#and considered the question 'what could we do with these?'

[vertoludum]

beautiful poem but let's consider for a moment how to answer the "what is sex" question. bc idk anyone who's asked that and gotten an answer and ive never been asked that, therefore idk how id answer it either. to anyone, honestly, not just a child. like how do you answer that. sex is when we rub genitals in some way along with another person and it feel good? that's the best i could come up with, i think everyone either already knows what sex is (or thinks they do) and doesn't ask that question, or doesn't know, but nobody has ever asked that exact question and gotten a correct answer. many people probably got the "it's when penis go in vagina" answer but that's not the RIGHT definition. and when someone is old enough to discuss the intricacies of sex with, they've probably already Gathered what it is without having to ask that question. sex is a billion different things and honestly id be much more comfortable having to explain what is an orgasm or how does pregnancy work or what are condoms to a child than the concept of sex itself bc how do you explain that satisfactorily And correctly without going into child-innapropriate detail.

by Alice White

[makethemhoesmad]

Souls Aren’t Supposed to Attract on Accident

“I was never the villain. You just chose to believe your hero.” -Azzi Fudd

Read Azzi Fudd’s Long Awaited Interview here:

Interviewer(I): So, Azzi, as I’ve heard, this is quite the long story. Any specific place you’d like to start?

Azzi(A): I’d like to start at the beginning of the end. 2025-2026 college season

I: Alright, let’s start there.

A: Well, obviously I wanna clarify the rumors first. Yes, Paige and I dated from 2021 all the way up until April of 2026. That’s right, ladies. Your heartbroken star dumped me right after I’d won a second championship, and right before my rookie season.

~

“Aren’t you so proud of me, baby?” Azzi asks, gleefully dancing around in championship confetti.

“Yeah, babe, mhm. Listen, Az, can we talk?” Paige asks, placing her hands on Azzi’s shoulders to still her. 

“What’s up?” Azzi questions. She knows what’s coming, obviously. She just really doesn’t want it to happen the same night she’s just won her second natty in a row.

“I just don’t think it’s gonna work between us, y’know? Especially when we’re in the W and playing against each other so much. Right?” Azzi hates the way she words it like she’s fucking stupid, like she’s slow in the head. 

“Let’s just talk about this later, Paige. I want to enjoy this.”

~

I: Do you believe that breakup impacted your rookie season play at all?

A: If it did, it was only for the better.

~

“Do you really fucking hate yourself that much?” Azzi nearly shouts. Paige backs away, hands up as if she’s calming an animal, as though she hasn’t just rationalized a breakup being because of competition. They’ve been competing for years now. Is Paige just afraid Azzi will win?

“Are you really so mad I won that you’re going to end what we have? You’re never getting something like this again, Paige!” Still, Paige stands, stoic. Azzi grunts, frustrated, turning on her heel to leave.

“Your loss, Bueckers,” she calls over her shoulder. 

As she leaves the hotel she now knows why Paige insisted on booking, she vows that no matter what Paige does, she will always, always have to be second to Azzi.

~

A: Back to my last season of college. Obviously, Paige and I had just started the whole ‘long distance’ thing. It wasn’t too awful, because her season ended right when mine started, so we had time for each other. Sort of, at least. We fought quite a bit during that last season for me.

I: What changed when you went to the W, considering that the Valkyries and Sparks are much closer?

A: Part of it, I think, was Paige’s ego. She’s supposed to be this huge UCONN star, and in her five years there, she only won the natty once. When I did it twice, it pissed her off.

I: So you don’t believe distance played a part in it?

A: No. I think we could have easily made it through the physical separation, if Paige weren’t so damn jealous.

~

“Good game tonight, Paige.” Azzi says respectfully in the handshake line, nodding at her former teammate and love. Paige only grunts in response, refusing to meet her eyes.

~

I: So, 2026, your first meeting with the Sparks, and your team wins. In the post-game press conference, reporters ask Paige how she feels about your success as a rookie, and she declines to comment. Was this significant to you?

A: No. She didn’t want to say that I was having a good season, because my rookie season was going better than hers did. It would have been like telling herself I was better, and that would have torn her apart.

I: Right, because Paige didn’t win Rookie of the Year in 2025. Sonia Citron of the Indiana Fever did, because they were the WNBA champions that year. 

A: Exactly. I was already on course for Rookie of the Year at that point, but the previous year, all eyes had been turned to Olivia and Sonia.

I: And then, of course, we can’t talk about your first WNBA game against Paige without bringing up what fans dubbed the “repost war” started by current Washington Mystic KK Arnold and Ice Brady of the Seattle Storm.

A: Yeah, my old teammates reposting about being children of divorce. To be honest, I wasn’t all that fazed by it. I know Paige went off on KK for it once, but I genuinely didn’t give a fuck.

~

“Azzi, I wish you could still call Paige off like a dog,” KK laments, flashing her phone screen at Azzi. 

“Damn, all that for a repost about being a child of divorce?” Azzi says, squinting to read the string of profanity Paige had texted her former teammate. 

“Yeah, she’s gone off the deep end. Someone’s gotta help her.” 

“Well, it’s never gonna be me.”

~

I: And then nothing really happened at all, right? Not until 2028?

A: I mean, not to the public.

I: What do you mean by that? Anything to do with the 2027 news article titled “Paige Bueckers Spotted Outside of Valkyries Hotel”? 

~

“Azzi, you don’t know what you’re doing to me!” Paige screams, backing Azzi into the wall of her own hotel room.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, Paige? I don’t know that my rookie season was about a million times better than yours, and you’re too fucking weak minded to let me be happy about it?” Paige recoils at the defiance in her voice. She expected Azzi to balk at her fury, maybe try and lick her wounds. She never expected Azzi to fight her on it.

“That’s a lie and you know it. You know how the media spins things, Az. I just really fucking miss you. I’m going crazy without you, really.” Azzi scoffs when Paige kneels down in front of her, groveling like it would change her mind.

“Get up, Paige. And make sure you close the door when you leave.”

~

A: No, nothing about that. One of my teammates said they saw her in the lobby, but I never saw her.

I: Then the next year, you were both selected for the 2028 Olympic team. 

A: The funny thing about that was, it didn’t even cross my mind that she was also on the team until we had the first meeting all together. I was just so over the moon about getting chosen.

I: Was there tension at said meetings?

A: Maybe some, but when we got onto the court it fizzled out because even after all that happened we still worked together really, really well.

I: Yes, and of course the infamous “Is Pazzi Back?” article.

A: I didn’t even read it. Sonia, who’s now my teammate, showed it to me, and I waved it off. Wasn’t too concerned.

~

“So,” Paige says, wiggling her eyebrows at Azzi as she thunks down onto the cardboard bed they’re given to prevent intercourse between athletes. “Is Pazzi really back?” 

Azzi snorts at the absurd suggestion, even if some small part of her heart is screaming for her to say yes and throw herself on top of Paige. “Yeah right. I mean, seriously? They create a rivalry between us since I get drafted and the second we’re back on the court they think we’re fucking again?” Her voice shakes ever so slightly when she says again, unnoticeable to anyone except for someone who knows her well, body and mind. Like Paige used to.

“No offense, but I think I’ll stick to teammates this time,” Azzi scoffs, pointing Paige out the door.

“Aw, baby, you want me to beg? I can beg, you know I’m good at it.” Paige kneels down in front of her, remembering the way she was in this position in front of Azzi in a hotel room, about a year ago. Azzi must be remembering too, because she kicks Paige in the side and strides out of her own room.

~

I: Some critics said that Olympic team was one of the best ever, but when they look to credit players, they mention the Citron-Fudd connection almost more than the Bueckers-Fudd connection.

A: Well, yeah, Soni and I play well together. We’ve proven that over and over on the Valkyries.

~

“I’m getting a call from a blocked number, what the fuck.” Azzi gripes, showing Sonia her phone. 

“Answer it, you only live once.”

Azzi slides the call to answer, then hits the speaker button.

“Azzi, I swear to God if you’re fuckin’ that straight bitch Citron you better just own up to it now,” a slurred, familiar voices crackles. Azzi’s eyebrows raise, but she’s spent some time around Paige Bueckers and alcohol, enough to know exactly what she sounds like when she’s drunk and jealous. Sonia looks insulted, but before she can say anything, Paige speaks again.

“She don’t even make as much money as you, Az, so I don’t know why you’re even goin’ for her. I bet she don’t make your pussy feel the way I made it feel, huh?”

“Paige, you’re drunk. Fucking go to bed and call again in the morning if you still care.” Azzi ends the call, immediately beginning to apologize to the very insulted Sonia on her couch. 

“I’m so sorry she said that shit, bro, sometimes she just calls and says that stuff.”

“And you let her? Girl, I don’t know how you don’t slap the shit out of her when we play.”

“Maybe next time I will, you know, ‘cause we’re buddies again.”

~

I: Then, July 2029 when Paige went onto a podcast for an interview, she told the camera “yeah, never date your teammate”

A: I watched that, and nodded along. She was right, it wasn’t really going to do much for our careers, though I guess neither of us realized that until later.

~

‘Never date your teammate’ huh? Is what Azzi types into Paige’s Instagram DMs at midnight after watching that podcast episode. 

“No way she doesn’t even fucking open it,” Azzi curses to herself. She’s mad, obviously because Paige mentioned her a frustrating amount of times in that interview, considering she has a girlfriend to go home to now. Yep, cute little LA up-and-coming actress. She’s 5’2 on a good day, and the sweetest little bitch you’ll ever meet. One time, she had the audacity to comment ‘you’re so gorgeous’ on Azzi’s Instagram post. But Azzi obviously doesn’t care

~

I: Basically radio silence from you for quite a bit after that season, no one saw you doing anything until you commented on a fellow Valkyrie’s post.

A: I took a long break from social media, because I felt like the toxicity of it was hurting more than it was helping anything. When I finally did come back, it was because I couldn’t resist supporting my long-time friend Kate Martin and her firstborn!

I: It was right into this past season then, right?

A: Absolutely, I’ve always had a very championship-based mindset. I want to be the best, and I want to do it well. Nothing really messes with my head during the season, I just get so driven.

~

Paige messages back three months later, with a snide comment about Azzi being easily distracted. Azzi doesn’t justify it with a response. Really, she looks down on three-months-ago Azzi. She’s matured a lot since then. She’s deleted every media outlet from her phone, gone ‘off the grid’, buried herself in workouts. She tells herself it’s because her team didn’t make it to the finals this year, and that she needs to. It helps her sleep at night. Sometimes.

~

I: And now here we are, where we can finally talk about this year’s riveting WNBA finals. Neck-and-neck until the end, with you putting up some of your best performances.

A: I love to win. Anyone who’s close to me knows that. It’s my number one source of dopamine.

I: So I bet a win like that, over a team like that, must’ve felt really, really good, right?

A: Oh, it felt like I was riding the world’s best high.

~

The handshake line of the seventh game is an emotional roller coaster every year, opposing players hugging each other, cheering, sobbing, confetti. Everything is going both 100 miles per hour and seems to stop at the same time. 

But when Azzi catches that brief glimpse of Paige, leaning down so, so low to hug her girlfriend, she knows the celebration won’t be what she remembers most. For just a moment, she lets a long-suppressed memory play, of the 2025 National Championship. When they were teammates, when they ran to each other, instead of barely grazing hands and inclining heads in the handshake line, as if they had never met.

~

I: And that brings us to right here, right now. What are your future plans? 

A: As everyone knows, the WNBA free agency trading period always gets intense. This year, my team is rebuilding and recreating, moving people around. While I will always love the Valkyries, I’m making a change. You’re looking at a member of the Los Angeles Sparks!

~

Azzi scrolls through DMs in the hours following her interview release. Some congratulatory, some spiteful, some simply conspiratorial. One name catches her eye, nearly lost in a sea of words.

paigebueckers: Welcome to LA, Az.

January, 2031

___________________________________________ taglist: @purple-paige-purple @overtimenatalie @fuddfanatic35 @azzilov @ldapper @forpsheturnpesbian @rhyxanwaters @bu3ckersgirl @rosemariiaa @paigebaby5 @tndaqlwifwy

[ghost-in-the-stalls]

I was going to put this in the tags but it's long enough and a direct response that I think I should just add it here.

Yes, to all of this, unironically and unhesitatingly.

For what it's worth for everything I'm about to say, I am a licensed social worker and am currently employed as a mental health clinician. But I have not done any research on this personally and don't have sources at the moment to back this theory up (im going to look into that today actually. I'm curious to see what I find.) This is just all speculation from a professional, so take that for what it's worth. I'll try to add some sources later when I'm not on mobile.

See I agree with what was stated up above about anxiety and depression. I also think its possible it could apply to diagnoses considered less "general," like adhd.

Example. I was recently diagnosed with adhd. The only reason I bothered to pursue the diagnosis was because it was impacting my ability to function throughout my day, and I wanted to try medication. (Personally, I think those are the only times you really should pursue a professional diagnosis, but that's a separate conversation...)

