#a LOT to work on really but this was just a quick thing just to get basics and the sort

[plutosunshine]

How to stabilize your life? Saturn in houses

Saturn in the 1st house

If you’ve got Saturn in the 1st house, you’ve probably felt like you were born a little older than your years—more serious, maybe more reserved, and definitely carrying a deep sense of responsibility from early on. Life might feel like it’s asking a lot from you, even when you're just trying to figure things out. But the good news is, once you learn how to work with that energy instead of fighting it, you can build a really strong, steady life.

One of the best ways to stabilize things is by creating structure—think daily routines, setting realistic goals, and sticking to them, even when no one’s watching. Saturn loves when you're consistent. It rewards patience and effort over time, not quick wins. So instead of trying to fix everything all at once, focus on showing up for yourself a little every day.

Also, don’t be too hard on yourself. Saturn in the 1st can come with this voice in your head that says you're never doing enough. That inner critic can get loud, but it’s not the truth—it’s just Saturn pushing you to grow. Learn to balance that drive with some self-compassion. You’re allowed to make mistakes and learn as you go.

And remember, boundaries are your best friend. Whether it’s in relationships, work, or even just with your time, knowing your limits helps keep things steady. You don’t have to say yes to everything or prove your worth by overworking. Stability often comes from knowing when to pause, breathe, and choose what really matters to you.

Lastly, surround yourself with people who get you. You might come off serious or private at first, but that doesn't mean you don't need connection. Having even a small circle of grounded, supportive people can make a huge difference. Saturn might make you feel like you have to do it all alone, but you don’t.

You’ve got the potential to build something lasting and meaningful—you just have to give yourself time, patience, and a little grace along the way.

Saturn in the 2nd house

Ah, Saturn in the 2nd house—this placement is like having a tough but wise financial advisor living in your soul. 😅 It can feel heavy at times, especially when it comes to money, self-worth, and stability. But once you understand the rhythm of Saturn here, you can build something solid that no one can take from you.

With this placement, life might’ve taught you early on that resources aren’t always guaranteed. Maybe money was tight growing up, or you were made to feel like you had to “earn” your worth. That can lead to two things: either you become ultra-responsible with finances and really value hard work, or you swing the other way and feel blocked when it comes to building wealth or feeling deserving.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 2nd, the trick is to approach money and value slowly and steadily. This isn’t a “get rich quick” setup—it’s the long game. Budgeting, saving, learning the ropes of financial literacy, and making thoughtful investments (of money and energy) are your best tools. And don’t just focus on material stability—this house also rules your sense of worth. Saturn here wants you to build self-esteem brick by brick, through consistent effort, responsibility, and trusting yourself.

It can also help to release the idea that you’re only valuable if you're being productive or financially successful. Saturn might whisper that in your ear, but it’s not the full truth. Your worth is inherent—it just takes a little longer for you to feel it sometimes.

So yeah, Saturn in the 2nd is a slow burn. But once you’ve done the work, the foundation you build—emotionally and financially—is rock solid. You're not just chasing stability, you're becoming it.

Saturn in the 3rd house

Saturn in the 3rd house gives your mind serious main character energy—but not always in the flashy way. This is the placement of the deep thinker, the cautious communicator, the one who doesn’t just talk to talk. You’ve probably always had a thoughtful, maybe even quiet, approach to how you express yourself. And growing up, you might’ve felt like speaking up was hard or that your voice didn’t come easily. Maybe you had to “prove” your intelligence or learn to trust that what you had to say mattered.

This placement can also show up in your relationship with siblings or early education. Maybe there were delays, challenges, or just a sense of distance. Saturn makes you work for clarity—of thought, of voice, of connection.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 3rd, lean into communication on your own terms. You don’t have to be the loudest in the room, but your words carry weight when you use them. Writing, structured learning, or even just organizing your thoughts through journaling can help you feel more in control and confident. You thrive when you create systems for thinking and communicating—whether that’s planners, to-do lists, or just a clean inbox. That stuff actually helps settle your mind.

Also, don't be afraid to speak up, even if it feels a little awkward at first. Your ideas are valuable, and over time, people will come to really respect what you have to say—because it's grounded, considered, and real. You're not about fluff, you're about substance.

One more thing: with Saturn here, you’re meant to be a lifelong learner. Your mind gets sharper as you age. So give yourself permission to grow into your voice. It might take time, but when it lands—it lands strong.

Saturn in the 4th house

Saturn in the 4th house can feel like carrying a backpack full of bricks labeled “family, roots, and emotional security.” This is the house of home and inner life, so when Saturn lands here, it often means your early environment felt strict, heavy, or full of responsibilities. You might have grown up feeling like the emotional adult in the room before you were ready, or like you had to be the stable one even if everything around you wasn’t.

There can be a sense of emotional restraint with this placement. You might keep your feelings to yourself or find it hard to fully relax and feel safe—especially around family or in your own home. But here's the flip side: Saturn here gives you the power to build a solid, grounded emotional foundation later in life. You just have to build it yourself, brick by brick.

Stabilizing your life with Saturn in the 4th starts with creating a sense of home within you. That could look like therapy, inner child work, or simply learning to listen to your own emotional needs and take them seriously. This placement thrives on consistency and self-parenting—things like a regular routine, a calm environment, and setting emotional boundaries can bring a surprising amount of peace.

You might not have had the softest start, but you’re capable of creating a home and emotional life that’s deeply secure and lasting. It just might take time—and that’s totally okay. With Saturn, the payoff always comes through patience, effort, and deep, meaningful growth. You're not here for the temporary fix. You're here to build something real.

Saturn in the 5th house

Saturn in the 5th house can feel like a cosmic lesson in learning how to play, love, and express yourself—without guilt, pressure, or fear of being "too much" or "not enough." This is the house of creativity, romance, fun, and even children, so when Saturn shows up here, it tends to bring a more serious tone to those areas.

Maybe as a kid you felt like you had to grow up too fast and didn’t get to fully embrace play or creativity. Or maybe you were super hard on yourself when it came to expressing your talents, feeling like you had to be perfect or earn approval before letting your light shine. Same goes for love—you might crave deep, lasting romance but find it hard to open up or let loose emotionally. There can be a fear of vulnerability or rejection that keeps you playing it safe.

But here’s the deal: Saturn in the 5th doesn’t mean you’re doomed to be all work and no play. It means your joy, creativity, and love life all get better with time. You’re here to take fun seriously—not in a rigid way, but in a grounded, intentional way. This might look like developing a craft over years, learning how to love with commitment and maturity, or discovering that your creativity has real-world impact.

To stabilize your life with this placement, give yourself permission to be a beginner. Let go of the idea that joy has to be productive or that love has to follow a strict rulebook. The more you let your inner child breathe, the more confident and whole you’ll feel.

And when it comes to romance or creative projects? Don’t rush it. Saturn rewards slow-burning passion, not fleeting sparks. You're meant to create things (and relationships) that last. Give yourself the grace to grow into your full creative power—one steady, authentic step at a time.

Saturn in the 6th house

Saturn in the 6th house is like having a very stern personal trainer in your soul—one who’s obsessed with routines, hard work, and staying on top of your responsibilities. This house rules your daily habits, work environment, health, and how you serve others. So when Saturn is here, life tends to push you toward discipline, structure, and learning how to take your well-being seriously.

You might feel like you're always working—mentally, emotionally, or physically. Maybe you’ve had jobs where you felt underappreciated or like the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Or maybe you’re super self-critical when it comes to productivity and feel like you're never doing “enough.” Saturn here can make you hyper-aware of your duties, which means burnout is a real possibility if you’re not careful.

The way to stabilize your life with Saturn in the 6th is through consistency and realistic expectations. You’re naturally capable of incredible focus and reliability, but you’ve got to pace yourself. Build sustainable habits—whether it's a meal prep routine, a sleep schedule, or regular exercise. Saturn wants you to be healthy and efficient, but not at the cost of your joy or sanity.

It’s also important to find meaning in your work. If you’re stuck in a job that feels soul-crushing, that Saturn pressure can feel suffocating. But if you’re doing something purposeful—even if it’s challenging—it starts to feel like you’re building something worthwhile. That’s where you thrive.

Long story short: you’re here to master the art of showing up, not just for others, but for yourself. Once you learn how to balance service, health, and work without overdoing it, Saturn will reward you with a deep sense of inner strength and stability that nobody can shake.

Saturn in the 7th house

Saturn in the 7th house is all about serious business when it comes to relationships. This placement means you don’t take love—or any close partnership—lightly. You might’ve always felt like relationships come with pressure, responsibility, or even fear of rejection or abandonment. Some people with this placement wait longer to settle down, not because they don’t want love, but because they’re deeply cautious about who they let in.

There’s often a strong desire for commitment and loyalty, but also a fear of losing independence or getting hurt. You might attract older or more mature partners, or relationships that feel like work—sometimes literally, sometimes emotionally. But here's the thing: you're not built for casual. You're built for real, grounded, lasting connections.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 7th, the key is to be honest—with yourself and others—about your needs and boundaries. Don’t rush into relationships out of fear of being alone, but also don’t shut down emotionally just because you're afraid of getting hurt. Relationships might feel delayed or difficult early on, but as you grow, you learn how to show up fully, communicate with maturity, and build something rock-solid.

This placement can also reflect a fear of dependency, or feeling like you have to be the strong one all the time. But real partnerships are about mutual support. Let people meet you halfway—you don’t have to carry the whole load.

In the long run, Saturn here helps you attract relationships with depth, honesty, and endurance. You’re not here for surface-level stuff. You’re here to build something timeless—with someone who’s truly ready for the ride.

Saturn in the 8th house

Saturn in the 8th house is deep, intense, and transformative—like emotional scuba diving. This placement puts Saturn in the house that rules shared resources, intimacy, power, transformation, and even death and rebirth on a symbolic level. So yeah, it’s not light energy, but it’s powerful when channeled right.

You might’ve experienced loss, emotional intensity, or situations that forced you to confront deeper truths earlier in life. This can lead to trust issues, a guarded heart, or feeling like you have to deal with everything on your own. Vulnerability doesn’t always come easy here—Saturn wants to protect you from being hurt, but in doing so, it can also make it hard to fully open up and receive.

Money tied to others—like inheritances, taxes, debts, or even shared finances in a relationship—can come with a lot of responsibility or karmic lessons. There may be fears around dependence, control, or losing what you’ve built. But with time and experience, you can become a master of managing shared resources and navigating deep emotional bonds with clarity and integrity.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 8th, you’ve got to learn how to trust—yourself, others, and the process of transformation. This isn’t about rushing into emotional vulnerability, but about slowly building safe, strong connections where both trust and independence can exist.

This placement is also incredibly psychic and intuitive once you let yourself go there. The more inner work you do—whether it's therapy, shadow work, or spiritual practices—the stronger and more emotionally empowered you become. You’re not here to skim the surface. You’re here to evolve, and Saturn makes sure that when you do, it’s real, lasting, and absolutely unshakable.

You’re built for deep transformation—and Saturn’s just making sure you build that inner power with a rock-solid foundation.

Saturn in the 9th house

Saturn in the 9th house gives you a serious, grounded approach to the big questions of life—philosophy, religion, higher education, travel, belief systems. This placement often shows someone who craves meaning and truth but doesn’t just accept what they’re told. You need proof. You need to test ideas. You’re the type who learns through life experience, challenge, and deep questioning.

Early on, you might’ve felt blocked when it came to education, travel, or even believing in something bigger than yourself. Maybe you doubted your ability to expand your horizons, or maybe life just threw enough obstacles at you to make the journey feel like a slow climb. But Saturn here isn’t trying to shut you down—it’s trying to make sure that when you do find your truth, it’s built on a foundation that can’t be shaken.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 9th, you need to embrace being a lifelong student—someone who learns not just through books, but through experience, reflection, and deep personal growth. You might find that you take your time when it comes to higher education or spiritual exploration, but that’s okay. What you build intellectually and spiritually will be solid, wise, and deeply earned.

This placement is also amazing for becoming an authority in a specific field, especially one tied to philosophy, law, education, or spirituality. You’re here to master your beliefs—not just inherit them. And once you do, you have the potential to guide others with real wisdom and clarity.

So yeah, Saturn in the 9th might delay the journey, but it never denies it. You’re meant to seek, struggle, and then rise with a perspective that’s grounded, earned, and transformative—not just for you, but for others too.

Saturn in the 10th house

Saturn in the 10th house is classic “late bloomer” energy—but in the best possible way. This placement means you’re here to build something big, lasting, and real in your public life, career, or reputation. You’re not the type to take shortcuts or chase fame for the sake of it. You want legacy. Respect. Something that stands the test of time.

But early in life? It might’ve felt like you were constantly being tested—professionally, socially, or even by authority figures. Maybe you dealt with super high expectations from parents (especially one with a strong presence), or felt like you had to constantly prove yourself in order to earn recognition or success. Saturn here sets the bar high, and it can feel like nothing you do is ever “enough” until you’ve really earned your place.

Here’s the good news: once you get clear on your goals and put in the work, no one is more unstoppable than someone with Saturn in the 10th. You have the grit, the patience, and the endurance to build an empire—slowly, steadily, and with integrity. You might hit major career milestones later than others, but when you do, they’ll be solid and meaningful.

To stabilize your life with this placement, stay committed to your long-term vision and don't be discouraged by slow progress. Saturn wants you to master your craft, own your authority, and lead from experience—not ego. The more you embrace your path with responsibility and purpose, the more life starts aligning around you.

You're not here to burn out chasing quick wins. You're here to become someone others trust, admire, and follow—not because you said you could, but because you proved it over time. Legacy is your lane. Keep building.

Saturn in the 11th house

Saturn in the 11th house is all about learning serious lessons through friendships, communities, and your long-term hopes and dreams. You’re someone who might feel a bit like an outsider early in life—like it’s hard to find your people or truly fit in with a group. There can be a sense of emotional distance in friendships, or like you’re the one who's always showing up and being reliable, but not always receiving the same in return.

This placement often makes you cautious about who you let into your inner circle. You might have fewer friends, but the ones you do have? They’re ride-or-die, loyal, and often stick around for the long haul. You don’t do superficial connections—you want depth, trust, and shared values.

