#also I've stared at this piece for so long it's made my eyes go funny - everything around me looks so green now

[54625]

semi unrequited

I don't usually draw shit like this but it literally happened so my hands are tied

[lortsyall]

Echoes of Eywa's Child.

chapter 1.

(Neteyam x Human!Reader series)

Pending....Pending....

Date: December 21st,2174.

Location: Office,Unit 4,Avatar Department,Human Outpost Biolab,Hallelujah Mountains,Pandora.

Time: 10:15 AM.

A long time has passed since I've known about this once alien planet. 4.4 light years away,a world full of life,like a lost paradise,sat idly in silence,away from the death and destruction that has scattered over Earth like a goddamn plague.

The ones before us saw the danger of it all,and yet they turned a blind eye,all because the climate change and the fractures in the atmosphere caused by the heightened levels of carbon dioxide wouldn’t affect them in the long run. They’d be dead anyway by the time it got too serious. So much for doing the right thing.

I wasn’t even born when they discovered Pandora,though until I actually got a grasp of reality and gained consciousness like everybody does at 5 years old,I’ve actually wondered if the so-called “Goldilocks Zone” existed somewhere else. If God smiled upon the universe and gave another planet the privilege of life.

Trust me,I have no idea how I even got here. So much time has passed since I’ve breathed in the polluted air of Earth,but I guess it’s for the benefit of all.

Guess we'll do it like they always do,huh?Start from the beginning of it all.

Pending...Pending...

Date: January 26th,2170

Location: Home,New York,USA, Earth.

Time: 12:43 PM.

Nobody ever thought that a girl like me would end up as the head leader of the Avatar Department,or an important person in the Resistance. And I gotta say,I never quite imagined myself becoming this. I dreamt of stages full of fans,as my fingers gave birth to heart-shattering riffs. Of poetry books released under my very own name,painting the pages with complicated feelings and sensations,all of a broken and imperfect human heart. Of having my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame,making my country proud as a well known actress overseas. Though all those dreams were scattered away,like a feather in the wind,the moment I decided to do what any other scared yet artistically talented person who wants to make her parents proud does.

I got into STEM. Mechanical and Biological Engineering.

And between the sleepless nights of studying,drowning myself in math equations and lab reports,I got a one-way ticket to Pandora in my first year of college,from the one and only Parker Selfridge. Head administrator of the RDA’s operation in Pandora. I can still feel the anxiety lingering on my tongue. They never came with internships for first years,so what was he here for?

He came in to give out 5 internships at my college,yet he left with a new potential piece for this chess game. Me. All thanks to a question he asked that I knew the answer of. And to think I almost didn't say the answer because I thought everyone knew it,but as it turns out,only I did. I sat in the hallway with my friends,staring dumbfoundedly at the bussiness card he gave me.

Only back then,the RDA were treated as heroes,important people who made way for a better life. For an undead Earth. The propaganda was all enough to trick a little mind like mine,though it’s funny how I always thought I was a step ahead of everyone. Life on Earth as I remember it was,to say the least…grey.

The cities were gray. The people were gray. The sky was…well,grey. And between spending the rest of my life here,with my dreams crumbling before my very own eyes,and going out there to actually fight for a new home for humanity,you can guess why I chose the latter.

Nothing out of the ordinary was happening for me here anyway. Gorgeous girl,great personality,they all said,but nobody ever settled. Nobody ever stopped in their tracks to take in the pure and total beauty of the chaos that is me,so I never had a serious partner before. And…I guess I was also excited to see if the stories are true.

How an actual human betrayed his own race for a…Na’vi tribe princess?At least that’s how they put it,and I don’t even want to mention how embarrassing it was for the RDA to come back to Earth with their tails between their legs back in 2154. No unobtanium. No money. No Avatars. No nothing. I was three when that happened,and I remember playing with my cousins with our cardboard toys as our parents watched the TV in confusion and…disappointment,so you can guess why they made Jake Sully seem like an actual demon,and the death of a colonel was a pretty big deal,after all.

Thing is,the RDA only shows you the pearl in their hands,and not the mouth getting ready to swallow you whole. And now I know why they were so understaffed. That total failure after 2154 made people lose trust in the RDA over the years. But to me?

The decision came easily. I needed something new.

What didn’t,though,was the pure work I’d have to do in just 6 months. Learning the language of the natives,the Na’vi. Getting to understand the differences between our anatomy and theirs. The fauna and flora. The tribes. The ecosystems. And…of course,Eywa herself,though I learned that from Dr. Grace Augustine’s botany books,not from the RDA’s training program. I honestly don’t know what Selfridge saw in me,when I know I have friends better in college than me,but I better not question it too much.

I tried telling myself that as soon as I got in cryo,it wouldn’t be a goodbye,rather a…see you later. Looking back at it now,I think it was just wishful thinking. For now,I was me,the girl nobody ever really took seriously. Just another face in a sea of others. Next time I wake up,I’d have to work in an entire department with people twice my age.

Pending...Pending...

Date: July 31st,2174

Location: Pandora????

Time: ?????

The cryo-sleep thaw was a nightmare and a miracle all at once. My lungs burned as they dragged in air for the first time in four years, my throat raw and dry, every breath tasting metallic. My joints ached as if I’d aged a century.

“Subject revived.” the sterile voice of the AI announced, flat and emotionless. I tried sitting up, only to slump back down against the cryo pod’s restraints. My body wasn’t mine yet—not entirely.

“You’ll feel like shit for a while,” said a woman in a crisp lab coat, her voice muffled as she checked my vitals. “Side effects of long-term cryo. It’ll pass. Welcome to the ISV Valkyrie, and congrats on making it to Pandora.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and surreal. Pandora.

The next few hours were a blur of debriefings and medical checkups. My body eventually began to cooperate, but my mind lagged behind. I shuffled through endless corridors with other groggy personnel, each of us too stunned to speak. We were like ghosts wandering through a ship that pulsed with life—technicians barking orders, holograms buzzing with real-time scans of the moon’s surface, the low hum of engines preparing for atmospheric descent.

When the ship finally broke through Pandora’s atmosphere, I felt it in my chest. The vibrations reverberated through every bolt, every panel, and through me. The world outside the viewport was alive. The dense, green forests sprawled endlessly beneath the floating Hallelujah Mountains, their bases wreathed in ethereal clouds. The sky shifted from pink to blue in the blink of an eye, its colors alien yet breathtakingly familiar.

For a moment, the hum of engines and the chatter of voices faded away. It was just me and the sight of this strange, beautiful moon—a place that could have been paradise if we weren’t here to ruin it.

The ship landed with a jarring shudder, and the real work began.

Adjusting to life on Pandora was like learning to breathe all over again. Everything about this place demanded respect—the gravity was lighter, the air richer, and the biology... unfathomable. Days blurred into weeks as I threw myself into the work at the Avatar Department.

My mornings began with syncing sessions in the link pods, my mind slipping into my Avatar body like stepping into a cold pool. It wasn’t seamless—at first, every movement felt foreign. I stumbled through training exercises, my longer legs and stronger muscles betraying me at every turn. But slowly, the body became mine.

Afternoons were spent reading over files on Na’vi biology, studying their neural networks and learning their language. The words felt clumsy on my tongue, but I persisted. When I wasn’t in the lab or out on field assignments to observe Pandora’s ecosystems, I was immersed in RDA briefings.

That’s where I first heard his name again.

Jake Sully.

The briefings spoke of him like a ghost, a legend who had long since passed into myth. But here, his name was a warning.

“Resistance forces led by Sully attacked the rail line near Sector 7 again,” one of the military officers growled during lunch at the canteen. “Three shipments of amp suits lost. That bastard and his little insurgents are crippling our operations.”

The room buzzed with tension as reports of attacks piled up. Sabotaged trains, stolen supplies, and destroyed equipment—it was chaos. To the RDA, Sully wasn’t just a traitor. He was the personification of everything standing in the way of their plans.

But the more I learned, the more conflicted I felt. The propaganda painted him as a terrorist, a man who had betrayed his own kind for a primitive cause. But every whisper I caught from the scientists who had been here longer told a different story.

“Maybe Sully isn’t the villain they make him out to be,” I muttered to Dr. Ellison one evening as we worked late in the lab.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable as he pointed towards a CCTV with his head,as if to say "Shut up. They're listening."

"That’s dangerous talk,you know. Keep your head down. Do your work. They don't like questions.”

I nodded, but the seed of doubt had already taken root.

The attacks continued, each one more brazen than the last. The RDA ramped up their operations in response, sending more troops and machinery into the wilds of Pandora. But for every move they made, the Resistance seemed to be one step ahead.

And then there was the tension between the people I worked with. Some were diehard loyalists, determined to see the mission succeed no matter the cost. Others—mostly the scientists—spoke in hushed tones about the beauty of the Na’vi culture, the interconnectedness of the flora and fauna, and the destruction we were bringing to this world.

I kept my head down, just as Ellison had warned. But at night, as I lay in my bunk staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder: which side of history would I be on?

Pandora had a way of getting under your skin. The longer I stayed, the more I realized it wasn’t just a place. It was a mirror, reflecting humanity’s best and worst instincts back at us. And somewhere in the middle of it all was me—a girl who had come here for a fresh start, only to find herself caught in a war she didn’t fully understand.

The attacks became more than background noise; they became a constant undercurrent to life on Pandora. At first, they were just distant explosions, reports in the briefing room, or muttered curses from the military personnel in the mess hall. But over time, the Resistance started to feel like a presence, a shadow that loomed over everything the RDA tried to accomplish.

Jake Sully wasn’t just a name anymore—he was a force of nature.

The first time I felt the Resistance's impact directly was during a supply run. It was supposed to be routine—a quick trip to outpost Beta-5 to deliver Avatar-linked monitoring equipment. I was tagging along as part of my training, mostly to observe.

But the Resistance didn’t care about schedules or safety zones.

The attack was fast and chaotic. One moment, the AMP suits ahead of us were trudging through the dense forest, their movements mechanical and predictable. The next, arrows rained down from the trees, followed by explosions that sent the towering machines toppling like broken toys.

The ambush hit like a storm—sudden, violent, and unstoppable.

One moment, I was riding in the back of the supply truck, surrounded by crates of equipment and two guards sharing a nervous laugh. The next, the forest erupted in chaos.

The first explosion flipped the lead AMP suit, its towering frame crashing to the ground with a deafening roar. The convoy came to an abrupt halt as arrows rained down from the trees, their sharp points glinting like falling stars.

“Get down!” someone yelled.

I hit the truck bed hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. My mask rattled against the metal floor as I scrambled for cover behind a crate. The world around me dissolved into a cacophony of gunfire, shouting, and the eerie war cries of the Na’vi.

The guards fired blindly into the trees, their exo-packs hissing as they struggled to maintain their aim under the pressure. I peeked over the edge of the crate just in time to see one of the AMP suits stagger, an arrow embedded in its cockpit.

Panic set in. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. I wasn’t a soldier. I wasn’t trained for this. My human body was fragile here—one wrong move, and I’d be dead.

I clutched the sidearm they’d insisted I carry, though my hands were shaking too much to use it. What was I even doing here? This wasn’t supposed to be my fight.

A shadow passed overhead. My breath hitched as I looked up to see a Na’vi warrior leaping from a tree, his bow drawn, his movements impossibly fluid. He landed on the roof of the truck with barely a sound, his golden eyes scanning the scene below.

And then, those eyes locked onto mine.

For a moment, the chaos of the ambush melted away, leaving only silence between us.

He stood above me, perched on the edge of the truck’s roof, silhouetted against the glowing forest. His figure was tall and commanding, every line of his body taut with a warrior’s grace. The flickering bioluminescence of the nearby trees played off his skin, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across his lean, muscular frame.

His face was angular and strong, the high cheekbones and sharp jawline unmistakably Na’vi, yet there was something softer in his expression. His golden eyes, large and luminous, fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical force. They weren’t filled with rage or cruelty but something far more unnerving—calculated curiosity, as though he were trying to read my soul in that single moment.

The streaks of blue war paint decorating his face didn’t fully mask the smooth, rich azure of his skin, which gleamed faintly under the pale light of Pandora’s twin moons. His braids, adorned with small beads and feathers, swayed gently with each subtle movement, a testament to the culture he carried with him like armor.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that struck me—it was his presence.

He radiated confidence, a quiet power that demanded attention without arrogance. It was the kind of aura that made the world around him seem smaller, less significant. The chaos raging around us felt like a distant hum compared to the weight of his gaze.

And yet, beneath that commanding presence, there was something deeper—an unmistakable grief, perhaps, or a burden that someone so young should never have to carry. It was in the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth, and the way his hands gripped the bow with both precision and purpose.

“Drop it,” he said, his voice deep and steady, but with a softness that caught me off guard.

The words hit me like a command, though they weren’t barked or shouted. It was the tone of someone who expected to be obeyed—not out of fear, but respect.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. The sidearm in my trembling hands felt heavier than it should, as if the very act of holding it was a betrayal. His gaze flicked to the weapon, then back to me, and I realized with a jolt that he wasn’t looking at me like an enemy. He was looking at me like a question.

“You are… different,” he said, tilting his head slightly, the movement as fluid and deliberate as everything else about him. His accent curled around the words, each syllable infused with the lyrical cadence of his native tongue.

I wanted to speak, to ask him what he meant, but my throat felt dry, my voice lost in the weight of the moment.

He crouched slightly, lowering himself onto one knee so we were nearly at eye level. Even then, his presence dwarfed mine. Up close, the details became sharper—the faint patterns of his skin, the slight twitch of his ears as they picked up the sounds of the battle behind him, the faint rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“You do not fight,” he observed, the faintest hint of curiosity threading through his words. His eyes lingered on mine, their golden glow unwavering. “And you… fear.”

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a statement of fact, delivered with neither judgment nor malice.

His hand shifted slightly, and I flinched, but he didn’t reach for me. Instead, he pointed at the weapon still lying on the ground between us.

The Na’vi reacted instantly. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet with startling gentleness.

“You do not belong here,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Run.”

“What—”

“Go!”

He released me and darted back into the fray, moving with the grace of a predator and the determination of someone who had everything to lose.

I didn’t run. Not immediately. Instead, I crouched behind the truck, my legs trembling as I watched the battle unfold.

He moved like the forest itself, blending into the chaos with a skill that seemed almost supernatural. He wasn’t just fighting—he was leading. The other Na’vi warriors followed his signals, their coordinated strikes overwhelming the RDA forces.

For every bullet fired, they had an arrow. For every shout of anger, they answered with a battle cry that sent chills down my spine.

And yet, amidst the violence, there was something strangely... noble about them. They didn’t kill indiscriminately. They targeted the machines, the vehicles, the weapons. It was as if they were trying to make a point rather than simply annihilate us.

When the ambush finally ended, the Resistance had melted back into the forest, leaving behind a convoy in ruins. Smoke rose from the wreckage, and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuel.

I stumbled out from behind the truck, my legs barely holding me up. Around me, the survivors were regrouping, their faces pale and shell-shocked.

“Medic!” someone called, dragging a wounded soldier from the wreckage.

But I couldn’t move. My mind was stuck on him—the way he’d looked at me, the way he’d spared me when he could have easily ended my life.

“You do not belong here,” he’d said.

The words echoed in my head as I stared at the destruction around me. For the first time, I began to wonder if he was right.

[crimson-lair]

MBCC DATING SIM: Reasons to Date Raven

Raven had always been curious about the "MBCC Dating Sim" the staffs had invented. As the second person to participate after Cinnabar, she was eager to see what all the fuss was about. However, when you were given the task to go on a date with Raven, you were hesitant to show her the piece of paper that outlined the reasons why you should date her.

The truth was, you were afraid of what Raven might do with the information on the paper. The last thing you wanted was for her to write about it in the newspapers and cause a stir among the other Sinners. You knew that the staffs had warned you not to let Raven see the paper, but her incessant pestering made it hard to resist.

As you hesitated, considering whether or not to let Raven see the paper, you could practically see her mind working overtime, trying to figure out why you were being so cagey. In the end, you keep the paper to yourself, much to her dismay.

Reason No. 1:

Raven can always spruce up your resume for free!

Raven's face twisted into an exasperated expression as she listened to you explain that you wanted her help with your resume. "A resume?" she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief.

"After all the work I've put into crafting sensational headlines and exposing the dark secrets of the upper class, you want me to help with something as mundane as a resume?"

However, her disbelief was quickly replaced by a flicker of amusement, and she shook her head with a small grin. "What a waste of my talents. But since you asked nicely, I suppose I could help you out."

She pulled out a quill and a paper out of nowhere, scrawling down the details you gave her in quick, 'neat' strokes. "Let's see... What kind of position are you applying for? A receptionist? An administrative assistant? A... a..."

She stopped and frowned, her quill pressing down on the paper, leaving ink smudges on it. "Why can't you get a real job?"

Me: CUT! CUT! THAT'S SO OOC! DON'T BREAK THE 4TH WALL

Reason No. 2:

Raven's hair is green, and they say looking at green is good for your eyes!

Raven's confusion was visible on her face. Her long, seaweed-like dark green hair was indeed striking, but she wasn't used to receiving this much attention from someone. The intensity of your gaze made her couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

"Are you... staring at my hair?" she asked, her mouth hanging open slightly. "That's a bit intense, don't you think?"

Then, you surprised her even more when you mentioned that someone had told you that green was good for eyes. Raven raised an eyebrow, visibly confused. "What does that have to do with this?"

Suddenly, it dawned on her what you were getting at, and she couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "Oh, I see."

"Well, you're in luck then," she said, sending you a wink. "My eyes are also green, so you might as well take a look at them too."

Reason No. 3:

You'll get to learn how to raise ravens!

Raven was excited to show you the pet raven that made up from her abilities. She was proud of the fact that the bird had become quite proficient in speaking and even knew how to say a few phrases like a parrot. However, her excitement quickly turned to embarrassment when the raven suddenly squawked out the words, "Lemme smash."

Raven was completely caught off guard and immediately tried to shut the bird up. "Please excuse its crude language."

"I swear I never taught it anything like that. He must have picked it up from somewhere. Please, just ignore him."

Despite her efforts, the bird continued to repeat the phrase, "Lemme smash."

"Please."

In the end, Raven had to resort to a stern glare and a "Shhhh!" to get the bird to stop.

Maybe you're not destined to raise ravens.

