tingle.

“I‘m gonna let go and you’re going to very, very slowly let up on the clutch—not all the way. Just enough that you move at about a pedal bike's pace. Let me jog down the road about 50 feet or so, and then you meet me there. Hold tight to the clutch again when you’re about 20 feet from me and I’ll catch you. Sound good?”

Nodding one more time in confirmation, nerves crawl all over your skin. You can’t describe the new feeling fully, but the closest you can find to it is probably the beginnings of an adrenaline rush.

You watch as Yoongi jogs down the road, throws his hands up over his head, and gives you two big thumbs up.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly release some pressure off the clutch and begin to move forwards. You know your feet are supposed to go on the metal foot rests below you, but you're so focused on not falling or crashing that you just stick them out so they don’t touch the ground.

Halting your left hands release at the speed he said to, you cruise along, wind picking up with your increased pace.

Holy shit!

You’re riding a motorcycle! 

You never thought you could, it was just a dream for so long. Something you kept in the back of your mind just for fun, but now you’re actually doing it! Your driving down the road on an actual real life motorcycle!? All by yourself!?

Turns out all you needed was a little encouragement and someone you trust to spot you.

Aiming for Yoongi, you clamp down on the clutch once again, cutting power to the engine. You drift right into his awaiting hands braced for the impact, and he slides a little on the gravel road before getting you to a full stop.

He presses one of the buttons you did earlier and the bike shuts down, allowing you to jump off.

You’re positively giddy.

“Oh my god did you see me?! I just did that! I just drove a motorcycle! Can you believe it?! I can’t believe I just did that!” You don’t even register what you're saying, too full of excitement to care.

Yoongi can’t contain his grin as he gets the bike standing on its own. Your joy is too infectious not to take part in, and he walks over for a high five to celebrate. 

But to his surprise, you bypass his hand completely and embrace him, throwing your arms around his neck.

It takes only a second before he’s enveloping you with his own, not letting the chance to hold you go by.

“Thank you!” You say, before letting go, not even realising what you did. You’re too busy catching your breath from all the rambling and jumping around, still filled with the remnants of your elation.  

Meanwhile, Yoongi can’t get the feeling of your body against him out of his head. How soft you were. How warm. The way you smelled like a mixture of your natural scent and outside.

And he’s asking, “You wanna to go for a ride?” before he can tell himself not too.

The question makes you pause. Was he serious? Because you can’t think of anything you want more.

Staring at him, your answer is far too gentle for someone who was just screeching with joy. 

“Really?”

He nods, still untrusting of his mouth, confirming with a ‘mhm.’

You don’t hesitate. You want to feel like that again.  

Not a minute later he’s giving you the helmet and securing it tightly. He also makes you wear his leather jacket to protect your torso, leaving him in just an oversized black t-shirt and dark ripped jeans.

Swinging a leg over, he pats the seat behind him.

And you’re glad to have the helmet on because without it he would most definitely see your inability to meet his eye. You can barely focus on anything aside from the sight in front of you and being wrapped in the scent of him. But then he gives a tattooed hand to help you hop on, and says,

“You have to put your arms around me and hold on. Otherwise you might fly off the back when we accelerate,” holding his hands behind him to guide yours. 

What? You didn’t think this far. He—you have t—Ummm, well... 

“Okay,” you answer, voice small, letting your hands be guided. 

Despite the loss of his jacket, he’s still deliciously warm, and the heat in your cheeks increases tenfold with your hands now splayed over his abdomen. 

Lightly defined muscles meet your fingertips through the thin material of his shirt and you do your best to memorize them as he turns on the bike and pulls away from the curb.

He starts slower than normal to make sure you’re alright, but when you give him the thumbs up, he speeds up to just over the limit and you hold tight.

You’ve never felt so free, loving the rush of wind that flows over your body from going so fast. It’s pushing a welcomed cold through the fabric of your clothes as your body temperature has only increased since getting on.

You could go anywhere, do anything. Nothing and nobody could stop you.

You want that. You want it so bad. And he gave you the key to be able to. 

Literally.

But now when you think about leaving, you think about leaving with him. Yoongi driving and you sitting right here on the back, nothing but each other, the road, and hope for the future.

Growing confident enough to release your grasp after a few minutes, you raise your hands in the air, and let the wind catch your fingertips.  A whoop of joy leaves you at this newfound feeling he’s given you. 

Then another, and another, before returning them to their place around him.

Yoongi can’t help but smile the biggest he has in years when hearing your squeals of glee.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels it too.

Yoongi doesn’t come to the willow for almost a week.

He’s never done that since he started coming. Not once.

And you’re worried.

Where is he? Is he okay? You have no idea.

It’s not like you can go looking for him.

And you two aren’t anything anyway, so you shouldn’t even be this worried in the first place. If he’s safe, or in the bottom of a ditch somewhere.

But you can’t help it.

Just like you can’t help the feelings that have blossomed for him over the months. The feelings you didn’t want to admit to yourself for fear of him not returning them.

Yet there they were, and there isn’t anything you can do about them now.

They make you wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

Six days.

It takes him six days to return. Stomping in, and visibly pissed off.

“What’s wrong?” You ask once he’s close enough to hear.

“I’m leaving,” he says flatly, uncaring. Like you asked him what colour the sky was.  

And your stupid, silly little unrequited heart shatters.

“What?”

“I’m leaving. Taking off. Getting out of here. I can’t do it anymore.”

Piece by piece it falls from your chest and into the depths of your stomach.

“B-but why? What happened?”

“I got fired.”

“Fired?”

“Yeah, fired. I tried all week to fix this one stupid mistake I made,” he explains, smoothing over his creased brow with two fingers. “But it cost more to fix than to keep me around, so they fired me. I don’t have the amount of cash I planned for, but I have enough to make it work. And I can pick up odd jobs on the road if I need to.” He nears, extending a tattooed hand. “I just came to get my key and say goodbye.”

Your hand reaches for it, clutching it tightly. You don’t want to give it back.

Who the hell is this? Because you barely recognize him. It certainly isn’t the Yoongi you’ve come to know.

The wonderfully kind, classics reading, dream-sharing, motorcycle instructing, freedom key giving man.

The one who told you about his grandmother, and his parents. Who read you stories while you drew and ate meals together. Who taught you how to ride his motorcycle.

The Yoongi you fell for.

Your Yoongi.

The person currently standing in front of you isn’t him at all.

He’s the hard, cold exterior, crafted over years of verbal and societal abuse. The one everyone avoids at all costs when walking through town. The person he had to become in order to survive.

You don’t know this person.

And you hate it.

You hate it so much it decides to exit your body in the form of tears. Ones of sadness, frustration, and heartbreak.

He’s—he’s leaving. 

Actually leaving.

This place, it’s people.

You...

The few remaining pieces of your heart plunge to the floor, crumbling to dust as they hit. Nothing but a hollow, empty cavern remaining where it once sat.

“But I–you…,” the lump in your throat only getting bigger when you try to speak. You face away from him.

Don’t let him see you cry.

He’s clearly never felt anything close to what you do for him, so suck it up. Reign it in. You do it everyday. So why can’t you do it now?

You don’t get to feel this way!

Shove it back down, get it down!. Crush it all until it’s nothing.

Make it go away. Far, far away. 

Yoongi’s face is falling while you’re taking deep breaths to calm down.

In all of his rage and despair at his terrible week, he’s forgotten who he was speaking to.

His kind hearted, music-sharing, been through hell and back, kickass girl. The one he can call his only true friend.

He’s such an asshole. He hadn’t seen you for almost a week, which killed him in of itself. And then the second he does, all he‘s able to do is spew the frustration and misery he’s been feeling the entire time you were apart.

Nah, he’s worse than an asshole.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha—”

But he freezes at the sound of a small, wet inhale.

You’re crying.

He made you cry.

And a regret bigger than the ocean drowns him.

“Hey, wait, please,” he says, rushing over, but you hold out a hand to stop him. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

He reaches for you again, and again you stop him. You can’t let him comfort you.

Not when he doesn’t realise he’s become the only person in this whole godforsaken, judgemental hellhole of a neighbourhood wasteland you have.