When it comes to your goals and dreams, Saturn here gives you the power to achieve big things—but only if you're willing to work for it. You’re not about pipe dreams or vague “someday” visions. You want a plan, a purpose, and something that actually matters in the long run. This placement is perfect for building or leading communities, especially when your mission is rooted in social change or long-term progress.

To stabilize your life with Saturn in the 11th, focus on cultivating meaningful connections and committing to goals that align with your deeper values. You might feel like you're "behind" others socially or career-wise early on, but that's only because you're meant to create something lasting. As you mature, your network grows stronger, your vision becomes clearer, and your sense of belonging starts to solidify.

You’re here to make a real impact—not just for yourself, but for the collective. And once you find your tribe or purpose, you become a powerful force for progress, loyalty, and lasting change.

Saturn in the 12th house

Saturn in the 12th house is one of the most quietly powerful placements—it’s like being the emotional architect of your own subconscious. This house rules the hidden, the spiritual, the mystical, and the parts of ourselves that operate behind the scenes. So when Saturn lands here, it can feel like there’s a weight on your soul that you can’t always name.

You might have felt lonely, misunderstood, or emotionally isolated early in life. Not because others didn’t care, but because you often carry burdens silently. There’s usually a deep sense of responsibility—sometimes guilt, sometimes a feeling of needing to sacrifice your own needs for others or for some greater cause. You may also be extremely sensitive to the energies around you but not always know how to protect yourself, so you build walls or retreat inward.

This placement can bring hidden fears, karmic baggage, or a lifelong process of learning to confront your own shadow. But here’s the beauty of it: Saturn in the 12th isn’t trying to break you. It’s trying to help you master your inner world. You're meant to become emotionally and spiritually strong—not through avoiding pain, but by facing it, integrating it, and transforming it.

To stabilize your life with this placement, create space for solitude, spiritual practices, and emotional healing. Meditation, therapy, dream work, and even artistic expression can be game-changers. You need private time to recharge and process, and that’s not a weakness—it’s how you reset your power.

You’re also here to serve in quiet but profound ways. You may work behind the scenes, help others heal, or offer support that no one else sees but makes a huge difference. Once you learn how to take care of your own inner needs, you become incredibly wise, grounded, and capable of deep compassion.

This placement takes time to bloom, but when it does? You become a force of calm, strength, and quiet resilience—the kind that can’t be shaken, no matter what storms come your way.

[nerdcrawfish]

Yeah uh? This doesn't solve anything? As above pointed out the results to your question may be inaccurate. And like...

You're not supposed to be using any search engine to ask a question and expect a result. That's just trying to use it like an ly AI thing.

It's SUPPOSED to be delivering relevant pages for your query. Not a bunch of ai slop or ads--but that's what Google is doing and THAT'S why it's bad.

You're supposed to be searching things like: "diabetes rates by income levels" and finding relevant papers, news articles, and such that pertain to that topic. You were always supposed to wade through thing to find relevant data to utilize. it was just supposed to be actually related to your search and not fucking ads on shit.

Just seeing the results on this engine in that photos gave me severe anxiety and frustration because I cannot SEE where it is getting the data to deliver these results. This is useless. It answers a question with something, but there is nothing to show the validity nor the process of why that is an answer.

Which that last sentence there is Why you write papers. You need to show the process and validity of your answers via solid reasoning and showing your work. You are showing all the values and logic pathways you used in your "calculation" and that this result is what you got. Be it a project proposal, paper on women's involvement in WWII, diabetes rates being affected by income and why it most likely is due to food availability by income bracket--with poc tending to be more impoverished and financialy constrained--and NOT due to genetic factors like other research shows, or what the fucking have you.

A lot of the stuff I am seeing here is why so many people struggle in college. You're not here to fucking learn information, you're not here to have a list of facts memorized--you're here to learn how to think. And how to explain it to others.

How to take a data and make a result come from it. We're here to learn about how to progress things, how to change things, how to maybe not chnage things--you're supposed to be learning how to properly make decisions based on available data--and how to recognize faulty data or a lack of data as well. You're supposed to be evaluating things--not blindly asking a search engine to poop out a quick answer.

Search engines not fucking calculators to do all of that for you. Oh and the whole point of why we learn math is to understand the logic--not be able to just punch stuff into a calculator and get numbers you have 0 idea what they mean.

So fine, enjoy using this thing I guess, but if you're having a hard time writing papers and keep getting docked points in college and are frustrated--you really need to understand what the hell you're supposed to actually be doing there. And this? *gesturing to those omages above* All of that? Is not it.

LISTEN UP MOTHER FUCKERS

SEE THIS WEBSITE? 

ITS CALLED WOLFRAM ALPHA

THIS IS THE BEST GODDAMN WEBSITE FOR ACADEMIC SHIT. FUCK GOOGLE. 

THIS MOTHERFUCKER WILL LET YOU SEARCH “HOSPITAL BEDS IN CHAD VS. IRAN” 

AND IT GIVES YOU A STRAIGHT GODDAMN ANSWER 

MAYBE YOU’RE NOT INTERESTED IN DOCTORNESS OF THIRD WORLD COUNTRIES COOL SHIT 

HAVING TROUBLE WITH MATH?

HOLY SHIT

OR MAYBE YOU WANNA DICK AROUND

WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT

[askoverkill]

Mira would be better at this...

transcript below:

(You have no idea what to do.) (Mirabelle should be the one here, she's the brave and caring one.) (She'd have the perfect thing to say at hand.)

(You used to understand Isabeau, or at least, you thought you did.) (Always quick to lighten the mood or offer support.) (He was the party's emotional rock.)

(But... maybe you were reading too into it?) (He's here to protect Mirabelle, and by extension, the party.) (it was work, that's all.)

(And now that he doesn't like your jokes, what use are you to him?) (It's a job, you have to get along with your clients.) (You were never his friend, not really.)

(But still...) (He's scared.) (You can't sit here and do nothing.)

(You remember that touch is useful to make people less upset, or so you've heard.) (Maybe... you could try?)

(Breath hitching.) (You're shaking.) (Touch!?!!)

(He's surrounding you.) (He's everywhere.) (You can't move.)

(A hug!?!) (This is a hug!!!) (You're not wearing your cloak, he's touching you!) (No barriers, all touch!!!!)

(This is!!! A lot!!!) (He's got all of you!!!!) (All at once!! In a hug!!!!!!!)

(And.) (Just like that.) (He throws himself off you.)

(He's off so quick, it was like you were burning him.) (But how odd, when it is his body heat that lingers on you, still hot.) (Your body shivers, nerves alight.)

I'm sorry, that was- oh, Change, I'm sorry!

(...Why?) (Why is he looking at you like that?)

(You can barely breathe.) (You want to say something, but you can only stare.) (What could you say, anyway?)

Sorry, I'll go.

(He stumbles out of his seat, rushing out the room.) (He looked... terrified?)

(Huh? What? Why would he be scared of you?) (Did you pat him on the shoulder wrong?)

(Was it... the hug? Did you hug bad?) (Oh no, you're supposed to hug back, aren't you?) (Oh no, no, no, no, you screwed this up?!!!?)

[fastafeijoa]

Headcanons on Harley! And a lil sketch too

•Extremely self-condident. Absolutely sure whatever goes wrong with experiments isn't his fault. It's not necessarily someone else's fault either, it could be just a natural part of progress.

•British, moved to the US with his parents when he was little. They had sort of a small British community there so he didn't pick up American pronunciation.

•Asexual Also believes romance is like a "low quality drug for the soft, spineless people who seek only primitive pleasure and have no idea of their place in life". But! If he grew up a little less love-deprived, he'd be homoromantic. Dude likes men. Specifically, just one man. In several AUs with my wife he's in very close, warm platonic relationship with her version of Sawyer. This is the perfect fit for him, literally like a part of himself he was missing.

•Wasn't satisfied with his looks until his early 50s. Sawyer likes long hair on other people and himself but in middle school he got bullied into wearing a short haircut and used to have his hair cut even shorter before starting his work at Playtime Co, not really paying attention to his looks anymore. At the factory though he felt like things were going to change for the better and allowed himself some self-indulgence, letting his hair grow out a little bit. That, along with him gaining weight (which he liked, starting to see himself as beautifully imposing), made him finally pay attention to his looks and consider himself handsome.

•Can lock in and work on something without a single break for hours, often without even changing his position. Him being a surgeon has helped develop this skill a lot. Sometimes he'll even forget he's allowed to, say, scratch his nose, like if he's performing a surgery. Gets immensely overloaded in this state and if anyone bothers him at this time they're a dead person. •Yep he's autistic.

•Used to be genuinely disgusted with tenderness. Like, genuinely. At first when Yarnaby would try to cuddle up to him, lick his hands or just headbump him he felt pathetic and gross and was quick to push him away. Overtime, however, as he realised his mental health could use a little boost and a pet is a good tool for that, he became less disgusted and even started to secretly enjoy it when Yarnaby showed affection towards him.

•Uses cane due to chronic arthritis. It's not always bad so sometimes he doesn't need the cane and walks around carrying it like if about to beat up someone. And sometimes he'll lean on it when he's tired from standing. Also there's a knife hidden in the cane, just in case.

•Visits the local flee market from time to time. Usually just to philosophize and not to buy things: dude's got an inner poet in him and enjoys to dress his life in metaphor while looking at old toys and trinkets. But on occasion he will actually buy something: he got his cane at the flee market.

•6'2 ft tall. Quite menacing.

•Is somewhat paranoid. Definitely has OCD. Won't trust his mental health to anyone but himself though (handles it poorly) and is afraid of taking any kind of sedatives or antidepressants because they "might mess with his unique mind". Ofc he's perfectly aware that can't happen, it's just a hello from his OCD. Yeah, he also won't trust OCD meds because of OCD.

•Had tough childhood with mother who didn't care and father who was overly possessive (hm I sure wonder if Harley inherited that….. hm………)

•Has been feeling so much better than before in his life since the start of the Bigger Bodies Initiative. At times he might be miserable, grumpy, tired or unable to handle his temper, but his project gives him a lot of drive and motivation and quite often he's seen walking around genuinely excited, with a slight sinister grin and proudly straightened back. Among tortured children, scared and exhausted workers and products of brutal experiments he shines with grim joy. This, all of this, is everything he ever wanted.

[hunzzzzz]

OBX TWEETS: part 17 (Rafe Cameron x reader x John B SMAU)

A/N: some writing at the end. don't miss it!

TW: daddy issues

To say you'd been "checked out" for the past week was an understatement. Your daddy issues had always been the punchline of a self-deprecating joke, the kind that gets a nervous chuckle and a quick subject change. But deep down, you knew that particular brand of emotional baggage wasn't just a problem; it was the fertile ground from which all your other charming neuroses bloomed.

Your parents' relationship wasn't exactly a gentle stream flowing through a meadow. More like a constant, head-on collision between two very stubborn, very loud freight trains (unless you count your eventual trust issues as a logical outcome of witnessing the wreckage). You were the resident eavesdropper, a tiny, silent gargoyle perched atop the stairs, knees tucked so tightly to your chest you could practically feel your kneecaps fusing. The yelling was the soundtrack to your childhood, a discordant symphony of slammed doors and raised voices.

Then, one day, the music stopped. Not a fade-out, more like a sudden, jarring silence. And just like that, the man who was supposed to be your superhero vanished into thin air. Your mom, bless her tight-lipped heart, offered no grand explanations, no dramatic pronouncements. Just a simple, devastating "Daddy's not coming back." At eight years old, that sentence was a linguistic black hole, sucking up all understanding and leaving behind a void.

Fast forward eleven years, past a graveyard of missed birthdays, silent Christmases, and Thanksgivings where his absence was a louder guest than anyone present. He didn't show up for your high school graduation, a milestone that apparently ranked at the bottom on his list of priorities. And it was in those years, navigating the minefield of adolescence and burgeoning adulthood, that you truly began to catalogue the sheer, unadulterated damage his disappearing act had inflicted.

Your teenage years were a masterclass in misguided control. Since you couldn't control whether a parent stuck around, you decided to control the one thing you absolutely could: your own body. Turns out, an eating disorder is a fantastic (and by fantastic, I mean soul-crushingly awful) way to feel like you're in charge when your world has gone completely sideways.

And relationships?  You were the queen of the emotional hit-and-run. Anything past the one-month mark felt less like a budding romance and more like an impending disaster. The script was always the same: they'd either get fed up with your expertly crafted emotional unavailability (a skill honed over years of practice, thank you very much) or you'd execute a swift, silent ghosting – your signature move. It wasn't conscious, not really. More like a highly effective, deeply inconvenient trauma response. After the original heartbreak, delivered by the man who was supposed to be your ultimate protector, you never quite rebuilt the part of you that knew how to stay. So, you perfected the art of abandoning ship, because being the one who left felt a hell of a lot better than being left again.

Letting anyone new into the inner sanctum of your messy, complicated self was like asking you to perform open-heart surgery with a rusty spoon. Terrifying didn't even begin to cover it. The thought of someone seeing the darkest corners of your mind, the echoes of that original wound, and then choosing to walk away? Your nervous system literally couldn't tell the difference between vulnerability and getting shot at point blank.

You decided to walk back to John B’s from work. The chateau wasn’t exactly down the road. Given your recent car troubles you usually got Rafe or John B to pick and drop you from work. But these days you enjoyed walking.

Headphones on, world off. Your standard defense mechanism was in full effect, drowning out everything but the carefully curated soundtrack to your current state of advanced avoidance. You were so deep in the rabbit hole of your own making you almost clotheslined Rafe, who was leaning against his truck like he owned the street.

"You're avoiding me," he said, no preamble, just the accusation hanging in the air as he stepped closer.

You mumbled a "Sorry," yanking off your headphones like they were suddenly too loud, your gaze fixed firmly on the ground. "Just busy." The lamest excuse in the book, but it was all you had.

Your previous setup with Rafe had been demolished. You'd practically lived at his place, especially after the fallout with your mom when you got back from rehab making home feel less like a sanctuary and more like a battlefield. Rafe's bed was a five-star resort compared to your aunt's lumpy sofa.

