#at some point it all just really weighs down

[baepsays]

ADORATION & AFFECTION ⸻ cult leader husband Geto Suguru.

cw: NSFW, husband geto, cult leader geto, established relationship, he is very charming, in a lowkey manipulative way lol, suggestive stuff :3c, pervy Suguru smh, somnophilia, dubcon, eating out, some manhandling, fem oriented reader, no pronouns mentioned, he can use that mouth for more than words, but words sure are his strong suit, anyway kind of just cute shit

Geto Suguru prioritizes his mornings spent with his wife in their bed, over everything. It is the determinant of the quality of his day. If he does not get to laze around in your arms before reluctantly waking up, it will make things harder for his followers that day. Hence they do not even try to wake him up, they leave it to you.

But it is no easy task, if he feels the slightest stir on your side of the bed in the morning, quickly grabs onto your wrists and pulls you on top of him. Holds you tightly by the waist and hips, groping and marking up your skin through the bunched up silhouette of the nightgown. 

And if with much thrashing you get half up, he's rolling over— making you lie under him, to have his body weigh you down, pressing you into the mattress. Any voice of protest is drowned by his rhythmic words and steady tone. He talks in riddles and poetry, tracing a single callous finger from your forehead, to nose, then lips and cheeks.

"Every attempt you make to get away from me, pulls you closer into me." He'd say words as such

"What are you, quicksand?"

"If anything, it is you who consumes every fiber of my sanity every living moment, darling."

A slight chuckle would leave his throat along with his finger, still tracing you like a map he has known for centuries. It goes down and down. Ending up on your collarbones, and then goes back up again, gliding on the length of your neck, to your chin—pulling your lips to his.

I suppose everything can wait.

So one has to imagine these bad habits of his—coercion and not looking beyond what he wants—results in some trouble with you at times. 

One such instance can be brought up, where he told you about a meeting which was scheduled, prior as an important one—which is not uncommon. He has to attend a plethora of meetings and gatherings to keep the people (or monkeys as he likes to call them), interested and charmed. It was not the mention of his work, you've come to understand the man you love happens to be a little cruel, that makes your brows scrunch. Which is ultimately for the betterment of everyone, of course, what he tells you.

“What do you mean? Is this some joke?” 

“Why would I be joking about this darling? It is work after all.”

“Yes, but- how long will it be?”

“As per usual, most of the day, and if it takes more time I might have to have dinner outside as well.” 

“So you really do not remember?”

“What are you referring to?”

It was the particular date that the meeting was set on, and the length of the time he was supposed to spend there. Instead of with you, on your anniversary especially. That is what pissed you off.

So when subtle hints, and constant queries of confirmation of the date, does not give him the hint. The vocalization of your anger through the silent treatment, does. Unfortunately, he's someone who reciprocates your annoyances at him absolutely right back.

You are not talking to him at the dinner table?

Good. He won't either. He won't even accept the glass of water you silently offer him when he's choking on his food. Persistent and annoying to the point it makes you leave the table.

Days pass with both of your petulant, silent, persisting fights. Making things harder for yourselves and the poor servants and followers. 

He gets an important call one day, summoning him to a meeting and he's on his feet, but has to halt at the door of your bedroom—because just as he's at the threshold, you slam the drawer of the dresser by the door really hard, still very pissed off at him. 

“Miguel! Get the car ready.” 

As soon as he yells his order, he moves haphazardly to the side where you stood, staring and observing with angry eyes, furrowed eyebrows and pouting lips. Barely giving you any time to process anything, to even get the chance to back away, he comes at you at light's speed. And so he forcefully grabbed onto your forearms, and slammed you into the nearest wall. With enough force to make you understand the little charade of yours has prickled him more than enough.

His lips are feverishly hot on yours, teeth, tongue, bites and all. Your hands grip his hair to get him off you, while simultaneously pulling him in— making his neatly tied up hair fall stray everywhere. And if one of your hands gives up and goes to grab onto the curtain beside you, for some support, one of his own hands is already creeping on your arms to snatch your hands off the curtains, and ripping the curtains off the rod in the process.

After leaving you further speechless, with every intention this time, and a little breathless; he simply walks out with his hand in his hair, smoothing out and tucking back the loose strands of hair in a half up bun. But he does not bother to wipe away the lipstick smudged all over his lips and chin.

And while in the car, he cannot help but smile to himself. Looking at his messy appearance in the reflection of the windows, if anyone has anything to say of his wife's beautiful shade of lipstick, they can deal with him first. And then worry some more about their tongue snatched out of their throat, later.

The thought alone of not being able to wait to tell you that the apparent cult meeting he told you about, scheduled on both of your anniversary, was a lie. 

And why did he lie? Well. He felt like it.

The sight of you struggling to express your absolute wrath on him, is the most adorable thing to him. You can call him sadistic, but he just likes to see his ever so patient and kind wife get absolutely stirred up by his made up stories. He cannot help but imagine how he would be tormenting you in your shared bed later when he returns tonight. How he would slide his hands up your nightgown after throwing the blankets off your sleeping figure. And he knows for a fact, despite any amount of anger, you’d sleep without your panties on. Only for him, to bury his face in between your thighs and put his tyrannizing mouth to better use. Because with his tongue down in your cunt, he is the most helpless poet of them all.

You can get angry about that as well, as usual, when you wake up. But he knows how to leave you a whining moaning puddle, just as well as he knows how to provoke you to become a screaming shouting mess.   

Do what you like, he will fuck you pliant, then sweet talk the anger right out of you.

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: dividers by @/omi-resources. header from Yamada-kun to Lv999 no Koi wo Suru. honestly i would not mind writing more of him this was a very short on a whim oneshot type of deal, but i can totally see myself expanding their relationship and dynamics. he is crazy, believe me when i say he is super good at making his wife forget that. if you see any mistakes please lmk i did not bother reading it after last edit.

this has been marinating and going through edits for no reason lol. Anyway was gonna be a nanami oneshot but just suited this guy more ykkkkkk. ugh.

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @naomigojo @cuntphoric @nanamiskentos @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @moonchhu @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic

[mariasont]

HI i have an idea and its making me really giddy

ok so reader is a translator for the bau and they’re always reading and translating texts or calls or anything like that. and the reader to spencer is basically like penelope to derek. they flirt all the time and all of those lovely things.. and it’s kinda just where they’re flirting on the phone and morgan teases reid about it and reid gets all flustered

IDK IF IT CAN WORK I JUST LOVE FLUSTERED SPENCER :(

anyway i’ll probably be in your inbox a bunch uhhh so call me h or something

-h

Warm Under the Collar - S.R

summary: spencer insists he is not flirting. morgan insists that spencer absolutely is. one of them is lying. pairings: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: heavy flirting, pre-relationship mutual pining, verbal sparring as foreplay, workplace hr violations, use of angel wc: 0.6k

“Are you thinking about me, Dr. Reid? Because I’ve been thinking about you.”

Spencer exhales, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as if loosening it might alleviate the sudden stranglehold of your words. He wasn’t sure if it was always this constricting or if it was conspiring against him at the mere sound of your voice.

He rolls his eyes, performative, really, because you can’t see him, and it’s easier to feign exasperation than admit the effect you have on him. His mouth, however, twitches in betrayal, flirting with a smile before he crushes it. 

The crime board he was supposed to be focusing on, filled with monochrome photos and reports, was now blurring into meaningless scribbles as his thoughts veer off-course, plummeting headfirst into you.

“I’m always thinking about you.”

The words come easily because they require no effort to be true. Always isn’t hyperbole, it’s a mathematical constant, an irrefutable fact.

He was thinking about you before he even called you, felt the shape of you in his mind like an afterimage burned onto his retinas. 

Thought about what color you were wearing, whether your hair was up or down. He wondered if you’d eaten, if you were drinking enough water, if you’d remembered to bring a jacket to the office because the temperature had dropped unexpectedly. 

“Always? Spencer, if you wanted me that bad, all you had to do was say so.”

He isn’t sure why he hesitates — why his brain takes a detour through all the ways he has said so, if not in words, then in the way his thoughts orbit you like a law of nature. 

“I feel like I did say so. Quite literally. But if you’d like me to be more explicit about it, I’m happy to oblige.”

Another pause. He wonders if you’re smiling.

“Mmm, well, I’m certainly not going to stop you.” You sigh, a little dramatic. “Go ahead, be explicit.”

Spencer physically winces at how hot his face gets. The very concept of explicit sits indecently in the pit of his stomach.

“Tempting.” He exhales, rubs a hand down his face, forcibly redirects. “But I do actually have a job to do. And, lucky for me, it just so happens to require your specific set of skills.” 

He leans against the crime board, half-smirking despite himself, because if nothing else, this is fun — the sharp back-and-forth, the way you press all the right buttons just to see what happens.

“I have a recording that needs translating. Think you can focus for long enough to help me, or do I need to, I don’t know, compliment your intelligence first to get you in a professional mindset?”

“Complimenting my intelligence to get what you want? Interesting. Manipulative, even.”

He groans, tilting his head toward the ceiling, appealing to some higher power for patience. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say I was going to —”

“Too late, you put the idea in my head, and now I expect it. Preferably in an eloquent, well-structured speech. Bonus points if you make it poetic.”

“Or,” he counters, “you could translate the recording first, and I’ll… circle back to stroking your ego at a later, more convenient time.”

