#I just really needed to get my frustrations out and what better way than to scribble a bunch to some angsty music

[tourettesdog]

Beta Reading and Fanfiction

I’ve been writing for a long time myself, but it’s only been very recently that I’ve immersed myself in communities online for it. I’ve been having so much fun really diving into Danny Phantom and DPxDC fanfic, and I’ve met so many great friends doing so.

I mostly do my own writing, but I’ve really enjoyed doing some beta reading as well, especially for friends! There’s something so fun about getting to dive into a work in progress and help where you can.

But I do feel like some people might really struggle to understand how to beta read, or what makes a good beta reader�� especially where fanfiction is concerned. I’ve been extremely fortunate to have wonderful beta readers, but I’ve had some friends frustrated with the beta reading they’ve in turn received, or otherwise feeling uncomfortable in asking for a beta reader since they don’t know what to expect.

So, how should beta reading work? How do you do a good job?

Above all, the most important thing about beta reading is communication with your author. You are not in their WIP to prove how good of a writer you are, or to hammer their work into what you would personally be proud to present online. You are there to help, in whatever way the author has asked or communicated they're comfortable with.

Before you beta read anything it is vital to ask what the author is looking for in a beta reader. There are a number of things you can ask in particular, including:

What are you looking for help with?

Do you just want me to look for typos or confusing sentences?

Do you want suggestions for things to add?

Do you want suggestions on grammar, or other more in-depth writing suggestions?

Do you need help with characterization, or even the plot?

Depending on who you are beta reading for, you might have someone who only wants a very light beta touch. They might just want you to look for glaring mistakes, or for confirmation that a plot beat makes sense. 

Other authors might want something much more involved! They might be trying to improve their grammar, or perhaps they're not very familiar with writing a new character and they would like suggestions for how to better capture their voice.

Regardless of what an author wants in a beta reader, you won't know unless you ask them! It's possible that you simply might not be compatible as beta reader and author, depending on their answer, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's okay to step back and say "I personally like to beta read things more in depth than this, so I might not be the best person to give it a look."

Otherwise, getting an answer about your author's preferences can help you figure out how to help them. Perhaps you would normally make more suggestions, but if an author has specified that they're not comfortable with that, then it's not your job as their beta reader to do so. If you are capable of sticking to the help they've asked for, then you will ultimately be fulfilling your role as their beta reader admirably.

"But I'm just trying to help. Their work has a lot of places it could improve!"

Again, beta reading is not about shaping a story into something you would personally present as your writing. It is about helping the author produce a story they're comfortable with and proud of.

It's not about being right, or heavily criticizing their writing and grammar abilities (unless this is what the author has explicitly requested!)

Especially while writing fanfiction, the work presented is not something that will ever see publishing, or that needs to have flawless grammar and syntax. This is work done for free, and it is done for fun.

And that's something very vital to beta reading—

A beta reader needs to preserve the fun.

It's very daunting, putting your work out there for others. It's especially daunting putting your work up for analysis of any kind. You're accepting that people might not understand your vision, or may judge you for what you've written.

It's all too easy to compare yourself to other creatives online, and to overthink and overanalyze your talents. Too often, it’s easy to get discouraged and feel like your work isn’t good enough.

Beta reading should never be done in a way that will discourage writing. Even if an author has asked for a lot of help, it’s important to pick your battles with what you choose to analyze, and to check in with them if you feel like you might be crossing boundaries or covering their work in too much metaphorical red ink.

When people are trying to improve their writing, you don’t always have to mark every little suggestion you think of. Unless the author is a friend you know well, or has explicitly asked for Extreme measures of help, it might be best to ignore some smaller writing issues and focus instead on bigger things. 

If you’ve already marked a lot of issues in one paragraph, but have more things you could say, consider if the additional suggestions are vital or if it might be better to leave them be. After all, if your author is looking to improve, and if you are planning to beta read for them again in the future, then helping them with more glaring issues now will help them in a way that is not overwhelming, and will open the door for other kinds of suggestions to be better understood and absorbed. 

You can always check in with your author if you’re unsure, too. Ask them if they appreciate the amount of suggestions you’ve given them, or if it’s been too much. Your author might be uncomfortable with telling you that they’re overwhelmed, and checking in is a good way to ensure that you’re both on the same page.

All that being said, though, it is also important to not always focus on things to fix and improve. You’re not just editing the story, you’re reading it. Part of keeping beta reading fun is engaging in that story as any reader would. It both helps morale, and helps let the author know what they’re doing right, when you take the time to tell them what you enjoy about the work you’re beta reading!

There are so many ways you can express positive things about an author’s writing. Consider:

“I love how you phrased this sentence here.”

“This body language feels natural and very in character!”

“I love this word choice here.”

“This part was really funny and had me laughing.”

“I’m excited to see where this goes!”

You’re reading a story, and you must have thoughts and feelings on it outside of suggestions. Let your author know! People thrive on positive feedback, and there’s just as much to be gained in marking Positive attributes to a story as there is in noting places to improve.

The last major thing I feel is vital to beta reading is respecting that it is your author’s work, and that your suggestions (however clever or helpful you feel they are) may be rejected. And that that is okay. 

Suggestions are just that— suggestions.

What you might like in creative writing might not necessarily be what your author wants to express. You might love to use ellipses, or lots of different dialogue tags, while your author might prefer dashes and more standard dialogue tags. You might like to use more colorful descriptions of scenery and atmosphere, while your author might want to focus much more on the character body language and dialogue. You might like to use a lot of exclamation points and next to no italics, while your author might like a lot of italics and very little exclamation points. 

You’re ultimately two different people, with two different ideas of what is an ideal way to tell a story. And while you can give many different suggestions on just about anything the author might add, remove, or change, it’s ultimately the author’s choice whether or not they accept those changes.

It’s not your job as a beta reader to double down and insist that they accept a specific suggestion. It’s not your job to make a case for why you think they need to change something. If an author has denied a suggestion— it’s best to let it go. Especially if you don’t know them well, and don’t have a very good rapport with them, pushing the issue will only serve to make you both uncomfortable.

It’s not just about picking your battles, but also about mutual respect. You’re not a teacher, nor an editor looking to make their work prime for publishing. You have to respect their decisions for their own story, even if that means they decide not to take a suggestion you felt would be impactful. 

It’s also always important to keep in mind that writing style, particularly where creative writing is concerned, can vary wildly. The strict rules that you learn in school were made to be broken. You learn them to figure out how to break them and, particularly when writing for fun, it doesn’t even matter if you’re breaking those rules in a perfect way. It’s fanfiction. It’s freeform, it’s fun. If someone wants to make a habit out of going buckwild with their writing style, there’s really no reason to try and corral their writing into a box labeled “High School English 101”. 

You can’t force someone to write their fanfiction like it’s going to go to a letter grade, nor should you try to unless they’re looking for that level of editing. 

Be willing to listen, and pay attention to what is and isn’t working. It’s good to take note of suggestions that your author has already commented on. Have they thanked you for pointing out something in particular? Have they expressed they feel weak with something in their writing?

Is there a type of suggestion that you keep making that they have rejected multiple times?

Work with their strengths and with their style. Focus on suggestions that have been received well, and consider letting go of ones that the author clearly has no interest in, or that might conflict with their style.

Communicate and respect each other, above all else.

Beta reading is such a helpful and wonderful thing someone can do for an author. I’ve been so thankful to have it done for my own work, and I try my best to be helpful and considerate when I’ve beta read myself. 

Having my work beta read has really helped me find things to improve upon in my writing, and has helped me feel more confident in the stories I’ve posted, just having another eye look over them before they hit the internet. I don’t always take all of their suggestions, and might disagree from time to time with the direction they want something to go in, but I’ve been thankful to have understanding, kind betas that work with me well. 

And that’s one more point I want to touch on too, is that I hope that, as a beta reader, you find yourself with authors that show you mutual respect in turn. That they thank you for the work you’ve put in to help them succeed, and have made the experience positive for you as well.

It always makes me happy to see beta readers credited on posted works. It’s a kind thing for writers to show appreciation, and to acknowledge that someone helped shape the words you see on the page. 

This got much longer than I intended it to, but I just hope that this post might help some people in some way. Either to understand beta reading and the purpose of it, or how to potentially go about it themselves. 

I really recommend giving beta reading a try if you’re comfortable with it, especially if you have friends that write fanfiction! Even just an extra pair of eyes looking for typos can be a godsend for someone who has spent hours upon hours staring at a long fic and editing it.

[chleem]

Flashing Lights #6

Series; actor Drew x actress reader

Summary: Drew gets involved in the worst scandal of his career. One way to solve it? Proving to the whole world that he’s the sweetest lover to exist. Who better to help than the one person he can’t stand? You, an A class actress with an alcohol addiction. So, will Drew clear up his reputation, or leave with a bigger mess to clean up?

Genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers(?, slow burn, angst, smut,

Warning: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of k!lling oneself, mentions of rape & sa, mentions of drug usage, smoking & vaping,

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ chapter5 | index | chapter7 soon!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Mid-May 2024

It’s just you and Drew now.  

Laura left after getting the two of you settled in this hotel room, explaining how your stylists would be here in less than an hour, Vogue coming over to film a getting-ready vlog. 

You anxiously stand by the window, looking down to the city. It was beautiful; but your anxiety didn’t let you appreciate it. You wanted a smoke. A drink too. 

The no-smoking sign on the table catches your eye, and you look at the ceiling. Smoking detectors were on it. Fuck. So, you reach for the alternative. 

You pick the room cell up, typing the number to the lobby. 

But Drew hangs it up, then grabs the cell from you. You look at him, pissed. “What? That was important,” you lie, but it was partially true, you needed alcohol to settle yourself. 

“Really?,” he says, putting the cell back. He glares down at you, as if you stole his money or something. “I’m not letting you.”

You let his words hang in the air, sharp and defiant.

Instead, you reach for the room cell again. 

Drew harshly grabs your wrist, which you immediately shake yourself out of. “Hey. What’s your fucking problem?” You ask impatiently. 

“That’s what I should be asking,” he replies. After a few seconds, he talks again. “Why would you go out with him?”

Oh. So he’s asking about what happened last week. 

It was nothing. You met Theo at the grand prix, who was surprisingly friendly. The two of you weren’t alone on the yacht; there was a small party before it. Theo and you just stayed longer, and the media made it seem like it was like that the whole night. 

Of course, you were too drunk to remember the details of what happened when it was just the two of you, but from the pictures; yeah, it was really bad. Your PR team gave you a hard scolding for that, and even fines for breaking one of the terms on the contract. 

You cross your arms, holding your head high. You didn’t do anything wrong; Drew’s intimidating stare won’t break you; nothing will. “I didn’t go out with him.”

“Does he know that?” His voice unable to hid the mockery behind them. 

“Of course.” Lie. Maybe a lie. 

“Y/n.”

“What? I can’t answer for him. But I know it wasn’t a date.”

“Right, two people of the opposite sex alone, on a yacht-“

“Not a date-“

“With wine, table candles, food-“

“Not a fucking date-“

“Touching each other? Smiling like he’s the funniest shit ever-“

“Fucking shut up, Drew,” you say, slightly louder than him. What he’s going on about, is just stupid. You already got scolded by the PR team, you didn’t need another person telling you you fucked up. 

Drew does shut up, but only for a few seconds. “Fine, then what really happened, y/n? Tell me, tell me and I’ll believe it.”

You look at him.

“Why should I fucking tell you?” 

The anger in your voice isn't just directed at him; it's a mix of frustration and confusion, the feeling that you shouldn't owe anyone an explanation, least of all him.

Drew’s eyebrows furrow even harder, his tongue poking against his cheek. You go on; ignoring how you’re filling up his anger meter. “All you need to fucking know is that it wasn’t a date. Fuck, why are you even talking to me about this? It’s not part of the contract, it’s not part of-“

“Contract?” He interrupts, looking at you in confusion and disbelief, as if your point of view was absolutely shit. “What does this have to do with-“

“That’s the whole reason you’re here-“

“What the fuck does the contract have to do-“

“Every fucking thing, Drew. The contract has everything to do with you being here. You don’t even care-“

“I do care,” he answers quickly, but you scoff. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be talking to you-“

“Really? You do care? What do you care about?”

“You,” he exclaims, his features softening. 

Bullshit. “Your fucking reputation, you mean?”

He shakes his head, a smile on his lips. You furrow your eyebrows, feeling pissed that he’s laughing. “What-“

“You’re unbelievable, y/n,” he starts, and suddenly, his aura feels cold, different from earlier when it was just pure anger.  “Why can’t you just explain the situation to me? Huh?”

“I don’t want to,” you tell him, lowering your voice. No. You won’t- can’t tell him.

“Okay, because I might not care?” He asks, ignoring what you want to add on. “If I really didn’t, why would I ask?”

Drew’s blue eyes make you want to yield everything to him. There’s a bit of comfort in his eyes, behind all the anger, “because…because you’re just another co-star I meet. You don’t really care.”

You continue to stare into his eyes, challenging him to disagree. 

“But I do.”

He says it so faintly, that it felt like the words were your hallucinations. But he did say it. Well, too bad you weren’t one to be swayed easily by words. “Stop lying, Drew. It just makes you look stupid.”

You brush past him and reach for the room cell. You needed like, five bottles of wine to move past this. To even survive the film festival later. 

But Drew stops you yet again. “Let go of me,” you threaten, shrugging his hands off your wrist. 

He doesn’t budge, even after saying it a second time. 

“Why can’t you can’t understand basic shit?” You snap, finally shaking him off and putting the cellphone back.

If you knew your next insult towards him would end badly for you, you wouldn’t have said it. “You’re so insufferable to be around, you know that?”

Drew stares at you, furrowed eyebrows back in place. 

What was he thinking of now? Thinking about a better insult? Thinking about all your flaws? It’s evident that he wants to say something mean about you. 

“What? What were you going to say?” You ask, getting impatient. “Say it. I’m sure whatever you’re thinking, they have it worse for me.”

His lips form a small frown, but his eyes stay mean, staring down at you. 

Okay. Now this was annoying. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like talking?

“Do you need help forming it?” You tease, stepping closer to him. His eyes flicker fast to your lips, before back into your eyes. “Let me give you a few ideas. Druggie,  coke-head, slut, oh, wait, BBC said something about me once. It was-“

“I don’t think of you that way.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

“You think of yourself that way.”

“What?” You scoff yet again. 

“You could be so much better, y/n. But instead, you let yourself rot,” Woah, what is he talking about? “Always getting drunk, smoking your lungs out, and putting on this- this sloppy attitude. You give up on yourself when other people haven’t. Why- why the fuck would you do that? Y/n, why are you treating yourself this way?”

His words throw you off track. It’s the first time someone has said this type of stuff to you.

You swallow hard, your throat running dry. For the first time in a while, you feel exposed. His words hit you like a punch to the gut, unexpected and hard. You freeze, unsure of how to react, how to process what he’s saying. 

“Why do you make yourself so insufferable?” 

You want to hate him for making you feel this way, for making you feel like you're doing something wrong by existing this way. But you can’t. He’s right, isn’t he? 