Then came the fight. Just a few lines, a shift in his usual easygoing dynamic, but it had felt like a physical blow. All that tough-girl bitch fasacde? A paper-thin shield. You were raw and exposed underneath. The sudden anger in his words, the sheer force of his frustration – it had tripped a wire deep inside you. Your built-in eject button was slammed. He's pissed. He's going to bail. You had convinced yourself you were unlovable, too damaged to make a relationship work. The thought wasn't logical, but it was loud, a siren screaming through your brain. The only way to control the inevitable was to trigger it yourself. Pull the pin. Run.

So you'd been bunking at John B's, perfecting the art of ignoring Rafe's attempts to reach you for the past seven days. Your friends weren't stupid; they knew the whole "my deadbeat dad is back" drama was only part of the story. They just waited, blessedly, letting you self-destruct in peace.

“You know,” Rafe started, his voice rough, etched with hurt, "I was hoping your phone spontaneously combusted. I was seriously considering 'missing persons report.' Figured it was more likely than you just not answering my calls for a week." He rubbed his temples, the gesture speaking volumes about his stress.

You stared resolutely at the ground, the worn-out treads of your sneakers suddenly fascinating. Any attempt to speak would shatter the fragile composure you were desperately clinging to, unleashing the tidal wave of tears you felt building behind your eyes.

"Can't even look at me?" A heavy, frustrated sigh. Then, gently, his fingers were under your chin, lifting your head until your watery gaze was trapped by his. "Baby, I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry I blew up at you."

"It's okay," the words were thin and unconvincing, accompanied by a weak, wobbly smile that felt alien on your face.

"No, it's not okay." He shook his head slowly, his eyes scanning your face, cataloging the damage the past week had wrought. The dark smudges beneath your eyes, skin unnaturally pale despite the relentless summer sun. It was a clear report card of sleepless nights and relentless anxiety.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked, his voice softer now, taking your hands in his. You managed a small shake of your head. "Are you upset with me, then?" His eyes searched yours, a silent question begging for an answer you couldn't give. "What is it, then? Just tell me. What did I do?" His voice climbed, a note of desperation making it sharp.

That sudden tension, the rise in his voice – it hit you like a physical blow. Tears welled instantly, spilling over and tracking down your cheeks. You recoiled, stepping away, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself, shrinking inward. The sound transported you, stripping away the years until you were that small, scared child huddled at the top of the stairs, the sound of yelling echoing around you.

"Hey, hey," Rafe was there in an instant, circling you, his arms gentle as he pulled you into a hug. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice."

You collapsed against him, the carefully constructed walls crumbling. Deep, racking sobs tore through you, shaking your entire frame. Your face pressed into his chest, soaking the front of his shirt. He held you close, murmuring reassurances, shushing you, rocking you side to side in his arms.

After a long moment, you pulled back, catching your breath, biting down hard on your lip to steady yourself. Your eyes, still glistening with tears, met his concerned gaze.

"It's okay," he said quietly, his voice low and comforting, guiding you towards the open door of his truck. "We don't have to figure it all out right now." He helped you in. "Let's just go home, yeah?"

You knew exactly where home was.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

"God, I missed you so fucking much," Rafe groaned, pulling you into him, tangling you both in the sheets.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled into his chest, the apology a small, inadequate offering for the week of silence. "I... I don't know why I'm like this." 

It was a lie, a reflex born of habit, because you knew exactly the root of this twisted behavior.

"It's okay," he murmured, his hand stroking your hair.

"No," you pushed yourself up, crossing your legs on the bed. "It's really not."

Rafe sat up with you, leaning against the headboard, his expression open, waiting. He didn't demand answers, just reached out, his fingers finding yours, lacing them together, his thumb stroking the back of your hand.

The words felt like shards of glass in your throat. "I'm a leaver," you choked out, the confession a raw wound.  "That's what I do. When things get... real, or tough, I run. It feels like it's just... in my programming. Part of the factory settings." 

You finally looked away, shame heating your cheeks. "So when we argued... it felt like the beginning of the end. And I just thought it would be easier to... handle the exit myself."

"Baby," Rafe's grip tightened slightly on your hand, his voice soft but firm. "That was a stupid argument. My fault. It wasn't the end of anything."

"You don't want this, Rafe," you insisted, shaking your head, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. "Trust me. Because this is what you get. Someone who disappears, who shuts down, who builds walls the second things get hard. No one in their right mind would sign up for that."

"Well, maybe I'm not in my right mind then," he said, a faint smile touching his lips, but his eyes were serious. "Listen to me. I see the walls. I see you pushing. And yeah, it hurts like hell. But I also see you. The person underneath all that. The person who's been through some serious shit and is still standing. Still sarcastic. Still amazing." He squeezed your hand. "And I don't care if you push. I'm starting to understand how your defense mechanisms work. I just... I want to be here for you. If you'll let me."

Your throat felt tight, your eyes blurring again. "I don't know how," you whispered, the admission a painful one. "I don't know how to... let anyone help me."

A flicker of hurt crossed his face. "Like you do with your friends?" The question hung in the air, unspoken acknowledgment that he meant John B.

"It's just... easier with him."

"How?" His voice was gentle, curious, not accusatory. He genuinely wanted to bridge the gap.

"He knows," you explained, the words finally flowing, carrying the weight of years. "He was there. When my dad left. He knows the before and the after. He knows all the messy parts. I don't have to explain. He just... gets it. Automatically."

Rafe nodded slowly, a dawning comprehension softening his expression. "So... that's what this week was about? Your dad?"

You nodded, a hesitant dip of your head. Swallowing hard, your stomach twisting with nerves, you made the decision. A leap of faith. He'd stayed through your silence. He was still here, holding your hand. You wanted this to work. You wanted him to last. 

And then you started talking. The words tumbled out – the sudden reappearance, the complicated, painful history, the gaping wound of the "daddy issues." You laid it all out, the ugly parts, the fear, the feeling of being fundamentally flawed. And as you spoke, pouring out years of buried pain, the weight on your chest began to lift, just a fraction.

"Baby," Rafe murmured when you finished, pulling you into a fierce hug, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, the other stroking a soothing path down your spine. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. Trust me, I know a thing or two about shitty dads."

"I'm sorry I don't... open up," you mumbled into his shirt, the apology feeling small but necessary. "It's just... hard. Because if I let myself feel things, if I let someone see... all of it..." You pulled away from him, meeting his eyes. "...I'm terrified they'll leave. That you'll leave." The confession was a quiet ache in the air. "It's easier to be the one who walks away than to stand there and watch someone else do it. It hurts less to expect it than to be blindsided."

"Listen to me," he said, his voice low and earnest. "I know that's your default setting. I know you've been hurt. But I'm not him." He paused, letting the unspoken name hang in the air, acknowledging the shadow of your father. "I'm not going anywhere just because things get a little messy, or because you're having a tough time, or because you show me the parts you try to hide."

"I'm here. And I'm staying. You pushing me away for a week? It didn't make me want to leave. It made me worry. It made me want to figure out what was going on. It made me realize... how much you mean to me." He reached out, gently cupping your face in his hands.

"I'm not going to leave you, baby. Not for this. Not for anything." His voice was a solemn promise, etched with sincerity. "You don't have to be afraid of falling apart in front of me. I'm not going to run."

"When you're shutting down, tell me. Just a word. 'I need space.' 'I'm freaking out.' Something. So I'm not left guessing. Communicate what's going on. Okay? Can you do that?" He continued.

"I can do that. I'm gonna work on it,” you promised him, and you meant it.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

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[manmuncher777]

Taken in tension

✧༺ Roommate toji x reader

✧༺ trigger warnings

✧༺ a/n - roommate tonji is my fucking favourite trope ever. Hi, impregnate me sir. Enjoy sexies xx

You didn’t see a lot of Toji.

That was half the reason why this whole roommate situation worked.

You both had your own lives, your own schedules. He was usually out — at the gym, running errands, disappearing for hours without a word — and you were busy enough your own things that you rarely crossed paths except in passing.

When you did, it was… easy. Surprisingly easy.

You were actually greatful you got landed with a roommate like Toji, he was there when you needed him, always fixing whatever you had broken, or helping you with heavy lifting. And you were quite happy to repay him in your own ways. You cooked dinner for the both of you most nights, and on the nights you couldn’t be bothered you would grab takeout.

He wasn’t messy — not enough to piss you off — and when he was, you didn’t mind picking up after him because he always noticed, always threw you a grateful look or a lazy, gruff thanks, sweetheart that made your stomach stupidly flutter.

Besides, he pulled his weight in other ways.

Fixing the broken sink without you having to ask. Carrying all the groceries up in one go without a complaint. Reaching things off the highest shelves, half-laughing when you glared at him for making it look too easy.

You got along well.

It was chill. It was safe.

Still…

Sometimes, you caught yourself noticing things you shouldn’t.

Like the way Toji would drag his shirt off after a run, tossing it over his shoulder, his body glistening faintly with sweat — thick arms flexing, abs hard and cut deep, the waistband of his shorts hanging low enough to reveal the sliver of a v-line that made you bite your lip and look away fast.

Or the way his voice sounded in the mornings — rough and low, rumbling out of his chest when he mumbled a half-asleep ‘mornin’ and shuffled into the kitchen in nothing but sweats.

Or the way he sometimes smelled — fresh soap and something deep, earthy and masculine that clung to the air long after he left the room, leaving you dizzy if you stayed too long.

Not that you thought about it.

Not that you let yourself think about it.

Because this arrangement was comfortable, and you weren’t about to screw it up just because your stupid brain couldn’t help but drool over your hot, sometimes-shirtless, way-too-casual roommate.

No.

You had self-control.

You were fine.

Totally fine.

But you werent always aware that you werent the only one finding this arrangement a little… testing.

I mean you couldn’t always blame him, the apartment wasnt massive, so sometime it was hard for him not to notice you creeping towards your room from the bathroom in only a towel, or strutting past him while he was watching tv, shouting a quick goodbye with your tiny little dress on, something about a girls night. He wasnt listening in that moment.

And it took everything in him not to pocket those little panties of your he finds when sorting the washing, all outs of images flashing into his mind of you wearing nothing else but those little panties, waiting for home to get home.

Of course he did his best to remain respectful, only letting his eyes linger ling enough you wouldn’t notice.

One rule that you both kept in the apartment was no partners are allowed over, one night stands of girlfriends were a strict no no on both sides. You didn’t want to be disturbed by that, and well you were single as fuck so he didnt really have to worry. The walls were thin and the last thing you needed was some girl keeping you up all night.

Only issue for you with the thins walls is that if you ever want some ‘personal time’ you have to wait until you know Toji would be out. You would be mortified if he ever heard you like that, so you keep very discreet. Just you and your little box of toys.

The box of toys that you were currently rummaging through because he had finally left, popping out to grab some cigarette or something, then he’d just hop back on his Xbox or something. You had just got home from work, and needed a moment to destress, he would be 20 minutes, surely thats enough time.

Work clothes off, T-shirt and panties on. Candles lit and you were finally ready for a relaxing evening

Your box of toys that was open, despite you not touching it recently, the box that was left rather visible under your bed when you usually have it tucked away. And the one toy you wanted, that you would be finished fast with, was now missing its batteries. The slip of plastic to place the batteries in was left visibly opened with no batteries in there.

Where the fuck were the batteries?

You knew you had left them in there.

Tucked right inside your little velvet pouch — with your trusty toy buried safely beneath sweaters and old scarves — reserved for nights like tonight.

Nights when the sexual frustration got so bad it made you antsy, desperate for even a tiny bit of release.

Single. Stressed. Stupidly horny.

It wasn’t much to ask, was it?

Apparently, the universe — or more specifically, your goddamn roommate — had other plans.

You searched everywhere, in your desk, in drawers, not a single triple a battery to be found. And on such perfect timing, Toji was back.

Fucking great, looks like you were getting nothing tonight. ON all the days this could have happened.

You stared at the opened box, jaw ticking, the empty slot where the batteries once sat practically mocking you.

There was only one person who could’ve done this.

Your mind finally clicking, you live with one other person, and your certainly didn’t just throw away those batteries

One muscle-headed, thoughtless, lazy bastard who would rather loot your private stash than walk ten feet to the store.

You stormed down the hall, chest tight with irritation.

It was petty — objectively — but you didn’t care.

Because now you were still horny and now also pissed off, which was a dangerous combination.

Without even knocking, you shoved open Toji’s bedroom door.

He barely glanced up from his spot on the bed — legs spread wide, controller in hand, headset slung around his neck as he mashed buttons aggressively.

Casual. Relaxed. Like he hadn’t just committed the ultimate betrayal.

You crossed your arms and glared at him.

He finally looked up, pausing his game.

One dark brow lifted lazily.

“Problem, sweetheart?”

You wanted to punch him.

You also wanted to climb him like a tree. Eyes glancing over him fully now, only just registering the fact he was shirtless, grey sweats hanging slutily low on his hips, enough to make a woman drool.

Neither urge was helpful right now.

“You stole my batteries,” you said flatly.

Toji gave a slow, exaggerated blink.

Then — fucking smirked.

“Needed ’em,” he said, shrugging, like that excused everything. “Controller was dead. Emergency.”

“Emergency?” you hissed, stepping further into the room. “Emergency? I needed them! Toji, you went through my shit! That was private”

His eyes flicked over you — lingering for a second too long on your flushed cheeks, the way your chest was rising and falling a little too fast.

It was obvious, wasn’t it?

What you had been about to do before he ruined it.

Obvious in the way your thighs pressed together, your arms crossed like you were trying to physically contain yourself.

Toji’s smirk widened.

“Ohh,” he drawled, voice low and amused. “That kind of emergency.”

You wanted to die.

You also wanted to hit him.

You also maybe wanted to straddle him and shut him the fuck up.

Instead, you ground out, “I want them back. Now.”

He set the controller down beside him, stretching like he had all the time in the world — the way his muscles flexed beneath the dim light of his room should’ve been illegal — and then patted the space next to him on the bed.

“An emergency?” you scoff, already frustrated beyond belief. “The hell do you need my batteries for? Your fucking remote? Seriously, I’ve been looking for those—”

He interrupts you with a lazy shrug. “Yeah, my controller died.” He repeated casually “You weren’t gonna use ‘em anyway, right?”