The most notable complaints I had about what I was experiencing were:

- struggling to focus on one task instead of bouncing around between everything on my to do list

- getting overwhelmed and paralyzed from the amount of thoughts and tasks that were in front of me

- struggling to stay on a task that requires my full focus (like reading) because I simply can't give that task my full attention

- conversely, going too long engaging in one task (usually a preferred relaxation task) and neglecting other parts of my life. This typically happens for me on weekends, when I'm trying to play video games instead of think about work.

There are other symptoms that I qualify with, like interrupting people (or struggling not to), being physically jittery and fidgety, being easily angered when certain things happen, etc.

For me, a lot of this ties back to - and was made most clear by - the amount of tasks I have to regularly engage in in my life, and my difficulty keeping up with it all and functioning effectively through it.

Now on one hand, the DSM V is written with a focus on symptoms that interfere with life functioning. And things that stop necessary tasks from being completed tend to fuck our lives up more than something that makes us a little too talkative or fidgety.

But also. And I will say this again and again and again.

A diagnosis is a tool and label. Not a law of the universe. Not a cause. It is a human attempt at categorization of known symptoms, with the intention of relating to effective treatments.

(And that^^^ is something you'll learn from any decent psych 101 class. Mine wasn't decent and I had to go a few classes beyond before we actually started framing it that way.)

With that in mind. Here's a question.

Is my adhd just innate within me, and something that would have been there, regardless of what my life looked like? Is it a specific way my brain deviates from the "norm," and something that, with the right technology and testing, could have been detected and diagnosed without my even noticing any symptoms? Something that exists in a vaccuum without touching my other diagnoses of anxiety and depression?

Or. Is it maybe just a quick and easy way of saying "this person cannot keep up with the stimuli in their life without becoming overwhelmed. And it is effecting their functioning to a notable degree"

That second option is a gross oversimplification, but I hope you take a second to sit with how much the first option sounds like eugenics. If the problem is innate within you, then if we just improve our technology enough to detect it in everyone who has it and separate them from the "norm," then we can weed out the problem, right? Okay, Elon.

How much of my adhd could be a culmination of the fact that I'm overwhelmed with stimuli 24/7 and have lost my ability to focus effectively because of it? How much of my clients' adhd could be a result of the same, possibly combined with the fact that many of them have experienced or are currently experiencing trauma? Which is known to impact ability to focus on tasks, as well as create a hyperactive body system?

This isn't to say adhd is a bogus diagnosis. The same way that the anxiety and depression we experience within our current world state is also not a bogus diagnosis. We're still experiencing it. We still fit the diagnostic criteria. And treatment still helps.

My point of all this is, yes to what's above. And also, maybe it would be good to reframe the ways we view diagnosis in general, to take it a step further, and to recognize the very clear and present causes of what a lot of people are experiencing nowadays. In my opinion, it goes beyond anxiety and depression.

(Also. For the people saying you'll go nuts if you aren't busy. Take a look at why that is. Is that a sustainable way of living? Are you comfortable just existing as yourself? Are you trying to distract yourself from something, or avoiding something uncomfortable? Have you possibly adapted well to the pressure of being constantly busy? Think about it from a different angle)

[v6quewrlds]

can we get a blurb of dr reader threading and plucking joes eyebrows

During her residency, she quickly learned one of the unspoken expectations her patients had of her: to be a walking billboard for the very treatments she prescribed. Her skin, therefore, was a canvas of near perfection—flawless and radiant, somehow perceived as a testament to her professional acumen. She took great care to maintain it, using a strict regimen that she had honed over the years. Joe was frequently the beneficiary of her skincare knowledge, though his participation was more sporadic and often accompanied by an endless stream of questions and wry quips.

Tonight, Joe's curiosity was piqued by the array of products spread out before him. He picked up a bottle of serum with an unpronounceable name and squinted at the label. "What's this one do?"

She chuckled, taking the bottle from his hand and placing it back on the nightstand. "That's for later, baby. Just relax," she urged, nudging his upper body to lay against the bed sheets, his head finding a comfortable spot on her thigh.

"What do you wanna watch?" She asked Joe as she settled into the bed, her hand brushing his damp curls back from his forehead. He considered for a moment, then suggested a favorite: "The Office." She nodded and clicked through the streaming service to find the show. It was a familiar comfort, the background noise that filled their evenings when neither felt like talking.

She cleaned her hands with an alcohol wipe, a habit ingrained from her medical training, before she sprayed the tweezers with disinfectant. She leaned over Joe, the TV's glow reflecting in his blue eyes as he attempted to focus on the shenanigans of the employees of Dunder Mifflin. His skin was flushed from the warm bathwater, and she could feel his body tense slightly as she approached his face with the tweezers.

"This won't take long," she assured him, her voice soothing despite her own suppressed amusement at his squeamishness. "Just close your eyes, stay still, and think happy thoughts."

Joe obeyed, his eyes shut tight as she began to carefully pluck his eyebrows into the desired shape. He winced and flinched with every tug, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his skin turning pinker by the minute.

"Stop wincing like that," she scolded playfully, trying to keep a straight face as she moved to steady his head by cupping his chin. "I'm gonna fuck it up."

Joe let out a tense whimper as he tried to relax. "Why did I let you talk me into this?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "Because you love me," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Think of this as a girlfriend tax."

"Girlfriend tax?" Joe grunted, his eyes tightly shut. "More like girlfriend torture."

Her laughter filled the room as she continued her work, each pluck bringing him closer to being done. "You're so brave, my delicate flower," she cooed, her gentle sarcasm bringing a smile to his face despite his discomfort.

When she was finally satisfied with the arches of Joe's eyebrows, she held up the mirror so he could see. He squinted one eye open before peering at his reflection. "Okay," he conceded, "not too shabby."

She hummed knowingly, reaching for a bottle of aloe vera gel. The gel squeezed out onto her fingertips, a soft smile gracing her features as she watched Joe scrutinize her work in the handheld mirror. She smoothed the gel over his reddened skin, her touch light and soothing, the coolness of the aloe providing relief from the sting of the plucking.

"Better?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she finished applying the gel. Joe nodded, his expression relaxing as the soothing coolness began to spread.

"Almost," he murmured, his eyes still glued to the mirror. "Kiss?"

She leaned down, her lips grazing Joe's, a soft apology for the pain she had inflicted. He kissed her back, his hand reaching up to gently stroke her cheek. As she sat up, Joe's gaze remained on her, a hint of excitement flickering in his eyes.

[crushoncaleb]

Be my valentine

Rafayel x reader

Fluff

1.4k words

You try to ask Rafayel to be your valentine. The keyword is try.

A/N. First time I have written something for a holiday or event and actually managed to post it in time! Basically, I couldn't sleep, and Rafayel possessed me. Hope y'all enjoy!

Is this...rejection?

You'd spent some time planning it, even bribed Thomas to get Rafayel the day off. But when you and Rafayel arrived at your usual spot at the beach. He didn't seem to take note of the seagulls at all.

The seagulls you had somehow managed to train into landing in the right order so the letters you stuck to them would ask him to be your valentine. Now, you'd be the first to admit, the whole plan was a little crazy, but with your and Rafayel's history and connection to the seagulls choir, you'd thought it would be cute.

If it had been any more subtle, you might've believed he genuinely missed it. But it's quite hard to believe someone like Rafayel would not see the literal seagull choir the two of you were here to visit. So naturally, you had to assume he was letting you down easy.

Even being let down easy hurt. It completely blindsided you. You were absolutely certain something had been brewing between you and the artist. Hell, last time you'd spent time with him after wearing new perfume, he'd spent about an hour shoving his face against you to breathe you in. You were SO certain that crossed the line of platonic.

You start questioning if perhaps you'd been reading social interactions wrong your entire life, as next to you, Rafayel starts getting antsy.

"Cutie, as much as the sky is beautiful today and I would love to spend time staring at it with you, we should go get lunch now. Thomas' endless texting has tired me out, and I'm huungry. " He speaks, his tone light and whiney as always, and for a second, you consider him world's greatest actor.

You decide that what you felt for Rafayel combined with the effort you'd put into this plan was worth the risk of heartbreak, so in a final effort to get him to acknowledge you, you speak up.

"Don't you want to see your trusty choir first? They're right there behind you. I'm sure they've missed their conductor." You're not sure if you manage to keep your tone quite as light and playful as intended, desperation tinging the edges of your words, but you've spoken them, now he HAS to respond.

A pause, anticipation clogs your veins, and you practically feel your blood pressure rising. "...there's a boat ride with a buffet that might be nice today, since the weather is so nice and all."

Your eyebrows raise, the casual tone of his voice so steady that you almost start questioning if you even did bring it up at all. But the quick look he takes at you and the way he turns away tells you he is definitely doing this on purpose.

It was truly rejection then, your stomach twists and a buffet and a boat ride with Rafayel suddenly sound daunting. You could get over rejection, but maybe not within 10 minutes.

"Hmm, that sounds nice but I'm actually starting to feel a little off," you muse on your excuse "I think I might head home a little earlier than planned today, Rafayel, rain check?"

He turns to face you now, slowly. Eyes wide and brows furrowed, expression reminiscent of that time you gave him a single apple when he checked himself into the hospital. A mix between shock, offense, and a silent command to change your mind.

He grabs your wrist and starts pulling you along. His expression changes in a heartbeat, and it's like you never said anything.

"They apparently have like a super long waiting list, but I got in pretty easily. Guess being well known does have its perks after all, huh?" He keeps talking in that same casual tone of his, which is starting to frustrate you to no end.

"Rafayel, I get that a rain check for the boat might not be easy if it's like that, but I really need to go home." You plead, trying to pull yourself out of his grip but he just turns to you, gives you that same expression that you're convinced only Rafayel can make properly, and then keeps going like you never opened your mouth.

You're baffled at his behavior, and by the time you recover, the two of you are making your way onto the boat.

"Now, I'm going to need you to stop looking so surprised, cutie." He reaches out to gently smooth his fingers over the muscles of your brows, which you will admit are a little tense from how you've had them raised the entire way here. "I need you looking as cute as you always do for the pictures we're gonna take here."

It was one thing to completely ignore what was practically a confession, another to blatantly ignore your request to go home, but the audacity to tell you to not be surprised at his antics? That was too far.

He tries to pull you along again, but you hold steady. He shoots you a questioning look. As if you're the one acting out of the ordinary.

"Rafayel, I want to go home," and you're proud of yourself for standing on business, convinced there is no way for him to just ignore that. In your defense, he doesn't.

Instead, he huffs, his gorgeous features taking on that oh so familiar, annoyed expression. His response is a short "no, you don't" before he takes a step closer to you, only to link your arms and pull you along with the new leverage that gives him.

Then, before you know it, you're standing at the front of the boat as it slides through the water. With no way home except a very prolonged dive.

Rafayel entertains you, and the entire situation had been confusing enough to distract you from his blatant rejection, but now that his weird behavior seems to be settling, reality starts creeping in. You're stuck with him now, so you'll have to keep yourself together until you manage to get off this boat. How vexing.

His first cough doesn't shake you out of the deep thoughts you're in and neither does the second so, Rafayel resorts to nudging you with his elbow when a red fish surfaces with a bottle in its mouth.

You look at him, but he pointedly looks away, like he didn't just practically poke your ribs out. When you lean towards the railing, the fish jumps, and the bottle flies towards you.

You're not actually in the mood to catch it, but your hunter instincts kick in, and in the blink of an eye, the intricate glass bottle is in your hands. You can see a note neatly curled up and tied with a bow, resting inside it.

"Wow, cutie, those are some reflexes." Rafayel feigns being impressed and then presses on. "You should open it. You won the bottle's secrets fair and square once you saved its life."

You narrow your eyes at him. This could not possibly have been more obviously set up by him. Though you will say, his sheer determination to have things go his way is admirable.

You comply, already knowing the only other option was to face his huffing and puffing before then having to comply after all.

The cork takes more effort to open than you'd like, and Rafayel smiles fondly at the slight flush that rises on your face in result. Once you unroll the note, though, your eyes widen.

There, in Rafayel's eclectic handwriting are the very words you'd strung up on your seagulls.

A beat passes, and Rafayel looks at you expectantly. A cute expression on his face, and for a second, you are torn between accepting just to keep him looking like that and raining down righteous retribution on him.

You decide you'd do both. "Rafayel, of course I'll be your valentine, but did you really ha-" his lips halt yours before you could complain at all and you feel said complaints melting away.

The kiss is sweet, Rafayel brings you into his arms as he starts to deepen it, you'd always suspected he'd be a needy kisser, but he pulls away before he gets carried away.

"Sorry, cutie. Couldn't have you interfering with my plans though, you have no idea how long I've waited to make this move." His voice sounds breathy, and his eyes don't leave your lips. His words are so sweet you could almost ignore how he's pretending this was your fault. Almost.

Yet, you'll let it slide. Because as he leans in for another kiss, you just can't find it in yourself to be upset with him.