Even with the constant buzz stinging your mind, you still refuse to show weakness. You refuse to show that his words have impact on you. “No; you make me insufferable in your eyes. You hate me, you hate how I bring more trouble to you-“

“I don’t hate you-“

“You hate how you’re stuck in this situation with me, but you know that only I can help you out-“

“Maybe, but I realized-“

“You stick around and then act like you care-“

“How many times do I have to tell you I do care about you-“

“You’re just like the rest, Drew!” You yell over him. He shuts up, looking at you with furrowed brows. “The fame, the money, the people I can bring you, that’s what you care! You’re just waiting for your payoff. ”

The contract again. That fucking contract mentioned again. 

You see his Adam’s apple move, his features softening. 

The doorbell rings, probably the stylists. You look away from Drew, hugging yourself tight, to keep yourself together. 

He brushes past you, going to open the door. 

The crew starts filing in, talking and setting up like nothing’s wrong. The noise feels like a wall around you, a barrier between what just happened and the performance you have to put on.

You glance around. Drew’s gone.

He must've left.

——

You tried your best to make Drew’s words leave your mind. 

You drank a bottle and smoked half a vape in a the last few hours while getting ready, and still, his words left a scar on you. You couldn’t believe yourself either, affected by Drew’s fake concern for you. 

“Give it to me, y/n, we’re arriving.”

Laura’s talking about the vape in your hand. You take on last breath, before handing it over to her. “This dress is uncomfortable,” you comment while puffing out the smoke. This dress was very tight. 

“You look beautiful,” Laura says, and a part of you wonders if she actually means it. “Now, the cast is already moving along the carpet, you’re the last one.”

“Where’s Drew?” You couldn’t help but ask, knowing that you only attended the Cannes’ film festival to be seen with him. 

“Right… there,” she points out the window. You see Drew, in a black suit that matches your dress, signing and happily taking photos with fans. He looked… fine.

“Ready?” Laura asks, once the car stops. 

It was your first time at the Cannes film festival. You’ve always declined because of your ‘schedule’, but really, it was because of your anxiety. The flashing lights, the disrespectful questions, and audience that have high expectations. These reasons are mainly why you’ve always declined award shows, festivals, or any kind of event that required you to interact with people. “Yeah,” you force out. 

Laura opens the door, and steps out first. You take her hand when getting out, and while adjusting your dress, multiple cameras flash. The industry never changed, has it? 

Once you’re done adjusting your dress, you smile at the cameras, waving at them nicely. The lights are blinding, but you’ve trained yourself to not flinch to them. 

You walk down the red carpet, until you reach where Drew was. Of course he noticed you, all the photographers were shouting, hoping that you would stare at their cameras. 

He says bye to fans, before walking over to you. 

He doesn’t say anything to you, and you don’t either. 

Drew simply takes your hand and puts it on his inner forearm. You purposely grip tight, hoping to cause physical pain to him. 

The two of walk side by side until you reach the middle, stopping for photos to be taken. 

Drew wraps his arm around your waist, standing closely to you. You pretend something is wrong with his collar, smiling while adjusting it. You meet his eyes, and you just smile even more; acting. He smiles at you too; acting. 

Acting. Act. Act. Act. 

He whispers in your ear, making sure to get close enough so photographers don’t catch his lips. “You smell like grapes.” Oh. His breath hits your neck, and you feel your goosebumps rise. 

He moves away, looking at you lovingly; acting. 

You pat his chest and smile at him lovingly; acting. 

The photographers’ camera’s flash doesn’t stop, not even for a brief moment. All eager to capture every movement of this couple. Little did they know, while the both of you posed lovingly next to each other, hours ago a catastrophic fight happened. 

After a few more seconds which felt like minutes, one of the staff informs you to move up the stairs, where your other cast members were waiting for you. 

As you make your way toward the stairs, Drew’s hand hovers close to your lower waist, almost like a protective gesture. The warmth of his palm against your skin is an odd comfort, and for a moment, you forget everything else—the argument, the tension, the walls you’ve built up between you.

When you turn your back to the cameras, the weight of the moment hits you. The flashing lights and fake smiles are just a blur now. You face him, your words soft but certain. “You’re right.”

He blinks, taken aback, and lifts his hand, waiting for you to take it. “What?”

You meet his eyes, swallowing down the mess of emotions swirling inside. For a brief second, you think about pulling away, about keeping the distance. But instead, you take his hand, letting it slip into his.

You raise the hem of your dress slightly, your steps becoming more deliberate as you climb the stairs. “You’re right,” you repeat, your voice steady, almost as if saying it out loud makes it real. “About everything.”

"Y/n, why are you treating yourself this way?"

“But, the industry shaped me to be this way. I don’t know any other way,” you confess, looking at the stairs while saying this. 

The two of you reach where your co-stars were, and you let go of his hand. 

The director of this movie, which is about the working class in the 1800s, makes space for you in the middle, urging you to stand next to him.

It was the director’s first work, so he was very eager to have his main leads stand next to him. Not only that, but because of your performance in this film, today, it was nominated for numerous categories.

You do, and smile at the camera with the director’s arm around you. 

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” the male lead, whispers to you, a smile on for the photos. “You never come.”

“This one’s special,” you reply, referring to Drew. 

He must’ve thought you were talking about the movie, “good thing I persuaded you to take the role.”

The flashing continues, but the staff informs that it was time to head inside. You turn around expecting Drew to wait at the top for you, but he wasn’t.

You hide your disappointment, seeing your co-star offer his hand. “I believe we’re sitting together?”

“Yes,” you smile, taking his hand. 

The two of you walked up the stairs with the rest of the crew, and into the main venue. 

——

The standing ovation lasted around ten minutes. Yet, felt like eternity. 

The sound of clapping fills the room, surrounding you, and for once, it’s not just noise. It’s recognition. It’s validation.

It felt…extraordinary. Like something out of a dream. You couldn’t believe how many you’ve missed out on. You want to soak it all in, to savor the moment, but a part of you can’t help but wish you weren’t alone in it.

Your co-stars would stare or blow kisses at their loved ones, whispering thank you to them. But you? No one. Not even your ‘boyfriend’, who was gone from the start of the night. 

Even when going up to receive awards, you wished you had someone special to dedicate your speeches or awards to. Or someone you could lock eyes with in the crowd. 

You had no one. 

Drew was still gone, and you soon realized, he was gone the entire night. 

——

You push through the door, finally getting it open after multiple tries. 

You immediately fall to the ground, your legs and arms giving up. You laugh, still a bit drunk even after sleeping in the car. 

“Where were you?”

Your blurry eyes squint at the source, and you see Drew. He’s sitting on the couch, half naked and hair still wet. “I should be asking you that,” you smile, the alcohol in your veins making it hard to control your features. “I missed you.”

It wasn’t you talking; obviously the alcohol talking. Drew knew that, because he walks over and stands in front of you. “Where’ve you been?”

You look down at his toes. They’re funny. “Hey, your toes are-“

“Where the fuck did you go?” He asks more firmly this time.

You look up at him. His jaw is tight, brows furrowed in something between concern and irritation. But all you can feel is the burn in your chest, the strange weight of his question. “Why do you care?”

It comes out cold, defensive, but his eyes soften, just a little, as if he’s already heard the answer, as if he knows the real reason why he does care.

He bends down to grab your arm. He helps you up, placing your arm over his shoulder. You’re too tired to protest; letting him place you on the couch. He walks away, but he comes back with a bottle of water, a trash can, and some pills.

“Hey, drink some water,” he says, his hand going behind your neck, as he helps you sit up. 

His hand is always so warm. Why?

His thumb rubs the back of your neck while you drink the water, surprisingly, you find it comforting. You finish half of it, before handing it back to him. “Wanna tell me where you went?” He asks you much more gentler this time. 

“The afterparty,” you reply, as Drew removes his hand from the back of your neck. The warmth disappears, and you actually feel sad. “Your turn.”

“I stayed in here,” he confesses. His voice turns quieter now, almost hesitant. “I didn’t want to see you.”

Just because of that, he leaves? What a selfish dick. “I didn't want to see you either, but did you see me leave? No.”

“And I’m sorry,” Drew apologies. You look into his eyes, and see the sincerity in them that can’t be faked. 

“I felt so stupid,” you continue, “The only person I knew was you.”

Drunk you could talk about whatever you wanted, and no one could stop you. “I know you hate me, but couldn’t you have stuck around? You only had to watch me, you didn’t need to do anything else.”

A tear falls down your cheek. It feels almost foreign, as if your body is betraying you, allowing a moment of vulnerability you didn’t expect, one that you didn't know you were capable of outside of a scene, outside the cameras.

You quickly wipe it away. “I would’ve never done that to you.” 

And you meant it. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, the only right thing to say right now. 

Silence lingers in the air, the two of you staring down at the floor. 

“It was my first time experiencing a standing ovation,” you start, giving him a soft smile. He sends you one back, a faint, quick smile. “No wonder why people like going to award shows.”

“You’ve never been to one?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

“During the first few years. But after that… overdose incident, I wasn’t in the right state to attend public events,” you feel your voice shake; the memories of that night coming back to you. “Not only was I afraid, but so were the executives.”

You’ve never told any in showbiz about your drug overdose incident. Why are you telling him? Maybe, there was just something about Drew that made you want to. 

And sure, everyone knew, from the media, where things are often exaggerated and vilified. But, did anyone bother hearing it from you? 

This incident changed your entire life. To others, it was just hot gossip. 

“Have you ever had a standing ovation for you?” You change the topic, his lack of response worrying you. 

“No; but it sounds amazing,” Drew says. “I’ll…I’ll look for you when I do.”

There's something in his voice, though, something that almost feels like a promise.

“Will that time even come?” You decide to tease him instead, uncomfortable with how cheesy this is going. 

“Sooner than you think,” he winks at you, before glancing down at the pill. “Take one after you shower; you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, before looking towards the bathroom. “I stink, don’t I?”

“Not the worst you’ve stunk,” he comments, and you roll your eyes. 

“Whatever,” you get up, but way too fast, making you almost stumble. Drew holds onto your arm, steadying you. 

“Need help?”

“I can manage,” you breathe out, shaking his hand off and walking over to the bedroom. You spot your suitcase, opening it and taking a shirt and underwear. You see the bed, realizing that it’s yet another one-bed situation. You peek out the bedroom door, and Drew immediately turns his face over to you. “Um, you can have the bed if you want.”

Shyly, you close the door, ending the conversation. 

—— 

Drew slept on the couch that night, without any protests. 

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

word count: 3.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: a lot to take in for this chapter...phew

i have a one shot idea coming up, so look forward to it! same as usual, thx for reading, and sry for the long update (ignore my mistakes). i try writing as much as i can, but schedule doesnt allow it T_T

ps, is this a safe space? um, i was kinda losing motivation for this series a couple of days ago. but, i saw the taglist, and the ending i planned for this series. so, safe to say i got to writing!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

I'm going to write a yandere x oc fanfic. So it's a bit of a slowburn where they start off as friends. What i'm focusing on rn is the fact that while they're friends, my oc never 'felt' like she cared for him, or at least formed an emotional connection. She lacks empathy and feels guilty for it, but she does her best to fulfill her role as a proper friend out of obligation. She only starts truly caring for him 2 years into the relationship after he communicated that he did care for her.

Sooo I think that she has an avoidant attachment style? So that's basically what I'm asking about, please. Or any idea what other labels you think might apply to her? (They're gonna be co-defendant asf)

Writing Notes: Avoidant Attachment Style

Some signs of an avoidant attachment style can include:

Avoidance of emotional/physical intimacy

Strong sense of independence

Uncomfortable when expressing feelings

Dismissive of others

Sending mixed signals

Hard time trusting

Commitment issues

Often spends more time alone than with others

An unrealistically positive picture of their attachment figures

A failure to build long-term relationships due to the inability to engage physically and emotionally on a deeper level

In a romantic relationship, avoidant individuals may:

Appear distant or emotionally detached

Often avoid deep emotional connections and intimacy

Emphasize boundaries

Use distancing strategies (emotional or physical)

Prioritize independence and self-reliance above emotional intimacy

Need to get away or "explodes" during a disagreement

Not make his/her intentions clear

Devalue their partner

Struggle to express their feelings or offer support to their significant other during times of distress

Suppress emotions and maintain distance in their relationship to avoid vulnerability and potential harm

This can lead to feelings of neglect or emotional abandonment on either side of the relationship.

While they might do well in maintaining boundaries and independence, their hesitance to engage emotionally can undermine the development of deeper relationships.

If your character finds themselves struggling to express their feelings or show physical affection, they may identify with an avoidant attachment style.

On Deciphering Attachment Style:

Determine whether s/he seeks intimacy and closeness.

Assess how preoccupied s/he is with the relationship and how sensitive s/he is to rejection.

Don’t rely on one “symptom,” look for various signs.

Assess his/her reaction to effective communication.

Listen and look for what he or she is not saying or doing.

Common Avoidant Thoughts, Emotions, and Reactions

THOUGHTS

All-or-nothing thinking: I knew s/he wasn’t right for me, this proves it!

Overgeneralizing: I knew I wasn’t made to be in a close relationship.

Malicious intent: S/he’s really out to annoy me, it’s so obvious…

Fantasizing about having sex with other people.

"S/he’s taking over my life, I can’t take it!"

"Now I have to do everything his/her way; the price is too high."

"I need to get out of here, I feel suffocated."

"If s/he was “the one” this kind of thing wouldn’t happen."

"When I was with (phantom X) this wouldn’t have happened."

"S/he just wants to tie me down, this isn’t true love."

"I’ll be better off on my own."

"Ugh, s/he’s so needy! It’s pathetic."

EMOTIONS

Withdrawn ⚜ Frustrated ⚜ Angry ⚜ Pressured ⚜ Distrustful

Unappreciated ⚜ Misunderstood ⚜ Resentful ⚜ Hostile

Aloof ⚜ Empty ⚜ Deceived ⚜ Tense ⚜ Hate-filled ⚜ Restless

Self-righteous ⚜ Contemptuous ⚜ Despairing ⚜ Scornful

ACTIONS

Act out ⚜ Get up and leave ⚜ Belittle their partner

Act hostile, look disdainful ⚜ Make critical remarks

Withdraw mentally or physically ⚜ Minimize physical contact

Keep emotional sharing to a minimum

Stop listening to partner. Ignoring him/her.

POSSIBLE CAUSES

Primary caregivers were emotionally distant or dismissive of the person's needs in childhood. An avoidant individual often then learns to cope by suppressing their emotions and developing self-sufficiency.

Initially it was assumed that adult attachment styles were primarily a product of our upbringing. Thus, it was hypothesized that our current attachment style is determined by the way in which we were cared for as a baby (e.g., if parents/caregivers were distant, rigid, and unresponsive, the child should develop an avoidant attachment style).

Today, however, we know that attachment styles in adulthood are influenced by a variety of factors, one of which is the way our parents cared for us, but other factors also come into play, including our genes and life experiences.