A small pause. The kind that feels intentional, like you’re weighing your options.

“I guess that works,” you say. “Send it over, pretty boy.”

Spencer shakes his head, fingers moving on autopilot as he sends the file, because if he thinks too hard about the way you lilted that last pretty boy, he might die. “Alright, thanks. Be good, angel.”

He hangs up, still grinning like an idiot, still entirely too warm under the collar. He exhales, staring at the phone in his hand like it might have the decency to cool him off, maybe undo the physiological mess you’ve left him in.

“If I have to listen to one more of your phone calls with her, I’m sending y’all an invoice.”

Spencer freezes when he sees Morgan standing behind him.

He clears his throat, ignoring the flush he knew was climbing up his neck. “Flirting is an unsubstantiated claim.”

Morgan just stares at him. Stares. “You don’t even believe that.”

Spencer mutters something about professionalism because he’s nothing if not a walking contradiction.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 33: Let Me Be There

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Rating: T (for mild language and themes of illness/recovery)

Warnings: Mentions of past harassment/stalking, mild angst, reader being stubborn about their health

Summary: Back in Connecticut, the stress of securing a permanent restraining order against Marcus takes its toll on you.

Welcome to the chapter 33 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

It had been two days since we got back to Connecticut, and in those forty-eight hours, my body had completely betrayed me.

The stress of dealing with the permanent restraining order against Marcus had been weighing me down since we landed. Even though the judge had granted it—thanks to the new evidence against him—it didn’t feel like relief. It felt like a wound that hadn’t even started healing yet.

Between barely eating, hardly sleeping, and pretending everything was fine, my immune system finally gave up.

And now, here I was.

Sick.

Miserable.

Hunched over in my dorm, wrapped in my thickest hoodie, shivering despite the heat being turned up. My throat felt like I had swallowed razor blades, my nose was both stuffy and runny, and my body ached like I had just played a full four quarters alone.

I knew I should tell Paige.

But I wouldn’t.

Because she had DePaul to worry about, and I wasn’t going to distract her.

10:45 AM – Paige’s Dorm

Paige wasn’t buying it.

“You’re sick.” She stood in front of me, arms crossed, brows furrowed in undeniable concern.

“I’m fine,” I croaked, immediately giving myself away. My throat burned like hell, and my voice sounded like I had been chain-smoking for a decade.

Paige’s expression softened, but her stance didn’t budge. “Babe, come on. You look miserable. Let me take care of you.”

I shook my head. “You have a game in two days. You can’t get sick.”

Paige let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “So what? You’d rather sit here suffering alone just so I can go hoop?”

I avoided her gaze, suddenly very interested in the loose thread on my sleeve.

“I’ll be fine,” I mumbled. “I just need to sleep it off.”

Paige stared at me, and I could feel the internal battle she was having. She wanted to argue, to fight me on it, but I saw the flicker of hesitation. She really couldn’t afford to get sick, and she knew it.

That didn’t mean she was going to just leave me alone.

“If you won’t let me stay, I’m calling in backup,” Paige declared, already reaching for her phone.

My eyes narrowed. “Paige—”

She smirked. “Too late.”

11:30 AM – My Dorm

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at my door.

When I dragged myself out of bed and opened it, Kayla stood there, grinning like she had just won the lottery.

“You look like hell,” she greeted.

I groaned. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Tell that to your overprotective girlfriend,” Kayla said, stepping inside and shutting the door. “She practically threatened me to get my ass over here.”

I sighed, trudging back toward my bed and collapsing onto it. “She’s dramatic.”

Kayla flopped down into my desk chair. “No, she’s in love with you and wants to make sure you don’t die of self-neglect.”

I buried my face in my pillow. “I hate both of you.”

Kayla laughed. “No, you don’t. Now, let’s get some fluids in you before Paige actually loses her mind.”

3:15 PM – My Dorm Still

“Here. Granny-approved.”

I blinked blearily at the steaming mug Kayla placed in front of me.

“You actually made it?” I rasped.

Kayla gave me a pointed look. “I followed your grandma’s instructions exactly. I even FaceTimed Paige so she could watch me make it.”

I rolled my eyes but took the mug, cradling it in my hands. The scent of citrus, ginger, and warm spices filled my nose. I hesitated before taking a small sip, the heat spreading through my chest immediately.

“Better?” Kayla asked.

I sighed, nodding. “Yeah.”

She grinned. “Good. Now, drink all of it before I call Paige back and tell her you’re being difficult.”

I glared. “You’re evil.”

Kayla smirked. “Nah. I’m just her eyes and ears while she’s gone.”

Game Day – 6:50 AM

I wasn’t 100%, but I was better.

Enough that I convinced Paige—and the coaching staff—that I could travel with the team to DePaul.

I still kept my distance, though.

Even on the bus, I made sure to sit a row behind Paige, by myself, far enough that she wouldn’t be in my germ radius. I avoided the usual pre-game hugs, the playful jabs from the team, even the way Paige reached for my hand as we boarded.

I didn’t miss the way she frowned.

I didn’t miss the way Azzi nudged her, whispering something under her breath.

But I had already made Paige compromise by letting me come. I wasn’t about to make her risk getting sick before an important game.

So, I stayed back.

Even when Paige sighed dramatically and sent me a text.

Paige: stop acting like I’m some fragile little thing. let me love you.

I smiled to myself but didn’t reply.

Because I knew Paige, and I knew she wasn’t going to let this go.

And sure enough, not even ten minutes later, she turned around in her seat, leaned over Azzi, and whispered, “Babe, if you don’t let me sit next to you, I’m making a scene.”

I raised a brow, locking eyes with her. “Make a scene then.”

Paige blinked. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” I challenged. “Go ahead. Make a scene.”

I thought she would back down. I really did.

But I forgot who my girlfriend was.

Without missing a beat, Paige stood up in the middle of the bus, threw her arms up dramatically, and yelled, “MY GIRLFRIEND DOESN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!”

The entire bus froze.

Azzi immediately facepalmed. KK started wheezing. Ice burst out laughing. And miss Sarah she was giving heavy side eye.

“PAIGE—” I hissed, my face burning as the entire team turned to look at us.

“I just wanna sit next to my sick, stubborn, beautiful girlfriend, but she’s being so cold-hearted!” Paige continued, clutching her chest like she was in a soap opera.

Coach Geno turned from the front of the bus, looking entirely done with her antics. “Bueckers, sit your dramatic ass down.”

Snickering, Paige flopped into the seat beside me, grinning triumphantly. “Told you I’d make a scene.”

I groaned, hiding my face in my hoodie.

Paige just laughed, lacing our fingers together.

I didn’t stop her.

Back at Campus – Paige Bueckers: Full-Time baller, nope. How about Full- Time nurse, Part-Time simp

By now, I’d accepted my fate.

There was no escaping Nurse Paige.

The second we stepped back into my dorm, she had a full recovery plan ready.

Hydration? Handled.

Soup? Cooking in the mini rice cooker.

Medicine? Already sitting on my nightstand.

Cuddles? Pending, until I was “fully healed.”

“You’re worse than my grandma,” I muttered, sitting up in bed as Paige fluffed my pillows for the third time in an hour.

Paige gasped, offended. “Excuse you! I am a loving and attentive girlfriend, not some random granny.”

“That’s debatable.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll withhold the Jolly Ranchers I bought you.”

I gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

Paige smirked. “Try me.”

Before I could argue, my phone buzzed.

Group Chat: ‘UConn’s Finest’

Triple A: Not Paige ghosting us like we don’t have practice tomorrow.

Team mom: Is she even on campus??

Ice cube: She is. She’s just playing housewife rn.

Rah: Oh, she’s 100% in nurse mode. I give it two more hours before she starts spoon-feeding [Reader].

Triple A: Paige, defend yourself.

Paige peeked over my shoulder at my phone, then grinned as she grabbed hers from the nightstand.

A second later, my phone buzzed again.

Hot shot: y’all wish you had a girlfriend to take care of. stay mad. (Except Ayanna)

Fuzzy Fudd: Paige, that’s literally not the point-

Triple A: thanks, you simp. (Knowing I’m a simp too)

Hey Arnold: SIMP, both of y’all jus some simps.

I snorted, locking my phone and setting it aside. “They’re gonna bully you for weeks.”

Paige just shrugged. “Let them. I have more important things to do.”

She then proceeded to tuck me into my blankets like a burrito.

I sighed. This was my life now.

By the next evening, Paige was finally convinced I was on the mend—meaning I was allowed out of bed.

Our first low-energy activity?

Lego building.

Specifically, the tiny flower shop Lego set Paige had bought ‘for us’ but definitely wanted for herself.

“This is actually coming out cute,” I admitted, setting down the last window piece.

Paige beamed. “See? I told you we’re Lego masters.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You dropped a piece under the bed twice.”

“Shhh, it’s called the artistic process.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I reached for the remote. “Okay, what movie?”

“Ratatouille,” Paige said immediately.

“Predictable.”

“Iconic,” she corrected, pulling me into her arms as I hit play. “And the perfect cuddle movie.”

I sighed, relaxing into her hold. Finally, a quiet night.

At least, it was supposed to be.

Because just as we were settling in…

The door BURST open.

“YO, WHAT UP, LIVE?!”

Paige and I whipped around just in time to see KK Arnold standing there, phone in hand, on TikTok Live.

