#What am i supposed to do with my life now????????

[lukolathoughts]

Miss Nicola - supporting LGBTQI rights

Dearest gentle reader,

I have been itching to write a blog post now for a few weeks, but not really knowing where to begin. There have been frenzied weeks and days of activity, but then silence and the fandom meanders like a lost boat at sea. We are often rudderless without the reassuring presence of our ship captains - Luke and Nicola. This also tends to get the sub fandoms spouting nonsense claiming to have seen Nicola in Birmingham or some ridiculous crap. I didn't want to bother her by asking for a photo! No photo, no proof my friend.

I'll talk about me for a moment. I had a week from hell last week. There was something so upsetting for me to deal with, I couldn't go into work as I was crying that much. Try to explain this to your manager: that nasty comments on YouTube made you late for work. Luckily, she is an understanding person and I have told her about my YT channel. Saying some things out loud to real life people make me sound barking mad. But it is the price you pay for being public on YouTube. It also makes me an easy target. I am used to online trolls and people who hate me for saying that Jake is gay and believing in Lukola, but when the stab in the back comes from a supposed friend, it really is the ten of swords. My phone blew up that much, I opened my eyes that morning genuinely thinking Lukola had launched. My hope turned to ash, when I saw what was really happening. I share this with you all because, I have had to have a reckoning with myself the last week. My online life and my real life are not the same. My real life is way more important and I actually need my job, so messing it up because I've got people I don't really know online saying mean things about me, that are not true, shouldn't matter. But it still hurts. But I also realise, they are trying to stop me sharing and trying to ruin my credibility and reputation in order to send me off into my discord crying never to return again.

Well think again. No one tells a Sagittarius woman what they can and can't do. I am made of stronger stuff. Love will always conquer hate. No one puts Baby in the corner, and I will not stand for it. I have scaled back most of my online life now. It had helped me cope with the last year and losing my friend, but sometimes you have to go back into reality. I'm never leaving the ship though. You'll have to chuck me overboard and I'll still jump back on like Rose from Titanic. "I couldn't go, Jack! You jump, I jump, right?"

Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about Nic. I love Nicola by the way and nothing I say here is a criticism of her or her choices. I see what you're doing though, miss Nicola. I said in my last blog that the shit would hit the fan when Jake has to start press for his new upcoming BBC3 drama What it feels like for a girl. I will admit I have not read the book. Regardless of who Jake is playing, it is reportedly an all queer cast, a queer director and at least one queer writer that I know of. Why would the director of an all queer cast hire a straight man in a homosexual role? If this show is as big as It's a Sin, that aired on Channel 4 a few years ago, then there will be press and a lot of it. There will be press from queer magazines also. Jake is currently in an awkward position, because some press believe he is in a romantic relationship with Nicola Coughlan, a woman who is also 14 years his senior. So, what will Nicola and Jake do?

Jake is holding onto his cash cow with both hands and Nicola needs Jake to continue to pose as her boyfriend to stop the media digging. But honey, they know. It was clear all the press at the SAG awards knew exactly what was going on and they were not afraid to say it. The 'happy ending' comment levelled at them directly by a reporter, had Nicola stunned and Luke smiling like all his Christmases' had come at once.

Nicola knows what is going on. She knows there is a deadline and she knows if she doesn't extricate herself from the narrative she is dating a gay man, she is screwed basically. What is she doing? She's getting out her, I love gays!! T-shirt, hats, scarfs, sunglasses, whatever. She is doing it. Look at me, I love queers! I love her for this and I already know she is an advocate for LGBTQI rights. She has a ton of gay friends. The fandom knows this of course, but do the general public?

At the Neutrogena event on 27th March 2025, there was a very tall drag queen doing some MCing. We know Nic loves drag queens and has been to many shows, so this is nothing new to us. I'm not being overly cynical that the drag queen might have been there for a reason, right? Neutrogena is a product that is targeted at women mostly for their skin products. What has that got to do with a drag queen? I just found it odd.

Next up we have Nicola's Pink Pony Club Post that she shared to both her Instagram stories and grid last Thursday 10th April. The song by Chappell Roan is synonymous with the gay community and one that Jake danced to at her concert last year in a pink cowboy hat. "You guys, remember when my old flat was a gay hotspot!" Nicola, posts 4 polaroid's of her looking fabulous in pink and lays them on a pink blanket. What made you feel so nostalgic, Nic? Or are you sending a message? Look at me, I have loved my gay besties for donkey's years. Prominent gay friends such as JVN and Jack Rooke commented all in agreement, that indeed, Nic's flat was the place to be. And, no I do not think Nicola is coming out herself as gay. Get real, she is supporting her friends and peers.

Then there was yesterday's selfie of Nicola wearing her black - 'I just wanted to say if you are trans and reading this, I love you and so do all my mates' T-shirt. There a few other details in that post that other bloggers such as @toriaaniin have covered beautifully, so I won't go into it here. My eyes sprung wide when I saw this post. I know she advocates for the charity Notaphase.org and I commend her for doing this, but two queer posts in a few days seems to be a lot for Nic, when lately she hasn't been posting at all.

There is also the male hairdresser Halley Brisker in her Opalex video on her Instagram, They make a big deal of letting us know he flirts with male makeup artists. Nicola is clearly good friends with Halley and it is an endearing watch. But to me this seems like a lot of overkill in the last few days for the general public to look at her Instagram and instantly know, yes Nicola does love the girls, the gays and Luke Newton. (FYI Halley Brisker is married to a woman and has children, but to the general public this conversation is implying Nic is comfortable with these conversations).

This, in my opinion, is setting the stage for the final act. I can see Nicola doing some sort of article or interview where she clears a certain narrative up. If you notice, Douglas has also been quite forceful again in implying certain things about Jake and Jake himself does not stop others from posting suggestive posts and videos of him. Nicola must remove herself from this mess in order to move forward with her own career and life. Hanging onto old connections are no longer serving her personally and professionally. Her engagement on Instagram is down by a lot, so I'm told and she is losing followers. She has done all she can career-wise for Jake now, he has to make his own way.

If this does not happen and we remain in this weird heteronormative bubble, I fear the press for What it feels like for a girl, will be a shit show. The truth will come out eventually and it will drag both Jake and Nicola down with it.

[woniefication]

YOU'RE A TUMBLR GIRL...?

𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂:𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘛𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨﹔𝘌𝘯𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘹𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ﹔Fluff,crack. 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 Relationship,Reblogs ﹠ FB appreciated requested @glittercrashhh 𓈒𓈒𓈒 𝐌asterlist.

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 (이희승)

“Tumblr? Oh, cool. Like, for fanart and stuff?”But then… you go to the bathroom and leave your laptop open. He peeks. And sees a very detailed post titled ‘This man is ruining my life (affectionately)’ with a photo of him attached. Heeseung just blinks.

“Wait… is this supposed to be me?” Cue slow scroll. Moodboard reblogs. Aesthetic gifs. One too many reblogs of his hands.

Now he’s suspicious but lowkey flattered. He starts teasing you like,

“So when were you planning on telling me I’m your Tumblr crush?”He’ll act smug, but the second you reblog a comfort post and tag it #heeseungcore he just melts and rereads it 12 times. Probably starts sending you “post this one, it fits your theme” like a Tumblr boyfriend-in-training.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒂𝒚 (박종성) Immediately suspicious.

Jay finds out completely by accident. He asks what you’re laughing at one day and you say “a post on Tumblr.” He immediately stops mid-sip of his drink.

Wait. You have a Tumblr?” And suddenly he's like a detective, narrowing his eyes at you. “Do you write stuff? Like… about me?” When you say “maybe,” he gasps like you betrayed him.

But then? He starts snooping. Searches up phrases you’ve said, lines from your tags, stalks every mutual interaction like he’s solving a crime. Eventually, he walks into the room and drops:

“So… ‘Coach Dilf AU’ huh?” You panic. He looks smug. “You’re so lucky I’m hot.” Jay pretends to be scandalized, but the truth? He checks your blog every single even asking random things on anon. And when you tag something soft like ‘this made me think of him’, he goes quiet for the rest of the night. Then whispers, “You know I think of you all the time, right?”

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒌𝒆 (심재윤)

He thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.

“You have a Tumblr? What do you post?? Aesthetic pictures? Writing? Memes??” Jake is so supportive. He sits next to you on the couch and asks to scroll through it. He points at every cute post and goes, “That’s so you.” You’re waiting for the moment he finds the more… thirsty ones, but Jake? He just giggles. “So you think I’m ‘a walking sunshine Greek statue with puppy energy’? I love that.”

He starts sending you photos of himself like:

“This could be one of your vibe pics.” And if you reblog a quote post that says something like “I just want to be loved gently,” he’ll literally send you a message that says: “You deserve that. And I’ll give you all of it, okay?” Jake’s the Tumblr boyfriend who doesn’t even have Tumblr—but lives in your inbox like a tag.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 (박성훈)

Pretends to be above it. “Tumblr is like… for 2013 emos, right?” he quips in a half-joking manner, outwardly dismissive of the whole thing. But don’t be fooled.Sunghoon secretly maintains his own shadow profile, where he reblogs dark academia fits and moody sunset gifs on nights he can’t sleep-which is often. Whenever you post even a hint of thirst about him, his cool façade softens ever so slightly, and he smirks, teasing, “You spelled ‘hot’ wrong. Should’ve said ‘ethereal god.’” The layered vulnerability behind his cool jokes reveals that, despite his airs, he’s deeply invested in every soft, fleeting reference you make.

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 (김선우)

“YOU HAVE A BLOG? What’s the username. I want the theme. Is it cute? Am I your header Image?!” He immediately pulls it up and starts judging…lovingly. “Okay wait… why is your header blurry? This gifset is so you. OH this post?? I reblogged that yesterday!” You two end up becoming mutuals on Tumblr and in real life. He tags you in “bf ang gf aesthetic” gifs and makes you matching layouts.

Then he sees your post that says, “I wish he knew how much I care.” He goes quiet for a second and just looks at you.

“I do. Know, I mean.” And when he sees you post something like “I love his smile more than anything”? He replies out loud like: “Yeah? I love yours too. Should I write that on my blog?”

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑤𝑜𝑛 (양정원)

Judging you gently but with love. “You’re telling me you write entire essays about fictional people’s emotional trauma and call it slight angst?” he muses with a gentle smile, initially puzzled as he browses through your detailed posts. Jungwon’s reaction is equal parts mild judgment and soft fascination. At first, he can’t quite grasp the depth of your Tumblr musings, but before long, he’s three hours deep into your tagged “love tropes” posts, nodding along in quiet understanding. Finally, having soaked in every word and image, he leans in and sends you random quotes like, “This reminded me of you. Put it on your blog or whatever.” His quiet support speaks volumes;he respects your feelings and art, even if he pretends it’s all just a quirky hobby.

𝑵𝑖–𝑘𝑖 (니키)

Laughs his entire soul out. “Nahhh, you’re one of them,” he laughs with a mischievous glint in his eyes, immediately taking your Tumblr revelations as a delightful challenge.

Ni-ki finds your blog absolutely hilarious and irresistible—so much so that he dives headfirst into your archive, meticulously scrolling through and capturing screenshots of everything you posted back in 2019, teasing, “You posted THIS in 2019? Embarrassing and yet you dare to laugh at my old pictures.” underneath the playful ribbing.

he bookmarks all your posts tagged with his name along with cute symbols, keeping them close even if he’ll never openly admit how much they mean to him. His laughter echoes with a mix of teasing and a secret admiration that he’ll never fully confess.

♡)-- @orimuraa @douqhnxtss @chrrific @liwinly @fleuryns @leaderwon @pnghoon

[supercutszns]

kay this might be a CRAZY thing to say and idk if ur taking reqs rn but just!!! take this as a lil treat idk!!!!

luke w a sunburned reader……… and bro is obsessed w how he leaves handprints after he touches you…. IS THIS CRAZY IDK. AM I INSANE.

wc + pairing: 1.5k, luke castellan x daughter of poseidon! reader

notes/warnings: this thought literally made me feral thank u so much😵‍💫😵‍💫 got a little carried away but wanted to write some more of my twin beads babies so this was the perfect opportunity! reader is able to burn, mentions/allusions to sex, luke is horny but aren’t we all, just fluff & banter with smutty undertones

The waves roll in to break crisply against the shoreline. There’s a noise they make, a soft crackle and splash, that sounds like laughter. You’ve had a long, good day at the camp beach, savouring your one day off to lounge on the sand with your friends and swim as far as your legs could carry you. Percy was the only one willing to keep up with you—Clarisse tried and hid her bitterness when she failed, and Luke humoured you for all of five minutes until he realized he didn’t need to be your swim buddy anymore. Percy clumsily waded in after you each and every time, and it had never been more obvious the two of you were related.