You stop mid-sentence, the realization dawning on you, but it doesn’t stop the heat rising in your cheeks. “I—I was going to,” you mumble, fuming. “I was going to use them, but now they’re gone because of you. You went through my stuff, Toji. Personal shit.”

Toji slowly rises from the bed, a calculated glint in his eyes. He’s still half-smirking, clearly enjoying the way your irritation is building. He walks toward you, the tension thickening with every step he takes. His large frame seems to fill the room as he stops just a few inches away, his presence overwhelming.

“You really need to chill, ma,” he says lowly, his voice like honey, but there’s a subtle hint of mockery in it. His hand reaches up, brushing past you as he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Seems to me like you were relying on some pretty weak shit to get off.”

The words hit you like a slap, but it’s his tone—condescending, taunting—that gets to you. Your lips part as you try to retort, but the heat in his gaze leaves you speechless for a moment

“I mean, really,” he continues, stepping in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “That plastic shit really get you off? Don’t you need something a bit more real?”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold your ground, but the tension between you is palpable. “I was fine before you came in and took everything,” you snap, although the desperation you feel is practically dripping from your words.

Toji smirks at your reaction, clearly reveling in the power he has over you. “Yeah? I don’t think so,” he says, leaning in a little closer. “I think you were getting a little too used to that weak little thing. You were probably so frustrated you didn’t know what to do with yourself.”

Your heart races, and you can barely focus on what he’s saying because of the raw, intoxicating way he’s looking at you. You hate how much you want to shove him up against the wall and take control, but you’re pinned under his gaze, unable to move.

Toji’s hand moves down your arm slowly, teasing, not quite touching, just enough to make you tingle with need. His voice lowers even more. “Now, I think I could give you something much more satisfying… if you let me.”

You open your mouth, but words fail you. Instead, you let out a frustrated sigh, your hands trembling as they fall to your sides.

Toji chuckles softly, sensing your growing desperation. “You still upset about the batteries, baby? Or do you need something else?

“Come get ’em,” he said, grin turning absolutely devilish. “Might even help you out, if you ask real nice.”

Your mouth went dry.

Your whole body heated.

Because suddenly you weren’t sure if you were mad anymore — or just aching for something else entirely.

You stayed planted near the door, arms crossed so tight it hurt, glaring daggers at him — but he only lounged back further against the headboard, hands resting behind his head, looking like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world.

He tilted his head at you, that cocky little smirk pulling at his mouth.

“Poor girl,” he drawled, voice thick and mocking. “So flustered. Bet you were all set up too, huh? Lights off, blanket pulled up real nice… fingers already creeping down your stomach—”

“Shut the fuck up, Toji,” you snapped, face burning.

His eyes glinted — dark and full of something downright wicked.

“Ooh. Touchy,” he teased. “What’s the matter? Mad ’cause you couldn’t get yourself off? Or mad because you haven’t had a proper fuck in too long?”

You hated him.

You hated how well he knew you, how easy you were to read. You hated how he was right.

You hated how good he looked, sprawled out like that — broad shoulders, abs flexing, that slutty v-line, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, those big thighs spread wide like an invitation.

He smelled like bodywash and something sharp and masculine underneath, and it was doing terrible, terrible things to your self-control.

Your nails dug into your arms.

“I needed the fucking batteries,” you bit out. “Not some — some asshole with no respect for personal property.”

Toji chuckled — actually laughed at you — low and rumbly in his chest.

“You’re real cute when you’re mad, y’know that?”

He shifted slightly — not enough to stand, but enough that the mattress dipped under his weight.

He was closer now, lazy but predatory. Like a tiger deciding whether or not it wanted to play with its food.

“And real fuckin’ cute when you’re needy, too.”

Your heart was beating so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

You needed to leave.

You needed to keep your pride.

You needed to not imagine what it would feel like to march over there and straddle him and grind the attitude out of him.

But then Toji gave you a slow once-over — lingering, heavy, filthy — and your body betrayed you.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, thighs pressing together instinctively.

He caught it immediately.

“Aw, baby,” he cooed mockingly. “Don’t go shy on me now.”

He patted his thigh, slow and deliberate.

Like he was inviting a fucking pet into his lap.

“C’mere. If you ask real pretty, might even let you put that mouth to good use first.”

You sucked in a shaky breath — the edges of your anger bleeding into raw, desperate want.

“You’re disgusting,” you said — but your voice wobbled. Trembled.

His smirk sharpened.

“You want disgusting, sweetheart?”

He leaned forward, voice dropping low, gravelly, dangerous. “I’ll show you disgusting. I’ll have you makin’ sounds you didn’t even know you could make. Have you crying on my cock, beggin’ me not to stop.”

Your knees almost buckled.

Your mind was screaming at you to turn around, to hold onto some shred of dignity — but your body had already decided.

You were burning. Frustrated.

So damn needy it hurt.

And Toji — he was right fucking there.

Arrogant and filthy and perfect.

You licked your dry lips, fists clenching at your sides.

“I’m not begging,” you muttered — trying and failing to sound strong.

Toji’s grin widened into something positively sinful.

“Not yet, you’re not.”

He patted his thigh again — slow, taunting. “Now. Be a good girl and get over here. Before I make you.”

You glared at him for a second longer — daring him to back down — but Toji just smirked, the arrogant bastard, and patted his thigh again.

Fine.

If he wanted to play?

You could play.

Jaw set, you crossed the room in a few stiff steps and planted yourself right on his thigh — hands braced on his shoulders, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his sweats.

For a moment, you felt smug — victorious even — but then—

Toji’s hands landed on your waist, big and heavy, fingers flexing lightly against your sides.

And he didn’t grab you.

Didn’t drag you down and grind you where you wanted.

No — he just let them sit there.

Warm. Teasing.

Promising.

You tried to shift your hips, chasing friction — and that’s when he bounced his thigh once, slow and deliberate.

The jolt ran through you like a live wire.

You gasped — clutched at his shoulders — and he laughed.

“Ohhhh,” he cooed, voice dripping with mockery. “There she is, theres my needy girl.”

You scowled, but it melted into a breathless sound when he bounced his thigh again, just slightly, making you rub against him.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice dropping low and mean. “Use it.

You wanted this so bad, right?

Your cheeks burned.

You couldn’t believe this — couldn’t believe you were actually — actually—

But your clit throbbed insistently between your thighs, the frustration and humiliation and desperation all bleeding together until you were moving — slow little rocks of your hips, dragging yourself along the hard muscle of his thigh.

Toji leaned back against the headboard, arms folding behind his head again like he didn’t have a damn care in the world — like he wasn’t sitting there letting you humiliate yourself on him.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” he drawled lazily, watching you.

“Look at you. So desperate you’re ridin’ my fuckin’ thigh like some lil’ bitch in heat.”

You whimpered — hated yourself for it — hated the way it made him chuckle, deep and low in his chest.

His hands slid up — finally — trailing slow and lazy under the hem of your shirt, skimming your waist, teasing along the curve of your tits without really touching where you wanted him to.

You ground down harder, chasing the friction, dizzy with need.

“Toji~” the broken whine leaving your throat, a beg. A need for something more.

“Nuh-uh,” Toji tutted, voice smug. “Not gonna help you, sweetheart. You wanna cum? Gotta work for it.”

He bounced his thigh a little harder — just once — and you cried out, grabbing his shoulders tighter for balance.

“Yeahhh,” he rasped, voice dark and gleeful. “That’s it. Use me, baby. Grind that pretty lil’ pussy on my thigh like you fuckin’ mean it.” You were beyond embarrassed now — little gasps and whines spilling from your lips as you rode him harder, chasing the sharp little sparks of pleasure building in your gut.

“Feelin’ good, huh?” Toji teased, voice thick with amusement. “Bet you’re so fuckin’ wet. Bet I could slide my fingers right in without even tryin’.”The thought made you moan brokenly — hips stuttering — and Toji’s grin widened like he could feel you getting closer.

“Come on,” he coaxed — voice low and rough and cruel. “Cum for me, baby. Show me how pathetic you are. Show me how bad you needed it.” It was too much — the filthy words, the heat of him under you, the cruel bounce of his thigh grinding against your clit just right—

You cried out, breaking apart with a full-body shudder, clutching him desperately as you came — hips jerking against his thigh in messy, helpless little rolls.

Toji laughed — laughed — one hand finally smoothing down your back as you trembled and gasped against him. The feeling soothing you as rode out your high, grounding you to the presence of the man beneath you.

“There she is,” he murmured mockingly, patting your ass like he was proud. “Good girl.”

You were still catching your breath, slumped against him, when you felt it —

the heavy, deliberate grip of Toji’s hands sliding down to your hips. The sensation buzzing against your already prickled skin, waves of pleasure still flowing through you from that much needed orgasm. The tension inside of you now nothing but a distant memory, now replaced with something needier

“Aw, poor thing,” he murmured, voice dark with mock sympathy. “Thought that was enough for you?”

You barely had time to register the teasing before he hauled you up — manhandling you like you weighed nothing — turning you around and bending you over the edge of the bed.

Your hands scrabbled for purchase on the comforter, your mind slow and syrupy with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You felt drunk — high — boneless and pliant under his rough touch.

“Still so fuckin’ needy,” Toji rasped behind you, thumbs hooking into your shorts and yanking them down your thighs in one swift, ruthless motion.

The cool air hit your slick folds and you whimpered — humiliated at how wet you still were, how badly you wanted him. Being so vulnerable in front of him despite moments ago using his thigh to get off.

He leaned over you, big and overwhelming, and you felt the thick press of him, heavy and hot against your bare ass. You swallow thickly, he was bigger than your toys, and you were sure he knew it.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll take care of you, baby.”

You gasped when you felt his fingers between your thighs — thick and calloused, slipping through your slick with an obscene wet sound.

“So fuckin’ wet already,” Toji grunted approvingly.

“Messy little thing. Bet I could slide right in.”

You whined — hips arching back into him without thinking — and Toji just chuckled low in his throat. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, almost fondly.

“I know, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

Wasting not a second more to give you what you wanted, what he wanted. He slides his joggers just far enough down to free his throbbing cock. His tip a pretty shade of pink, adorned with small pearls of pre.

You felt the blunt, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance, stretching you wider than any toy — and then he was pushing in, slow and devastating, splitting you open with a low, gravelly groan from his chest.

You gasped, frozen against the bed as you felt him sink into you so sinfully, it was so much better than your toys. His thick cock gliding into your welcoming walls. Mouth hanging open at the feeling of his pressing so deep inside you

“Better than your toys huh?” A chuckle sounds out from behind you and you curse your fucked out brain for speaking out loud. You werent lying however,

You gasped — tried to rock back against him — but Toji grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, holding you still.

“Uh-uh,” he hissed, sinking deeper. “Take it. Let me fuckin’ stretch you out.”

It was too much — the overwhelming stretch, the filthy, sticky heat between your thighs, the way your body just took him greedily, still trembling from your first orgasm.Toji bottomed out with a heavy, satisfied grunt — hips flush against your ass — and for a moment, he just stayed there, savoring the way you clung to him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice thick and ragged.“You feel so good. Better than I imagined. Fuckin’ made for me, huh?”

Your fucked out brain couldn’t even process what he was saying, imagined? Had he thought about this too?

You nodded helplessly, whining when he gave a shallow thrust — hips grinding into you slow and deep, dragging the thick length of him against your fluttering walls.He fucked you lazily at first — deep, heavy strokes that made you sob into the mattress — placing all of his weight behind his merciless strokes, rocking into you slow and sharp. Relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him.

He was so deep you were sure you could feel him in your throat, you could feel every ridge, every vein, Like you were moulded to him.

But his patience didn’t last for long

Soon he was pounding into you, rough and relentless, your hips slapping against his with every brutal thrust.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Toji growled, watching the way your body shook under him.“Take it. Take it all.”

You babbled something incoherent — something desperate — but Toji just laughed and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so he could murmur filth into your ear.

“What’s that, baby?” he teased, voice all syrupy condescension. “Can’t even talk, huh? Fucked you stupid already?”

You whined, blinking up at him, lips parted — brain mushy and overloaded.

“That’s alright,” Toji rasped, fucking you harder, crueler. “You don’t gotta think. Just gotta cum for me.”

And you did — with a wrecked cry, clenching around him so hard he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering as he chased his own release.

You felt it when he came — the hot pulse of it inside you, the low, guttural groan he let out against your shoulder — and then he collapsed over you, still buried deep, his body trembling from the force of it.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing — the sticky, filthy aftermath of it hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, Toji nuzzled against your neck, pressing a lazy kiss there, voice rough and low:

“Y’still mad about the batteries, princess?”

[aroaceleovaldez]

i made a very generalized post awhile back with random resources but i wanna make a more specific one so:

Osiyo.tv is a GREAT resource for Cherokee history, language, and people. They have specific sections for interviews with Cherokee athletes, artists, foragers, leaders, national treasures, and women. Their full episodes also include some general news stories as well. The full episodes are really nice or even just the individual interviews and it makes for good background videos while you're working on stuff.

The Cherokee Phoenix newspaper is available online. It's literally a newspaper. It has newspaper and news website things.

This is a playlist for learning Cherokee. It's exactly that. Similarly, here is the Visit Cherokee Nation youtube channel which has just a ton of misc videos including also a lot of language stuff. Visit Cherokee Nation website also has a lot of stuff and links to other things, like events or historical landmarks.

Also, Cherokee Nation website. it's literally the official government website. It similarly has a ton of links and misc general information and news and such.

My friend also recommends taking a look at the National Museum of the American Indian's gallery, which shows a bunch of historic depictions of Native Americans particularly including in advertising and some brief history overviews. It's one good way to familiarize yourself with some examples of caricatures and offensive stereotypes commonly used surrounding Native Americans, which is very important if you're drawing an indigenous character so you know what to avoid.

I am assigning these as required reading for Piper stuff. Gonna write Piper? At least skim these. Just take a quick looksie. Okay? okay. Good. Also remember that you can always just look stuff up.