I groaned. “KK, no warning?!”

KK grinned, completely unbothered. “Gotta keep y’all on your toes!”

Before either of us could kick her out, the chat flooded with comments.

“NOT PAIGE BEING DOMESTIC”

“They were def having a date night omg”

“Y/n looks so done”

“KK the real MVP for interrupting them”

Paige facepalmed. “KK, why are you here?”

KK shrugged. “Y’all weren’t answering the group chat, so I figured you needed some excitement.”

I narrowed my eyes. “We were literally about to have a peaceful movie night.”

KK grinned. “Oh, bet! The whole squad’s coming.”

Paige and I froze.

“The what now?” Paige asked, eyes wide.

As if on cue, the door swung open again.

In stormed Caroline, Ice, Morgan, Sarah, Jana, Azzi, Ayanna, and Aubrey—each carrying snacks, drinks, and zero regard for the fact that we were NOT expecting them.

“Hope y’all weren’t planning on keeping this cozy night to yourselves,” Ice teased, plopping onto the floor.

“We brought popcorn,” Morgan added, holding up a bag.

Ayanna smirked. “And we came to see Paige in full simp mode live and in action.”

I groaned, hiding my face in Paige’s hoodie.

Paige, however, just sighed dramatically.

“You know what?” She pulled me closer, chin resting on my head. “Fine. But y’all are building your own Legos.”

Caroline gasped. “You think we came empty-handed?”

And just like that, the quiet night turned into a full-blown UConn team takeover.

9:15 PM – My Dorm (Now a Team Sleepover)

I should’ve known better.

I really should have.

A “quick movie night” with this team was never just a quick movie night. It was an event. A takeover. A full-blown production.

And now, my dorm—which was barely big enough for me and Paige—was packed with the entire squad, each making themselves comfortable like they owned the place.

KK had taken over my desk chair, spinning it in circles while still on TikTok Live, laughing as the chat roasted Paige’s “Full-Time Nurse, Part-Time Simp” status. Azzi and Ice were sprawled out on my floor, already battling in some intense Uno match, while Ayanna sat behind them, eating popcorn like she was watching a championship game.

Caroline, Sarah, and Aubrey had claimed my bed—because of course they did—leaving me exactly nowhere to sit.

And Paige?

Paige was sitting right in the middle of it all, legs stretched out, completely unbothered, holding onto me like I was some oversized teddy bear she had no intentions of letting go.

I sighed. This was my life now.

“So, what’s next?” KK grinned, finally putting her phone down. “I say we make this a game night.”

Paige perked up. “Ooh, Mario Kart?”

“I call Yoshi,” Ice said immediately.

“Bro, you always get Yoshi,” Ayanna groaned.

“Then be quicker next time.”

Azzi snorted. “It’s not even that serious.”

Ice gasped dramatically. “Oh, it is that serious, Fudd. Don’t let me catch you on Rainbow Road.”

Meanwhile, Sarah and Aubrey had started pulling out a deck of cards.

“Spades?” Aubrey suggested, smirking at me.

I raised a brow. “You sure you wanna go there, Griff?”

“Am I sure I wanna school you? Yeah.”

“Oh, bet.”

Caroline clapped her hands. “Alright, we got Mario Kart on one side, Spades on the other. What about Jenga?”

“Jenga?” Paige repeated, looking concerned.

Morgan nodded, already stacking the blocks. “Yeah, the giant kind.”

I groaned. “Oh no.”

I still had PTSD from the last time they played.

Because this wasn’t normal Jenga. No, UConn Jenga was a full-contact sport.

“House rules?” KK asked.

“House rules,” Sarah confirmed.

“Wait, what are house rules?” I asked, immediately regretting it.

Caroline grinned. “Oh, just a little added chaos.”

Aubrey smirked. “You have to remove the blocks with only one hand.”

Azzi added, “And if you make it fall, you have to do a dare.”

I turned to Paige, my last hope for sanity. “And you allow this?”

She shrugged. “I don’t make the rules. I just enjoy the show.”

I groaned again, but there was no stopping them now.

10:30 PM – The Games Begin

First up: Mario Kart.

And let me tell you—Ice did not play around.

By the time the first race ended, she had already hit KK with three shells and sent Ayanna flying off the track twice.

“HOW ARE YOU THIS GOOD?” KK yelled, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Ice grinned, completely smug. “Skill, baby. Try again next time.”

Meanwhile, Spades had gotten… heated.

“You reneged!” Aubrey accused, pointing at Azzi.

Azzi scoffed. “I did not!”

“You did!”

Sarah laughed, shaking her head. “Man, this is why I don’t play with y’all.”

Caroline leaned back, sipping her Gatorade like she was watching a courtroom drama.

And then came Jenga.

It started normal enough. Careful moves, steady hands.

And then Ashlynn decided to get bold.

She tried pulling from the bottom.

Everyone screamed.

The tower wobbled.

For a moment, it looked like she might save it.

And then—BOOM.

Jenga blocks went flying.

Ash sat there, stunned. “…Oops.”

The entire team erupted.

“Dare time!” KK announced.

She sighed. “Fine. Hit me with it.”

Sarah and Ayanna exchanged looks before smirking.

“You have to run down the hall, screaming ‘PAIGE BUECKERS IS MY MOM’ at the top of your lungs.”

The room exploded.

Paige choked on her water. “WHAT?”

Azzi wheezed. “Y’all are evil.”

But Ash? Ashlynn was fearless.

She stood up, cracked her knuckles, and sprinted out the door.

“PAIGE BUECKERS IS MY MOM! PAIGE BUECKERS IS MY MOM!”

We were crying.

Even Paige couldn’t stop laughing. “I hate you guys.”

Caroline wiped tears from her eyes. “Nah, that was legendary.”

1:00 AM – The Aftermath

Eventually, after multiple rematches, way too much yelling, and Ice still dominating in Mario Kart, the exhaustion hit.

One by one, people started crashing.

Azzi was knocked out on the floor, still holding a controller. Sarah and Morgan had taken over my bed, curled up like they owned the place.

KK was half-asleep in my desk chair, mumbling about getting revenge on Ice.

And Paige?

Paige was lying next to me, arms wrapped around my waist, fully content.

“See?” she murmured. “You’re feeling better, and we had fun.”

I sighed, sinking into her warmth. “Yeah, yeah. You win, Nurse Paige.”

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Always.”

And even though my dorm was a mess, even though my bed was stolen, even though KK was probably gonna snore all night…

I smiled. Resting against Paige’s chest and went to a peaceful sleep.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

       -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 , @yailtsv , @authentic-girl03 , @sevyscoven , @elalfywhore , @sitawita , @jadasogay , @vamptizm .... (more to be added) 

[sunflowersonatas]

marry you: drabble

bsf!james potter x f!reader / fluff

summary: heat of the moment proposal— somehow, it doesn’t feel that strange to accept.

a/n: my heart hurts. i think about this a lot.

wc: 425

i usually imagine james, and i think the typical fanon agrees, as a very cheesy, extra-romantic, over-the-top kinda partner. always wants to give you the most and spoil you, because you truly deserve it, for putting up with him.

i’d love to imagine some fancy elegant proposal, you two on the beach at sunset, just the soothing waves and his gentle voice proclaiming his love. huge rock.

but let’s be real. seventh year, war was looming, the world was a scary place. and this man was not playing around. you guys weren’t even dating yet, just best friends, but he always knew.

“i think we should get married,” he’d said to you one night on the couch. it was a joke, or it started as one.

“right, that would solve all my problems,” you countered effortlessly. you were just friends at this point, complaining to each other over your respective love lives, or lack thereof. 

you laughed, so did he. 

but then when you turn to him, he’s not laughing anymore.

“marry me,” he says again, a whisper this time, with bated breath. the air shifts. 

“james—”

“say yes.”

you should really think about it. you should consider this carefully— it’s a goddamn proposal, major life event, hello. weigh the pros and cons, unbiased, considering the war, the uncertainty, the sheer insanity of what he’s just asked you to do.

and you do consider it, for one singular second.

and in that second you realize you can’t think of one good reason to say no.

the past seven years you’ve been saying yes to him. yes, i’ll copy my notes down for you. yes, i’ll sneak out with you. yes, i’ll always be here.

and this just feels like another yes, simple as that. you shrug, feeling too composed for the moment. maybe it’s shock.

“alright,” you answer. like he just asked you to pass the fudge flies.

“alright?” he echoes, jaw suddenly gone slack. like he misheard, or like he was expecting some hesitation, some pushback. normally you’d sit there and list all the reasons why his idea was incredibly foolish and irresponsible, but you weren’t doing any of that.

you shrug again. “yes, james, i’ll marry you.” can’t make it any clearer than that.

he nearly tackles you in a crushing hug, sharing the weight and lightness of the moment at once with you. his fingers clutch at you tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip from them.

“you’re serious?” he queries, breathless. 

“no, you’re thinking of the other one.” you answer smugly.

he groans. “i’m gonna kiss you now.”

♡

☀️🌻

[mistyshane30]

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 10)

Synopsis: You're barely holding yourself together. Last night’s kiss lingers in your mind, turning every second around her into slow, agonizing torture. She carries on like nothing happened, while you're drowning in everything unspoken. But how much longer can you pretend before it all comes crashing down? 