Despite the beauty of the sun warming down the sky, Luke can’t bring himself to pay attention. There’s only you, between his legs, staring out at the water like you’re seeing it for the first time. You’re especially gorgeous after a long day at the beach. Even prettier now that Luke doesn’t have to pretend you’re not. The muscles and the skin he spent ages tracing in the darkness of his cabin have a new weight to them out here, heavy and captured in the shadow of the sun.

He pulls you against him, arms winding around your front. You’re so warm and he needs more of it. He presses his nose into the dip of your shoulder and breathes. You smell like salt and sunscreen, a citrusy comfort that’s defined the past five years of his life.

“You tired?” He asks, muffled against your skin. No matter what you say, he knows. He can feel you sinking into him, the way your muscles have melted away.

“I’m happy,” is all you say, because you know he knows too.

The curve of his smile matches the curve of your shoulder as he kisses your skin, twice. He never does it once anymore. Reminds him of all the years he’d spent pretending like he didn’t want you. The least he could do is double what he gives you; return everything he’s saved for you in your youth.

He feels you sigh as he traces the tip of his nose up the dip in your neck, and the way your breath wavers when his mouth follows suit. He kisses your neck lazily, lets his teeth scrape on your skin, lets himself soak in the warmth and your exhales. He likes it when you pretend this doesn’t drive you crazy.

You’re really not giving in this time, though, and he supposes he’s in no rush either, so he pulls back and rests on the heels of his palms. You groan a bit, but whatever you’re about to say is cut by his very pronounced, “Shit.”

You glance back at him. “What?”

His eyebrows pique. “You’re burnt, sailor. Like super burnt.”

“Really?” You try to crane to get a look at your back, which is futile, and sigh, “How bad?”

“Pretty bad.”

“Like three years ago camp triathlon bad?”

He shakes his head. “Like … last year’s kayaking trip bad.”

That settles you a bit, so you shrug. “Oh, that’s fine.” You wave Luke off and turn back to the sunset. “You know it’s so weird, I never burn in the water. It’s only when I’m out of it that it happens.”

“Or when heatstroke happens,” Luke remarks, taking the opportunity of your back facing him to run his fingers along your spine. “Do you remember after the triathlon right after I beat you? When you crossed the line and the second I came over you started—”

“Please don’t finish this—”

“—vomiting all over the place and nearly passed out in my arms?”

“Luke!”

“And that older Ares kid you thought was soooo hot had to take you to the infirmary?”

“Okay, that is enough!” You turn around and wrestle his hands away from you, until he pushes back and you’re both slapping each other wherever you can, laughing like children. “Colin Ackerman was hot, you were just jealous of him!”

He catches your splitting smile that hits his heart like a tsunami. “Yeah, I wonder why!” He manages to gain the upper hand and maneuvers you back into his arms, but you put on an impressive show pretending like it’s not what you wanted all along. Your back settles against him once again, your nose smushed to his cheek, and you nudge and nudge until he kisses you. You sigh and trace your finger along his jaw and Luke wants to kick himself stupid for going this long without tasting you whenever he could.

“You’re so annoying,” you grin, kissing his cheek.

“At least I’m not Colin Ackerman.”

You snort and kiss his face again before turning back to the lake. Luke takes it upon himself to keep running fingers up your spine, noticing how your skin ripples a different shade in his wake. He can’t believe he didn’t see you were burnt sooner. You never listen to him about wearing a shirt once you come out of the water. Unfortunately, the part of him in his boxers is often glad for that.

He watches intently as he presses his thumbs into your back and drags them out, feeling your muscles stretch. It’s distracting, the burn briefly fading on your skin under his fingertips. It’s like a map of exactly where he’s touching you. A mark that lingers.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, running his thumb down your back again just to see what it does to you.

“What?”

“Mm, this,” he murmurs, moving up, watching a river blossom between your shoulder blades as he touches you.

“Not really,” you let out a pleased sigh when he kneads your shoulders for a moment. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?”

He drags his hands down to the middle of your back, making sure to press hard enough that he can see the path he’s travelling. He rubs circles near your spine, a place he knows you knot up. “This?”

“Aye aye, captain.”

He presses his palms flat against your back and pulls away to see the imprint. Embarrassingly, he thinks it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen. His hands travel further, resting on your hips. “How about when I do… this?” He hitches his thumbs just below the waistband of your bottoms.

“Luke!” You whip back to him like you’re scandalized, which he knows very well as a look you give when you want to rile him up.

“What, I’m just asking!” He takes your hips and drags you back so you’re flush again. There’s a flash of your smile when you look back at him, and he knows he has you. He kisses your neck again, toying with your waistband, letting his fingers dip a little lower every time. “How’s that feel?”

You don’t answer him, and you don’t need to. The sigh you give when he kisses your pulse is enough. He lingers there, swiping his tongue over the spot, and takes his sweet time cherishing it. You make a little sound that nearly kills him. “So pretty like this,” he says. “Wanna see?”

The two of you are chest-to-chest before he even gets a chance to elaborate. He has to prod your face away with his nose to get you to stop kissing him. Suck on that, Colin Ackerman!

He looks down and feels your gaze follow. He rests a hand on one of your arms, draped over his shoulders. When he drags his thumb along your skin, the path snakes across your complexion. “Look.”

“Yeesh,” you say, and Luke laughs. He lays kisses along your arm, and he imagines this is what the ocean smells like. This is what lost sailors feel when they finally press their faces against land again.

“Can I take you back to my cabin?” He asks, letting his teeth graze the skin of your shoulder. He doesn’t ever want to move, watching the imprint of his thumbs against your ribs and his teeth on your neck. He wants to see his hands on you everywhere.

You wind a hand in his hair. “There will be people in there.”

He gently snaps the strap of your swimsuit against your shoulder with his mouth, “Your cabin?”

“Percy.”

The sigh he lets out is embarrassingly pent-up and he pulls away to look at you in your beautiful face. “Can I please take you somewhere nobody else is so I can take off all these clothes and see where else I can touch you?”

“Be my guest, captain,” you smile eagerly.

“Thank you,” he exhales, and you waste no time in kissing him again, open-mouthed and fervent. He imagines his handprints nestled into your back, your hips, your thighs, and he’s gotta get out of here before he gets too carried away. You feel good and warm and wonderful and he’s desperate for more.

Thankfully he has practice in patience when it comes to you, so he kisses you twice more until the scorch is unbearable. The two of you rush along the sand like drunks, until Luke gets you somewhere with a little less sun and a lot less fabric so he can make good on his word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant @huang-the-geek @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jennapancake @idunnowhattonamethis @jarofshells @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @lauraisthebestyapper @nininehaaa

[kurithedweeb]

Dear Sir Garroth,

You may have noticed, if you ever read this, that I did not try to set this letter on fire. Perhaps I should have. I am, after all, still pissed at you and lacking anything better to do. Still bedridden. It hasn't been all that long since my last letter, in truth.

Dante's been visiting us a lot, whenever he can spare the time. He's trying to catch everyone up on what we missed the last fifteen years. He's the only one who's been here the entire time. He never stopped writing reports, so those have been helping some when I can make out the words. Fifteen years and his writing still looks like chicken scratch. At least one thing's still the same.

He has children now. His oldest daughter is six years old. I haven't met her yet. It's hard to imagine Dante as a father when less than a week ago he was sixteen. He turned sixteen in the middle of a war and now he has a six year old daughter. And guess who the mother is? Miss Nana. I remember his cute little crush on her, I remember the way she could make him smile when the rest of us could barely get him to respond at all. They're a good match, aren't they?

She came to see us with Dante. She brought a basket of pastries like she used to bring to the barracks. She made some old favorites to welcome us home. She thought you were with us. She asked where you were.

I couldn't tell her. I couldn't utter a single word. All I could do was sit there, clutching the edge of my cot, eyes on the floor. She figured it out before anyone could explain. She apologized to our lady, and then she sat beside me and put her hand on mine and said nothing. She didn't need to.

So much has happened. Half the village moved away. Dante and Miss Nana are married with a family. All the little ones are grown up. Our little Levin is Lord of Phoenix Drop and can't walk on his own. Cadenza is Lord of Meteli. My father is dead.

For all I know, so are you. I turned back just before I went into the portal. It was only long enough for a glimpse, but I saw him run a sword through you. In your back and out your chest. Did you see me as I turned back? Was I the last thing you saw? I hope I was, if it was between me and him.

I haven't told our lady yet. I haven't told anyone. They still hope that we might be able to go back for you, or that we might be able to find some way to bring you home. I know what I saw, but there's some part of me that thinks you could have survived. If anyone could do it, you could.

I lit a candle for you. You don't know what that means. It's something we do along the Trail for lost souls. We make candles that don't burn out and when someone goes travelling we light one; Dante kept the ones he found in my bunk years ago. The flame is a part of the person the candle is for. It's supposed to guide them home, only going out when someone dies. Your candle is beside me right now. It's been burning bright since I first lit it. I want that to mean you're still alive, but for the first time in my life I'm wondering whether the candle knows. I hope it does. I want you to come home. I want to be there for you the way you were for me. The way you always have been.

My sister lit a candle for me. For fifteen years it has been burning. She wrote a letter to me when it went out. She spent half the flint she had to relight it, and cried over the page when it finally caught. Some lines are illegible, ink warped by wet spots. I haven't seen Seafarer's in writing in so long that I can't believe there was ever a time I struggled to write in anything else.

We spent countless nights transcribing my reports into something you could actually read. The night before you took the amulet from me, it was just like all those nights. Oddly enough, that night out of all the rest feels so far away. Maybe it's because of what almost happened between us that night that never did, maybe that makes it all feel a bit like a dream. Were you thinking of that night when you saw me last?

I don't know if I will ever be able to stop being angry with you. I still watch your candle burn until I fall asleep. I still miss you terribly.

Sincerely yours,

Your second-in-command, Sir Laurance Zvahl of Phoenix Drop

[baocean]

piss off your parents

chapter twenty seven - it was fake

you’d been acting weird ever since sarah all but exploded on you about why jj went awol. you’d barely been over to the house, barely looked at him, barely texted.

he'd freaked you out. he’d hurt you. you werent sure how to react to it.

today was supposed to be good, a group dinner that would smooth everything over, that would make things feel normal again.

he didn’t even let the back door shut behind you before the words were out.

“so that’s it?” jj said, his voice too calm to be anything but dangerous. “hooray, unc. now i’m just… done?”

you froze, fingers still on the doorknob. “what are you talking about?”

he stared at you, eyes sharp, like he was trying to piece you together and nothing was fitting anymore. “your parents gave in. we played our parts perfectly, and now you don’t even look at me.”

you turned slowly, face unreadable. “jj…”

“no, don’t do that,” he snapped. “don’t give me that look like i’m overreacting. like i’m fucking crazy.”

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut in. “you’ve been pulling away since the second it worked. you don’t text back, you barely talk to me. you’re acting like i’m something you’re trying to shake off.”

“jj, just...can we not do this right now?” your voice cracked like glass, thin and tight and exhausted.

he laughed, bitter and sharp. “too late. you told me to sell it. said it had to feel real. and i did, yn. i fucking did. i gave you everything i had.”

you flinched. just barely. “that’s not fair,” you said, voice rising, finally matching the heat in his.

“isn’t it?” he shot back. “because it sure as hell feels like i was just part of the plan. and now, i’m nothing but the reminder.”

you crossed your arms, jaw tight. “i never promised you anything.”

jj’s breathing stuttered. you stared at each other, chests rising and falling too fast, like you couldn’t get enough air. anger and fear and want all bleeding into each other, all tangled up beneath your skin.

neither of you spoke. and you so badly wanted him to just say what he was really feeling. but he didnt, he just stared at you.

so you said the worst thing you could think of.

“it was fake, jj.”

his face shifted, like a crack forming right down the middle. like something caved in behind his eyes. but it was only there for a second, before his expression hardened, darkened.

“then what the fuck am i doing here, yn?” his voice was sharp, cutting.

you didn’t answer for a second. you couldn’t. your throat felt like it was closing.

you shrugged, blinking back the tears that would have given you away in a heartbeat.

jj wanted to walk out right now. but he couldnt, wouldnt, he wasn’t ready to let it go, not yet. he was still angry. still hurt. and his best idea was to hurt you right back.

“right. because none of it meant anything to you, huh?” he said, stepping closer. “not the nights you stayed. not the way you looked at me like you meant it. not the kiss.”

“don’t you dare put this all on me,” you shot back, taking a step forward yourself, fire in your eyes. “you’re not the only one who’s been caught up in this, jj. i’m not some heartless person who used you. this isn’t my fault.”

jj’s expression faltered for a moment, but then he snapped, “yeah? feels like it is.”

you ground your teeth, chest tight with anger. “you want to talk about fault? you haven’t even congratulated me on unc, the thing i’ve worked so hard for! you disappeared for twenty hours, and then you came back acting like i’m the one who shut myself off!”

“congrats, bunny." his voice cracked. "you wanted your freedom? to revolt against your parents? your little rebellion before your perfect life at college? well, you’re free. you’re so fucking free.”