Image by PathtoNowhereEN on Twitter/X

I've never heard of this lemme smash bird meme until recently thanks to some blogs, now I know 👍 but I don't think it's funny enough when I wrote it myself 😭 HELP

Next victim is Dreya >:) but not sure if it'd be comedy like.. hehe

[princesspastel8]

Chapter 1: Gravity Falls

Dipper POV

I stare out the window, holding the note Wendy gave me that day 12 years ago. After so long, those years of endless torture from my family, I can finally be free.

No, we can finally be free.

Bill....

Oh, how I missed that damn dream, demon. Years of planning and years of research. The moment weirdmaganen ended and gravity falls was back to normal, something in me felt off. I couldn't stop thinking about Bill.

All I wanted was Bill. The moment he took over my body filled me with so much desire when I got my body back. It's as if he left a piece of himself inside of me. A permanent reminder that I would always be his.

But of course, I was too young and stupid to understand such feelings. Those feelings for Wendy were my hormones raging for some form of attraction for anything that looked appealing. And Wendy took the cake.

I watch as the trees fly by the window of the bus. I yawn, taking a glance at Mable, who is bouncing in her seat next to me. For someone who's 25 years old, she sure still acts like a 13 year old.

Nothing really changed since the two of us left. I grew facial hair and gained a few inches over mable. Came out as gay to my parents, who completely disowned me. Mable was hardly ever in the picture during that time in my life. She was always out partying or hooking up with some guy.

But of course, she was always everyone's favorite. She lacked the awkwardness I gained that should have been equally split between the two of us! Honestly, I hate claiming her as my twin at times.

Her personality stayed the same as well. Still as selfish and naive as ever, which comes in handy at times. We grew distant when I started to change. I felt my personality grow darker compared to her sunshine and rainbows one.

People grew eerie of me by the time I turned 16. Rock music became my best friend, but I wasn't a punk rock emo gothic freak. Those depressed waste of space really piss me off. Maybe that's why I hated Robbie so much. All the fake angst and unnecessary anger grew annoying and out of place, in my opinion. Hopefully, he grew up and gained some balls since I've been gone.

The bullying at school ended once I learned how to fight and throw knives. Knives became my most favorite thing in the world. The sharp yet light blade, the different types of beautiful leather handles. I brought my whole collection with me.

Oh, I guess I forgot to mention I'm moving here. Coming out as gay to my parents while also adding that I'm not going to college really added to the hatred they now shared for me. But it didn't bother me, I left a little gift for the both of them under their bed. I guess I won't be hearing from them for the rest of my life. I chuckle to myself at the thought.

Mable looks at me, tilting her head to the side. "What's funny dip n dop?"

I jump, my smile now in a thin line, "Something you wouldn't understand, Mable."

"Oh, come on, Dipper! You never say anything to me!" She whines while shaking my shoulder aggressively.

One of the things I made clear to Mable over the years is to never touch me. I turn my head to look down at her frame, glaring into her eyes. "Don't. Touch. Me." I said through my teeth.

Mable quickly pulls away and looks down, nuzzling her head against waddles. "S-sorry Dipper. I always forget...."

I roll my eyes but smile and flick her forehead. "Whatever, cheer up. We're here."

Mable looks out the mirror and cheers, already up from her seat and running to the double doors of the bus. And I'm left with the bags, no surprise there. I carry my things on my back while placing her bags under my arms.

I walk off the bus with a sigh, still carrying our bags. Mable is currently in a group hug with Candy and Grenda. I notice Wendy patting her head with Robbie standing beside her. I raise an eyebrow at the rings on their fingers. I'm trying my best to hold back laughter. Those two got married?!

I glance back to Mable and see Pacifica. Her blonde hair is so bright that it's blinding. Standing next to her is Gideon. They didn't look much different, but at least gideon ditched that stupid suit. I finally noticed Soes and my Grunkles. Stan looked the same, but Stanford seemed to age a bit. Maybe stress from researching too much.

"Oh guys, I missed so you Much! And I'm so happy for you two!" Mable cheers, looking at Robbie and Wendy.

Robbie scratches the back of his head as a light blush tents around his cheeks. He looks down, pouting. "Whatever."

"Lighten up, Rob. And thanks, Mable. Never thought I would fall for him again. A lot has changed."

I chuckle, shaking my head at her words. "Damn right it has."

All eyes are on me now. I raise an eyebrow, shrugging my shoulder. "What?"

"Is that really you, Dipper Pines?" Gideon asks in shock.

"Oh wow, Dipper, nice glow up." Pacifica winks.

"Heh, you're finally taller than Mable. Congrats, man." Wendy said, walking over to me for a hug.

I laugh and hug back the best way I could since I'm carrying all of our bags. "Thanks, I guess."

"Kid finally got some muscle!" Stan cheers while patting me on my back. Stanford nods his head and smiles.

"Well, why are we just standing around here for? We have a surprise for you two, my dudes." Soos said while walking forward towards the mystery shake.

Once, Soos opens the door, Mable and I are greeted by cheers of happiness. "WELCOME BACK MYSTERY TWINS!"

Mable rushes in and hugs almost everyone while I stand there and simply wave. The party starts right after we arrive. I sigh, walking up the stairs with Stanford behind me.

"So how have you been, Dipper? Are there any plans for college?"

I shake my head, opening the first door to Mable's and I old room. "Nope. I see no reasoning in college when I'm one of the most bright minded people in this world. College would just be a waste of my brain and time." I said, ending with a yawn.

"You have a point, but having a college degree makes job seeking easier." He pointed out. "And by the way, this will be your own room. Mable has the other room across the hall."

I roll my eyes. Of course, she gets the bigger room - the same room we fought over that day. I smile, dropping my bags near my old bed. "That's great! Thanks, grunkle Ford."

"No problem. I am looking forward to making new discoveries with my great nephew again." He smiles and pats my shoulder. "I'll meet you back downstairs." He said while walking out.

I hum as I unload my things, fixing my room up to my liking. It didn't take long. All I have are my books, journals, knives, and necessities. I walk to Nable's room and throw her bags on the bed. This really is unfair, and it's getting under my skin.

I walk down the stairs, digging my nails into my skin while scratching my arm too hard. I grab a soda from the table and take my place in a corner of the room. While I observe everyone, I notice Pacifica glancing at Mable from time to time. I chuckle, taking a sip of my drink. I knew she had a thing for my twin sister. That'll come in handle one day.

I look to my right, catching Candy and Gideon staring at me. They both quickly turn their heads, faces covered in blush. Does Candy still have that stupid crush on me? Ugh, that'll be annoying, but what's the deal with Gideon?

Candy begins to walk towards me, her smile determining but her eyes nervous. "Hello, Dipper."

"Hm." I said, taking another sip of my drink.

"So how have you been these past years? Have a girlfriend, maybe?"

I chuckle, looking down at her. "Cutting right to the chase, huh?"

She blushes and laughs. "How can I not? You've grown extremely attractive since I last saw you."

"It's called puberty candy. And I was 13 the last time you saw me. I'm 25 now."

She nods her head, "Yes....so I was wondering... now that we both matured..if you wanted to give us a try?"

I try my best to hold back my laughter. Gideon stared at us the whole time, jealously. Hurting her feelings would bring joy, but I can't give my true self away.

"Sorry to break it to you, Candy, but I don't swing that way."

Her eyes widen as if they're being squeezed out of her eyesockets. "YOU'RE GAY?!" She shouts loud enough for everyone to hear.

I sigh heavily, all eyes on us. I did not want this type of attention. I didn't want the whole town knowing I enjoy dick up my ass. That's none of their business. Now I'm regretting not telling her in the harshest way that even if I weren't gay, and if she was the last woman on earth, I'd rather die than to be left alone in her presence.

"You're what Dipper?" Wendy asks a bit taken aback herself, which is understandable.

"Oh wow, dude. Never thought you'd go that way." Soos pips in.

Pacifica didn't seem like she cared. I'm pretty sure it's because of her secret as well. Gideon, on the other hand, looks hopeful. The thought of hooking up with him actually makes my flesh crawl.

I chug down the rest of my drink, crushing the can with my hands. This was so annoying and stupid. "Yes, I'm gay. It's 2019 people. Keep up with the times, and if you have a problem with it, then -" I was cut off by a loud phone ringing.

Stanford and grunkle Stan shake from their shock, and Stan picks up the phone. "What is it?" He answers rudely.

"Yes, that's me. Now that do you -......what?!" He shouts, his eyes filling with dread and grief. "Ok....Thank you. Bye."

Stan ends the phone call, pulling Stanford to the side. He told him whatever the news was, his demeanor shifting. My gunkles turn to both me and Mable, who looks really worked up. "What is it grunkle Stan? What's the matter?" She questions.

"Kids....there's no good way I can say this but, you're parents are dead. A bomb was placed under their bed, and it went off the moment they both laid down....the police have no idea who could've done this. The house is completely destroyed.

The shack is filled with gaps and apologetic expressions towards the Pines family. Mable breaks down into tears, falling to her knees. I force myself to look as hurt as I can. I reach down to lift Mable up, trying to calm her down. Luckily, her friends helped.

Once the news settled, and everyone left, the party is shut down. Robbie, Wendy, Pacifica, Candy, Grenda, and Gideon offer to stay and help clean while Mable, and I head to bed. Mable wishes me goodnight, pulling me into a tight hug.

My face remains blank, but I hug her nonetheless. "Just get some rest tomorrow, mable. They're find who did that to our parents.."

Lies.

She nods her head and pulls away. She walks into her room as I do the same. I sit down on the edge of my bed, reaching for one of my journals. Before I can open it, the door to my room opens. I quickly place it under my blanket, turning around to face who's at my door. It's just my Grunkles.

"Hey Dipper, how are you holding up?" Stan asks while sitting to my right.

I nod my head, staring at my hands.

Stanford sits to my left, rubbing his hand up and down my back in a soothing motion. "We know you're trying to stay strong for Mable, but it's alright to cry."

What am I, five? I nod my head as tears begin to fall. "Wh-who could have done this?" I ask, my voice cracking.

Stanford and Stan pull me into a hug as I sob. "It's ok, Dipper. You and Mable will stay with us. We're here for you guys. Everyone is." Stanford said.

I nod my head, pulling away from the both of them. "Th-Thanks you two....but I would like to be alone right now."

They both nod their heads. "We understand, Dipper. We all need time, and it's ok that you're gay. We still love you the same." Stan said before standing and leaving the room.

"If you need us, we'll be downstairs." Stanford said.

I nod my head, watching them leave. I stand and walk to my door, locking it. I rush to my bed and jump in it, pulling out my journal from under my blanket. I lay on my back, opening the journal. Tears still falling from my eyes, I gently glaze my hands over the first page. Bill's circle. I feel my frown quickly stretch into a smile as I turn to the second page, Bill's human form.

Oh, how he looks so godly. How tan he is, that damn bright yellow tux. Those sparkling locks of hair that I could run my fingers through all day. His twisted smile, I can just hear his laugh bouncing inside my skull.

I place the journal on my chest as I start to laugh. I start from chuckling to heavy cackling. I place a hand over my mouth so my laughter won't be heard throughout the shack. The rush of soon seeing Bill taking completely over me. I slowly close my eyes, thinking of the little song he used to play.

Don't know where

Don't know, wheeeeeen~

Til we meet again...

"Some sunny day...."

"Haha! See ya soon, Pinetree!~"

[mylittlesecrethaven]

How Relationships With Them Would Be: Pt 2

OH MY GOODNESS IT'S BEEN TOO LONG!

Anyway, let's do this.

I'm finishing this up.

Even though nobody asked me to.

Vice housewarden time. (Also, I know some of the dorms don't have vice housewardens, but you know what I mean by these characters. Please don't comment or message or whatever and be like "Um, actually--" Cause I know. Don't worry. :3 Thanks tho)

Trey:

Ngl, perfect boyfriend material. I can't really see anything that would go bad unless you're just super stubborn about your teeth brushing habits. I think that's the only deal breaker for him.

MC: But I don't wanna brush my teeth now! I'm going to bed.

Trey: Do you know what can happen to your teeth by skipping even one brushing session?

MC: Don't know, don't care.

All in all, the only way this wouldn't work out is if you are the asshole.

Ruggie:

Pfft- You fucking wish. I mean, if you get close enough, maybe. But this boi would probably rather trick you and snatch your shit than try to date you. Of course, even if you did get close, he'd tease you to no end. (But if y'all were dating, I'd say he'd be a pretty ok boyfriend)

MC: Um... where's my wallet?

Ruggie: Oh, I used it to buy food.

MC: Oh, how much food?

Ruggie: As much as I could get with whatever was in there.

MC: ...

Ruggie: And then I sold the wallet for some quick cash.

MC: ....my wallet....

Yeah, you could never keep anything valuable.

Jade:

Unless you're into sadism, you'd fucking die. Also, if you hate mushrooms, good fucking luck. And if you piss him off? You're family would never find you again. I swear, being with this guy would always have you on edge.

MC: Um... Jade? I may have.... sorta.... kinda.... destroyed one of your terrariums... On accident though!

Jade: *silent stare*

MC: ....Jade?....

Jade: *creepy smile thing he does*

(And then MC either goes missing, gets left up on a mountain, or has to work all of Jade's shifts at Monstro Lounge for a month while also helping maintain all of his garden shit)

So yeah. Unless you're ok with constantly being watched for weakness or blackmail, I'd say don't date this psycho.

Jamil:

I mean.... maybe? He's super weird about trust, so even getting close to him would be hard. If y'all are close, I'd say it'd be ok. He probably wouldn't have as much time for you as you'd like since he has to deal with Kalim all the time. Otherwise, I'd say he's ok.

MC: Can we go on that date tomorrow?

Jamil: No. Kalim is hosting another party.

MC: Again? He just had one yesterday, and I've been trying to get us to go on a date for weeks.

Jamil: Can't. Sorry.

Kalim would honestly be your biggest problem while actually dating Jamil. I'd say he'd be almost as good as Trey, otherwise.

Rook:

Another maybe. Sorta like how Jamil has to deal with Kalim, Rook is obsessed with Vil, so you'd kinda have to fight for attention. Honestly, you'd have to fight for his attention with everything. If you're a dull person, you stand no chance in pulling his eyes and actually dating him. However, unlike Jamil who has pretty much no choice in having to deal with Kalim, you'd have to live with the fact that Rook actually chooses other stuff over you.

MC: I made this cool art piece!

Rook: And it is beautiful! *goes back to watching Vil*

MC: That's.... that's it?

Rook: *still watching Vil* It is an amazing work of art! *pause* Oooo! Vil looks stunning today!

I feel like you'd have to have really high self-esteem to deal with being showed up by other stuff. It'd honestly really suck.

Ortho:

No

Lilia:

Honestly? Probably an ok boyfriend. As long as you're also a prankster, at least. If you're too dull or very lowkey, he'd probably gloss right over you. But if you're bubbly and hyperactive like him? Then yes. It'd also work if you're lowkey, but spook easily. I'd say he's alright.

Lilia: *appears behind MC* Hello!

MC: *nearly jumps out of their skin*

Lilia: *laughing*

MC: Not funny!

Not as good as Trey, but I think he'd be fine otherwise. The only big issue would be secrets, so if you aren't ok with your partner keeping a few private details to themselves, Lilia probably wouldn't like you as much. (Or maybe he'd like you more cause he'd get to tease you with it, but you might not like it yourself)

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

honestly i've been staring at this blinking text cursor for the majority of the day thinking about whether i want to do a rehearsalpost because of how serious last night became toward the end. i make a commitment to being Silly and Funny but. in the end i don't think enough people read these to care. note that i do NOT mean this in a guilt-trippy way. i mean this in the sense that #em jumped up busker is a diary tag first and foremost, and not really the main focus of this blog. but in the end. in all honesty. i just needed to put this somewhere.

under the cut bc it's probably going to be long

choir rehearsal came and went without too much event, except for tita conductor teaching everyone german pronunciation, through which i was giggling whenever she caught my eye because yeah girl i can sing in german. i auditioned for you in german. you thought i studied german because i sang for you in german well enough.

also tita conductor asked us to solfège our parts out to an easy new piece and the music major sitting next to me and i were busily sneaking the syllables over each note and comparing our work when tita conductor's back was turned 😭

when rehearsal was over i put my folder in my locker in the basement and returned to the ground floor; peeking through the still-open door of the rehearsal hall i spotted tita conductor alone in the room rifling rather irritably through the box of choir scores. i had a meeting with my phd advisor in a little over half an hour, but felt sufficiently prepared for it to stop in the door and call inside, "[tita conductor], do you need help with anything?"

upon hearing my voice she looked up and assented, so i headed inside and parked myself next to her, where she tasked me with helping her figure out what was wrong with the numbers on some of the parts for a piece we were reusing from the last concert for the upcoming event

she was working off a printed attendance roster of everyone in the choir, and she pointed irritably at the name of a bass who had been marked absent since the beginning of the quarter and said "tell me how you take forty-five minutes of my time for an audition, get accepted, and then don't show up to any rehearsals. i made a folder for him. he's messing up my system" to which i commiserated with her and helped her sort out the rest around the missing person

once that was done i took my leave and didn't think anything more of it until returning an hour and a half later for the dreaded sectionals, where tita conductor assigned the second violins the usual rehearsal hall (which was very convenient and made sense for the largest string section in the orchestra)

tita conductor came to talk to me beforehand and told me yet again that i was "empowered" to explicitly call out intonation. which like. i don't enjoy that. it is not my job to police intonation that is a personal thing that everyone should hold themselves accountable for. i am not a violin coach nor am i a cop.

also the fact that tita conductor is the one who is giving me "authority" to do that makes me INCREDIBLY uncomfortable. my sectionmates already notice that she and i have a Thing going on. the last thing i want is for that to drive a wedge between me and the rest of my section.