Word count: 4.7K 

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol consumption, Angst, Unspoken emotions, Lingering tension, Mild language, Physical injury 

You wake up to the sound of your phone ringing. Groaning, you force your eyes open, blinking against the morning light. Without even checking the screen, you reach for your phone, already feeling the dull ache in your head. When you finally glance at it, you see Wanda’s name flashing. 

You answer with a weak, barely audible, "Hello?" 

Wanda, however, sounds wide awake—and annoyed. "Where are you? We’re at the beach having surf lessons." 

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly. Just the thought of moving, of facing people, makes your exhaustion feel heavier. "I’ll pass," you mumble. "Not in the mood." 

Before she can protest, you end the call and, without hesitation, turn your phone off. You don’t even bother checking the time. What does it matter, anyway? 

With a sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to ease the pounding in your head. Your gaze drifts to the ceiling, empty and unfocused. Last night lingers in your mind like a ghost, refusing to let you rest. That kiss. Or, more likely, the one Agatha won’t even remember. 

You couldn’t sleep last night, your thoughts running in circles, your body weighed down by something heavier than exhaustion. At some point, sleep must have taken over, but it doesn’t feel like rest. Just a momentary escape before reality came knocking again. 

You let out a humorless chuckle. You must look pathetic right now. 

Minutes pass in a haze before your doorbell starts ringing. At first, you ignore it, too drained to care. But when it keeps going—again and again, insistently—you sigh, already knowing who it is. 

Wanda. 

Dragging yourself out of bed, you still feel groggy as you make your way to the door. When you open it, Wanda takes one look at you—still in last night’s dress, hair a mess, dark circles under your eyes—and immediately deadpans, "Seriously?" 

Before you can respond, she steps inside like she owns the place, not even waiting for an invitation. You sigh and shut the door, watching as she heads straight for the couch, making herself comfortable. 

"You’re still in that dress?" she calls you out, raising an eyebrow. 

You shrug, not really in the mood for her commentary. 

Wanda sighs, leaning forward. "Go change into a swimsuit. We’re having a surf lesson." 

"I’m not going," you say flatly, sinking into the couch across from her. "I’m too tired." 

She studies you carefully, her sharp gaze softening after a moment. "Are you okay?" 

"I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all." 

She doesn’t buy it. You can see it in her face, the way her brows knit together in concern. She gets up, stepping closer, her hands gently squeezing your arms as she lowers her voice. "What happened?" 

You force a weak smile. "Nothing." 

Wanda isn’t convinced. "Did Rio do something?" 

You shake your head. "No." 

A pause. Then, carefully, "Agatha?" 

Your stomach twists. You shake your head again, but it feels less convincing this time. 

Wanda frowns, her worry only deepening. She’s your best friend—of course she sees right through you. And the last thing you want is to make her worry more. So, despite everything, you take a breath and force yourself to say, "Fine. I’ll get ready." 

Your voice lacks enthusiasm, and Wanda knows it, but she lets it go. 

Upstairs, you step into the shower, letting the cold water jolt you awake. The chill does nothing to erase the weight in your chest, but at least it helps clear your head. After drying off, you slip into a red two-piece bikini, draping a sheer black kimono over it. To hide whatever exhaustion still lingers on your face, you throw on oversized black sunglasses, grab your tote bag, and head back downstairs. 

Wanda gives you an approving once-over and smirks. "Look at that, you’re a human being again." 

You roll your eyes but smirk back. "Shut up." 

With that, the two of you leave the villa, heading toward the beach. 

But as you walk, your stomach tightens. 

Because soon, you’ll have to face Agatha. And after last night… you don’t know if you’re ready for that. 

When you arrive at the beach, you spot Jen, Lilia, Alice, and... Agatha. The sight of her sends a jolt through you, and you fight to keep your expression neutral. Your stomach twists, your cheeks threaten to flush, but you force yourself to keep it together. You have to. 

As you approach the group, Jen is the first to greet you with a bright smile. 

"Look who finally decided to show up!" Alice teases, smirking. "We thought you bailed on us." 

Lilia chimes in with a chuckle, "Or maybe she just needed her beauty sleep." 

"Or," Jen interjects, a knowing glint in her eyes, "she was exhausted from taking Agatha home last night and making sure she didn’t pass out on the floor." 

Your body tenses at her words, though she says it playfully. It’s meant to be lighthearted—a teasing defense—but it only makes your chest feel heavier. 

Agatha, who had been quiet until now, tilts her head toward you. "Thank you." 

Then, with a smirk, she adds, "I just hope I didn’t do anything too reckless." She lets out a small laugh, like it’s a joke, like it’s nothing. 

Your breath catches for just a second. 

Reckless? 

She kissed you. She kissed you, and now she’s standing here, acting like nothing happened. Because, to her, nothing did happen. 

You muster a small smile and shake your head. "You didn’t," you lie. 

She watches you for a bit too long, like she’s trying to read something on your face. Your fingers twitch at your side. You’re the one to break eye contact first. 

Before anything else can be said, a voice speaks behind you and Wanda. 

"Alright, where we at?" 

You and Wanda turn around—and your breath catches in your throat. Your eyes widen in surprise. 

She looks just as shocked as you. "Y/N?" 

You stutter, barely managing to get her name out. "Natasha?" 

Wanda blinks between the two of you. "Wait, you guys know each other?" 

Natasha smirks, arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah, we do." Then, with an amused tilt of her head, she adds, "I’m her ex." 

The group collectively gasps. 

"Our surf instructor is your ex?" Jen blurts out, gaping at you. 

You don’t miss the way Agatha shifts slightly at the revelation. You don’t dare look at her directly, but you feel the shift in her energy. 

The questions are about to start flying, but you shut them down quickly. "Can we just get to learning how to surf? Please?" 

Thankfully, that’s enough to steer everyone’s attention back to the lesson. 

Natasha walks you all through the basics, demonstrating movements on the sand before sending you off into the water. You do your best to focus, but it’s hard when Agatha is only a few feet away—and now Natasha is here, too. 

You feel Natasha’s gaze linger on you more than once, but you ignore it, keeping your head down and listening. 

Once the lesson is over, Natasha claps her hands together. "Alright, let’s see what you got." 

Alice, Jen, and Lilia eagerly grab their boards and head straight for the ocean. You and Wanda are about to follow when Natasha calls your name. 

You hesitate before turning back to face her. "Yeah?" 

She gives you a slow, amused once-over before grinning. "Long time no see, Y/N L/N." 

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Natasha Romanoff." You mirror her teasing tone. 

She tilts her head. "Well, didn’t expect to run into you here. What are you doing in Malibu?" 

"Bachelorette vacation," you explain. "Jen’s the bride—she’s the one who probably hired you. And I’m one of her bridesmaids." 

Natasha nods, processing that. "Makes sense." 

She’s about to say something else, but you cut her off. "I should go. My friends are waiting." 

She smirks but doesn’t push. "Go ahead, then. Try not to wipe out too hard." 

You roll your eyes, grabbing Wanda’s wrist and dragging her toward the water. 

Wanda, of course, is grinning like an idiot. "So. That happened." 

"Shut up," you mutter. 

You attempt surfing, but after multiple failed attempts, you give up, dragging your board back to the shore and opting to just swim instead. The ocean feels cool against your skin, a temporary relief from the weight in your chest. 

As you float in the water, you glance back toward the waves, watching your friends ride them with varying levels of success. Your gaze drifts, scanning the group, until it inevitably lands on Agatha. 

Your heart clenches. 

She kissed you last night. 

And she doesn’t even know. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and tear your eyes away from her, turning and swimming farther out. Away from her. Away from everything. 

But no matter how far you swim, the ache follows you. 

Because you’re the only one who remembers. 

After some time of swimming, your leg suddenly cramps, and a sharp pain shoots through your calf. Panic sets in as you struggle to stay afloat, your arms flailing against the relentless waves. Your breaths turn shallow, frantic. 

"Help!" you manage to choke out, your voice barely carrying over the noise of the waves. You try again, louder, but the water pulls you under before you can see if anyone hears. Your limbs feel heavier, exhaustion creeping in. The last thing you register is a blurred figure rushing toward you before everything goes dark. 

A rush of air fills your lungs as you sputter, coughing up seawater. The world around you is hazy, but the sensation of wet sand beneath your back is grounding. You gasp for air, blinking rapidly against the harsh sunlight. 

"Hey, hey—you're okay," a familiar voice soothes. 

Your vision clears, and the first thing you see is Agatha kneeling beside you, her brows furrowed in deep concern. Her damp hair clings to her face, and her breathing is still uneven. Natasha is on your other side, watching you intently, her lips pressed together in something like relief. 

Jen exhales sharply, pressing a hand to her chest. "Jesus, Y/N, you scared the hell out of us. If Agatha hadn't noticed—" 

"Luckily, she did," Lilia adds, still looking shaken. "And Natasha got to you fast with CPR." 

Your chest tightens at their words. You slowly sit up, Agatha’s hands immediately steadying you. 

"You okay?" she asks, her voice lower now, softer. There’s something in her expression—something that mirrors the look she gave you last night. It makes your stomach flip. 

You nod, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Yeah… thanks to you." 

Agatha doesn’t respond right away. Instead, her gaze flickers briefly toward Natasha before she helps you to your feet. Natasha moves in beside you, a steadying presence as you find your balance. 