“jj—”

“a deal’s a deal, you got your end. we can finally be done now,” he said, his voice cold and rough, like he didn’t recognize it. “go ahead and leave. forget about all this like it never happened. just like you always planned.”

you stared at him, throat burning, chest tight. you wanted to scream. to cry. to tell him he was wrong, to tell him he was right.

instead you said, “fuck you, jj.”

it came out low. furious. shaky. and it made jj's face fall, his body go limp.

you didn’t wait for him to answer, and he didn’t stop you from leaving.

her phone

his phone

her phone

masterlist | next chapter

note from the author - i’m sorry please forgive me

taglist - @dr3amgrlll / @murdockcastleslut / @jjmaybankmylovee / @smokahontas-113 / @abigailovesz / @enchantedstarfish / @reeseswirl / @lmaowhatt / @moonywhisp3rs / @dylsdaily / @idli-dosa / @bloodofadoll / @cokewithcameron / @mariamadison6-blog / @rrosiitas / @always-reading / @sunflouer04 / @bambigirl10 / @mirellef2001 / @wasiasproject t / @bee-43 / @kissesandmartinis / @gublerstylesobrien1238 / @isinpfortvdmen / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @mjwashere / @sideboobrry11 / @ameliacione13 / @wrtzia / @sanriobuny / @dramagodesss / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @ayy1234567 / @doesnt-care / @rainingcecilias

[aceecee]

Insatiable - Extra #5

Text messages between the two of you

TW: just a little dramatic and also a little suggestive, just a little as a treat <3

It's also a nice look into reader's dynamic with them individually.

AN: Tumblr's format is so annoying, you can't move the conversation to the side so I spent an hour trying to find an app that does those fake messages except none are available on android so please just accept the way it ended up.

Wife:

Angel

Love of my life

Light of my life

I would kill for you, remember?

So, forgive me

You:

That’s the problem!!

You didn’t need to threaten her!

She was our waitress

Wife:

Yes and she was also a whore

For you

“Oh would you like some sauce with that?”

she said while batting her eyes at you

She’s lucky I didn’t kill her

You:

No!

The poor girl was just trying to do her job

You shouldn’t have scared her like that

Wife:

…

You’re right

I let my jealousy get the better of me

Let me make it up to you?

You:

How?

Wife:

Ride my face

You:

No

Wife:

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

~~~

Sleepyhead:

My moon

You:

What is it, darling?

Sleepyhead:

I got hurt on my mission :( 

I need cuddles

Urgently

You:

I see

My place or yours?

Sleepyhead:

I’m already at Urs

You:

We’ve talked about you teleporting onto my bed Xavier

It scares the shit out of me

Sleepyhead:

Yes, U talked

I didn’t listen

I changed my mind

I wanna do something else

We can cuddle after

~~~

Public Nuisance: 

 You rat

You: 

What is it now, Rafayel?

Public Nuisance: 

You 

You’re the problem

Weren’t you taught it’s rude to leave someone

behind on the bed

Woke up and you were gone

How could you do this to me?

You: 

You’ll live

Public Nuisance: 

I’m telling Mara this

Showing her how you treat me

You:

You just called me a rat???

Whatever 

She likes me better

Public Nuisance:

That’s funny

It wasn’t her name you were screaming last night

~~~

Dude:

Shortcake I have something to ask

You:

Go for it

Dude: 

I couldn’t help but notice that last night

you pushed me away a little

Do you hate me?

You:

…

Dude:

YOU DO!!!

I KNEW IT!!

You:

Caleb you fucking idiot

I pushed you away because it’s fucking

hot and you burn like a furnace

Dude:

I’m gonna kill myself

Ending it rn

You:

Ugh

Come over and let me fix this

You’re the only one I’ll let burn me alive

so don’t question my love again

Dude: 

…

Sit on my face

You:

Nevermind

I do hate you

Dude:

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

~~~

Boss:

There’s a dress for you on the bed

You:

Okay?

What am I supposed to do with it?

Boss:

Wear it.

Tonight at seven. We’re having dinner.

Just you and me.

You:

Why would I want that?

Boss:

…

You:

Sylus

My love

I was delirious 

I beg for forgiveness

Think of the children

They need me

Boss:

The orphans won’t save you this time

I’ve made up my mind

We’ll have the dinner

And then I’ll rip the dress of you

~~~

zayniee: 

I thought I told you to take it easy?

You:

Uh…I am

zayniee:

Funny.

Sylus told me you went out for a mission you weren’t even needed for

Care to explain that?

You:

That traitor

I plead the fifth

zayniee: 

Again, I have no idea what that means.

He told me because he knew you’ll listen to me.

You were just shot three times, your body doesn’t heal that fast.

Go back.

Or I’ll come get you myself.

You:

In my defence, I’m an adult and can do what I want!

zayniee:

I see.

You:

Wait

Zayne

I’m sorry. You’re right, you magnificent specimen 

I’m going back

Respond pls

zayniee:

:) 

You:

Oh I’m screwed

zayniee:

Yes, you are.

Tag List: @serenity-loves-red @crimsonmarabou @reni502

[74thcookie]

The Shroomy Brainrot

This section is just the part where I go completely rotten in my brainrot. I am anxious to share this since I’m not used to sharing this kind of content, I don’t want to flash others with it nor do I want others to be uncomfortable. Me being a chatterbox is already uncomfortable so having this mixed made me think I’m going to be scolded at. Then I realize, most of those kinds of people don’t read.

These are the contents wanted to draw related to each pair.

-Start-

Vanilla and Shamil

These two were just suppose to be an excuse for me to draw ShadowVanilla/PureMilk with cuties Sanrio materials.

After awhile I itching for drawing something fruity again. The kind of aesthetic that is both cute but also edge? If that makes sense.

The songs “Romeo and Cinderella” and “Milk and Coffee”(specifically the Itou Kashitaro cover). Got my brain itching.

So whatever happened to them at night after going to conventions or just plain hangouts, they just explore other things. Particularly related to cute “toys” and cosplay.

They became not only an excuse to draw cutesy ShadowVanilla/PureMilk stuff but also nsfw that’s cute stuff. (I only wanted to post those drawings at private when I have the time)

Vanilla here is also the freak vanilla a lot of shadowvanilla/puremilk artist enjoy giving to the awaken Pv

Anymore related to these two will just be saved for drawings since it’s hard to put into words.

Fortune and Fount

I originally just want Fount to be just an excuse for me to draw Motherly materials related to him. Milf if you will. A gentle mom with the themes of comfort.

But I know some people find that boring so I just plan to add scary stuff with him in between, like the crazy horror type. Where you don’t put d*ck in crazy

If you watch the anime Happy Sugar Life (if your younger than don’t). There’s an aunt character there, that was in inspiration for the scary side of Fount. Though shes crazy, she knows things. Her motif of “accepting all love” is what I took inspiration from. He accepts all information, from both bad and good.

He also likes games, similar to the actual SMilk where he does get bored and resorts to games. In his normal mood it’s just the simple games like truth or dare or cards. Theres mini consequences when people lose to his game but at night those consequences turn severe especially for trespassers who planned to steal in the studyhub. Think of his little games as “Other mother” style from Coraline. Tapping fingers if you wish.

Fortune was originally suppose to be added since I want Vanilla to be both the PreAwaken and Awaken Pv. Though I saw others wanted Fount to have a PV of his own and so Fortune was given since in the spire he is like his own thing.

I put a bit of Healer Cookies motifs into him since I miss the old man but also I don’t know what to do with fortune since his recluse and recluse is his own thing in this AU already. So I out Fortune Teller and Healer cookie into the blender and we got this guy. With a dash of Avatar of Destiny to counter Founts creepy horrors. Horror meets Horror I guess.

He would be the representation of the reader on navigating Founts both cute and scary side.

Fount would give second or more chances for Fortune when he loses games at night. Since he knows he is the student he saved back then and is probably messed in the head as well from the events. The chances were given to the point that Fortune actually won their games.

Fortune is also nuts in the head due to the events but also listen to the stories people have to go through just to get simple medical care in the legal way. He can’t show his frustration because he knows it will affect the safe environment they build in their clinic. Fount gave him that outlet and now they’re just enjoying each other in the most scariest yet spicy way possible.

What Fount does to the trespassers.. well have you listen to the song “A little priest from Sweeney Todd” if so, there you go.

Recluse and Sage

The tamest? Of the three.

It’s just CondensedMilkAU but in the context of this story. The context of CondensedMilkAU is that the Sage is burnt out from his duties and is now navigating how to cope with his job but also his new life/hobby. In the AU, his new life is his life as a mother of two children, living a simple life. In the context of this AU, it’s him being a vtuber mom for many tired employees and students from overwhelming works.

For some reason, drawing Sage tired gives me some sort of comfort. So most of this is just him being tired and trying to relax. As for his vtuber, I want milfs but also want to draw female SMilk. People are feral for that design, IM ALSO FERAL.

For Recluse, he is the kind of nurse that you can just hang out in the clinic to release pain.

But Recluse also represent the consequences of not thinking about your words especially if in the context of another person. Word of mouth can be muttered and the word do deceit can harm people. It harmed the Sage badly.

Recluse forgets that Sage is also a normal person. He may have suffered from the constant scolding relating to his younger brothers actions and now he just think of what was the perspective of the professor.

Those two I only plan simple angst with a bit of tension mix in since there’s also the context of Recluse being into Sages attitude after the school break.

Sages motherly attitude he presents during his livestream mixed in with his actual self. So that attracted Recluse to the Sage. It’s just frustrating that the Sage avoids him like the plague or excuses himself a lot when they’re alone.

Another Freak Vanilla was born. Probably worst since there’s one person from the replies mention that Recluse could have been the scariest. He might turn to the creepiest. Fount the second but a Vanilla.

Most of these I know I will draw one day or another but will post in private since I don’t want to creep people out. It’s a pain for others who just want to read with no restriction but I want to filter myself from time to time. I’m an anxious person but I also want to draw something outside of the simple fluff and angst. I want to give props to those artist who do post and draw weird, scary but juicy spicy art. I have no thick skin. I’m just a squishy mushroom with a green pea brain hahaha. Thank you to those artist for giving me food and to those people who are encouraging me to get out of my shell.

[tellafairy]

if i delete this account(which i won't cause idc about this debate that much lol), i'll still have everything i manifested, and continue to manifest. i'll still shift realities. but it's like, i don't understand what y'all think i could possibly get out of lying? explain to me. i don't make money on here, i haven't made any friends or anything on here, so what would i get out of lying? ouuu tumblr followers so impressive 👻 girl be serious

i take the time out of my life to share my experiences and beliefs because i know they help others gain confidence in their ability and opens their mind. ive been very venerable on here in the past and shared how i turned my life around without effort in my darkest times — and i try to help others do the same. god forbid i don't enjoy fueling the societal norm of suffering. if ur not open minded idk why youd spend ur time on loa accounts... ur doing the damage to urself.

also yes. i stated that people who don't believe in loa but, HARASS PEOPLE WHO DO BELIEVE IN IT, are haters. cause that's wtf they are ? 😹 i wish y'all would just admit when you don't believe in something or someone, instead of trying to make everyone else out as crazy. also stop whining about needing "photo proof" "or "actual evidence" outside of words. there's lots. but y'all STILL find a way to claim it's fake. yall was in my inbox for weeks saying all the photo sucess stories from other people i shared were fake... so i stopped trying to prove anything. i also think it's beyond entitled to expect others to break their privacy just so you can have proof of something. when i have people telling me to harm myself in my inbox and others threatening to doxx me, or saying disgusting things about my partner — who mind you i've only mentioned a few times, why would i ever post myself or anything that could possibly be private ? like some of y'all r crazy ... i'm good

i do think it's warranted for me to be a little aggravated or somewhat mean when responding to these stupid paragraphs, because i've been answering the same questions since 2024, i've explained my belief system and my experiences with loa/shifting in every possible way. if you don't believe me by now, if you go through all of my posts and you STILL question me, then that's on you. no where did i ever state that i "expect" you all to believe me. why would i? who are you? what am i suppose to say when y'all accuse me of lying when i've answered every possible question surrounding my manifestations already. like okay u don't think it's real.... great job... now what...

anyways, stop putting words into my mouth, stop talking about me and my life as if it's made up. i don't care if you believe in it or not, but have some respect and speak to me like a fucking person or don't speak at all.

[bilboyagathechickenfootedhobbit]

It really is so much in your head! It’s why I’m so glad I waited until my late 30’s to have a kid, when I no longer cared what people thought of me. My child has gone out with tiger stripes all over his face and arms drawn on in permanent marker and like, what am I supposed to do? Keep him home until it fades? I have shit to do, so what if he’s a tiger for a week? Stare all you want, maybe he’ll growl at you. Hell maybe I’ll growl at you!

One of my dearest friends, now my sister-in-law, was a single mom for the first three years of her kids life and I saw her struggle SO MUCH with others perception of her and her parenting. The number of times I’ve had to take her aside and gently remind her that she parents for her child, not the strangers watching her, and to stop making decisions based on what strangers will think of her and start making decisions based on what is best for her kid. But it’s hard, I feel doubly so for single moms, to shake that voyeur feeling women live with, to stop worrying so much what others think. I think she’s getting better though; last picture day her son wanted to wear his Gengar costume and she was like “you know what? Sure. Why not?” You have never seen a happier school photo of a kid than my nephew wearing his Gengar onesie.

The argument the mom was having in the video op talked about COULD have been me and my mom my entire life. I NEVER dressed normal. I loved combining stripes and polka dots, red and pink, rainbows and plaid. One of my fav childhood outfits was a giant polo of my dads, belted at the waist with a scarf of moms, Barbie leg warmers, pink tights, and Keds. Mom never said a word. And I ended up growing into a fashionable little weirdo with a unique style all my own.

Pick your battles, parents. Parenting doesn’t necessarily get easier or harder. It changes and evolves as your child grows and becomes their own person. You can no longer look at your tween and expect to use the same tactics you used on them when they were five and expect them to work. You need to respect their burgeoning autonomy and give them the freedom to make their own choice in safe and controlled environments so they’ll be prepared to make more and bigger choices on their own. Let them wear what they want; it will help them be more inclined to listen to you on the important shit if you aren’t riding their ass constantly about what shoes they’re wearing.

Saw a post, this lady is saying people say it gets easier to be a mom and your kid gets older but she disagrees. The video is her arguing with her daughter about whether her outfit matches.

A lot of the comments are people correctly pointing out, you're causing your own problems if you're fighting with your daughter about her wanting to wear a striped top and flower leggings.

But then people were in the comments defending it "but people think you're a bad parent and judge you if your kids don't match"

Why is everything about public appearances to mothers? Oh, so, you don't care that you're low key bullying your daughter about a fucking shirt. That doesn't make you feel like a bad mom. But an old lady side eyeing you because you didn't dress your kid up like a doll is gonna make you feel bad? I can't stand it.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the best decision. l Frankie Morales

💔 a few ways to break your heart 💔

Summary:  breaking up was the only right decision

Warnings:  unplanned pregnancy, angst, breakup, dilemma, tears

A/N: the second season of broken hearts.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

a few ways to break a heart [masterlist]

"Pregnant. She's pregnant." 

You repeated after him, feeling your strength suddenly draining away. You sat on the arm of the couch, out of breath. This couldn't be true. It's Friday night, you and Frankie were supposed to go to the movies together and then eat something in town. Instead, he showed up at your place and dropped this bomb on you.

Frankie Morales, the guy you met by accident at a bar because he clumsily poured beer on you. You should have been mad, but his sweet brown puppy eyes did the trick and you agreed to go out with him. Over five months later, you were deeply in love with him, even though you told yourself every day that it was crazy.

You had never known a guy who was so focused on you, who needed touch and closeness as much as he did. Being with him seemed like the easiest and most natural thing in the world. Of course, you knew he was fresh out of a breakup, so you didn't jump straight into the deep end, but... With Frankie, everything seemed easier, more real.

You looked at him. He had his hands on his hips, his face a mixture of fear and immense exhaustion. His broad shoulders buckled under the weight of it all. Finally, he was the one to break the silence.

"Maria is six months pregnant." he said, and each word was like a pin piercing his heart. "She didn't know about the pregnancy when we broke up, she wanted to raise the child alone, but..." he rolled his eyes. "Financial matters, you know."

"Yeah. I guess." you replied quietly. "She called you?"

Frankie nodded. He took a step towards you, he wasn't entirely sure if he could, but seeing as you didn't push him away, he finally sat down next to you and took your hand in his. His hands were warm compared to how cold yours were.

"What are you going to do now?"

The question that came out of your mouth had been going through your head since the beginning. You wanted to scream, "Choose me! I love you, I don't want to lose you. It'll be okay. I can live with you and help you take care of your baby," but deep down you felt like you couldn't say it. You just couldn't.

Frankie sighed. He had been thinking about it the whole way to you. “I want to be a part of his or her life, I guess. I’ll help Maria financially, do whatever it takes, give the baby my last name, but me and her… It’s over.”

You didn't feel relieved. On the contrary, the cold grip on your heart told you that this wasn't the right solution. There was only one way.

“You both should try again,” you said, and out of the corner of your eye you saw the change in Frankie’s face. His eyes widened in surprise. But you continued, even though you could barely hear or understand yourself. “This child is not to blame. You should try to get along, maybe- Maybe you should try to be together again.”

"You're not serious."

"I am." No, please don't do this! "I think Maria and this child deserve a partner and a father, and you'll be great at it, Frankie."

You tried to smile, you really did, but your throat tightened so much that your lips formed an odd grimace. Frankie stared at you in complete surprise.

He hadn't expected this. He thought you'd be just as surprised as he was, maybe even angry, but this?

"Maria is a closed chapter. You are the only one who matters to me, hermosa. You know perfectly well that..." he began, but you quickly interrupted him. 

"It doesn't matter, Frankie. What's important is that you take responsibility and be a decent person who..."

“Fuck, I love you!” he growled, standing up and nervously pacing your living room. “I don’t want to leave you. What’s going on between us… Fuck! This is big, baby, we can’t…”

"But we have to." You cut in, and he looked at you like you'd punched him in the face. "This kid needs a father."

"But I can still be his father! I'll spend time with him, pay for him, I'll do anything."