[formulaonecrumbs]

junie! sitting in the pre-op room and wondering what osc would be like with reader during pre-op. like vitals, getting the iv, them forcing her to go pee for a pregnancy test, getting in the gown, etc

-🧸

one breath at a time

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: reader goes in for a d&c, only to discover more.

warnings: medical setting, pre-op anxiety, unexpected pregnancy, bleeding, fertility themes

A/N: HIIIII i saw the pregnancy test thing and thought a little plot twist would be fun but i get if this is not what u were expecting SORRY 😭😭 i think i’ve been taking too much liberty with some requests, but this idea was too good to pass up. idek if this pregnancy even makes since vut ENJOY. I LOVE U. praying for u and praying the surgery goes well. i’m proud of u. ❤️

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’ve barely slept.

it’s not even light out yet when oscar pulls into the hospital’s underground lot, the sky still a cold steel gray. your fingers are twisted in the sleeves of your hoodie, mouth dry, heart racing under the weight of the unknown.

you’re supposed to be here for a d&c.

they couldn’t figure out why you were still bleeding, why the pain wouldn’t let up. scans weren’t clear. could be a cyst, could be leftover tissue, could be anything. the only way to really know is going in.

and now you’re here. gown, anesthesia, paperwork, the works.

oscar parks close to the lift and shuts the engine off, but he doesn’t move to get out.

instead, he turns to you. both hands reach over to hold yours, grounding and steady and warm.

“you okay?” he asks gently, voice still hoarse from sleep.

you stare ahead. “not really.”

he leans in and kisses your cheek, then your forehead, then presses his mouth just below your eye. “we’re doing this together, yeah?”

“yeah,” you whisper.

the nurse is kind, which helps.

she walks you back to the pre-op area, hands you a gown, points to the little cubicle with the curtain. oscar’s allowed to come back once you’re changed and vitals are taken.

you move slowly—partly because you’re sore and partly because you’re scared.

hospital gowns are always too big. you tie the back shut and glance at yourself in the mirror for a second before looking away.

you look tired. pale. bloated from the hormones.

you don’t feel like yourself.

the nurse is waiting when you step out, smiling. she clips a monitor to your finger, slides the cuff onto your arm. “you doing okay, sweetheart?”

“yeah,” you lie.

she doesn’t push.

“we just need to get a quick urine sample before anesthesia,” she says. “pregnancy test—standard protocol.”

you nod, already moving to the bathroom. it’s routine. you know it’s routine.

you haven’t even had sex since the bleeding started. there’s no way.

right?

the test takes ten minutes to come back.

by then, you’re already lying back on the hospital bed, IV inserted, oscar seated at your side. he’s holding your hand, tracing patterns over the inside of your wrist.

you try to pretend your chest isn’t tightening. you try to pretend this doesn’t feel like more than routine.

but when the nurse returns, her smile is tight. professional.

she walks in holding a chart and sets it at the end of your bed. “so… we’re going to delay the procedure, actually.”

your heart stumbles. “what? why?”

she glances at oscar, then at you. “your pregnancy test came back positive.”

silence.

you blink. “what?”

“it was faint, so we ran it again. and then again, with a blood test. it’s early, but it’s definitely there.”

you feel everything slow down.

your fingers go numb.

you look at oscar. he’s staring at the nurse like she just said the sky is green.

“but—” your voice catches. “we thought—i thought it was just—”

“you’ve been bleeding,” she says gently. “and we don’t know what that means yet. but you are pregnant.”

your breath shakes.

oscar squeezes your hand. “hey, hey—look at me.”

you do. your eyes sting.

“we’re okay,” he says, low and steady. “you’re okay. we’ll figure it out. one step at a time.”

“what if it’s ectopic? or not viable? what if—”

“one step,” he says again. “we’re not doing what-ifs. we’re just breathing. we’re just here.”

the nurse steps out to give you a minute.

you turn your face into oscar’s shoulder and let yourself fall apart for a second—because the fear is choking and the shock is worse, and your body hurts and your brain hurts and you don’t know how to process any of this.

but oscar holds you. strokes your back. tells you it’s going to be okay even when he’s scared, too.

hours pass.

you get sent to a different wing. a different doctor consults. scans are ordered.

it’s early, they say. they can’t make any promises. but something’s there. maybe more than you thought. maybe not what you feared.

oscar never lets go of your hand.

he cancels everything for the next two days. turns off his phone. gets you water. tucks your hoodie around your legs when you shiver. climbs into the hospital bed behind you when your back starts to ache again, wrapping around you like armour.

you don’t talk much. there isn’t much to say yet.

but he holds you all the way through it. and when they finally let you go home to rest, he carries your bag and drives you slow and gentle, one hand on your thigh the entire ride.

you’re not okay. not yet.

but you’re not alone.

and somehow, in this swirl of fear and confusion, that makes all the difference.

THE END :>

[invincibies]

Mark Grayon — SFW headcanons.

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͜. ̣̣̥ ͜͝ ͜͝ ݃◌⑅ㅤㅤ ֺfirst ㅤpost...ㅤ ⠀꒰๑ ´` ๑꒱།໒ . . . . . .

—— author's notes. ⟢ . . . . . // // -- ok hi guys... i dont have much to rlly say but. haaayy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! pretty pls enjoy my peak little headcanons :P . . . . . . . . . . . .

mark and reader are in a established relationship. season 3 mentions || enjoy . . . . .

— Mark Grayson is unsurprisingly a really easy guy to please. {{ whilst you're trying to buy him small things; mark is bringing you home a cake from france if he's somehow gotten there during his superhero stuff... as long as its reasonably priced of course. college students don't get paid all that much... especially him. he doesn't even go to college anymore. But every small thing you give him, he cherishes it, whether it be with his stomach (meaning food) or simply putting it up next to his prized 'Seance Dog' comics and collectables. — Mark Grayson's love language is physical touch and words. {{ (as well as gifts if you squint) he is always quite the attention giver, whether it be curled up next to you whilst you're on your laptop, he is somehow always expressing his endless bounds of affection to you, hugs, kisses, subtle hand holding, the whole lot! his favourite place to kiss you is either your cheek or on the lips. he countlessly apologizes and says that he loves you when he's late to dates with you, kisses on the forehead from him to you for an extra apology are a MUST! and taking you out to burger mart whilst you eat the very few leftover pennies he had from his own mother. — Mark Grayson doesn't actually listen to music that much. {{ (self explanatory but you know...) mark was never that much into music. more of a writer/reader type of guy. of course he listened to music sometimes but not religiously like other people... but he will admit - he doesn't actually mind 'The Cranberries' that much, his favourite is 'Zombie'.

— Mark Grayson's alter ego — Invincible. {{ mark was very nervous about telling you his secret identity but he didn't want a repeat of Amber so he had told you as soon as he thought you were ready for it... which was surprisingly quick. He really thinks your the one. he planned it for weeks, should he just knock on your window one day in his Invincible suit and scare the shit out of you or does he tell you like a normal person. he told you like a normal person, no matter how fun the first option seemed. honestly, he was very surprised when you said you'd stay with him, even after he warned you of the dangers... like anissa and how she threatened to kill amber. — Mark Grayson's stress and how he deals with it. {{ honestly, mark doesn't really have the time to notice how stressed out he is until after an excruciatingly long fight — especially after Conquest. another time he noticed how stressed out he was; his eyes caught sight of an already gray hair by the age of twenty... yikes. not to mention the slight eye bags as well. he's ashamed to admit it but he tries to hide it with concealer sometimes. if mark feels a type of stress that has to be dealt with effective immediately; he usually comes to you for help or goes out on an actual walk instead of flying through the sky like he usually does. if unable to do those things; he quietly recites quotes from 'Seance Dog' to himself to relax him a bit. — Mark Grayson's brother, oliver. {{ you were the first he came to for oliver, he honestly had no idea if his mother would take oliver in especially since it was Omni-Man's kid from another planet. he voiced his struggles and you ended up helping him to tell Debbie. thank god she actually took him in. oliver asks you and mark embarrassing questions like "when are you guys getting married?" just to see you both get flushed and laugh nervously. this kid was 2 months old a week ago and suddenly he's a 12 year old actually knowing how the world worked... to an extent. later in private, mark tells oliver that he'd marry you soon... as a joke. oliver taddled on him to you a few days later. — Mark Grayson and Seance Dog. {{ he loves 'Seance Dog'. we all know this. you know this piece of literature probably as good as he does with how much he talks about it with you. he loves comic books, the comic store was like a second home to him now, he didn't even have to ask the lady at the counter for the latest issue of 'Seance Dog' once a month, she already had it out waiting for his greedy little hands. if there's a new 'Seance Dog' action figure, he's losing his mind and saving up the money to go and buy it. if he doesn't end up having enough money for it, he's looking at you like you're his little ATM. you buy it for him anyway, always. tht precious smile is irreplaceable and you needed to see it every chance you ever got with him.

ok im sorry i wanna write more desperately but its like 4 in the morning and i have school its actually ggs... i hope you enjoyed ts tho!!!! reqs open ^_^

[kiragecko]

The Husband and I just made some really exciting progress in problem solving together, and I wanted to talk about it!

Our eldest, Nq Stickperson, really struggles to clean up or throw stuff away. Our house is filled with piles of papers, some of them a decade old. Old wrappers are hidden under them, and he gets distressed and cries if we try to throw the wrappers out. Our attempts to support him have been really ineffective, and the kid is a teenager now! We're wanting him to be able to be independent some day, no matter how long in the future that is.

Yesterday, Husband and I sat down for date night, and tried to work through the problem. Why weren't we effective? What was stopping us?

Pretty quick, it became obvious we weren't on the same page, but we couldn't figure out why. I kept getting defensive before we had really gotten anywhere. He was getting flustered, and then passive as I got more worked up. We had to keep resetting.

I decided to make my context as clear as possible, and talked to the Husband about I would have needed if I was in my son's place. I would have needed to be told that what was being asked of me was painful and awful. Getting rid of beloved possessions HURTS! I would have needed someone to walk me through how I actually felt then - the constant fear of loss, the stress because there was so much stuff that I could never actually find what I cared about, the distress about never being allowed to bring anything home, because there wasn't room for it. Someone to help me recognize that I'm in pain NOW, and even if the fix will hurt MORE, that pain would end. This pain isn't going to without action. And then comfort and sit with me while I ranted about how much the situation sucked, and CHOOSING pain was a garbage choice, and I hated this.

Then the Husband brought in what he would need. He would have needed someone to walk him through all his stuff and see if he cared about ANY of it. Stuff just shows up in his life, unwanted and in his way. He struggles to organize, or recognize if things can be thrown out. Someone walking him through those executive function tasks is his main need.

And that cleared up what our issue was. The Husband kept starting by talking about how our son's stuff wasn't wanted or valuable. I'd dig in my heels, feeling like our son's emotions weren't being validated. And it would be so early in the discussion, we didn't have anywhere to fall back to!

After realizing this, we were able to stop making it about us, and actually talk about our son.

I tend to give him a lot of support STARTING, because executive dysfunction is real and mean, but almost none for the actual organization and prioritization. "Sorting" and "thinking" are nearly synonymous for me, so I'm not even sure HOW to walk someone through it! That's just ... how thinking works? Just do the thinking thing on the objects? But my son isn't good at organization, and just ends up lost and abandoned by someone who said they cared.

Meanwhile, my husband tries to help our son recognize that he doesn't CARE about this stuff, so he can let it go. But my son does care. A lot. So that doesn't work either.

Eventually, we realized that my Husband could break down organization further than I could, and suggest simpler tasks for me to support our son through. We realized I could get Stickperson to neatly stack his papers. Maybe I could put them in folders after, if he was okay with that.

-

I told my son the plan this morning and he got excited and wanted to do it before school. He choose papers to hand to me and told me what group they went with. (More organization skill than he's shown before!) I made little stacks, and slid the stacks into folders. Then I labelled the folders.

3/4 of the living room sheets dealt with in 5 minutes! He's spent HOURS trying to deal with them, moving them around, crying because he can't let go of anything. I haven't been allowed to touch them because he was afraid I'd throw them out.

Now we have three folders and I can see the floor. All because my Husband and I worked through our own issues enough to actually see our son's.

[spicycinnabun]

hi! can i ask for 🐺..... and 🎀..... and 🤖?

i love the different vibes and bucktommy dynamics of them all and am greedy for more 🥺

you sure can! here's 🐺 - a snip of a happier future. i'm going to make separate posts for the other two, so look out for those next. c:

Buck was shirtless, sunning himself on the roof. He couldn’t tan without it healing almost instantly, forever as pale as the lilies, but the warmth felt good.

Tommy was weeding and occasionally glancing up at him. That felt really good. Buck preened under his gaze, not so subtly posing in ways that showcased his muscles. 

Buck had offered to lend Tommy a paw in the garden—more than once—but the Alpha had assured him that he would join him soon. He was almost done. 

It was nice. Peaceful. Birds were chirping. Insects were buzzing. A rabbit was hopping around by the stone footpath that his wolf had half a mind to hunt. 

But Buck had a better idea. He sat up, crouched, and eyed his prey’s broad form with a smirk. His quads tensed. He wiggled a little to prepare for the strike, and then went for it.

Safe to say, the novelty of pouncing on Tommy had not worn off. Buck didn’t think it ever would. At work, they had equipment that saved him when he fell, but it wasn’t the same. Didn’t feel the same. And when he fell on the job, it was usually because he had messed up. 

He was maybe pushing his luck, but like most things, once he got a little? He craved a lot. It sort of reminded him of being a kid, except he wasn’t hurting himself for attention; he was just… hurling himself for attention. At a big Alpha werewolf.

It didn’t matter which direction he came from or how high. He could plummet. He could throw himself at Tommy and, thanks to those super Alpha reflexes, Tommy would catch him every time. 

Today was no different. 

Tommy dropped the weeds, turned whip quick, and Buck landed right in his arms. Buck couldn’t contain an exhilarated huff, his heart pounding.

“I said I’d be five minutes,” Tommy said, squeezing him. He didn’t even seem annoyed. It was kind of amazing. “You couldn’t wait?” 

“I thought about it,” Buck said. “Seriously considered it. Turns out I didn’t want to.”

“Mm, I see.”

Tommy looked at his lips—Buck licked them, parted them in anticipation—and then tossed him unceremoniously in the freshly mown grass. Buck whined, “No, Tommy!” 

Pick me back up! I wanted kisses!