sectionals didn't go as terribly as i thought they would: we only really got to work on the hebrides overture LMAO. and asking people to identify spots made me feel less of a coach and more like a collaborator

i was also cracking jokes throughout to put people at ease and my sectionmates were actually laughing at them so i hope it was a positive experience overall

at one point i got up to look at someone's part and almost tripped over my water bottle to which one of the older ladies in the back of the section was very alarmed and said to me "please don't trip over your water bottle" 🥺

when we were done i said to the group "i hope today was useful for you and that you can carry this energy into individual practice" and the older lady said "you're very cute" to me afterward 😭

i made a little bit of conversation with the jazz band leader (whom i've always thought didn't like me because of association with tita conductor) and he was actually nice to me omg. win

collected viola friend's instrument from the locker rooms (they had been held up at ate dean's final office hours before 'retiring' from teaching, and unable to attend) with concertmaster and briefly rendezvoused with tita conductor to debrief the sectional

at one point i was saying something with my folder halfway over my mouth without realizing and tita conductor reached over and gently pulled it down to see my face 😭😭

concertmaster and i went to find ate dean and viola friend. on the way i asked him "what are your plans after graduation?" to which he said "shitting and farting!" this kid is graduating early from a neuroscience degree.

we met them out on the lawn where ate dean customarily holds office hours, where concertmaster immediately flopped onto his back on the grass, started listening to instrumental movie music without headphones, and began caterwauling along to it. rent lowering behavior

i also lay down on the grass, because i was tired and wanting to engage in a Shenanigan

eventually it was just the quartet left outside, and we headed in to collect the concertmaster's cello and work on some mozart and our trademark tango

at one point ate dean told me i was "so mid-Romantic, so brahms" and viola friend was losing it bc. well. the tita conductor and brahms love affair is kind of a meme between us

as we drew to a close ate dean and viola friend proposed we head out for dinner together. concertmaster bowed out but i agreed and, after viola friend and i dropped off our instruments at the arts building, ate dean picked us up on that side of campus

we wound up at an indian place, where we figured out that we all wanted the exact same order

conversation turned from our lives to orchestra

tita conductor's chronic inability to retain first violinists is a problem, and the graduation of concertmaster poses an even greater one

his stand partner from the previous two concerts (first year) is the strongest player, but is a bad leader and doesn't have a good attitude or exhibit rehearsal etiquette to ate dean's standards; ate dean thought his stand partner from last year (same year as concertmaster) is more likely to replace the current concertmaster

ate dean asked me in detail about what was going on with the seconds, to which i described tita conductor's insistence that i unify fingering and be harsh on intonation. ate dean made an affronted face and said "but you're their leader, not their coach." and like it's probably because she's a string coach at a renowned regional youth orchestra bc like. where are the skilled violin coaches of the iskul bukol orchestra. answer quickly

eventually we finished eating (which we had to, because the restaurant was about to close), and ate dean dropped off viola friend at their apartment before driving me back to mine

on the way, she asked me "do you know what's going on with [tita conductor?] she seems more frustrated than usual. it's spilling over" and i was in the back seat tongue-tied

i replied "i can't speak for her or read her mind but i think this year is one of the first years in a while where she feels like the orchestra can do something."

ate dean asked me to explain as she pulled into the parking lot of my apartment, and i brought up the promotion, which she knows about; she elaborated more on it.

apparently, the senior lecturer position (which still has no security of employment) is the highest position that tita conductor can possibly get at the university since she's not a researcher

ate dean mentioned that tita conductor doesn't feel like she has a lot of respect as a lecturer anyway and that the promotion process is making it far worse.

"promotion files are the closest thing academia has to hazing," ate dean told me as we idled in the parking lot, "because it lays bare a lot of things about a person and can get extremely personal. she's been putting it together for the past few months, which means all this time she's been going through hell."

i said something about how i've noticed over the past few months that i've been having really strange interactions with tita conductor: far more than i have ever had. and that during these interactions she has told me things that are genuinely troubling. ate dean asked me to explain and i told her how tita conductor has constantly been venting about her struggles to me and i have just listened because... well, i can't do that much as it is.

i told her the story about the car keys. when i got to the 'See what you get for being nice to me...' text ate dean pulled an astonished face and said "what the hell?"

when i told her about the 'only young person who sees me as a person' incident ate dean just sat there kind of soberly before speaking again

ate dean told me, "i think [tita conductor] laments the fact that she can't seem to connect with people in your generation." i made a SUPER frustrated noise and retorted, "well, have people TRIED?" because. look, i don't know man, it doesn't seem like it was a struggle for me

ate dean told me that she and tita conductor had had a mild heart-to-heart some months before in which tita conductor had asked ate dean how she establishes such legendary rapport with students, to which ate dean had said it wasn't completely natural for her and that she'd had to work at it. tita conductor had immediately said "i'll never get there."

in the end. tita conductor believes her personality just naturally pushes people away.

at this i was already inconsolable like. holy fuck. that is heartbreaking. but then ate dean said that the fact that tita conductor opened up to me in that way and chose me in the moment with the car keys was a good thing because it showed she knows i am in her corner. and then she said "i think she also regrets being too hard on her own daughter."

to which i just sat in the back of that fucking car like. my head in my hands. thinking how in the world did we get here and where do we even go from here. all i could do was laugh hollowly and say "if you told me five years ago i'd be in an orchestra where i'm..." and trailed off

ate dean finished, "a confidant of the conductor?" and i was like. yeah i wouldn't have believed for a moment

ate dean said very quietly, "she turned to you. when she needed someone to listen and be there, you were. she chose you. you are in the right place and the right time. and you did the right thing."

at the end of it all i was like "tita conductor keeps telling me she's glad i stayed. i always thought that was a platitude."

ate dean shook her head and said "no. she chose you. you're doing a good job, kiddo."

we bid farewell and went our separate ways, leaving me in a state of melancholy that has literally persisted all day with the gloomy weather

honestly this is one of those moments that. alters the way i see things. pacing the room like a caged animal etc.

in the end. i'm not here to be a work daughter if that's some part of the implication. which people have been implying long before ate dean made the comment about tita conductor's relationship with her daughter. that feels so awkward to me. life isn't some 2014 found family fic.

but in the end. my life is not about me. if i can say that i helped to make someone's life a little brighter, who already felt abandoned and invisible by people my age, if i can say that i was able to demonstrate that human dignity does not have an expiration date. that will have been a far greater achievement than any part of my publication record.

i think i can make peace with that.

[offsidekineticist]

For Theoven: ☮ for a scene about behaving well

Thank you for the ask! Struggled a little with this one because I wanted to cover some time before he left Garund, but it was tricky figuring out what "behaving well" in that context would mean. Finally settled on repurposing/revising a little thing I wrote about his backstory (why did I originally write it in the 3rd person when all my Theoven stuff is 2nd person?).

CW: references to degenerative mental disease/dementia; a child taking on way too much responsibility; death of a parent; references to poverty; and Theoven tossing a lit firecracker into his mom's room to tell her breakfast is ready.

You know today is going to be one of the good days, because Mama is reading. Most days she can't do that anymore. Most days, when you wake her for breakfast, she is still asleep, or on really bad days she's sitting up and just staring at the wall. But today when you go to wake her for breakfast, Mama is already awake, sitting up in bed with one of her books.

"Holy fuck!" She shouts when the firecracker goes off next to her bed, and you grin because 'fuck' is a naughty word, and also she only swears on good days. On bad days your pranks just made her scream and cry. That doesn't stop you of course–as long as she doesn't react with silence, that means the pranks are helping, and if you do enough of them she might have a good day. 

That's your job: to give Mama lots of good days, enough to last forever. You aren't usually very good at your job–Mama doesn't have many good days anymore–but today is a good day. Giggling, you open the door and carry a tray with breakfast into the bedroom.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" Mama asks from her bed, and you nod, trying to hide your smile behind a glass of not quite spoiled milk on the tray. "Oh, Theo," she sighs with a smile. "Never a dull moment with you, is there?"

You smile wide before offering her the tray. "Oh, thank you!" she says with a look of pleased surprise, and for a moment you feel a little glow of pride because this is a good day and you are doing a good job. Then she frowns suddenly at the breakfast: an over-easy egg (You scrounged the egg from a bird nest in a tree you had to climb) and a piece of toast. "You cooked this?" she asks. You nod, wondering frantically what was wrong - maybe that kind of egg was poisonous? Or maybe it's a very smart species of bird and you just murdered a baby? Or–

"You didn't break the yolk," she says slowly, and you relax, because this is not the first time she has had to think this through. "Have you been making me breakfast every morning?" she finally asks, and you nod. She looks sad and a little scared for a moment before smiling with her mouth while her eyes stay sad and watery. "Well, you've gotten very good at it! I've probably said that to you before, haven't I? I'm sorry."

"It's ok. I like it when you say I'm good at things," you say, and that makes her smile for real. She ruffles your bright orange hair with a pale hand–most of her is pale, except a little strand of green in her hair. You're the opposite: mostly orange and tan-brown, except for the pale patch on your elbow from when you gave Mama some of your color when you were a baby. Back when Mama had more good days than bad days, she used to check every day to make sure the patch hadn't gotten bigger, because if it got too big you would start having bad days, too, and then you wouldn't be able to do your job and give Mama good days.

"Well then, you should know you've gotten very good at making breakfast," Mama says before starting to eat breakfast. "Here–wanna see what Mama's reading?" She patted the space on the mattress next to her, and you grin because it's been so long since Mama read to you and it must be a very good day and you are doing a very good job. You scramble up onto the bed and snuggle under her left arm. She closes the book and shows you the front cover. "Can you read the title?"

"One thousand and one gods of the Vuh-drann - drawn - dra–"

"Vudrani."

" - Vudrani," you read out.

"Very good!" she says, and you practically preen with pride before realizing what you just read.

"There are a thousand and one gods?" you ask, eyes wide, because that's a lot of gods.

"Oh, there are a lot more than that. These are just some of the gods they worship in Vudra."

Your forehead wrinkles in thought. "But I thought gods were special. How can there be so many?"

"Well, there are still a lot more of us than there are of them."

"There's not a thousand people!" you exclaim indignantly. One thousand is a very big number. You know because you once tried seeing how high you could count, and you only made it to 150 or so before you lost count because you were distracted by a beetle as big as your hand flying in through an open window. You tried to get the beetle to stay and be your friend, but it couldn't understand you because beetles aren't very smart, so it flew away.

"You wanna hear something crazy?" Your mother asks, leaning in like she's about to tell you a secret, and you lean in too because you are very good at keeping secrets. "We live in a town with two thousand people. Just in our town." 

Your jaw drops, and you try to remember all the people you saw yesterday when you went to the market to borrow some stale bread when the baker wasn't looking, but you quickly realize there were too many to count. 

"And this isn't the biggest town we've lived in, is it?" Mama continues, and you shake your head.

"No. Katapesh was much bigger." Your face scrunches up as you try to figure out how much bigger itbwas. "They had…three thousand people?"

"More than two hundred thousand." 

Two hundred thousand? That's more than you can count times a thousand! That's a lot of people, and just in one city? You realize there must be a lot of people in Golarion. Eyes wide, you look back at the cover of the book that had started the conversation.

"I guess one thousand gods is still special," you finally pronounce. "Are they better than the Avistan gods?"

Mama taught you a lot about the gods in Avistan because that's where your dad lives, and someday she says you will visit and stay with him. You didn't like most of them–being a kid is hard, and you don't think anybody who has never been a kid had any business telling you how to be a kid (and people who don't remember what it's like being a kid aren't much better). But Irori and Iomedae and Norgorber and Caiden Calean had all been kids once, so you think they might be alright.

"Hmmm…no, I think they're just different. But there are some gods they worship in Avistan and Vudra. Like Irori. Before he was a god, he lived in Vudra." She opens the book. "His nephew became a god, too. Gruhastha. He was always one of my favorites because he's a book and a god."

"He's a book?" You repeat, because how can a person be a book?

"Yes, the Azvadeva Pujila. He wrote it when he was still mortal. The book was perfect, and perfect things must be divine, but a book by itself has no soul, so it can't be a god. So Gruhastha went into the book and became part of it, and it became part of him, and now the book had a soul and could ascend and be divine. But Gruhastha believes that knowledge should be shared, so he made copies of the Azvadeva Pujila and put a little of himself in each one. So anytime you hold a copy of the Azvadeva Pujila in your hands, you hold Gruhastha in your hands as well."

"Do we have a copy of it?" you ask eagerly, because you've been able to do many things traveling with Mama, but you have never held a god before.

"I think so–yes, in the Biggenlill Bag."

(The Biggenlill Bag is little on the outside but big on the inside. It is supposed to be called a bag of holding, but that's stupid because all bags hold things because that's what bags are for. You used to call it the Big-and-Little bag, but over time it got shortened to the Biggenlill Bag, which is so much more fun to say than Big-and-Little and definitely a better name than "bag of holding.")

You slide off the bed and scamper into the next room. The biggenlill bag is on one of the chairs at the kitchen table that hasn't been used since Mama's bad days made you stop in Finderplain. You grab the bag as you slide to a stop and then rapidly run back the other way, practically leaping onto the bed and almost knocking over Mama's glass of milk as you open the bag and reach inside. You have to stick your hand in all the way up to your shoulder, but your fingers eventually close around a book, and you yank it out of the bag. 

It doesn't look like you'd expect a god to look–you imagined it would be more sparkly–but Mama always says not to judge a book by its cover. It does feel special, though. You feel a thrill the second you touch it, and you feel…not quite afraid to open the book, but you can tell that opening the book will release something great and wonderful, something that will refuse to confine itself to the book once it is released.

"Do you want me to read it to you?" Mama asks, interrupting your reverie, and you nod and hand the book to her. She sets it on top of the book on her lap, opens it to the first page, and reads.

It is a wonderful day. The best day. Mama reads, and she reads, and she reads, until the desert sun sets, and her voice is hoarse, and you snuggle into her side and for once you aren't worried about doing your job, because this is a good day, and good days mean you're doing a good job. You listen to stories about monkeys and tigers and cobras and gods and children and ratfolk and humans, and you wonder if maybe, when Mama is better, you could go to Vudra and see the Cave of a Thousand Stars.

"I think that's enough for today," Mama finally says tiredly, and you nod before hugging her.

"Thank you, Mama," you say, and Mama hugs you close to her.

"Oh, you're so very welcome. I'm happy to do it for such a wonderful son."

You feel very warm at that, and despite the desert heat it's a good warm. Yes, you are doing a good job. "Love you, Mama."

"I love you too, Theo. Now." She kisses the top of your head. "Go get some rest. We can read more in the morning."

You nod vigorously, smiling wide so she won't see that you don't believe her. You may be doing a good job, but there haven't been two good days in a row for a very long time. Reminding her of that would just make her sad, though, so you pretend to believe her and kiss her on the cheek before taking the tray and the dirty dishes and sliding off the bed. You leave the books–you are very tired, and someone needs to stand watch, but Mama is holding a book that is also a god, so surely you can sleep for a little bit and let Gruhastha watch over her, can't you?

(You can't. Her last green hair disappears in the night. Her skin is already cold when the sun rises.)

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO REBLOG, I WAS PACKING TO MOVE 🙂‍↕️ always these r my comments on my first AND SECOND read through because im actually obsessed with them ⬇️

also the two songs i've been playing on repeat for this fic is everytime by ariana grande and y.d.l.r by tory lanez. take from that as u will 😌

Hockey and, well, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

i cannot tell u how giggly i am rn

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid confident smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team. His dark blonde hair peeked out from under his helmet He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him. 

i love this so MUCH SO SO SO MUCH

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. Probably because you’d never let him run you out of your favorite game. Not even if he was captain now. This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

i unfortunately do not know what a slapshot is

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex. But it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized… You’d put on Rafe’s jersey. 

YOU TOOK MY IDEA AHHHH 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

ohmygodohmygodohmygodddd

Bang!In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass. His eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched.

As he FUCKING SHOULD I AM LITERALLY ON THE EDGE OF MY SEATTT

That was what had your pulse racing. You could barely focus on Elijah anymore. The way he laughed, oblivious, made your stomach churn because Rafe—Rafe—was staring like he owned you. He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his. 

choose me love me fuck me (who said that)

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah, but your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could practically feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

his jealousy is RADIATING and i’m eating all of it up

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

sometimes yes pls prove how obsessed u r w me

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

my favorite part of hate sex when they r LIARS

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

HES SUCH A DICK

His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy. He groaned, low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

OH I FUCKING LOVE HERRR

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy. And that was it. Your last piece of control vanished, and you were lost in him all over again.

HE DOESNT EVEN LET HER ANSWER why is this so hotttt

Rafe just laughed, “No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

i’m so quiet bc i’m so into this 🫣🫣🫣🫣

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled, his voice rough as he thrust into you, each movement deep and brutal.“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

ONE FUCKING CHANCE

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

he’s INSATIABLE

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

YKW FUCK U I WILL

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

so u give me earth-shattering smut and emotional angst? screw u

💌 i am absolutely enamored by the way u wrote their tension, how rafe fucking banged against the plexiglass and DARES her ohmygod i melted in a fucking puddle. ur smut was absolutely hot scorning riveting AND I WAS SO SURPRISED BY THIS MANS STAMINA LIKE CAN WE CATCH A BREATHE ugh ☺️💘 u did my req so much justice n gave me sm inspo i must write now

ex!reader who loves the game and wants to support her team but hockey captain!rafe is on the ice. he thinks she’s there for him but when she comes in with a date? and when they get put on the kiss cam? rafe slams into the glass to scare them? hate sex????

someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!toxic!rafe x ex!reader (+18)

warnings: veryyy long and 99% smut🙂‍↕️ the things i do for you...

The cold air inside the rink always made your skin tingle. Your breath curled in front of you like smoke as you moved uncomfortably on the bleachers, pulling your jacket tighter around you. This is why you hated fall. It was too cold to be outside, too early to be winter. But tonight wasn’t about the weather—it was about hockey.

Hockey and, well, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

“Everything okay?” The voice beside you pulled you back to reality.

Elijah, the guy you’d been seeing for the past couple of weeks, smiled at you, oblivious to the bullshit taking over your mind, and you gave him your best smile back.

“Yeah, just cold,” you said, trying to focus. You weren’t here for Rafe, not anymore. You loved hockey. You loved watching the boys skate across the ice, their power and grace.

Or at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

Elijah wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and you leaned in, feeling his warmth. The game was just about to start, and the arena lights dimmed slightly, casting shadows over the rink. The roar of the crowd drowned your thoughts for a moment as the players took the ice.

And then, as if the universe was personally trying to screw with you, you saw him.

Rafe.

Of course, he looked good.

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid confident smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team. His dark blonde hair peeked out from under his helmet He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him. 

He always had to be in charge, on and off the ice.