“So choose the kid! Frankie…” You stood up and crossed your arms over your chest, trying to sound rational. “I love you. You’re the most amazing guy I’ve ever met in my life, and honestly, if I was sure it was the right thing to do, I would do anything to support you in it. But I know the only right thing to do is for us to…”

"I won't give up on you."

"You have to."

He looked at you like you were crazy, but you seemed completely certain and determined. He knew he wouldn't change your mind.

“You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?” he said, his voice trembling noticeably. “You’re giving up on me.”

“I’m giving up on us, so this child can have what it deserves.”

Frankie nodded. "And what do we deserve?"

You shrugged. You had no answer. Tears welled up in your eyes and your heart pounded in your chest. There was no right way, not for you. You and Frankie were just a sweet and beautiful moment that needed to end.

He didn't say anything more. He looked at you for a moment as if he wanted to memorize your face, but eventually he nodded and left quietly, closing the door behind him. Only then did a pitiful sob escape your throat. 

You'd ripped your own heart out, and you weren't sure how you were going to learn to live on. But you knew it was the best, most reasonable, right decision. You were an adult, you could handle it. Frankie, on the other hand, had to focus on what lay ahead. Without you.

[porcelainstarrr]

Chapter 7

⌖

It’s been a few weeks since that session.

The one where he really spoke. The one that cracked something open between us — him, mostly. But maybe me too.

Since then, things have been… different, and more present.

Not warm. Not soft. But engaged. Attentive. Like the walls he built are still there, just thinner. More transparent. He responds now. Answers with less reluctance. Sometimes I catch him waiting for the next question like he’s already decided to give it to me. Like he’s decided to trust me.

And I- I’ve grown comfortable. Too comfortable, maybe.

That’s the part I didn’t expect.

I’m not supposed to. Not really. I’m supposed to assess. Document. Evaluate. But I find myself hoping he’s telling the truth, even when I know I shouldn’t hope at all.

I’ve started to look forward to our sessions. Not just clinically. Not because he’s progressing or opening up. But because he’s there. Sitting across from me. Listening. Watching. Present.

And I’d be lying if I said that didn’t do something to me.

It’s not just a job anymore. Not just a file with bullet points and psych evals and court-mandated paperwork. It’s him. It’s Dex. And the more time I spend with him, the harder it is to separate the man from the case.

I try. God, I try.

Fridays are still Gigi’s. They’ve become my lifeline. She comes over with takeout or wine or both, and we sit on the couch like we’re still in college, like life isn’t as complicated as it really is. We talk. We vent. We laugh until our stomachs hurt. And when the laughter fades, when it’s late and quiet, I tell her everything.

And lately, we’ve been talking about him.

I know it’s wrong. Confidentiality is part of the job. But it’s Gigi. She’s my other brain. If I didn’t talk to her, I think I’d combust.

So I told her.

I told her everything.

I told her about Dex. About the session. About the way he looked when he said her name — Julie — like it still lived in his mouth. The way his voice sounded when he admitted he regretted not finishing the job.

I told her it shook me. I told her how it affected me. How it lingered. How I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterward. About him.

I told her it made me feel something I can’t even name.

But when I told her how hard it was becoming to stay neutral in our sessions,

She told me maybe I should try going out more. Seeing people. Men. “Maybe you need a palate cleanser. Go out with someone normal. Kiss someone boring.”

So I tried.

I went on dates. I made small talk. I flirted and smiled and laughed on cue. Let them kiss me if it felt right. I thought maybe she was right, maybe distraction was the cure.

And for a second, it worked. I felt… detached. Lighter.

But then they disappeared.

All of them.

Guys I was sure would call the next day. Guys I had dinner with. Guys who held the door, who leaned in close, who asked about my life and really seemed to care.

Gone.

They’d vanish. No calls. Nothing. Just like that. No awkward I-had-a-nice-time-but. Just… gone. Like they’d been erased.

They just never came back.

At first, I thought maybe I was the problem. Maybe I was too distant. Too cold. Too clinical. Maybe I talk too much. Or too little. Maybe I came across as distracted, because I was.

But when I told Gigi that, she just snorted and said, “If you’re the problem, then what am I?”

And that made me feel better. Not fixed. But better. I tried not to let it bother me. Tried to shrug it off.

Still…

Because now I can’t stop wondering. It’s starting to feel like something else is going on. Like it wasn’t just coincidence anymore.

It felt… intentional.

I don’t know.

Could it really be just bad luck?

Or is it something else?

─────── ⌖ ───────

I woke up to the sound of a low, insistent vibration from the nightstand pulled me out of sleep. I reached over without thinking, eyes still shut, and answered voice still half-asleep. 

"Hello?"

“Happy birthday!”

Gigi. 

I let out a sleepy laugh, rolling onto my back. I smiled. "Morning to you too" I check the time, I need to get ready for work.

“ you’re officially older. Congrats. Get up, dress up, and Go celebrate, Today’s your day! “ 

“I have work, G. Not a rooftop party in Ibiza.”

“So? That doesn’t mean you can’t look hot. People should know that YOU were born today.”

I laughed quietly. She hung up before I could say anything else.

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, a smile still tugging at my lips. I always liked my birthday. Unlike Gigi, who treated hers like a public execution. But mine? I didn’t need a parade. Just a little joy. A little love. A reason to dress up. Even if it was just for work.

I got up slowly, smiling to myself, and got ready for work.

Work was routine. Peaceful. No surprises. No session with Dex today. 

And for once, I was grateful for the break. Because even now, weeks after the session, after that conversation, he still lingered in my mind. He'd been showing up, not just physically, but emotionally. Present in a way that was hard to ignore. And maybe even harder to stay neutral about.

I didn’t want to think about that right now.

I finished work early and headed home. Gigi was meeting me there. She’d come in just for today. 

On the walk back, my phone buzzed again.

“Where are you?” she asked as soon as I picked up.

“Walking back. Two blocks away." her tone sounded off, I blinked "What?"

“come home and you’ll see. Just hurry up. I’m waiting."

She had a key, of course. Let herself in like she always did. By the time I reached my building, she was already standing by the door. Arms crossed, that look on her face. The I-know-what-you’re-hiding look.

I raised an eyebrow. "You’re being dramatic."

“I’m being observant. Big difference.”

She pushed the door open before I could unlock it, stepping back like she was giving me space for the reveal. "Okay, what’s going on?"

She didn’t say anything. Just pointed toward the living room.

I walked inside... and stopped.

A bouquet of lilies sat on my coffee table. Fresh. Arranged carefully. Not store-bought filler.

I gasped "Did you bring those?"

She raised both eyebrows. “Really? No. They were already here. Sitting there like they own the place.”

I crossed the room and stared at them for a second. There was a small, white card tucked between the stems.

I pulled it free and opened it.

Happy birthday.

Handwritten, No signature. No initials. Just that.

"There’s no name."

“I know. I looked.”

"Okay but… who the hell leaves a birthday bouquet with no name?"

“A secret admirer. Duh. Who’s the guy?”

"I don’t know."

She gave me a look.

I held up a hand. "Seriously. I don’t know. I haven’t been seeing anyone. Not long enough for this."

“Didn’t you go out with that lawyer guy two weeks ago? What’s his name? pretty face, nice smile”

“Matthew, we didn’t go out we met at the bar and he offered a drink. Nothing special”

“so definitely not him”

“definitely not” I stared at the bouquet again. "It’s weird."

“They’re your favorite, though.”

"Yeah." I looked at her. "And I never told any of the guys I went out with that. That’s… weird."

“Or,” she said slowly, “maybe it’s someone else.”

That pause.

That look.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t say it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“Am I?”

I sighed and leaned back against the couch. “It’s not him.”

“You sure?”

i sighed “yes I’m sure Gigi, he doesn’t know when my birthday is, doesn’t know where I live, and he doesn’t know my favorite flowers. And are we forgetting that he’s literally locked up? Even if he wasn’t, even if he knew. Why would he get me anything I’m not his girlfriend I’m his doctor. Whoever sent this… they know me. These are my favorite. Not everyone knows that.”

“So you’re saying there’s someone else who knows your birthday, knows where you live, and just happens to know your favorite flowers... and you have no clue who they are?”

"Yeah," I said softly “that’s so-“

“Creepy? Romantic? Insanely impressive?”

I threw her a look.

She shrugged.

I looked down at the card again, then at the flowers.

They were perfect.

Exactly the kind I liked. The kind I used to buy for myself once a year. The kind I never mentioned to anyone but Gigi.

"This is so strange."

“A little flattering though.”

"Yeah." I smiled. "A little."

But the truth was… it unsettled me. Just enough to linger.

Because someone knew.

And I didn’t know who.

─────── ⌖ ───────

It was late by the time the evening began to quiet.

Gigi had left hours ago. She had work early the next morning but stayed long enough to make my birthday feel like something real. We’d laughed too loud, eaten too much sugar, and buried ourselves under throw blankets until it all felt like the world outside didn’t exist.

The flowers still sat on the coffee table. We hadn’t moved them. It was like they’d claimed the space now, bright and real and impossible to ignore. I’d spent the rest of the evening rewatching something brainless, winding down alone, happy in that soft, sleepy way birthdays sometimes leave you with. I’d just started thinking about calling it a night when I heard it-

A knock.

Not loud. Not frantic. Just... there.

I frowned. Checked the time. Nearly midnight.

I stood up slowly, walked to the door, and peeked through the peephole.

No one.

My chest tightened for a second, I opened the door and looked around but then I looked down.

A box.

Pale pink. Familiar packaging. That same tissue wrapping from the bakery Gigi and I had visited.

I smiled.

Of course, it was her. 

I picked it up and brought it inside. It was heavier than I expected. Tied with ribbon, neat and careful.

There was a note tucked into the top.

Handwritten.

Again, happy birthday.

I grinned to myself.

Classic Gigi. Always over the top.

I opened the box, and there it was. A whole strawberry shortcake. Creamy frosting. Fresh berries. Fluffy sponge.

My favorite.

It’s the kind of favorite you don’t casually mention. The kind of favorite that only one person in the world would really know.

I pulled out my phone and texted her: You really didn’t have to. Thank you so much. Love you. Get home safe.

I set the phone down without waiting for a response. I was too tired to eat it now, even for cake. I slid the box into the fridge, already looking forward to tomorrow. I took the card. The flowers card too. Carried both to my bedroom. I placed them gently on my nightstand, tucked beside my lamp. Then crawled under the covers, exhaled slowly, and let sleep pull me down.

─────── ⌖ ───────

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the time.

And then- “ SHIT! “

I shot upright, blankets flying, heart pounding. My phone buzzed aggressively on the nightstand, flashing missed alarms I had somehow slept through. My brain felt like static. I never overslept. Ever. But there I was, hair a mess, staring at the numbers as if they’d personally betrayed me.

I was late.

So late.

I kicked off the sheets and rushed to the bathroom, moving on muscle memory alone. Shower. Makeup. Clothes. I ran my fingers through my hair as best I could and blew it out just enough so I didn’t look like I’d been electrocuted. I grabbed my bag, shoved my phone inside, I was already on the move, shoes half-buckled, keys in hand, and left.

By the time I got to the facility, the adrenaline had mostly dulled into a sharp throb behind my eyes. I nodded at security, breezed through the metal detector, and walked briskly down the hall like I wasn’t one minor inconvenience away from collapsing.

The moment my office door clicked shut behind me, I closed my eyes for a beat.

I made it.

Barely, but I made it.

I hung my coat, dropped my bag, and opened my laptop. Calendar. Schedule. The first patient at 9:30. A small buffer. Thank God.

I scrolled through the list.

Then I saw it.

Poindexter. 5:00 PM.

My eyes lingered on the name longer than necessary.

And then without thinking, I smiled.

Small. Unconscious. But real.

It startled me a little. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen, lips still curled at the corners. Like the chaos of the morning had been worth it just to see his name.

I hadn’t seen him in a week.

A quiet part of me missed it. Missed him. Missed the way the room changed when he was in it, how focused it became. How still. How alive. He was the only patient I couldn’t predict, and the only one who made me forget I was supposed to.

I shook my head, trying to reel it back in. I had a full day ahead, normal patients, normal progress reports, and normal notes. I couldn’t let one name throw off my whole balance.

But still…

Dex.

He was on my schedule.

And I was already counting down the hours.

HOURS LATER

By the time I finished with my last patient before lunch, I felt like I’d already lived three lives. My body ached, my throat was dry, and I hadn’t sat down since 9 a.m. I finally made it back to my office, kicked the door shut behind me, and sank into my chair like gravity had tripled. The silence was a relief. I let my head fall back, exhaling. And then I remembered. I hadn’t checked my phone all day. Between oversleeping, racing out the door, and being completely booked, I hadn’t touched it. I reached for my bag, and pulled it out. The screen lit up with a couple of notifications. Emails. Calendar reminders. Nothing unusual.

Then I saw it.

A message from Gigi.

I stared at the message for a long time.

"You’re welcome, but for what?"

My brows furrowed.

I blinked.

Read it again.

What?

I double-checked the name. Gigi.

But the words didn’t make sense.

She always knew what I meant, even when I was vague. She’d never reply like that unless…

Unless she didn’t know. 

My thumb hovered over the screen.

My heart had already started climbing its way up my throat.

I slowly typed, “The cake. Last night.”

Then waited.

And waited.

But I didn’t want to wait.

My chest tightened, heat rising under my skin like I was finally understanding something I didn’t want to understand.

I hit call.

She picked up almost immediately, voice casual, breezy. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You didn’t send the cake?” I asked, skipping hello entirely.

There was a pause.

“What cake?”

I felt my stomach drop.

“The shortcake,” I said slowly. “The one that showed up at my door last night. Pink box. From the bakery we went to last time. I thought it was you.” Another pause. Then, “...no? I left hours before that. Why would I send more dessert after we stuffed our faces the whole night?” My fingers went still against the desk. I leaned back slowly like my body was catching up to the realization before my brain could name it.

“I thought you were being subtle. The handwriting looked familiar and, I texted you.”

“I saw,” she said. “That’s why I replied. I was confused.”

I rubbed a hand across my mouth. “You’re telling me… it wasn’t you?”

“Babe,” she said softly now, “I didn’t send anything. I swear.”

I didn’t respond.

My pulse was loud again. Too loud.

She was quiet for a second, then added carefully, “Wait, you said there was a note?”

I replied, “Yeah, handwritten.”

“You said it looked familiar? How?”

“I don’t know, what are you trying to say?”

“What did it say??”

“Uh... it said 'again, happy birthday.'”

“AGAIN?, babe....”

“Yeah? What? G, you’re scaring me.”

“Is the handwriting like the one from the flowers?”

“I- I don’t know. I didn’t really compare them. You think it’s from the same person?”

“YES. Why would they say 'again'? This person already told you happy birthday, and wanted to say it again with the cake.”

The dots were starting to connect. My heart was starting to race. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Gigi said, “Listen, I think it’s... well, you know who I think it is. But you think it’s not. You have a session with him today, don’t you?”

I replied, “Yeah.”

She continued, “Okay, let’s not make it obvious. Have a handwritten thing going on in today’s session. Make him write something. Let’s see if it’s his handwriting or not.”

I paused, heart hammering. “What if it is him?”