Your grandparents are dead, along with your mum. Your dad’s an abusive drunk, too far gone to remember he has a daughter. You don’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins to rely on, nor do you have any real friends.

You have no one, aside from Yoongi.

And now you won’t even have him.

So you can’t let him comfort you. Can’t let him see you break.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

Because you don’t know if you’ll be able to put yourself back together without him if you do.

But a quiet, “Y/N, please,” imbued with pain you haven’t heard since a rainy August night leaves his lips. A last ditch effort to get you to look at him, to let him help. 

And it breaks you completely, bursting into a million tiny pieces to match your heart on the floor.

An unrestrained sob falls from your mouth, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. Yours go to his neck as he drags you onto his lap, gripping tight. 

He holds you through every whimper and hiccup and stuttered inhale and shudder. Through every muttered ‘please don’t go’ and ‘please don’t leave me,’ that escapes, stroking a hand along the back of your head and down your spine, soothing.

He whispers, “it’s okay. I’m right here. It’s okay,” on repeat with the motion. Over and over and over until only occasional sniffles and deep breaths remain.

You hug him tighter as you start to shiver, the warmth created from your breakdown beginning to wear off. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to slide off his jacket and throw it over your shoulders. An instant cocoon of warm and comfort.

When his hands find their place back around your waist, he dares to speak.

“I got you.”

“I know.” And you do. Your voice is a little wobbly, as you’re unmoving from the embrace, but you most definitely do. 

This is your Yoongi. The one you’ve come to know. To trust. 

Of course he’s got you. 

You use one of your long sleeves to dry your eyes and under your nose. With the nearing autumn weather, you’ve returned to occasionally wearing them.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe into his neck after a long beat of silence.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, Cattails?”

The return of your nickname has a grin threatening to emerge.

“For freaking out. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I sprung that on you in such a shit way because I was in an even shittier mood. And you clearly weren’t prepared to hear it. I should’ve known better, so don’t you dare be sorry about anything,” he loosens his hold to pull back and look at you. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

You look down, hiding, not wanting him to see you like this.  

“None of that,” he whispers, and brings a finger to your chin, tilting up.

It doesn’t meet much resistance.

Your eyes are still a bit swollen and patchy, but it’s the concern in his that makes you crack the smallest of smiles, if only to see his worry erased.

He already has enough on his plate. No need to add to it.

Not able to offer much more than a quirk of the lip, you’re relieved that it’s enough when he starts to wear one of his own.

It’s then you realise your position. Like the sight of it cleared your brain fog.         

You’re kneeling over his lap, sitting on his thighs, face inches from his. One of his hands is holding your chin up while the other rests low on your waist, your own still loose around him.

So close, yet so far away.

Because he’s leaving.

And that thought alone allows you to throw caution to the goddamn window. It’s not going to matter once he’s gone, and you’ve wanted it to be with someone special.

He’s as special as they come.

Leaning forward, you close your eyes and the gap between the two of you.  

Eyelids fluttering as your lips brush his. Soft, and gentle.

Like him.

You hold only long enough to make sure it counts before pulling back.

It’s funny, really.

It was just a few seconds, but you already find yourself wanting so much more with him. An unfamiliar but welcomed electric pulse finds itself running through your blood at the thought, and it makes you want his lips everywhere. 

Your mouth, your jaw, your neck.

Anywhere he can reach.  

Sparks pool inside you. Sparks and butterflies and fast flowing lava.

You let yourself relish in the glorious feeling for a single moment, before the reality of what you just did sinks in.

And then you’re scared.

Terrified, actually.

To open your eyes, see his face. His reaction.

What if he hated it? What if he’s never felt anything but platonic affection towards you and now you’ve gone and done this?

Sure, he’s leaving. But now that you think about it, does him leaving mean you’ll never see him again?

What if you just ruined everything?

Teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip, you take a peek.

For the second time today you feel your heart breaking, this time at the look on his face.

Is it shock? Or worse.  

Disgust?

Doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. Not knowing what else to say.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, trying to get out of his hold, but he keeps you there. Unyielding. And you start rambling. “I shouldn’t have done that. You clearly don’t—It’s just that you’re leaving and I—“

Lips on yours shut you up.

It’s fervent and needy and passionate as he pulls you closer by the hips, desperately trying to get you as close to him as physically possible. Your nails drag over his scalp as your fingers snake through his blond locks. They elicit a delicious groan from his mouth that you consume with your own.

It’s the most intoxicating sound you’ve ever heard, and you want more of it. So you do it again, and again, and again.

He moves down your jaw and neck, sucking at the tender flesh near your pulse point, and your mouth drops open at the feeling.

You’ve always wondered, but…you didn’t know it could feel like this.

Every touch, every whisper, every press of his lips to yours feels amazing. He’s pulling pleasure out of places you wouldn’t have thought possible before him. And you never want to go back to not knowing.

The sweetest of whimpers leaves your mouth as he gently bites a soft spot, then soothing the glorious pain he created with the kindness of his tongue.  

Yoongi swears to any god who will listen that he’ll do whatever they want so long as he gets to hear that sound repeatedly and for the rest of his life.

He returns to your lips and says, “come with me.”

You’re so focused on feeling that it takes a moment for his words to land. “What?”

“Leave with me. Let’s get the fuck outta here, and never look back, the both of us. Together.”

Yoongi looks so serious but..

He—he can’t be serious can he? 15 minutes ago he was going on and on about leaving and needing his key back and saying goodbye.

And now?

Sensing your hesitance, he punctuates each of the next three words with a kiss. 

“Come. With. Me.”

It makes your answer arrive without really thinking. You don’t need to think. Not when you know deep in your newly reconstructed heart that it’ll always be the same whether you think about it or not.

So long as you’re with him, you know you’ll be,

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He questions like he can’t believe it. Can’t believe you'd agree.

You make sure there isn’t a single doubt in his head as you look him dead in the eyes and confirm.

“Yes, Yoongi,” another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”

He pulls you into him for what feels like a million more under your shared willow tree.

Your salvation.

And you know they’re going to be the firsts of many, many more to come.  

Three days later, and two bags packed full of all your earthly possessions, you’re on the back of Yoongi’s motorcycle.

In those three days he’s prepared everything else you’ll need. He’s gotten a cute leather jacket and helmet for you, some reading materials for the road, snacks, drinks. A place by his side for the foreseeable future.

In the same span of time, you’ve given him a home in your heart, someone he can rely on other than himself. Talk to, trust, experience life with.

Something he hasn’t had in nearly ten years. 

Something he never wants to lose again.

He swings a leg over and you unclip the chain from your neck, handing him the key to the bike, to your now shared future.

Driving out of town—straight down Main Street—you watch as all the people you grew up with, who you almost destroyed yourself to fit in with, gawk.

Watch as they judge you for being with him, your best friend. For leaving, and not doing what they all expected of you.

For not being like one of them.

Because you’re not one of them. 

You never have been.

And just like the dust that flies behind the wheels, you feel weightless, not giving a single fuck what they think for the first time in your life.

You don’t have to anymore.

You’re free.

A/N 3: Thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

[murkymud]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒔 𝑳𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒄𝒚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

                     ₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵₊˚

This is a story based challenge which I pulled this theme straight out my ass but it’s a standard Legacy challenge, but I think you’ll be able to see our thought process through this. We didn’t assign colors to the generations but i’m a SUCKER for a good berry challenge so in our play through we did color coordinate  >ᴗ< 

As always, lilsimsie’s Not-So-Berry challenge was a huge inspiration as well as 

𝐃 𝐑 𝐀 𝐄 𝐘 𝐀 𝐃’S Crybaby Whims legacy, A super fun challenge by the way <3 

A base game version will be released eventually. If there are any flaws in the gameplay please dm or comment them!

At the bottom we’ve included some things from our personal legacy if inspiration is ever needed. We did not include them in the requirements because we did not feel it was needed for that specific generation, just that it fit our character specifically.