[zepskies]

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Before we tune back into some 1940s drama, I just wanted to thank you all so much for your wonderful responses on Part 1 of this series. 🥹 It’s my first time doing a story like this, so I’m very happy you liked the jumpstart here. 💖💖

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra

Word Count: 3.7K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hints of PTSD, flirting, dancing…

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Part 2: Devil May Care

After you got home from work the very next day, your apartment was entirely empty.

Predictable. Michael was still out.

This time, you counted it as a blessing. You rifled through every corner, cabinet, pocket, and drawer in search of evidence—anything you could use to prove, without even one shade of a doubt, that your husband was the unfaithful scoundrel you knew him to be. You knew it, deep in your gut. In your very soul.

You even rifled through Michael’s desk in his office, through every single folder, drawer, and booklet. You’d never done such a thing before because he was a particular man about his things, and you respected his privacy. 

That was done now. In your search, you found a useless ball of rubber bands and old coupons. You took his father’s old collection of fountain pens, which you knew Michael was precious about, and threw them haphazardly onto the desk to make room for your seeking hands through the rest of the drawers.

You even came across a small, crumpled photograph from your wedding day. This one made you pause.

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

You sighed and let the picture fall from between your fingertips. It swayed onto the desk’s mahogany wood surface, and rested there. You shook your head and returned your attention to your task at hand, holding your hands to your hips.

The problem was, you didn’t see anything incriminating here…until an idea finally occurred to you. You went into Michael’s closet. You sorted through the suit jackets he still needed to get drycleaned and pressed again.

In one of the pockets, you found a receipt. 

You brought it to Sam Winchester’s office the following morning before work, along with some documents of your household expenses. Like you did the afternoon before, he identified the receipt as one for the Cotton Club, a nightclub in the Upper East Side. You had never been there in your life, but you heard it was one of the new go-to spots in town. It was the kind of place you used to wish Michael would take you to, once in a while.

“It could be a lead or it could be nothing, but I’ll check it out, along with these,” Sam said. He gathered the financial documents you gave him as well. 

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Winchester,” you nodded.

“You can call me Sam if you like,” he said, kind, but still professional. You smiled. Unbidden, it reminded you of his brother.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

Biting the inside of your lip, you gave into the urge to ask the question.

“It was nice of your brother to walk me home last night…what is he up to today then?”

“Ah, well, he’s out to lunch with a young lady he met last night,” Sam replied, with a somewhat wry, but still amused tone to his voice. You frowned.

“Last night? Does your brother meet a lot of women after 9:00 p.m.?” 

Sam chuckled. “He’s not usually wanting for company.”

“I see,” you said flatly. You should have known. The devil-may-care grin on that man was too charming to be anything less than the mark of a shameless flirt. Maybe even a scoundrel. Lord knew you couldn’t take any chances either way.

Dean returned from his day out with Vanessa. She was a nice enough girl, a knockout blonde too. She was smart, studying to be a schoolteacher. But she also tended to twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn’t really remember much of what she said. She did look good doing it though. Not to mention, she let him feel her up while they kissed in one of the alleys, between the ice cream parlor and a drycleaners.

He predictably found his brother whittling away life in his office. Dean dropped his coat and hat on the hanger with a flourish. Sam raised his head from his work with an amused smile.

“Had a good day, did you?” he remarked.

“I can’t complain,” Dean agreed. “Especially when a beautiful woman’s involved.”

Sam shook his head. Before September, he hadn’t seen Dean in three years. Yet some things just didn’t change.

“You gonna see her again?” Sam asked.

Dean made a noncommittal sound. “We’ll see. The day is young, brother.”

Sam raised a finger. “Speaking of which. Mrs. Milligan came by this morning. I’ve been looking through her husband’s finances.”

“Oh really?” Dean sobered as he approached his brother’s desk. “What’d you find?”

“Overall, things seemed to be in order, until I noticed something strange,” Sam said. Dean lowered into the chairs opposite his brother at his desk, and they went over it all together. Sam appreciated another set of eyes on this, with the understanding that Dean would keep the information to himself. 

Starting roughly eleven months ago, there was a check signed to a Mr. Johnson for a moderate sum. Three weeks later, another check, this time a bit larger. For the past few months, Michael Milligan had been making these payments at least once a month, sometimes as much as three, albeit in different amounts.

“He might just have a gambling problem,” Sam said. He rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Or it could be what she’s worried about,” Dean pointed out. “The name could be an alias. Maybe Mike’s paying for someone’s services…or paying her bills, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He checked the dates on the documents again and shook his head. “Mrs. Milligan told me they got married about a year ago, here in the city. It would mean this guy started stepping out on her a month after the wedding.” 

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

A wall of sound. That was the Cotton Club—the band on stage playing jazz tunes, loudly, if skillfully; the clanking of glasses as drinks rolled past; the clamor of heels and leather shoes as couples swung on the dance floor; and the added layer of people raising their voices to compensate. The room was filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, fighting against perfume and cologne and musk and sweat.

It was a bit overwhelming for Dean at first. He tried to ease himself into the scene with Sam at his side, even if he did jolt at the cork of a champagne bottle popping open. Sam noticed, but he mercifully didn’t say anything. He thumped a hand on Dean’s back to steady him under the pretense of a brotherly pat, adding a smile for good measure.

Sam was there to keep a lookout for Michael Milligan. Dean would help, but it wasn’t like he was being paid for it. He was largely aiming to have some fun while his brother was all serious, focused on the work. Dean was here for the community nightlife. 

The beautiful, beautiful community. As a matter of fact, there were lovely ladies everywhere. One sultry blonde was singing an upbeat, jazzy tune at the mic. Dolores Daye, said the banner above the stage.

Dean’s attention shifted from the stage to the scattered round tables outside the dance floor, as well as the chair lined up at the bar. His gaze caught on someone familiar—on you, sat at a table by yourself. His eyes widened. He slowed to a stop while Sam went on ahead.

You were stunning, almost unrecognizable in a shimmering black dress that hugged every lush part of your figure, with sleeves that draped off your shoulders. His eyes drew down your crossed legs, the sheer pantyhose, leading to a pair of tall, shining black heels.   

You wore a hat and partial veil that covered half your face, but he knew it was you. Those lips of yours were familiar on sight. Now they were painted red, dark and luscious.

“Dean?” Sam questioned him. He’d turned back when he realized his brother wasn’t keeping up with him. Dean subtly pointed you out. Sam raised his brows, but then he noticed what you were doing. You had a glass of wine in hand, and you seemed to be watching someone.

Every now and then your gaze would travel across the room, where your husband Michael was sat at a table filled with other men and women. They were laughing, drinking, playing cards. 

Sam and Dean shared a conspiring look, one that said they had the same thought. They went over to you. 

Sensing you were being approached, you looked over and found the pair of tall, familiar men with a widening of your eyes. That pretty mouth of yours fell open in surprise. 

“What’re you doing here?” you whisper-hissed. You beckoned them to sit down so they weren’t standing out so much while talking to you. Both Winchester men were broad-shouldered and tall as oaks.

“The same thing you’re doing, apparently,” Sam said, once he and Dean were sitting across from you at the table. He showed you the camera he had hidden in his coat pocket. “I’m going to see if I can get a read on what your husband’s up to, maybe collect some evidence.”

You let out a rush of breath. “Good, thank you.”

“Until then, maybe you’d be more comfortable at home,” he suggested.

Dean knew what his brother was getting at. This wasn’t the kind of place for a woman to be hanging around…unaccompanied. Not a respectable one like you, who clearly wasn’t used to being in a roaring nightclub. Plus, if Michael did slip up here, it wasn’t exactly going to be pleasant for you.

You still shook your head stubbornly. “No. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Sam almost sighed, but Dean shot him a nod. Right then, they had an understanding. Dean would stay and look out for you while Sam tried to get closer to Michael. Sam left you and Dean together at the table thereafter, and Dean ordered a drink for himself. You sipped at your wine.

Dean glanced at you in appreciation. You really were beautiful…and not just tonight. Though he had to smile at your “disguise.”

“You think that getup is gonna fool your husband?” he remarked, gesturing at your form.

Your lips pursed, but you kept your head angled towards him, so that your hat and veil continued to hide your face from Michael’s direction.

“It has so far,” you retorted. “And this isn’t a getup.”

You smoothed slightly self-conscious hands down the skirt of your dress. Dean smiled. 

“All right, I’m sorry. Poor choice of words,” he said. He dropped his chin and raised his brows, earning your gaze under the hat. “It’s quite a dress, sweetheart.”

I’d like to see you out of it, he thought, even though he immediately stamped it down. You weren’t exactly available, no matter how delectable you were. The interesting part was, you didn’t seem to realize it as you fidgeted in your seat, a little self-consciously.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you snipped.

His lips tugged at a smirk. He tilted your hat up a little so he could see more of your frowning face. 

“Want me to do better?” he teased. 

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, I’m distracting?”

You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him.

It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

“How about this,” Dean said. He finished off his whiskey and held out a hand to you. “Dance with me. You’ll have a better vantage point to spy on Mike over there.”

“Keep your voice down,” you shushed, glancing around.

Dean just smirked. He beckoned you again with a raise of his brows.

You hesitated, but you still eventually dropped your hand into his. He stood before you so he could help you to your feet. You allowed him to escort you over to the dance floor, and all the while you fought off your nerves. You were only doing this because he had a good idea; this would help you keep an eye on Michael without looking so out of place, a woman drinking alone at the table.

The band was playing a moderately paced song, which was good. You weren’t in this to be swept into the air.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, once he had you in his arms. His hands were respectably placed on your waist and in your hand. You knew you did have to relax though. Already you were too stiff while tentatively holding his hand, your other resting on his shoulder.

“I haven’t danced in—in a while,” you admitted. You were a little nervous as you began swaying with Dean, letting him lead you. He turned you about with ease, even twirling you under his hand.

“See? There’s nothing to it,” he said, welcoming you back into his arms. “When’s the last time you had some fun?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it. You and Dean shuffled about the dance floor in more complicated steps as the song increased in tempo. You were breathless in a good way. In a way that you couldn’t even remember needing to breathe as the golden lights sparkled in the corners of your eyes.

“He took me to a club like this once, about…I’d say month or so after we got married last year,” you admitted between spins. You had to hold a hand to your head to keep your hat on.

You were distracted enough by it all—the spinning, the laughter and tinkling glasses, the flashes of spotlight in between sultry dim shades, the heady smell of this man’s cologne, and his every touch, however brief on your body, but just as confident and measured. You actually told him the truth.

“I’ve been dying to get out more ever since, but…” you trailed as he spun you again, then winded you back into the growing familiarity of his arms.

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine.

“Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

You lowered your eyes, but not very far. They landed on his plush lips in contemplation. When your eyes met his again, Dean had a conundrum. He just didn’t think he cared all that much about the consequences.

His head began to bow towards yours, just when the song slowed to a stop. Almost without realizing it, he pressed his hand a little more insistently on the small of your back. You found yourself accepting that guiding pressure. Half-lidded eyes and heavy, mingled breaths in between…

“Let’s hear it again for Dolores Daye, everybody!” the host called out.

You snapped to attention and glanced over Dean’s shoulder at the singer. She waved goodbye to the crowd with a sensuous smile on her ruby red lips. Then she walked off stage in her glittering golden dress, and she grabbed hold of a man’s tie. That man was your husband.

Michael wore a wide smile on his face as she led him to his feet by his tie. He stood, his form looming over her, though she didn’t seem to mind—especially when his arm wrapped too familiarly around her waist.

It wasn’t the kind of embrace you would see between strangers, even for the sake of a good show for the crowd. Their faces became impossibly close, but it was just shy of a kiss as she laughed, a sound like fine crystal bells.

Dean noticed why you froze. He turned to look over his shoulder and his expression faded, becoming grim. He led you off the stage, and while keeping a discreet eye on the scene, he lingered at the bar in the center of the room. His arm stayed around your waist. He could tell himself it was to stay in character, but really, he just wanted to keep you grounded…that right now, you weren’t alone.  

Here by the bar, it was far enough that Michael likely wouldn’t notice you, but close enough that you both could hear what was happening.

The host stepped down from the stage and joined Dolores and Michael, laying a heavy hand on your husband’s shoulder. Yet another clue that Michael showed his face here all too frequently. The host waved over his entire table of friends, Sam included. He’d managed to get himself invited to sit with them.

“Come on. Join us out back,” said the host, gesturing behind the curtain.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“For a card game or two, a little smoke, a nice little drink,” Michael said, grabbing Sam’s shoulder. “You in?”

Sam nodded. He glanced over and found Dean across the room with his eyes. They shared a brief, but telling look, after which Sam followed Michael and Dolores past the curtain discreetly. Meanwhile, you were already pulling away from Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go,” you murmured.

You went back to the table to collect your purse. You left the rest of your wine there with a few bills on the table to cover it, and you were off, walking brusquely to the front doors. Dean followed suit, laying some money down for his own drink before he followed after you. The clerk at the front brought you your coat after you handed over your ticket, and Dean did the same.

“Hey, why don’t I take you home,” he said, having to raise his voice even here over the noise.