She sighed. “Well if it’s him thank him with a makeout session instead, and if it’s not... then it’s creepy and you need to ask everyone around you and figure it out before you file a report.”

I closed my eyes. Just for a second.

I opened them again, and whispered, “Okay. Thanks, G. I’ll call you later.”

Then I hung up.

And sat there.

Still. Completely still.

Like my body was waiting for my brain to figure out what came next.

─────── ⌖ ───────

Hi, my loves

First of all, thank you so much for reading. I know this chapter is kinda boring, but I promise Chapter 8 will be worth the wait. It’s coming very soon.

Would love to hear what you thought of this chapter and the final episode of DDBA!!

anyways enjoyyyy,

Yours truly,

Raey ♡

─────── ⌖ ───────

[ next chapter ]

[papathe5th]

Could I possibllyyy ask for a Perpetua x reader where reader has been appointed his prime mover and must travel with him…I beg…

I hope to Lucifer that you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. You didn't specify what flavor, so I prepared for you a bit of all three: fluff, angst and smut.

I would love to write some more about a hypothetical Prime Mover, but this is all I can muster for today.

Papa V Perpetua x Prime Mover f!Reader

Words: 1500

Rating: 18+

There was no way in the Nine Circles of Hell you were sitting your ass on a five star hotel king-sized bed all day waiting for the ritual to start. You were going to join the band at tonight’s venue for rehearsals. You will stand by Papa V Perpetua’s side as Satan intended. Until death do you apart and after the end of the world.

“You should be resting.” He moved his lips much to your annoyance. 

You had but two more strokes before finishing his black Cupid’s bow, but he just had to move those mesmerizing lips of his and distract you. 

“And you shouldn’t concern yourself with such menial tasks.” He looked at himself in the dressing room mirror. “We have a make-up artist for this.”

“You don’t need her,” you snapped back, barely disguising your disdain at her mention. “You do a better job of it anyway. And you have me to help.”

Papa watched your shaking hands and how they struggled to reassemble the make-up kit. And he lent your supposed helping hand a hand of his own. 

“Mia Prima,” his voice is low, like it was meant for the depth of your soul, as it was on your wedding night.

You became the Prime Mover less than three months ago. The night you were sworn to Papa V Perpetua was the first time the two of you met. And he addresses you as “Mia Prima,” his First and Everlasting. You heard his low voice over the scripture read by Papa Nihil’s spirit and you felt his gloved thumb stroke your trembling hand.

Now, as he was arresting your hand, pulling it away from the pile of products, he didn’t say his vows. Papa used his power to be rid of you. Again.

“Go back to the hotel and get yourself ready for the ritual.”

“I am ready,” your voice is also a whisper, but only because you were trying your best not to shout. “Do you not like my dress?” 

You already saw the way his eyes lit up when you showed up in the little black dress, the way they took little bites out of your figure when he thought you couldn’t see them through the dark holes in his mask. But now that you were being sent away, you doubted what your own eyes were witnessing. 

“It suits you,” he assures you, rising from the make-up chair. “And so does the jacket,” he smirked and you saw the work you did on his lips come to life.

The jacket was black leather, so worn it looked grey in the sunlight.  He had worn it in his youth and brought with him to the Ministry along with the little he owned from the outside world.

One of his treasures was a collection of Hammer Horror VHS tapes. They became your treasures too during the night of your wedding when, instead of consummating the marriage, you fell asleep in each other’s arms to the screams of dead movie stars.

You would be celebrating three months before either of you could blink, but he had been too busy building an image for the Ministry to use to reach the outside world. And, before you could settle into his chambers, you were out on the road for the first leg of the Skeletour.

“It does, doesn’t it?” You mirrored his smile. “It looks better on me than it ever did on you.” 

“Does it?” He teased you, and stroked his chin with a flourish, the test make-up came off before he could stop himself.

“Papa,” you chided him. “I was just finished with that.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll just have the make-up artist—“

“No.” You stand your ground, actually speaking your mind this time. “Nobody else gets to see your bare face. Nobody.” 

Papa took a step back in surprise. And you covered your mouth in shock at what had just escaped through it.

“Are you…jealous of the backstage crew?”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. He was probably mocking you, looking down at you like you were still a lowly servant. And you suppose you were still servicing him, only as a wife instead of a sister. But your marital bed had been so cold without him.

Papa reached for you, running his leather clad fingers down each of your shoulders. “Confess to your Papa.”

You hugged yourself tighter, your back turned away from him so that he wouldn’t reach your heart.

“Mia Prima,” he whispered in your ear.

“Am I really your First and Everlasting? You haven’t even touched me!” And you said all this as he was struggling to encircle his hands around your shivering body. 

“It is me who should be confessing,” he breathed into the back of your neck. “I’ve been a terrible Papa. Just as my brother…our Frater feared.” 

It wasn’t just you who was trembling now. He curled himself around you as he opened his heart to your closed off one. “Forgive me. They put the weight of the end of the world on my shoulders and I can’t even…I am too weak to carry it.”

The pressure you have been feeling since the members of the Clergy informed you of your new role was his pressure. While still among the Sisters of Sin, they swore they heard that Papa V Perpetua himself wanted you before the elders made their final choice. When they appointed you his Prime Mover, they split that pressure down the middle for you to carry separately instead of together.

“But you don’t have to do it alone,” you turn towards him, and he rests his silver forehead against your bare one. “We can come together.”

“Together as one,” he breathed over your lips, his breath hot and heavy.

You closed your eyes, waiting for him to take your mouth, to claim your body and finally consummate your marriage right there, right then.

“Have they shown you the stage yet?”

You opened your eyes to see he had moved his mouth along with the rest of his face. 

“I’ve seen it before.” 

Still, you take his arm when he offers it.

“Not this one you haven’t.”

Papa was right. You had never seen a stage this big before. It was the biggest venue that they had played so far and the stage they built was massive. The giant ghrucifix hanging from the ceiling was enough to inspire religious zealotry which was exactly what the Ministry intended.

Under its majesty, Papa spun you around and you freely fell into his embrace. The only one who could distract you from Satan was him, so you didn’t even see the ghouls chasing the crew backstage. You didn’t even notice that you two were left alone in the intimacy of the unlit arena.

“Will you join me in unholy matrimony?” Papa asked, taking both your hands in his as he did during the ceremony. “Again?”

“Yes,” you giggled. “Again and again and again.”

He kissed you. Again and again and again. The face paint you so meticulously applied was all over your mouth and you didn’t even care. You tasted the black, his tongue gliding against yours as it snakes into your mouth.

You moaned around it, your legs melting under you and your hands clawing at his curls to keep your body from falling and your mouthed interlocked.

When he released you and you both took a respite, he poured golden honeyed words into your open mouth.

“Will you be my first?” He kissed your top lip. “My everlasting?” He kissed your bottom one, suckling it before surrendering it back to you. “My unholy mother?” He kissed your chin and moved his mouth under it and downwards.

“Yes,” you moaned and he kissed the sound as it formed in your throat. “Yes.”

Then, he bit the side of your neck and you arched right into his teeth. “Will you take me into you?”

“Yes.” You pulled on his hair and he growled against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Do it again,” he nuzzled into the bruise purpling there. “Again.”

You scraped your nails against his skull first and then you pulled. 

“Again,” he scrapes his canines against the sensitive spot behind your ear. “Harder.”

You indulge him so that he sinks his teeth into you again. Both of you gasp for the same air. And both of you have trouble standing up straight.

Papa lowers you both, his mouth latching onto the lobe of your ear as he lays you down onto the floor and under his shadow.

“Will you take my seed into your womb and give me The Son?” 

You looked up at him through the thick haze of your arousal, and saw how bright his white eye shone. All the rituals, all those nights, all this time he was holding down because of the pressure of his position.

Right there, right then, you saw Papa V Perpetua unleashed, his jagged teeth bared, his racing heart open and his cock straining in his tight trousers, standing at your attention.

You stroked his hair again, gently this time, and he nuzzled into the palm of your hand. 

“Make me yours, Papa.”

“Mia Prima.”

[foggynelsonarchive]

I still have a lump in my throat.

I can't organize my thoughts about that mess I saw yesterday. Of course I cried a lot, like I'm crying now.

I feel like I lost my best friend and I couldn't even say goodbye.

There was no funeral, no flashback to any moment other than Foggy getting shot and his dead eyes.

I cried when Matt read the avocados at law, of course. I'd been waiting for that for years. But there could have been anything in there, a flashback, Foggy's voice, the sound of his laugh, his giggles, the way he snorted when he was with Matt... But there was nothing.

It feels like I've lost my best friend and I've seen everyone move on and I'm like: Do you guys care that little? What's up Matt? The Matt I know would be more emotional. And the Matt I loved, loved Foggy.

This Matt, he's not the same Matt I loved and who loved Foggy and Foggy's family by extension.

It's impossible to watch the original Daredevil now. I watch Foggy's scenes and feel terrible knowing what Foggy's future holds for him.

Foggy was life, colors, music, food, hugs. He was a son, a brother, a friend, he had cousins ​​and was loved by the community in his neighborhood and Born Again killed that without the slightest consideration. In fact, Dario and his team have no respect for Foggy and Elden in extension.

But as if it wasn't enough to not respect Foggy's story, the entire show is a mess. What was that?

Matt's lines to Karen are a gross copy of what Foggy had said to Theo. And Karen comforting Matt felt so wrong. Foggy had completely accepted Matt since season 3. Foggy's last lines to Matt are heartbreaking and so out of character that they still haunt me.

Foggy is smarter than Born Again made him out to be. He's not an inexperienced lawyer. The way he was killed was even worse than they planned it to be in the initial script. In the initial script, he was at least going to get shot by a dirty cop. In Born Again, he died because he didn't know what he was getting into and didn't share his case with Matt, mistakenly thinking he could handle it all by himself. As if Foggy hadn't worked alone for a long time and made a name for himself by handling tough cases. Born Again made him look like a disposable freshman .

Matt and Karen went to the location (no spoilers here) and decided to go back and assemble an army because this is the city without fear now. Such poor and lifeless writing.

Dex killed Foggy, but left Benny alive. Could this be left to be resolved in season two? I have my doubts.

It's only eight episodes and there's a lot going on again.

And what about that scene where we apparently see Kirsten holding a phone while Karen is aiming at Dex? I thought it was going to be part of a flashback, but it didn't happen.

They got rid of Foggy to make Matt and Karen bond. How am I supposed to care now that that love is being restored at the cost of Foggy Nelson's death?

How can I care that Karen and Matt are on the run together, if his best friend just died and Matt took over a year to look for answers?

I held on to my little hopes until my last breath.

But after yesterday, I'm just exhausted.

Marvel will continue to tease Elden's return, because apparently, the sidekick had some importance to some fans and they won't want to disappoint this small group of fans who, by the way, even caught the attention of Vincent D'onofrio himself.

But I'm tired of getting my hopes up about this show.

And as I always end my lectures,

Foggy deserves better, Elden deserves much better and Foggy's tiny group of fans deserves better.

[crownmemes]

Rivals Sentences, Vol. 2

(Sentences for muses who are rivals with each other. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Have you come here to just look down on me?"

"Speaking plainly, what's in it for me?"

"Did you really think I was above that sort of thing?"

"Why can't you grasp that it's over for you?"

"Given the chance, you would deny me my life, wouldn't you?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Maybe what you hate about me the most is that I remind you of yourself."

"Even with all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict you."

"We have more in common than you'd like to believe."

"I think if you wanted to kill me, you'd have done it already."

"It distresses me to say it, but thank you."

"The only person I hate more than you is me."

"I don't want to kill you anymore. Not now that I finally find you interesting."

"You are in my debt. I will call on it."

"You shouldn't compare yourself to me."

"What have you got in your hand? Something to bash me over the head with?"

"Now, get the fuck out of here before people start thinking we're friends!"

"It's your move, but I've got to say, your options don't look great."

"If you had known it was me, would you have come?"

"Is this the best you can do?"

"I could say that you owe me, or that we have a debt to settle, but that would be playing yesterday's game, and there's no longer time for that."

"I think it's time we sorted out our problem one way or another, don't you?"

"I still hate you."

"We had an arrangement. You don't come here."

"Do you have an issue with me?"

"We don't have to trust each other, we don't even have to like each other, but we have to work together on this."

"Begging for mercy is not my style."

"I have an understanding of your state of mind. You understand mine. We're just alike. This gives you the capacity to deceive me, and be deceived by me."

"I should have known that I would be wasting my time trying to fool you."

"You're not going to survive coming after me."

"You've fantasised about killing me? Tell me, how would you do it?"

"Do you think I am your nemesis?"

"Just for the record: I don't want to be here right now."

"We're just alike, you and I. Except you're boring."

"Are you doing this because I got the job? You're doing this because I got the job over you?"

"It's funny that I of all people should feel concern for you, but I do."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"If you want my help, you'll do as I ask."

"I don't find you that interesting."

"You represent everything I hate, but I do find you highly entertaining."

"We have nothing to say to each other!"

"We cannot afford to be enemies anymore."

"We're not that different, you and I."

"Can't you see it? Feel it? I'm winning."

[thatsmooji]

dogtooth.

sigma!connie springer x reader

1.4k words: connie springer x reader, mixed!connie springer, black!reader, light angst, hurt/comfort, arguments, foul language, mentions of violence, neglectful partners, past relationships, jealous exes, pet names (ma, mama, baby, pretty girl), not really proof read

notes: hiiii! sorry that this took so long, but i finally got a laptop! it actually sucks ass, but i can write much faster on here! i lost a bit of motivation, but i know that i definitely want to write more sigma!connie and alpha!ony, so expect to see more of them! this fic doesn't have much to do with greek life, but i just wanted to note that this is part of the sigma!connie series anyway :)

“you can't keep getting into fights, connie baby.”

your boyfriend didn't respond, choosing to look out the window at the passing city as you drove him back to campus. the lights of the town shown gently on connie’s face, letting you catch slight glimpses of the bruises plaguing his beautiful cream skin. you sighed, turning your attention back towards the road.

your heart had nearly fallen into your stomach when connie called you from the police station, softly asking you to pick him up. it made you sick to see him hurt, and it didn’t help that he was being so nonchalant about it.

“they're not gonna keep giving you breaks forever, you know,” you started again, ignoring the way connie sucked in a breath next to you. “your frat brothers can only do so much. hell, i can only do so much-”