ੈ♡˳Rules:ੈ♡˳

—✧ Starting out, you may freerealestate/ cheat your plot. After plots placed, start Apple Pie with 25K (Money cheats are not allowed after this point)

—✧Normal lifespan is what we play tested on, and we were able to finish everything. But if you want, you may play long lifespan but you may get bored easily

—✧If your heir dies before a child is born, you may cheat heir back. Once the first kid is born, that child must take over the previous challenge (Ie. Apple Pie dies but Jell-o is an infant. You may not revive Apple Pie. Jell-o now does Apple Pie Legacy IF Apple Pie is not completed.)

Thank you for trying this out! Please use #DessertWhims on any platform of sharing. We’ll be checking all for screenshots and let us know if you play it!

 ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

  *˚ *༘ *𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓵𝓮 𝓟𝓲𝓮⋆·˚ ༘ *

   generation 1

(This sim must be a male) 

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ All American Treat. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧

         This all-american was born and raised in the south, this gentleman worked his tooshie off on his parents farm. During his young adult years, he flirted and dated, but who can blame him with his chiseled jaw and perfect white teeth. He eventually found his delectable southern belle, married her and helped her rear up his many, many, many kids. 

Aspiration: Angling Ace

Traits: Good, Family Oriented, Loves outdoors

  Requirements:

 —✧Live on farm

 —✧Master fishing skill

 —✧Have pristine reputation

 —✧Have at least 5 kids

 —✧Complete the Angling ace aspiration

 —✧Master Handiness

 —✧Have 3 partners before settling down

 —✧Marry a southern belle as a young adult 

 —✧Purchase Mentor trait

 —✧Sole income must be from the farm

**All generations strengthen connection to physical world after death

 ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

  *˚ *༘ *𝓙𝓮𝓵𝓵-𝓸⋆·˚ ༘ *

     generation 2

   ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ﾟ Extremely sticky, slippery… and unfortunately malleable₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

           A young animal lover who’s used to a free life with their toes in the grass and a sweet animal to keep them company. Because of your big family you tend to be a bit clingy or you could say, sticky to other people. Just like Jell-o, you’re a bit slippery, and things just seem to glide right out your hands. But when your lifelong partner cheats on you can’t seem to find the courage to break free. 

Aspiration: Soulmate

Traits: Clumsy, Loyal, Catlover

  Requirements:

 —✧Find one partner in highschool and stay with them forever

 —✧Become a conservationist

 —✧Finish the soulmate aspiration

 —✧Move away from the ranch

 —✧Have your partner cheat and your sim stay

 —✧Find a stray cat and adopt it

 —✧Rarely discipline your children

 ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

    *˚ *༘ *𝓒𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓸𝓷 𝓒𝓪𝓷𝓭𝔂⋆·˚ ༘ *

                         generation 3

   ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ﾟ Pure sugar. Pure rush. Pure chaos. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

       Your go-with-the-flow mother may have raised you as her friend more than her child and this might have set off your crazy, free spirited attitude. You just seemed to never know how to sit still, and your racing thoughts sometimes made you have to talk to yourself. One thing that calmed you down was baking, and you could do it all day.

Aspiration: Party Animal

Traits: Outgoing, Erratic, Party Animal

Requirements: 

 —✧Complete 3 child aspirations

 —✧Have irresponsible Trait

 —✧Join business career, advance to level 4 and leave

 —✧Join Culinary career after Business, advance to level 2 and leave (Do this before owning restaurant)

 —✧Finish Party Animal Aspiration 

 —✧Own a 5 star Cafe/Restaurant 

 —✧Have at least 3 different hair colors and styles (Short, bob, long, braids, ect.)

 —✧Accept any invite to go out (Exception is when at the restaurant. May stop this once sim is adult)

 —✧Master baking skill

 —✧Have only 1 child

 —✧Have a mediocre relationship with child 

 —✧Live in at least three different worlds

  —✧Never Marry

  —✧May not cheat restaurant. Must build it up from scratch

 ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

    *˚ *༘ 𝓑𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓽 𝓒𝓪𝓴𝓮⋆·˚ ༘ *

                              generation 4

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ﾟ Most boring cake . ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

         As a child, you were incredibly friendly but you’d soon realize that next to your high energy parent, you’d never be noticed…. so you stopped trying. Your first love made you seem more interesting than you were. Beside them, you were also the life of the party. So when they dump you it finalizes your stoic state. Why try? Your mediocre life would eventually catch up to you when you realize that your children are a clean slate to mold into who you want. 

Aspiration: Successful Lineage

Traits: Proper, Lazy, Loner

Requirements:

—✧As a child, have outgoing as a trait and social butterfly but cheat later and change their trait

—✧Never advance past a B in school

—✧Date person similar to parent (High spirited and fun) In highschool and get dumped before prom night

—✧Join Salary person career (May not advance over level 6)

—✧Must live wherever your parents live (may move out obvi) 

—✧Have identical twins (May cheat) 

—✧Must discipline children as often as possible

—✧ Have children get Happy Infant and Happy Toddler

—✧Toddlers must have 3 in all skills

—✧Have ‘ok’ or ‘poor’ relationship with children

—✧When children are toddlers, divorce spouse for “different parenting styles”

 ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

   *˚ *༘ 𝓜𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓷⋆·˚ ༘ *

                          generation 5

      ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ﾟ Pristine on the outside, But crumbles under the pressure . ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

        You and your twin have always been compared, like you didn’t have your own identity. But this didn’t matter at first because they're your best friend , so you couldn’t resent each other… right? You’re a star with a promising future and as it fastly approaches; the math on your sheet suddenly seems more gruesome. After becoming valedictorian the burn-out rises to your attention and you realize you can’t go to university. Your twin, however, proceeds their education and you put your creativity to use. 

All Requirements are for both, unless specified not

Aspiration: Fabulously Wealthy

Traits: Perfectionist, Overachiever, Creative

 Requirements:

—✧Get A in school as a child (For Both)

—✧Have one twin (The heir) Graduate Valedictorian 

—✧Become 10 on an instrument by the end of teen hood (For both) —✧Get all good character Values traits (For both)

—✧Apply for University but never go (For Heir)

—✧Have other twin (Non Heir) aspiration be renaissance sim

—✧After Graduation, have the twins relationship dwindle

—✧Get level 10 in Style Influencer Career (For Heir)

—✧Become level 5 on any skill sim loves (May stop once Red Hots is Toddler- For Heir)

—✧Have other twin go to university 

—✧Have only one child and shower them with love 

—✧ Have child move out with at least 30K

 ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

   *˚ *༘ 𝓡𝓮𝓭 𝓗𝓸𝓽𝓼⋆·˚ ༘ *

                     generation 6

      ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ﾟ Your favorite spicy treat. With a burning surprise . ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

    Growing up with a fashion designer as a parent, you knew you always looked the best. Eventually you noticed everyone seemed to like you, and soon you’d realize this would let you get your way. When your fiancé cheats on you, you finally realize what it’s like to date yourself and you were not happy, but, this would be your demise. 

Aspiration: Serial Romantic

Traits: Self assured, Hot-head, Self absorbed

Requirements:

—✧Finish Social Butterfly Aspiration

—✧Finish the Serial Romantic aspiration 

—✧Purchase ‘Beguiling’ reward trait

—✧Earn ‘Bad Emotional Control’ trait 

—✧Max Charisma skill

—✧Cheat on fiancé repeatedly (May get caught but if you do must not break-up)

—✧Elope immediately after telling partner of accidental pregnancy 

—✧Have a good relationship with child (if you get that far (; ) 

—✧Catch Fiancé cheating (Die immediately after of anger)

—✧Have fiancé raise child after death and they may not join a career, only a part time job

 ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

   *˚ *༘𝓢𝓸𝓻𝓫𝓮𝓽·˚ ༘ *

                      generation 7

 ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ﾟ Gorgeous icy shards. Be sure not to burn your tongue. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

       Growing up you always heard about your enchanting and stunning parent, and you knew you wanted to be them too. In your field you noticed no luck with people your age… so you took your talents to bigger fields. 