"Thanks, Natasha," you say, turning to her with another small smile. She nods, but you swear there’s a flicker of irritation in Agatha’s eyes when you look back at her. 

Jen sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. "Alright, let’s get you out of the sun for a bit." 

You all make your way back to where your belongings are scattered on the sand. Wrapping your kimono around yourself, you grab your tote bag, your body still trembling slightly from the ordeal. Just as you take a breath to collect yourself, Natasha steps closer. 

"You sure you're really okay?" she asks, her voice dipping slightly. 

You smirk, already knowing where this is going. "I’m fine, Natasha." 

She grins. "Well, if you start feeling lightheaded or anything, I can always give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation again. Just say the word." 

You laugh, shaking your head. "Appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll live." 

Natasha chuckles before shifting gears, her tone turning casual. "How about tonight? Let’s catch up over drinks." 

You hesitate. "I’d love to, but… I really just want to spend time with my friends for now." It’s not a complete lie, but it’s also not the full truth. You just aren’t interested. 

Natasha studies you for a moment, then nods knowingly. "Alright. You’ve got my number—call me after the vacation if you change your mind." 

You smile politely. "Nice seeing you again, though." 

She returns the smile before giving you one last look and heading off. You exhale, letting the tension roll off your shoulders. When you glance back at your group, Agatha is watching you, an unreadable expression on her face, but the moment your eyes meet, she quickly looks away. 

Your heart starts pounding all over again, and you know exactly why. 

After that, you all head to Geoffrey’s for a late brunch. You order a ridiculous amount of food, realizing just how hungry you are after skipping breakfast and everything that happened today. The conversation flows easily between the group, filled with laughter and teasing, but you’re hyper-aware of Agatha sitting across from you. You do your best to avoid looking at her, but you can feel her gaze on you from time to time. Every glance makes your skin prickle with something you refuse to name. 

Just when you think you’ve regained your composure, Wanda smirks and drops a grenade into the conversation. "So… how was your surfing lesson?" she asks, clearly enjoying herself. 

You groan, already knowing where this is going. "It was fine." 

"Fine?" Lilia echoes, raising an eyebrow. "You looked anything but fine when Natasha was giving you CPR." 

You roll your eyes. "First of all, I almost drowned. Maybe focus on that? And second, it wasn’t that dramatic." 

"Oh, come on," Jen cuts in, leaning forward with a grin. "You dated her. That’s pretty dramatic." 

"Yeah, and we broke up," you remind them, stabbing at your food. "Over a year ago." 

"Wait, how did you two even meet?" Alice asks, curiosity piqued. 

You sigh, deciding there’s no escaping this conversation. "Some club. A year ago. We were together for three months, and it ended on good terms." 

"And you didn’t know she could surf?" Lilia asks, amused. 

"Nope. No idea." 

They exchange glances before Wanda smirks. "Natasha still looks like she’s down bad for you." 

You shrug. "That’s not my problem." 

"First Rio, now Natasha?" Lilia teases. "What is this, a rom-com? Who are you gonna pick?" 

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Neither." 

Before they can push further, Jen claps her hands together. "Alright, enough of that. We’re going to karaoke tonight. Be at the main entrance of the resort at five. No excuses." 

Lilia practically vibrates with excitement. "Oh my God, it’s been ages since we’ve done this! I can’t wait." 

You smile, relieved that the topic has shifted. The conversation continues with lighthearted chatter, and soon, everyone finishes their meals and heads back to their villas to get ready for the night ahead. 

You’re back at your villa now, moving quickly as you take a shower, letting the warm water soothe the tension from earlier. After drying off, you throw on a black cropped tee, high-waisted jeans, white Nike sneakers, and grab your black Saint Laurent Le 5 à 7 Mini bag. Simple, comfortable, effortless—or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself. 

Just as you’re about to head out, your phone buzzes. You check the screen—Rio. 

Hey there... 

You stare at the message for a second before typing out a response. 

Hi. 

You cringe. That was so lame. But you don’t want to think too much about it, so you put your phone on silent and shove it into your bag before stepping out of your villa. 

When you arrive at the meeting spot, they’re all already there, waiting. Your eyes instinctively land on Agatha. She’s wearing a black blazer draped over a black silk camisole tucked into high-waisted jeans, paired with black boots. 

You swallow, pushing down whatever reaction threatens to surface, forcing yourself to look away. 

Lilia claps her hands together, practically bouncing on her feet. "Okay, now that we’re finally complete, can we go? I’ve been waiting all day for this!" 

Everyone chuckles, and soon you all pile into the van. You slide in beside Wanda, settling in, only for Agatha to climb in next, taking the open seat beside you. 

You freeze for a second. You’re sandwiched now—trapped between Wanda and Agatha. 

You subtly shift, trying to create even the smallest bit of space between you and Agatha, but she notices. 

"It’s fine," she says casually, her voice smooth as ever. "I have plenty of space." 

You glance at her. She offers you a small, knowing smile. You force yourself to return it, a tight-lipped attempt at nonchalance, before pulling out your phone as a distraction. 

Inside, though? 

You are dying. 

Every second feels like an eternity, every inch between you both—too little. Your heart pounds, your mind races, but you sit there, face impassive, acting as if nothing is wrong. Acting as if this isn’t absolute torture. 

After twenty minutes, the van pulls up in front of a karaoke bar. Jen hops out first, grinning as she leads the way inside. The receptionist greets you all warmly and escorts you to the private room Jen reserved. The space is dimly lit, with neon-colored lights casting soft glows across the plush seating and the large screen at the front of the room. A sleek karaoke machine stands ready, microphones resting in their holders. 

"Alright, drinks first or singing first?" Jen asks, plopping down onto the lounge sofa. 

"Drinks!" Lilia exclaims immediately, and the group laughs. 

You all place your orders—food, snacks, and, of course, more alcohol. The drinks arrive quickly, and soon, everyone is eating and chatting, laughter filling the space. Then, the karaoke begins. Lilia confidently takes the mic first, dramatically performing a power ballad, exaggerating every note just to make the group crack up. Jen follows, belting out an early 2000s pop anthem with so much enthusiasm that no one even minds when she goes off-key.  As the night goes on, the drinks keep flowing, and so does the music. Everyone is tipsy now, swaying to the rhythm, arms draped over each other’s shoulders. You don’t sing much, choosing instead to sit back and watch, occasionally taking a sip of your drink. But mostly, you watch Agatha. 

You try not to. You really do. But the way she laughs, the way she throws her head back when she sings along to someone else’s performance—it’s impossible to look away. You tell yourself it's just the alcohol making you sentimental. But you know the truth. You’re still thinking about last night. About the kiss. About the way her lips felt against yours, even if it wasn’t real. Even if she doesn’t remember. 

Then, it’s Agatha’s turn. 

She stands up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before grabbing the microphone. She scrolls through the song list for a moment, then selects something. When the opening chords play, your heart drops. 

Something by The Beatles. 

Of all songs, why this one? 

She starts, her voice softer than expected but effortlessly beautiful. 

"Something in the way she moves…" 

You swallow hard. It’s just a song, you tell yourself. But every word feels like a dagger, lodging itself deeper into your chest. The worst part? Agatha doesn’t even seem to notice. She just sings, swaying lightly to the melody, her voice wrapping around the lyrics like a gentle caress. 

"Attracts me like no other lover…" 

You grip your drink, staring at the condensation forming on the glass as if it holds the answers to your unraveling composure. Your friends are enraptured, some singing along, others watching Agatha in admiration. But she keeps glancing at you. Like she’s trying to gauge your reaction. Like she knows—no, she doesn’t know. She can’t. 

And then, the bridge. The part that absolutely ruins you. 

"You're asking me, will my love grow…" 

"I don't know, I don't know…" 

Your breath catches in your throat. You press your lips together, gripping your drink tighter, your knuckles whitening. You should look away, should laugh it off like it’s nothing. But you can’t. Because it’s not nothing. It’s everything. 

Agatha sings the next line, her eyes flickering toward you just as she reaches it. 

"You stick around, now it may show…" 

As if you haven’t been sticking around. As if you haven’t been carrying this ache for years, waiting for something, anything, to tell you that maybe—maybe—you weren’t alone in it. 

By the time the song ends, your eyes are stinging, but you refuse to let a tear fall. You quickly wipe at the corner of your eye before anyone notices. Before she notices. 

Agatha beams as she puts the mic down. "That was fun!" she says, completely unaware of the damage she just did. 

You feel like you’re drowning. You don’t know whether to leave, drink more, or just sit there and endure it. You stare at your drink, hoping the liquor will burn away the lump in your throat. 

A gentle nudge pulls you from your thoughts. Wanda slides in next to you, lowering her voice. "Hey, you okay? You’ve been acting weird all night. Actually, all morning too." 

You force a small, weak smile. "I’m fine." 

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she sighs and hands you another drink. "Here. At least pretend to have fun." 

You take it, offering a quiet thanks, but your mind is elsewhere. On a song you wish you hadn’t heard. On a girl who doesn’t even realize she’s breaking you apart, piece by piece. 

After a few drinks and multiple songs—mostly sung by Lilia—Jen finally notices that you’ve been unusually quiet. You haven’t picked up the mic even once. 

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” Jen nudges you with her elbow. “You’re not getting away with just sitting there.” 

“I’m fine,” you say, waving her off. “Just enjoying the show.” 