“No, thank you,” you said thickly.

After you had your coat on, you hastened to the closest bus stop outside the club. It was late, it was dark, and it was cold. You saw your fragile breath on the air as you stood there in your tall heels, and you held yourself for more than one reason as you fought off bitter tears.

You bit your lip and blinked against the burn, but you still had to swipe a few droplets quickly from your cheeks. You tried to even out your shallow breaths. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and started squeezing whatever they found. Whatever was left.

Dean sidled up to you with his hands in his pockets. You heaved a sharp sigh, recognizing him just by his shadow casting beside yours under the streetlamp. You kept your face away from him as you wiped at your tears.

“Why do you insist on watching me be miserable?” you asked. 

“Aw, come on, sweetheart.” He shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. “I know you’re upset. I just want to make sure you get home safe, that’s all. …You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.” 

You slowly shot him a glance, but you didn’t budge. Your frown deepened along with your furrowed brows.  

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said.

It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression.

Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs. 

His words touched you, more deeply than he probably realized. Part of you still wanted to give a sharp retort, that you didn’t need a chaperone. You didn’t need him to swoop in and collect you like broken glass…but a larger part of you craved the company. You didn’t want to be alone.

Soon enough, the next bus pulled up at the curb in front of you. The doors opened. 

Dean gestured with a sweeping hand towards the bus’s steps. 

Ladies first.

With another small sigh, you climbed up without a word. You even accepted his helping hand as you did so. Dean stepped up after you, and the doors closed behind you both.

AN: Welp, Happy Valentine's Day! 😅💜 Quite literally an angsty ride here, but what should happen on this bus going nowhere...

Next Time:

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable, like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile slid into a smirk. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that.

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[consistently-panicked]

Ok hold on. Now I don’t disagree with your take. Jess is 100% given way more shit than he deserves by people. He’s a heavily traumatized teenager and a lot of his actions stem from that. He reacts based on how he feels in the moment and very little logic (which, again, he’s a teenager. This is very normal).

BUT, he did way more than outlining a body in chalk outside of Doose’s to get the “bad boy” reputation. He stole from Babette (Pierpon, gorgeous), he attempted to steal the beer from Lorelai, he stole Rory’s bracelet (yes he found it after it had fallen off, but he still took it and didn’t return it until much later), he got in fights at school (whether Chuck Presby deserved to be punched is besides the point, to a small town like Stars Hollow fighting would absolutely have people thinking you’re a “problem child”), he skipped school constantly (same situation as the fighting. People should’ve been asking him why he was skipping school and tried to help him feel more engaged and actually care about his education. Whether he would’ve accepted the help is another question, but he was a child and most of the adults in his life fundamentally failed him).

And now, for the biggest example of Jess being the bad boy, and honestly that’s not even the way I’d phrase it because in this moment he’s really just acting like a bad person. Season 3, Episode 19. Oh boy. Consent wise, the scene from the party is extremely dubious. Rory is very clearly uncomfortable and she is verbally expressing this. But Jess continues. In my opinion, the whole scene feels very coercion/ manipulation esque. Him continuing to pursue Rory in this moment doesn’t stop until she physically removes herself from the room. It’s an incredibly uncomfortable scene to watch and it’s because of Jess’ gross actions. Of course, we don’t know how many people in Stars Hollow’s know about what happened, but there were many people who witnessed him and Dean fighting afterwards and considering what a small town it is, I’m sure at least part of the story was known.

So listen. I think the people of Stars Hollow’s judged him way too harshly way too quickly and more often than not, his actions were not those of a bad boy, but those of an angry and traumatized teenager who needed HELP. But there were also quite a few instances where his choices affected others negatively, and whether you’re traumatized or a teenager it’s important to recognize that your choices affect others. And, of course, nothing excuses the way he acted at that party and I hope that at some point he apologized to Rory and really took a step back to evaluate his actions. It’s the least he could do.

(Now, I didn’t bring anything up about the whole car situation and there’s a reason. I think that is a huge example of the town just blaming him because it was easy and convenient to pin it on the kid no one liked, the bad boy. Even though it was Rory’s fault and she tried to tell everyone as much.)

Sorry for the long ramble, this show has been my most prominent hyperfixation for years, so I have a LOT of thoughts about it and the characters.

Jess’s ‘bad boy’ label to me is so, so funny. He is constantly reading, works two jobs, saved enough money to buy a car—but he’s the ultimate bad boy in the town’s eyes. Let’s be clear, the most ‘rebellious’ thing he did was the chalk outline outside Doose’s. Boy did magic tricks for his crush, why is he labeled a bad boy? 😭

[lunarsworld]

ʚଓ i’m your babydoll…

warnings: MDNI, 18+, unprotected p in v, overstimulating, the L bomb, dirty talk/explicitness pairing: smallville!clark x f!reader

as soon as you moved to smallville, you had every single persons head turning. the way your hips swayed, your short shorts, and every inch of your exposed skin had the towns teenagers in a frenzy. but one boy in particular caught your eye. what immediately made clark appealing to you was just his sheer size. every man you ever hookedup with was definitely tall, but compared to them clark was an absolute fucking machine.

just for shits and giggles one day, you and lana went to watch a bunch of the guys play basketball. and they just so happened to get so sweaty and hot that they took their shirts off! for the entire rest of the scrimmage, your eyes never left clarks. and oh boy did he notice.

after it ended, like always, you ran up to him with a bottle of ice cold water. when he grabbed it from you, his hands almost fully covered yours and the thought of what he could do with them made you whimper. “you alright?” he questions. you just nod your head in response and look into his eyes, praying and hoping he could make a move. but clark was nervous. so fucking nervous. the way your little ripped jean shorts showed the bottom of your ass? how he could practically see your nipples poking out of your tank top? the poor boy thought he was genuinely about to cum in his pants from just that.

“can we hangout? kinda bored and i have nothing else to do at home…” you muttered out of sheer embarrassment. never in your life has a man made you this dripping, especially considering the fact clark hadn’t even touched you yet. “yea we can chill in the loft or whatever you want. just get in the truck.” he answered, patting the roof of his truck.

30 minutes into the drive and clark found himself pulling over to a cleared space on the side of the road and with you on top of him. grinding your clothed bud against his hardness was so agonizing for you both. “let’s get these off- please,” he begged. to think you were scared of this boy when he was practically whimpering under you just baffled you. you leaned back and let him unbutton your jeans, almost ripping them off with the sheer amount of force, and he started instinctively rubbing his fingers along your clit. “fuck clark. just like that.” you moan into his mouth. as your grinding moves faster against his hips and he can tell your getting close he pulls his fingers away. you whine at the loss of contact but your whole demeanor changes when you look at where clark traded his hands to. he undoes his belt, pulls down his pants, and for the first time in your life you were nervous.

again, like before, you’ve seen all sizes and girths, but clark kent was genuinely inhuman. the length of his cock seemingly would hit up to your belly button if he were all the way in, and his width looked like he could tear you in half with it. “everything alright, baby? your staring ya’know.” he mutters, scared that you’re silently judging him. “no its just i don’t know if it’ll fit.” you whine, putting on an innocent front. you want need clark to lose control. “i’ll go nice and slow for ya, how that sound?” he says, slowly shifting your hips so your hovering over his cock. you slowly begin to sit down, taking in his length. you’re only about halfway down his dick when you wore yourself out. “c’mon, only a little more to go.” clark pleaded and as soon as you hear his little whimper and you squeezed around him and felt his dick twitch inside you, you couldn’t do it anymore. “just use me clark. want you to fuck me like a toy.” you whimper.

that was all the confirmation clark needed. as soon as those words left your mouth he began pounding into you at an unfathomable speed. he hits your g-spot over and over again until your squirting on his dick for the third time. clark wastes no time after that adjusting you into the backseat to finish you off in a mating press. he’s pumping in and out of you slower than before, but this round he’s savoring because now he’s finally ready to cum. he looks at your fucked out eyes, the sweat beading down your forehead, the marks left on your tits, and, his favorite, listens to your broken words. he was relishing in the way your voice was so hoarse and the fact you could barely speak because of his dick. he fucked you dumb. and now you were his. “my fuckin needy girl- yea? gonna cum all on my cock again? fuckin love this shit, love you-” he cuts himself off when he comes in you. and when you come with him as the exact same time, thats how he knows. “good girl, now lets head to the loft and get you cleaned up.” he says, acting like you can really fully process what just happened. “and if you’re good maybe we can do this again, huh?”

a/n: hi sorry if this sucks i haven’t written in a while bc of college acceptances and life and stuff but i hope u guys likey happy valentinesss

[mono-dot-jpeg]

focus and study - viktor

summary; in which viktor gives you a proper incentive to study hard and even helps you relieve some stress

genre/extra tags; small one shot, modern college au, smut, fluff, half baked smut, established relationship, this could be considered a prequel to my jayvik reader smut, viktor and reader were together first and jayce joined in not long after, OR jayce thought they were dating already and viktor reader thought too hard about the relationship, silly shit at the end, jayvik freak agenda, OOC viktor????, open ended

word count; 1.1k

[nsfw] [gender neutral reader]

[warnings; sex toys, dom! vik my beloved, written by a sex neutral asexual, orgasm denial/edging, overstimulation?, voyeurism?, implied dacryphyilia, degradation???, vik call you a slut, whore, dumbification?? idk how to spell that one how fitting, riding, slight oral, a small step up from mean viktor compared to my other fic]

a/n; umm... no notes. written in January, finished for valentines. this world will never give me viktor league for valentines. this is so half baked. im so sorry viktor nation.

studying was the worst. at least for you. you, who usually had a good sense of confidence when it came to your classes, felt like screaming into the void with every curse you knew.

nothing just seemed to be clicking in your mind. no matter how many times you went over it yourself, how you asked the teacher, how you asked some classmates. nothing worked.

but then viktor had this genius idea.

"hah... viktor.. i don't- i don't kn-know.." you gasped between words as you feel how sticky your lower half has become as you sat at your desk. you've never been more thankful to only afford a cheap chair because you just know that any leather seat would have you riding on it like it's viktor's own dick. "i don't know- the- the answer-! ngh!" your body trembles as the stupid hot red dildo stuck in you vibrated gently. it was enough to feel but not enough to satisfy. it wasn't even big enough to hit any good spots, too.

"dear.. you can do better than this. i don't date a dumb whore.. do i?" he said sitting on your bed as he fiddled and twisted with the setting on your vibrator. his smirk is subtle every time he gains a whine out of you when he turns the settings higher or lower.

you shook your head, intensely disagreeing with him as you try to hold back from touching yourself. "n-no.. i'm not dumb.." you whined into your hand that did nothing to cover your moans.

"we have 5 more questions, pretty. can you do them for me?" he asked. you can hear him stand up, and you see his figure at your vanity mirror as he approaches you. you can see how hard he is with his pants tightening by his dick. "i'd be very happy if i could give you a reward."

you look at your written notes, but everything seems to blur and mesh together. you shift in your seat, and the vibrator just grazes your sweet spot. you crumble and whine loudly at the absolute lack of satisfaction you just felt. so close but so far. you don't even realize you're crying.

"is my poor love too much of a dumb slut to handle some math assignments? you can't even think, right? you can't even answer my questions anymore.." he said, his hand resting on your cheek as he turns you to face him. "what will i ever do with you?" he turns the settings higher, leaving your legs twitching and shaking for more.

"v-viktor.. please.." you cried out. "i want- want you so b-badly.." you can't help your hand traveling down to your heated area to start touching yourself for any sense of satisfaction. but viktor stops you from doing too much.

"now, now, what did i say about touching yourself? i should teach you how to behave properly. i'd say i could fuck you stupid but that wouldn't be so right for this scenario, would it?"

you start getting desperate, your hands grip at his pants tugging at them and looking up at him with glazed eyes for a chance to have him in you. "v-vik- ah.. please.." your body is only turned to him now, your face covered in tears as the vibrator is only grazing and brushing at your sweet spot.

"my pretty dumb slut, is that what you are now?" he asked, holding your face by your chin. his thumb rubs at your tears. "you listen to me so well, and yet you can't even finish reviewing your notes as i told you to." he shook his head in feign disappointment before moving back to the bed. you follow him, your bodily fluids drip down your legs in a way that makes you feel so pathetic, but you don't even care at this point. you need him so bad.

"please- viktor- i want to- i want-" you can't even speak right. not when he's unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. you almost drool at the sight of him.

"you should be good enough to not cum until i tell you, yes?" you nodded eagerly at his words. "look at you, you're drooling over me." he commented, but most of your sense is thrown out the window as you start licking at his dick. your warm mouth starts to suck and hollow your cheeks as you blow him. you can see how much he enjoys it, but he stops you from doing too much. he grabs a condom to put on, and your body shivers in excitement.

you both move to a more comfortable position, resting fully on the bed rather than on the edge of it. he takes the vibrator out of you, leaving you whining from the emptiness. "no whining, dear." he said as he sat on the bed, pants tossed to the side, boxers somewhere on the floor, and his white button-up open and loose. "ride." he gives the one command, and you go for it. you keep it careful so as not to disturb his hurt leg too much.

you line yourself with his cock and slowly sink, moaning at him filling you so well. you start riding not long after once you get used to the feeling of him. but you're so close to cumming due to the vibrator simply torturing you earlier that your body shivers and shakes from you holding back. "let- let me cum, v-viktor!" you gasp between pumps. his hands on your hips guide the pace.