Aspiration: Fabulously Wealthy

Traits: Romantic, Materialistic, Hates Children

Requirements:

—✧Earn the socially gifted trait 

—✧Have a childhood enemy that you later become friends with in YA

—✧As a teen dress “Not-cute”/ socially acceptable

—✧Have failed relationship with “Popular” kid their age 

—✧Never see your first partner in public. May only have “dates” at your house or at night in private places

—✧Have highschool partner dump them privately

—✧Throw a gold House & Dinner party

—✧Marry at least 2 elder, rich sims (And wait for them to die)

—✧At least once marry someone with bad compatibility or worse

—✧Meet 3rd Elder sims and Elope that night, after (Conveniently) get rid of them ;)

—✧Must have a wedding each marriage (No eloping)

—✧After last marriage, rekindle flame between first love

⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

  *˚ *༘ 𝓢'𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮⋆·˚ ༘ *

                   generation 8

              ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ﾟ Quite sticky, be sure to keep away from the plates. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

             You had everything you ever wanted, and more, except the acceptance of your parent. Your parent always seemed to hate you, calling you a, “Sticky little thing.” This aroused a burning inside your stomach you couldn’t get rid of. Something about your hands, they couldn’t keep from other people's things, but this would be to your advantage. 

Aspiration: Public Enemy, Reinassance Sim

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Genius, Unflirty

Requirements:

—✧Have an amazing relationship with the help (Butler or nanny) 

—✧Have a bad relationship with parent

—✧Complete Whiz Kid aspiration

—✧Have one sworn enemy since childhood

—✧As a teen dabble in Programming and if you get far enough hack as many databases as you can and may even make an app

—✧Complete public enemy aspiration

—✧Complete Reinassance Sim Aspiration

—✧Start a break-in at least once

—✧Kick someone out of wedding

—✧Become level 5 in Criminal career (Boss branch) 

—✧Divorce spouse once pregnant or once you’ve discovered pregnancy

—✧Have triplets (May cheat) 

—✧Master mischief skill

—✧Master Logic Skill

—✧Earn workaholic lifestyle

⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

 *˚ *༘ 𝓝𝓮𝓪𝓹𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓪𝓷⋆·˚ ༘ *

                        generation 9

 ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ Closely knit, they come as a packaged deal. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧

The three of you have always had each other, and even when the world compared you, you didn’t mind. The biggest compliment was that you looked, talked, and acted like each other. Love wasn’t a word thrown around in your house, and when your first partner says it. It’s too much. 

Strawberry:

Aspiration:Musical Genius

Traits: Creative ,Music lover, Unflirty

Vanilla:

Aspiration: Best selling Author 

Traits: Bookworm, Creative, Unflirty

Chocolate:

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire 

Traits:Creative, Art lover ,Unflirty

Requirements:

—✧Have full relationship with siblings your whole life 

—✧Have all 3 join drama club as kids

—✧Have each triplet have one partner in highschool but break things off after the first date

—✧No one ever marries or gets engaged

—✧Complete all 3 aspirations

—✧Adopt a baby together 

—✧Have Strawberry chose Musician path in Entertainer career

—✧All follow dreams (One an author, One a performer, One an artist)

—✧All must get to 10 in respective hobbies

—✧Vanilla must have at least 10 books circulating in royalties 

⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ ⊹ ~  ݁. 🍓 ݁.⊹୨🍰୧ ⊹ . ݁🍓  ~ ⊹⊹  ~  🍓⊹

 *˚ *༘ 𝓟𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱 𝓒𝓸𝓫𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓻⋆·˚ ༘ *

                        generation  10

 ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ A treat from settlers in a foreign land. One they see as home ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧

  Being adopted, your family never lets you feel anything other than love. This piqued your curiosity on what the rest of your family is like. In your research you find out about your ancestors Farm, and this, this was your calling. 

Aspiration: Freelance Botanist

Traits: Good, Cheerful, Childish

Requirements:

—✧Have full relationship with all your parents your whole life

—✧Meet all alive relatives (On neapolitans side) 

—✧Earn Empathetic trait

—✧Master Garden skill

—✧Unlock the Chestnut Ridge secret lot

—✧Master Gourmet Cooking

—✧Move on the lot Generation 1 lived on (May renovate) 

—✧Revive Generation one from the dead (Must keep their spirit alive through all the other generations)

[mr2swap]

A long Thanksgiving Day with grandpa

Fuuck! How long until the end of the damn day? I hate Thanksgiving, I always knew I was too good for this family, They all always laughed when I said I wanted a DNA test for Christmas because there was no way I could have the same type of blood running through my veins as those pigs that are eating as if the world was going to end tomorrow everyone laughed… except for grandfather it seemed that out of everyone in the family he was the only one who understood what I wanted to say.

When he came of age I ran out of the house I couldn't bear to be with them another day We lived in a small apartment in the poor part of the city I was an only child But even so I had to share a room with Grandpa John, a bald man of more than 100 kilos, his cheeks were swollen from all the extra fat, but he hid his double chin with that mustache and that almost white beard over the years, that old man lived like a parasite of our family since I was born, maybe if he moved his ass and got a job my parents would have bought me better clothes or the latest iPhone, the only time he would move his ass off the couch was at Christmas to be mall Santa.

My room The smell of my room was disgusting in a mixture of the old man's scent and my sweaty gym clothes, But what made him the worst roommate in the world was his pajamas his old yellow underpants that were once white On top of that he wouldn't let me sleep because of his grotesque snores that could only be heard in my room And my parents will be a happy couple, My mother was a housewife and used to cook the greasiest and most delicious meals in the whole neighborhood and my father was a boring accountant addict to the smell of the cigarette just like the grandfather.

I was the complete opposite of my family, I was much taller, much more handsome, and of course athletic. I would do anything to get out of my house and get away from my obese family, even joining a gym when I was 12 years old to spend 3 hours a day exercising Over time I began to notice results in my appearance Over the years I became a Fitness influencer, I got a couple of tattoos, bought a red sports car, and got the hell out of my house the first chance I got.

For some years I was living my life as far away from my family as possible, I stopped calling home even when my mother did not stop calling me for a single day, I only returned home for a month for these dates, the rest of the year I used to have hot tub parties with gorgeous supermodels, but now…I'm stuck here again, only this time my chains aren't my age…well sort of.

I was sick of this I was sick of pretending everything is normal But I had to get on with this if I wanted my body back, it hasn't even been 24 hours since I woke up this morning to my grandpa's obese old body next to my bed I thought I was dreaming when the first thing I saw when I looked down was a substantial misshapen hairy belly instead of a huge morning boner between my legs, everything in the distance was blurry, but I could clearly see my 2 huge tits full of fat.

Furthermore, I panicked and with my fat and old hands, I sat on the bed and looked around for an explanation of why I was now in my grandfather's body of 80 years and 160 kilos, with my calloused hands I caressed my hairy belly trying to calm down. Feeling like screaming, I looked around to see if this was my room. But before I had a heart attack trying to stand up, Grandpa John walked into the room in my body.

He put my glasses on and for the first time I saw that face from a more humble perspective, We were silent for a couple of minutes, and we both looked at each other from top to bottom, His look was intimidating, and his body was incredibly hot, years in the gym they were in that body, I built that body since I was a chubby teenager and now… I felt uncomfortable around it.

I used to have all of that, perfect curls, those huge, arrogantly flaunting biceps that I dyed in ink on a night out with my friends, he was just too perfect, handsome, and young... or maybe now my self-esteem was in the ground now that I was in the grandfather's body

He was the first to speak, and surprisingly he had completely dominated my way of speaking, moving, and even how to flirt, with his strong and melodious voice he explained to me what a horrible grandson and horrible son I am to the whole family so he decided to punish me, Now I'll have to live like a fucking old man until next year!

-Grand-... Jackson, Mama is calling you, it's time for dinner- I still had to get used to my new harsh voice and having to walk carrying Grandpa's huge belly.

-Tell him I'm coming... I hope there's something I can eat, don't worry Jackson I'm not going to ruin your body eating all that garbage that you should love now, you have something very good here, but surely you're hungry right? old man- He never stopped smiling while we talked, showing those white teeth that one of my sponsors had paid for.

He was right, I was hungry, the smell of Thanksgiving dinner had been driving me crazy since morning, and I'd had to content myself with a big packet of chips and a couple of cans of beer while watching football with my Father…maybe if I am part of this family, but I would have more than a month to find out.