“well what am i supposed to do, ______? just let that asshole keep messing with you?” connie snapped. he was frustrated. beyond frustrated, and you'd be stupid not to know it. “he keeps playing in my fucking face.”

<3

when you got accepted into your university, you were so excited to just escape. leaving your old friends, unbearable family, and past mistakes behind. it was a new chapter in your life, and the last thing you expected was for an old character to make a reappearance.

your ex-boyfriend, aran, had followed you out of state to your university. apparently, he had been accepted on an academic scholarship, but that was very hard to believe. there was no room for anything besides high praises for himself in that brain, let alone any academic knowledge. the boy was arrogant, narcissistic, even.

looking back, the only reason you got involved with him was to maintain the high-standard image you had worked so hard to portray in high school. he was rich, and so were you. you were stunning, and he was beautiful. popular, wanted, and adored. a match pulled straight out of a high school novel.

but behind the scenes, aran was mean. at first, you believed you could learn to love him; making him lunches and dropping them off at his homeroom class, showing up to support him in any activities he decided to participate in, and even going on halfass dates with him outside of school, which usually only ended up with him heading home with a new girl’s number in his phone. it was hell dating aran, and you were so glad to leave the part of you that was ever involved with him behind.

but now he was here, tainting your new (genuine this time) picture-perfect life. everywhere you went on campus, he was there. hollering at you in the courtyard, standing behind you in the cafe, hell, even showing up to your dorm room at the ass crack of dawn. despite all of this, you ignored him. you were determined to continue revelling in the comfort you had built around you. you had new friends, new goals, new ideals, and a new and very loving boyfriend. you weren’t the selfish, inconsiderate bitch that you were in highschool anymore. you had things that you cared for, and aran was not a part of that.

it didn’t take long for aran to realize this either. and while it wasn’t as easy to break you down, it was almost comical how simple it was to get under connie’s skin; and he knew that your precious connie baby is what mattered the most.

it started harmless enough. minor taunts everytime aran caught glimpses of connie around campus, as well as the occassional shade thrown toward him on instagram or snapchat. during this stage, connie was much slower to anger, and you miraculously managed to keep him from doing anything he’d regret. you’d convinced him that the sigmas and you mattered more, and connie held onto that notion deeply.

but aran was nothing if not persistent. he began making passes at you in connie’s presense, even going as far as to slap your ass when he walked past the two of you. that was when connie’s resolve began to slip.

<3

now you were here, driving a slightly battered and bruised connie back home. you hadn’t even been present to know what went down. you were hanging out peacefully in your dorm, helping your roommate get herself together after a night out when connie called.

“what even happened, connie?” you asked, glancing over once more to see him still staring out the window. “whatever it was, i’m sure putting your hands on him wasn’t the solution.”

connie was quiet for a moment, but he sure as hell knew better than to ignore you. he scoffed before turning back to you, staring daggers as if you were the one in the wrong.

“why do you keep defending this boy?” he sneered.

your mouth gaped, honestly trying to grasp what the hell connie was talking about.

“connie, wha-”

“every fucking time me and him get into it, you always crying about ‘not putting my hands on him’ and ‘you don’t have to do allat.’ who’s side are you on, ? cause it sure as fuck don’t seem like mine. you still like that nigga or something?”

you whipped your head to look at connie, anger lacing your face. “are you fucking kidding me connie? you think i want him to keep bothering us? you think i want to see you stressing everytime aran is even mentioned? don’t talk fucking crazy to me.”

you weren’t even watching the road anymore, praying that your hand stayed steady and no one pulled out in front of you. “what? you think i’m not bothered by him too, connie? that nigga followed me here like some fucking stalker, and you think i’m okay with that? you think i like it? i don’t, but i sure as hell don’t like dragging my ass out of bed in the middle of the night, worried fucking sick, to come get your ass out of jail for fighting a mistake that i made several years ago.”

the car swerved slightly before your turned your attention back to the road, tears stinging at the back of your eyes.

“all of this ‘nagging’ and fussing i’ve been doing is for you. i don’t wanna see you lose the shit you care about because of me. i never thought i would see him again, connie. there was not a single ounce of love between us back then, and i promise you that there isn’t now,” you sniffed, scrubbing the tears off your bare face with your sleeve. “i’m sorry that he’s here. i didn’t know he would do any of this. he’s ruining everything that i worked so hard to get, bringing back the things i ran from and-”

“pull over.”

you sucked your teeth, looking over expecting to see a look of judgement, but there wasn’t. connie stared at you with soft, comforting eyes. you only ever saw them when you cried, whether you were stressed over an exam or distraught because your hair didn’t act right that day. connie has never judged you, so why would he start now?

“pull over, ma. it’s okay.”

you coughed nervously, pulling off the road into a Target parking lot close to campus. once you parked, you immediately felt connie’s arms wrap tightly around you. he gently pulled you over the seat into his lap, wiping the raw spots under your eyes with cold fingers.

“’m sorry for fighting, mama. ion wanna see you crying over this,” he started, using his other hand to rub soothing circles into your back. “i know i let my temper cloud my mind sometimes, but everybody knows i don’t play about my pretty girl.”

you looked away, trying to stifle your laugh.

“ahh there it is, look at them pretty lips,” connie grinned, pushing your face to look back at him. “i know that you’re mine, and you ain’t going nowhere. especially not for some nigga who wears skinny jeans.”

connie leaned forward, resting his face in the crook of your neck. “all i see is somebody bothering my girl, and i just don’t think. i didn’t know it was bothering you this much, baby. all my fighting and shit has been for you, but if that ain’t what you want, then it’s not gonna happen anymore.”

you nodded into his shoulder before pulling back and pressing a kiss onto connie’s forehead.

“thank you, connie baby.”

connie leaned up, quickly pressing a kiss into both of your cheeks.

“anything for you, ma.”

“…now if that nigga put his hands on you…”

“connie, please,” you scoffed before playfully nodding towards your purse. “he knows better.”

connie snorted before pulling you back in for a hug.

“that’s my girl.”

[foxaftershocks]

Your Holmes Boys (Mycroft Holmes x f!Reader)

Synopsis: When Mycroft kidnaps you for the night, it might be less to do with your life being in danger, and more to do with his feelings for you.

Words: 5k

Warnings: jokes about death

The mantle was cool to the touch. Despite the fire flickering below, the warm air brushing over your skin, the wood of the mantle was still cool beneath your fingertip as it ran along it. You lingered on the photo, an old photo, one you were surprised was in a place any visitor could see. 

“Are you quite done?”

You turned your head. The man in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, a crystal glass dangling from long fingers, the warm liquid inside waiting for lips to pass over, was watching you. Ignoring him, you turned back to the photo. You’d long since learnt not to be intimidated by the man. 

“You were a cute kid,” you said. 

“Is that supposed to be flattery?” he asked.

“Don’t pretend you don’t get a little thrill from hearing it,” you shot back.

You turned your back to the fire, looking at him properly. The lamp beside him was the only other light in the room, exposing his face to you. Dark hair, cold blue eyes, three piece suit perfectly put together, Mycroft Holmes was letting you study him. Your head tilted, eyes narrowing, feeling him study you back.

“I won’t let you quit,” he said.

“You don’t have a choice,” you replied, “I can be quite stubborn.”

“Yes, you’ve proven that,” he said.

“So what am I doing here?” you asked.

“You don’t already know?” He raised an eyebrow at you, “how disappointing.”

“You know I don’t plan on playing this game anymore and I know you’re going to try and convince me otherwise. We both know it won’t work. I don’t see the point of this,” you said. 

“Consider it a respectful gesture to allow you to quit to my face,” he said.

“Or maybe you just wanted an excuse to see me,” you replied, flashing him a grin.

The look of displeasure was worth it. You laughed, shaking your head as you turned away from him. The Holmes boys could be such fun. Your eyes lingered on the picture.

“Cute, but not as cute as Sherlock I’m afraid,” you said.

“He had the advantage of being younger,” he replied.

“And the hair. Who doesn’t love a mop of curls on a small kid,” you shot back over your shoulder, “it’s how I got away with so much as a kid.”

“And now you hide behind humour in an attempt to keep others from realising how true your statements are,” he said.

“Why am I really here?” you asked.

“I thought we covered that,” he said.

“We could have met at your office or your club or this could have been a phone call. I’m in your home. You don’t let people into your home,” you said.

“Don’t I?” 

You turned, the weight of his gaze growing heavy. Stepping away from the fire, you watched him take a drink from the crystal glass. The shadows hid you from all but his eyes, knowing even in the darkness he could see enough to know all your secrets.

“You’re pathological about your privacy. Obsessive some might say. But I wasn’t even blindfolded on the drive here. I know exactly where we are and I know it’s your home. Quite the romantic gesture from you,” you said.

“Romantic?” He sounded amused.

“You wanted to see me, somewhere private but personal. This isn’t just business. This involves trust,” you said.

“My brother,” he began.

“Doesn’t want me to quit,” you said, “I split the money with him. It’s quite lucrative.” 

“So why are you?” he asked.

“Doesn’t feel as simple as before. What else do you want from me?” you asked.

“I need you to convince him to do something,” he replied.

“That’s not why I’m here,” you said, “that’s business.”

You took another step towards him, drawing closer, a moth to the flame, knowing your wings were about to get burnt. He let you, fingers tightening around his glass of whiskey.

“You did want an excuse to see me,” you said.

“You're my brother’s keeper. I’m expecting a report on his movements,” he said.

“Business,” you sing songed.

When he’d first installed you in Baker Street with strict instructions to keep an eye on Sherlock, you hadn’t thought it would come to this. You hadn’t thought you’d actually grow to care for the man you were tasked with watching. Nor did you think you’d ever enjoy your meetings with Mycroft.

But now you enjoyed playing with them. They got the same crease between the eyebrows when you annoyed them. It was rather endearing.

“I’ve been doing this for over a year and we’ve always met at one of your offices. At your club on occasion. That warehouse you seem to like so much more than I appreciate. One time at a cafe. All impersonal. All relatively public. Why am I here?” 

He stood, one leg elegantly uncrossing from the other. Standing before you, it was easy to remember just how much taller he was than you. You could forget when he was sitting down but now, having to look up into his face, it was blatantly obvious. 

“We’ve had some intel,” he said, voice lowering in that way that always gave you a little thrill. 

“How surprising. That never happens with you,” you said.

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm,” he said.

“You never do, and yet it won’t stop me.” You grinned up at him.

His eyes closed for a moment, his frustration so clear to you. You softened, enjoying the experience of having an effect on him.

“Our intel has led us to a group looking to take down my brother. Their first step is to take out his support network, beginning with you,” he said.

You froze.

“We have it on good authority they were looking to kill you tonight,” he said, “your removal to a safe location was imperative.”

“There are other safe houses,” you said.

“You refuse to do as you're told. I thought it would be better if I kept a watchful eye on you so you would not give your protection detail the slip,” he said.

You reached up, your fingers gently smoothing over the crease that had appeared between his eyebrows. He froze, eyes burning into you as you gazed up at him. 

“You care about my survival,” you said, still trying to smooth out his forehead.

“It would be a pain to find a replacement for you,” he said.

“Except you’ll still have to because I’m quitting,” you said.

“We’ll see,” he hummed.

His fingers curled around your wrist, lowering your hand from his face. Still, his touch lingered and you thought he might be taking your pulse. The Holmes boys could be tricky like that.

“So I’m meant to spend the night here then?” you asked.

“There is no location more secure than here,” he said.

“Don’t say that. Sherlock will take it as a personal challenge,” you replied.

He sighed as he released your wrist, taking a step back. The pang in your chest was at least a familiar feeling. 

“You will remain here until the threat has been neutralised,” he said.

“We’re not even going to discuss it? I am, as ever, at your command?” 

You followed him back to his chair, not letting it go. He was so used to getting his own way. It frustrated you to no end, even as you’d grown used to it. He sat, still so elegant, keeping his eyes trained on you.

“Would you rather die?” he asked, sounding so confident of your answer.

“It’s not like they know where I am anymore,” you replied with a small shrug, “I could slip out the back now and I’m sure I’d be fine.”

“You’ll remain here,” he growled.

“Aw, you do care,” you said.

“This isn’t a joking matter,” he said.

“We can’t joke about my death? I thought we’d reached that level of camaraderie by now,” you replied, grinning when the divot appeared again, “sorry. Not funny. I get it. How long will I be trapped here?”

“Trapped is such a negative word,” he said.

“So a while then.”

You sunk down onto the settee. This turn of events was less than ideal for a number of reasons. He watched you.

“You’re unhappy,” he said.

“I see that genius brain of yours isn’t taking a break,” you said.

“No need to be nasty,” he said.

“What will you do about Sherlock? He runs towards death. He won’t hide,” you said.

“Yes,” he replied, leaning back in his seat, a dark look passing over his face, “we’re assuming he’ll be ferreting them out for us. But not before tonight. Hence…”

He gestured at his home. It was quite rich, ostentatious. Pretentious. You imagined it was what the inside of his brain looked like if it was a house. There was a suit of armour in the corner. It was lush but not particularly homey. You preferred Baker Street. 

“So I'm here for tbd,” you said.

“Quite,” he said.

“Okay.” You stood up again, “I’m making popcorn.”

“Why?” 

He followed you as you began to walk through his house, looking for the kitchen. His hand on the small of your back guided you towards the back of the house, burning through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. 

“If we’re going to have a sleepover I expect popcorn and a movie,” you said.

You looked around his kitchen. It seemed mostly unused and you pressed your lips together to hide your grin. Very on brand for Mycroft Holmes.

“This isn’t a sleepover,” he said.

“You say potato, I sat tomato,” you replied, opening cupboards at random, “you do have popcorn, right?”

He opened a cupboard above your head, his warmth seeping into your spine. You turned your head to look up at him, finding him already looking back at you, head bowed towards you. This was not like him at all.

“You’ve got such lovely eyes,” you said in a soft whisper.

He stepped back from you, dropping the microwave popcorn on the counter. The disappointment was acute but you ignored it. It grew more familiar after every meeting with this man. 

“So does this place have a home cinema?” you asked, plucking up the popcorn.

“Of a sort,” he replied, arms crossed over his chest as he leant back on the furthest counter from you.

“Of a sort? Well, now you’ve intrigued me, Mr Holmes. What does that mean?” 

The scent of popcorn began to fill the air. You pushed up onto the counter, heels bumping against the cupboards beneath. 

“I suppose you’ll want to pick the film too,” he said, not answering your question.

“Depends on what you’d choose. If I leave it up to you we might end up watching some boring documentary where you correct every expert,” you said.