He still had that same cocky swagger that made you wanna scream… for entirely different reasons now.

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. Probably because you’d never let him run you out of your favorite game. Not even if he was captain now. This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex. But it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized… You’d put on Rafe’s jersey. 

His number. The one you’d always worn to support him when you were together. Out of all the team merch you owned, of course you had to wear his.

“You really like hockey a lot, huh?” Elijah asked, glancing down at your jersey.

“Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’ve been following the team for a while.”

Lies. You loved hockey, sure. But you loved Rafe a little more. Or, you used to. Or, well, maybe that was still complicated.

The puck dropped, and the game started. For a while, you tried to focus on the action. Rafe was all over the ice, playing like the goddamn superstar he thought he was. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept darting up toward the stands, like he knew you were there. And maybe he did

Halfway through the second period, he slammed into an opposing player, sending him crashing into the boards. The sound echoed through the arena, and the crowd went wild, but you could feel your stomach knotting up. That had always been Rafe—intense, aggressive, unable to hold back. On the ice or off.

You tried to focus on Elijah, laughing at something he was saying, but your heart wasn’t in it. And then, just when you thought you’d survived the worst of it, the kiss cam flashed up on the big screen. Your laughter died in your throat as you realized what was happening, your face heating up instantly. You weren’t exactly embarrassed, but this was... awkward. 

“Aw, how cute,” He said, grinning as he pointed to the screen.

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

You could see him coming toward you, could see his lips getting closer, but all you could think about was—

Bang!

In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass. His eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched.

He looked like he was ready to tear Elijah apart, or you, or both of you. His chest was heaving, eyes blazing, standing mere inches away from where you sat. He had skated right into the glass.

Your heart was practically in your throat, and it wasn't from Elijah being close. The look on Rafe’s face as he stood on the other side of the glass?

That was what had your pulse racing. You could barely focus on Elijah anymore. The way he laughed, oblivious, made your stomach churn because Rafe—Rafe—was staring like he owned you. He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his. 

And you hated that you still kind of liked it.

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

Those stupid words. Silently mouthed, but somehow loud enough to hit you like a punch through the glass. I dare you. God, what was wrong with him? He knew exactly how to push your buttons. And of course, it was working. He wasn’t just playing hockey—he was playing with you.

You could feel Elijah shifting next to you, still oblivious to the whole freaking drama unfolding right in front of him.

He was so sweet, too sweet, and it was almost infuriating right now because Rafe was standing there, with his stupid intense eyes, all but daring you to move on. Why did he have to look at you like that—like he knew you were still his.

The breakup had been brutal, the kind of messy, loud explosion where neither of you were willing to be the first to walk away. You were both too stubborn, too prideful. And now here you were, months later, still dealing with the fallout. 

Elijah finally leaned in, lips brushing yours, and you kissed him, but your heart wasn’t in it. All you could feel was Rafe’s stare burning into you. The kiss cam lingered for a few seconds, and the crowd cheered, but all you felt was... empty.

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah, but your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could practically feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

You glanced down, avoiding his gaze, and tugged at the hem of his old jersey, suddenly feeling like you didn’t belong in it anymore. You leaned into Elijah, mostly out of spite at this point. You could practically hear Rafe’s teeth grinding from across the glass. Good. If he thought he could just walk around, acting like he owned the place—and you—then he deserved to stew in it a little.

But, of course, he wasn’t the kind of guy to just let something like that go. You watched as he skated back into play, but his eyes kept flicking up to where you sat, like he couldn’t stop checking to make sure you were still there. Still with Elijah. His shoulders were tense, movements a little too aggressive, like he was about to snap.

You tried to focus on the game again, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You hated this. You hated that he could still make you feel this way, even now, after everything.

After the fights, after the breakup, after swearing you were over him. Why was it so hard to let him go?

The third period started, and Rafe was everywhere, throwing his weight around like he had something to prove. And maybe he did. Every hit was harder, every pass sharper. It was like he was playing angry. And you couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

But then, with less than five minutes left in the game, things escalated. He slammed into one of the opposing players so hard that the guy went down, and the whistle blew immediately. The crowd was roaring, but Rafe didn’t back off. He stood over the guy, glaring down at him like he was ready to throw a punch.

"Jesus," Elijah muttered beside you. "What the hell’s his problem?"

You didn’t answer. You knew exactly what his problem was.

The ref skated over, shouting something at Rafe, but his eyes weren’t on the ref. They were still on you, even as the other guy on the ice slowly got back to his feet. The arena was buzzing, the crowd getting rowdy, and for a second, you thought Rafe was going to lose it right there. His fists clenched, jaw set—he looked like he was ready to drop gloves and start swinging.

And then he smirked.

It was that same cocky smirk you knew so well, the one he always flashed right before doing something reckless. The ref sent him to the penalty box, and he skated off, still with that fucking look plastered on his face. Your heart was racing, your body tense. Elijah had leaned back in his seat, totally unaware about everything.

“Man, that guy’s intense,” Elijah said, shaking his head, eyes still on the ice.

You didn’t answer. Intense didn’t even begin to cover it.

Rafe was sitting in the penalty box now, helmet off, running a hand through his hair like he didn’t just about murder a guy on the ice. You could feel his eyes on you, even from all the way across the rink. You hated it. You hated that he could still get to you like this.

The last few minutes of the game passed in an instant. You weren’t really paying attention anymore, not to the score, not to the plays. You were too busy trying not to think about Rafe, about the way he had looked at you. About the way it had made you feel.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted in cheers. Elijah stood up, stretching, turning to you with a smile.

“Ready to head out?” he asked.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you made your way toward the exit, weaving through the crowd, you could feel the tension building in your chest. It wasn’t over. It never really was with Rafe.

And you knew—somehow—you weren’t getting out of here without seeing him again.

You reached the bottom of the stands, where a crowd had gathered near the exit. Elijah was still chatting about the game, still clueless. But you were distracted, scanning the crowd without even realizing it.

And then you saw him. Of course, you did.

Rafe was leaning against the wall, still in his gear, helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes locked on yours the second you stepped into his line of sight. He didn’t even pretend to care about the people around him—his gaze was dark, intense, like a predator waiting for its moment.

You hated how your heart skipped.

Elijah noticed you freeze and followed your gaze, his smile faltering when he saw Rafe standing there.

"Isn’t that the captain guy?" he asked, glancing between you and Rafe, confused.

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to keep moving. “Yeah. That’s him.”

As you passed by, Rafe pushed off the wall, stepping right into your path. Elijah, sweet, unsuspecting Elijah, paused beside you.

"Leaving already?" Rafe’s voice was low, casual, but his eyes were locked on yours, ignoring Elijah completely. "Didn’t even stick around to congratulate the team?"

You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your cool. "It’s late, Rafe. We’re heading out."

But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. He took a step closer, his towering frame making Elijah shift uncomfortably. "You didn’t used to leave so soon," he said, voice dripping with that familiar cockiness. "Used to be the last one out."

Because you’d always let him fuck you in the locker room.

Elijah cleared his throat, trying to stand his ground. "Uh, yeah, we’ve got plans after this."

Rafe’s eyes flicked to him for the briefest second, before landing back on you.

"Plans, huh?"

Your pulse was hammering, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Why did he always have to do this—why couldn’t he just let you go?

“Rafe, we’re done,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of your composure. “You don’t get to pull this shit anymore.”

He glanced at Elijah briefly, his gaze cold and dismissive, then back at you. “You sure about that?” he asked, “Because it doesn’t look like it.”

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you tried to calm yourself. You didn’t need this right now. Not with Elijah here. Not after everything.

“Let’s go Elijah,” you said, tugging at Elijah’s arm, desperate to get out of there before things escalated. But Rafe wasn’t having it.

He stepped in front of you again, blocking your path like he had some kind of claim on you. And God, the worst part was—you weren’t sure he was wrong.

You glanced at Elijah, who was staring at the two of you like he had walked into the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite follow. “Look, dude,” he started, awkwardly laughing, “I don’t know what this is, but—”

“It’s nothing,” you cut him off quickly, your voice tight. “Let’s just go.”

But Rafe wasn’t about to let it go. 

“Yeah, Elijah,” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s nothing.” His eyes flicked to you, dark and daring, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with the same fire.

Elijah’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, frowning.

“Shit,” he muttered, distracted. “I’ve gotta take this call real quick. Give me a sec?” He stepped away, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the middle of the hallway, your body practically vibrating.

He was on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker room door. 

“Rafe, what the fuck—” you hissed, but he wasn’t letting go.

You tried to resist, but something inside you broke down—the anger, the unresolved pull between you two. And maybe it was the way he still had that stupid hold on you, the way your body responded when you shouldn’t want it to.

Or maybe it was the fact that you’d never fully closed the door on Rafe.

He shoved the door open, pulling you inside the dimly lit hallway that led to the locker room. The second the door closed, you spun around, shoving him in the chest hard. 

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Rafe barely flinched, his gaze smoldering as he crowded you against the wall. 

“Yeah? You didn’t seem to think so when you were wearing my jersey tonight.”

“That was an accident.”

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

Your heart was pounding, and not just because Rafe had you pinned against the wall like he always fucking did— God, why did he have to be so damn close? The scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the game, sending your mind spiraling. He was overwhelming, and you hated it. You hated him for still making you feel like this.

“Get off me,” you snapped, but it came out weaker than you intended. The way his blue eyes were boring into yours, like he could see through all your bullshit, wasn’t helping.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

“C’mon, baby, don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted. You show up, wearin’ my number, sitting there with some random guy like I don’t still own you.” 

He stepped closer, caging you in completely. You pressed your hands against his chest, but it wasn’t like you were really pushing him away. And he knew it.

“You don’t own shit,” you spat, glaring up at him. But even as the words left your mouth, you knew you didn’t believe them. The truth was, part of you had always been his.

Rafe’s lips curved into a smug grin as if he could read every thought running through your head.

“Really? ’Cause from where I’m standin’, you’ve been thinkin’ about me all night.” His breath was hot on your skin, and you hated how much you wanted to close the distance between you.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to muster the strength to tell him to fuck off, to leave you alone, but he was right. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, he was still in your head, under your skin. The way his body hovered over yours—it was like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t spent the last few months trying to forget him.

His hand found your hip, fingers pressing into your skin through your jeans, and you felt your body betray you. You cursed yourself silently as heat pooled low in your stomach. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, didn’t want him to know how much power he still had. But damn it, he knew. He always fucking knew.

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Don’t—”

But he was already kissing you, hard and rough like he owned you, like you were his and his alone.

And the worst part? You kissed him back. His hands were on you, grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You wanted to shove him away, to slap that stupid look off his face—but your body had other plans. 

This was so wrong, on so many levels. 

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Rafe didn’t back off. He was staring down at you like you were his next meal, like he’d been starving without you.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you bit out, trying to cling to some sense of control.

Rafe’s grin widened, wicked and knowing. He leaned in again, lips ghosting over yours. “We both know that's a lie.”

You clenched your fists, frustrated beyond belief. Frustrated at him, at yourself, at how easy it was for him to pull you right back in.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, but the breathless tone in your voice told a different story.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly sexy way he always did.

“Oh, you will.”

And God help you—you knew he was right. That fucking arrogance. It crawled under your skin, set your blood on fire in ways it shouldn’t.

You wanted to punch him, shove him, do something to wipe that smug expression off his face. But instead, you grabbed his shirt, pulling him back toward you, kissing him with all the fury you felt.

His lips crushed against yours, and it wasn’t gentle—there was nothing soft or sweet about this. It was all heat and frustration, months of unresolved anger bursting out in one chaotic, messy kiss.

His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy. He groaned, low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you yanked him down, kissing him like you needed to get all of this out of your system. His hands roamed your body, possessive, rough, and you hated how much you craved him, like you were still his.

You weren’t his. You couldn’t be.

But every heated breath you took, every desperate movement your body made, was telling you otherwise.

When his lips moved down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, you gasped, tilting your head back as your resolve crumbled to pieces. He knew exactly what to do, how to make you fall apart, and it pissed you off that he still had that power.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you harder against the wall. Your breath hitched, the cold tile behind you making you gasp. His mouth was on you, hot and demanding, and for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered.

Not Elijah, not the fact that this was so damn wrong, not the months of hurt and anger you’d been holding onto.

There was only Rafe. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you like he was trying to stake his claim all over again. Like you hadn’t been apart at all.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Rafe muttered against your lips.

You bit down on your lip, trying to stop the words from spilling out. You did want this. You hated that you did, but fuck, you couldn’t lie—not to him, not to yourself.

“I—” You choked on the words, eyes meeting his, and for a split second, you thought maybe you’d find some kind of resolve, some way to pull yourself back from him.

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy. And that was it. Your last piece of control vanished, and you were lost in him all over again.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head spinning as his hands explored your body like he had every right to. Like you hadn’t spent months trying to break free of him.

Rafe pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, breathless and flushed. “Yeah, baby. That's what I thought."

His hands gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, you let out a frustrated, muffled groan, your fingers still tangled in his hair. It was a lot longer than the last time you’d seen him.

You could feel every inch of his muscle through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was suffocating in the best way, and you hated yourself for how much you wanted it.

How much you wanted him.

“You’re such an ass,” you gasped between kisses, your breath hitching when his mouth moved down to your neck. You felt him grin against your skin, the bastard.

“You say that like it’s supposed to stop you.” His voice was rough, low in your ear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “But I don’t think it is.”

You were about to fire back, but his hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and whatever you were going to say was swallowed by the heat rushing through you. You hated that he still knew exactly how to get to you—how to pull you apart and leave you helpless against him.

“Rafe, this—” Your words were cut off when he bit down gently on your collarbone, sending a shockwave through your body. You clutched at his shirt.

“This what?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes intense. “This a mistake? Because I don’t think that’s what your body’s saying.”

You just glared up at him, trying to catch your breath. You hated that he was right. Again.

Always.

“I told you,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, “this doesn’t mean anything.”

Rafe’s grip on you tightened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your heart was racing, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. There was no denying it—you were here, and you weren’t leaving. Not yet.

Maybe not for a while.

And Rafe knew it.

His hands moved lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitched. This was dangerous territory. You knew that. 

“Last chance,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. “You want me to stop?”

You should’ve said yes. You should’ve shoved him away and walked out of there with what little dignity you had left. But instead, you kissed him again—harder this time, angrier, like you needed to prove something to yourself. And maybe you did.

He yanked your shirt over your head in one rough motion, and you weren’t gentle either, tugging at his jersey until it was off and tossed aside. His hands were everywhere—on your back, in your hair, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down with the same reckless urgency you’d been feeling since you laid eyes on him tonight.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your nails dragged down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Rafe just laughed, “No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

Your jeans hit the floor, and he wasted no time, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs, pressing you down on the bench, his body heavy against yours.

Everything was messy, and rushed, like neither of you could get enough. Like you were trying to erase the months of distance, of frustration, in the way you kissed him back, bit his lip, tugged at his hair.

 You hated how much you needed this. 

“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” Rafe rasped, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathless and wild.

You could barely think, let alone speak, but somehow, you managed to gasp out, “Positive.”

Rafe’s mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks you knew would still be there tomorrow. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

It was wrong, it was toxic, but fuck—there was something about the way he touched you. And body, traitorous and weak, responded like it always had.

You were furious with yourself, with him, with everything, but the anger only made it all hotter, more intense.

His fingers brushed against the seam of your panties, teasing, barely touching you, but doing enough to have you drenched. 

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost amused, slipping one finger under the fabric to run along your folds, barely dipping inside before pulling back out, "Was this all for Elijah?"

Sonofabitch.

“Stop talking,” you spat, but your voice was shaky, showing him the way you were falling apart under his touch. Rafe chuckled low in his throat, his finger moving back, this time slipping inside you, deep and slow.

You gasped, your head falling back as he began moving his finger, curling it inside you in just the right way. Your body responded immediately, hips jerking against him, desperate for more, but he took his time. He added another finger, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed slow circles over your clit, making your legs tremble beneath him.

He sped up, his fingers thrusting deeper, faster, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go blank. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? All those nights pretending you don’t think about me, but look at you now.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, legs shaking as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, his fingers driving you closer and closer to the orgasm you so desperately needed.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

“Rafe—” you gasped, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. The tension inside you was coiled so tightly, so close to snapping. You hated him, hated yourself, but the words slipped out anyway. “I need it.”

He groaned, pleased, and that was all it took. He thrust his fingers harder, faster, until your body gave in completely. You hadn’t had a proper orgasm in months. Nothing could get you off properly. Your walls clenched around his fingers the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your nails leaving half-moon marks in his skin as you trembled beneath him, lost in the sensation.

But he didn’t stop. He slowed down just enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure, his fingers still moving inside you as you rode out the aftershocks. When you finally caught your breath, he pulled his fingers out, his hand moving to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

He shoved his pants down, not bothering to take them off completely, just enough to free himself. Your breath hitched when you felt him against you—hard, hot, and ready—and every rational thought you had left disappeared in that moment. He lined himself up, teasing you just enough to drive you crazy.

Before you could respond, he pushed into you in one hard, deliberate thrust. Your gasp turned into a low, breathless moan as your back arched, your hands gripping his shoulders for something to hold on to. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you, was overwhelming, almost too much, but exactly what you needed.

Rafe didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing rhythm that left you breathless, gasping for air. 

There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tender.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he fucked you like he was trying to remind you who you belonged to.

And you hated how good it felt.

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled, his voice rough as he thrust into you, each movement deep and brutal.“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your body was betraying you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this every night since we ended.”

You couldn’t.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but instead, a moan escaped your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Your body arched against his, and you cursed yourself for being so weak.

“Fuck,” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, every nerve in your body on fire.

“That’s what I thought,” Rafe growled, his pace quickening, the force of his thrusts making the bench creak beneath you.

The sound of the bench, the way his body pressed into yours so perfectly, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all made it impossible to think straight. You should have been disgusted with yourself for letting it get this far, for letting him have this kind of control over you. 

“I fucking hate you,” you managed to gasp out between breaths.

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah? Then why do you sound like that, huh?” His voice was taunting, filled with the arrogance you hated, “This pussy still mine, huh?”

You loved the way he grabbed you like you were his, even though you’d sworn, sworn, you were done with him.

You were still in love, weren’t you? Even after all the shit, all the screaming matches, the nights spent crying because of him. That was the part that pissed you off the most.