Hey! Happy TG! if you liked this story and you want more, you can take a look at my Ko-Fi page to see my most recent stories, see my new stories and support me to continue creating this hot content.

[kivino]

MORE ROOMMATE!SOAP PRETTY PLEASEEE!!!!!

ROOMMATE!SOAP HEADCANONS

my masterlist

Word counter - ~900 words

Tags/Warnings - pure fluff!

A/n - ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE ANON <33 i can't really post a complete fic rn because i'm working on another midterm essay so here y'all go! I also have another fic with Roommate!Soap planned out, so stay tuned sdkflskdfjs

You two met through his sister, you, being her college friend, visited her and her family during breaks many times, and that’s where you met Soap. You two were on pretty good terms, and he would sometimes call you when he or his family were not able to get ahold of his sister when she would go out to parties (usually accompanied by you). However, the two of you became roommates only later in the future, when he decided that he didn’t want to live with his family anymore, but leaving an apartment all empty for months on end would just be foolish. So that’s when he decided he needed someone to co-exist with, and you casually made your way into his life.

Whole Task Force 141 plus Laswell know about you, because of how homesick he gets sometimes! And you don't always respond to messages, you have your own life after all (plus, Soap knows you're not good with texting back, so he tries not to pressure you). However, unintentionally he starts to remember or mention you in unrelated conversations. And that's how everyone around him knows that it's time for him to go on his leave.

Not a lot of people are allowed to call him Johnny. He still gives his older sisters shit for calling him that sometimes. You and Ghost, however, are both allowed to do it. Not like his discontent would’ve stopped you though.

More often than not talks about you in a way that makes it appear like the two of you are together, with how he’s all smiles during these conversations. Describes you like he’s an infatuated teenager and then gets confused when someone assumes Soap is talking about his significant other. It's not that he is oblivious to his feelings, or a dumbass, of course not, it's that his feelings lasted for so long that it's very much normal to him and he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary with it.

The love language that you both share is bullying and insulting each other relentlessly. Soap is less harsh with his words, but you’re just merciless. Sometimes it also grows into play fights and roughhousing between you. Soap tries to be careful, because he knows that he’s stronger (he’s in the military, duh), but he still won’t go down without a fight. So he goes easy on you.

We know that Soap has a whole sketchbook, filled to the brim with many drawings of various quality, his thoughts, and different garbage he picks up when he has the opportunity. A pretty leaf? Snatch. A random receipt from when you got groceries with him together? Snatch. A note you scribbled for him to finally wash his damn dishes? Sad snatch. When he's on leave he takes the opportunity to sketch you as much as possible, so he remembers every single detail of your face, the expressions you make, or the way you position your body. Soap does it to be able to replicate it when you’re not around him. He has millions of sketches where you’re napping on the couch.

When he’s absentmindedly doodling something during the briefings and meetings he draws small figures that resemble Task Force and you. One time he bought some colored pens so he’s not bored out of his mind on base, and the assigned color to draw you was blue, while he drew himself with a red pen. Gaz got green and Ghost he draws using a black pen, both Laswell and Price share the fact that Johnny draws them with a pencil.

One of the small traditions that you have when he’s on leave, is cooking something for each other while some show you’re not paying attention to plays in the background. The kitchen in the apartment is pretty modest, so two people cooking and moving around at the same time is a bit too much for such a small amount of space. When you get too into the process of mixing or cutting something and Soap needs to squeeze past you, he gently puts a hand on your lower back and you instantly know what he wants, because of how much he does it. It’s never arrogant or invasive, instead, it’s gentle and a bit playful.

Johnny’s very sociable and likes going out to drink frequently. You, however, prefer to not get involved in his escapades as often, so you stay home, instead telling him to call whenever he needs you to pick him up. On multiple separate occasions, when he came back home a bit tipsy, he would stumble into your room and fall on your bed, getting knocked out almost in a second. Soap’s snoring is pretty loud when he’s drunk or has a stuffy nose. Plus, he’s as heavy as a damn rock and you can’t move him because of it, so instead you sleep on the couch, sacrificing the health of your back for Soap’s sweet dreams.

Johnny is pretty good with his hands. If anything broken needs fixing, or anything heavy needs lifting he’s always happy to help. He’s also a decent cook, so if you’re not feeling like cooking dinner after you’re back home from work he’s ready to throw something together for you no problem. Partially because he knows that you’d do the same for him if he asked. And, well, he just cares about you. He’s ready to cook dinner for you for the next decade if it means you’ll feel better.

Your texts with him are filled to the brim with stupid videos and photos you send each other. If Johnny sees something that reminds him of you, what you like, or some random inside joke – you best believe he’s already snapping a photo and sending it to you.

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[darkfaceuwu]

Dr Ratio x reader

Summary: You and Veritas Ratio are roommates, both of u work for Intelligence guild and sharing a room was convenient. Until many arguments passes by you and him, in this moment something unexpected happens rather than your usual "normal" day with him would gone by.

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"I can't believe this Y/n again. You've done it again!" Screamed Ratio. "What did I do exactly?"I asked, even though I had an idea what that might be. "Don't tell me you're an idiot with short memory" sighed annoyed Ratio , eyes swirling with annoyance and anger. "First of all I'm not an idiot , stop calling me that and I don't "really" know . You have to explain me first what did i do to you?" Ratio glares at me, not believing me a word. "You spilled a coffee on my papers for Intelligence guild, you are such reckless idiot, so ... I don't have no more words for you . Why do I even try to explain it to you . Atleast you should have apologized but what words of fool can help me now"

His gaze if it could kill, I would be long gone. Clearing my throat, ready to find my voice for excuse to utter without trying to admit the truth about my curiosity of his work and jealousy of him getting it, getting as far angry ,trying to scrumble away from the couch where I was hunched going through his papers ,bumping my knee which hits our living stool and this accident happened. There's no way I will admit it to him. If he found out Y/n the famous researcher was jealous of boring Dr. Ratio it would be over .

" You see Ratio, I don't have any explaining to do because I wasn't here . I was at my office , doing work as usual so stop trying to accuse me. Maybe someone of your social life was here and did it , I mean they were visiting today no ? It's the most logical explaination I can think of ." Ratio still glaring at me starts to walk closer until we're at close proximity. He leans down to stare at my face , inches apart and in deep voice slowly and loudly says: "Did you do it or no Y/n?". Looking at him stunned, letting his breath hit me and almost fainting on the spot of his glare, my reflection staring back at me in his eyes. I had to quickly compose myself. " I... didn't do it." I chose to lie and Ratio is still glaring , furrowing his brows more and huffs at me.

" I can see through you. Your mediocre mind can't even think of good lie and now you dared to lie to me, if u were my student I would give you detention, but I can't do that but a punishment would be needed for a brat like you" He is now practically sneering at me.

" A punishment for what ? Come on Ratio, you can't be serious.." Ratio darkly chuckles. "It's Dr. Ratio for you Miss Y/n, and yes adequate punishment suitable for you is needed" His voice is now just echoing in quiet living room. Now I'm sweating. I never had a chance to excuse myself and now I'm in deep trouble. What punishment would I get from genius like him? What can I expect?

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A hour passes and I'm still stuck at his new formula . I try to think more logically to solve it but it doesn't help me. It was living torture... Veritas definitely gets satisfaction in my misery. Right now I feel his hands roaming me and pinching me when I do something wrong. " Again wrong , just calm down Y/n" I hiss when he pinches my thigh again . It's hard to focus when he has me on his lap. He forced me to go to his office and do his paperwork , which I accidentally destroyed.

And his reasoning was : " You have to sit on my lap so I could see what you write. I don't need another mistake happening from you, do you understand me?"

And now Veritas Ratio the scary scholar is almost hugging me from behind and sometimes squeezes my hips . Suddenly I can call him Veritas and he wouldn't mind but now he wants me to focus.

"Here Y/n you have to write it here" He whispers in my ear, rubbing my arm . " Veritas I'm doing it an hour and I'm still not even close, can I atleast get a rest like 5 minutes?" Veritas looks at me offended. " A rest do I have to remind you what have you done?" A silence passes. I just glare at him and Ratio doesn't take it very well . "Get up Y/n" Veritas says harshly . "What?" I am confused by his sudden demeanor and I do what he says. A slap from ruler is heard in his office and my yelping from pain. " ow did you slap my ass with ruler?" I look at him wideyed " yes as a reminder, so will you continue or not?" I nod quickly, sitting as fast as possible on his lap back.