"you couldn't even answer 5 questions for your notes. are you sure you're not my dumb slut? you can't even think about anything but my cock, right now? nothing but my pretty whore."

"please, please, please!" you repeated, your eyes unfocused and blown out as your mind draws blanks. "wanna cum! please!"

"you're asking so nicely. perhaps you're not that dumb." he hummed. "you can cum now, dear." he purred before holding your face to his, to kiss you stupid. you instinctively respond to his kisses and the last thrust that hits your sweet spot, leaving you to moan his name out. "that wasn't a great plan, but we learned a lot, didn't we?" you would be mad at him for being so composed and calm this whole time if you weren't so fuzzy brained right now. he slowly guides you to pull out and tosses the condom in the nearby trash bin. you move slowly and lean down to finish him off.

"you don't have to do that, dear."

your response is muffled, and you don't even pull away. you refuse to leave your man unsatisfied, but his next words have you pausing, "jayce can do that for you. isn't that right, jayce?" you pause to look over at the door and see a heaving jayce with a hard rock cock stuffed in his pants and a guilty puppy look on his warm face.

[ghostinthetumbchine]

If we're considering this seriously.. well, eonwe would need competences with working with criminals and in resocialisation and rehabilitation. Which notabene seems to be quite lacking/nonexistant department in Valinor...

"Choose good" will not work on anyone whose perception of wrong or right are already altered as we know is the case here. Will not work on its own also on anyone whose ability to do so is hindered by an addiction (check, according to showrunners), maladaptive trauma responses (check if we interpret his words and behaviour/body language anytime hes talking Morgoth so), already solidified maladaptive and antisocial behaviour patterns (check). Then theres additional layer of cynicism and bitterness and philosophical/political differences that are hinted at (that i personally would love to be explored but not counting on it) on the entire Eru is Good and the hierarchy they are in is good and any initial motivating factors, resentments, etc that have originally pushed him to "stray" that probably remain unsolved and deterrents to listen to any of them and their opinions for him, subjectively.

Even if we interpret Diarmid as Eonwe or talk Eonwes response to him in legendarium when he orders him to go to Valinor, the question is. Are we discussing what more/different could be said and done that could have potentially helped him choose right or. Whether Eonwe has a slightest idea what to do with such a person even if he genuinely wanted to help him.

The Rings of Power | 2.01

[doctorbitchcrxft]

In The Beginning | Metamorphosis | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader ( :0 ? )

Warnings: angst! alllll the angst. fire, burn wounds, canon gore,

Word Count: 4765

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

The morning sun rose as you continued to frantically scribble in your journal anything and everything you could possibly think of pertaining to the apocalypse. 

Your laptop was opened to pinging the location of the Impala; you had no doubt the brothers would be on the move again soon. 

Sure enough, you were right. You followed the speeding car to a few states over. With the sun setting on a day full of driving and stalking the brothers, you were grateful when the beacon signaling the Impala’s location started heading toward a motel. 

You knew it would be too dangerous to stay at the same motel they did, and thankfully, found another just five minutes away. If the two men did set off again, you were close enough that it wouldn’t be hard to catch up to them. 

Being so close, yet so far from Dean was hurting you. It almost was a physical pain clawing at your insides. Everything was just wearing so heavy on your soul, and you wanted your person to comfort you. 

It had been a while since you had a warm shower. Sure, the water pressure wasn’t ideal, but at least it wasn’t a truck stop bathroom shower. And either option was superior to a sink bath.

You dried your hair with your towel, feeling too tired to take care of your hair in any other way. While you brushed your teeth lazily, all you could do was stare into your reflection. Your eyes were heavy, your hair was in sodden knots, and your face was pallid. 

Following a nighttime routine that was now considered a luxury to you after months of living in your car or an abandoned cabin made you feel like you were existing outside of your body. You felt completely detached from who you’d become when you were with the Winchesters. Despite Dean having come back, you could only think of your life in terms of before his death and after. Both versions of you felt like completely separate individuals. 

Thinking of Dean made you clutch the pillow beside you to your chest. Then, alone in your motel room, you slowly drifted off to sleep. 

***

You jolted awake to see Uriel standing at the foot of your bed. 

“What can I do for you?” you sighed, throwing your legs over the side of the bed and rubbing your hands down your thighs. 

Uriel tilted his head. “I’m surprised at you, (Y/N).”

You gave him a curious look. 

“You’re usually far more argumentative,” he finished. 

“I’m too tired to fight you,” you admitted. 

“There are things you don’t know about the Winchesters,” the angel told you. 

“Like what?” You stretched your arms back, yawning deeply. 

“Mary made a deal.”

That snapped you to attention. “Dean’s mom?!”

“Yes. A deal that resulted in Azazel returning to her home ten years later for Sam. For what; we don’t know,” he explained. 

You shook your head in disbelief. “Why the hell would she do that?” “Her mother, father, and John were about to die,” he responded. 

“Oh.” You stared at the floor, mind reeling with this new information. “What does that have to do with me?”

“You have to stop him, (Y/N),” he said. 

“Who, Sam?”

The angel nodded emotionlessly. 

“Wait, why? Stop him from doing what?”

His disdainful look quieted you down. “You ask far too many questions.” After a brief pause, he told you, “425 Waterman.”

“What does that mean?”

Before you could get an answer out of him, he was gone.

You plugged “425 Waterman” into a search engine and found it led to a seemingly abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. With your duffel bag in hand, you set off.

****

Dean burst up from his bed, back in the present as opposed to 1973. Castiel stood near the hunter’s feet while he breathed out, “I couldn't stop any of it. She still made the deal. She still died in the nursery, didn't she?”

“Don't be too hard on yourself. You couldn't have stopped it,” the angel replied evenly. 

Dean stood at attention, shoulders bristling with anger. “What?”

Castiel’s reply was infuriatingly simple. “Destiny can't be changed, Dean. All roads lead to the same destination.”

“Then why'd you send me back?”

“For the truth,” the angel said. “Now you know everything we do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean gave an incredulous look. 

Castiel looked over to the other bed which apparently hadn’t been slept in; Dean noted this as well. “Where’s Sam?” he asked. 

Castiel avoided his question. “We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don't know is why; what his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up.”

Dean gritted the question out through his teeth a second time. “Where's Sam?”

“425 Waterman.”

Dean grabbed his keys and jacket, stalling by the door for only a minute. “ ‘S, uh—”

Castiel turned back around to face him. 

“Is (Y/N) involved in all this? Does she know… anything?”

Dean’s face dropped in shock when the angel nodded. 

“What the hell are you guys doing to her?” the hunter asked, eyebrows knitting together. 

Castiel, once again, avoided his question. “Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or she will.”

**** You heard Sam asking, “Where’s Lilith?” from a distance away as you entered the damp, dark warehouse from its back door. Silently, you used the shadows to hide your own as you approached Sam and whoever he was talking to. 

“Kiss my ass,” the man responded. You could almost hear a taunting smile in his voice; no doubt he was a demon. 

“I'd watch myself if I were you,” Sam replied. 

“Why? Huh? Because you're Sam Winchester, Mr. Big Hero? And yet here you are, slutting around with some demon. Real hero.” That nearly made you falter. ‘Demon?!’ you thought. ‘Was that who I saw him with at the diner?!’

“Tell me about those months without your brother,” the demon continued. “About all the things you and this demon bitch do in the dark.”

‘Holy fuck, Sam.’

Through a rack of cardboard boxes, you were able to see Sam forcing the demon out of his vessel. Your eyes widened in shock, and you swore your heart stopped for a moment. 

A short woman with dark hair emerged from the shadows. “How'd it feel?”

Sam smiled. “Good. No more headaches.” He started to untie the man in front of him, and thankfully, he hadn’t seen you yet. 

“None?” the demon asked. “That’s good.” The man started to stir, and Sam helped him toward the door behind him. 

‘Thank god I came in from the back,’ you mentally remarked. 

Suddenly, the door opened to reveal Dean who looked very, very angry. 

Sam stopped in his tracks, and your heart nearly stopped. 

‘Oh, fuck.’

“So,” Dean sneered, “anything you wanna tell me, Sam?”

“Dean, hold on, okay? Just let me—”

“You gonna say, ‘let me explain’? You're gonna explain this? How about this? Why don't you start with who she is—” he pointed to the demon which you were equally curious about, “and what the hell is she doing here?”

The woman had a smile in her voice. “It's good to see you again, Dean.”

Your hand flew to your mouth. 

“Ruby?” Dean questioned.

That was who you’d assumed it was, too. 

“Is that Ruby?” Dean asked Sam, becoming angrier with each word. 

Suddenly, Dean attacked Ruby and shoved her against the wall she’d been standing against while watching the interrogation. 

“Don’t!” Sam cried, fighting Dean for the knife he was holding. 

Dean threw Sam against the wall, too, while Ruby struggled her way out of his hold. Suddenly, she had Dean pinned against the wall with her hand around his neck. 

Just as you were about to jump out and help him, Sam ordered, “Ruby, stop it!”

You held your breath as you waited for Ruby to release him. When she finally let him go, he taunted, “Well, aren't you an obedient little bitch?”

“Ruby,” Sam warned. 

When she still didn’t back off, he brought up the man who was possessed earlier. “Ruby, he's hurt. Go.”

With one more undoubtedly scathing look at Dean, she turned to help the man out of the room. 

“Where the hell do you think you're going?” Dean growled at her. 

“The ER. Unless you want to go another round first,” she smirked. 

When he didn’t say anything, she left. Dean and Sam just stared at each other for a long moment. 

“Dean,” Sam muttered. 

Dean just stormed out of the door after Ruby, leaving Sam behind. 

“Dean!”

****

“Uriel!” you called as soon as you got into your motel room. “We gotta talk, man.”

When you turned around at the sound of angel wings, you immediately began interrogating him. “What was that? How can Sam do that?

“Do you understand why you have to stop him in the event that Dean doesn’t?” the angel asked. 

“Wait, ‘stop him,’ how?”

“You know how,” he replied. 

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, I’m not gonna kill him—”

“If Dean can’t stop him, you will,” Uriel insisted with that frustratingly assertive tone. “He’s on a dangerous path, (Y/N). One that will have devastating consequences.”

Uriel left you to stew on his words. You knew you could drive yourself crazy trying to understand what he meant by “devastating consequences,” but given how Revelations went, you were sure it wasn’t good. 

Still, the idea of having to kill your friend if Dean couldn’t “stop him”— whatever that entailed— was horrifying. If you and Dean did survive the apocalypse, he would never forgive you for killing his brother. Not to mention, you would never forgive yourself. 

You laid in bed for hours with your arms wrapped around yourself. It hurt to think. It hurt to cry. Being awake hurt. As you’d written in your journal, “Being Heaven’s bitch is no joke.”

****

The next day, you followed the Winchesters to Carthage, Missouri. How they hadn’t killed each other on the drive there, you weren’t sure.

It seemed they were on a stakeout of their own. With all of the “end of the world” business, you were relieved to be back on what seemed like a normal hunt. Granted, you tried to convince yourself that it was normal. Being in yet another stolen car while stalking Sam and Dean was by no means your preferred version of normalcy. 

You tried to get a closer look at the house Sam and Dean were staking out by using your pair of binoculars. All you could see through the kitchen window was a man in a clean white t-shirt holding a package of raw meat. At first, nothing seemed odd. Then, as if overcome by an insatiable need that rivaled that of a heroin addict, the man tore into the package with his bare hands. His chin and shirt became bloodied while he shoveled gobs of meat into his mouth. 

Your face contorted in a grimace, and you pulled the binoculars away from your face in disgust. 

****

Sam and Dean headed out for some dinner, and you took that as an opportunity to bug their motel room. You needed to understand what they did about this hunt given you hadn’t found any obituaries in the papers or news that could be tied to him, and your wildest idea ended up being the most logical, too. Bugging their room wasn’t ideal, and it required you to drop a few hundred dollars in a nearby tech store. You’d spent a few hours prior learning how exactly to hook them up to your computer remotely. 

Upon entering the room that you were completely positive was Sam and Dean’s, you found a balding, older man sitting at the table with a beer. 

He startled to his feet, and you drew your gun. He returned the gesture. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you sneered. 

“Could ask you the same question,” he replied. 

“Why are you in my room?” you asked, lying easily. 

“This ain’t your room,” the man grunted. 

“Oh, really?” You were beginning to doubt that you’d actually found the right room. ‘It definitely said ‘7’ on the door.’ 

“I know the boys this room belongs to. So unless you’re a groupie—”

The tension in your shoulders lessened slightly. “Wait, you know Sam and Dean?”