“Lies,” Lilia interjects, grinning. “C’mon, Y/N, it’s your turn!” 

You shake your head, but then Agatha speaks up. “Yeah, what’s up with that? Don’t tell me you’re shy.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, playful but expectant. 

Alice smirks. “Maybe she just need the right song.” 

You hesitate, but the way everyone’s looking at you—especially Agatha, who now raises an eyebrow in challenge—makes it impossible to refuse. With a resigned sigh, you push yourself up from the couch and head toward the song selection screen. 

“Fine. One song.” 

You scroll aimlessly, then, without thinking, you pick Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli. 

The moment the opening chords play, something in your chest tightens. Why this song? You don’t even know. Maybe it just slipped out. But the second the melody fills the room, memories from last night flood back. The way Agatha had drunkenly sung it on the way back to her villa, swaying slightly, smiling at you like she really meant it. Then— the kiss. 

You steal a glance at Agatha. She’s not looking at you. 

Taking a breath, you start singing, your voice softer than usual. “You're just too good to be true… Can’t take my eyes off you…” 

The words sting. This used to be a happy song for you. Now, it’s a cruel reminder of something that only you seem to remember. Your voice wavers slightly as you push through the verse, trying not to think about how unfair this is. Agatha got to have that moment without consequences—without the weight of remembering—while you’re stuck feeling every second of it. 

You reach the next line, forcing yourself to meet Agatha’s gaze. “But if you feel like I feel…” 

It’s brief. Just a flicker of eye contact. Not enough to raise suspicion, but enough that something in Agatha’s expression changes. She wasn’t paying attention before, but now she is. Her head tilts slightly, lips parting just a fraction, as if some part of this is tugging at her memory. 

You reach the chorus, willing yourself to keep your voice steady. “I love you, baby, and if it’s quite all right…” 

You try to smile through it, but your eyes betray you. There’s an ache in your voice that wasn’t there before. The others notice—Jen and Alice exchange glances, Wanda’s gaze sharpens slightly. She’s thinking. Wondering. Who was this song really for? 

Then, you see it—Agatha shifting in her seat, suddenly looking uneasy. She rubs the back of her neck, her fingers tapping against her knee like she’s trying to place a familiar feeling. Like something about this song is stirring something inside her. 

But she doesn’t remember, does she? You can’t let yourself hope. 

You finish the song, but there’s no relief. The room erupts in light applause, and Lilia nudges you with a grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.” 

Alice teases, “Damn, Y/N, that was kinda romantic.” 

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure.” 

And then— 

Agatha leans over, a smirk playing at her lips. “Didn’t expect you to pick that one.” 

Your stomach drops. Of course, she doesn’t get it. Of course, she has no idea why you picked it. 

You tilt your head, forcing casualness into your voice. “Funny, I could’ve sworn I heard you singing it first.” 

Agatha blinks, caught off guard for a second, before she laughs lightly. “Did I? Must’ve been the tequila.” 

And that’s when you know. 

She really, truly doesn’t remember. 

Your chest feels tight. You nod, forcing a small smile before muttering, “Gonna get some air.” 

You don’t wait for anyone to respond before slipping out of the room, the sound of laughter and music fading behind you. Because you cannot sit there and pretend everything is fine. 

You step outside into the cool night air, the neon lights from the bar casting shifting colors over the pavement. The distant hum of laughter and music filters through the walls, but out here, it’s quieter. Just the sound of your own unsteady breathing. 

You lean back against the wall, tilting your head up, blinking rapidly against the sting in your eyes. Your shoulders shake, but you don’t sob. You just let the tears fall, silent and unchecked, gripping your own arms like it’s the only thing keeping you together. 

The door swings open, and footsteps pause. A moment of hesitation before a familiar voice speaks—soft, careful. It’s Wanda. 

“…Hey.” 

You quickly wipe at your face, sniffling as you force a weak chuckle. “God. I—this is so stupid.” 

Wanda doesn’t reply right away. Instead, she leans against the wall beside you, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle between you. She doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. Just waits. 

Finally, gently. “It’s not stupid.” 

You let out a shaky breath, staring up at the sky. “You ever just—want to forget someone?” 

Wanda tilts her head, considering. “That bad, huh?” 

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeve. And then, barely above a whisper, “She kissed me last night.” 

Wanda blinks. “…Agatha?” 

You nod, lips pressing together like you can still feel it. 

Wanda exhales, understanding dawning in her expression. “And she doesn’t remember.” 

A hollow laugh escapes you, one that holds no humor. “Nope.” 

Silence stretches between you. Then, Wanda huffs out a quiet, almost incredulous laugh, shaking her head. 

“Of course she fucking doesn’t.” 

You drag your hands over your face, frustration and exhaustion pulling at your features. “She was wasted. She—she grabbed me, and she looked at me like—like I was everything. And then she just—” Your voice catches, your throat tightening around the words. But you force yourself to go on. “She kissed me. And I—God, I wanted to kiss her back so bad, Wanda. But I didn’t. Because I knew. I knew she wasn’t thinking straight.” 

Wanda watches you quietly, her gaze unreadable, steady. 

You let out another laugh, brittle and strained. “And now she’s in there, laughing, drinking, acting like nothing ever happened. And I’m out here like a fucking idiot, crying about it.” 

Wanda doesn’t tell you that you’re overreacting. She doesn’t tell you to move on, to brush it off, to pretend it didn’t matter. 

She just sighs softly, then reaches out and pulls you into a hug. 

For a second, you don’t move. You hesitate, frozen. And then you break—burying your face in Wanda’s shoulder, gripping onto her like she’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart. 

And maybe, for now, that’s enough. 

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06 @aboutcustardcreams @crescendoofstars @neverfindmegone @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @theonefairygodmother

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

All The Devils Are Here

E-rated, ≈2.800 word BuckTommy fic for @bisexualbrainrots because of this post.

Once, Evan had told Tommy what it felt like, being struck by lightning. “Hot,” he'd said, “scorching, actually. Like accidentally touching an exposed power line, only a thousand times stronger.” It was pretty close to what Tommy felt this morning.

Though serious, the call hadn't sounded particularly dramatic at first. There’d been a pile-up on Pregerson Interstate, and Tommy had been deployed to assist with traffic control and to provide transportation if necessary. As it turned out, the 118 was also on duty. Whenever they met on the job, both Tommy and Evan considered it an unlikely stroke of luck, even if it was barely enough for a fleeting smile and a twinkle in the eye. Tommy usually stayed in the air, where at most he could imagine what Howie had spilled to him one night: that every time Evan saw a helicopter in action, he pointed up to say, “What if that’s Tommy?” This time, it was really him, and he was on the ground after the 122 had requested a specific tool that Sal, who Tommy still occasionally kept in touch with, knew was in every LAFD helicopter.

Tommy landed on an interstate littered with debris, exchanged tools and a handshake with Sal, gave Evan who was running by a smile, and turned to leave when it happened. One of the wedged cars, just a few feet away, exploded. Such things happened much less frequently than TV series suggested, but this time it did happen, with a bloodcurdling bang. The air was already thick with heat, intensified by the numerous small fires that were smoldering everywhere. But now, it was an inferno. Tommy heard Evan's captain shouting orders to try direct the chaos, and he himself was already sprinting in Bobby’s direction to offer help. And Evan... well, Evan ran straight towards the car.

“Buck,” Bobby shouted, and when Evan turned around, his captain pointed to the blazing vehicle, “There's nothing left to save!” “I can help, I h-have to,” Evan shouted back, and Tommy stood there, his mouth and eyes wide open, frozen in time.

“You won't. That's an order,” said Bobby in his most authoritative voice, making it clear that he was Evan's boss, not his father figure; indeed, not even his friend at that moment. It had an unexpected effect on Evan: he pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes and adjusted his helmet. And then he turned to run off.

Two, maybe three minutes passed, then it was all over: Tommy's paralysis, but also Evan's ridiculous attempt. The rest of the 118 were close enough to prevent the flames of the explosion from spreading to the surrounding vehicles. Meanwhile, Tommy saw Evan hitting dented metal with one of their extrication tools, as if he actually believed he could save anything, anyone from that completely warped car. He obviously did believe it, Tommy heard his frustrated cry; that's when he knew it was over.

As if he were standing outside his body that suddenly seemed made out of fire and ice at the same time, Tommy watched Evan take Bobby's scolding with his head down. Watched the captain sent him away to cool off, watched him disappear between two trucks. He found himself put one foot in front of the other, leaving in the opposite direction.

The rest of the day passed in the sequence of a mechanized automatism. Tommy went flying, put out fires, did his duty. Inside, he felt like a question mark, weighed down by a conundrum he couldn’t grasp. That evening, however, he showed up at the 118’s station as planned, and as soon as he saw Evan, the anger from that morning resurfaced. He found him at the lockers, Evan was just packing up. Although the shift had ended for everyone, he was alone; Tommy would have understood if the others had avoided his boyfriend because of his bad mood. However... he wasn't in a bad mood at all. Upon recognizing Tommy, his eyes immediately lit up; he cocked his head and smiled, greeting him with a bright “Hey.”

For some reason, this was the last straw. Tommy stopped in the middle of the room, his distance from Evan not merely a matter of steps. Hands on hips, he asked flatly, “What were you thinking?”

Evan’s smile faltered. He sounded so damn innocent as he asked, “What do you mean?”