" Good girl, if you will do great . A reward will be granted for you" He whispers and chuckles about it. He rubs my ass soothingly and I just wonder what could be my reward be ? I try to quickly do his papers as I am nearly done Veritas praises me . I turn around to look at him "Well done Y/n" he leans closer , our lips close to each other and as I close my eyes, I let it happen and eagerly wait what we will happen next and that my lie was worth it in the end.

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The end~

My first post i hope you enjoyed it . The end is open one 🤗

[ivystoryweaver]

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #6: A Nightmare on Elm Street

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Event #6 Summary: Marc spends the evening with you and Steven gets a haunting

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector x f!reader, Steven Grant x f!reader (Jake mentioned)

Word count: 3k

Content: ANGST, the yearning, ghost probs (no body), language, dealing with death and grief, manner and COD discussed, violence, spooky/horror elements, probably inaccurate DID (show based), not beta’d

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PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

"And...and maybe don't sell the house just yet?" You barely managed that request in a choked whisper. "If this is the only place I am besides the dark, and...and you guys leave then, I'm afraid - "

"Of the dark," he solemnly concluded. Reaching for your hand again - pointless, though it was, he made a vow. "Baby, look at me. I will never leave you here alone. Never. I promise you."

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Marc wanted to stay home with you all day, but you insisted that they lead normal lives. You promised to come back.

He wanted to kiss you goodbye. You’d just told each other you loved one another. It almost seemed as if he was headed downtown to work, and you would venture into your loft to write for the day.

You missed your loft. Why couldn’t you go in there? Maybe if you concentrated hard enough…

You missed writing. Maybe you could write some children’s ghost stories. After all, you now had first hand experience.

What…were you thinking? Write?

Was this death? Feeling all these tormented emotions? And good ones too? The sparkle of laughter with Jake, the yearning to talk to Steven, the love and longing, even lust for Marc.

And the guilt. You were too harsh with Marc before, when you said he ran away from pain or punched it in the face. You had to see him again soon, to apologize. He was going through too much already - he didn’t deserve that - not from you.

“I’m so sorry, Marc,” you whispered into the stillness of your bedroom. As if he could hear you.

The feelings washed over you, making you feel…alive. And clearer than you had felt since you first became aware of yourself, or of this room.

You waited all day. This was new. It was boring. But boring was better than darkness. Feeling anything was better.

You were practically bouncing with anticipation by the time the sun set. Finally Marc arrived.

You called his name as soon as you saw him climbing the front steps to your front door, and didn’t stop until he was standing in front of you.

“Baby? You okay?” He huffed, having run up the stairs.

“Yes, you can see me?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, pulling off his jacket. “The way you were calling my name, I thought…something was wrong.”

You both realized how weird that sounded. Being dead kind of meant everything was wrong.

So you told him about your day. How you thought and thought and felt so many feelings. How you wondered about writing and your loft. How you never went back to the Dark Place. And how very sorry you were for what you said to him.

“I’m the last person who should be confirming your worst thoughts about yourself, Marc,” you explained. “Please forgive me, I felt terrible about it all day. I’m so sorry.”

His brow furrowed with confusion. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” No way he wanted you of all people to feel anything negative. You were the one who lost your life after all.

You talked for a little while longer, about simple things - his day at work, his walk home. Ordinary things. He mentioned speaking with Ms. Marjorie and you shared that you heard Steven speaking about her quaint, lovely shop.

Finally, Marc’s stomach growled, letting you both know that he needed some dinner. He could plainly see that you were anxious about him leaving the room.

“Just gonna grab some leftovers, honey, I’ll be right back,” he softly assured you.

Great. Now you were a clingy ghost. What the hell…

He wasn’t gone long, by your estimation anyway, and ate in your bedroom, with the two of you sitting on the bed. Then you felt even more guilty, as if you were trapping him here somehow.

“Hey, is the World Series on yet?” You asked, knowing October meant baseball postseason.

“Next week,” he clarified. “Why do you ask?”

You smiled at him knowingly. “Well, I mean…you can go watch baseball if you want to. You don’t have to sit in here all night.”

He pretended to be offended. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No! No, I just…I want you to live your normal life…” You trailed off, sighing wistfully.

“Fuck it, I’ll just move the TV up here. Or get a new one,” he shrugged. “I want to be with you.”

That proclamation sobered you both, because it was the whole problem. You couldn’t be together. Not really.

“I want that too,” you whispered, easing a little closer to where he sat, leaning against the bed’s headboard. “It’s all I want. To be with you. But…it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late,” he found himself telling you, without really thinking before he spoke.

You frowned, confused.

“That’s what you kept saying, or…some voice I kept hearing when you first started appearing to me. ‘It’s not too late’. Even Ms. Marjorie said it. I didn't realize it til now but...I've heard it a few times: 'it's not too late.' What do you think it means?"

You shook your head. "No idea. It's obviously too late for us to really be together...isn't it?"

The sight of your wide, hopeful eyes broke his heart. "There has to be a reason you're here."

You talked a little while longer, about what this all could possibly mean. And instead of fading away, you seemed energized...and felt more alive, but you definitely were not.

Marc kept trying to touch you on instinct and you were most assuredly a ghost.

So you talked about ghosts: about myths and fables and any lore you could think of. You even looked it up online. Marc admitted Steven might be the better consult regarding this topic, but you both soberly remembered that he couldn't see you.

Which hurt because you felt overlooked and Marc felt crazy. But it wasn't Steven's fault, clearly.

"Ghosts can have unfinished business," Marc read from his phone screen. "All right, who are you still pissed at?"

The tension in his shoulders and the scowl he normally wore had relaxed as the night wore on. He almost seemed like his old self again. The person he was with you. The loving partner you adored, not the grief-stricken lonely man who questioned his sanity.

"No one," you thoughtfully answered, not knowing how the next words out of your mouth would change everything. "Well maybe the asshole who killed me."

Marc's phone dropped out of his hand and hit the mattress. He went deadly serious in one second flat. The mirth in his eyes turned stone cold - his lips parted as he drew a shuddering breath.

"W-what did you just say?" He choked out.

Shit, that wasn't a topic you should have made light of, or thrown around carelessly. Marc must still be reeling from your murder, if not blaming himself for it somehow.

"I'm sorry I said that - "

"What...did you say?" He covered his mouth with both hands as his eyes burned with fury. Pushing up off the bed, his fingers tore through his hair. "You...you weren't murdered," he gasped, his chest heaving the way it normally did right before he panicked. He wouldn't likely be here for much longer.

"You weren't," he hissed out a whisper. "What are you saying? There was an autopsy. You weren't...what are you saying!?"

Shit.

You floated off the bed, bewildered. You hadn't considered, even for a moment, that Marc was unaware of how you died. And it hadn't exactly come up.

"Marc, I...it doesn't matter how it happened, really. I didn't mean to...I thought you knew - "

"Yes, it really fucking does matter," he snapped, his fists clenched so tight they were turning white. His wild, frantic eyes landed on you, and seeing your distress, he shook his head in agony.

"You were...how? Who did this?" He let out a choked sob. "Tell me who. Who hurt you?"

"I-I don't know him. Marc, I thought you knew. If I wouldn't have gone to see Jake that night - "

"What?"

You went into the city the night you died? And Jake never fucking thought to mention it?

"I...I was on my way to see Jake." You did that sometimes - ride around with him at night, when Marc and Steven would have the next day off. It was a way to spend a little extra time with Jake, in his environment - his own little world. Plus it was fun to stay out all night, driving people around, eating at your favorite diner...making love in the back seat...

"I never made it," you explained. "I-I was still here in town when a man grabbed me - covered my mouth. He was strong. Then he moved my arm and I felt a pinch underneath my armpit. And that's all. He...maybe he injected me with something."