Here are a few tips you can incorporate in your character's storyline to potentially change this style of attachment:

They start with communication (open communication is the foundation of a strong relationship)

Establish boundaries with their partner

Write down their own emotions and feelings throughout the day

Approach their relationship as a team and work together

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: On Attachment ⚜ Writing References

From what you described, avoidant attachment sounds about right. But as the writer, you know more about the character, like their backstory. Do you think they fit this attachment style? A good reminder when we use these psychological models: Attachment theorists assume that the relationship between early experiences and subsequent outcomes is probabilistic, NOT deterministic. Use these notes as one reference/guide as you develop your characters. Hope this helps with your writing!

[tapintorealities]

Reparenting Your Subconscious

I had a breakthrough recently with my relationship with my subconscious mind!

I'd seen a lot of LOAssumption/shifting posts venting about the subconscious mind being the one holding us back, how it needed to be "fixed", and generally a lot of people being frustrated with their subconscious and resenting it.

And I related to it for a while. I'd be impatiently tapping my foot and staring at my subconscious like "DO YOU GET IT YET? WE'RE POWERFUL, YOU IDIOT."

But recently, I started to feel sorry for my subconscious.

Like, it'd been fed so much bullshit for so long. Even when we'd tried to break out of limiting beliefs before, we fell back into old patterns.

I realized it felt a lot like my subconscious was actually my inner child - unsure about a lot of things, and looking to be led by someone older and wiser. Desperately wanting to believe in magic but doubting because everyone they looked to for guidance told them to grow up and accept "the real world".

So even though my conscious mind knows how powerful we are, how we have complete control over what version of the Infinite Realities we experience, my subconscious had been basically abused for years (in this reality, in this body's psyche), being told things like "life isn't fair", "everyone is born evil and doesn't deserve good things", and other limiting beliefs that it didn't know any better than to accept into its worldview at the time.

So, I'm trying something new.

I'm reparenting my subconscious mind.

Instead of getting frustrated with it when I see things in the 3D that don't reflect the reality I've chosen to experience, I'm mentally kneeling next to it like it's a scared child and saying, "Hey, I know you've been taught that this is the only way the world can look. But you deserve so much better. Let's try again, okay?"

And I reach out my hand and I take my little subconscious further down the road we're on, the road where we feel empowered and free and limitless.

My subconscious mind isn't my enemy, it's the naive child within me, open to accepting any beliefs about our world(s). And that child just needs a little guidance and is looking to me, my conscious mind, to show it how the world works.

I might even give it a different name so I can talk to it more personally and really take on that parenting role. 💖

Just thought I'd share in case it resonates with anyone else.

I feel a lot freer and less frustrated now that I'm viewing my subconscious as a precious child that has a brilliantly creative talent but has been abused and belittled for ages, and just needs a gentle parental figure to show them how beautiful life can be -- no matter what we'd been led to believe before.

[blurbfics]

There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part thirteen]

Summary: Azriel attends dinner. The skies provide a bit of comfort, if perhaps not clarity.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: angst, yearning, betrayal, lying, slight deceit, Elain attempting to court Azriel, miscommunication, intentional miscommunication, conflicting emotions, Eowyn in a bad place and Azriel doesn't know what to do

a/n: its been a long minute and I sincerely apologize for that! i got busy around halloween and then with the election results I was just... too upset and disappointed to do anything. but fear not, i haven't completely lost my mojo! sorry for the delay and the slight heartbreak, i promise its gonna get better, it just needs to get a little worse (oops!), also a special shoutout to those that reached out to me to make sure I'm still alive and doing well, thank you guys so much it really means a lot to me <3

Minors, do not interact.

part twelve

masterlist

"She's been loop-the-looping around my mind

Her motorcycle boots give me this kind of

Acrobatic blood, concertina

Cheating heartbeat, rapid fire"

- Arctic Monkeys, She's Thunderstorms

He notes, if perhaps a bit absentmindedly— as he tries his very best to focus on anything but the growing nervousness in the pit of his stomach— that he’s never quite looked at himself in a mirror for this long.

His clothes weren’t too much to cry about, a simple buttoned up black shirt tailor made to accommodate not only his size but his wings as well, and his black pants were casual if perhaps a little more formal than his usual clothes. He couldn’t well go to dinner with Eowyn in his leathers.

He huffed as he adjusted the simple silver cufflinks on his sleeve, reminding himself once again that it was a casual dinner with friends in a group setting, it wasn’t a date, but the thought of sitting with her, sharing a meal with her— he wouldn’t allow himself to linger on the thought of fixing her plate for her unless he wanted his pants to tighten uncomfortably for the rest of the evening (considering he had no time to take care of the issue before dinner)— and what’s more, to possibly have the opportunity to see what she hides behind her veil made the tingles of nervousness to bite at him once again.

Fixing his hair, although he only pushed it from one side to the other and then pushed it back in frustration when it didn’t fall the way he wanted it, he pulled himself away from his reflection, figuring there was nothing more he could do and finally slipped out into the hall towards the dining area.

Before he could hear the people in the room, his shadows rushed back to him, reporting on Cassian, Nesta, and Gwyn’s attendance but not yet Eowyn’s. Figuring it was best if he came in before she did, lest she think he was late, he calmly strode in and nodded in greeting at his friends who cheered upon seeing him, already seeming a few glasses into the wine.

“Am I late?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, finding himself in a rather pleasant mood, if not to say excited.

“Just in time,” Cassian assured him good-naturedly but Azriel needed to only spare him a glance to notice there was something only slightly off about his brother. Unlike Nesta and Gwyn who seemed in rather bright spirits as they both went into the kitchen to bring more wine, Cassian didn’t seem to be drinking at all, his face a little more serene than usual.

“Surprised you agreed to this,” Cassian admitted to him when the girls were out of earshot.

“Why?” Azriel shook his head, as he took a seat, directly in front of his brother to leave them both room for their wings.

“I just.. didn’t think you were interested in her,” Cassian admitted, much to Azriel’s confusion. Hadn’t Cassian been the one pushing Eowyn and Azriel to train together, hadn’t he been the one to gossip to Rhys about his feelings, feelings he could barely even admit to himself, having been so hurt so often by his choices— and he was surprised?

But before Azriel could answer him, Gwyn and Nesta came back in, not yet tipsy but seeming just a little lighter than usual. Their light idle chatter filled the space as they set the items down, followed by the feast the house thoughtfully spawned out for them.

Nesta immediately took her seat at the head of the table to Cassian’s right, leaving her between Cassian and himself, while Gwyn sat on the one directly next to Azriel. He tried to not be bothered by it and the fact that it would leave Eowyn in the seat diagonal to him.

Gwyn grinned widely, if perhaps a bit abashedly at him as she placed the bottle down on the table.

With that action came the realization that the table only had four sets of silverware.

“Here, try this,” he looked up to find a blushing Gwyn gently stacking a small cracker with a creamy spread and thin cold cut of meat for him to try. He felt himself go pale at the forward act.

Food sharing was sacred among fae. No female shared food, especially directly feeding anyone that wasn’t already part of their families. This was solely an act of courtship, something he truly didn’t want to entertain, despite the way he’d seen Gwyn’s eyes following him wherever he went.

Azriel felt at a loss, not knowing how to proceed. What if in an attempt to spare Gwyn’s feelings, he accepted the food and gave her the wrong idea? What if Eowyn walked in and thought the same thing? But what if he disrespected Gwyn’s kind act by rejecting her and ruining the entire dinner?

Since when did he overthink things so much?

“I— thank you,” he tried to smile graciously, but both the words and his facial expression gave away his awkwardness.

His shadows flurried around him in offense at her forwardness.

He took the offered food from her, careful not to touch her as he did and took a small bite.

She watched him with wide expectant eyes. “What do you think?”

“It’s… good,” he cleared his throat to fill the silence.

“Thank you,” she blushed harder, either from his response or out of embarrassment, he wasn’t sure.

“You ladies cook all of this yourselves?” Cassian saved him, the mood lifting with his playful incredulity as he raised a suspicious eyebrow at his mate.

“We had help,” Nesta rolled her eyes.

“We?” He continued to tease, causing Gwyn to laugh lightly, eyes sparkling in glee despite the lingering awkwardness from her interaction with Azriel.

“Nesta made a beautiful layout,” Gwyn defended, waving a hand over the board containing a variety of cheeses, cold meats, and spreads. “Wynnie helped us with a few side dishes and I roasted the chicken and vegetables,” she grinned proudly.

Azriel felt his heart leap at the sound of her name. It offered him the perfect segue to ask about her.

“When is she coming? Is she alright?”

They all turned to look at him and several things happened all at once.

Azriel wondered for a brief second how anyone thought he could make a living out of noticing those kinds of things. He was supposed to be a Spymaster, for Cauldron’s sake! He was supposed to be aware of everything in every room all at once, and yet he hadn’t noticed— or perhaps, he’d  willingly chosen to ignore— that which was so glaringly obvious the second he stepped into the dining room: Eowyn wasn’t here.

Still, all he could do was gather all at once every intake of breath, the barely noticeable gasp leaving Nesta’s lips, the twitch to Gwyn’s jaw and the way her gaze dropped— every minuscule movement everyone in the room made at any given point to give away something they were hiding. Seeking what they knew.

All at once he noticed the way Cassian’s head snapped up to look at his mate, his eyebrows furrowed in a way that spoke of both accusation and betrayal. Gwyn, who was filling a plate either for him or herself froze in place and focused on the plate for a second before looking up at him with something akin to betrayal in her gaze, while Nesta merely stopped chewing on her own bite of cheese and cracker for a second before continuing her slow mastication, gray eyes set firmly on the food she was piling on her plate.

“Eowyn isn’t joining us tonight,” she said simply, all wine playfulness gone.

“Why not?” he couldn’t help but snarl under his breath and this felt much too familiar, much like when he’d snapped at Gwyn the night before as she told him Eowyn’s decision to stop training with him.

“Well, she… said she didn’t want to intrude,” this time Gwyn spoke up, seeming recovered enough to speak although her tone was more questioning than telling. He turned to her and noticed the pink tinge to her cheeks and the glow in her eye was gone, replaced by a paleness to her skin and a distant countenance. “She helped with dinner, but said she didn’t want to be a fifth wheel on our double date.”

He remained silent at that, head blank despite his boiling blood.

“I see,” he spoke stiltedly after a minute of silence.

The tension in the room could be cut with even the dullest of blades and yet there was nothing anyone could do to bring back the lightness. Gwyn, seeming recovered enough, straightened her back and jutted out her chin.  “You came because you thought she would be here?” She confirmed, although they all knew at that point it wasn’t necessary.

Azriel had made it clear to all at this point without needing to say a single word that he cared about Eowyn. Everyone knew. It wasn’t a secret he was trying to keep, he cared about her, that much they all knew. Just how much he cared, he was only starting to figure out himself.

“Yes,” he replied simply yet honestly, wanting nothing more than to get up and leave the room and possibly hunt Eowyn down and demand an explanation.

He thought back to the conversation they’d had that day, attempting to recall her wording.

She’d told him the girls were making dinner and asked if he wanted to join. He wanted to both kick himself for not confirming her presence and scold her for not correcting him when he said he’d see her at dinner. Wanted to rip his own heart out to justify the unrelenting pressure on his chest.

“You love her,” again, she stated rather than asked. 

Azriel remained silent however, and that was all anyone needed to know.

—

He considered going straight to the library and storming into her office to demand an apology, but most importantly, an explanation for her clear deception. 

After the disastrous dinner he’d been blindsided into joining (a rather brief encounter) he found himself taking to the skies instead, needing to clear his head.

He considered everything that had happened in the last few days, or rather, the last few months of his life.

He flew for hours, relishing in the exertion on his back, the soreness of his cold wings, but all he could think about, every possible thought he had, always led back to her and how she’d crept her way into his life

He’d found her…interesting at first, that he couldn’t deny. 

He’d always noticed a quiet spark under those captivating black eyes, a certain knowing look that was both thrilling and challenging in a way few dared to look at him with. She was a breath of fresh air and she was a mystery to him, and the more time they spent together and the more he uncovered the layers that made her her, the more he grew immeasurable fond of her.

He’d sworn, after his brief disappointing fling with Elain, that he would not allow himself to fall in yet another pit of unrequited love.

He’d sworn off females for the sake of his growing desperation for belonging, for a mate, and he’d given up on seeking it and trying to force it to happen with females that were either uninterested in him entirely but were too kind to tell him straight off, or were barely interested in something short while and empty.

That had not been the same with Eowyn. Mostly because his interest in her wasn’t based off of his attraction to her (at least at first) but derived from a curiosity that might’ve remained friendly if not slightly distant had they not spent almost every day together, training in the morning and as of more recently, spending a few hours together in the few and far between occasions he wasn’t needed elsewhere. 

He had subconsciously sought her out every instance he could, and while the itch to see her hadn’t come to him all at once, it was undeniable and ever present now.

While he was self-aware enough to admit that his attraction to her hadn’t spawned in a day, but through the small intimacies shared, the trust and friendship they’d built, as there wasn’t anything licentious rooted in their relationship. He hadn’t salivated after her like some kind of beast, hadn’t even considered crossing any lines with her that went beyond their respective roles as trainer and trainee, for despite the fact that priestesses in Prythian weren’t generally considered pious and virginal maidens, these priestesses were special.

This group of females resided there to stay away from males lusting after them.

Eowyn was never outwardly flirtatious and outspoken, but she was also not meek and docile. 

She was like an impending storm, she was the anticipation between a bolt of lighting and its following thunder. And like a raging rainstorm that had begun in the furthest distance, raging closer with a speed that bade it impossible to escape yet took it’s righteous time to flank him entirely, the tempest was upon him now and despite his careful precautions, he was now caught amidst its chaos and found he never wanted to leave after witnessing its splendor.

He cared not about mates, not anymore. 

He didn’t even care if she didn’t want him the way he wanted her, he simply found he couldn’t be without her. It was beyond the fact that no one truly understood him like she did, no, it wasn’t about him. It was about the privilege of knowing someone like her. 

He’d had a taste of divinity every time he was near her, and he didn’t know how he would go on if he could no longer be by her side, in whatever way she wanted him.

He couldn’t be selfish, not when it came to her. He didn’t know what had been done to her, didn’t know if she was interested in males, interested in him, but he would never expect anything of her. Not when it came to that.

In his roiling thoughts, he wondered if he’d come off too intensely in their last few meetings. He wondered if he’d scared her off by hovering over as close as he could to hear about her well-being. He wondered if… wondered if his pathetic attempt to kiss her had made her think he was an animal of a male who sought nothing more than sex.

He wondered if she cared about him even half as much as he cared about her.

With his jumbled hurt and angry thoughts that merely circled and intertwined in his mind, he found no answers to his growing list of questions and doubts. He was, however, exhausted after flying for five hours straight, and found he couldn’t feel properly surprised when the shadows he’d left behind to guard the library entrance rushed to tell him Eowyn was waiting in the greenhouse.

She sat with her legs crossed on top of a sturdy windowsill at the furthest wall, looking outside with her back to the entrance.

He bit his tongue to hold back from scolding her for it, for her lack of precaution and safety.