“I’m not Sherlock,” he said.

“You’re very like him,” you replied with a shrug.

“But less sentimental,” he said.

“I don’t know about that,” you muttered, “you’re certainly more fun.”

“Am I?” He didn’t sound like he believed you.

“When Sherlock kidnaps me it’s so flashy. You’re far more mysterious. Adds an element of elegance,” you said.

“Does my brother often kidnap you?” he asked.

“More than my other friends,” you said, “except you, of course.”

“Are we friends? I must have missed that memo,” he said.

“You’re letting me stay at your place when no one ever gets this far into your sanctum. You’re letting me make popcorn. You’re going to let me watch a movie with you. If I didn’t know any better I’d say we’re very good friends,” you said, “might even describe us as close friends.”

He handed you a bowl to pour the popcorn into. You plucked up a piece, popping into your mouth as you smiled at him. It wasn't an agreement but he wasn’t scoffing at you. For once. 

“Go on then. If you’re nothing like Sherlock, pick a movie and surprise me,” you said, “your favourite movie.”

He considered you for a moment before he turned away. You tossed another piece of popcorn into your mouth before you followed him. His house was expansive and stupidly stuffy and you loved it. You also enjoyed the view as you walked behind him, especially when he shrugged out of the blazer he’d been wearing. 

You weren’t expecting the old film and the projector. Nor were you expecting the sofa you could both sit on, side by side in the dark, the bowl of popcorn between you. You enjoyed timing it so your hand would brush his as you both reached for a snack. Each time he would freeze for a moment before continuing on. You enjoyed playing with a Holmes. 

The jolt it gave your heart wasn’t an unpleasant feeling either. 

Tickering film and black and white images. It was so quaint, so typical for him, pretentious and from another time. You snorted when it began to play, a film noir, a classic. The look he shot you was one of annoyance. You winked at him before settling down to watch.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see when he mouthed along with the dialogue. You ducked your head, hiding your smile. He didn’t even realise he was doing it. That ridiculous man.

As the credits ran over the screen, you rolled your head towards him. He lingered a moment, the shadows playing over his face in a rather fetching way. You pulled your knees up to your chin, resting it on them as you stared at him.

“What?” he asked after a long drawn out moment.

“You pretend to be so unknowable and above it all but the truth, Mycroft Holmes, is that you’re a very simple man,” you said.

“If this is your attempt at insulting my choice in film, you’ll have to do better,” he said.

“And if it was my attempt at complimenting you?” you asked.

“What part of being simple is a compliment?” he asked in return.

You ignored the question, shuffling closer to him. Placing the empty bowl on the floor, your knees came to rest against the side of his thigh. His hand closed over your shoulder and you waited for him to push you back. Only he didn’t. His fingers dug in. 

“Why are you so determined that I stay alive? Wouldn’t I be good bait? Let them come for me and then you get them, saving Sherlock without ever putting him in danger,” you said.

“I’ve already told you,” he began.

“It would be too annoying to replace me, yes, so you said,” you interrupted before he could finish, “so you decided that you should protect me. You, specifically. You’re not trusting this to people whose job it is. Trust is a weird one, isn’t it?”

You sat back, leaving his personal space. He seemed to relax, just a touch, but you still missed the warmth of him.

“Is this the kind of sleepover where we stay up all night? We could gossip about boys,” you said.

“Is that how you want to deliver your report on my brother?” he asked.

“Well, I was going to tell you about the man I was meant to go on a date with tonight. Thank you, for that, by the way. He’s not going to want to see me now I’ve stood him up. And he was quite handsome,” you said.

“Quite,” was all he said.

“Your brother has been staying at home, experimenting on toes Molly Hooper supplied him,” you said, “he paces in the middle of the night and his flat is littered with empty cans of energy drink. He hasn’t slept in a few days but I have managed to shove some biscuits down his throat. He can never say no to my gingerbread.”

“I thought you were quitting,” he said, looking rather smug.

“Well, since I'm here…” You rolled your eyes, “so are we staying up all night?”

“It’s not a requirement,” he said.

“You will be, though, won’t you? Just to make sure,” you said.

“Just to make sure what?” he asked.

“That I’m safe.” You smiled at him, not the grin that said you were teasing him, a softer more genuine one. 

“You’re making me sound sentimental,” he said, almost mocking you for it.

“Am I? I thought I was just stating a fact. You like facts, don’t you?” You tilted your head to the side as your eyes swept over him. He was such a lovely specimen of a man.

You reached over, taking his hand when he didn’t bother answering you. His deep inhale could have been annoyance or it could have been something else. You bowed your head over his hand, hair falling forward, dragging his hand towards you. Your fingers were gentle as they ran over the lines of his palm, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. There was something thrilling about touching him without more purpose than you wanted to.

He wasn’t stopping you.

“Oh no, this situation must really be bad,” you said.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“You’d never let me touch you like this if it wasn’t serious,” you said, looking up at him.

The expression on his face shifted from something you might consider fond back to annoyance. Your chuckle was soft, more for yourself than for him, as you went back to tracing patterns over his palm. 

“Palmistry is a pseudoscience used by vagabonds and deceivers who prey on the weak,” he said.

“I don’t need to read your palm to know about you or your future,” you said, “I’ve picked up a few tricks from Sherlock over the months.”

“He’s been teaching you deduction,” he said.

“He’s tried,” you replied, “sometimes he misses the big picture though. That’s why he needs us. Me and John. We keep the bigger picture in sight when he goes too micro on the details.”

“Then what do you know about me?” he asked, “what have you deduced?”

“It’s not deduction. It’s bigger picture. I can’t tell you what you had for lunch or where you’ve been today,” you said, watching your finger move over his palm, still so relaxed in your hold, “but I know you think yourself a man without sentiment but every interaction I’ve ever had with you speaks to the heart beating in your chest. You care, more than you’d ever let people know. You do what you have to, but when it comes to Sherlock… you’re not without sentiment, Mycroft. You’re just good at hiding it. But anyone paying enough attention to you can see it. You have a heart and you’re ashamed of that but you shouldn’t be. You don’t bother trying with people, but you know the right ones to charm, and you don’t wield your power like a weapon. You’re not cruel, even if you’re not always kind. But you can be kind. I’ve seen you be kind. You’re being kind right now.”

“You make me sound like some kind of whimpering boy overtaken by emotion,” he said.

“No, you’re still made of ice. Cold and above us. Your heart beats but it’s slow, buried under layers of logic. I like when I get to see your heart, though. You probably don’t like hearing that or you think it makes me sound… I don’t know. Weak? Or some kind of lesser being. I already know you don’t see me as anything more than a means to an end. A convenience. Nothing more. But sometimes you can be so caring,” you said.

His fingers jerked, closing around the finger you’d been dragging over his skin. You looked up at him, finding blue eyes burning into you. His breathing wasn’t calm and his lips were pressed together tight enough to be bloodless. Your lips parted, caught in his gaze. The grip on your finger tightened.

“You think I’m being caring?” he asked.

“You're stepping in and changing my fate. You’re saving my life. Even if it’s selfish, I’ll be alive tomorrow because of you,” you said.

“You might not thank me for that,” he said.

“Why? You planning on torturing me tonight?” you asked.

His fingers clenched around yours, a spasm of a move. You chuckled, raising his hand up, your lips brushing his knuckles. He made a noise, so small, so quiet, you might have missed it if you weren’t tuned in to him so completely. 

“Or am I here to torture you?” you murmured.

“Why are you acting like this?” he asked, a harsh noise, accusatory and angry.

“Why are you letting me?” you asked in return.

He released your finger as if burnt. You laughed, tipping back to lounge against the arm of the sofa. The cool leather was a relief on your burning skin from touching him so much. He usually kept far more distance. This whole night felt like a dream, hazy, a sense of unreality to it all. Mycroft only ever acted like this in your dreams, never in real life. Your head was a whirl and the way he was looking at you was turning you breathless.

“Sherlock warned me about falling for a Holmes, you know,” you said, conversationally, turning your gaze to look up at the ceiling, “second time we met. He did the deduction thing at me and then told me not to fall in love. Said it was a useless endeavour and I’d just grow to resent him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Mycroft asked.

“It took him a while to realise he was warning me off the wrong Holmes brother. Bigger picture. Took him a while to see it,” you said.

You were slow to turn your eyes back on him. He was watching you, face impassive, almost pitying. You shook your head and looked to the lit up projection. His pity wasn’t required. You knew you were an idiot.

“You knew though. Of course you knew. I wasn’t hiding it. No point with you boys. The more you try to hide something, the more likely you are to see it. I tested that once. Never say I’m not a fan of science,” you said, “why am I really here, Mycroft? And why are you indulging me?”

“You had a date tonight,” he said.

You sat up again, about ready to throttle him. But he was looking at you like he’d laid his heart at your feet, like he’d answered your question clearly. 

“Mycroft,” you said, softening your voice, “was someone actually coming to kill me tonight?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous. Of course your life was in danger tonight,” he said.

“Because of a group looking to kill me or because I was going to go out with the wrong person?” you asked.

He considered you a moment before he inhaled deeply. His fingers steepled beneath his chin as it dipped, watching you. You waited, used to being patient with the Holmes boys. Or rather, stubbornly waiting them out until they grew frustrated enough to speak.

“It’s both,” he said, “I can’t have you dying, and I can’t have you distracted.”

“You don’t want me to die,” you said, “and you’re jealous.”

His lips pursed. 

“Conclusion, you care about me too,” you said.

“You are deducing,” he said.

“No, but even a goldfish can put two and two together if they’re bashed over the head with it,” you said, “you brought me into your home. Your personal home. Your inner sanctum. That told me everything. You played your hand, Mr Holmes.”

That crease returned. Your fingers were drawn back to it, smoothing it out. He caught your wrist again, dragging your hand away. That hard gaze watching you, silent and uncompromising. 

“Of course, there is a simple solution to stop me from going on a date with the wrong person that doesn’t include kidnap,” you said. 

“You think there’s a solution I didn’t already think of?” he asked.

“Clearly,” you said, “aren’t you going to ask what it is?”

“What is it?” You loved when he indulged you.

“Ask me on a date before anyone else does,” you whispered.

“There’s no guarantee you’d say yes,” he said.

“You Holmes boy. You’re always so desperate to see what people are hiding you refuse to see the bloody obvious. The stuff we’re not hiding. The things we want you to see.” You tugged your wrist out of his hold, “I sat here and told you I’ve fallen for you and it’s like you still don’t see it.”

Standing up from the sofa, you stared down at him. He was watching you, assessing you, looking for the lie. You rolled your eyes.

“I guess you’ll be staying up all night alone then,” you said, “you know how I feel. The ball is in your court now, Mycroft. Do with that information what you will.”

You turned away, ready to explore the house until you found a bed you could crawl into and sleep. Maybe the dreamlike quality of the night was the truth and when you woke up none of it would be real. 

“Wait,” he said.

His hand closed around your wrist once again. You spun towards him, ready to tell him off. His other hand cupped your cheek, pulling you in. His lips landed on yours, slightly clumsy but searing. Your sharp inhale was enough to make him pause for a moment. 

You weren’t about to let that big brain of his overthink it and ruin the moment. You curled your arm around his neck, pushing up onto your toes as you kissed him, pouring every iota of feeling into it. His fingers easily slid into the hair at the nape of your neck as he released your wrist, hand pressing into the small of your back. You were arching towards him, his warmth flooding your senses. 

When his tongue swept over your lower lip, you opened to him. He tasted of the whiskey he’d been drinking earlier and the popcorn you’d forced upon him for your movie viewing. You moaned, pressing closer, wanting to feel him. The hand in your hair tipped your head back as he kissed you deeper. There was a level of arrogance to his kiss, like he knew he was a fabulous snogger, like he knew you’d enjoy it. 

Damn him for being right.

By the time he drew away you were feeling thoroughly snogged and ready to drag him to the closest vertical surface to pull all those layers off like he was the prettiest of presents. His eyes were blown wide, the blue almost missing, and his cheeks were flushed. This was the kind of view of him you’d dreamt about seeing before, the kind you would be filing away to revisit at a later date. The kind you wanted to keep seeing for the rest of your life.

“I rather think that tells you my position on the matter,” he said.

You dragged him into another kiss, uncaring if that’s what he intended or not. You wanted more. You thought you might end up wanting everything from him. 

“I’d still like to hear it in actual words,” you mumbled into his mouth.

Your hands on his chest shoved him back until he fell onto the sofa. You climbed onto his lap, knees either side of his hips, straddling him as you dove in for another kiss. His hands were burning through the thin cotton of your t-shirt as he grasped your waist. Turns out you were insatiable when it came to him.

“I care for you,” he ground out as your lips pressed to his jaw, tongue darting out to taste his skin. Interesting. You did it again. He groaned. 

“How much?” you asked.

“I’m not one given over to expressing sentimentality,” he managed to say.

“Go on, tell me,” you whispered into his skin, “I won’t tell anyone what you say.”

“I suppose if love was an emotion I was given over to feeling, I might apply it to you,” he said.

“I do enjoy a big romantic declaration,” you said, drawing back to look at his face.

His unimpressed expression had you grinning down at him. His hands tightened on your waist, squeezing until you were laughing. You lent forward, your forehead coming to rest against his. 

“Might be fun staying here,” you said, “now that you’re open to sharing a bed.”

“Am I? I must have missed the part where I said that,” he said.

“Oh, well, if you don’t want to have some fun…”

You began to climb off his lap but the hands still on your waist pulled you back, pressing you tightly against him.

“If you were in my bed, I suppose it would be easier to keep an eye on you,” he said.

“Well, if it would be easier…”

The next morning, finding Sherlock in Mycroft’s kitchen was hardly a surprise. His eyes swept over you, eyebrows drawing together in confusion at your state of undress, in nothing but your knickers and Mycroft’s discarded shirt from the night before. You grinned, flicking the kettle on.

“If you’re looking for your brother, he’s still upstairs,” you said.

“Tell me you didn’t,” he said.

“Why? You know the answer,” you replied.

“Even you’re not stupid enough to do that,” he said.

“Oh I promise you I am,” you replied.

“And he wouldn’t-”

“He would.”

You lent back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at him. The arrival of Mycroft only increased your amusement. You liked him being less put together, not even in his waistcoat yet, although Sherlock was looking at him like he was practically indecent. You skipped over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m going to let you two talk this out alone,” you said, “if you need me, I’ll be showering.”

You grinned as you listened to the sound of disgust from Sherlock at whatever he read on Mycroft’s face at your declaration. Yes, you loved your Holmes boys. They were such fun to play with. 

You weren’t sure your quitting had stuck though. Oh well, you’d try again later.