Before you knew, his hands were flipping you over so fast your knees hit the bench before you could react.

“Rafe—mmh,” you gasped, but your words died in your throat when he shoved you forward, pressing your chest flat against the cold wood of the bench. You barely had a second to brace yourself before his hands were gripping your ass, spreading you open for him.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. He was already dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, teasing, knowing how much you wanted it, even if you wouldn’t say it.

You squirmed, hating how desperate you felt, hating how your body responded to him like this. “Fuck, Rafe, stop teasing—”

“You want more?” he cut you off, voice dark and dripping with arrogance. He slapped your ass, just enough to sting, and you yelped, your back arching instinctively. “You’re gonna have to beg for it.”

"Like hell," you spat back.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right by your ear.

 “You can act tough all you want, but I know how much you want this,” he gritted out, his cock sliding against your folds again, torturously slow. “I know how much you need it.”

Before you could snap back, he thrust into you hard, filling you completely in one brutal stroke. You cried out, hands gripping the edges of the bench, and Rafe didn’t even give you a second to adjust. He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, faster this time, deeper.

The angle had you seeing stars. The bench was narrow, forcing your legs closer together, making everything tighter, more intense. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, hips moving back to meet his thrusts even though your mind was screaming at you to get a grip.

His hands gripped the fat of your ass, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mixing with your moans and his ragged breathing.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe groaned, his voice low and rough as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot inside you, making your legs tremble. “So fucking tight for me.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had you on the edge in seconds. You couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from your throat, your hips bucking wildly against him as the pleasure built, higher and higher until you felt like you might break apart.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust. “I can feel it. Fuck.”

You tried to hold on, tried to keep some control, but it was useless. He knew exactly how to break you.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whimper as you felt the pleasure rising fast, threatening to consume you.

“Do it,” Rafe growled, his fingers rubbing harder, faster. “Come for me, baby.”

And you did.

Your orgasm crashed over you so hard your vision blurred, your body shaking as the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your walls clenching around him, and Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fucked you through it, relentless, brutal, until your entire body was trembling.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

He pounded into you, his grip on your ass bruising, and you clung to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he fucked you against the lockers. The sound of metal creaking under the force of his thrusts only made it hotter, more desperate. You could feel another orgasm building, and you hated him for it—hated how easily he could pull them from you. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

And you hated that some twisted part of you wanted it to be true.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him impossibly closer, deeper, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

And God, you couldn’t.

His grip on your ass was rough, bruising, but it only made you moan louder. You were on the verge again—your body still tingling from the last orgasm, but the way he moved inside you, the way his teeth grazed your neck, it had you spiraling toward another one, faster than you thought possible.

“Look at you,” Rafe groaned, lifting his head just enough to lock eyes with you. His pupils were blown wide with lust, a wild look on his face that sent a thrill down your spine. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you?”

You did. Because no matter how much you hated him, how much you wanted to hate him—there was a part of you that still belonged to him. A part of you that couldn’t walk away.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw—and you couldn’t stop the sounds escaping your throat as he kept driving into you.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you’re mine.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it in, trying to fight back, but every nerve in your body was betraying you. The way his body fit against yours, the way he moved inside you, it was all too much. You were coming again, and you hated it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. “Say it.”

You wanted to spit in his face. But your body was telling a different story, hips bucking against him, legs tightening around his waist again.

“R-Rafe,” you whimpered, hating how weak you sounded, how desperate.

His smirk was infuriating, but fuck, it was hot.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his pace quickening, each thrust deeper than the last. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

And then he slammed into you one last time, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and the orgasm tore through you, leaving you gasping and trembling in his arms. You cried out, head thrown back against the lockers as your body shook with the force of it, your nails raking down his back.

Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he rode out your orgasm, his movements growing sloppier, more erratic. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hips jerking against yours as he finally let go, his release hitting hard. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, as he held you against him, buried deep.

The second his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened, reality came crashing back in. 

What the fuck had you done?

You pushed at his chest, trying to put some space between you, but he wasn’t letting go that easily. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still had something to prove.

“Get off,” you muttered, your voice weak, but sharper than before.

He chuckled, that low, arrogant sound that drove you crazy. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

You shot him a glare, shoving at his chest again, harder this time. “I’m serious, Rafe. Move.”

Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back just enough for you to slide off the locker and onto shaky legs. You stumbled a bit, and Rafe’s hand shot out to steady you, but you jerked away from him, pulling your jeans back up with shaky hands.

He leaned against the locker, smirking like he hadn’t just torn your world apart all over again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You wanted to scream at him, to throw something at his face. But instead, you grabbed your shirt off the floor, yanking it over your head as you tried to steady your breath.

“Good luck finding your date.”

Elijah. You’d come to the game with Elijah.

You shook your head as you zipped up your jeans and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look somewhat presentable. You avoided looking at him, knowing that if you did, you’d see the smug satisfaction on his face that would only make you feel worse.

He pushed himself off the locker and took a step closer to you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively. “This can’t happen again.”

His smirk slipped for a moment as he looked at you. H e closed the distance between you in two strides, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you toward him before you could react, “You’re choosing him?”

You yanked your wrist out of his grip, your heart racing as you forced yourself to take a step back, putting distance between the two of you, “You’re the one who chose yourself.”

His eyes darkened, searching your face, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Maybe he thought he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“You’re the one who walked away,” you added, hating how your voice trembled, “So don’t act like I owe you anything.”

Rafe’s hand hovered like he was about to reach for you again, but he didn’t. “That’s not how I remember it.” 

Your stomach twisted, “I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t—” You glanced at the door, feeling the weight of Elijah waiting for you. The one person who was good for you, who actually wanted to be with you.

But the worst part? You were still thinking about Rafe. Even after everything, you were still here, breathless, a mess because of him.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, you thought he might apologize. Maybe say something real. But Rafe Cameron didn’t do apologies. 

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face in a gesture that was far too intimate, given everything that had just happened. “Then why are you still standing here?”

You flinched, stepping back. Why were you still standing there? You had no good answer, at least not one you were ready to admit.

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction, not again. “You’re wrong.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think I am.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, throat tight, trying to push back the tears. This was all wrong. It was always wrong with Rafe, “Stop.”

It sounded like a plea—a plea for him to stop talking, stop looking at you like that, stop making you feel so small and yet so overwhelmed all at once.

Rafe sighed, stepping back just a fraction, and for a second, his gaze lifted. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer now, like that made a difference.

“You always do,” you shot back, finally meeting his eyes. The truth slipped out before you could stop it, and there it was.

His jaw clenched, "I don’t mean to," he muttered, his voice low. "You know that."

"Does it even matter?" You felt the bitterness rise in your throat, along with something else—something fragile and painful. "You still do it. Whether you mean to or not."

Rafe stayed quiet, and you hated that silence. He didn’t have an answer. He never did, not for this. Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of your jacket, something to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t say something you’d regret. But regret was already everywhere, suffocating you both.

“I thought we were past this,” you said finally, barely more than a whisper. “I thought I was past this.” But clearly, you weren’t. Clearly, some part of you was still here, with him, in the wreckage you’d both created.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, torn. “It’s not that simple.”

"It should be." Your voice cracked. You hated how much this hurt. How much he could still hurt you.

It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to still care this much. You weren’t supposed to still feel this.

Rafe sighed, taking another step back, giving you space. But it wasn’t the kind of space you wanted. It wasn’t the kind that would make things easier. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he admitted quietly, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t find.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t want anything from you." 

That was the truth, or at least it was supposed to be. You didn’t want anything he had to offer, not anymore. Not when every time you reached for it, it slipped through your fingers like water, leaving you emptier than before.

But there was still that ache, that feeling between you two, the one that dragged you back here even when you knew better. You wished you could kill it, cut it out of you like some infected part, but it was tangled too deep. And maybe a small part of you didn’t want to.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, his voice almost tender, like he was seeing right through you. “But you’re still here.”

“I don’t know why,” you whispered, blinking back tears. Fuck, you hated this. Hated how vulnerable you felt, how easily he could unravel you, even now. “I shouldn’t be.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching you, like he was waiting for you to make the next move. Like he wanted you to figure it out on your own.

But you didn’t know how. You never did when it came to him.

"I’m sorry," he said, and this time, it felt real. There was no arrogance. Just Rafe, standing there, as broken as you felt. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “There’s nothing left to fix, Rafe. We’ve already destroyed it.”

His face twisted, like he didn’t want to believe it. Like he was still holding onto some small piece of hope. "We could—"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "We can’t."

You couldn’t keep doing this. The push and pull, the endless cycle of hurt and apologies that never really fixed anything. You couldn’t keep pretending that something would change, that he would change.

Because you both knew he wouldn’t.

He took a breath, exhaling slowly, and you could see it—the realization sinking in. 

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

[vwritesaus]

      Grief is a funny thing, and it works in many ways.       For some, it harrows the soul for years and years, and ultimately makes one bitter, like Tatiana Blackthorn. It’s sometimes a dull, pounding ache deep in one’s chest, choking them despite them still breathing. Other times it’s a shroud, a veil, a piece of cloth covering a person like one does a birdcage, shutting the world out in favour of darkness and despair. And sometimes all it does is stay stagnant for a long, long time, growing and growing like a snowball rolling down a hill, until it reaches a tree and smashes into a million pieces.       For Thomas, especially in the past few weeks, grief has been a driving force to keep busy. It’s gnawed at his heart, his soul, but he’s shoved it aside in favour of making himself useful. To do anything, anything, humanly possible to spare anyone else being torn into jagged rags by these sharp shards edged with ice. He’s like his father, in that way. Perhaps he’s unconsciously picked up some habits from him for Gideon, in his worry and grief over his son’s sickly status as a child, never sat still.       And Thomas hadn’t had ample time to grieve for his sister. Barbara’s death came too suddenly, too soon. Belial’s antics to rule their world and Tatiana’s plot of revenge and malice made sure of that, eating into any sliver of a moment where he could’ve sat down and thought about his older sister; where he could have gone to Idris with his family, held his mother’s and Eugenia’s hands, and sat in silence with his father, head on his shoulder and eyes staring out the window at the demon towers of Alicante.       Now, however… now he has all the time in the world to grieve. For Barbara… for Christopher.       And for the first time in his life, Thomas doesn’t know what to do, or what to feel.

remember when i was crying over writing a fic about christopher's death in thomas's pov in hope of finding some closure? this is that fic

it hurts—fuck, it hurts—but it needs doing. thomas & co.'s grief in cot was only touched upon in regards to kit's death (and others'), and i wanna expand on it as much as i can. so heads up, this is gonna be a big puddle of feelings and very thomas-centric, but not just with his own mourning. bc thomas is thomas, he'll always go for healing other people first: alastair, gabrily, anna, sophideon... just to name a few :') this b o y istg

anyway, i mentioned this is a mutlichap, so here's a small preview from chapter 1. i'll mostly likely post the full thing tomorrow, and if not then, the day after - in which case, i'll just post another snippet haha xD i've just got the one scene left to finish hhhh

also this isn't beta-read so excuse any glaring errors/my waffley style prose lol

~

tagging people who might be interested (and those who i know have read cot lol): @drunkonimagination @astriefer @ferrari-go-vroom-vroom @ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone @claritywithclary let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!

[queerofthedagger]

So while one could definitely say that I might be biased when it comes to @atlantablack's writing because she's one of my best friends, let me start this by saying that 1) yes, but I'm also right, and 2) I loved her writing before we ever talked to each other; there's proof in the form of a horribly awkward comment on a fic that wasn't even for the Merlin fandom. Anyway, they're one of the most talented writers across all of their fandoms, and so I thought a list of my personal faves from their Merlin fics was in order - and what better time to post that than on her birthday?

It was honestly almost impossible to pick, but I've gone with a bit of variety so here's six fics - two Merthur, two Morgwen, and two Gen - that live rent free in my brain at any given time.

To Atlanta: I love you (to the moon and to saturn) and I'm so glad that I can call you my friend. Your writing is an absolute gift to this world, and I hope you never stop having marvellous ideas, and causing me great emotional harm with them. Happiest of Birthdays! <3

-

this raging sea, these summer storms

[Merlin/Arthur, G, 4,2k]

Summary:

“I have magic,” he whispers, turning to face Arthur. “I have magic, and I use it for you. Always for you.” He keeps his chin tilted up, his spine straight, and a storm stares back. Arthur’s eyes as dark and wild as the sea.

Why I rec this: Okay so this fic was a gift for me, but that only makes it even more perfect than it already is on its own. I absolutely adore magic reveals where Merlin gets to be unapologetic, and where Arthur gets to have some time to think things through and be (mostly) reasonable about it, and this fic is just so careful and gentle about it without making it unrealistic. The entire mood of the fic is like rain after a hot summer day, and every time I re-read it, it reminds me of why I love those idiots so much. <3

Quotes:

He’s not sure he could pinpoint when that look changed: when they’d stopped looking through each other and started looking at each other instead. He’s not sure when he started silently collecting the pieces of Merlin’s secret as if they were a treasure to be hidden carefully beneath his ribs until the time was right.

---

this graveyard of forgotten love

[Morgana/Gwen, M, 11,8k]

Summary:

Gwen has never fully managed to shake her love for the lady who had once sworn to keep her safe. Now locked in a tower by that same lady, she must face a truth she's long kept buried (even from herself).

An exploration of grief, anger, and the inability to let go of someone you once loved (even when you should).

Why I rec this: So, funny story - Atlanta is the one who dragged me kicking and screaming into the post-season 2 Morgwen brainrot, and this fic is a study in all the reasons of why she was successful. There are no excuses made or actions played down, Gwen gets to have agency and be furious and bitter and grieving (also as a side-note, Atlanta writes the best Gwen in this fandom. Seriously, all her Gwen-centric fics are an absolute blessing), and the way this fic ties all the people who are important to Gwen together and gives them their due weight is so, so perfect. It is fairly heavy (mind the tags), but it's 100% worth the angst, and the ending is definitely hopeful.

Quote:

Morgana snarls, moving forward until her face is so close to Gwen’s that she can feel the heat coming from her. The irony of the position, of Morgana mirroring the specter’s actions, does not escape her. (The heat of Morgana’s body straining towards her does not escape her.)  “What would you have done?” Morgana asks again, low and furious, eyes boring into Gwen’s.  Gwen swallows roughly, leaning back as far as she can. “I would have left you there,” she spits, the lie slipping out of her, bitter and furious. “I would have done nothing at all.” 

---

the weight of one man's grief

[Lancelot & Merlin, G, MCD, 2,5k]

Summary:

He arrives too late to stop Arthur from doing what he’s always said he was willing to do, but arrives just in time to catch the last glimpse of golden hair disappearing into the veil and it feels for a moment as if the world has stopped existing. The entirety of his existence narrowed down to nothing but the veil slowly slipping closed and the after image of sunlight licking at golden hair. Feels as if there is nothing but his own thundering pulse and the earth beneath his feet screaming, screaming, screaming. Or perhaps that is his own voice being torn from his throat, the sound of his own magic ripping through the trees, racing toward the veil that is nearly closed. They would not take him. They would not. They do.

Why I rec this: If you want to cry, this is your fic. It's no secret that I love angst (and dealing each other massive emotional damage is the bedrock of Atlanta's and my friendship) but huh boy, this fic really takes it to another level in just about 2,5k words. I think if Arthur had actually walked through the veil, this is about what would have happened, and as usual, Atlanta's exploration and description of grief is the most flawless thing I've ever read. It's ugly, it's violent, and it hurts, and then there's a little special something that twists the knife when you're already bleeding out. It's one of my alltime Merlin-faves, and I don't think I'll ever get over it.

Quote:

The ground creaks and Merlin stares at Lancelot, the never-ending sky in his eyes, and he wants to laugh. Wants to laugh and laugh until his heart gives up from the force of his grief, his relief, that same question, repeating on a loop. If Arthur is the hero (dead and gone and irrelevant except for all the ways in which he is not), and Merlin the unbeatable, raging storm (one word away from wiping this city from the map), then what does that make Lancelot? What does that make him in this story?

---

a god at an altar, a beggar full of faith

[Merlin/Arthur, M, 4,9k]

Summary:

For every person that sinks magic beneath Arthur's skin like an offering, another tries to murder him, always furious when the magic harmlessly bounces off, Arthur held safe by the sacrifices of those who have died for him.  He wonders if they knew that he was aware of what they were doing. He spends a lot of time wondering why they would protect him. His father has them murdered and still more come, always in disguise, sometimes only brushing past him in the marketplace, a finger to his wrist, a hand to his back, the sweet rush of protection burrowing beneath his skin and promising safety.  He wonders how long it is until they decide to stop protecting the son of their butcher?

Why I rec this: Atlanta's prose in general is on its own level, but this fic? Oh my god this fic; it has such a specific vibe between Merlin and Arthur that I love to pieces, and that doesn't even start on how utterly perfect Arthur is in this. The premise is so, so good, and explores so well what would have happened if Arthur had reason to move away from Uther's influence much earlier. As if that wasn't already amazing on its own, I also love the relationship between Arthur & Morgana in this, and the way Uther gets his due. But also, the tension between Arthur and Merlin, man; Atlanta said 'Arthur has a competency kink rights' and then they fucking delivered.

Quote:

He hums, digs his fingers into Merlin’s waist. “Can’t see a damn thing but your magic,” he says and it’s so freeing, finally getting to admit this, to admit what he can do, that he laughs. “Haven’t been able to see a damn thing but your magic since the day you showed up, sweetheart.”

---

forging a path

[Morgana/Gwen, G, 3k]

Summary:

“You took my will from me,” She slowly swipes her thumb across Morgana’s cheek. “So now I will take what you love from you.”  “I do not love anything,” Morgana spits, trying to pull her face from Gwen’s grasp and snarling when Gwen only tightens her grip.  “You love your magic,” she whispers gently. - The White Goddess may have released Gwen from Morgana's hold, but it does well to remember that even the kindest of deities are fickle creatures.

Why I rec this: So, Gwen with magic has - also thanks to Atlanta - a special place in my heart. A vindictive, unforgiving Gwen does, too, but what I love most about this fic is the relationship between Merlin & Gwen; it's not a huge part, but in a way, that makes it even better, the absolute naturalness with which it takes place. That aside, though, the entire premise is just utterly brilliant, and pulling it off satisfyingly in 3k words is like a masterclass in writing. Again.