“You’re angry,” she stated, rather than asked. 

Not wanting to risk snapping at her and driving her further away, he remained silent.

She sighed at his lack of response and twisted around to face him, although it accomplished nothing as he noted that despite her loose hair, her face was still covered entirely so that he couldn’t even see her eyes.

“I would be too,” she continued.

“Would you,” he snarled through his teeth.

“Yes,” she replied immediately, latching onto his response, “I would. Because what I did was idiotic and insensitive—“ 

“Don’t do that,” he cut her off, “don’t try to empathize with me by putting yourself down.”

She stilled and her back straightened, suddenly looking away and he noticed for the first time that she sat next to Thelxie, and that the once bright and proud flora now dropped sadly at her side, wilting.

She turned to him fully then, legs hanging over the side, back straight and if he could see her eyes, he knew he would see them looking straight at him.

She only gave him a brief nod before speaking. “Ask your questions then.”

Again, he was faced with the closed off and cold Eowyn. He narrowed his eyes at her in disbelief, a pang of guilt and self-deprecation eating at him as he watched her put her true mask on and push him away. For a second, she’d acted like herself, if perhaps layering it on rather thick to get on his good side, but could he not even express justified anger at her clear betrayal without her slinking back into a shell of who she was?

The anger that had been directed at her suddenly turned inward and he chastised himself for it, for he knew better than to allow a blinding and useless emotion such as anger get in the way. He breathed deeply and tried to let the rise of emotions ease into a steady stream.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t,” she replied, her voice cool and tempered and he realized that in the few seconds it had taken him to calm himself down, she had used that time to do the same and strengthen the walls she erected around herself. Dammit. “Everything I told you about my father— about myself, is true-“

“Not that,” the wave of anger tacked him yet he relented against it, for he’d had much time to think and he now came to realize that although she’d clearly made rather important omissions to her story, she had been truthful in everything she’d shared. Intimacy like that could not be fabricated. “You think you’re so clever, inviting me to dinner with Nesta and Gwyn and not correcting me when I said I’d see you there?”

She remained silent for a beat and he knew, without seeing her face, that she was gaping at him. “I- technically, that’s not a lie—“

“Eowyn,” he snapped.

She sighed, “I’ve no excuse for that,” she spoke quickly and sharply, “that was just me being a coward and not wanting to explain everything after training, and, well-“ she turned her head to look at her plant, gathered herself and spoke with the same speed, if perhaps a bit stiltedly, “Gwyn likes you. That’s all I would hear, every time I came back to myself from those horrible visions. She was by my side and she would tell me you were waiting outside the library walls, always so attentive and caring, and always so kind to her and anyone that would share a bit of news of your dear friend, and she asked me if I— if it would bother me if she asked you to dinner, and why would it? She’s the kindest fae I’ve ever met, she’s brilliant, she’s funny and sweet and beautiful and you deserve nothing less—“

“Eowyn—”

“-and I know I should’ve asked you first,” she nodded quickly, hands fidgeting in her lap, “I know I should’ve, but I was so weary… so tired, and I didn’t want to talk about what the herbalist said, and I just wanted you to give you both… an opportunity.”

If he thought his emotions were jumbled before, they were nothing but a mere puddle in the raging ocean within him now. “Eowyn, that wasn’t your decision to make,” he stated simply, unable to hold his words back, even as she nodded again and hung her head, “do you think I don’t know how she looks at me? You think my shadows don’t keep me aware of her reactions— of anyone’s reactions to me? I’ve been the target of people’s lust just as often as I’ve been the object of their hatred, their fear and disgust. I don’t mean to sound arrogant,” he frowned, feeling uncomfortable speaking in such a haughty way, “but if I wanted Gwyn, I would be with her. She is not the one I want.”

Eowyn gripped the windowsill tightly, her back ramrod straight. “You’re right,” she spoke after a moment of silence, “I’m sorry for deceiving you and for just— going about this all wrong. I should’ve asked you. She should’ve asked you without me being in the middle, but she thought she could trust me and I went and fucked it all up.”

“She should have asked me herself,” he found himself agreeing, listening to her breath as it halted for a beat longer, her only tell in an otherwise unmoved reaction. “That way, I would’ve been clear that I have no interest in her.”

“Right,” she murmured, sufficiently agreeably if perhaps dismissively, “are we not going to talk about the pegasus in the room?”

And while he wanted to push and prod at her to understand why she was actively trying to push him onto her friend after their own day together in the obsidian cave, he knew the subject could not be ignored for much longer. 

“Are you a witch?”

She sighed. “It’s complicated,” she pushed herself off her seat and paced in front of him, one hand resting on her hip while they other pinched the bridge of her nose, “everything I told you about myself is true, I haven’t lied about that, but—“

“Are you a witch?” He repeated.

“Yes,” she snapped, and stopped pacing for a second before she continued, “or I was. I don’t have access to my power anymore.”

His eyebrows furrowed at that, “why not?” And while he was at it, “and why didn’t you tell me?”

“Out of safety,” she turned to him and he couldn’t see her face but he knew that if he could she would be looking at him with incredulity. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t have told your High Lord I’m a witch the second you knew? As a matter of fact, why haven’t I received a visit from the High Lord?” She crossed her arms and looked around as if Rhys would spawn out of thin air.

He frowned at her. “I haven’t told him, and I find it quite offensive you’d suggest otherwise.”

“Is it?” She tilted her head, “don’t you ‘live to serve’?”

His frown deepened, not liking her tone, “don’t use my own words against me.”

“Oh that’s right,” she continued, “you needed to confirm with me first, right? Well go ahead and tell him what you want, it’s not like I’d be of any use to him anyway. I have no way to access my powers even if I wanted to.”

“Stop that,” he scolded, “stop trying to antagonize me.”

“I’m not,” she snapped, suddenly standing before him with her arms crossed over her chest, chin tilted up and he knew that her obsidian eyes were looking straight at him, “I’m simply stating the truth, and if I’m being entirely honest, I don’t blame you: having a witch at your disposal would’ve been helpful during the fight with Hybern but unfortunately for you, there was nothing I could’ve done to help you.”

“I haven’t told Rhys,” he repeated, needing her to understand that. “I wouldn’t.”

“But you thought about it,” it wasn’t a reproach, it was a statement of fact. She knew him well enough to know his duty always came first to him. He was a soldier, he was a warrior and not only was he loyal to his High Lord based on his unfaltering belief in him, but he also held an innate sense of pride in his Court that was as deep-rooted as it was repressed, having been an outcast to his own homeland. Eowyn knew him well enough to know he would have at least briefly considered going to Rhysand.

“It’s fine,” she repeated, almost to herself as if it were a mantra, “Not many… know about that. Only Clotho and now you, but I’m-” she sighed and shook her head, “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” He took a step forward but stopped when she took a step back.

“I just told you,” she snapped again, but it no longer sounded as firm and decisive as before. “No one knows. No one is supposed to know, and if you knew even half of what I used to be… of what they all expect me to be, you wouldn’t be having this pleasant little conversation with me.”

“Then tell me,” and although his tone was firm, it was out of desperation and need more than anger and frustration. “Nothing you can tell me will change what I know-”

“You-”

“—because I know you and don’t you dare say I don’t. I know you, Eowyn-”

“No, you-“

“I do,” he insisted, refusing to let her cut him off, “I may not know all the details of what you’ve done or what you’ve been through,” and when he stepped towards her that time she didn’t pull away, so he gently took one of her hands and held it between them, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles in a soothing caress, “but I know who you are.”

She remained silent and said nothing more for a long moment before pulling her hand away from his.

“I’m sorry… for what happened today,” she began and the way she collected herself and shifted slightly, looking over his shoulder and towards the door told him she had not and would not budge on the subject, “it was a mistake.”

taglist: @lilah-asteria , @a-courtof-azriel , @honk4emoboyz , @feyretopia , @mrsjna , @buttermilktea11 , @bravo-delta-eccho , @kylieinwonderland , @adventure-awaits13 ,

[doctorsiren]

I really needed a good scribble, so I made this

[ambagelbraindump]

misc abigail thoughts but I’m getting increasingly irate about how often people treat me like I’m stupid for reasons I can’t quite parse. Is it because I’m girl-shaped? Is it because I have constant resting anxiety face whenever I’m even remotely nervous? Is it because my hands shake. is it because it takes me longer than everyone else to process new information. Is it the boobs. Do I just give off This Person is a Dumbass vibes. What do I need to do to stop being treated like Some Stupid GirlTM 24/7

[hella1975]

yes im trying not to be so mean yes im working on my temper but under no section of my Healing Contract does it mention that these things must apply to my sister. in fact if you read the fine print it says im actively allowed to make her miserable. for my mental health

[superfluouskeys]

godddddd wasting time and energy on things that don't fucking matter has got to be THE worst feeling

[loverboybrightsideghost]

they should invent a me that's good at everything i want to be good at. [thing from the addams family pokes out of a nearby box and hands me a piece of paper] thank you, thing. what's this...oh! why, it's a paper that says i have to be the one to do that for my future self! huh.

[tonycries]

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) - G.S.

Synopsis. In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, FWḂ! Gojo, slight Sukuna x reader, rough VERY jealous séx, Satoru goes feraI omg, unprotected, FWḂ-to-lovers, thígh riding, fíngering, creampíe, overstím, spítting, implied thréesome, he’s a bit mean and possessive, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Heheh, hoping y’all have a lovely week coming up <3

“-n’ there’s this really great café downtown with those cupcakes you like-”

“Toru.”

“-I’ll get ya some for that kick you need after a lecture with Yaga. Speaking of Yaga-”

“Toru-”

“-he’s the one in need of a kick. I swear, that man gave me a B on my presentation just because I caught him in the middle of his interpretive dance routine-”

“Satoru!”

At this, Satoru pauses in the middle of buckling up his jeans to throw a grave nod your way. “I know, right?” Promptly sauntering over to pick up his t-shirt from where it had been thrown onto your bedroom floor, “It gave me nightmares for a few days, too. Which is why we should go to that café tomorrow and then…”

You roll your eyes - partially out of frustration, partially out of necessity to rip your stare away from those sculpted shoulders on display. Decorated in angry, red scratches running down, down, down. Somehow, you manage to grit out, “Satoru I have a uh- date.”

And ah, was it a sight to behold - because, perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc on this planet, he’s stunned into silence. 

Still very groggy from sleep, still very sinfully shirtless standing at the foot of your bed. His kiss-bitten lips fall slack as you plow on, “And it’s just- I can’t make it tomorrow night because he invited me to his party.” 

Party? This was the first time you canceled one of your…appointments with your friend-with-benefits - and it was for some party? Satoru could do parties, too - much better ones than this loser, he’s sure. Ones that would actually warrant you bailing on him.

Shaking away the strange thoughts ringing in his mind, he spits, “Who?” Just about all he could get out now. 

Whoever he was - it was true about the parties. Why would you want to waste any time going to something like that when Satoru was the one known for them on campus. Him and Suku-

“It’s Sukuna.”

“Oh.”

---

It was stupid - it was ridiculous. And you don’t know why Sukuna ever agreed to this scheme, but here you were, glued to his side like his favorite lil’ plaything for the night. 

“What?” you shout for the nth time tonight, scooting closer on the couch. And you see his lips move, yet, to your frustration - despite being seated so flush against you - no sound comes out of them. 

Whatever they say about Sukuna and Satoru’s parties were true - and then some. Because right now, it was so loud you could barely hear yourself think, let alone whatever Sukuna was talking about. Heaving out a sigh, you get ready to give up and suggest joining the thrumming dance floor - before, a large, soft hand glides down to your waist. 

Fingers digging into the plush of your hips as Sukuna yanks you easily to plop down onto his waiting lap. Thighs strong and steady underneath yours, meeting your surprised gaze with his smug one, “This better?”

His hot breath fans the shell of your ear, sending traitorous shivers running along your spine - all the way down to where Sukuna was resting hand right above where your tight dress was hiking up. 

Involuntarily, you find yourself nodding along, “Y-yeah. Much better.”

“Good.”

Fuck, you could feel each and every rumble of his broad chest against yours as he continues the conversation like nothing happened. The faint tap! tap! tap! of Sukuna’s fingers drumming on your squirming hips to the beat of the pounding music. 

And it’s really hard to forget where you are, yet it hits you like a semi-truck - five of them, in fact - when his dark eyes widen at something over your shoulders. The steady beat of his fingers halting abruptly, “Oh?”

You knew what that look meant - knew who it meant. Because, really, there was only ever one person that could command as much attention in such a hazy, packed campus party.

Dipping your head, you hastily ask, “Is he looking over at us?”

To which Sukuna finally tears his gaze away, amusement and something else so dark swirling behind his gaze when he grabs the back of your throat. Whispering against the skin, “More than looking, pretty. Satoru’s planning my funeral and dancing on my grave already.” Moving up, voice dropping to a low, low whisper, “All according to plan, of course. N’ I think…” You jolt as he bites down on your earlobe, hard. “-that we should give him a lil’ show, hm?”

You bite back a soft moan, palms smoothing over Sukuna’s pecs to steady yourself. “And just what did you have in mind?”

“A little bit of this.” he grins, eyes flickering over behind you. “A little bit of that. And some of-” Sukuna chuckles at the way you’re so responsive underneath his touch, bucking when he gives your ass a tight squeeze. Tracing right up, up, up the middle of your spine, “-this.” Lips just inches away from yours now, close. “And you get him as a new boyfriend, and I get killed for taking what I can’t have.”

You feel something soft - fleeting. 

And then immediately Sukuna’s pulling away, those lips that were just barely one yours curling up into such a sly smirk, “Yo, Satoru.”

You stiffen at the name - and the burning hole being stared into your back right now - whipping your head around to be met face-to-face with a towering Satoru. Brows furrowed, biceps rippling when he crosses his arms, lips drawn tight as he hisses through his teeth, “Seems the two of you are having a lot of fun.”

Oh, were you thankful for Sukuna’s sharp mouth right about now. Because while you’re still sitting there with your mouth stupidly agape, he muses, “Mhm, a lot of fun.” Thumbing your face back towards him, “Isn’t that right, pretty?”

Fuck, those were fighting words, ones that had Satoru looming closer - practically sandwiching you between the two men.

“I’m sure she can speak for herself.” he snaps back, slender fingers circling your wrist. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“I dunno, Toru.” And, well, maybe you were an idiot. Maybe you were a mastermind, because you only bat your lashes up at Satoru so deceivingly innocently. “Kuna here-” relishing in the way he flinches at the nickname, “-was jus’ telling me how great of a boyfriend he’d be. Right?”

The other man nods, “Since this pretty lil’ thing is single, thought I might as well take a shot.”

“Please.” Satoru was pulling you closer against him now, irritated huffs prickling waves of goosebumps across your skin. Words venomous, “Some boyfriend he’d be. I’m sure he’d do nothing other than give you weak dick and bore you to death.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Right, because yours is so much better?”

“You really think you have what it takes to satisfy this lil’ minx?”