The man seemed surprised. “...Yeah. Friend of their dad’s. How do you know them?”

You smirked, stowing your gun. “Like you said: groupie.” You pretended you’d left something in their room during your most recent romp with Dean, and used that time to discreetly plant the bugs. You left so many that even if they found one, they would never find them all. 

“You found your necklace?” the man asked as you headed for the door.

“No,” you sighed, frowning a little. Then, you shrugged. “It’s alright. I can always buy another one.” 

You breathed out a sigh of relief when you’d made it back to your car without any further interruptions. With your headphones in your ears, you prepared for the long night of snooping ahead. 

You discovered the man’s name was Travis, and he did, in fact, know Sam and Dean’s dad. With pleasantries exchanged, Travis inevitably brought you up.

“You had time to stake out Montgomery’s house? Y’know, after you picked up that girl?” he laughed. 

When an uncomfortable silence passed, Dean said, “Travis, what girl?”

“There was a girl here earlier. She said she knew you two.” He sounded just as confused as Dean. 

“We ain’t been in town long enough to pick up any girls. That’d be record timing, even for me,” Dean joked despite his obvious alarm. 

“Oh, shit,” Travis cursed. “I— I’m sorry, boys, she said she’d left a necklace here? She wasn’t here for longer than five minutes. Just looked for her stuff and left.”

“What’d she look like?” Sam asked.

Travis described your height, hair color and skin color to the best of his memory, to which Dean chuckled coldly. It made your stomach drop just a little. 

“Oh, yeah. Old fling of mine,” he spat. “She just can’t let me go.” You knew he knew you were listening. It made his words cut you that much deeper, and you were sure that was exactly what he was intending.

****

Time went by of just sitting and listening to the Winchesters talk to John’s friend about how to kill a rougarou. You’d heard of them before; cajun folklore had always been incredibly interesting to you. 

Dean and Sam seemed to have made no effort to find any of the bugs given none of them had gone off-line. 

Something Sam brought up caught your attention. He said there are theories around rougarous who never turn because they never eat human flesh or “long pig.” 

It seemed Travis was moving around as he spoke. “Fact is, every rougarou I ever saw or heard of took that bite.”

“Okay, well, that doesn’t mean that Jack will,” Sam argued. It was just like listening to him argue with John, and that memory almost brought a smile to your face; reminiscent of a simpler time with no angels and no apocalypse. 

“So what do we do? Sit and hope and wait for a body count?” Travis argued.

“No, we talk to him. Explain what's happening. That way, he can fight it.”

Travis snorted. “Fight it? Are you kidding me?” He lowered his voice to almost a growl. “You ever been really hungry? I mean, haven't-eaten-in-days hungry?”

You had been. You’d let Steven have most of the groceries your father and mother had purchased for the week; especially since your father would purposefully ration your food to keep you small. It made you better at fitting into small hiding places. 

You knew Dean had been, too. You’d always figured he jumped at the chance for every burger he could get his hands on as a result of him giving up his own food for Sam when they were kids. 

“So somebody slaps a big, juicy sirloin in front of you, you walking away?” Travis continued. “That's what we are to him now: meat on legs. I'm sorry. I'm sure he's a stand-up guy, but it's pure, base instinct. Everything in nature's gotta eat. You think he can stop himself 'cause he's nice?”

Sam firmly responded, “I don't know. But we're not gonna kill him unless he does something to get killed for.”

The room went silent for a moment before you heard the door slam behind who you assumed was Sam. He was always one to walk away as opposed to continuing an argument. 

“What's up with your brother?”

Dean just muttered, “Don’t get me started.”

****

When the room finally went quiet that night, and Travis had left, you leaned your seat back to try and get some rest. With your computer plugged into its portable charger and the car completely silent, you curled up into the seat. 

Moving too far from the bugs would cripple your ability to access them. Thus, sleeping in the car, it was.

Suddenly, a terrifying thought crossed your mind. What Uriel was having you do was only going to incriminate you more if the FBI caught up to you. You were stalking two men. With a trail of men assumed dead behind you, they’d only think you were preparing for your next kill. Panic rose in your chest the more and more you realized you were becoming no different than a serial killer. Even if you did manage to make things up to Dean some kind of way, you’d never be able to look at yourself in the mirror the same way again. What had you become? And for what? 

You did your best to remind yourself that everything you were doing, you did for Dean. However, when you stacked all of your actions against one another, that really didn’t make what you were doing redeemable in your mind. 

Anxiety clawed at you, and you curled further in on yourself while sobs wracked your body. In the midst of your panic, you did the only thing you could think to do. You begged for Castiel’s guidance as you’d often done as a teenager. Except this time, he answered. 

“Why are you shaking?” a voice asked from beside you. 

You slowly pulled your hands from over your head and sat up to face him. “You—” you sniffed, “you answered?”

He nodded. 

“What makes this time different?” you asked, tears flowing freely. “Why answer now? Am I only important because I’m helping you now?” 

“You’ve always been important, (Y/N),” Castiel told you. “I just haven’t always been able to answer.”

That answer was less than satisfactory to you, but you accepted it, anyway. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing,” you wiped your nose with the back of your sleeve, and your cheeks with the tips of your fingers. “Please.”

He knitted his brows together. “You are. Why do you doubt?”

You laughed in spite of yourself. “Why wouldn’t I doubt? The boys hate me, Bobby hates me, I am… a stone’s throw from a serial killer.” You remembered Bela’s words and almost smiled at the memory of her. If only she knew how accurate she’d been. “I don’t even feel useful to Heaven. And I wish I could say I’m doing all this out of nobility or some moral obligation. I’m not. I just want Dean to be safe. And at least this way I can be close to him without hurting him more than I already have.”

Castiel seemed to ponder on your words as you spoke. “You are vital to the success of this mission.”

“Whose mission? God’s? Why has he started giving a fuck all of a sudden when he’s been on a coffee break for five-hundred-thousand years?” you scoffed. 

That seemed to confuse Castiel further. “You are angry at god. Why?”

“Again, Clarence, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Who is Clarence?” he asked. “My name is Castiel.”

You laughed, anger melting with the innocence of an immortal celestial being. “An angel from It’s a Wonderful Life. It’s a really good movie, actually.” You took a deep breath. “Look at my life, man. I’m staking out my ex-boyfriend and his brother. I haven’t had a real conversation with someone who isn’t an angel in almost six months. My family is dead by my hand. The only family I had left; I betrayed their trust for a god I don’t even believe in. And I don’t think there’s anything I can do to fix this.”

Castiel pondered for another moment. “I can’t help you with the Winchesters. The order you’ve been given came directly from Michael; Uriel was simply a messenger.—” “Whoa, wait, this is the second time I’m hearing a fuckin’ archangel is steering my ship. Why does he care about me?” you questioned. 

“I don’t question the orders, (Y/N). They just are.” You nodded, understanding what that felt like. You thought your days of blind obedience were over after your father died. If only you’d known. 

“I can help you stay hidden, though,” the angel told you. 

That piqued your interest. “You can?”

“Law enforcement won’t be hunting you anymore.” He put two of his fingers to your forehead, and the world went dark. 

****

The next time you woke up, you remembered Castiel’s words and immediately checked your laptop. You searched for any key terms related to your case, and they were all gone. A wide smile spread across your face. “Thanks, Clarence,” you whispered as you continued scrolling through files in disbelief. 

While that did make your job less stressful, you weren’t out of the woods yet. You couldn’t exactly run right back to the Winchesters; they didn’t even want to look at you anymore. Remembering that fact, you sighed and began your morning routine.

You drove to the nearest gas station to refill the car and brush your teeth and hair in the bathroom. You changed into a fresh set of clothes and took the best “sink shower” you could with the toiletries you had in a grocery bag. While this was by no means ideal, at least being hygienic in some way made you feel a bit better about your situation. 

It was early, but that was how you preferred it. You needed to get the jump on the Winchesters if you were going to be able to keep them from this hunt. You couldn’t let Dean end up in the line of fire again and risk showing up a second too late. 

If they already knew you were listening, what the hell? Why not try to shoo them out of town and back to safety at Bobby’s?

****

When you arrived at the Montgomery residence, no one was home. You figured they wouldn’t be; it was the middle of the workday. You’d used your morning to produce a makeshift flamethrower; just in case. With the time you had in the house alone, you looked for any signs that this guy really was a monster— any large amounts of dried blood in the basement or on furniture, for example— and were incredibly pleased to find none. 

Your stomach growled, begging for attention when you made your way back to your car. You sighed, knowing you couldn’t ignore your body any longer if you wanted to have a fighting chance against a rougarou. So, after grabbing yourself some dinner, you returned to the house. Nothing seemed off; around seven PM, the wife returned home. But where was Jack? A pit formed in your stomach, but you prayed he wasn’t out killing someone. 

Finally, around nine, Jack came back to the house. You gave him a few minutes inside before you’d go to the door to try and talk to him. He didn’t appear to have blood on his shirt or already morphed beyond human capability when he’d arrived, so that made you feel a bit better. 

However, when you knocked on the door, there was no answer. Fearing the worst, you burst through the door with your flamethrower. Much to your surprise, Travis was inside with Jack and his wife tied to chairs in the living room. 

“Uh, what’s going on here?” you asked. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied. 

Jack’s wife seemed terrified; her hair was a mess, and there was a gag in her mouth. 

“What did she do? She’s not a monster,” you said, pointing to her. 

“She’s carryin’ a monster’s baby,” he said. 

“Wait, what?” You recovered from your momentary shock and thought of another viable solution. “Abortions exist, y’know. Just have her get one of those—”

`The woman screamed around her gag.

“Darlin’, I’m tryin’ to save you from getting set on fire, okay?” you quipped. “Relax.” Normally, you’d be much more sympathetic to a person in her position, but the last few months had hardened your already weary heart. 

Travis was looking at you like you had three heads. 

You laughed. “Wait, you find abortions abhorrent, but you’ll deep fry the mom and kid? You are screwed up, man.” “Look, kid, I’m not gonna be around another thirty years to come kill this kid before he kills someone else. This is how it has to be,” Travis huffed, clearly aggravated with your disruption of his hunt. 

“I don’t think it’s that cut and dry, though. I can’t believe I’m sayin’ that, but I don’t think it is,” you stated. “Look, I’ve been hanging out around their house a while now. I’m not seeing any ‘long pig’ or massive blood stains. I think we just need to chalk this one up to a messy home invasion and let these people go.” Your eyes were pleading despite your tone bordering on playful. 

“No-can-do, kid,” he said. He started to pour a can of gasoline on the floor around the couple.

The woman screamed around her gag again, struggling against her binds.

Just then, Jack burst out of his cuffs and jumped at Travis. You tried to lunge at Jack to get him off Travis, but that only resulted in you being thrown into a nearby wall. 

Painfully, you pushed yourself up amidst Travis’s blood curdling screams. 

When you’d finally gotten up from the floor, Jack had untied his wife, and she was bolting out the door in fear. 

With Jack having already eaten long pig and Travis long gone, you grabbed your makeshift flamethrower that had been thrown away from you. With your mind foggy and body aching, you lit the gas and aimed it at the snarling creature. In the process of lighting him up, you neglected to remember the gas Travis had poured all around the room. The entire room was ablaze within seconds, and the rougarou collapsed to the ground as he burned.

You turned to run to the door, but Jack sank his claws into your calf. With a yelp, you fell forward to the floor that was quickly becoming engulfed in flames. You kicked at Jack’s hand frantically, and then his face. You managed to get away from him as he breathed his last, the flames having completely subdued him. Smoke filled your lungs despite your body’s best attempts to cough it out. 

Flames were quickly encroaching upon the pristinely white front door of the house, highlighting its edges in a bright orange as you raced toward it. The doorknob was hot to the touch, but you powered through and got the door open. 

You limped as fast as you could out on the front lawn as the house blazed behind you. With your leg throbbing, adrenaline dropping, and head pounding, you collapsed to the floor. 

***

The first thing you felt was the pain. Hot, searing pain emanating from your right calf, a dull throb from the back of your head, and burning in your lungs. You began to stir, fitfully stretching your limbs. Then, you felt a sheet or a blanket had been placed over you. Where were you? The hospital? 

No, the light you were beginning to see as you opened your eyes was too warm and dim to be the hospital. 

‘Oh, fuck. Where am I?!’ 

“You look like hell,” a familiar voice said.

Your eyes shot open, and you tried to push yourself up on your right arm ignoring the burning in your left. It was then your eyes landed on him. 

“Dean,” you breathed out, eyes filling with tears. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[preciouslittle-bhaalbabe]

If you could write Raphael in as a companion, how would be be recruited? What would his approvals/dissaprovals be? What is his personal quest? Would he be romancable?

That's alot of questions!

Ok settle in because this is going to be a big read. I put way more thought into this than I should have lol

Disclaimer: Obviously this isn't going to align with canon and will require a disregard for most of the story beats involving Raphael as an NPC, like the entire House of Hope quest. This is just a fun little "what if" and isn't to be taken seriously.