“You disobeyed a direct order. Ran into the middle of the fire,” Tommy returned sharply. The memory alone was enough to tug at his nerves, he almost felt the heat on his skin again, smelled the smoke.

“S-someone was still in that car,” Evan’s slight stutter was the only sign of uncertainty.

“Who couldn't be saved.”

“You don't know that,” said Evan, his voice full of edge now. Tommy tried to reason.

“You’re a firefighter. You’d know a lost cause.”

“A... lost cause?”

There was a flash in those otherwise kind eyes which usually reminded Tommy of a calm lake. There was nothing calm about them now, nothing kind. Evan, who had been standing with his head inclined, as he often did when he wanted to appear narrower, straightened up to his full height and looked him straight in the eye. That's what he’d looked like when he had contradicted Bobby. Tommy immediately realized that his boyfriend felt backed into a corner, and he also realized that they were about to experience their first real quarrel.

“I'll do what I have to do, because that's why I became a firefighter. I thought you, of all people, would get that.”

There was a hint of hurt in his voice, and for some reason, it only upset Tommy even more. The morning’s fright turned into anger stirring up his bowels.

“You put yourself in danger when you act on your own,” he spat.

“Says the man who flew a helicopter into a hurricane,” Evan scoffed.

“You know what, I don’t need this.”

Seized by the urgent feeling that he would soon lose his temper, Tommy turned away. He walked off blindly, his ears ringing. Fresh air would calm him down, he was sure; he needed to think. He didn't get far; Evan’s hand on his shoulder prevented him from reaching the door. He sounded as angry as Tommy felt, and somewhat breathless from running after him.

“You're not running away, not again, Tommy. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What's wrong? You’re reckless, that’s wrong.”

“I'm willing to take risks.”

“You're a daredevil, that’s not the same thing.”

Tommy felt that some of his anger had evaporated just because Evan had followed him. He had broken the pattern. Still, they were arguing, and it was wearing on his nerves.

“You like me too much,” Evan said softly, the defiance in his eyes fading.

“What makes you think that? You’re being unreasonable.”

Deep down, Tommy knew this was true. He liked this man too much not to be afraid.

Evan shrugged, “Well, look around, you’re so upset, you turned the wrong corner.”

Reluctantly, Tommy looked around, and sure enough, instead of near the entrance, he found himself in the annex where the ambulances were stationed. He’d actually been so upset that he hadn't watched where he was going, and from Evan's sparkling eyes, he realized that this amused him. The emergency lighting cast a strange, reddish glow on Evan's face, emphasizing the hint of a smile on his lips. Tommy, however, was still angry, or rather irritated by a feeling that seemed out of place. Evan’s plush lips, his gaze veiled by the darkness in the room, it provoked him.

Suddenly, he found himself grabbing Evan’s hand, which was still on his shoulder, using the momentum to push him against one of the ambulances.

“You'd better come to your senses,” he growled.

“Or what?” Evan shot back, his eyes fixed on Tommy’s lips as if there was some special secret there, one that had never been told. A tantalizing, dark secret. All thoughts vanished as he found Evan's lips magnetically attracted his, and the kiss that followed was anything but gentle.

Their teeth slammed into a sloppy clash while their tongues entangled. It was still an argument, a special kind of fight with no losers. This, Tommy knew for sure. And if he was surprised by this severity, Evan’s hands on his butt drowned out all doubts.

“If that's what makes you tick, we should do it more often,” that impossible man breathed against Tommy’s jugular. It made his next words rumble.

“No talking,” he snapped, and if to emphasize this, he slid one leg between Evan's thighs, pushed them apart and began grinding against his crotch. Evan's fingernails pierced his jeans, clawing almost painfully at his ass. The guy was strong, and for a moment, this actually became a test of strength. It was a game for two, and Evan wasn’t easily pushed. His muscles tensed, and Tommy reacted too late – or rather not at all, and perhaps deliberately. In any case, the tables had turned, and now he was the one being pressed against the vehicle. The cool metal against his back did nothing to calm his temper.

“I'm not done with you yet,” he said, but it sounded anything but threatening, and Evan, that insolent man, gave a choppy laugh.

“Thought you didn’t want to talk,” he teased, one of his usually gently hands cupping Tommy’s bulge through his pants with force. 

With a last shred of sanity, he murmured against Evan’s mouth trying to recapture his lips, “They’ll hear us.”

“Shift change was half an hour ago. Paramedics only show up in an emergency.”

That was true; just like the firemen, they had a common room, and Tommy’d been with the 118 long enough to know that even with the siren going off, they’d had a minute before the place would be busy.  This was an emergency, somehow, albeit not the kind they’d need help for.

“What if I make you moan so loudly that they think there is one?”

Interestingly, Evan's cool facade crumbled briefly at those words. He was eager to see this side of Tommy, and in fact – Tommy had left all shame and restraint in the bright and open locker room. Wordlessly, he pulled his boyfriend closer, just briefly so that he wouldn’t forget the turmoil he’d caused, then he brusquely shoved him along. Lips locked, hands restlessly roaming their bodies, they pressed each other against the ambulance’s rear doors. This felt like wrestling, a show match; a tad violent yet somewhat arousing. Evan's shoulder slammed against a handle, and Tommy was grateful that the doors opened outwards and they didn't tumble into the vehicle. However, a thought formed in his lust-numbed mind, a ridiculous little idea.

A minute later, they staggered into the vehicle after all, but only because he had deliberately opened the doors and pushed Evan inside.

“P-perhaps we should continue this at home.”

There was the slightest hint of doubt in Evan's voice, and Tommy was eager to dispel it, quite out of character.

“Heard you once screwed on the fire engine’s rooftop.”

Evan laughed way too loudly, and Tommy knew that he should still be angry, but he was just extremely turned on, he needed an outlet. He reached for him, tugging at Evan’s shirt, but not wasting any time undressing him. If this was a game, then he wanted to set the rules for once.

“Pants down,” he demanded, and rarely had anyone obeyed a command more quickly.

Evan, who usually enjoyed it when they slowly and pleasurably bared each other bit by bit, tore off his pants as if his life depended on it. In his eyes, his whole being, there was no longer any defiance. Nevertheless, this compliance somehow irritated Tommy even more, as if that slight smile was just mocking him, not taking him seriously. And yet Evan didn't seem surprised when he said, “Bend over.”

His arousal was not only visible, it seemed tangible, filling the small space around them with a peculiar smell and tension. There was no longer anything provocative about Evan’s movements as he leaned on the ambulance stretcher; he didn't do it slowly or even carefully. Impatience was already dripping out of his every pore. It infuriated Tommy, they shouldn’t even be here right now, and they certainly shouldn’t do what they were about to do. But why should he be the voice of reason? He was indulging in the very same behavior he'd scolded Evan for, he knew it, and he still didn't care.

The inside of the ambulance was cold, just like Evan's glutes, between which he slid his hand. This wouldn't be gentle nor polite, and he wanted his boyfriend to know that, wanted his thumb, hastily moistened, to rub roughly against him. It was less about testing his readiness than his willingness. Evan was clinging to the gurney, spreading his legs even more; oh, that man was certainly ready for him.

Tommy had done this before, jerking off a guy in a dark alley, quick fucks in the back rooms of shady bars; he never thought he would do something like this with Evan. It was absurd, he adored the man, he would lay his heart at his feet; but now, now he wanted nothing more than to take him, hard and fast, controlled by his dick just this once.

So he did, without regret and with little consideration, and it was so much easier than he had thought. It was almost as if all resistance, all unruliness, had finally melted away. Evan hadn’t followed orders, he’d chosen to shut his ears, following instinct; and now he paid the price, with a small, surprised gasp. The narrow surroundings shrank even more, as if everything around Tommy wanted to reflect the tightness he felt. One reckless thrust, and he sank completely into it, pleased to see Evan’s knuckles turn white around the edge of the stretcher.

Gentleness was for those who reflected, and Tommy didn’t want to. He’d discovered an unexpected side to his lover today, surfacing an unexpected side in himself. His thrusts came rough and hard, but if this was supposed to be a punishment, why did it feel so good? Why did Evan gasp every time he withdrew, exhaling in a sigh when he was filled completely again? He’d pushed Tommy to the limit, and now he returned the favor. Obscene smacking sounds filled the air when their bodies collided, over and over. The stretcher swayed in unison, even though the brakes were locked; if the alarm would sound now, they’d be in so much trouble.

In truth, very little time passed; not because they rushed all of this, but because it was just too much. Like a fifteen-year-old who cums in his own pants at the mere thought of something horny, Tommy finished faster than desired. A grunt, a last slap on that peach of an ass in front of him, and he was done. His mind went blank, and he briefly bent over Evan, stroking his hair as if he wanted to say, Good boy, you’ve been doing me a favor. Then he withdrew his hand, almost as if he had been burnt, even if only in his thoughts.

He pulled back, careful not to leave any stains in the ambulance; feeling that their lust could still be smelled in here for hours. Evan turned around, nimbly pulling up his trousers; only a redness on his neck and the slightly tousled curls suggested that anything had happened at all.

“Unbelievable,” he croaked, “I'll need a moment.”

Tommy realized that he didn't even know if Evan had come at all. While trying to suppress a small twinge of sorrow, he hadn’t forgotten why all this had happened in the first place, and tried to color his words with seriousness.

“We're not done yet.”