Both men were gritting their teeth, trapping you between them. People were starting to stare now - some even pulling their phones out to start recording in case of a fight. And before the argument could escalate until that point, you catch Sukuna’s eye. Cutting off whatever next retort was on the tip of his tongue with a short, subtle shake of your head. 

“Well then…” he instead purrs, grinning as if he was in on some inside joke between the two of you - on purpose, of course, just to watch Satoru’s eyes grow harder. “Guess if I’m ‘boring her to death’ then you-” Sukuna gives you a little push, nudging you towards Satoru’s chest. “-can teach her all about fun.”

Before you can react, two strong arms are looping your waist, helping you stand up - and pulling you clean off of Sukuna’s lap. 

You’re hit with Satoru’s expensive, heady cologne - and his chest against your back, rock-hard, chest thumping wildly. You blink up at that uncharacteristically clenched jaw, “Toru?”

Now, you’ve seen him moody, you’ve seen him irritated - but never to this extent. Positively fuming, teeth grit, jolting at the mere sound of your voice as if his whole body was hit with a wave of electricity. Like some hidden, primal part of himself was being poked so dangerously awake when you softly intertwine your fingers with his. All gentle against his almost bruising hold, you question, “Are you alri-”

You don’t get to finish the question, because all it takes is another slow, leering grin flashed at you from Sukuna before Satoru mutters, gravelly. “Excuse us, then. I must have a talk with my woman.”

Starting to walk in long, fast strides upstairs - with you all stumbling and trying to keep up behind him. 

Urgent. Dangerous.

“Extra room’s unlocked, you two!” you hear Sukuna call out after the both of you. And the last sight you see of him is when he mouths a silent “You’re welcome.”. One hand flashing you a thumbs up, the other adjusting the crotch of his pants. “Have fun.”

Satoru only clicks his tongue, moving very purposefully towards where Sukuna’s bedroom was instead.

“Woah- Toru, slow down.” you yelp, out of breath at his ruthless pace. But of course, since this is Satoru, he won’t have it any way other than stopping immediately in his tracks. Turning briefly around to you - only to wrap two arms around your waist, throwing you so easily over his shoulder like some ragdoll. Large palms tugging down the hem of your ass as he continues walking. “Y-you’re so-”

So what? Mean? Jealous? Playing right into your hands?

You don’t even know - nor do you really care, because Satoru finally reaches his destination.

“Fuck- here.” he spits.

Slam!

The door is flung open so hard it almost rattles off its hinges - and you aren’t faring any better. Because no sooner has Satoru stepped inside, he’s throwing you onto the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. 

The mattress dips as he slowly makes his way up to you, your legs quiver at how much he just looked like a man starved - eyes half-lidded and crazed, hair ruffled. Having finally found a full meal in years. Darkly eyeing down the way you’re splayed out like such a slut on the mattress, dress hiking up with each bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“So-” Satoru’s fingers reach out to lazily unbuckle the straps of your heels. Lingering much more than necessary. “-got anything to say?”

You bite your lower lip, holding back a delighted grin while his hands dance up your thigh to fiddle with that garter you knew he’d love. Slow. Agonizingly slow. Cocking your head in faux-confusion, “Hmm, like what?”

“Oh I dunno.” Satoru muses, saccharine sweet. And oh you could tell by his tone that he didn’t like that - didn’t want to like it. Running his fingers feather-light all the way down your legs to fling that useless garter onto the floor. “How about a ‘oh I’m so sorry, Toru, for bailing on you and acting like such a slut with the biggest asshole on campus jus’ to rile you up.’” 

You bristle at his mockingly high tone, oh yeah, your plan worked - hell, maybe too well. 

Teeth clenched, you hiss, “Well what are you gonna do about it, Toru?” Jutting your chin in defiance, “You’re not even my boyfriend. Maybe he jus’ fucks me better than you.”

“Say that again.”

Fuck, it takes you a second to even recognise his voice as your familiar friend-with-benefits. So jagged and raw. 

And yet, you’re still running your mouth - so close to his. Too close. “Maybe he jus’ fucks me be-”

Now, usually you were the one that’d shut up Satoru mid-sentence - this time, however, he’s the one crashing his lips against yours. Swallowing the rest of that sentence in such a messy clash of teeth, and spit, and desperation. 

Pulling ever-so-slightly on your glossy lower lip with his teeth, “Say it again, sweetheart.”

Oh, you knew you shouldn’t. Not one bit. But you do it anyway, letting out a muffled, “He f-”

And again. And again and again and-

Each and every time Satoru’s kissing away your mean little words, a large hang coming up around your throat to thumb apart your lips further. “Open.” he hisses against your mouth, so angry. 

It’s as if on autopilot when you do, bruised lips sagging open. Leaving the perfect lil’ opening for Satoru to spit onto your lolling tongue, once. Twice. Thrice. Until your bleary eyes are snapping open, whining against Satoru’s iron-hold fist when you pathetically try to pull away in embarrassment.

Because shit, let it be known that Gojo Satoru has perfect aim - except for when it comes to you. Letting the steady strip of spit splatter against the side of your mouth, gliding his thumb to smear it all over your lips.

“How cute.” Satoru coos, eyes hooded. He gives your pouty mouth a final, chaste peck, sucking softly on your bottom lip. Chuckling, “Makin’ me almost forget you were locking lips with some other bitch earlier.”

And Satoru has the audacity to laugh - laugh - hoarse, and humorless at the way your jaw drops open in disbelief. Humming into your throat, “Yer right, though, m’not your boyfriend.” He leaves little bite marks down your racing pulse, your collarbone, your tits spilling out of your sinful dress. Eyes just devouring you through his long lashes, “But that doesn’t make you any less mine.”

Sitting back on the mattress, all it takes him is a simple tug on your hips to seat you so prettily on his lap. Your legs trembling around his thick thighs, gasping at the feeling of something so rock-hard right under your clothed pussy. 

“Since ya like riding thighs so much, sweetheart-” Bunching your dress up at your hips, gripping your waist - tight. “-let’s see how you like mine.”

“What- oh ngh- fuck-” you’re gasping when he just starts dragging your sloppy hips down his thigh. Long, harsh movements that don’t even ease you into it. 

“Shit.” Satoru groans at the feeling of your cunt drooling, seeping into his skin already. He’s angling his head to spy on the heavenly view - hooking a finger around your drenched panties. “This damn thing is-” Pulling - tearing. “-in the way.”

You’re gasping when Satoru pulls back to look at you with a content grin, dangling the flimsy fabric around his finger like a badge of honor. “You’re- ngh- buying me a new one.”

“Oh, anything for you.” he’s grazing his teeth along your earlobe, fingers finding their way back on your hips to grind them on his thigh, back and forth. Up and down up and down up and- “Or is that what you wanted me to say?”

And shit Satoru is so mean with the way he gives your ass a sharp smack! Pulling your whiny face closer, grinning sternly against your lips. “Why don’t you ask that new boytoy of yours to buy you some, huh?” 

“B-but-”

“B-b-but-” he mocks, bouncing his knees up and down to get you to slide your cunt down his long thighs faster. Puffy folds spreading so shamefully open - so shamefully good. “You were so happy being such a slut for him before, right?” Just goading on your poor self to huff and puff in a way that made his cock twitch wildly. “So why are you here? With me?”

You’re stubbornly keeping your lips sealed shut to keep yourself from crying out - and oh, Satoru didn’t like that. Almost as much as he didn’t like seeing you giving those beautiful heart-eyes at some other bastard.

“Oh? Playing shy now?” Smack! “What happened to the slut from earlier, huh?” Bouncing his knee faster. The pads of his long fingers sting into your skin, sure to leave bruises for him to admire later - and for some people to take note of. Pulling - drawing your cunt to hump him like a bitch in heat. “Tha’s alright, pretty. I get it.” 

And Satoru - mean, mean Satoru - waits until your features soften in relief, almost letting out a sigh - before dipping a hand down to brush a thumb at your pretty clit. Hard. “Guess I’ll jus’ have to bring her out.”

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl, nails digging into Satoru’s shoulders when he starts to draw frenzied, methodical little circles on your throbbing clit. “S’too- good- oh my god-”

“‘Toru’ works jus’ fine, sweetheart.” 

But oh for how confident Satoru was talking you into insanity, he can’t help but gape in wonder down below him, awe-struck with how sloppy you were. He could see you sweet sweet juices trailing down his palm, that glossy sheen on his thigh. “You’re so dripping wet, pretty. Who’re you this wet for? Me or-” Satoru’s free hand comes up to squish your cheeks together into an embarrassing pout, turning your head to the adjacent wall, where Sukuna had a framed photograph of himself - because of course he did. “-him?”

Fuck, Satoru can’t even be mad at the way he feels your cunt clench in surprise - because the feeling is so heavenly. His pretty girl, getting off on just his thigh.

Hips stuttering as you move faster - sloppier. So, so filthily all the way from around his knee just till where you could feel the curve of his massive erection. 

He doesn’t even have to move your hips for you anymore - you’re moving as if on instinct at this point. And it makes him smirk, “Heh, such a slutty lil’ thing aren’t ya? Gettin’ off on my thigh?” Feeling you push your hips down hard - so hard. Pelvis desperately trying to hit all your sweet spots, “N’ who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a whimpering “Y-you.”

But, of course, that wasn’t enough. And Satoru’s only quirking his fingers just enough on your clit to make you cry out loud. “Yeah tha’s more like it. Louder now - who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

“You-”

“N’ who got you this fucking wet?”

You cry out when Satoru angles his leg up ever-so-slightly to watch gravity slide you faster down his thigh. Clit catching so fucking obscenely along the fabric of his pants. Ruthless.

“F-fuck you, Toru!”

“Mhmmm, thought so.” His hot tongue darts out to catch those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the unforgiving stimulation. Muscled thighs burning lightly now - faster -  fingers so erratic. Only getting even more so. “Cuz you’re mine aren’t ya?”

You cum so hard - violent, even - that you don’t realize when you are. Just that you’re letting out a broken sob of Satoru’s name while he toys so relentlessly with your clit through your high.

Flashes of white in your vision, your heartbeat in your ears. So good that you’re almost tearing apart his button-up to shreds, hips jerky and sensitive as you your sloppy cunt gushes all over Satoru’s thigh. And, fuck, you’ve never felt so much like such a slut than when you look down to catch the glossy coating all over it. 

One that Satoru swipes thumb at - pooling the syrupy slick on his fingerpad before bringing up to his pretty pink lips and-

Pop! 

“Mmm.” He groans, muffled. “Fuck, you’re so sweet - could taste you forever.” Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste, “Almost makes me forget that you didn’t answer my last question.”

And you don’t know what you’re reeling more from - the way that Satoru throws you around so easily, pushing you back until you’re splayed out against the plush mattress, shaky legs on his shoulders, arms around his neck. Or from the realization that shit, you’d been too busy losing your absolute sanity to answer his question. 

“I- I didn’t hear.” you make up an excuse, heels digging into the muscles of Satoru’s shoulders now. “I’m yours, Tor-”

“Now now, don’t try that with me, sweetheart.” Satoru cuts off your flurry of apologies, kissing softly at the ankle beside his neck while he pulls off your dress and bra. You didn’t need those, anyway. “Guess I just hafta prove it to ya, right?”

And fuck was he well and fully intent on proving it to you. Because the words are barely out of his mouth before he’s peeling down his drenched pants - and those unnecessary boxers right along with it, too. 

Satoru hisses when his painfully hard erection smacks against those toned abs, smearing precum in a small, filthy little pool. So so angry with the need to be inside your tight pussy - to prove to you from the inside out that you were his. 

“Ya like what you see?” he notices your fixed stare at his cock. Greedily following the precum beading at his fat, red head, making its way between Satoru’s prominent veins. To those tufts of white way down, down, down- “Hey there.” You’re startled out of your little reverie by two wet fingers being snapped in your face, “As flattered as I am, this is actually my favorite part.”

And fuck you could see why it was.

Because it felt so sinful to watch with bated breath at the way Satoru fists his swollen cock, gliding his weeping tip between your swollen folds. Letting your pretty pussy slobber all over him. Up and down. Again. And again. Teasing. 

“P-please, Toru-” you whine around the fifth time he’s “accidentally” nudging at your poor clit. Hips bucking up in need for more more more- “Enough teasing, jus’ wan’ you ngh- inside me.”

To Satoru, no sweeter words have been spoken. But he still manages to curl his lips into a leering smirk at your fucked-out, needy self. “Funny. Coming from someone who shit- pretty, you’re pussy’s trynna suck me up - who couldn’t wait to bail on me tonight for some other hah- jerk.” He presses his thick tip down on your clit, on purpose. “Would’ve fucked you ngh- real nicely, tonight, y’know? What a shame.” 

You can only watch when he draws his hips back, lining up right with your sloppy hole. “What a shame m’gonna ah- fuck you like the slut you are right now.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s pushing in - to your snug cunt, to your fucking lungs it felt like. 

“Oh- oh fuck, Toru-” you keen, back arching off the bed at the stretch. Satoru’s girth was rubbing up against your gummy walls and stretching them out so good. All the way until all you could feel was the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing cock pushing between your legs. “God, s’too big-”

“No no no, you don’t get to say that.” Satoru spits into your open mouth, hips jutting forward like some animal in short, shallow grinds to bully himself deeper. “You don’t get to fuck- ngh- act all coy when you brought this upon yourself.” His words come out faster - more slurred. Falling out faster and faster as his hips do, “Not when you decided t-to act like a lil’ slut hah- n’ guess what?”

Whether it was a rhetorical question or not - you weren’t sure. All you know is that you’re mewling up tearily at such a feral Satoru, “W-what?”

To which he only smiles against your lips, hips suddenly going still. Dangerously still. “N’ that means m’gonna fuck you like one.”

Before you can even react, he’s pushing in all in one go. Fuck, it never got easier even after so long. 

“Oh- fuck I can’t take it- all-” you cry helplessly as he keeps pushing past that first ring of resistance. The curve of his cock massaging all those hidden sweet spots inside while he keeps splitting you apart deeper and deeper - not daring to even slow down. Not until Satoru’s well satisfied with the kiss of your bruised cervix against his thick head ,heavy balls smacking against your marked-up ass. 

“See? Knew you could take it, you always do.”

And then he’s moving - not with the slow, persistent determination from before, no. Satoru was so animalistic, bouncing you unapologetically on the mattress. 

Hands keeping your hips still to let him ram his entire cock inside your tight pussy. Over and over and-

“Still don’t think you’re not- fuck- mine, sweetheart?” Satoru runs a hand through his hair to see you better, to drink in the sight of your puffy folds bulging around his cock. Struggling to take in each mean thrust, “Because this seems ngh- reeeeal convincing that you are.”

You scrunch your brows in a pathetic plea, “I-I am yours, Toru- ngh-”

But he only brings his ear closer, “What was th-that? Didn’t hah- hear you-” Hands pushing apart your legs until they burned at the stretch. Until you were so shamefully on display for him, “You hah- need more convincing? Oh, I see.”

“I don’t! Oh- T-ngh”

It’s all you can do to let out teary, broken moans when Satoru rolls his hips harder. So carefully practiced with the way he locates your sweet spot easily. 