Marc pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, almost doubling over in agony. "No. No, no, no, no." He banged his fists against his forehead and before you could follow your instinct to go to him - before you could even remember you wouldn't be able to touch him, he was gone.

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Steven straightened up, blinking a few times before using his sleeve to dry his eyes. "What?"

He glanced around, trying to get his bearings when he heard the most heartbreaking cry of anguish...

coming from you.

“Bloody hell!” Steven gasped, scrambling away from your visage - not because it was you. He simply wasn’t expecting anyone at all to be in his bedroom. And he still couldn't see you, but he did hear someone cry out.

“No, no, no,” you cried, knowing Steven couldn’t see you.

"Losing m'mind," he mumbled, drawing his hands to his chest. His eyes swept across the room nervously, but he saw nothing.

"Maybe this place really is haunted," he murmured to himself. Deciding to take an evening walk and shake himself out of his spooky mindset, Steven found his shoes before shuffling downstairs, leaving you alone and heartbroken.

The feeling of being alive was so close, you could almost taste it. Your chest heaved with emotion - your heart, which stopped pumping life through your veins months ago, raced with worry for Marc and longing for Steven.

"Steven, please," you gasped, in a manner that would have been tearful, except that you had no tears to cry.

But he was gone.

Steven no longer lived in complete oblivion as he once did. If he suddenly fronted, his cheeks wet with Marc's tears, there was clearly a reason. Maybe Marc was still seeing you. He wasn't sure right at the moment because his alter was quiet - nowhere to be found, really. And it wasn't a parlor trick. He couldn't force Marc to appear or share anything.

Perhaps your little bungalow truly was haunted. Without giving it much thought, Steven's feet carried him back downtown, straight to the "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties" shop.

He was looking for Ms. Marjorie. He wanted answers and somehow, he felt that she could give them.

But as he rounded the corner onto Main Street, he stopped short. There, right where the Mystic Delights shop should be, was...nothing. The building was dark and little run down. Unoccupied.

"Wait a minute..." Steven mused to himself, inspecting the darkened windows, where twinkle lights had recently shone out, welcoming him in. He scurried a few more doors down, to Mrs. Alraune's flower shop. Her store was closed, but in tact.

Retracing his steps, Steven tried to reason with himself about where Ms. Marjorie and her lovely shop could possibly be.

Finally, he decided to inquire in the corner drug store. He recognized the face of the cashier but didn't know her name. She looked to be in her early 20s and often rang Steven's order when he stopped in.

He inquired after Ms. Marjorie and the little shop that had come to mean so much to him in only a couple days.

Devon, the young cashier was named, told him she had been employed at the drug store since high school and that particular store had changed owners a few times. The city had tried to clean it up on many occasions but she couldn't remember an antique store - not recently, anyway.

"No, that's not possible," Steven argued. Realizing his words might offend, he apologized. "Sorry, I just...I swear there was a lovely little antique shop right there. The most extraordinary woman owns it..."

Realizing he sounded like he wasn't quite right, he offered up one more apology and left.

Steven felt more confused than ever. Where was Ms. Marjorie? And her shop? Who was making noises in his home? And why had Marc claimed to see you?

October 31st hadn't quite rolled around, but Steven was all done with spooks. He walked home, quickening his pace, fueled by confusion and agitation.

Once he reached your front yard, he saw the curtain of his bedroom rustling.

"All right, ghost," he firmly declared, "I'm coming up and you bloody well better make yourself plain. No more games."

He rushed up the front steps to unlock the front door, hoping with all his heart that, if you were here - if Marc really saw you - that he might see you too.

So he called your name.

"Darling, I know I haven't been able to see you, and...I don't even know if you're here, but please...please send me some kind of a sign."

Turning this way and that, he checked the living room, the kitchen. With a heavy sigh, he climbed the stairs to the bedroom, pausing at your picture in the hallway.

"What's happening, love? Marc is seeing you, and I'm apparently having tea with a spectre instead of a shopkeeper. Please...are you there?"

His shoulders slumped in defeat and confusion, he trudged the final step into your once-shared bedroom

...and there you were.

Right there, seated on the edge of the bed, wearing Marc's hoodie.

"Oh my days," he breathed, his eyes widening as he stepped right in front of you. “Darling? Is it really you?”

Your gaze, so forlorn, snapped up to his. “Steven?” You gasped, “Can…can you see me?”

He rubbed his eyes for good measure, then nodded eagerly. “You are here. Aren’t you, love?”

"Steven, oh my god," you breathed, rising to meet him, wishing with all your nonexistent heart you could throw your arms around him. "I've been trying to talk to you, but you couldn't hear me, or see me," You emphatically explained.

"God, I'm so sorry," he sincerely returned, his dark eyes shifting, studying you with concern. "I didn't mean to doubt you. I'm sorry."

He shook his head in wonder. "I can't believe it. Marc was right. H-how are you here?" Stepping closer, he interrupted himself. "Are you alright, love? You're not hurt or anything? I mean, besides the obvious..."

He trailed off, granting you a bewildered smile as he drew his hands close to his chest. Oh, how you missed this precious, adorable man of yours.

"No, I'm okay. I was with Marc before. Then you left."

You explained to Steven a little of what had been going on, with your talks with Marc and Jake. Then you asked Steven if any of them knew how you died.

"Coroner said your heart just stopped," Steven explained.

"Yeah because someone injected me with something," you supplied, feeling the need to pace back in forth, even though you were really sort of floating. "They didn't find anything in my system? A drug, or a puncture mark under my arm?"

"Darling you're not...you're not suggesting that you were...killed?"

Just the thought of some asshole taking you away from your life - from your stories, your loft, from the town you adored, from this house and from the man you wanted to marry and have a family with - the feeling of the helplessness and despair you felt in that moment boiled into rage.

Without even realizing what you were doing, you curled your fingers into fists, squeezed your eyes shut and cried out, sending a wave of energy jolting through your bedroom, knocking Steven clean off his feet. The power was so strong, it knocked the lamp off the bedside table, crashing to the floor, and lastly, the mirror over your dresser shattered.

You acted out of pure spectral instinct.

Steven reacted equally, having summoned his Mr. Knight suit without a second thought. He didn't even intend to do it - it just happened as soon as his mind registered the danger of falling and flying glass.

The sight of your partner "taking arms", or suiting up in his defense against you...

It absolutely shattered you. The coherent thoughts you wanted to share with your partner were as scattered as the shattered mirror glass.

Powerful emotions swirled and blurred into despair. You found yourself untethered from the sweet conversation, longing and desire with your partner - the serenity you had experienced here over the last day or so, with Marc and Jake.

The broken lamp sent the room into darkness and as you fell further into despair, you could no longer detect the white of Steven's suit, or see even the moon's glow through the window.

You thought you heard your name called, but it was galaxies away, the way a voice above the surface of a swimming pool sounds when you're underwater.

The sound faded and all that was left was the Dark.

next

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Moon Knight Masterlist

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[dlartistanon]

I want to share some interesting discussion about Arturia (and Executor by extension), including some discussion about neurodivergency--a lot of this informs their characters and actions and shines better light on how it can reflect real life.

Also, here's her prequel comic which gives more context

The outcomes of her actions are not often good, but she's definitely not supposed to be evil/malicious/sadistic. She is ideologically driven and, because of her morality axis being different from most, genuinely believes what she's doing is good/correct. She has reason for what she does, such as being opposed to Laterano's limited empathy and discrimination, and what happened in her childhood.

It can be read as a commentary on how the vast majority would rather remain sheep to survive, then be true and (possibly) die.

Her motivation can be summed up as: she wants people to stop repressing themselves. Which theoretically sounds good on paper, but obviously impractical in practice. Sometimes honesty isn't the best policy.

Kriede's fate, his death, was out of his own real volition. What resulted in him wanting to save Ebenholz.

It's unconfirmed, but she may be a victim to her own Arts. She has no inhibitions about removing other people's inhibitions. Or she gaslights herself/disassociates when it comes to her mother's death. She was probably traumatized, but underreacted. To her, Mom dying and using her Arts on her mom are two separate things that have no causation.