Recruiting Raphael:

He will find you. Either one night in camp or in one of many spawn triggers on the map in the wilds. His conversation about the tadpole and offering his deal will be mostly the same. In order to recruit him, you must express interest in the deal. Either by agreeing right away, or saying you'll consider it. Raphael's responses are basically all the same even if you agree to the deal, he won't actually make you sign a contract. He'll tell you to "shop around".

Then, you must ask "if I do want to take this deal, where would I find you?"

Raphael's response will be something along the lines of:

"I'll be around. In fact, maybe I could join you in this little misadventure. I'll lounge about in your camp while you run around looking for answers. I could offer sage advice, experience, or even be a confidant."

DIALOGUE TREE:

"If you'd like to join us, by all means. We could use all the help we can get."  ←

"No, no way."

"Why would you want to run around with a bunch of mortals like us?"

"Fine, but I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"It's settled then, I'm sure I will be a very valuable asset. This is going to be fun."

"If you'd like to join us, by all means"

"No, no way." ←

"Why would you want to run around with a bunch of mortals like us?"

"Fine, but I'll be keeping an eye on you"

"As you wish. You'll change your mind. Of that, I am certain. And at that time. It will be too late. Best of luck."

The party will be transported back to camp/where Raphael spawned.

"If you'd like to join us, by all means"

"No, no way."

"Why would you want to run around with a bunch of mortals like us?" ←

"Fine, but I'll be keeping an eye on you"

"There's something about you that I find fascinating. I think it would be to our mutual benefit, should I join your merry little band." (back to dialogue tree)

"If you'd like to join us, by all means"

"No, no way."

"Why would you want to run around with a bunch of mortals like us?"

"Fine, but I'll be keeping an eye on you" ←

"Oh, I am counting on it. I'll be keeping mine, on you. I'll see you soon."

All dialogues except the outright refusal will result in the party being teleported back to the spawn, or back to camp, where Raphael will be waiting.

If you refuse to recruit Raphael, he will be seen again at Last Light, talking to Mol. You only get that once chance though to recruit him. After that, he operates similarly as he does in game as an NPC for Astarion's personal quest. He will be present again in act III in The Devils Den as set dressing for Sharess' Caress. In which case you can talk to him about what he's doing there. He will say he's just enjoying the show, watching the group run around trying to save themselves. You can ask if he would still join the group, at which he will laugh and say.

"Oh no my dear, that ship sailed long ago. Now, I'm just here to witness the carnage, and benefit from all this tragedy."

If you do let him join, he will remain in camp for all of act I and act as a giver of advice/merchant for rare items. He accepts soul coins as currency. In act II, he will leave for a few long rests to get information regarding Astarion's scars, once that event is triggered.

If Raphael does join the party, you will need to do a skill check to keep both Wyll and Karlach. If you fail to convince them to stay, they will leave the party or even become hostile, by some dialogues.

Raphael's Personal Quest:

His personal quest will align with his desires in the base game. He will have much to say that provides context to certain story beats he was previously involved in. Such as the Shar stronghold in the Underdark. If Halsin is not alive, Raphael can be a means to get information regarding Moonrise, the shadow curse, and the Shar stronghold. He will not have a romance scene at the party. Though much flirting can be exchanged and you can choose to think about him as you go to rest for the night.

The first thing he will ask you to do is help him kill Yurgir in The Shadowlands. If you do kill Yurgir, he will help Astarion with his scars. If you don't he will greatly disapprove and you will need to "convince" him to stay. He's messing with you. The skill checks don't actually matter, though they will have different dialogue responses depending on success/failure, and start the player off on lower approval than if you did kill the orthon. Though if you do refuse to kill Yurgir, his romance arc is locked and you cannot romance him later.

This is when he will officially join the party. I think he'd be a bard, so that's what his class is in this little "what if".

His personal quest then involves the crown of Karsus in act III. His arc will include "Archdevil Supreme" or convincing him to give up the crown. With resulting romance/platonic cutscenes for both.

Approvals:

Prioritising yourselves over the problems of others.

Agreeing to help others, for a price.

Exploiting people.

Anything he finds entertaining, like interrupting the bugbear and ogre.

Disapprovals:

Being kind/taking on quests for nothing in return.

Siding with the Absolute cult.

Using illithid powers.

Raphael Romance:

This is a tricky one. I think his romance would be mostly backloaded and starts in act II. If you talk with him at the party and express interest, you two can exchange some steamy words as he recites a poem he wrote for you. You can then either laugh at him and reject his advances, or say you like his way with words. He will then express a very primal interest in you, and say it's best if he let it fester a while. He wants to string you along a little. His greetings won't change, and there won't really be anything to indicate that the dating flag has been set. But if you flirt with him and express your own interest, it will be flagged. You will also have the option to tell him you just don't see him in that way, that you prefer to keep the relationship 'professional'.

In act II, (if you expressed interest previously) after you kill Yurgir, and Raphael joins the party officially. Raphael will have started off with more approval than the other companions, if the romance dialogues were met in act I and you asked him questions about himself/expressed gratitude for his advice when speaking with him in camp. If his approval is lower, you will have chances to get it up around the shadowlands. After approval is high enough, he will approach you and say he has enjoyed his time with you with an odd amount of sincerity. He will say he sees the potential in you and what you and him can accomplish together. That he has been watching the way you lead and handle yourself. And that, oddly enough, he has admiration for you. (side note, there would probably be more dialogue if the player is a dark urge/raided the grove. But I don't have enough brain juice for that currently.)

DIALOGUE TREE (there's lead up of course but I can't be bothered lol so here's the lock in dialogue):

"I spend most of my time categorising people by what use they have to me. And you have proven yourself very useful. But there's something else. Something I haven't experienced in another person for...A long time. I have grown quite fond of you, you know- in my way. Unexpected, but not repulsive. I very much enjoy you and your company."

What are you saying? ←

So I've just been your pawn this entire time?

I'm quite fond of you as well, I'm sure you know that.

I'm sorry but, I just don't feel the same way.

If I wanted to bed with a fiend, I would summon an incubus. Not some pompous arsehole.

"I'm saying, I would like to be something more. Something other than the professional relationship between future client and patron. I would like you to be my paramour, my flame, my right hand. I would like to discuss my plans with you, and lie with you at night."

What are you saying?

So I've just been your pawn this entire time? ←

I'm quite fond of you as well, I'm sure you know that.

I'm sorry but, I just don't feel the same way.

If I wanted to bed with a fiend, I would summon an incubus. Not some pompous arsehole.

*laughs* "Well, yes. I thought that was obvious, dear. But I would like to be something more than that. You have impressed me in many ways. You're ruthless, you're determined, and most of all, you seem to also be interested in me. I would like you to be my paramour. My right hand. Someone to discuss my plans with, and lie with at night."

What are you saying?

So I've just been your pawn this entire time?

I'm quite fond of you as well, I'm sure you know that. ←

I'm sorry but, I just don't feel the same way.

If I wanted to bed with a fiend, I would summon an incubus. Not some pompous arsehole.

"You've made it quite obvious, my dear. I'm flattered, really. But if flattery is not the limit of your intentions, I would very much like to explore something more. I would like you to be my paramour. My right hand. Someone to discuss my plans with, and lie with at night."

What are you saying?

So I've just been your pawn this entire time?

I'm quite fond of you as well, I'm sure you know that.

I'm sorry but, I just don't feel the same way. ←

If I wanted to bed with a fiend, I would summon an incubus. Not some pompous arsehole.

"How interesting. I was sure- No matter. If that is how you feel, that is how it is. I may have overestimated you. That's it then, no more has to be said. Have a wonderful evening, dear."

What are you saying?

So I've just been your pawn this entire time?

I'm quite fond of you as well, I'm sure you know that.

I'm sorry but, I just don't feel the same way.

If I wanted to bed with a fiend, I would summon an incubus. Not some pompous arsehole. ←

*laughs* "Well well, I seems to me that I have given you entirely too much credit. So be it. You will continue to be my puppet, and I will continue to enjoy watching you squirm for your worthness, pathetic life."

Every option besides the rejection one has that similar dialogue. If you agree to the romance, being the one he lies with, he will smile and take the players hand to kiss the back of it. Raphael will then snap his fingers and the two will be transported to a very cozy room with candles and a very large bed. After some more dialogue, the player can choose to have sex with Raphael in either his human or cambion form. Maybe I'll write that section in more detail in a smut or something but for now just use your imagination lol

In act III, Raphael will express a similar interest in the crown of Karsus as Gale does. His iconic monologue about Karsus will still exist. You can either encourage this in a similar fashion, or convince him that uniting the hells would be an impossible task and a death sentence. If you go Archdevil Supreme route, Raphael will become the ruler of the nine hells and you will live there with him as his infernal spouse. He will be loving but distant, and busy. Running all nine hells takes alot of work. The player will want for nothing though. They will have access to every outlet of pleasure and luxury possible. The player will also go through a subtle but apparent transformation to be a little more fiendish, so they can tolerate the environment of the hells. If convinced to give up the crown, he will continue as he is. He will go from between the House of Hope and wherever the player is. He will spoil the player as much as he can and visit often. Sometimes the player will visit him as well. But they still lead their own lives.

I'm sure I could refine the romance arc but I think these are good bones for now.

Thank you for the question! I spent like three days thinking about this lmao.

[interstellarlyinlove]

Propose (Feb 15th)

word count: 823

@wolfstarmicrofic

“How would you do it?”

“Pardon me?” Regulus says, taking his eyes off the dough he’s kneading and looking at Sirius. 

They’re in Sirius and Remus’ kitchen working on a bread recipe in comfortable silence. Regulus would laugh at the whole situation but he appreciates spending time with his brother after everything that’s happened, and he appreciates every chance he gets at mending his and Sirius’ relationship– even if it somehow means doing absurd things together like baking bread on random Saturday nights. 

“What are you talking about?” Regulus asks. He hasn’t been paying much attention to anything but his sticky bread dough. He doubts it should be this sticky still. 

Sirius coughs. “I meant to say, do you see yourself marrying someone someday?”

Regulus tilts his head. He tries to catch Sirius’ eyes but Sirius seems to be entirely too interested in cutting the parchment paper to fit the bread trays. Despite himself, Regulus grins. “Sure.”

Sirius coughs again. “How do you think you’d go on about it?”

“Are you proposing to Remus?”

Sirius’ eyes widen and it’s with a tremendous amount of self control that Regulus doesn’t burst out laughing. “What? Where’d you get that from? Why would you think– I mean, sure, I think. Or, no, I know, but–”

“Why are you acting dumb right now?” Regulus interrupts. 

“I’m not,” Sirius says, somehow defeated. “I just need to know how–”

“I don’t think it matters all that much.” Regulus shrugs, going back to kneading his bread dough. “The ‘how’, I mean. You guys are already married in all the ways that matter, I think.”

Sirius is quiet for a while. “But still,” he says. “Just tell me how. I want to brainstorm.”

Regulus smiles. “That’s cute.”

“Shut up.”

Regulus considers Sirius’ question. “I wouldn’t do something too public, I think. It’s something I would want to be more private.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Huh. Thank you, Reg.”

“Anytime,” Regulus says. “Listen, it says to preheat the oven in the recipe, and I don’t think I know what that means, really, should we–”

“Do you think he’ll say yes?”

Regulus pauses to look at Sirius. “You don’t? Salazar, Sirius, do you even know Remus?” Sirius is looking at him all unsure and confused that Regulus sighs and says, “Of course he’ll say yes, is what I meant.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Don’t be stupid. Now, what’s preheating?”

…

“You look so bad,” Sirius says instead of ‘Hello’ when James opens the door.

“Oh, hello to you too, Sirius, how’s everything? How’s actually sleeping through the night been treating you?” James glares at him.

Sirius laughs, taking baby Harry from James and cradling him gently. “Hi, Harry,” he says softly. He looks back at James. “Isn’t it past his bedtime?”

James sits on the couch and closes his eyes, sighing. “Yes. But he won’t sleep, and if I sit down, he starts crying, so I’m afraid you’re cursed to be standing the rest of the evening, babe. I would say I’m sorry but I’m really not.”

Sirius chuckles, rocking Harry gently. Harry blinks slowly at Sirius and Sirius laughs. “It’s okay, I missed my godbaby.”

James smiles. “He missed you, too. Sorry for being rude, I’m just exhausted.”

“Oh, boo hoo. Where’s Lily?”

“She went on a walk a little while ago. We take turns taking breaks. You know, to somewhat feel like humans a little bit. She’s bringing back ice cream.”

“Awe, James,” Sirius says. “We’ll babysit this weekend if you want. You could do something together, you and Lily. You should.”

“Thanks, pads. How’s Remus?”

“Good,” Sirius says, walking around James and Lily’s living room in circles and making silly faces at Harry. “The full went by smoothly.”

“Thank Merlin. I’ll be there next month, I promise, It’s just that we’re still adjusting to everything and–”

“Oh, shut up. You’ve just gotten a baby, prongs. Cut yourself some slack, will you?”