“Yeah? You hah- like that?” he groans, words punctuated by a deep, harsh thrust. All hitting the bulls-eye each and every time. “Like me f-fuckin’ you like you’re mine?”

At this point, you’re scrambling at the damp sheets, the headrest, Satoru’s shoulders - just anything and everything to hold onto whatever’s left of your sanity - which seemed to be slipping away with each press of Satoru’s head against your g-spot. 

But it still wasn’t enough.

Languidly, he brings a hand over to pinch your ravaged clit between two fingers. Having you whine so prettily with each roll of his fingertips. “Answer the question, pretty.”

“Yes!” you gasp, feet kicking at the sheer overstimulation. “I love it- ngh shit shit shit- I love it, Toru- love it so much.”

Shit, you might’ve just broken him.

Because while you may have thought that this answer would calm your Satoru down a bit - it only made him snap. Eyes widening, hips stuttering, swollen lips falling into such a fucked-out oh! - he looked like an absolute wreck.

Letting out a low, throaty groan of, “Oh fuck, you’re gonna be the ngh- death of me.” With this, he’s pressing his sweaty forehead onto yours, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs that match his merciless cadence. “Wish they could fuck- see you like this.” Ramming inside you harder - meaner. Giving your clit a light smack! before he starts playing with it once more. “I’d ah- fuck you in front of all those losers that think they have a chance just to show off how good you are f’me. Because you’re fuck fuck fuck- my good girl, right?”

You nod as much as you can, head just spinning with each brush of Satoru’s dick against your sensitive spots. Fingers twirling at your clit just as dizzyingly. Letting your slick glisten all over his wrist - his painfully squeezing balls - all the way up to his abs with how hard he was fucking into your tight pussy.

The both of you were getting so sloppy now. No care or concern for the party still raging on outside, not when your gummy walls were sucking up Satoru’s aching cock like that. 

“No one ngh- can fuck you like this.” Satoru sucks on your lower lip. Ragged, like it pained him to keep talking, but he couldn’t stop anyway. “No one.” Milking you harder and harder like he was high off your sweet moans. More desperate - depraved. “Cuz m’yours.”

And he repeats that - into your lips, into your forehead, down your neck - over and over while you cum so fucking hard all on his swollen cock. Plushy walls squeezing so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your high.

Ripping out strangled, raspy groans with each clench of your slutty cunt, “N’ you’re mine.” You think your vision gets hazy through your climax, and the only thing you can hear are those obscene squelches and Satoru’s voice. Like a mantra, “You’re mine- you’re mine you’re mine you’re mine- fuck you’re mine.”

Not straying too far behind, Satoru cums and he thinks he sees the pearly gates of heaven - with you, such an angel. 

So sweetly whining into his ear when he’s painting your walls white, pumping rope after rope of thick, hot cum into your awaiting pussy.

Blinking back his vision only to eye the way it overspills, dribbling down your slit with each harsh ram of his hips. 

“Wan’ go again-” Satoru groans. Only fucking his seed deeper and deeper and oh- he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t think he could stop with the way you were bringing out each and every single last drop like it was delicious. “F-fuck I needa go again. Swee-”

SLAM!

“Woah, seems the two of you are having a looota fun.”

Still not pulling out, both you and Satoru scramble to cover yourselves up with Sukuna’s now-soaked sheets. Well, mainly cover you up, for Satoru had no shame in staring the other man down. Scoffing out, “The fuck are you fuck- don’ squeeze me so hard, pretty- the fuck are you here for?”

“It’s my room, n’ I had a feeling you’d be here.” Sukuna lets the door shut so agonizingly slow, flashing the two of you a lazy, devilish grin. “Besides - this is my date, after all.”

A/N. Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[qqueenofhades]

https://www.tumblr.com/qqueenofhades/743255237060689920/the-thing-that-confuses-me-about-the-dont-vote

The “don’t vote” left’s point is basically that, if Biden gets a second term, it’ll basically signal that “They’ll vote for us as long as we’re not Republicans, why don’t we do some REAL fucked up shit, if we can get away with it?” It takes the power out of the people’s hands and places it firmly in the party’s.

I can’t completely disagree with that, my caveat is that there’s no real alternative system or party in place, because top-down change is ineffective; a third party president has to contend with a two party congress.

Except no. This whole "Biden just wants to do as much fucked up shit as possible while not being a Republican, and if you give him a second term he'll do more fucked up shit deliberately to spite you" mindset is only possible as an interpretation if you a) deliberately and comprehensively ignore everything he has done to date, and b) you approach the situation with the maximum bad faith possible. Not to mention, the ultimate outcome of this Big Important Teaching Biden A Lesson is that Trump gets back into power and makes everything orders of magnitude worse, because he does in fact want to deliberately do evil shit to everyone and says so at every opportunity. There is not some magical happy alternative that springs into existence by not voting. If you choose this as a year to Teach Biden A Lesson, you are enabling Trump. Trump will be much, much worse. If you don't care about that, I still do not care what your Great Ideology is. You are not helping anyone and you are directly and irreversibly hurting everyone.

I made a post a few days ago wherein I mentioned that I want to assess Biden fairly, taking into account both strengths and weaknesses, but the rampant bad-faith, lying, misreading, misrepresentation, and open sabotage of him (especially by the online left; the GOP sometimes only wishes they were as good at turning Biden's voter pool against him) makes it really difficult to do that. My frustration with those people makes me just want to go "BIDEN IS GREAT THE END." I know he is a flawed old man (though by literally every account of a career spent in public service, he really does care about making the world a better place and any remotely good faith reading of his accomplishments thus far can see that). It is also very likely that he goes MORE left in a second term because he won't have to face the electorate again, he has always gone more left when pushed before, and he's not actually the scheming genocidal mastermind that leftist social media paints him as. Shocking, I know.

I know there are things in the world we don't like and don't want and want to stop, and therefore we blame our own president for not making it stop. But I have zero, no, none, absolutely none whatsoever sympathy for this pseudo-populist "WE NEED TO TEACH BIDEN A LESSON BY ELECTING TRUMP AGAIN, I AM VERY MORAL MUCH ACTIVIST" mindset. There's this funny thing about America wherein it is still (for now) a democracy. If Biden wins a second term, he can't run again. I would take literally anything these people said more seriously if they focused on developing their dream progressive successor for 2028 (and also figured out how to get that person elected and in a place to make real change) rather than cynically sabotaging Biden in the most consequential election year, again, of our lifetimes. If you don't like him now, find a way to make his successor a better option. Throwing a toddler tantrum and handing the country back to a senile, deranged, fascist, revenge-riddled, theocratic Trump HELPS. NOBODY. I still don't know how many times I'm going to have to say that, but yeah.

[comicaurora]

So uhh. If you feel like talking about it. As someone who lives in the US, how are you being kind to yourself on this upsetting morning <3

Checked in with my loved ones first and foremost.

It's interesting. The vibe I've been getting from my circle is very different from 2016. Much less… dread and horror at a realignment of the understanding of what can and can't happen here, now, in this place and day and age. More "fuck, guys. again? whatever. enjoy your consequences, maybe you'll manage to learn something this time."

Frustration and anger is not the most positive feeling, or even the most fair one to express, but it is a protective one. It hurts a lot less than most alternatives.

And it's quite a shift. It was earthshattering back then. How could this have been allowed to happen? Why couldn't it be stopped? Why couldn't we stop it? Why couldn't I stop it? Why couldn't everyone see what this meant? Why couldn't I make them understand? Did they really not care? What did that mean about humanity as a whole? Were we so thoughtless? How could anyone be trusted?

It seems… much less earthshattering to see it happen twice. Disappointing, sure. Frustrating. But nowhere near as devastating as the first time I saw it unfold. We already knew it could happen. I've already had time to digest the implications. Now I'm just freshly disappointed.

It also feels less indicative of Crushing Truths Of Reality this time. We've seen shit get bad. We've also seen shit get better from here! We know both outcomes are possible, even inevitable. We know hoping for a better future is always worthwhile. This isn't the apocalypse. It's an unremarkably bad turn of events brought on by unremarkably self-centered well-documented human impulses. It's utterly mundane in its unpleasantness. It doesn't need to be dignified with despair.

A democratic election, no matter the outcome or the side we're on, makes us all acutely aware of how outnumbered we are by people whose worldviews and priorities are demonstrably incomprehensible to us. And the first time you get outnumbered, it's a shock. Defeat is haunting. It didn't matter how badly you wanted it; by the very function of democracy, you do not have the power to override greater numbers. (insert electoral college caveat here)

The second time through, I find myself focusing on a different facet that has dramatically reduced the amount of spiralling I'm doing. I don't expect this to work for everyone, but for me specifically, it helped to crystallize a few thoughts:

You don't have the power to control anyone else. You don't. You can't share your worldview and your revelations with them. You can't make them think or understand anything. You can lay it all out for them, but you can't make them listen, and you can't make it click. A mentor can't make their student learn a lesson; that's why teaching is so complicated and hard. An active choice must be made by the person to enable themselves to understand, and they must put the pieces together in their own mind before it makes sense to them, and the pieces must have been presented in a way that makes sense to them in the first place. Lead a horse to water, can't make them drink.

These elections highlight a disconnect in what different groups of people care about; and no matter how clearly you explain yourself or how passionately you perform, caring cannot be forced on someone. Understanding and connection cannot be forced. You cannot make anything or anyone matter to someone. They have to choose to see how it matters in order to internalize it. If they choose not to, that is not your failing. You couldn't have made them do it by just Explaining Better. They are not your responsibility. They make their own choices. You can't reach inside their head and connect the dots for them.

I'm a storyteller. I make stories and put them out into the world. I hope people get something good out of them, but I have no control over what that something is. I want people to be thoughtful and kind and compassionate and hopeful and see themselves reflected in stranges, no matter their differences. I can craft stories that I hope encourage this. But that is the extent of my ability and the extent of my responsibility. I control no-one's actions but my own, and so while I am not having the best day, I am at least content that I am doing what I can, and I am not shattering myself against impossibilities trying to control the things I can't.

Sometimes, people make decisions that I think are really bad. I can't make that not happen. All I can do is try to make decisions that will result in things I think are good. Today, that means checking in on people, and not assigning too much dramatic narrative weight to an ultimately mundane set of unremarkable bad decisions outside of my control. We'll take life as it comes and help each other out when and how we can. Everything else is out of our hands.

[rafestify]

need a rafe fic please where reader is part of the pogues, her and rafe have been on and off for forever obviously due to everything he’s done but deep down he’s so down bad for reader and maybe she’s pregnant instead of sarah and he doesn’t find out until morocco because the pogues are hovering over her idk angst fluff whatever you feel!!!

Two lines — Rafe Cameron

Summary : Fem!Reader is pregnant with Rafe’s baby, but he doesn't know until pope accidentally mentions her baby (season 4 ep 10 spoilers!! ⚠️)

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Warnings : mentions of vomiting & language (english is not my first language)

A/N : as requested 😉 hope u like it anon!

Two lines, and the father was long gone, off doing god knows what. Rafe was the last guy I'd hooked up with, and even after we broke up, we somehow kept finding our way back to each other, especially after the Kildare Enduro. He knew no one else could satisfy me the way he did, and so it became this endless cycle, break up, hook up, make up. What Rafe didn’t know was that I was pregnant. I hadn’t planned on telling him, at least not until we made up.

There I was, back on Rafe’s boat with my friends, setting off to Morocco in search of the Blue Crown and Chandler Groff. My friends had locked Rafe up, tying him up in a small room, just in case. We all knew better than to trust Rafe Cameron, not after everything he’d done.

I walked into the dimly lit room, carrying a tray with a glass of water, a plate of food, and a couple of aspirin for his black eye. The sight of him, bruised, tugged at something deep inside me.

“Here,” I murmured, setting the tray down on the table beside him. “I brought some aspirin, just in case you’re feeling dizzy or something…”

He snorted, cutting me off. “What? You’re just gonna throw it in my mouth like I’m a fuckin' seal?” He wasn’t exactly wrong, but his sharp tone made me bristle. “Nobody trusts you, Rafe,” I replied, my voice steady. “Not after what you did.”

His jaw tightened, and a flash of anger sparked in his eyes. “I saved your asses!” he shot back, his face flushing with frustration. “And not even a thank you was said.”

I took a slow breath, steadying myself. “I know, Rafe. I know,” I said softly. “Thank you, really.” I offered him a small, sincere smile.

He looked at me for a moment, his gaze softening just slightly. “You trust me, right?” he asked, his voice quieter, a bit more vulnerable. I bit down on my lip, feeling the pull he always seemed to have on me.

“Yeah,” I admitted, almost reluctantly. God, he knew exactly how to get to me.

He looked at the ropes binding his wrists and nodded toward them. “Then untie me. Get this shit off me.”

I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt but holding my ground. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” I pressed my lips together, trying to keep my resolve. “Just… eat the food. We wouldn’t want you dying in here.” With that, I turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind me, leaving me with a sigh that I didn’t even realize I’d been holding back.

As I stepped out of the room, I was met by Kiara’s anxious expression, her arms folded tightly as she waited. The moment she saw me, her face softened slightly, though worry still flickered in her eyes.

"How’d it go?" she asked quietly, as if afraid to hear the answer.

I shrugged, trying to mask the mixture of emotions stirring inside me. "Same old Rafe," I replied, keeping my tone light, but my gaze drifted, unable to meet hers directly.

Kiara studied me for a moment before speaking again. "Soo... did you tell him?"

I frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Tell him what?"

She raised an eyebrow, giving me a pointed look. "That you’re pregnant, with his child."

Oh, right. That one.

I swallowed, feeling a sudden knot in my stomach. "Uh—no, not yet," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "I just… I don’t know how he’d react." My hands found each other, my fingers nervously fidgeting as I tried to imagine how that conversation would even go. "What if he doesn’t want to keep the baby?"

Kiara sighed softly and reached out, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Her warmth grounded me, pulling me back from my spiraling thoughts. "Look," she said firmly, her gaze locking onto mine. "You have us. We’ll help you through every single part of this. That’s what friends are for, right?"

I looked at her, the tension in my chest easing slightly. Her words held a strength that I so desperately needed. "Yeah," I whispered, a small smile breaking through my worry. "Thank you, Kie."

She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug, and for a moment, the uncertainty and fear faded. In her embrace, I felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that I wouldn’t have to face this alone.

After battling fierce winds and waves, we finally arrived in Essaouira. The coastal city spread before us, its whitewashed buildings with blue shutters gleaming under softened storm light. Narrow streets twisted through the medina, lined with shops selling handmade crafts and drenched in a timeless, rustic charm.

The Atlantic crashed against the ancient medina walls, sturdy and weathered, while blue fishing boats bobbed in the harbor—just like the skiffs in the Outer Banks. The salty air and easy warmth of the locals, the slow rhythm of the sea, and the hum of daily life brought back memories of home, as if Essaouira was a Moroccan echo of the Outer Banks.