She does not regret using her Arts on her mother. She does regret being unable to have helped her mother go further to achieve her dream before she died. Arturia considers it her own failure that Mom died before she reached self-actualization. At the core of it all, Arturia wants to see more people be like her mother, willing to act on what they truly want.

People's despair are all worthy of being addressed and felt and released. That's extremely relevant to her worldview. It's what separates humans from animals acting on instinct. Arturia doesn't care for the Seaborn and thinks they are beneath notice. They are Nothing to her. You can be Good or Evil, but you must be human. Have human desires, because animalistic desire is boring. Human irrationality is what makes them beautiful to her.

People who say that Arturia caused everything to happen in Hortus de Escapismo ignore the fact that the overall situation had been deteriorating long before she set foot there. If anything, she may have just sped up the process of things that were going to happen anyway. Which is not the same as causing it. Looking at it from the perspective of the people living at the monastery, it's reasonable that there would be depressing thoughts floating around everywhere. But the Abbot tells Arturia that her music soothes the pain.

Laterano's response to the situation did nothing to alleviate the actual problem, the material conditions (ie no food). If Arturia's abilities worked the way some people think they do, everyone at the monastery would've been dead in a week or less.

If you're debating jumping off a cliff, then she isn't going to make you jump, nor will she influence you to jump. If someone is worried about Arturia's Arts affecting them, causing them to do bad things they otherwise wouldn't have, because of intrusive thoughts, then they shouldn't even be concerned. Because Arturia is not interested in that. Acting on intrusive thoughts is not what she looks for. It's more akin to helping someone dive deep into their subconscious to face the thing(s) they refuse to face. Some people choose to take this back up with them to the surface. People who contemplate doing bad things for brief moments normally don't have those kinds of thoughts sitting deep within their psyche to drag up.

Arturia obviously needs therapy, but the most important thing to her is whether you have the conviction to act on your desires. Let go and embrace how you truly feel. The extremities of pain and despair (and perhaps even happiness) are among what she values. A very complicated individual.

[striderepiphany]

My favorite reddie fics masterpost

I have an absolutely insane number of reddie fics saved in my bookmarks for how recently I joined this fandom so I decided to share my absolute favorites with you. Please give these authors some love and let me know which ones are you've read and enjoyed!

the year of the goat and your kid back by derryfacts2

1 chapter, 14,838 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: The day you get the most important email of your life, there’s a new black skidmark on the wall of the stairwell, and you know exactly whose fault it is. “Margaret,” you intone to the harried, wild-haired woman in the lobby. She sighs at you as she tries to jimmy her mail key loose. “I know.” It wouldn’t even be that bad if the kid would just skateboard outside. Or get good at skateboarding. Either of those things. Maggie’s a nice lady, though, and she’s had “trying my best” scribbled all over her since they moved into 6B maybe eight years ago. So you try not to be a dick, even if her son is a gold-standard pain in the ass. He’s good for three things: smells, noise, and reminding you how big Eddie must be by now.

The first It fic I read that made me go "holy shit, this is fantastic" and remains one of my all-timers (hence why its first in this list). Really fun and unique outsider POV from Eddie's estranged gay dad, and tells a very sweet story mostly through dialogue. Young adult Eddie and Richie are very cute.

i think the clock is slow by derryfacts2 (again)

3 chapters, 15,815 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: So there was that reason that work wasn’t boring, too. There was Richie’s soppy campaign of making cow eyes at the back of Eddie’s head as he passed, gently pressing Betty for details about his personal life (“I don’t think he has one. He had this awful fiancé a few years ago, but we’re all glad that’s over”), and chasing the incomparable high of a quiet, muttered “Thanks, Rich” whenever Richie picks something up for him from the copier.

Richie is a wannabe stand-up comic daylighting as the receptionist at Eddie's office. Eddie is a tightly-wound corporate asshole. They are both disasters. Or: five times Richie watched Eddie and one that Eddie watched him back.

I really enjoy workplace dramas and this one satisfied the itch so well. So many good scenes and dialogue, this author characterizes them in a way that really works for me. The perfect read-in-an-afternoon fic.

listen to my heart (can you hear it sing?) by vampirerising

12 chapters, 137,708 words, Major Character Death. Summary: "You need to wake up now,” Stan says softly. “This isn’t real.”

“I know, but I can’t,” Richie sobs. “I don’t want to be here.” Not again. Never again. It is dead, why is It still haunting him?

Stan fixes him with one of those looks of his, the one where he can see his every thought as if it were written on his face. “That’s not true, Trashmouth.”

Alternatively: We all know Richie gets caught in the Deadlights, but do we really know what happens after?

(Deadlights, timelines, Stan’s ghostly meddling—oh, my.)

This one is fucking weird in a way that I absolutely adore. Kind of like a sci-fi novel in that it requires you to pay attention to figure out what the fuck is going on but its so good and worth it. The MCD is Stan, not Eddie, and the last couple chapters are actually a very normal domestic Eddie lives AU. One of the first reddie artworks I made was fanart for a scene from this fic that I really enjoy.

a strange sense of familiarity by Katranga

21 chapters, 103,571 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: "So Eddie, what brings you to the bar tonight?" Richie asked. "Gonna rebound from the divorce? Pick up a hot young twenty-something to feel young again?” “Fuck you,” Eddie said, jutting his chin forward. “What a terrible way to ruin the mood.” “I’m sorry, all my moods are poorly cultivated. What mood were you looking for?” A nervous lump grew in Eddie's throat. He threw back his drink to get rid of it.

Hand wrapped around the glass he’d just slammed back onto the bar, he said, “The mood that gets me leaving with a schlubby forty-something.”

Pre-chapter two, Eddie and Richie meet and don't remember each other, but have an instant connection anyway...

This one is just... so fucking good. Decently long without ever feeling like it's dragging. Part 1 is them developing their totally-casual-I-swear relationship, which blows up right when Mike calls them back to Derry. Part 2 is them navigating both killing a nightmare clown demon and the awkwardness between them. Also everybody lives! So that's nice.

change partners by avacadomoon (with podfic available)

1 chapter, 30,453 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: "Rich," Eddie says heavily. Meaningfully, and Richie holds his breath, both afraid and hopeful that Eddie is about to say something really sappy, like I always knew and it didn't matter to me, or you know I support you no matter what. Eddie takes a deep breath before he speaks, and Richie closes his eyes, braced for it. "I didn't look at your dick pics."

"Well hey, Eds, thanks," Richie says, laughing incredulously. "Thanks for that."

I LOVE THIS ONE SOOO FUCKING MUCH. I urge you to consider this as a rec for this author as well, as they have a bunch of other reddie fics I think are fantastic. I have a weakness for any reddie fic that lets them be just a little mean to each other. As a treat. (Also the podfic is very well done, you should check that out too.)

check raise by avacodomoon

1 chapter, 15,061 words, No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: "Eddie, not a fan of stand up comedy, not a fan of his beer," Rich says, leaning back on one elbow and squinting at him, like he's lining him up in a camera lens frame, "but what is he doing drinking alone?"

"I was alone, and now I'm not," Eddie says. "Some prick sat down next to me and started yapping."

"Ah, unpleasant to talk to," Rich concludes. "Explains a lot."

I know I meant the last rec as a blanket rec for all this author's works but I'm including this one specifically because it has a twist ending that is well-foreshadowed and it slapped my dick clean off.

Things that Happen after Eddie Lives by IfItHollers

11 chapters, 107,947 words, Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings. Summary: In a world where Richie manages to save Eddie from It after the deadlights, they still have problems on their to-do list. Featuring everything from Derry to Los Angeles—Richie Tozier's murder trial, Eddie Kaspbrak's divorce proceedings, bedsharing of the platonic and non-platonic varieties, an investigation of magic, a truly disgusting séance, the quintessential morosexual road trip, and OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES.

Definitely NOT your average Eddie lives AU. Drama! Mild peril! Psychic abilities! The ghost of Stanley Uris collect calling from beyond the grave via Richie Tozier's vocal chords! Fun and freaky and weird. Three things that make any fic a Josh favorite.

I'm going to stop there because I'm sleepy but let me know if you want more! Like I said I've got like 70 of these lovingly tucked in my bookmarks and I'm happy to share with the class.