Tommy followed him down, laughing. They play wrestled, neither of them holding back. It was nice not to have to worry about hurting someone. Buck grunted in between unhinged giggles. He went dirty, freeing his fangs and nipping at different areas of tempting exposed skin. It made Tommy curse, made him growl, “Evan!”

Much to Buck’s delight. He loved making Alpha call out his name.

Tommy eventually overpowered him, though Buck had low-key (okay, high-key) hoped he would. He bared himself in submission to Tommy’s beast, flushed and panting happily. 

They had accidentally rolled into one of Tommy’s flowerbeds during their spar. Buck would feel bad for crushing them, but at that moment, it felt like resting on a really fragrant cloud. Maybe he could use the petals of the damaged ones to make syrup later. Feed it to Tommy on pancakes.

Tommy loomed over him with his hands planted on either side of Buck’s head, his eyes red like two glittering rubies in the sun. Buck’s tongue lolled out as he grinned up at the Alpha. 

“What am I gonna do with you, pup?” Tommy murmured, leaning down to nuzzle along his jugular, mouthing right over his maker’s mark, eliciting a shiver despite the heat.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

“W-whatever you want,” Buck breathed. He spread his legs, claws pricking Tommy’s back. “Anything you want, Alpha.”

☀︎

tag list: @justahumblecabbagemerchant @loulou-land @harmonic-intervention @sweaters-and-silly @theallyandhisbeast @brassm-tagged @scuderiadebauchery @chococara25 @darkqueen458 @cinderellarhea @setmeatopthepyre @buffaluff @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @figuringitoutaloud @cannibalhellhound @i-dont-even-know-anymore976 @ambernotember @the-omniscient-narrator @zeraparker @cometconnector @fenrirscarsback @moonydanny @espressopatronum454 @lemonzestywrites @hmg621

[nexmalin]

Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna write my silly idea:

over 15 years ago, after the Battle of the Bay, Bumblebee’s death was faked and he was commanded to go into hiding. Bumblebee, ever the loyal soldier, obeyed the orders, changed his alt mode from the classic Volkswagen Beetle to a Ford GT40, and began his new life in hiding. At first, he took the chance to get used to his new Alt mode, join some races, travelled, and left voice mails to Optimus every day.

However, after 5 years, he stopped leaving voice mails, did much less racing, and spent most of his days just… thinking. He would see images of the other Autobots partying with their new human allies, not a care in the world… as if he didn’t even exist. Bumblebee hadn’t expected that realization to hurt so badly.

The months that followed were some of the darkest moments in Bumblebee’s life, and considering all he’s seen and been through, it’s saying a lot. He gave up reaching out to anyone a long time ago, and now, he sat in an old warehouse. It was spacious and off the grid, however, through the broken glass windows, the sunlight made the dust particles in the air shine like glitter, the concrete floors were covered in dust and debris, eroded, and cracked, old crates and storage containers covered in graffiti, and the constant scent of rust filling the air only made his spark ache more.

At night, or whenever he attempted to get recharged, his audio receptors were quick to pick up and slight sound, the creaking of metal shifting as it was heated by the sun, then cooled off at night, the scurrying of mice, opossums, and raccoons, the call of the loons in the nearby lake, the swishing of the leaves in the trees, the whistle of the wind, and the rare shift of the old assembly line conveyer belts. This skill came in handy as a scout in a war, being able to hear possible enemies from far away, but during peace times, and in hiding all alone, the sounds can become overstimulating.

The mix of isolation, lack of proper recharge, and the growing pit of hopelessness and despair filling his spark caused Bumblebee to become increasingly paranoid. Each sound setting a ticking time bomb in Bumblebee’s processor, he felt like he was constantly being monitored, being stalked by G.H.O.S.T agents all the time, every movement he made being sent to the G.H. O.S.T headquarters. The paranoia then turned into delusions, seeing shadows of people that weren’t really there, making him want to chase after them or cower away, depending on who he was seeing. His processor, trying to protect Bumblebee from slipping further, began putting him into episodes of derealization or maladaptive daydreaming. He would spend hours, even days, in his own processor, daydreaming about a world, where he wasn’t alone, in an old warehouse, becoming a victim of his own mind.

Bumblebee no longer looked at the days, as seeing how long he has been alone had only dampened his hope. He would sometimes go into the lake, and just sit at the bottom, and watch the critters and animals live their lives. As much as he would try to tell himself that it was so he could clean his frame, but really, it was so he could feel like he was part of something again. Something so primitive, and yet it has more meaning to its own life than Bumblebee did.

The warehouse had been cleaned of the dust and debris a long time ago. Bumblebee, after the first few months of staying in the warehouse, he decided to clean it up, to keep him busy and his mind off of everything, and to make it feel more homey… well as homey as an old warehouse can be. A few days later, he moved the crates and storage containers around, to make “furniture” and to clear more clutter. However, he could only move things around so many times until it no longer works.

In the dead of winter, Bumblebee shivered underneath an old tarp, trying to stay warm as the blizzard continued to pour down, whistling as it hit the walls of the warehouse. Bumblebee had tried to warm himself up, but he only had so much energon to keep him going, and had shut off many systems that weren’t necessary to keep him online to reserve his energon use.

The wood was too wet to make any sort of fire with, and turning on his heaters would waste too much energon.

Bumblebee heard a crash, and footsteps, and they were loud, clearly from a cybertronian. He couldn’t bring himself to care anymore, Optimus Prime’s scout, who has escaped from the clutches of enemies twice his size, and has secured intel with half his helm missing out of sheer force of will, has finally given up. It didn’t matter anymore, it was clear no one was going to come for him anyway, and he was either he die from energon depletion, his systems freezing, or at the hands of a Decepticon.

As the footsteps were closing in, stopping right behind him, Bumblebee accepted his fate. He had dodged the pull of the Well of the All Spark one too many times, and if this was his end, so be it. The old tarp was pulled from around him, exposing him to the cold, and he waited for the pain of the shot of a blaster, but it never came. Then, an all too familiar voice spoke up, “…Bee…?”

When Bumblebee woke up online again, he noticed that he was much warmer now, and that he was no longer alone. Slowly, he turned, and he was facing Breakdown, who recharged soundly, holding him snugly, as if he let go for even a second, Bumblebee would melt away. As much as Bumblebee knew that he was supposed to make sure no one knew he was alive, it was so nice to be held after so long in isolation.

He felt optical fluid welling in his optics, and he nuzzled into Breakdown’s neck taking in that scent that comforted him, no matter the situation. The scent of home… Finally, Bumblebee was home.

Breakdown heard sniffling and felt something nuzzling against his neck cables. As his optics focused, he immediately noticed the familiar gold helm and his gaze flicked down. Bumblebee… his Bee, was alive. Alive and… he wouldn’t say he was well, but he was alive! Breakdown hadn’t even realized he was mumbling Bumblebee’s name out like a prayer to Primus himself. Eventually, he whispered, “I… I thought you were gone… that I’d never see you again”. After a few moments, Bumblebee weakly croaked out, “I-I’m… so sorry, I had no choice…”. Breakdown was surprised at how weak Bumblebee’s voice was. A voice that was so full of life and energy, now quiet and crackly, clearly from lack of use.

The two mechs didn’t talk, just held each other, terrified the other would disappear. Breakdown felt optical fluid on his chest, and he let Bumblebee cry, it was clear he needed that at the very least. Bumblebee was shaking, not from the cold, but from anxiety, relief, hunger, and the years of pain of isolation.

[grey-coyote]

No Promises - Simon Riley x f!Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Simon is finally back home. Out of boredom, he decides to do something new and learn to care for some flowers. Luckily, at the store, Simon meets you—a young woman who is very knowledgeable on flowers and very pretty kind.

Warnings: fluff, angst (in future parts), happy ending, awkwardness, meet-cute, reader is awkward but bold, lots and lots of cringe, age gap (reader is 24 and Simon is 34), authors very first fanfic, information on flowers written by an author who got all of their information from the internet, flower and plant inaccuracies

Word Count: 2,935

—————

It was midnight when Simon stepped into his apartment. He tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and rolled his shoulders as he walked down the hallway and to his bedroom.

It had been months since he last saw the place, everything looked exactly how he had left it, and he didn't miss it. Simon preferred to be working. Staying busy at work meant not being at home. Not being at home meant not being alone with his thoughts, which is something he never liked to do.

The idea of a working dog had been recommended to Simon before but he wasn't very fond of it. Captain Price brought it up one day, telling him that it could be good for him. A working dog could help him out with lots of things, the mental health aspect being one of the most important benefits. Simon brushed it off, claiming that he enjoyed not having to worry about anything other than himself and the current team, and he wanted to leave it at that. Price didn't push it much after that conversation, he understood where Simon was coming from.

Simon had no family and no friends outside of work. But he preferred it that way. He preferred being alone because it meant he had a little bit less to worry about. No worries with having to take care of a pet, no added stress of a significant other, and no anxiety when balancing time spent with family and friends. He liked it that way so he kept it that way.

Sighing, Simon began preparing for a shower, eager to let the warm water beat on his sore muscles. He sat in the hot shower for a little while longer than he initially planned but it was very needed.

Eventually, the water was cut off and Simon climbed out of the small shower. He grabbed a towel and ran it over his head before turning to look at himself in the fogged mirror. He stood and looked, his body barely visible in front of him. His hand came up to wipe through the moisture on the mirror and his brown eyes suddenly became clear as he stared back at himself. His short blond hair was messy and damp, and the ends started to curl a bit. He moved to run a large hand through his hair and noticed a sizable new scar stretched along his bicep. Every time he came back home he had new scars on his body. Simon didn't really like or dislike them. They were just part of him. He continued looking at his reflection for a moment more before leaning forward and proceeding to finish his routine. He combed his hair, brushed his teeth, put on some clothes, and finally plopped into bed.

Simon groaned as he attempted to get comfortable and, at last, closed his eyes.

————

Running was a good way to keep busy, Simon figured. He enjoyed staying active while home, it made him feel a little better. Out of habit, he was awake at five and outside running by six. He didn't mind it though, he enjoyed being out when most people weren't. Seven o clock hit and he was already back at his place. After a quick shower, he ate his usual breakfast, which consisted of a slice of toast, a cup of black coffee, and a cigarette.

Just after breakfast, Simon was already itching to get busy again. But he had nothing to do. It was a quarter past eight when he decided he'd find something to fix up in the apartment. The restless man hummed softly as he looked out at the small patio through the back glass door. Maybe he'd get some flowers.

No, he shook his head at his thoughts, he'd just end up killing them.

But he really could benefit from some other life around the apartment. Maybe he should get some flowers.

Simon grabbed the keys off of the counter before running out of the door and to the nearest hardware store.

Arriving at the store, he walked in to browse. Simon looked around and wondered what he should look for first. Maybe tools to hang the flowers along the roof of the patio.

He walked over to the aisle of tools that would be used to hang the flowers and saw a young woman standing there.

You stood confused as you eyed the different hooks and screws on the shelf. You suddenly looked up at him and smiled shyly before backing up to give him enough space for his own browsing. Simon quickly and timidly smiled back at you before moving in to look at the tools next to you.

Mumbling to yourself, you leaned forward and grasped a small box of hooks before letting them go. As you leaned back again with a frustrated sigh, Simon glanced over at you.

He was silent for a moment before he ultimately spoke up, "You having trouble finding somethin'?"

You looked up at him and nodded.

Your voice was soft compared to his, "Oh, yes, I'm needing some hooks for my back patio. I'm getting some pretty big flowers and I just don't know which set would be strong enough to hold them."

Simon stepped forward, turning his head slightly in hopes that you wouldn't see the slight smirk on his face, and clutched the set he had been eyeing for himself, "These should do the job." He handed them over as he looked down at you, his eyes meeting your own.

Your fingers grazed his slightly when you reached for the box, "Oh, thank you."

Simon nodded, his cheeks turning a bright pink. "I'm actually doin' the same thing." He cleared his throat, "Gettin' some things to put flowers out." He gestured to the array of boxes on the shelf in front of them.

You watched as he stepped forward once again and grabbed a box of the same set for himself.

"Oh, cool!" You grinned, "I love having flowers around, it just makes me feel better, you know?" His eyes met yours when you looked up at him with a very, as much as he didn't want to admit it, pretty smile.

Simon mentally shook that thought from his head, he just needed to get the box and leave.

"What kind of flowers are you getting?" You asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Oh, I'm not sure. Never had any before, I jus' need somethin' I hopefully won't kill the second I get home." He answered, his cheeks flushing out of embarrassment.

You giggled at that and Simon felt his heart pound in his chest.

You nodded understandingly, "I get it, it can be hard keeping plants alive sometimes. I killed lots of flowers when I first started keeping 'em, don't worry." Your face heated again, "I've just never used... hooks before..." You veered off sheepishly.

"It's alright." He smiled as he looked at you. Your eyes were on the floor between your feet and an awkward silence fell over the two of you until you spoke up once more. "I, um, I've never seen you around here before." You stated, the sentence coming out more like a question than an observation.

"I'm not in the area much." Simon answered, "Usually gone for work." He moved nervously, readjusting his stance.

"Oh, okay." You acknowledged, "Thankfully, I work here in the area so I'm not really gone much." Your eyes were back on his when you spoke, your confidence seemingly coming back.

"You don't get bored of it?" He questioned. "No, not at all. Work keeps me busy, my flowers do too." You replied with another sweet smile on your face.

"Well, thank you for the help..." You hesitated, realizing you hadn't asked for his name.

"Simon."

You repeated his name quietly and Simon felt his knees buckle a little bit.

"I'm Y/N." You smiled and Simon repeated your name, not missing the way you grinned at the sound of his voice saying your name.

"I-I hope this isn't too forward of me, Simon," Simon gulped hearing his name roll off of your tongue again.

"But are you," you paused to swallow anxiously, "Single?"

Simons eyes grew large, he certainly did not expect to be asked that. He nodded his head a moment later, "Yes."

Your own eyes widened, as though you were shocked at hearing that. "Oh, okay. Are you, um, looking for anything r-romantic at the moment?"

Simons stomach clenched from the awkwardness and he was sure you felt it too. Even so, he responded softly, "No. Work keeps me too busy to worry about anythin' like that."