Quote:

“If you missed me so much, Morgana, all you had to do was come home.” Gwen continues walking forward until Arthur grabs her arm, preventing her from going any farther. Her eyes never leave Morgana’s, and there is something bright and furious sparking to life in her veins, begging to be let free.  “Camelot was never my home,” Morgana spits, lip curling in disgust.  “And I was not referring to Camelot,” she counters lowly, viciously pleased when Morgana’s nose flares wide, eyes lighting up with a shocked understanding.

---

from blood and bone (to earth and sea)

[Arthur & Morgana, G, 2k]

Summary:

Every time Morgana believes she’s rid herself of affection for Gwen and Arthur, that same traitorous part of her heart roars back to life, threatening to strangle her with guilt.  She was done with feeling guilty, this is what she had told herself, and yet Arthur is screaming at his father as if he would give the kingdom up now all for one serving girl. That is to say nothing of the look on Gwen’s face when she’d met Morgana’s eyes. The betrayal shining in her eyes had cut deeper than any knife ever could.  She had said she was done with this. The throne was hers, Uther corrupt, and she could not trust Arthur with it. She could not but— . . . “You won’t kill her,” she says calmly, voice ringing through the room. “You won’t banish her either.” 

Why I rec this: So first of all, I'm cheating a bit because this is the first fic in a series, and you should definitely read the following three stories in it as well. The way Atlanta writes Morgana and Arthur is phenomenal, as are Morgana's relationships with Gwen and Merlin. It digs a lot into the betrayal that came with this episode, the one from the poisoning incident, and a lot of the grief and broken pieces between all of them that have been building for a while now. Not to mention that, once again, the writing is utterly mind-blowing, I don't know how she keeps doing that. This can technically be read as a standalone, but why would you?

Quote:

He meets her eyes evenly, sword still held between them, blue eyes clear and vast as the sea. They’ve always been polar opposites, the sea and the earth, always fighting for purchase as to who gets a claim of the land they both inhabit.  She takes the sword. 

---

Enjoy reading! And if you want to check out more of her brilliant works, here's their AO3 profile! ❤️

[goosedawn]

//Oh gods, welp, here I go [cracks knuckles]

//Tiny farmer Techno Au,,,, prepare for some future lore cjkhcxk

Timestamps from: "I Became the Mayor of Skyblock" by Technoblade

--

(5:39) "I decided to call in an old rival..." - Technoblade

Techno continues on with his life for days on, but finally, he somehow finds his way to society again, seeing that the entire town has been taken over by a tyrant of a mayor. The townspeople called for aid, and from the depths of his cold heart, he decided to help (....what do you mean he only did it so people would buy his potatoes-).

For a bit, he did his work by himself, only getting help from some other living scarecrows (listen, I really like the idea of some scarecrows coming alive [cough] PHIL [cough]), TimeDeo and Jyn (...? Is that how you spell their name?). (Dunno what the process for taking over the mayor would be exactly but,,, chchskdlcx,,,)

But you can only do so much work with... living scarecrows. With a bit of reluctance, he calls for help from SquidKid. And then together they defeat Dante :]

(Also, it's funny to think that the town has a mayor that they've never seen. All they know is that the previous mayor is gone, and the new one is pretty chill. /Lh)

--

(6:31) "Is there any way to do the teleport room without just like.. guessing?" - SquidKid

(6:36) "You are like... little baby, watch this." - Technoblade

-

Being tiny has its perks.

"Wait, what do you mean you can solve this maze in an hour or less?"

Techno turned towards the bigger hybrid, crossing his arms as he nonchalantly stared up at them. SquidKid only gives him a baffled look back, their tentacle-like hair slightly sprung up to further show their confusion.

He knows this only because he's known the man for far longer than they've known him.

He knows more personal information than should be shared, somehow finding the other farmer's parent's numbers along with a few other things. He had jokingly pocketed away the parent's number in the back of his mind, although, he had no real plans of ever using it. Well, maybe he had played with the idea of calling SquidKid's parents to dunk on the fact that a wild borrower had been winning their competition, but he ultimately decided not to for obvious reasons.

He knows the hybrid's schedule like the back of his hand, having to work around it for the better part of an entire year. Using that knowledge, he had sabotaged countless of SquidKid's tools, poking small, unnoticeable holes into their hoses and irrigation systems.

And he knows SquidKid's behavior from how they speak to how they express any sort of emotion. Lies were easily debunked from the small twitch of the corner of their mouth as they suppressed a smile, and anger was easily shown from how their strange hair pieces would spike up.

Yet, he can't help but feel slightly at unease in front of them. He supposes it's only natural, seeing that there's a huge height difference between them. Plus, this was practically the first time they've been closer than two fields of length in between them. Well, disregarding the times he's gone snooping around the bigger farmer's place, but that's neither here nor there.

"Squid, look at me," he raises his hand, gesturing towards himself, "I'm tiny, yes?" the squid hybrid nodded slowly, and he pointed at the stalks of tall fern and crop, "to you, this would basically be a wall you can't get through. For me, though...."

He jumped off his perch, tightly holding his trusty bag and sliding towards the flora before easily disappearing behind the thicket and appearing moments later at eye level, holding the stalk of the crops easily,

"It's easy to go through."

SquidKid makes a quiet 'oh' sound with another nod of their head, looking slightly in awe. The amazed look turns to one of confusion again, though, and he awaited their next question with a raised eyebrow, "but... the maze is big, how are you going to get through it all without tiring?"

Techno grinned, lifting a hand to his mouth and loudly whistling. He doesn't hesitate to slide back to the floor as a blur of white fur bounds towards him.

"Carl!" he exclaims, wrapping his hands around the rabbit's fluffy neck and combing through the fur with his fingers. He backs away to pull out a broken-off piece of a carrot, feeding it to the eager bunny before turning towards the astonished squid hybrid with a grin, "my noble steed," he waves a hand towards the still feeding rabbit.

"You tamed a rabbit," they dumbly point out, having to metaphorically pick up their jaw off of the floor.

"Yup, I did. you can stop gawking now," he huffed, "you're going to catch a bug with your mouth if you keep your mouth wide open."

"...And you named it Carl?"

"What kind of question is that?" he snorts, shaking his head, "yes, I named him Carl, and yes he's going to be the one helping me through the maze. Any other silly questions?"

The man stumbles over their words for a second, and he amusedly watches from below, "I- yeah, yeah, you bozo," they finally settle on saying.

"Alright, cool, I'm going to go find the exit now," he turns away from the hybrid, climbing on the back of the rabbit's back, "see you there."

He doesn't give SquidKid the chance to respond, already setting off through the thicket. And he sure doesn't suppress the grin that crawls up his face as Carl bounds past stalks and stalks of crops.

Having distracted SquidKid enough to get away, the bigger farmer had barely thought to ask how they themselves would traverse the maze.

They must have realized soon enough, though, since not seconds later, he hears a strangled yell of his name along with a loud groan.

--

Pain, it's been too long since I've written something /Lh

--

"(Also, it's funny to think that the town has a mayor that they've never seen. All they know is that the previous mayor is gone, and the new one is pretty chill. /Lh)"

When the townspeople come to greet the new mayor, they come thinking that it's SquidKid who's done everything since it's always been SquidKid going into town and doing the talking- the scarecrows being unable to do so for obvious reasons, and Techno unable to do so without revealing his entire existence.

So when the sheepish farmer calmly explains that he's just a helper of the mayor, they're... rightfully confused. At first, they want to know the real identity of the mayor, but SquidKid wearily tries explaining that said mayor really doesn't want to be revealed. They only conceded when he shakily points to the unknown farmer's territory, most of them getting the message.

Techno is very thankful that SquidKid doesn't take his title and also doesn't reveal his existence.

-

"It would have been so easy for the squid hybrid to just pluck his tiny form from their back pocket and shove the wrathful spotlight onto him.

He wasn't even able to even escape now as he found himself stuck in the hybrid's pocket. The crowd had come quickly after SquidKid had removed the other mayor for him, and he remembered feeling panicked as he stared at the other hybrid. The next thing he knew, he was shoved into their pocket.

He couldn't get out without tumbling to the ground with a splat, and, even worse, the possibility of one of the townspeople pointing him out with gossip-drinking eyes was incredibly high too.

He shakily gulped, greedily taking the air around him as he tried to stay calm. He never liked being near anyone- not even the scarecrows - so the second-hand contact with his past rival was not the finest experience.

"I- uhm," the squid hybrid stumbled over their words, "t-the mayor really would rather not... have the entire town to greet them.."

The crowd hushedly mumbled to each other, and one straggler called out, "well, tell them to come out anyway!"

By the Blood God, he hated this. He shrunk to the bottom of the pocket. This was one of the worst worries for a borrower; he had already been pushing his limit with the scarecrows and SquidKid, but this was another level for him.

"...Uh, well, in that case," he felt SquidKid shift, and a hand brushed over his pocket. He tenses, waiting for the fingers to tug him out and waiting for SquidKid to finally prove that they're not as kind as they look, for them to finally get some semblance of petty revenge.

"You can find them over there." He pauses, confused to as why there's no hand reaching down for him. The words finally dawn on him, and he's both relieved and perplexed to what SquidKid could have meant by that.

But hatever they've done has made the crowd fall unnaturally silent, and so he's at least a little relieved for that too.

The same voice that was brave enough to speak before pipes up, "you mean the ghost farmer?"

....He didn't know that the townspeople had come up with a name for him, but he's suddenly thankful that he's gained enough popularity that people stop and gawk.

"Y...Yes," SquidKid slowly acknowledges the villager, "they were the one orchestrating all of this. I was just helping with the... talking parts," the hybrid is silent for a moment before they burst into a stammering mess,

"And- uh, I-I should take my leave now, b-because I should really h-head back and ch-check up on them," he feels the bigger farmer start to take a few steps back, supposedly away from the crowd, "I'll answer any questions later!"

He has to push against the fabric to keep himself from bouncing around in the pocket as SquidKid starts running. He faintly hears the townspeople shout for the male, but it's muffled through the fabric.

As it starts to seem as if the squid hybrid would never stop running, they finally start to slow down, their breaths coming out labored and airy.

He doesn't speak up for a moment, letting the other regain themselves first. When they finally seem well enough, he speaks up,

"That's the best you can come up with?"

--

chKFCHKDSJFSDF oh my Primes, this is so LONG,,,, I have no idea how to write SquidKid,,,, plus, I had no idea how to like,,, oOGHgds,f,, pain.

Anyways, hope you had fun reading ALL of this cchjxcvxkdsf,,,

AAUBHJDUHFJHBFNDKUFHN WENDYYY /POS

i dont have anything to add this is just fantastic,,,,, DEO AND JIYN AS SCARECROWS AS WELL,,, FBJHDKUHSJHHDV,,,,,, i love that techno gets to have Carl still 🥺🥺🥺 and him leaving squidkid on the other side of the maze??? FHJBDJNJKBF

ALSO 🥺 squid protecting techno and not telling people abt him,,,,, aaajfhkdojfh good,, i also appreciate that everyone in the village just has to be like. "the ghost farmer is mayor????... well this isnt the weirdest thing thats happened to me"

SQUIDKID RUNNING AWAY,,,, "ill answer any questions later" djhshhjhjhbhbfhdjhbe

*holds this gently* aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa i adore

[spideyspeaches]

Gold Rush ↬ t.h

Gif by @parkeraul :)

A/N: I'm in love with that song 🙈 also here's my super late contribution of professor!tom 😋 cause I've been procrastinating on the wandavision au (in my defence though, it's taking a lot of brainstorming 😂) anyway here you go-

Wc: 2.6k+

Warnings: lemme know if you find one :)

Summary: He taught British History and you chastise yourself for not auditing for that subject earlier.

Pairing: Professor!Tom x Student!Reader

Masterlist || Taglist

Waking up with a start, you groan at the shrill sound of your alarm. With a sigh that was more of a grunt of annoyance, you tried to reach for your phone at the side table, hissing when you felt the corner of your elbow hit the table, pain shooting up to your shoulder. 

Great, you weren't even up yet and your day was already going shitty. You just hoped that your professor won't be grumpy about you being late for the millionth time this semester. 

You hated cultural architecture. You had nothing against the course, but You hated your professor with a passion and wished that you could burn your textbooks for all you cared, right in front of your teacher's eyes, watch him writhe in fear as you banished the very existence of your material. 

You were being dramatic, but in your defence, your professor was an old bastard who never left an opportunity to reprimand you, going as far as letting you know how uneven your margins were on your latest project. 

He wore birkenstocks with a three piece. You wouldn't trust him with your assignments. 

Getting out of your dorm room was work, hard work. But you got out, brushed your teeth and wore what you hoped were presentable clothing. 

"You look hungover." Your roommate, Stacy, commented, spitting in the sink as you scowled at her. 

She was straightforward, outspoken and somehow managed to look like one of those Victoria secrets models that you loathed, even at seven in the morning. You hated her. 

(You didn't.)

"Thanks, I hope I smell too. Want that son of a bitch- what's his name, Wilson, to suffer for giving me that C minus on my thesis." You grumbled, rubbing your hands through your hair to flat them out. 

"You really hate him, don't you." She snickered, popping off her shirt. You tried not to look, not wanting to come off as a pervert, but damn, she was fit. You contemplated her words, frowning at your own reflection. 

You looked disheveled, the dark eye bags under your eyes very apparent as you tried to mask them with foundation, setting your hair for the millionth time. Oh well, you were presentable enough. Sweatpants would have to do for your only class today, you could binge Netflix after this wretched class. 

"I do. I hope his third wife divorces him and he loses his thermos of coffee in the subway." You said, adding your look finally before wearing your shoes. 

"That's cruel, didn't know you had it in you." She snickered, patting your back and following you as you closed the door, "Well I have to go to my boring science lectures now so, see you later hun." 

"Yeah, enjoy your chemistry period with your boyfriend!" You cheered sarcastically, rolling your eyes and hugging her to tell her that you were only joking. Your relationship was this, of jokes and hugs and kisses. You considered her your best friend. 

Rushing towards the gates of your university, you hastily tightened your loosening hair tie, adjusting the straps of your bags. You were pretty sure you had broken your record of being late to your class. You may hate the professor, but you actually enjoyed the subject. 

Wheezing as you ran past the late comers, you nodded at the receptionist, hastily signing yourself in. You would blame your clumsiness for what happened next, because one second you were fixing your sande on the foot of the fountain, and next thing you knew you were crashing into a firm body, your nose hitting the random stranger’s chest.

"I’m so sorry! I’m kinda late to class and I wasn’t looking and- whoa, ow.” You rushed your words, groaning when you felt blood rush from your head to toe, nose throbbing with double vision, a reminder of your clumsiness. 

“Whoa, hey calm down, it’s okay, I wasn’t looking either.” The stranger said, his thick South Western accent snapping you out of your self pity. 

You felt blood rush to your cheeks instead, not anticipating your face in a flush this early in the morning, when you got a good look at the stranger. He was good looking, in his black high turtleneck and brown checkered pants. He had a small leather satchel clutched in his hands, face looking as flushed as you felt when you realised that you had been gawking at him.

He was probably no older than his mid twenties, making you wonder what he was doing in your university. He was too old to be a student, and too young to be a professor. But then again, you wouldn't judge him for joining college late.

Right? 

"S-sorry, you um, you must be really late, you should go." He stuttered, your heart fluttering at his dimpled chin and thick accent. His eyes were gleaming in the morning sun, captivating in a way that left you in awe. 

"Um yeah, I am." You nodded, composing yourself, hoping that you didn't look too sleep deprived or disheveled, "where are you going, if you don't mind me asking."  

"Um, the architecture wing?" He said, unconsciously stepping besides you.

"Oh, I'm going that way. Is it your first time coming here? Haven't seen you around." You asked, trying not to stare at his sharp jawline and the way the morning sun hit him just right, illuminating and accentuating his curly brown hair. 

"Yeah, it's my first lecture, so um, looks like I'm late too." He smiled. It was infectious, you noticed as you mirrored his expression. 

"Oh, you're a student?" 

"Actually, I'm a professor. Just transferred from UCL." 

So you were right, he was a professor. He looks so young though. You thought, nodding at him, your thoughts interrupted by his laugh. Looking at him with confusion, you raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, everyone says that. I started right after finishing graduation so, I guess I'm not much older than you." He smiled, kicking the small pebbles littered around the set grassy ground. It had just rained, the smell of wet ground still fresh. 

"I said that out loud didn't I?" You smirked, ducking your head to hide. 

"You did." 

Entering the building, you realised that you hadn't asked which subject he taught, crossing your fingers and hoping that he would replace the old bastard that taught you cultural architecture. 

"I forgot to ask, which lecture do you teach?" You asked, looking for your class in the end. The hallways were empty, it was way past your first lecture and all the students were already in the auditorium. 

"Oh, uh, British History." He answered. You didn't let disappointment show too much on your face, smiling shyly before gesturing towards the class, "that's you." 

"Oh, um thank you." He smiled, pursing his thin lips together as he walked towards the class. You could hear screaming of the students as you both neared the classroom, you still standing by the door, "I didn't get your name." 

His question snapped you out of your disappointed gaze, 

"Oh, it's Y/n. Y/n L/n." You said with a smile. 

"Pleasure to meet you Y/n, I'm Thomas Holland, but you can call me Tom." He said awkwardly, before turning back to his class, who had yet to notice him.

"The pleasure's all mine Professor." 

For the first time in your college life, you didn't feel like tearing your hair off during your lecture, your thoughts wandering around. You wanted to berate yourself for not paying attention, but your thoughts kept going there. 

It was funny, how you met him not long ago and he was already taking up residence in your brain. You could not control your feelings after all. Something akin to nausea or excitement eased into your stomach when you pictured his smile, his black turtleneck that accentuated his biceps and pectorals. The little rebellious eyebrow and the tiny scar above it. 

It made your heart flutter, everything seemingly seemed to stop around you. It scared you a bit, how You had managed to envision the little details of his face in your brain after such a short duration. 

You didn't realise that you were smiling until you felt a nudge on your side, making you nearly jump on your seat. 

"What?!" You hissed, scowling at your classmate. 

"Who're you thinking about?" She asked, wiggling her eyebrows as she leaned towards you. You had known her long enough to know her name but never bothered learning, and you were too scared to ask now. 