James blinks tiredly. “Sure.”

“You can take a little nap, if you want,” Sirius says. “I’ll keep Harry entertained.”

“Oh, you’re the best. Remind me to make out with you when I wake up.” James pauses. “After I shower, though.”

Sirius laughs. “Go. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

James thanks Sirius again and is right in front of the stairs when he turns around. “I didn’t ask you if you came by for anything. Do you need anything, Sirius?”

Sirius looks at Harry and James, then he smiles. “I wanted to ask for your advice about somethig, but it can wait. I think I’ve made up my mind about it, anyway.”

James blinks. “I would be pestering you about what you just said right now but I am so tired.” And he goes up the stairs. 

Sirius laughs and baby Harry must’ve also found his dad funny because Sirius swears he giggles, too. Sirius doesn’t think he’s ever been more sure of anything in his life before.

[hopeswriting]

#we can lose our minds together over this bc its so #like its him but its not Yet him (OR ISNT IT?) and what do you do #and then what do the guardians do what does gokudera say i know him i know his faults and i trust him i follow him i believe in him #and sure its reassuring sure its amazing to hear when ur 14 and spent most of that time a social pariah! but also they believe him #and yet hes sent them into that future that never was anyway #khr #and so it goes theyre really that “if your friend jumps into fire will you jump too” where the answer is “yes” no hesitation at all #and how horrifying must it be when u lead this group #how horrifying and wonderful

via @slonechnik

[ID copied from alt text: A gifset about Sawada Tsunayoshi, from the anime Katekyo Hitman Reborn. A picture of a quote precedes and follows each gif.

Gif 1: Tsuna lies inside the coffin of his Ten Years Later self, pushing the lid open to the side. The quote framing the gif says, "Brief pause.", first in white against a black background, and then in black, bolded text against a white background.

Gif 2: Tsuna is on his knees, facing us, his head off frame. Underneath him, the Vongola's emblem shines brightly. The quote framing the gif says, "I'm walking backward", first in white against a black background, and then in black, bolded text against a white background.

Gif 3: Tsuna and Vongola Primo face each other, both in Hyper Dying Will mode. They hold one hand in front of them, the back of their X-Gloves and I-Gloves respectively, facing each other. The Vongola's emblem shines brightly in between their hands. The quote framing the gif says, "into my own myth.", first in white against a black background, and then in black, bolded text against a white background.

Gif 4: Tsuna and the rest of the guardians run on the crosswalk, their backs to us, while the girls, Bianchi, Fuuta and Giannini are across the crosswalk, running too to meet them halfway. The quote framing the gif says, "I was trying to walk out.", first in white against a black background, and then in black, bolded text against a white background. /End ID]

— H of H Playbook by Anne Carson. (Insp.)

future arc, get behind me. they just don't get you like i do 😌

[anomalyaly]

Golden Love

[AO3] [Wattpad]

Sebastian had always been told that he loved too much, but he had never expected to be loved as much in return OR A fluffy oneshot of how Sebastian and Elsie spent Valentine's Day together.

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: SFW, Fluff, established relationship, Sebastian is spiraling but that's nothing new

Sebastian had always been told he loved too much.

When he was three, he grew attached to a wild mooncalf that was frequently spotted near their family home. The impulsive little toddler that he was, he had approached it too quickly in his excitement and spooked it. The mooncalf never returned after that, and he cried and cried, even as his parents tried to reassure him that wild animals are meant to roam free. Anne made fun of him, but Sebastian loved that mooncalf.

When he was five, he hit Anne when she teased him for making her a card out of noodles and parchment. He had tried to show his sister how much he loved her, and it broke his little heart that she had resorted to taunting, tossing his present to the floor, and stomping on it. He felt bad that he made her cry, especially when he saw how much it disappointed his parents and how much it hurt her. He never hit her again.

When he was seven, he didn’t cry when his parents died, not because he didn’t love them, but because he needed to be strong for Anne when they were being uprooted from their family home and moved to their Uncle Solomon’s cottage in Feldcroft. He would do anything for Anne, even if it meant hiding his tears until he was alone, in the quiet and the dark, with nobody around to hear. Solomon would punish him for it, but he couldn’t stop him from loving.

And when she was cursed years later, love was what led him to search the darkest corners of the earth for something, anything that would stop the universe from taking away the person he had sacrificed everything for.

Still, it hadn’t been enough. And his twin had abandoned him anyway, a consequence of his Unforgivable choices.

Just like that mooncalf.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, during his fifth year, a small glimmer of hope entered his life in the form of a Ravenclaw girl with a soft heart and kind eyes. And as time went on, that glimmer almost too suddenly burst into a roaring flame that he had been more than happy to burn from.

Yet she had given him the worst possible answer to his question.

“I’m not a fan of big gestures,” Elsie said as she took a bite of her breakfast. “I’d rather do something simple.”

He had asked her what she wanted to do for Valentine’s Day.

“A trip to Hogsmeade?” He offered. “Or we could fly out to the coast. Or,” Sebastian grinned wryly, “there’s a rather interesting tomb nearby. We could —“

“Sebastian.” She took his hand in both of hers and smiled softly. “I’m content as long as I get to spend it with you. Besides, Valentine’s Day wasn’t a widely celebrated holiday in my family. It was considered vulgar.” She paused. “Hang on — did you say tomb?!”

“Merlin, if I had known that was what would get you going —“

“No!” Sebastian laughed at the blush on her face. “I only meant that I hope you were joking.”

Sebastian shrugged, still smiling mischievously. If taking her to a tomb for an adventure was what she wanted, he would have taken her to five hundred tombs.

It was clear that wasn’t how Elsie wanted to spend Valentine’s Day by the look she was giving him.

“How do Muggles back at your home celebrate anyway?” he asked.

She scoffed and rolled a potato on her plate with her fork. “They send extravagant love letters with decoupage.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Old bits of postcards and paper glued together?” She chomped down on the potato slice. “It sounds innocent until someone sends cuttings of their undergarments. Or worse, if one receives a Vinegar Valentine.”

Before Sebastian could even wonder what that was, she said, “A hate letter.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I can assure you that I won’t be sending you a hate letter or my undergarments.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Unless—“

“No.” She sighed, and he tried to hold back another laugh. “Simple Valentine’s Day, please. If we have to celebrate, that’s all I ask.”

That had been days ago, and he still hadn’t understood what she had meant by ‘simple.’ The boy who loved too much didn’t know anything besides large, over-dramatic gestures of affection. It wasn’t possible for him to give anything less than…everything.

Sebastian, it’s too much.

You’ve gone too far.

You need to stop.

Hours upon hours of circling, pacing Elsie’s Room of Requirement, meditating on the words spoken to him so many times before in his life by the people he cared about. He had finally settled on setting up a picnic in her favorite Vivarium, the permanent autumn leaves the perfect backdrop for a romantic evening with no one else but the two of them.

Would she hate him for it? Criticize his extravagance? He had spent a pretty galleon on the bouquet of roses. And she didn’t even particularly care for plants. Maybe, like Anne all those years ago, she would laugh in his face and toss his present at his feet, insisting that it was all too much and refuse to speak to him again, too embarrassed by how much he loved her.

He loved her.

If only love didn’t make him hurt so much.

He wondered if she felt the same way when she told him she loved him. If she experienced that same aching pain as he did in the depths of his heart, suffocatingly strong that it kept him up at night, struggling to breathe when he was away from her. He had always felt too strongly, but this…

The noises in his head grew to an agonizing clamor, the roaring that he could never seem to silence when he was alone, voices that would remind him that he was a murderer, that he was unlovable, irredeemable —

“Sebastian?”

And then, it all went quiet.

Elsie stalked up the hill in her Vivarium toward him. “I saw you from the entrance. You left me this note— “ She gasped. “What…what’s all this?”

Sebastian shifted from side to side, suddenly forgetting what he was supposed to be doing with his hands. He gestured to the picnic spread behind him. “I…w-well, you said you wanted simple.”

“Did…” She blinked at him, still not moving from her spot. “Did you do all of this?”

She hates it.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, pushing back the headache that was starting to bloom between them. “I’m sorry, Elsie. I don’t know how to do simple. I know it’s too much, but I don’t know how to show you I care any other way, and I go too far every time, and I—“

“Stop.” He hadn’t realized she was standing right in front of him until she pulled his hands away from his face and cupped his cheek. “It’s perfect.”

“You —“ He gaped. “You like it?”

She giggled and stroked his hair, and he melted at her touch. “I love it. This is exactly what I wanted.”

“It’s not…too much?”

I’m not too much?

Elsie shook her head, still smiling from ear to ear. “I think the word ‘simple’ was probably a bad choice on my part. Honestly, you could have arranged a coordinated dance performed by Hippogriffs and I would have still appreciated it. It was never about the gesture, really.”

Sebastian smirked. “I could— “

“Maybe not that,” she interrupted before he could get any ideas, “I…I was being selfish. I only meant to ask to have you all to myself today. No Hogsmeade or adventure or big presents and parties, just…you.”

“Well if that’s all you wanted,” he beamed as he watched the blush creep up her cheeks, “you should have just said that.”

Just me. She just wants me.

She laughed, the sound bright and musical, and he wished he could turn back time just long enough to hear it on repeat forever. He pressed a light kiss to her forehead and savored every ounce of happiness radiating from her.

Sebastian used to believe that love was passion, raging, all-consuming. It was a wildfire that devoured everything in its path, taking all that he had to give and begging for more — hot, intense, greedy. But standing here, wrapped in Elsie’s embrace, he realized that he was wrong.

Passionate and intense, yes, but something softer — not fire, burning and taking and destroying, but light, golden and warm, bathing him in its glow and welcoming him home. Sebastian had always been told that he loved too much, but he had never expected to be loved as much in return.

Calm washed over him as he kissed her, his mind finally quieting from the earlier darkness that had been circling his thoughts. And when their lips parted, he refused to stray too far, holding her close to him as he rested his forehead against hers.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Elsie.”

She wrapped her arms around him, her eyes fluttering closed, her face still radiating the joy that he wanted to spend all of eternity enveloped by.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sebastian.”

Not too much. Just enough.

[simplybakugou]

Story Mode 2 | Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route

⋆ PAIRING: hacker!sero x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; slight angst ⋆ WORD COUNT: 547

A/N: back to back written story modes YUUUUPPP. this would’ve been done sooner but i’ve been thriving lately with the eagles winning the super bowl, securing tickets to see beyonce, and getting numerous snow days from classes LOL HOWEVER i am back to working on this hehe. this part is lightly based off of one of the story mode’s from seven’s route so apologies for the minor angst lol. here's to the last part of day 3!!

NOTE: credits to @eraserhead-transparents for the sero cap

Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route Masterlist

The alarm continued to blare and pierce your ears and you winced slightly. Sero walked towards the door, pulling the electronic pin pad out and rewiring it. He reset the password and he wasn’t going to let anybody else break into the office again. While simultaneously fixing the door, Sero pulled his phone out from his pocket and with a push of a single button on his screen, the alarm ceased immediately.

Just as the alarm stopped, with its remnants still ringing in your ears, you realized how fast your heart was beating. The gravity of the situation hit you in that moment and you felt like you were going to collapse to the floor. Unknown had been targeting M.F.A. for three days straight and had finally targeted the office for who knows the reason. And it seemed as if Sero recognized him, considering the fact that Unknown referred to Sero as “Cellophane.”

A million questions began buzzing in your mind and you finally snapped out of your daze. You looked at Sero who had a blank and unreadable expression on his face. You couldn’t decipher how he was feeling but he just looked… devastated. 

“Should we evacuate? You said there was a bomb that was about to go off,” you asked, your tone full of worry.

Sero snapped his head up, as if he finally broke free from the trance he was in and realized where he was. “Oh, the bomb? I lied to get S–”

Sero stopped speaking immediately, pursing his lips together as if he was about to say something he shouldn’t. “I lied to get… that guy out of here. It was just a fake alarm. There’s no bomb.”

Sero’s sentences felt short and to the point, sounding like a robot that was programmed to say these things. 

Despite not being able to fully grasp the situation, you took notice of Sero's hand that was shaking from how tightly he was gripping his phone. You moved towards him. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

He immediately took a step back, causing you to stop in your tracks. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about it.” He turned around, looking up to the lofted second floor of the office and he began to ascend up the stairs. 

“I’m going to work on fixing the security system up here. I don’t want you to get hurt so I need to make sure no one else can break into the office again.”

You nodded, watching as he sat by your desk and pulled out a computer from a backpack that you hadn’t noticed previously. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“There’s nothing you can help with,” Sero said curtly in a manner that made you flinch. “Just focus on the party.” 

“O-Okay,” you stuttered due to the harshness in his voice. 

Sero began working immediately, typing away at a speed that you didn’t think was humanly possible. He stopped momentarily. “Don’t tell the others what happened.”

You were taken aback. It seemed like an important and big thing that everyone in the organization should be aware of. Before you could question his decision, Sero shut you down by taking out a pair of headphones and putting them over his ears.

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