Your smile faded a little but you nodded in understanding. "I get it." Your eyes looked into his own, it was clear you were very nervous but still tried very hard to appear confident. "Would it be inappropriate for me to offer you my number? Just in case you, for some reason, change your mind? I-I could also help you out with your new flowers if you need." You stammered.

"Love, I'm sorry but you're probably too young for me anyway." He replied, his deep voice now much softer. Your face heated at his words and your brows furrowed. "I'm twenty four."

Simon breathed out, "I'm ten years older than you."

"That's not bad at all."

"It's ten years, love."

You both sighed at the same time and your eyes drifted to the floor. Shaking your head, your looked back up at him. "Can you just take my number? Just in case you change your mind?"

Simon just looked down at you, his big brown eyes scanning your pretty face. How could he simply brush you off? He hadn't experienced something like that in a long time and as much as he wanted to abandon the situation, Simon wasn't stupid.

"Okay. But I'm not promisin' anythin'."

You grinned proudly, announcing your phone number while Simon typed it into his phone.

"It was very nice to meet you, Simon."

"It was very nice to meet you, Y/N."

Even after you parted ways, Simon still felt like his stomach was in a knot and his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

He tried his best to ignore the feeling as he bought the needed tools and then left to go buy the last items needed; the flowers.

————

Simon sat on his couch as he admired his new flowers. It didn't take him long to set them up, he had only bought four of them. He decided to hang two of the pots on the hooks coming from the roof of the patio and decided to sit the remaining two on the ground. It had been a few days and the flowers were doing great but he was concerned about accidentally killing them. He wanted to do everything he could to make sure that they flourished. Simons mind then drifted to you.

It could be a good idea to speak with you about any concerns he might have about the flowers. You were clearly knowledgeable.

Plus, you offered to help.

Simon grumbled to himself as he leaned back on the couch. Attempting to ignore his thoughts, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and began searching the internet for some more tips on how to help his flowers thrive.

The internet browsing did nothing but make him wonder more. Would it really be so bad for him to contact you for some advice on the plants? Simon knew deep down that he didn't want to speak with you about advice. You were gorgeous, sweet, and intelligent. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he mostly wanted to reach out to you because he was interested in you. He hadn't been with a woman in years because he didn't feel the need to be. He was busy with work and he left it at that, he didn't want any added stress.

Yet, Simon still found himself swiping his large thumbs over the phone screen and quickly pressing his contacts. He searched for your name and tapped it, coming to a halt when he wondered if he should text or call you.

His first instinct would be to call, just to speak and get it over with. He huffed out a breath, wondering if he should just text you instead.

That's what kids your age do, right?

Ultimately, Simon pressed the button to text you. He sat on the keyboard for a moment, deciding how to word his greeting. His thumbs moved over the keyboard and typed out his first, very rough draft.

—

Simon: Hey, it's Simon from the other day. The flowers are doing good so far but I had a few questions and was wondering if you could help me out. Thanks.

—

Simons face turned in disgust. He was not writing an email. It was a casual text. He had texted people before, why did it seem so hard all of a sudden? He deleted the message and tried again.

—

Simon: Hey, it's Simon. Do you have any tips for the flowers?

—

He read the short text and immediately pressed the delete button on the keyboard.

With a very audible groan, he began typing once again.

—

Simon: Hey, Y/N. It's Simon from the other day. The flowers are doing good so far. Wanted to see if I could ask you for some tips on their care.

—

Simon reread the text multiple times and finally decided to send it. His thumb tapped the send button and he quickly swiped out and closed his phone, sitting it on the couch beside him.

His heart pounded in his chest and he felt like he could throw up any second. Why? Why did he let himself get so worked up over you? He hated it but he hated the idea of your number sitting useless in his phone even more.

Simon sat on the couch for the remainder of the evening, waiting for your response. After a while of watching some random show on the television in front of him, he received a notification on his phone. He immediately picked up the phone and opened your text.

—

Y/N: Hi, Simon! Of course, I'd be more than happy to share some tips with you :)

Y/N: Do you need help with anything in specific?

—

His heart rate picked up and his thumbs quickly began typing.

—

Simon: No, I just need some general tips. I got some flower food and I did some research on the right time to water them, I'm just worried they won't last long.

—

He expected to have to wait for your response again but your chat bubble popped up immediately. Simon had no shame in replying quickly and keeping the conversation going.

—

Y/N: Oh ok. I'm sure they'll be fine, there's no need to stress over them too much. They maybe be fragile but flowers are much more resilient than many people realize :)

Y/N: Some flowers more than others, is all

Y/N: What kind did you end up getting?

Simon: Snapdragons. They were supposed to be somewhat low maintenance so I figured they'd be a good choice.

Simon: Photo

—

Simon figured it'd be a good idea to send you a photo of the flowers. He assumed that you would appreciate them and he also thought that it would be good for you to see them, just in case they looked off in any way.

—

Y/N: Heart reacted a photo

Y/N: They're very pretty, Simon! Those pots are perfect for Snapdragons of that size. They look great. You mentioned that you had done research on feeding and watering them properly, so just keep doing that and I'm sure they'll continue to thrive.

Y/N: I like the way you have them set up too, it's very nice :)

Simon: Thank you. Did you get yours set up?

Y/N: Photo

—

Simon pressed on the photo of your back patio. Multiple types of flowers were hanging along the top and some were sat on the ground. There were two chairs positioned neatly by the flowers with a small table between them. It looked very nice.

—

Simon: Heart reacted a photo

Simon: Looks good, Y/N. I hope I can get my flowers to look as good as yours do.

Simon: The chairs are a nice touch.

Y/N: Thank you :) I am very proud of my work.

Simon: You should be.

—

Simon watched as your chat bubble appeared and then disappeared a few times. He wondered if he said something wrong. Or maybe you just didn't know what else to say.

With the lack of conversation, Simon gained a sudden wave of courage. He quickly typed out a message and before he knew it, he pressed send.

—

Simon: Y/N, would you like to meet for dinner tomorrow night?

—

He watched as your chat bubble, once again, appeared and disappeared multiple times.

—

Y/N: Yes.

—

That was it. You didn't say anything else. Simon didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing but like the brave man he knew he was, he continued on.

—

Simon: We could meet up at the Italian restaurant by that little bookstore on the corner, if you'd like. At 7

Simon: ?

Y/N: That sounds great, Simon :)

Simon: Thumbs up reacted

—

Simon then put his phone down and let out a deep sigh. The sigh was one he had never released before, a sigh mixed with both relief and stress. He hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

—————

[ooooo-mcyt]

The scene where Martyn and Ren kill Scott actually plays on my mind so much.

Well, first they killed Joel, and Scott lunged at them in retribution, so they kill him too, put him down to his red life. Scott tries to come back, to see if he can get any of his things, and he's spotted. Scott doesn't come close, but Martyn and Ren see him watching nearby, and they know he can't do anything, they already took his stuff, he can't fight them off, and he can't run. "Should we take him out of the series?" Ren asks, because it's not a matter of if they can. They know Scott is an easy kill. So they chase him, into the forest.

Martyn taunting Scott, "I wanna cuddle before you die", which is a terrifying thing to say. And then he brings up Jimmy, says he didn't want him to die? Whether this is a sincere sentiment is up for debate, but regardless, is such a thing to say while hunting Jimmy's grieving widow like prey. And something about the imagery of how Martyn just hovered around Scott and joked while waiting for Ren to kill him really felt like a mockery. And they slaughter Scott like an animal while he had no real means to fight back, because he would never have won and he would never have gotten away from them.

And Martyn doesn't sound remorseful. He doesn't sound as happy as he could, but he continues on with business and makes a joking comment about how Ren's "working". Ren, on the other hand, has a bit of a breakdown; "The blood is dripping into these eyes! I can't see, I've been blinded by my violence! ...We've become stone cold killers!". Martyn comforts him, briefly, but is quick to distance himself with "Well, you have (become a killer), I haven't really done that much. So, should we burn this stuff?" and then it's back to business.

And it gnaws at me how little Scott's death was about Scott. He was hunted and slaughtered for just being there, just because he was an easy mark. Martyn is pretty much remorseless. Ren shows remorse, but it's important to note that his guilt seems less focused around the actual person they just killed but rather is more for himself and the fact that he's "a killer" now. And then back to business. They burn Scott's stuff and don't think about him anymore.

Now, obviously, Ren and Martyn weren't obligated to feel bad for killing someone in a death game (although i think each final death meant more in a lot of ways in third life than any other series), I'm not saying it reflects poorly on them per say. But it is chilling to me how much of a non entity Scott was in this, how (other than martyn's personalized taunting while he was chasing scott which were just kinda cruel on their own) they barely seemed to think about the human person they were killing at all.

Scott easily could have been switched out for a literal actual deer in that scene and very little about the scene would need to be changed.

And I feel like that probably has something to do with Scott's fixation on personal agency (especially over how he dies), right?

[chimkin-samich]

its kinda a stupid question, but i rlly wanted to know how tf you guys come up w such good dialogue for the comics u do :o i guess a better way to word it is whats the whole process like when making the comics? do you just go with the flow when writing & drawing or do u guys write the dialogue out before?

another question is how r u two doing? ive noticed its been quite a bit since the last art post…NO PRESSURE OFC just wondering:3

RAAAA HI HI WERE STILL ALIVE 😭

Ok question first then explain what’s been goin on for us Irl Skdkf

Our comic process is a bit… messy let’s call it lol. Typically how it goes is we get an idea on what to do wether it be angst fluff or anything, the idea can come from a meme, something that happened to us, reading something or even just a random lightbulb moment, from there we bounce it off each other to see how it could possible go and if the other has perhaps other ideas on how to build on it

After we have a solid idea on it we basically live roleplay, we set the scene and one of us starts it. The roleplay isn’t exactly what we’re going for (mainly cuz it ends up a lil goofy or really really bad) but it gives feral the base she needs on how to direct the comic, sometimes I’ll even make a write out a quick and short snippet to help her build the scene as well. Both RP and the snippet are very useful tho just depends how we’re feeling (it’s usually a RP tho cuz it also gives feral some expressions to work with as I play the boys)

It’s a messy way of doing it cuz it’s very chaotic but it helps a ton for feral to have a starting base before diving into the comic, both by giving her some dialogue to modify, expression to work with and a general direction on the story

As for the part if we’re ok.. I don’t wanna jinx it again so I’ll say that we’re alive 😭 (putting a read more cuz post is getting long)

We planned on coming back to makin art in Feb/March but things did not go as planned, in Dec our water pump broke so we had to move out for a week until that got fixed and then in late Jan our roof started leaking and we had to pack up and move out entirely in March cuz we found out the entire roof is atrocious and needs to be torn out and redone 😭

We thought we would be back home by now but they were barely able to start working on it last week cuz legal issues got in the way that took forever to resolve so we might not be back home until June, we have a place to stay tho so dw bout that! Just a lot of things have been happening and we’re really hoping we can start making art again soon, we do have comms that we need to finish first but once those are finished we plan on hopping back in cuz we really miss making content

So fingers crossed we can actually get back into it, in the mean time we do have a lot of wips, both drawing’s and writings cuz we would start em in this period and then have to stop due to issues, so there’s not only a lot in the works but also even more ideas in our head of stuff too do ✨

[mintyys-blog]

can we get red flag! reader x Mark where he finds out she is texting other guys? not straight out cheating but fooling around. I live for drama, but too much of drama lol

kisses!

RED FLAG ! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: toxic relationships, almost cheating, blowjobs, swearing.

It was supposed to be a chill night out. Mark had been excited for Y/N to meet William and Rick—his best friends since middle school. A quick dinner, some drinks, maybe a few laughs. Easy.

When she first walked into the bar, all eyes turned to her—but she only had eyes for Mark. Her hand slid into his, her smile soft and glowing, her charm turned all the way up.

William raised an eyebrow but forced a polite smile. Rick waved awkwardly. She greeted them both with an easy confidence.

“So this is William,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly in mock inspection. “The best friend. Mark talks about you all the time.”

William blinked. “He does?”

“Oh, constantly. Especially how you’ve known each other since forever. That’s really cute,” she grinned, leaning forward on her elbows. “Did you guys get into a lot of trouble as kids?”

Mark chuckled. William hesitated, a little thrown off by how genuine she sounded. She asked about old school fights, shared childhood crushes, even got William to talk about that one time he and Mark tried (and failed) to sneak into an R-rated movie at thirteen.

Rick excused himself to grab drinks, but she was quick to stop him.

“I’ve got it,” she said, rising smoothly. “Let me treat you guys.”

Rick frowned. “You sure? I don’t mind—”

“Please. I insist.” She gave a soft wink and walked off toward the bar.

“She’s… nice,” Rick said with a small shrug, sitting back down.

William still looked skeptical.

“So, Mark—how did you meet Y/N, exactly?”

Mark smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was after a fight. She actually stitched me up at the pharmacy she works at.”

“No way. She just happened to work there?”

“Yeah. I was half bleeding out and trying to pretend I was fine. She saw right through it.”

William tilted his head. “And you’ve been seeing her ever since?”

Mark nodded. “She’s cool. Different. Confident.”

Across the room, Y/N stood at the bar. She frowned at the price list. “Ten bucks for one beer?” she muttered under her breath. “I should’ve let Rick pay instead. Damn it.”

That’s when a stranger leaned in beside her, flashing a smooth smile.

“Hey beautiful. Let me buy you a drink?”

She turned, lips parting into a slow smirk. “Well… if you’re offering…”

Back at the table, ten minutes had passed. Mark’s knee bounced anxiously. “She’s taking a while,” he muttered. “Should I—?”

“I’ll go,” William said casually, pushing back his chair. “I have to piss anyway.”

But when he got to the bar, the bathroom was the last thing on his mind.

He spotted her instantly—leaning on the counter, laughing at something some random guy said. Four drinks were already in front of her. She touched the guy’s arm when she laughed. He said something, and she giggled, typing something into his phone. A number. Her number.

William’s jaw dropped. He spun around and rushed back to the table, fire in his steps. Mark perked up as William returned. “Did you see her?”

“Oh yeah,” William said, sitting down with wide eyes. “She’s coming.”

Y/N returned to the table with a bright smile and four perfectly balanced beers in hand.

“Voilà!” she chimed, setting them down one by one with a little flourish. “Bartender was slow as hell, but I got ‘em.”