"It's none of your business." You muttered, glancing up to see your professor scowling at a student as they stood up. 

"Well okay, but did you hear about the hot new professor? Apparently he's teaching British History, I regret not taking that as a subject now." She said, her cheeks flushed with excitement. You furrowed your brows, feeling a pang in your chest at the realisation that you were probably just another girl with a stupid crush on the hot professor, that there were already girls who would die to feel his touch. 

"How do you know about him?" You asked, raising an eyebrow as you try to act nonchalant. You weren't being subtle, apparently, because you could see her snapping her bubblegum with a smirk, leaning forward as if trading secrets. 

"You kidding right? Everyone knows about him, you got a crush on him or something?" She suggested, scooting close enough to make you squirm. 

"I literally just met him, and ew, he's a professor, why would I see him that way?" You whisper, willing your heart to stop palpitating at the thought of said professor, your gut twisting in anticipation. 

"I don't know girl, he's hot and young and so much better than this bastard." She sighed, leaning on her palm with a fake dreamy expression. 

You went back to ignoring her after that, noticing how her notebook said 'Eloise'. At least you didn't have to ask her her name now. 

Your class went surprisingly well, or maybe it was because you weren't paying attention and thinking about him again. You really needed to get a grip on yourself. 

Walking out of your class, you decided to go to the cafeteria, your stomach begging for your attention.

Setting your things on a table, you took out your phone to scroll through Instagram, before switching it off and looking around the cafeteria. You didn't know what you were expecting to see, but your stomach was gurgling with hunger and nothing made sense when you were hungry. 

Walking to grab something to eat, you pick up your bag, hanging it over one of your shoulders before getting in the line. 

Just as you were about to turn with your bun and cup of coffee, you crashed into someone for the second time that day. Cursing your clumsiness, you heard a familiar British accent curse not very colourful words, making you stumble over as you tried to wipe off the hot coffee off his shirt.

"Hey, it's okay." He said, stopping your frantic gestures by holding your wrist with his to cease any movements.

"Professor Holland! I'm so sorry, it's like, I'm just clumsy. I have no excuse." You sighed in resignation, mentally facepalming at spilling your coffee at the hot professor. 

"It's okay darling, I've had much worse spilled on me." He smirked, his hand still holding on to yours. You had started walking away from the location, and yet his hand didn't let go, "You know, I used to babysit during my college days." 

"Oh, babysitting, right of course." You chuckled awkwardly, chest heaving with the sudden close proximity with the professor, dissipating the not quite PG thought that just occurred in your mind at his words.. 

"Sorry for-" You said in unison with him, chuckling. 

"You go first." He said.

"I'm sorry for spilling coffee on You, it must have hurt and I ruined your shirt and now there's a big splotch of coffee right in the middle!" You said, circling your fingers around your palm as you walked with your back to the exit as you walked out of the cafeteria, food forgotten and him following your pace. 

Before you could continue your awkward blabber, you were standing in the garden outside, leaning against a pillar with the garden in your view looking golden in the setting sun. He was standing in your view, the shadows around his jaw making it look sharp enough to cut glass. 

Taking a breath, you looked up at his smiling form with confusion when he didn't answer, instead leant onto the pillar next to you.

"You were... gonna say something?" You reminded, smiling awkwardly as you fiddled with your fingers.

"Oh? Oh! Oh yes yes, You know, I was kind of disappointed that you weren't in my class, Mister Wilson talks very highly of you." He said, folding his arms on his chest, it made his biceps bulge. 

"He does?" You looked at him with surprise, guilt panging in your chest when you remembered yourself bad mouthing the professor not long ago. 

"Yes, says you're a bright student with a bright future." He answered, leaning his head back so that his neck was exposed, Adam's Apple bobbing as he gulped, his hair falling into place perfectly against his forehead. The arch of his neck was beautiful, tracing it with your eyeballs as you imagined which other curves of his were as beautiful, immediately dismissing those thoughts, chastising yourself for thinking such a way of a professor. 

"That's… sweet of him. I've never heard him compliment me once in the two and half years I've been in his class." You chuckle, leaning your elbow on the pillar to get a better look at his side profile. 

"Hmm, he says he's hard on you because he wants you to do your best..." 

You stopped listening past that, your breath growing more erratic the more he talked, his smooth voice washing over you like warm honey with a squeeze of lemon. Swallowing a sudden lump in your throat, your heart leaping, leaving you nauseous and in a dream like trance. 

Tom noticed immediately, noticing your slouched posture as you stared at him with a small smile, the upturn of your lips so inviting that he almost dived in, wanting to know the feeling of them what they felt like against his. 

He wasn't the kind to date his students, in fact, he rarely dated after joining uni and becoming a professor. 

He strictly believed that student/teacher relationships should end in only a professional non romantic set up. That was all up until he crashed into you that morning. 

You had been in his mind all day, stirring him crazy as he imagined your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your subject of interest, the say your fingers fiddled with the ring you wore on your index finger. 

He wondered if this feeling would last forever or become a vague memory, an attraction of hearts that didn't last but felt good till it did. If he was rushing, or if you even felt the same way. 

He was smart, of course that's how he became a teacher, but he still couldn't place your feelings. 

So when he saw you staring at him, his heart leaping in his throat at your adorable smile, the only logical answer his brain gave was that you liked him too. Temporary attraction or not, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in it's mouth. 

Next thing he knew your lips were crashing onto his, your chest pressed against his firmly as your hands reached up to the base of his neck. 

Your fingers were soft, tongue swishing against his as he opened his mouth to let you enter. His hands automatically reach for your waist, holding onto firmly as he slammed you against the pillar. 

The sun was nearly down, the last of the rays hitting the garden, lighting you both up in a golden glow that left you breathless with a fire raging in your souls. 

"What do you say that I audit for British history? I'd like to learn more lessons from you, Professor Holland." You said, breathless against his chest, hiding your nose against his sternum, blood rushing to your ears as his warm hand burned against the bare skin underneath your shirt. 

"That would be great darling, anything to see your pretty smile every morning." 

A/N: let me know what you think! :)

[narutogwriting]

Turning Page

⋇✦ Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki x Reader

⋇✦ Genre: fluff; one shot

⋇✦ Synopsis: Naruto never would have dreamed that he would get this sort of happiness, but there you are

⋇✦ CW: none

⋇✦ Length: 1.4k+

⋇✦ Inspiration: Turning Page by Sleeping at Last + @naooseimaiss request

I’ve waited a hundred years

I’d wait a million more for you

Had Naruto ever expected it? Had he ever even dared to dream about a day like this?

No. No he hadn’t.

Not in Naruto’s wildest dreams would he have let himself believe that someone would love him the way that you did. Someone who would support him, stand by his side through thick and thin. Through every win and especially every failure, every step of Naruto’s journey since he met you, you had been by his side, unwavering.

If I had only felt the warmth within your touch

If I had only seen how you smile when you blush

Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough

I would have known what I was living for all along

And Naruto loved you. He loved you so much more than he knew was possible. Naruto didn’t know just how boundless his love really was until he gave you his heart. Holding you for the first time was the greatest pleasure he had ever experienced. Having your smile aimed in his direction lit a fire in him that even the harshest rainstorms couldn’t put out.

He wished he could go back and tell himself, just whisper the words into his own ear those nights as a child he’d spent alone and lonely.

She’s coming. Don’t worry. I know it hurts now, but once she’s here, you’ll see. Every hurt, every pain, every harsh look. Your strangeness, your curse, your always feeling like an outsider. It all existed so you could belong here, with her. It’s all worth it.

The pain you’re feeling can’t compare to the joy that is coming.

What I’ve been living for

Naruto heard once that true love isn’t being willing to die for a person; it’s about who you would live for.

Every day for the rest of his life, Naruto would live for you.

Your love is my turning page

Where only the sweetest words remain

“It won’t go down!” Naruto complained, running a comb through his hair again and again. “I put so much gel on it! Why won’t it stay in place.” He threw the comb with a frustrated shout, observing himself in the mirror.

He’d done his best to comb his hair down into something presentable, but those unruly spikes wouldn’t stay all the way down. “I look like a mess! This is the best day of my life and I look like a mess!”

A light chuckle made him turn. Iruka was smiling at him from the couch, shaking his head. “‘Snot funny, Iruka-Sensei!” Naruto whined, crossing his arms.

Iruka got up, walking over to Naruto, still laughing softly as he stood in front of the blond, hands placed on his shoulders. “What!?” Naruto demanded as he glowered at his old sensei, bottom lip protruding out in a pout.

“It’s just…” Iruka stopped, shaking his head as he felt his throat tightening. “It’s just… I’m so proud of you, Naruto.”

Naruto stopped, taken off guard by the comment. He stared at Iruka, wide eyed before he laughed, giving that close-eyed, big grin he was known for.

“I never thought I’d be one of the people standing by you at your wedding, Naruto. It’s an honor. Truly.” He pulled the boy who was no longer a boy, but a man, into his arms. How long ago had it been that Naruto was just a kid, starved of love and attention, so small he’d barely come up to Iruka’s chest?

You hadn’t just been an answer to Naruto’s prayers, but Iruka’s as well.

Every touch is a cursive line

Every touch is a redefining page

“Quit bouncing, usuratonkachi” Sasuke whispered at Naruto’s side, but there was a lightness to his tone. He’d seen a lot of emotion in the blond over the years. He always thought that the day Naruto had become Hokage was the happiest day of Naruto’s life, but even that day didn’t compare to the utter joy that was on Naruto’s face now.

Naruto only grinned at Sasuke. It was time. Any moment now, you would appear, walking down that aisle wearing your uchikake, and Naruto knew you would look like an angel. He’d asked you not to wear the headdress brides usually did. He didn’t want to ‘hide your horns.’ He didn’t want submission from you.

You were Naruto’s partner; his better half. He loved every single part of your large and wild heart.

His heart was already leaping out of his chest; he didn’t think he would be able to contain himself once he saw you.

I surrender who I've been for who you are

For nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart

And there you were. You appeared like a vision, ethereal and effervescent as you glided towards him. Naruto’s breath caught in his lungs. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really breathed before this moment, had never really lived until now.

Naruto was in awe of your beauty. His eyes were locked on yours, glistening with happiness and adoration.

He still couldn’t believe it. That you would look at him that way.

Naruto wanted to stare at you forever, wanted to exist always here, in this moment, but he had to close his eyes. He wasn’t sure when he started crying, but the tears were there, overflowing and blinding them. He smiled as he wiped them from his eyes.

He heard a familiar giggle and when he opened them, you were there, reflecting that same love and adoration.

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t wait.

Naruto kissed you fiercely, holding you close to him like he was afraid you would disappear at any moment. You returned the kiss with the same intensity, arms locking around his neck as you drank him in.

A cleared throat finally broke you too away as you both giggled, eyes never leaving each others.

“If you’d like to begin…” Kakashi laughed.

If I had only felt how it feels to be yours

Well, I would have known what I've been living for all along

What I've been living for

It was perfect. Every moment. You and Naruto had decided to forgo a lot of the wedding traditions, but you kept the nuptial cups. Naruto had suggested it because he wanted to surprise Iruka; have him be his parent that drinks from the cup like your parents would and seals the family together.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

“I love every piece of you, Naruto. Every scratch, every scar. From the demon inside of you to the fire that burns around you. I always always meant to be here, to love you. And I will. Always and forever. Thank you for choosing me. I will never stop choosing you.”

“My whole life, I felt lost. Confused, and empty. And then I found people who were important to me, people that I had to care for and fight for. And I was happy; but sometimes, I still felt so lost and so lonely, and I never understood, because I was happier than ever. And then you appeared. It was like suddenly, the world made sense. Everything just suddenly fell into place. I was lost, and you found me. You taught me that I couldn’t just love others, but that I could also love myself; something I never realized. Thank you for changing my life. Thank you for teaching me things I never knew, and for being my best friend. Thank you for always finding me.”

“I’ll always find you, Naruto. In every world, in every lifetime. If I have to search a million life times, I will find you again.”

Though we're tethered to the story we must tell

When I saw you, well I knew we'd tell it well

With a whisper, we will tame the vicious seas

Like a feather, bringing kingdoms to their knees

It was the first day of the rest of your life. You had read something once: “To love someone was not what she had expected. It was like falling from somewhere high up and breaking in half, and only one person having the secret to the puzzle of putting her back together.”

You’d read that to Naruto, and he had smiled, because it was true. It did feel like that, and yet, it had never hurt. Because as soon as he had fallen, you’d been there, catching him and putting together all his pieces, just like he’d done for you.

There was something else.

“I wouldn't be surprised if that is the way things go after all - that all things end happy.”

You smiled as you kissed Naruto once more. For the first time in your life, thanks to the number one, hyperactive, knuckleheaded ninja, it was something you could believe.

[im-in-love-with-pizza-bites]

Best Parts Of Him

Sebastian Stan X Daughter!Reader

Summary: As time goes by he wants you to know that he'll be with you wherever you go, you'll always be his baby girl

Warnings: breakup, that's all I think.

Song: Best Parts of Me by Will Dempsey

A/n: The Romanian is from Google Translate it might not be right... If it isn't go ahead send me a message or an ask with the correct translation and I'll fix it thank you!

Princess is spelled prinţesă and dear/darling is dragă :)

I can still remember the first time I saw

Those brown eyes staring into mine

It was in that moment I felt a love

I never knew I would find

It's like God took my heart right out of my chest

Sebastian smiled down staring at your big doe eyes that were filled with so much innocence. He couldn't believe it, he was a dad. Not only a dad, but a dad to the most precious little thing he had ever seen. Wrapped in a pink hospital blanket, a tiny tuft of hair on your head, and most beautiful eyes he's ever seen.

"Oh bless you." He cooed as you let out a tiny sneeze. He was in love, you owned his heart now he swears. He's never loved anyone or anything as much as the little baby in his arms. "Aren't you just the most precious thing. I love you." He placed his lips onto your forehead before looking back at your face.

"I'm gonna teach you everything I know. And your gonna know Romanian. Asta e corect prinţesă." He finished in his mother tongue. (That's right princess)

And wrapped it all up in a little pink dress

And painted the most beautiful smile in the world

And topped it all of it with brown hair and curls

The day he made my baby girl

Sebastian took a deep breath before knocking on the door holding the sunflowers in front of him. He could hear giggling from the other side of the door before it was opened.

You were in your room with your grandmother before you heard the doorbell. You looked up at your grandma smiling.

"Go on." She urged. You went running out of the room giggling once you made it to the living room. Opening the door you saw your dad holding a bouquet of sunflowers.

"Yes daddy!!" You jumped up and down smiling. He chuckled.

"Prinţesă, can I take you to the daddy daughter dance?" He asked kneeling to look 6 year old you in the eye. He couldn't help but hope you'd always be this tiny little girl. His little princess.

"These are for you dragă."

"Thank you."

'Cause the best parts of me were given to you

And I hope that all of your dreams come true

And as time goes by

I want you to know that I'll be with you wherever you go

You'll always be my baby girl

"And the winner is-" You crossed your fingers and looked down at your dad who was sat in the audience. "Y/n Stan, with her dance act!" The principal announced. You smiled stepping forward.

"Here's your prize." The drama teacher came onto the stage with the prize, it was a fifty dollar toys R us gift card.

You found your way in the lobby of your school looking for your dad. He was stood next to your grandparents, holding a bouquet of flowers. You smiled hugging him.

"I won." You said proudly.

"Good job dragă."

She's as sweet as the syrup

She dripped on her dress

Won't leave the house if her hair is a mess

"Daad! It looks terrible I can't go to school like this." You said motioning to the lopsided braids.

"Hey little missy I'm trying my best." He said. "It does look pretty bad though doesn't it?"

"Yeah it does. Just pull it back up in pony tail daddy." You grumbled crossing your arms.

"How about pig tails?"

"Fine just get them even." You sassed. He gasped.

"Hey sassy mcsass I'll leave your hair like this."

"Sorry dad." You leaned up placing a kiss on his cheek.

"That's what I thought."

You should see her dancing when she thinks she's alone

Or the snap she sends me from her mama's phone

And I've made so many mistakes in my life

At least I did one thing right, my baby girl

Sebastian did his best to hold in his laughter as he watched you belting out to music. Doing a funny dance, holding you hairbrush like a microphone. He pulled his phone out and began filming.

"You held me down, but I got up already brushing off the dust." You sang along. "You hear my voice, you hear that sound."

"Like thunder, gonna shake the ground." Sebastian joined. You screamed turning around dropping the hair brush. "You held me down, but I got up." He motioned for you to keep singing. You smiled joining in.

"Get ready 'cause I've had enough, I see it all, I see it now."

"I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire, 'cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar." You two sang together. "Louder, louder than a lion, 'cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar."

'Cause the best parts of me were given to you

And I hope that all your dreams come true

And as time goes by

I want you to know that I'll that I'll be with you wherever you go

You'll always be my baby girl

A scream was heard through the penthouse. Sebastian jumped to his feet running out of his office toward the sound. Almost falling a few times before he made it to the living room, more importantly by the door. He sees you a big smile on your face, hugging a piece of paper to your chest other mail scattered on the floor around your feet. He immediately felt relief seeing you okay.

"What happened?" He asked walking closer careful to not step on the other mail.

"I got in!" You said looking at him with such joy he has never seen before.

"In what?" He smiled.

I got in my dream school!!!" You exclaimed. He gasped hugging you.

"I'm so proud of you!" He said. His baby girl all grown up, leaving for college this summer.

There'll be some hard times you'll face in this life

Just say the word and I'm by your side

And all those bandaids and heartbreaks and days that go wrong

You'll never face them alone

Sebastian was confused, you had been away at college for about three months, it was November now. He wasn't expecting you to come home until Thanksgiving, but you called him told him you'd be home for the weekend and staying during Thanksgiving break. He didn't know why though. You told him you were having a Friendsgiving with your roommate and some other friends you made at college this weekend then you'd start heading down the next morning. Though you called him Friday and told him you were on your way. So Saturday morning he was up and watching for you to get there.

"Dad?" You hollered walking into the penthouse. He came around the corner frowning when he saw you. What looked like dried tears on your cheeks and his old college hoodie you stole from him when you were 7, a clear sign you were sad.

"Dragă? What happened?" He immediately brought you into a hug. You broke, you tried all night to stay strong but here you were. You never could stay strong around your dad.