We continued to wander through the narrow streets of Essaouira, the sound of bustling market vendors and the distant call of seagulls filling the air. John B and Sarah led the way, their steps light and carefree, like they had no care in the world. Following behind them was Cleo, Pope, and Kiara, their conversations flowing easily as they walked, with JJ and I bringing up the rear. But it was Rafe who trailed behind, his presence almost ghostlike, like a lost puppy, following silently in our wake.

As we strolled through the maze of alleyways, I felt a sudden, sharp wave of nausea hit me. It was sudden, and intense, as if something in my stomach was threatening to rise up. I let out a soft huff, pressing my hand to my stomach, trying to hold back the overwhelming feeling of sickness.

JJ, who had been walking beside me, must've noticed the change in my posture because he looked at me with concern. "Y/N?" he called, his voice laced with worry.

"Oh god," I muttered under my breath, the nausea worsening, my head spinning.

"What's wrong? You okay?" JJ asked, his voice low, concern evident on his face.

I shook my head, barely able to focus on him. "No... I need to sit," I said, my voice strained. I felt like I was going to collapse if I didn’t stop moving.

JJ quickly guided me to a pile of carpets that were stacked outside a shop. The soft fabric felt like a relief under me as I sat down, trying to steady my breathing. The rest of the group quickly noticed, and soon I was surrounded by their concerned faces. Kiara dropped to her knees in front of me, her eyes searching mine, her hand resting on my knee in a comforting gesture.

"What's up? What are you feeling?" she asked, her voice soft and filled with genuine concern.

"I'm really nauseous," I managed to answer, my hand covering my mouth, just in case. I didn’t trust myself to hold it down any longer.

Cleo, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest. "She probably needs food. It’s been like two days..or what?" she said, her voice tinged with practicality.

"Yeah, the baby’s probably hungry too," Pope added, offering a casual shrug, as if it was just an obvious conclusion.

I froze, my stomach twisting. The mention of "the baby" caught me off guard, and suddenly, all eyes turned to me. Rafe, who had been hanging back, still distant, looked like he was suddenly paying attention. His gaze shifted from me to Pope and then back to me, his brow furrowing.

"What baby?" Rafe asked, his voice sharp, as if something about the situation didn't sit right with him.

Oh god, here we go.

Pope went silent, and I could feel the tension rise in the air, thickening around us. I glanced up at Rafe, who was now standing a few feet away, looking at me with an expression that was hard to read. His eyes narrowed as if trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

"No, seriously, what baby?" he repeated, his voice insistent, even stern now.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. There was no easy way to say it, but it had to be said. "I’m pregnant, Rafe," I said quietly, locking eyes with him. "With your baby."

The words hung in the air between us, like they were too heavy to carry. For a long moment, Rafe didn’t say anything. He just stood there, silent, his expression unreadable. The others were watching him closely, waiting for a reaction, but he remained eerily still.

I could feel the tension growing, an awkwardness settling in the space around us, as if everything had just shifted. My hands were shaking slightly, not from the nausea anymore, but from the weight of what had just been revealed. And Rafe, he was just staring at me, his mouth slightly parted but no words coming out.

"Go get her something to eat," Rafe suddenly snapped, his voice cutting through the tension that still hung thick in the air.

Without another word, he dug through his small waist bag, the leather creaking under his movements. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but then, with a small grunt of satisfaction, he pulled out a wad of cash—several bills, all stacked neatly together. As he unfolded them, I saw that he had about $400 in his hand, a small fortune for street vendors in Essaouira.

"Wait what?" JJ’s voice broke the moment of disbelief. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "They don’t take dollars, you idiot—"

"I said go," Rafe interrupted sharply, his tone hardening. There was no room for argument, no sign of hesitation in his voice. It was almost as if he was trying to regain some control over the situation, and in doing so, he completely dismissed JJ’s protests. His words were a command, not a suggestion.

The rest of us exchanged uneasy glances, the shift in Rafe’s demeanor catching everyone off guard. But without further discussion, John B, Sarah, Cleo, Pope, and Kiara reluctantly turned to start walking back toward the market, their steps unsure but obedient. JJ hesitated for a moment, clearly frustrated by Rafe’s abruptness, but eventually followed along as well.

Rafe’s eyes lingered on me for a second, his expression unreadable. He stood still for a moment longer, his gaze momentarily drifting over to the group before returning to me. He didn’t say anything else. His words had been clear, and I could tell that something about the situation had shifted for him.

"I don’t care whether you want the baby or not, but I’m keeping them," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of my decision pressing down on me. The truth was, I had made up my mind. I had to keep the baby, and nothing anyone said or did would change that. Not even Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes widened at my declaration, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at me, his face unreadable. Then, he kneeled down, and he let out a sharp breath. "Hey, hey, hey—who said I don’t want to keep the baby?" His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension to it, as if my words had hit a nerve.

I blinked, caught off guard by his response. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and I wasn’t sure what to say next. His eyes were fixed on me now, intense, searching. It felt like something was shifting between us, and I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it.

"We’ll take care of them," Rafe continued, his tone softening just a fraction. "I’ll be with you throughout the whole journey, Y/N. You’re not doing this alone." His voice held a kind of resolve, as if he had already decided, as if he was offering something that felt almost too good to be true.

For a split second, it felt like the world around me had stopped moving. The noise from the market faded into the background, and all I could hear was the steady beat of my own heart. The words he said felt surreal, like they were echoing in my head. "I’ll be with you, 'aight?"

I blinked again, almost feeling like I was in a dream, like I had slipped into some alternate reality where everything suddenly made sense. But when I looked at Rafe, his gaze never wavering from mine, I felt a wave of disbelief wash over me. It felt like a nap dream, a momentary illusion that would disappear when I woke up.

"What?" I said, my voice coming out in a whisper of disbelief. "Sorry—"

Rafe seemed unbothered by my shock. He placed his hands on my knees, his movements deliberate. "You heard me, Y/N." His words were firm, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in them.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with unspoken thoughts, and I could feel the weight of what he had just said settle in my chest. It was almost too much to process. I had always expected Rafe to pull away, to make this harder for me. But here he was, standing before me with something I hadn’t expected, a promise. A promise to be there. A promise to face this together.

My mind spun, trying to make sense of it. I glanced away for a moment, as if hoping the world would shift and reveal the truth. But when I looked back at him, his expression hadn’t changed. He was still looking at me with those steady, unwavering eyes.

"You’re serious," I murmured more to myself than to him.

Rafe didn’t flinch. "Yeah," he said simply, as if there was nothing more to discuss, as if the decision had already been made. "I’ll be there for you. For us."

For the first time, I didn’t know what to say. My heart was still racing, but for a different reason now. There was a part of me that wanted to believe him, to hold on to this moment, to trust that things might actually be okay. But there was also a part of me that was terrified of what this all meant, of how my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t predict.

I stared at him in utter disbelief, barely able to process the reality unfolding before me. It felt like some kind of miracle. My vision began to blur as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, the emotions welling up and spilling over, probably caused by the pregnancy hormones, but I couldn’t stop them. I tried to blink them away, but they only gathered faster, until a warm tear rolled down my cheek.

Rafe’s expression softened when he noticed, his gaze never leaving mine. He reached out and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close in a way that felt so natural, so steady. He didn’t hesitate for a second, and his embrace was warm, reassuring, holding me together when I felt like I was on the edge of falling apart, and God, it felt good to be back in his arms.

His hand rubbed gentle circles on my back as he murmured, “We’re gonna be parents.” His voice was soft, filled with awe and disbelief, as if he was speaking the words for the first time and couldn’t quite believe them either.

I nodded against his chest, clutching onto him as tightly as I could. The weight of his words settled over us, the reality of what lay ahead, and as much as I wanted to be brave, I couldn’t shake the fear that started to consume my mind. I let out a shaky breath, my voice coming out in a whisper, “I’m scared, Rafe.” The words felt small, vulnerable, but they were the truth.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands gently cupping my face as his thumbs brushed away the stray tears still slipping down my cheeks. “I know,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I am scared too.” There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that mirrored my own, a glimmer of uncertainty about the unknown future that lay ahead.

“But we’re in this together,” he continued, his voice growing stronger, as if he was convincing himself as much as he was reassuring me. “I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t know what’s coming… but I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned down and rested his forehead against mine, closing the space between us. “I’ll be there every step of the way.”

His words washed over me, filling some hollow place I hadn’t realized was empty. In that moment, his presence felt like a lifeline, pulling me out of my fears, giving me a glimpse of something that felt almost like hope. The future was terrifying, yes, but it felt a little less daunting with him by my side.

I looked up at him, my voice steadying as I replied, “I’m glad it’s you.” And as I said the words, I realized just how much I meant them.

He offered me a small, crooked smile, a warmth in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “We’re gonna figure this out together,” he promised. “One step at a time.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. And in that moment, held in his arms, I felt a little less afraid.

Suddenly, as if on cue, the rest of the group appeared, each carrying an assortment of food and drinks. It was almost comical, watching them return all at once, each of them holding something different, John B with a handful of pita bread, Cleo balancing a bowl of yogurt, JJ carrying bottled water, and Sarah clutching a small bag of fruit, including a shiny red apple that she immediately extended toward me.

“Here,” Sarah said softly, her face easing with relief as she offered the apple. I took it gratefully, feeling the cool skin of the fruit in my hand, and took a tentative bite. The crisp, sweet flavor flooded my senses, soothing the nausea that had been twisting in my stomach. They watched with eager anticipation, and as they saw me begin to nibble, their worried expressions started to relax.

“Feeling better now?” Pope asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern as he studied my face.

I swallowed another bite and nodded, a smile creeping onto my face. “Yeah, yeah… thank you,” I replied, glancing at each of them.

They exchanged glances, visibly relieved, and a sense of warmth spread through me as I looked around at their familiar faces, each one showing their own brand of care. I realized then just how much I’d come to rely on them, not just as friends, but as family. I felt a comforting wave of gratitude for each of them, knowing they’d been there for me without question, supporting me in ways I hadn’t even thought possible.

As I took another sip of water, Rafe moved a little closer to me, his hand resting gently on my thigh. His touch was subtle, but the gesture was enough to let me know he was still there, holding his promise to stay by my side. There was something calming in his presence now, something steadying that I hadn’t noticed before.

The others began chatting among themselves, sharing their own stories of haggling with the vendors, laughing about who’d paid the most for what they’d brought. They were giving Rafe and me a moment, I realized, a chance to talk without the pogues’ attention fixed on us.

Rafe leaned down slightly, his face level with mine, his voice low and steady. “You really okay?” he asked, his hand still warm on my thigh.

I took a deep breath, the initial dizziness and nausea fading, leaving behind a feeling of clarity I hadn’t expected. “Yeah, I think so." I paused, looking up into his eyes.

He smiled, a soft, almost vulnerable expression, and for a moment, he seemed like a different Rafe—one who wasn’t weighed down by pride or bravado. “That's good” His voice was filled with a sincerity that softened something inside me. "Don't want our little one and her mommy to starve, do we?" He smiled making me let out a low chuckle.

In this quiet moment, I knew, deep down, that I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the father of my child. Everything just felt right. Despite all the chaos, the ups and downs, there was a steady comfort in knowing me and Rafe would face it together.

likes and reblogs are appreciated! 🐇

>゜))彡 taglist — @rafecamerons-national-anthem @ts1mp0ne @vheavxly @enjoymyloves @tv-girllover07 @husherstan @smthabsolutelyunhinged @multisection @onlyrealjoy @hoelesslyt @nina357

[daisydrabbles]

Maybe it's the Moonlight

- Theo Nott x Female Reader

Pairing: Tutor!Theo Nott x Good girl!female reader

ⓘ When I write within an academic setting it’s a university au and therefore all characters are over 18!

Warnings: slight dubcon, dirty talk, fingering, corruption, praise, mild degradation, power imbalance, unprotected sex, creampie, public sex (there’s literally nobody around but still it’s a public place)

Summary: Theo has been assigned to tutor you in astronomy, but his methods are a little… unorthodox (they involve fucking)

Word count: 3.1k

‘I didn’t take you for the type to sneak out past curfew, doll.’

You looked up from your seat on the edge of the Astronomy Tower to see your devastatingly handsome tutor staring down at you.

As one of the brightest in your year, it was incredibly frustrating to you that you were almost failing astronomy. What was even more frustrating was that Theodore Nott, the infamous man-whore who’d probably never stepped foot in the library (for reasons other than making out behind the bookshelves), was top of the class.

When you requested additional help, you expected to be partnered with someone like Hermione Granger - someone as studious and academically motivated as you. Yet here you were, meeting with one of the most attractive yet most troublesome boys in school.

You two were the definition of an oxymoron: you; good, innocent and studious, juxtaposed with him; bad, corrupt and carefree.

‘I’m normally not,’ you said defensively, ‘but I really need to pass this class.’

‘And you want my help.’ he smugly added as he sat down next to you.

Immediately, you felt some weird tension between the two of you. Why did he look so happy to be here? And why was he wearing such a predatory smile on his face?

Maybe it’s the moonlight you told yourself, as you made a mental note to reschedule your next session for a more civilised location, despite the fact that this one was undeniably practical - what better time and place to study the stars?

You cleared your throat and flicked through the pages of your textbook, feeling rather shy, and desperate to get this study session over with as soon as possible. ‘So, what first?’

Theo tutted and plucked the dusty old book from your hands, before he carelessly chucked it over his shoulder. ‘What’s first is I wanna hear you say it: Theo I need your help.’

‘Hey I needed tha- what?’

He was already having fun with your new dynamic. Whilst you were disappointed with your assigned tutor, he was pleased. In astronomy, the only class you shared, he would watch you intently - in a way not dissimilar to how lions stalk their prey. You were too perfect… he thought often of inviting you over and corrupting you; fucking you senseless and leaving enough marks on your body to prove it. However he knew you would never agree to hang out with him outside in a social setting - his academic arrangement was a perfect way to get you alone.

‘You heard me, miss high-and-mighty, I want you to say the words.’

‘Why?’ you crossed your arms in protest. You didn’t want to admit to needing anyone, especially not Theo Nott.

‘Cos you think you’re better than me,’ he said simply, ‘yet here you are about to fail astronomy, expecting me to help you pass it. You almost sound entitled really, maybe I should just go-‘

‘Fine.’ you cut him off, which only made him grin and look at you expectantly. ‘Theo I… I need your help.’

‘Good girl.’ his grin widened hearing you say those words, whilst simultaneously your eyes widened hearing his response. What did he just call you?

‘Why did you want me to say it so badly?’

He shrugs. ‘What man doesn’t want a pretty girl to say she needs him?’

Cheeky bastard. Nevertheless, you felt your cheeks heat up against your will. He thought you were pretty. Not that that should’ve meant anything, coming from someone like Theo Nott. He was notorious for being a womanizer. A playboy. A man-whore. You so badly wished his reused words had no effect on you, but they did. Looking down at your lap you prayed that your flush wasn’t noticeable in the darkness, for you were almost embarrassed at how he could fluster you with so few words.

It was very noticeable.