She plopped into the seat beside Mark, pressing a light kiss to his cheek like nothing happened.

“Took a while…” William said, narrowing his eyes.

She gave him a breezy shrug. “Long line.”

William’s lips twitched. “And the guy you were talking to? He was part of the line too?”

Y/N froze for just half a second. Barely noticeable. But William caught it.

Mark glanced between them, frowning. “What guy?”

William didn’t flinch. “The one who bought the drinks. The one you gave your number to.”

Her smile dropped. She rolled her eyes with a snort, like the accusation bored her. “That? Oh my God.”

William didn’t back down. “Yeah. That.”

“It was a fake number,” she said coolly, crossing her arms. “One I always give out to guys I don’t know.”

Mark blinked. “Seriously?”

She turned to him, totally calm. “Yes. And it worked, didn’t it? Got us all free drinks.”

William scoffed. “So you use guys, lie to their faces, and your boyfriend’s just supposed to be cool with that?”

Y/N’s expression sharpened. “It’s not that deep. He offered, I smiled, I said sure, and I gave him a number that leads to nowhere. End of story.”

She turned to Mark, reaching for his hand. “Baby, it’s not like I was into him. I just didn’t feel like paying forty bucks for four beers.”

Mark looked unsure. Her hand was warm in his, her voice soft—but William’s glare didn’t budge.

Rick watched the exchange silently, tension thick at the table.

William leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “You know, Mark, being cheap and being shady aren’t the same thing.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped to him, icy. “If your friend has a problem with me, maybe he should grow a pair and say it without being a passive-aggressive little bitch.”

“Y/N—” Mark started, voice low, but she was already standing.

“Whatever,” she muttered, snatching her purse. “Enjoy your beers.”

She stormed off toward the door, heels clicking sharply against the floor. Rick gave Mark a hesitant look. Mark sighed. “I… should probably go after her.”

William didn’t say anything for a moment, then muttered under his breath, “Dude. I know your pussy drunk—but she is a total red flag.” Mark slumped in his chair, the sting of those words hitting deeper than he wanted to admit.

LATER THAT NIGHT

Y/N sat in her dimly lit apartment, legs stretched across the coffee table, ankles crossed. Her toes wiggled lazily in the air as she focused on painting them a glossy cherry red. The TV played something forgettable in the background—just noise to keep the silence from creeping in. The room smelled faintly of strawberries, acetone, and fresh linen from the candle she had burning. A soft breeze stirred the curtains from the cracked-open balcony door, letting in the faint hum of the city.

She was humming under her breath, completely at ease, when the faintest thud landed behind her.

Without even looking, she said flatly, “Window’s open. Try not to break anything.”

Mark stepped through the window frame, his shoulders stiff beneath the worn hoodie he always wore when he was nervous. His eyes scanned the apartment—immaculate as always, filled with soft, feminine touches—and finally landed on her.

There she was, unbothered, painting her second coat with laser focus, like she hadn’t stormed out of a bar just hours ago. Like she hadn’t called his best friend a little bitch in front of everyone.

“I don’t like how your friend spoke to me,” she said, finally glancing up. Her voice was smooth but clipped. “Very aggressive. Poor manners.”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, mouth drawn tight. “Well… he wasn’t totally wrong.”

She tilted her head, feigning confusion.

He sighed. “You let a lot of guys flirt with you. And you kind of… encourage it. All the time.”

She spun in her chair slowly, legs coming off the table, polish brush still in hand. Her expression softened, but not with guilt. With disbelief. Disappointment.

“Mark…”

She stood up, setting her polish aside, and crossed the room barefoot, silent except for the sound of her anklet jingling with each step. Her body was all soft curves and languid movements, seductive even in the most mundane of gestures.

She stopped in front of him, looking up with wide, glimmering eyes.

“I would never do that to you,” she said gently, voice barely above a whisper. “Never.”

She reached up and cupped his jaw, thumb brushing along the sharp line of it. Her nails were cool against his warm skin.

“You know I wouldn’t, right?”

He stared at her, unsure. His voice came out low. “You gave that guy your number.”

“It was fake,” she said immediately. Her tone didn’t waver. “You think I’d let some random dude actually text me? Come on, baby. Give me some credit.”

She leaned in, lips brushing his jaw.

“I love you, Mark.”

Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of his hoodie, palms flat against his abs, feeling the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

“Only you.”

She gave him a gentle push toward the bed. He hesitated, but only for a moment—before his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he sat down.

She straddled him with ease, her thighs warm on either side of his hips. Her hands slid down his chest, fingers teasing the drawstring of his sweatpants.

“Why don’t I make it up to you?” she asked softly, voice like silk.

She leaned in close, tugging his hoodie up, revealing the ridges of his abs with slow, deliberate movements. Her lips grazed his collarbone.

“You’ve had a long night,” she whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat. He tried to speak—to protest, maybe—but she kissed him before the words could form.

Her lips moved lower, trailing down the center of his chest. Her voice came again, low and sinful against his skin:

“How about I suck you off… and we can fight later, okay?”

His hands hovered at her hips, unsure, but she took one of them and guided it down to her thigh, soft and smooth beneath his fingers. He gave in with a quiet, “…Okay.”

She smiled like a cat who’d just trapped a bird in her paws—eyes half-lidded, mouth curled into something smug and syrupy sweet. That look she gave him always made his chest tighten, like he couldn’t breathe properly around her. Triumphant, coy, and entirely in control.

Her fingers danced along his hips, the tips of her nails grazing the sensitive skin just above his waistband. The way she moved—slow, unhurried—felt deliberate. Like she wanted to savor the tension rising in his body. Like she knew she already had him, but enjoyed watching him squirm a little.

He swallowed hard, blinking down at her as she nuzzled into his abdomen, her lips brushing over the faint trail of hair leading down beneath his sweats. Every soft exhale from her lips sent heat crawling up his spine.

Her hands worked at the knot in his sweatpants with practiced ease, tugging it loose with a little smirk playing on her face when she felt the tension in his legs. She hadn’t even touched him yet, not really—and still, he was already putty in her hands.

“You’re so tense,” she purred, voice like warm honey. “Poor baby. You overthink everything.”

Mark tried to respond, tried to ask again—about the number, about the guy, about all of it—but she pressed a kiss just below his navel, and the words dissolved in his throat like sugar in water.

Her fingers slid beneath the waistband, cool against his heated skin, and she glanced up at him through her lashes.

“Just let me take care of you,” she whispered. “You always get so serious. So stiff.”

The double meaning hung between them like fog.

Her hand stroked him slowly, teasing, never giving him exactly what he wanted—yet. His breath hitched, his hands flexing helplessly at his sides.

“And then,” she said, her voice dropping lower as she leaned closer, “we can talk about feelings and trust and whatever else you want.”

Her lips wrapped around him before he could answer.

And just like that, she had him again—sprawled out, speechless, lost in her warmth. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. The questions could wait. The suspicions, the knots in his stomach, the tension with William—everything could wait. Because right now, she was everything. And she knew it.

Her lips moved with a deliberate pace—slow, skillful, maddening. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she wasn’t in a hurry. Not even close.

Mark’s head tilted back slightly, a quiet, shaky breath slipping past his lips. His hand found the back of her head without thinking, fingers curling into her hair, not to guide—just to hold. Like he needed the anchor.

She hummed against him, and the vibration made his thighs twitch.

God, she was good at this.

Too good.

Her tongue traced a path along the underside, soft and precise, and she hollowed her cheeks with every pull, watching his reactions carefully. Every breath, every subtle flex of his muscles—she drank it in like praise.

But it wasn’t just about getting him off. It never was.

It was about control.

He was always strongest in the sky, fists up, jaw set, cape billowing behind him like a storm cloud. But here? Like this? She had him defenseless. Vulnerable. Malleable.

And she loved it.

Mark’s grip on her hair tightened, his other hand pressing over his face as if he could somehow hold back the heat flooding his system. But it didn’t matter. She could feel it—the way his hips subtly jerked, the soft, desperate noises building in his throat.

She popped off with a quiet gasp, stroking him slowly with one hand as she looked up at him, flushed and wickedly satisfied.

“You close, baby?” she asked sweetly, her voice breathy and thick with heat.

He nodded, biting back a curse.

“Good,” she whispered, mouth curling into a lazy smirk. “Then let go for me.”

She took him back into her mouth, deeper this time—no teasing now. She wanted to finish it, to take every last drop of tension and guilt and frustration and drown it in pleasure.

He came with a choked gasp, hips stuttering forward, and she took it all without flinching. She stayed there a moment, breathing through her nose, her hand resting gently on his thigh, grounding him.

When she finally pulled back, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and kissed his stomach once, soft and affectionate.

He was still catching his breath when she crawled up beside him, pressing herself into his side like nothing had happened. Like it was just another night.

She rested her head on his chest, fingers curling against his hoodie.

“I love you,” she murmured.

Mark stared at the ceiling, the words echoing in his chest—but they didn’t land quite right. Not this time. Because she hadn’t said sorry. She hadn’t answered the question. And now she was already falling asleep.

The room had gone quiet, except for the low hum of the TV still playing something neither of them were watching. Y/N was fast asleep, her breathing slow and even, lashes fluttering slightly as she shifted against his chest. She looked peaceful like this—soft, content, one arm draped loosely over his stomach.

But Mark wasn’t asleep.

He stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, thoughts spinning in tight, suffocating circles. Her words played on loop in his head—“I love you.” “You think I’d actually let some stranger text me?” “Let me take care of you.” Every syllable sounded perfect, like they were designed to soothe him.

But none of it felt real right now. Something was still wrong. Off. And it wasn’t just William’s words echoing in his head this time—it was instinct. Gut-deep and ugly.

Slowly, he shifted, careful not to wake her. Her body didn’t even twitch. Out cold. He looked down at her sleeping face. So peaceful. So convincing.

Then, his gaze drifted toward the nightstand. Her phone was there, screen down, charging. Just a black mirror beside the candle wax and nail polish. His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to check. He really didn’t.

But his hand moved anyway, slow and careful, lifting the phone off the charger. Her screen lit up—no password. Just a lazy swipe. The Messages app was already open, frozen on their most recent conversation. His stomach dropped at how… empty it was. He scrolled through her inbox slowly. There were only two threads.

Mom.

Mark.

That was it. Not a single group chat. Not a friend. Not a random coworker or spam message. Just him and her mother. He blinked, frowning. That… that wasn’t right.

He scrolled back a little further. Nothing. Every other message was gone. Wiped. Clean. No backups. No archived chats. No other social notifications either. It was like she existed in a vacuum—no one else but him and her mom. His pulse spiked. His hands were starting to sweat. This wasn’t about being private. This was curated. She deleted everything.

“Mark…” her voice came out barely audible, half-asleep. He tensed, nearly dropping the phone. She stirred, eyes fluttering open just a sliver. “What’re you doing…?”

Mark hesitated—phone still in hand, guilt and betrayal curdling in his stomach. “I couldn’t sleep,” he muttered. She hummed, not quite awake enough to question him further. She rolled toward him, one hand blindly seeking his warmth.

Mark stayed still, the phone glowing dimly in his hand, casting just enough light to catch the glint of red on her fingernails. He stared at her face—so serene, like she wasn’t hiding anything. But his gut wouldn’t shut up now. Because something was definitely being hidden.

Morning came slow and gray, the light bleeding through the curtains in soft, dull streaks. Mark had barely slept. He hadn’t moved from the spot he was in, still lying there with Y/N curled into his side like they were in a perfect domestic dream.

But the weight of her phone still lingered on his fingertips like guilt.

Y/N stirred, yawning as she stretched beside him, her hand gliding across his chest with practiced ease. “Mmm… morning,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep. She tilted her head up to kiss his jaw. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Mark said, voice flat.

She didn’t seem to notice the difference.

She sat up, tousled hair falling in waves over her shoulders as she reached for her robe. “I was thinking of making waffles—unless you wanna just door-dash something?”

Mark sat up too, slower, like something was weighing him down. He watched her move around the room, casual and carefree. Like last night had solved everything.

But it hadn’t. Not for him.

“Hey,” he said, finally, voice low but steady. “Can I ask you something?”

She paused by the doorway, one eyebrow arched. “Sure.”

“Why are there only two conversations in your messages?”

Y/N blinked, surprised. Then she laughed softly. “Seriously? That’s what’s been eating at you?”

“Just answer the question,” Mark said, firmer now.

She sighed, tugging her robe tighter. “I delete messages all the time, Mark. You know how I am—paranoid about storage, hate clutter, whatever. I do it like once a week.”

“You deleted everything,” he said. “No friends, no old texts, nothing? Just me and your mom? Doesn’t that seem a little… off?”

She folded her arms, leaning against the wall. “Okay, Sherlock. What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“I don’t know,” Mark admitted. “But it feels like you’re hiding something.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “God. Are we still on this? Over some guy at a bar and a fake number?”

“This isn’t just about that,” he said. “It’s about the fact that I’m starting to feel like I only ever get half the truth from you.”

She went still for a moment, eyes narrowing just slightly. “So now you’re checking my phone in the middle of the night and calling me a liar?”

“I didn’t want to,” Mark said, voice cracking a little with frustration. “But the way you dodge everything—the way you kiss me instead of talking, or start touching me every time I ask something real—it’s like you’re using sex to distract me.”

Y/N’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then she gave a slow, amused smile—more venom than warmth.

“Maybe I am,” she said coolly.

Mark’s face went blank.

She walked up to him, placed her hands on his chest again—same as last night—but this time, he didn’t melt. He didn’t fold. He just stared at her.

“I know what guys want, Mark. And I give it to you,” she whispered. “You get your comfort, your ego stroked, your release. And I get to not have my every move interrogated like I’m on trial. Seems fair to me.”

“That’s not fair,” he said quietly. “No?” she challenged. “Then go find someone who bores you to death but texts only you and pays for her own drinks with a smile. Good luck.”

Mark swallowed hard. “Do you love me, or do you just like being wanted?”

Y/N flinched—just barely—but enough. She didn’t answer.

Instead, she turned and walked toward the kitchen. “Waffles?” she called out behind her, light and flippant.

Mark sat on the edge of the bed, hands clenched, unsure if he felt more sick or stupid. He was starting to realize… maybe William had been right.