"H-he broke up with me." You choked out. He knew who you were talking about, your boyfriend Kevin. You and Kevin had been dating during senior year of high school and decided to try to take a chance at long distance.

"Oh prinţesă." He mumbled.

"He met someone new!" You cried. "I wasn't good enough."

"Hey. No, you don't talk about yourself like that." He pulled away putting his hands on your shoulders. "Ești perfect, frumos, nu vorbești rău despre tine! A intelege?" You knew he was serious when he broke out the Romanian. It was rare for him to talk to you in Romanian, it was more common for you two to talk to your grandmother in Romanian but it was only pulled out for you when you were in trouble. (You are perfect, beautiful, you don't speak ill of yourself! Understand?)

"da tată." You responded hugging him again. Your dad always could make you feel better. (Yes dad)

'Cause those best parts of me

Will never leave you

Wherever you go

Whatever you do

And if there comes a time

When I'm not around

You know where I'll be found

My baby girl

My baby girl

My baby girl, oh

A/n: I love this song, I found it on tiktok and think it's beautiful. Also, I think I perfected the songfic? With it in bold and italic while also indented. What do you think?

[wandsandwheezes]

As a Kite | R.W

TW / mentions of ouid n getting h*gh , Smut, (Oral - female receiving, dirty talk, a lil dominance) other than that fluffy stuffs.

Fair warning this is basically pwp and I'm not ashamed because I am the biggest simp for my boy Ron 😍 I'll probably end up writing the 2nd part as I am a thirsty girl xoxox

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ❤️

@witch-and-a-half @weasleysflowr @hufflepuffgirly @theweasleysredhair

Dragging my feet up the stairs to the Gryffindor commons was like hell after a long morning in the dungeons for potions.

I had a free afternoon, one that was usually spent pestering Ron to indulge in a food adventure or a trip to the astronomy tower to get away from it all. There's nothing that I wouldn't do for my best friend. In the summer before my first year, Ron and I made a promise to always look out for each other, mainly because I was way too scared to roam Hogwarts on my own but also because He had already had the craziest first year he could've imagined. We have been inseparable since, There were never any secrets between us and to him I was an open book.

I knock on the door to the boy's dorm, hearing the giggles of the weasley boys coming from within, after a few moments a glazed eyed Ron opens the door, smile beaming at me from ear to ear. "How're we feeling this afternoon, Ronald?" I ask, the faint smell of we*d hitting my senses as I step into the room, "brilliant thanks, I'm glad you're here," he says, I take a seat on his bed, greeting the twins with a smile, "you boys wouldn't happen to be high at all, would you now?" I laugh, "As a kite, dear Y/N" George speaks, "and Georgie made some if his signature brownies, just for you" Fred adds, handing me a foil packet, which I gladly take.

Getting high with the boys was not too unusual, It's been a smell I'd familiarised myself with during my childhood spent at the Weasley home, at first it was Bill's doing, then the Twins, with Ron, Ginny and I following along soon after. I've been lucky to have a wizarding family like the Weasleys, with Molly taking pity on my mother and sister who were both muggles, offering to step in and handle the wizarding side of things with my father out of the picture - a gesture I could never repay.

Fred and George left Ron's dorm to head back to their own after hours of giggles, deciding to take a not so simple detour through the kitchens to satisfy their newfound hunger. This left Ron and I in the room alone, my fingers running through his soft hair as his head lay in my lap, "If you keep doing that, ill fall asleep..." He hums, causing me to laugh gently, pulling a little at the hairs at the back of his head. He watched my every move, dopey grin still all over his face.

"Bloody hell, I think I'm in love." Ron admits, I roll my eyes, "I know Krum's in the castle, Ronald but you're going to need to win him over with more than that." He sits up, looking at me with all seriousness, before shaking his head, "Not Krum... You. I'm in love with you, Y/N." I freeze for a second, shock is not the word I was looking for, perhaps confusion? Sure Ron was an attractive young lad and he was funny, funnier than the twins (not that I'd tell them that), he was charming, kind, strong, caring and by godric he was perfect, but in love with me? He was everything I needed, he was patient with me, he listened to every worry, he was there on my good days and bad days, yet here i am staring at his lips, wanting nothing more than for him to just kiss me. That was it.

I think I love him too, how blind have I been to not have seen this sooner. "Ron, I-" I smile grabbing his hand that had found its way to my cheek, leaning into his touch. "I love you." I breathe out, looking deep into his eyes.

I found out a lot of things about Ron that night; Number one - Ron is absolutely adorable when he's high.

Number two - Ron is literal putty in my hands as soon as I'm playing with his hair

Number three - Ron was in love with me, and I with him.

And finally, Number four - Ron is not the gentle lover I thought he would be, and I am weak the second he's whispering about all the dirty things he wants to do to me. He is a Rough lover, rougher than I expected.

He liked to take control, pinning me against the sheets, placing kisses to every piece of skin he laid his eyes on. "I can't wait to hear you moan for me, darling" he places a kiss to my forehead before resting his own against it letting go of my wrists to pull me up, hand pressed against the small of my back, "tell me if it's too much, we go as far as you want." I run my hands through his soft hair, pulling him in for a kiss, I could smell the cinnamon, a scent I'd associated with him, his kisses were powerful and spoke a thousand words to me, I pull away from his lips for a moment, trailing kisses to his ear, whispering gently to him. "I want you Ron, I need this, make me feel good..."

That was all it took to send him to overdrive, I fell in love there and then with the way his eyes darkened as we fumbled to undress each other, frantic and needy kisses being pressed against each other's skin. He pushed me back against the bed, kneeling between my thighs, as he hooks his fingers into my underewear, pulling them down my legs, a hunger in his eyes, "fuck, you're already so wet," he hums, "what is it you want first baby, my fingers or my tongue? hm? I don't hear my girl begging for anything, I may have to leave her here, untouched and needy. That sounds like fun..." I roll my eyes, big mistake, his hand grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him, "I don't expect attitude from you so early on." he warns "Beg." he almost growls, fingers ghosting over my thighs, "Use your words and tell me what you want." This side of Ron I'd never seen before and it was unlike anything I'd expect from him, but I need him. "I need your tongue baby, please Ron, I need you." that was all he needed, kisses trailed down my body to between my legs, "Good girl," he smirks, blowing gently on my clit, causing a shiver to run through my body, his tongue already on me before i could register what was going on. His tongue was skilled, licking and sucking at my already wet pussy, It was pure heaven. He pulled my clit between his teeth, sucking on it, which in turn caused me to attach my hands to his soft, gorgeous hair, keeping his lips pressed firmly against me "Don't stop, Ron, It feels so good!" I moan out, my fingers in his hair only egging him on further.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispers, kissing his way up my body. The sounds of laughing boys echo through the hall, growing closer and closer to the door. "for fuck's sake," he groans, reaching over to grab his wand quickly locking the door with a spell, before anyone walks in on us "colloportus!" he looks down at me with a smile, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he helps me back into my clothes. "I hope I wasn't being too much, I don't want to scare you off." I laugh, reaching up to smooth down his hair, making it less obvious that my hands had previously been tangled in his gorgeous locks. "Bloody hell, as if you couldn't get any sexier... I don't think you were doing nearly enough" I tease, He smirks, picking me up off the bed and carrying me to the door, "good, because I've hardly even started with you, Princess"

"Ron, mate if you don't open this door ill kill you myself, I'm bloody exhausted." Dean groans from the other side of the door, banging on it a little harder than he had been before "Room of requirement after dinner?" I suggest, he nods, placing me down to my feet, pressing a kiss to my lips to say goodbye, "I don't want to open the door because I'm not finished kissing you yet." I roll my eyes, grabbing my wand to unlock the door again, before swinging it open.

Seamus, Harry and Dean burst into the room, swinging their bags onto their beds, "If it was just Y/N in here I don't see why you had to lock the door," Dean whines, Harry scanning over Ron's face, to his hand which is still gently holding onto mine, "I think we may have been interrupting something here, guys" he speaks, crossing his arms looking between the two of us, cueing me to slip out of the room before there are any more questions "Shove off, Harry" Ron jokes, his eyes following my movements to the door, I poke my head back into the room, "Oi, make sure you save me one of George's brownies for after dinner, don't scoff them all!" I smile at the boys innocently, "I will do, Ba-Y/N" Ron quickly corrects himself, nobody catching onto his slip up, "Don't have too much fun without me!" I laugh, Ron responding quickly "I wouldn't dream of it."

[itsadamcole]

but ... it’s valentine’s day

fem!reader x jon moxley

reader loves Valentine's Day, but Jon isn't the biggest fan of the holiday and he makes sure everyone knows that ...

word count: 2.2k+

warnings: kinda fluffy, public touching and a little teasing, smut

— we’re gonna ignore the fact that this is being posted almost 2 months late. okay? okay. —

masterlist || request an imagine here

~ 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

You walk back to your locker room after your match with Britt Baker. You're all sweaty and feel gross, even after you've wiped most of the sweat away. The match was for the number one contender's tournament, and you lost but you're happy for your best friend since she advanced, even if it was because she beat you.

The door closes behind you and you fall onto the little loveseat with a sigh. You close your eyes for a second, literally one second, when the door opens and you hear your boyfriend ask, "Why does everyone make a huge deal about Valentine's Day?"

"It's a day to show some extra love to your significant other," you say, closing your eyes again. "Balloons, chocolates, and romantic dates. You know, it's a thing."

Jon sits beside you and says, "I can give you balloons, chocolates, and romantic dates any day of the week."

You look over at him and say, "You haven't given me balloons or chocolates. Romantic dates, yes, but not the balloons or chocolates."

He blinks at you and says, "I don't have to give you balloons or chocolates. I give you the hottest sex you'll ever have, whenever you want."

"You do," you giggle. "Maybe I'd like some chocolates and balloons today though."

Your boyfriend moves closer to you and puts a hand on your thigh. "Or," he says, kissing your jaw. "I can just give you some hot sex again." A sigh escapes your lips and you smile.

Jon rubs your thigh a bit as you say, "I have to shower and I do want to at least do dinner tonight since it is Valentine's Day. Then after that, all the hot sex you want, baby."

He looks at you and asks, "Can I join you in the shower?"

"As long as you promise you won't try anything and actually let me shower," you tell him, standing up.

Jon nods and says, "I promise, baby."

He doesn't keep his promise. Not at all.

***

You get home after Jon turned a 20 minute shower into an hour-long shower. Dinner is very late because you had a match, and because of the long shower, but you still get dressed up to go out. You dress into a two piece red dress. The top is lacey, almost see through and has long sleeves. The neck dips low, revealing a lot of your cleavage, and it's cut like a crop top. It hugs your body. You know Jon will love that, especially since it reveals a decent amount. He'll also love the fact that the skirt is short and tight. You put on red heels and put your hair up in a high ponytail, adding some light makeup after. Not too much though.

Just so you can use it against Jon later, you don't wear any underwear. You're completely commando.

Jon waits downstairs for you. He sits on the couch and scrolls through his phone. You click into the living room and clear your throat. "Ready?" you ask.

Your boyfriend looks up from his phone and his eyes almost bug out of his head. "Damn, baby," he says. "I don't know if I can make it through dinner with you looking like that."

You walk over to him and stand behind him. He's looking back at you as you lean down, putting your hands on his shoulders. You say, "I have a surprise for you after dinner, but you have to be good. Okay?"

Jon says, "I can't promise you that. Look at what happened last time I promised you I wouldn't do anything."

"Touche," you giggle. "Come on. Dinner then sex, I promise."

Your boyfriend reluctantly gets up and leaves with you to go to dinner.

Both of you decided on the way home that you would just go to a nice place that wouldn't be completely booked since it's late on Valentine's Day. Most couples would be home by now so you're hopeful to get a table pretty quickly.

You do have to wait a little bit. You sit with Jon in the waiting area on a comfortable bench that's cushioned. Jon sits very close to you. You look over at Jon, saying, "You better not do anything, Jon. Or no present for you."

He holds his hands up and says, "I'm not doing anything to you, baby. I promise. See? Hands are up and I'm not touching you."

A smile forms on his lips and you shake your head, a smile forming on yours. "You are really testing it," you say.

"I'm not testing anything," he says. "But I still don't get romantic dates on Valentine's Day. I can take you out whenever you want to. Why couldn't we stay home and have sex or something."

You say, "Because Valentine's Day is about spending the day doing romantic stuff. Not about how hard you can fuck me, Jon. I know how hard you can fuck me and I've learned the hard way just how hard you can fuck me."

He snickers a bit and says, "You really couldn't walk for the rest of the day."

Laughing, you say, "I couldn't. That was your fault."

Jon smirks, proud of himself. You take his hand and rest your head on his shoulder.

Soon after, your name is called. A table is ready, and the hostess leads you to the table. Jon sits adjacent to you and you begin looking over the menu.

Younger couples surround you in the restaurant. The couple that are parents are probably home with their kids at this point.

A waitress comes up to you and Jon, saying, "Hi, my name is Andi and I'll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get y'all to drink?" She has a slight southern accent.

Jon says, "A bottle of your finest wine for the table, please."

"Anything for you, darlin'," the waitress says, writing down Jon's request. You blink at the waitress as she walks off.

You continue to look over the menu, trying to find something to eat. It's a fancy restaurant so there are steaks and there are pasta dishes. You're not really in the mood for anything specific.

The waitress comes back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Okay, what can I get y'all to eat?" she asks.

You say, "I'll have the broccoli chicken alfredo. Can I get some extra alfredo sauce on that please?"

She nods and asks, "And for you, handsome?"

That little comment made you a little angry, you won't lie. You stare at Jon and he says, "I'll take a 12 ounce sirloin steak with mushrooms and onions. And for the sides, I'd like a loaded baked potato and french fries."

He got french fries. He knows you love french fries and he knows you'll snack on them. A smile forms on your lips.

The waitress nods and walks off. You pout a bit at Jon.

"What's wrong, babe?" Jon asks, looking at you. "Are you feeling okay? Sore from your match?"

You say, "She was flirting with you."

Jon reaches out and tucks a piece of loose hair behind your ear before he says, "I didn't notice. My girlfriend is looking sexy right beside me."

Blood rushes to your cheeks, warming them. Jon laughs as you blush. "It's not funny," you say.

"You're cute," Jon says. "And I love you."

You smile a bit and say, "Okay, fine. I love you too."

He leans over and pecks your lips. When he pulls back, you lean into him and press a longer kiss to his lips. One of Jon's hands slip between your thighs under the table. You put your elbows on the table and put your head in your hands. You look at Jon as his fingers slip further up your skirt.

A soft gasp leaves your lips as Jon surprisingly discovers you're not wearing any underwear. A mischievous smirk forms on his lips. "You're leaving yourself vulnerable to me, Y/N," Jon starts.

"You are not fingering me in the middle of a restaurant," you loud whisper at him. "So help me, Moxley. No surprise for you."

Jon chuckles and he just plays with your clit under the table. You have bite your lip to stay quiet. You feel yourself getting more wet with every movement of his fingers. This goes on until your meals get to the table.

Both of you are very turned on at this point because of him teasing you and touching you under the table so after you're done eating, Jon pays the bill and quickly leaves with you. You get in the car, and Jon gets in too. He drives to your shared house. You've taken off your heels by this point so you can get inside quicker.

It takes about two seconds for Jon's lips to find yours as soon as the door is closed. He presses your back against the door as you start to unbutton the buttons on his nice button-up that he wore to dinner. He quickly sheds the shirt and it drops to the floor. Your tongue slides into his mouth.

Jon's hands are on your thighs before he picks you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as Jon walks into the living room. He drops you on your back on the couch, breaking the kiss. You sit up and undo the button on his pants. You can see the very obvious bulge in his boxers when you pull his pants down. You trace the print of his dick for a second before you pull the boxers down.

You gently begin to stroke his member. Jon sighs softly before grabbing a handful of your hair. "Be nice and suck it," he almost commands.

"I didn't hear a 'please'," you say, smirking.

Jon says, "The only time you'll hear the word 'please' tonight is when I'm fucking you and you beg me for more."

The dirty talk is definitely a turn on for you. You bite your lip and take his dick in your hand before you take him in your mouth. You begin bobbing your head, using your hand for what can't fit in your mouth. Jon's hand is still in your hair as he begins to thrust into your mouth.

You hum around him. You know that drives Jon crazy. Your hands are on his thighs and you grip a little bit. Jon grabs your ponytail and tilts your head back after a moment, his member sliding out of your mouth. You stare up at him and wait for him to do something.

Jon takes off the top of your two piece dress before taking the skirt off. He smirks when he sees that you’re now completely naked. He knows you went completely commando under your dress.

“You’re so bad, Y/N,” Jon tells you.

You grab his wrists and pull him onto you. He braces himself on the back of the couch and looks at you. “I had to learn from someone, didn’t I?” you say innocently.

He pushes you onto your back and puts your legs over his shoulders. “I know you learned from me, Y/N,” he says.

A smile forms on your lips as Jon lines himself up with your entrance. Without warning, he slams into you. It’s not as painful as it used to be because he almost always starts out like this when you have sex. You’ve gotten used to it, but it feels more pleasurable than painful.

“God, fuck,” you cuss. “Do it again.”

He listens to you and thrusts hard into you again. You moan out his name and grasp onto the couch cushions. Jon hovers above you as he begins to repeatedly slam into your core. Your moans are loud almost from the start.

Jon goes harder and harder every few thrusts. You gasp and moan. When he finds your g-spot, you scream, “Jon! Right there! Please don’t stop.”

Your moans and the sound of skin slapping fills the house. You grasp onto Jon’s arms, digging your nails into the skin as he fucks you.

A pit forms in your stomach and you know you’re close, but you still need to give Jon his Valentine’s Day present.

So, much to Jon’s surprise, you roll so you’re straddling his dick, which is still inside of him. Jon stares up at you and you begin to bounce up and down on his member. Your moans are loud and his hands are on your waist.

The pit in your stomach explodes without warning and you release around Jon, moaning his name. Jon cums inside of you, not wanting to dirty the couch cushions. You’re okay with it.

You collapse onto Jon’s chest. You bury your face in his neck and he wraps his arms around your shoulders. Both of you lay and catch your breaths.

“Best Valentine’s Day sex we’ve ever had,” Jon pants. “You need to top me more often, Y/N.”

A smirk forms on your lips and you say, “With pleasure.”