At least, it was for Theo, who had been seeking such a reaction and had therefore picked up on it immediately. He wasn’t entirely sure if you even wanted to study at all when you suggested meeting in the Astronomy Tower, with it being a primarily regarded by students as a hookup spot. It surprised him that you actually brought textbooks and came with the intention of learning.

He had other ideas.

He was sick of girls throwing themselves at him, this time he wanted a challenge - but he didn’t just didn’t want any challenge, he wanted you.

He wanted to shut your smart little mouth up with his own; he wanted the satisfaction of taking someone so smart and fucking them dumb. The dirty-minded boy found it cute that you’d so innocently suggested the meeting in the middle of the night - that the impure thoughts he was thinking hadn’t even crossed your mind.

Clearly you hadn’t considered your choice of clothing either. He didn’t miss the way the wind was causing your little pleated skirt to fly up, nor the way your tight blouse clung to your curves and accentuated all the right places. Places he’d love to touch; to kiss.

Alas, he would have to settle for letting his mind wander for now. As badly as he wanted to fuck you, he did also commit to helping you. His hands would have to wander later. Wander up to your perky tits, down to your sensitive cunt…

‘Anyway,’ he shook his head to rid himself of his horny thoughts, ‘is there an area of study you’re particularly struggling with?’

‘Star charts.’ you admitted, your shoulders slumping.

Theo looked as though he was trying his hardest not to laugh at you. ‘Star charts?’

‘You’re supposed to help me, not mock me.’ you deadpanned.

‘I’m sorry,’ he chuckled, ‘I just find it amusing that someone as intelligent as you can’t read a fucking star chart.’

‘I can read a star chart just fine. I just can’t…’

‘Use it to navigate the sky?’ he offered.

‘Exactly!’

Unable to help himself, he dropped his voice to a low and seductive tone and leaned into your ear. ‘Well I’d be more than happy to make you see stars.’

Theo’s hot breath on the side of your neck combined with his dominant tone caused a gush of wetness between your legs. Discreetly, you squeezed your thighs together, silently willing yourself to break free from whatever trance he’d put you under.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Theo, who was thoroughly enjoying watching you squirm.

‘I- if you don’t wanna help me that’s okay but I think maybe I should-‘

‘Believe it or not,’ he cut you off, his tone surprisingly gentle, ‘I’m actually trying to help you.’

A puzzled look appeared on your face. ‘You threw my textbook away when I tried to open it.’

‘Well, let’s not live in the past.’ he waved off your statement, holding out his hand for you to take. ‘Do you trust me?’

‘With what?’ you eyed him skeptically.

‘Jesus are you always this tense? It’s a yes or no question, doll.’

After a moments hesitation, you answered; ‘Yes… yes,I trust you.’ and took his hand.

That was all the confirmation he needed to yank you onto his lap, causing you to let out a little gasp. Sitting on Theo Nott’s lap was not how you envisioned spending your study session, but you were hardly complaining. The faint aroma of cigarettes and the sound of his racing heart should be distressing - a sign of danger, even - but you felt oddly calm. Your back was towards him so you were both facing the night sky as he asked, ‘Can you point out Andromeda for me?’

The feel of his hardening bulge underneath your ass had momentarily stunned you, and you stuttered trying to answer his question.

‘Just relax…’ his fingers caressed your exposed thighs comfortingly, slowly working their way upwards, meeting the hem of your mini skirt.

‘What are- shouldn’t we study first?’ You grabbed his wrist to stop his fingers going any higher.

When you said first, implying that you would be interested in having sex with him later, he felt his cock twitch. Finally, you were granting the opportunity for him to make you his. Luckily for the both of you, Theo was great at multitasking.

‘Tut tut, do you want to get better at astronomy or not?’

Well yes, but you couldn’t see how him touching you was going to help with that. ‘I-‘ you were cut off by your own whimper as you felt Theo’s fingers graze over your clit through your underwear.

‘Then let’s try again. Where’s Andromeda?’

At first, his fingers lightly circling your clit were too much of a distraction. It was obvious he had experience, because he knew exactly how hard to press to satisfy you but still keep you coherent. After a moment of getting used to the sensation, your brain was clear enough to answer his question so, using your finger, you traced the outline of the constellation in the sky.

‘That was correct, clever girl.’

‘Wait, really?’ you bounced up and down in excitement, making the boy underneath you groan at the feeling of you pressing on his hard cock. ‘How did you teach me to do that without teaching me anything?’

‘Your problem is you think too much. I thought if I helped you… relax, you’d be able to focus on astronomy a little better. Clearly, I was correct.’ Theo moved his hand inside your underwear and slipped a finger inside your wet hole. ‘Well done.’

Your mouth falls open at the feeling of his long finger deep inside your tight cunt, stroking your inner walls. As determined as you were to not be another one of his silly hookups, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny the pleasure he was giving you.

‘Fuck, doll, who knew a good girl like you would be this wet for someone like me.’

Theo’s finger teased you for the next twenty minutes as he asked you various Astronomy-related questions, which you answered correctly. He was right, you were clearly thinking too hard at something so simple, and his fingers pleasuring you rid you of all the unnecessary thoughts, allowing you to focus solely on the stars. Every now and then, Theo would increase the pressure on your clit or thrust his finger deeper, just to see you cut yourself off mid-sentence with a moan or a whimper induced by his touch.

‘Theo…’ you whined after answering a dozen questions about constellations, looking up at him. You were asking for something, but you weren’t quite sure what. Just something more.

He pushed a second finger inside you, curling them upwards into you slowly as his palm pressed against your clit. Watching you writhe on top of him and hearing you moan made his dick throb in his trousers, as he internally tried to decide between bringing you to your climax on his fingers first or just freeing his cock and fucking you raw right away.

‘Yeah, amore? You like being finger-fucked out in the open?’ he whispered, even though there was no chance of you being seen or heard by anyone at this time. His words went straight to your core and his previously slow pace started to quicken as he felt you clench around his digits. ‘Fuck- yes right there.’ you cried, feeling his long fingers hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

Not long after, he retracted his fingers, smearing your wetness on your clit teasingly before removing his hand from your underwear altogether. The new, empty feeling made you whimper.

‘Why’d you stop?’ you pouted breathlessly whilst you turned around in his lap, now straddling him.

Locking his eyes on yours, he brought the two fingers that were previously buried inside you to his lips and licked off all your juices. ‘So sweet.’ he muttered to himself, probably not intending for you to hear. ‘Because,’ he said louder, ‘I want to make you cum on my cock, if you’ll let me.’

Your eyes flick down to his now rock-hard erection, still trapped inside his trousers. ‘Yes, please…’

‘Atta girl… but first, let’s get these clothes out the way, shall we?’

You nodded frantically, tugging at the hem of his t shirt as he unbuttoned your blouse to reveal your tits sitting perfectly in a lacy white bra. ‘These are fucking gorgeous.’ he palmed them before reaching round to unclip your bra. ‘I can’t want to watch them bounce as I fuck you.’

He pulled away briefly to discard his own shirt before flipping you both over. How he revelled in the sight of you underneath him, all exposed and desperate. Theo knew that you weren’t like him; you weren’t the type to sleep around. He was honoured to be making you feel this good, and he wanted to make sure you had as much fun as he knew he would have.

After pulling off his trousers he guided your hand to his bulge, making you feel him through his boxers. ‘Can you feel how hard I am for you, amore? How desperate my cock is to sink itself into your pretty little cunt?’

He leaned down to give you a passionate kiss, his thumb finding its way to your clit. Your fingers found his waistband and tugged on it, indicating that you wanted him to discard them. He obliged.

Pulling away from the kiss, your jaw dropped as you saw his erection finally spring free, hitting his stomach. It was bigger than you could’ve imagined, and you suddenly found yourself conscious of how large he was in comparison to you.

‘Theo that is not gonna fit inside of me.’

‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ he yanked your skirt and your underwear down with one harsh tug, leaving you entirely on display for him. With one movement of his hips the tip of his cock found your dripping wet entrance, and he pushed it in it in ever so slightly. The stretch makes you moan; his cock was way thicker than his fingers. ‘See that, doll, your warm little cunt is practically pulling me in. I told you I know what’s best for you.’

Tugging at his brown curls at the back of his neck, you hum in agreement. ‘Please… I need you.’

‘I didn’t even have to ask you to say it that time.’ he grinned before he bottomed out inside of you making you cry out. A bulge was visible in your stomach where is cock was deep inside you, still whilst you adjusted to his size. ‘You okay, pretty girl?’ All you could do was nod, not trusting your mouth to form coherent words with the boy who was meant to tutor you buried to the hilt in your dripping wet cunt. ‘Words, please.’ he commanded as he grabbed your jaw to bring your face closer to his.

‘Yes I’m- I’m more than okay just please…’

‘Please what?’

‘Please fuck me.’ you said in a small voice, surprised at yourself for saying it outright. At your request he started to move, making you bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning at the sensation.

‘Don’t hold back, amore. Your sounds are as cute as your face, I wanna hear them all.’

And with that he began to pound in and out of you, immediately picking up a harsh pace. His large hands pinned your wrists on either side of your head so you could make no attempt to cover your flushed face or muffle your breathy moans. He was no hypocrite either, groaning into your ear letting you hear just how much he was enjoying fucking you raw.

It was even more erotic than he’d imagined. He’d managed to turn a tutoring session with the schools resident good girl and turn it into a scene straight out of a porno. The sight of your tits bouncing as your tight, warm cunt took his thick cock was one he wanted engrained in his memory. Fuck, if you weren’t on a hard wooden floor he’d be tossing your little body around in all sorts of positions. And god, how he wanted to taste you; to suck on your sensitive little clit and lick up your sweet juices. The opportunity hadn’t arose in this particular occasion, but it only motivated him to get you in bed again.

‘You feel fucking incredible.’ he groaned, earning only a whimper in response. ‘Bet you couldn’t answer any astronomy questions now, hm?’

You shook your head, your eyes fluttering shut as he hit that sweet spot deep inside of you. ‘N-no, I-‘ his pace didn’t falter as you felt yourself clenching around him, orgasm building up - if anything, it quickened.

‘Cos I’ve fucked you senseless, haven’t I?’ Although you could hear him, you couldn’t respond. His voice was muffled and your vision was clouded, your pleasure was so overwhelming, you couldn’t think straight. ‘You like going dumb on my dick?’

Theo could tell you were close, so he brought a thumb to your clit, adding pressure in circular motions. That’s all it took for your orgasm to come crashing over you. ‘Theo, I’m-‘

‘Do it. Let go. Cum for me.’

And you do. Just as he promised, you swore you saw stars whilst he fucked you through your high and chased his own. He didn’t slow down to accommodate your now increased sensitivity - his need almost became primal as his thrusts got sloppier the closer he got. ‘Gonna fill you up with my cum, doll. Real deep.’ he grunted in your ear, feeling his own orgasm building. The pressure from your tight cunt felt like heaven to him, but mostly it was the way you were looking at him that pushed him over the edge, like he’d just taken you places you didn’t know you could go.

You both moaned as you felt his hot cum spill into you, marking you as his. And you were his, now. He’d ruined you for anybody else; he’d moulded you to fit him perfectly.

After pulling out, he laid down on his side next to you, tracing mindless circles around your navel.

‘That,’ you inhaled shakily, ‘was amazing. Are you okay?’

His eyes, which had previously been fixed on the sight of his cum leaking out of your hole, snapped up to you. By the looks of it, people don’t normally ask him that after sex, and you immediately felt as though you’d said something wrong. That was, until you felt his hand cup your cheek. ‘Careful, doll, you’re really making me want to keep you.’

‘What?’ you roll onto your side to face him.

‘Nothing.’ he sighed in content. ‘I’m great, are you okay?’

‘Amazing. Same time next week?’ you attempted to joke.

‘Same time tomorrow.’

[cup-o-stars]

Relativity Falls!

Design Concepts (and my unnecessary thoughts):

Excuse the the colors, ig my apps are fighting.

I see Mabel finding success no matter what happens to her, but I really like the thought of her running an insane arts and crafts business in GF. Alternatively, if she fell in the portal, she'd come out acting confident as always, but she probably wouldn't realize how much the constant change and lack of family/stability wore her out until she settled back in. In either case, she's a bit cracked.

Dipper is investigative, but cracks easiest under stress and is not as inherently adventurous as Mabel or Ford- so the portal wouldn't treat him well. If he's not the one in the portal, he'd be into stargazing and real magic to share with people, while also warding tourists away from the dangerous stuff. In general, he'd be an unhappy adult if left to his own devices, lol.

Between Dipper and Mabel, I like Dipper being in the portal more. He's a great protagonist, but as a supporting cast member, he needs to be more insane to match the draw that is 'Mabel taking care of children,' ha. I also love the idea of there being no portal / some other looming threat for these two to struggle with (at least because Hirsche has made it clear that Dipper and Mabel are equally smart, and to me it seems like the portal would reopen way quicker with them), but I didn't plan on posting these and I don't know how my followers feel about me posting lore.

Stanford and Stanley:

Pretty much how they are in canon, but now they're in a setting where they can get over themselves, ha. They aren't quite as mature as Dipper and Mabel were at their age, but after coming to GF, they finally found other people to look out for them. Dipper could be a more emotionally available and level-headed role model (I think having people to take care of is calming for him in turn), and they'd both look up to Mabel as the peak of somebody who knows how to socialize.

Fiddleford:

He's a sweet, southern, farm-raised mechanical engineer just like in canon.

Idk why Fiddleford is in GF (visiting an unnamed grandparent?), but I really like his relationship with Ford in the journal. Following that thought, in this AU, he starts out more of Ford's friend than Stan's, and it's kind of a big deal. Unlike Dipper's arc on learning to be a kid, Stan and Ford clearly struggled a lot with interpersonal relationships / finding security outside of eachother, and that's what I think this AU could be about (it's great they realized they need each other in canon, but the part where they had no one else to turn to is also kinda crazy if you ask me).

Ford gets to meet another smart kid in a weird town, which helps him feel more normal. He has a better idea of what friendship is because of it, but also, since I can't imagine Dipper wanting an apprentice so young/vulnerable/impressionable or Mabel asking only one of the twins to stay- he'd have to come to terms with the fact that he can't live in his dream world forever. (Or maybe the apprenticeship comes from somewhere else, just because the conflict around going back to Glass Shard Beach at all, or sending Stan alone could be pretty good.)

On the flipside, I think Stan's initial jealousy of Ford and Fiddleford's friendship would force him to try finding his own friends / hobbies. I like the idea that he fails at first- and a lot- but Mabel notices his mounting frustration (which he is very keen on hiding), and her consistent and unorthodox support makes him realize he wasn't alone to begin with. He can be more open around her, which makes it easier to open up to others, and then he can make friends without having to pull any tricks. He probably starts with some animals, and then at least gets closer to Fiddleford anyways (I feel like they're both more practical than Ford and value human company more, so they'd bond easier once Stan gets over his personal hurdle).

Anyways- because that was way too much- Mabel's exes are a constant source of antagonists and Dipper is stressed about setting a good example.

(I was more of a Monster Falls fan back in the day, but I can't draw animals, lol)