“Oh, you're pretty done,” Evan teased.

“With talking,” Tommy replied, although he could no longer suppress a smile. “Seriously, I want us to discuss this, sensibly. You need to realize that at the end of the day, there’s someone waiting for you who values your life. Not only me, and you know that, yeah, but also me.”

“You’re babbling,” said Evan, fascinated; running a still warm and strangely moist (Oh, thought Tommy) finger over his lips. Certainly not to shut him up, he was just provoking him again. “A-and that's sweet, actually. But this isn't the place to discuss it.”

For a brief moment, there was a glimpse of this unruly man again, words of resistance already on the tip of his tongue. There was reason for it, Tommy knew this now, and he’d try to understand it.

“At home, then,” he returned quite ambiguously, and with a final slap on the butt, he pushed Evan out of the ambulance.

AO3 version | Song by Dynazty | All my BuckTommy on AO3

[discodummy]

I'm gonna rant about my body image issues and dysmorphia for a second so watch out. I'll put it under a read more if i can figure out how

slay i think i did it. anyway, going to the gym as much as i have and getting into shape and stuff has been lovely, dont get me wrong, but it also makes some things very strange for me. Like, I was raised by a an who had a manual job and was a bodybuilder in his 20's. My perspective of what a "dad bod" was was SO skewed by my dad that i though it meant a buff guy who puffs his chest out when he stands stil to look bigger. My older brother (by three years) was chubby in middle school and then did swimming and lacrosse and had an insane dorito shaped body by 17 and still has it now. I was 6'3 when i started high school and i looked like a lollipop: just a big head on a tiny body. And i stayed that way all through high school. I assumed that getting beefy and filling out like my dad and brother did just want going to happen for me. I spent all of my early and mid 20's weighing like 145 (150 on a good day) and having to buy 28x34's for pants and medium shirts. The pandemic happened and i started working from home and after a few years i was about 210 or so. I stayed around that weight for bit and assumed it was my adult weight and what my body liked and spent over a year coming to terms with it. wel NOW after going to the gym and eating better for the last 10 months, im down to a toned 180 and im all sorts of jumbled up. I hit my shoulders on doorframes bc even though i measured and know my shoulders got at least 4 inches broader, i still dont believe it or feel it. My mediums got too tight, and my XL's from being 210 fit my shoulders and chest but hang off of me. Like im surrounded by evidence of the shape my body is in now, and i can see in the mirror how i look, i just dont think its clicking for me. I'm right about 6'4 and until the last year or so i wouold just say i was "medium tall" bc i didnt think i was TALL tall, just tallER. Like thats how deep this weird disconnect from the objective truths of my body goes. And now im at the point where people compliment my arms or chest or butt or something and i cant shake the nagging feeling that its just flattery and they dont mean it and isnt true. Someone said my arms were big and i was like "i mean theyre long, but i wouldnt say big" and it took me seeing several people with smaller arms over the course of a while for me to be like "oh yeah i guess so". Like, i always felt like the most average and unremarkable of my family and thats SUPER bleeding into things now. Maybe i dont think i can be extraordinary or above average or something?? All i know is im CLEARLY not seeing what everyone else is, and poeple are getting frustrated with me about it and taking it as me being fake-humble or just plain oblivious. And i feel insane talking about it bc one of my friends says it makes him feel awful to see someone who "looks like me" doubt myself so much, because that means that HE must be so much worse then. I also know that a 6'4 in shape white guy having body image issues isnt exactly the easiest thing to sympathize or empathize with, but it sucks that I feel like i cant really talk about it with anyone bc it just gets too personally hard for anyone to go in depth about. Its like my issues are too triggering for others and i just need to get a grip or something. IDK, i just needed to vent about this bc i dont know what else to do. if you read all of this, let me know what you think or something lol

[brujc]

I find it so interesting that we don't have much Akane info on the new TL!! Makes lot of room for personal interpretations!

Akane and Aoi were definitely still in touch in this new TL but their relationship must've been veryyyy different without the whole confession/rejection and constantly-tip-toeing-the-line-between-ambiguous-and-romantic-relationship dynamic going on.

First of all, Aoi really changed in this world from the changes it indirectely induced in her life : being Teru's acquaintance and having the "engaged" status made her way more..let's say open? Sincere? A lot less well-guarded! She doesn't seem to have as much weigh on her shoulders and yknow she's just more honest!

She just seem overall more willing to express her emotions instead of hiding them! And more straightforward (through this whole new TL arc).

Then, we have a probably very big change in Akane's attitude towards Aoi. With her engaged status, she isn't "available" anymore and he surely didn't do all the "courting" he did in the original TL, not when she is bound to be with someone else (maybe he did when it just started but must've stopped way before the current point in the story). Aoi probably didn't really indulge him either : she had to make her mother happy after her dad left, she couldn't afford to let her down, couldn't let her feelings make the act break.

Then, Akane's public display of affection is probably gone too since Aoi and Teru have to keep up the appearances of a happy couple at school- him interfering too much would create rumors and stuff.

So yeah no constant affirmations of his undying love, no confessions, no rejections either. Just...feelings that are definitely there for each other from what we've seen of Aoi's POV but cannot be acted upon.

No Akane constantly rebuilding himself around her either tho. With that gone, he probably acted more like his "usual" self (the blunt, still intense Akane) around her then. Just his casual personality. (Makes me wonder how he joined the student council in this timeline! Probably not to make Aoi swoon for him this time? What else could there be tho..)

So to me, new TL Akane and Aoi would have a bit more distant relationship, but with much more.."themselves"(?) behaviour around each other than in original TL (not to say they weren't already but..I can't quite pinpoint the word I'm looking for haha. I see their relationship as much less sweet and soft and more of a down to earth one. More toned-down romantic than romantic romantic).

I like to think they used to hangout really often when they were kids, playing in parks like in that one flashback from Aoi, talking to each other through the balcony and meeting at houses...At the start of the engagement Akane was maybe angry? He tried to find some solution to break it off and used to drag Aoi into secret meetings and plans work-throughs to get her out of it. Aoi would think with him, watch him work, smile with him and let him hope, while knowing in the back of her mind that he didn't stand any chance. Inevitably, they grew apart by the years, still longing for each other and wanting something ,but knowing they couldn't have it. This time, they weren't meant to be, or maybe they were, but the ropes fate tied to their hands made shoulders brush and touches linger but forbid them from getting anything more. Anything they wanted.

I like to think that they both are salty about the situation and occasionally take jabs at each other when they feel particularly frustrated. That there's an omnipresent tension between them whenever they interact. There's that acknowledgment of their feelings for each other they both know are there but well that goes unsaid cause what can they do about it anyway?

Sometimes they let their sadness show. They let the other see how much they wished for better circumstances. They're silently confort each other, they act close and let themselves dream a little... And then back to square zero, up again is the wall that separates them, the wall that doesn't let him tell her, the wall that doesn't let her tell him, but is cruel enough to let them dig through it and hang on to that hope. Maybe one day, he thinks; at least one day..she whispers, as they silently dig and dig and pierce holes in that thick, thick wall, never big enough to go through, never small enough to ignore. Two fools dreaming about what could've been, hands bloodied and bruised and dirty but with a miniscule dent to the other side and that's enough to make them continue. Cause they're too stubborn to let go.

So, when they come across each other they exchange proper greetings, they talk politely and if chapped fingernails and poorly masked cuts are seen, that goes unsaid.

Sometimes, they let themselves indulge. Because in reality, they're as much builders as they're diggers . And this old construction of theirs isn't as thick as they like to pretend. It isn't thick enough to stop their heart from aching. Never thin enough to make them give up on it. Too much to stop them from digging into. Built on the most unsteady grounds , it is bound to crumble again and again and again. And foolish as they are, they let themselves dream a little before putting the bricks back on. Truly, what were they if not dreamers?

And so, they drop the act. It not like they were ever acting anyway : never did they try to deny what they had for each other; they just had to tone it down cause what else but problems would that bring if they didn't?

She calls him "Kane" and he calls her "Ao", the nicknames a mockery of their situation, their actual status that will never be more than "Akane-kun" and "Aoi-san" , their linked fingers a bitter joke and the couple on that big screen dry, cruel, irony of the worst kind.

Still. They let their hands squeeze tighter together, their knees brush gently on the sofa. She doesn't acknowledge it. He doesn't either. And like countless times before, he almost leans in and closes the gap, weren't he wasn't painfully aware of the singular bell displayed on her neck, hauntingly - almost supernaturally glowy, matching with a bracelet he definitely didn't want to think about, especially now.

He leans back and he's sure she caught him. And just like every other time, she turns doesn't say a word, caught up in her thoughts. Just like every other time, he saw a glint in her eyes when he got closer that seemed to yell "Will you do it this time, coward?". And he just knows his own coppers mirrored this. Will I do it this time? That was a funny question, because it was pointless. Because he knows he won't. He wants to - to break that damn line they set up in the sand ever since her mother started requesting for them to see each other less. He wants to let her do what she wants, walk off of that road they built for her. Heck- he wants to be selfish for once. But he knows that he will regret it in the end because what would this do but hurt them? Getting a glimpse of freedom made the ache hurt more and he couldn't bear causing her to be in pain. In the ends he just wants her to be happy.

" My, my, you can't do that to an engaged young-woman, 'Kane ♥" she said after some time. But there was no mischief in her tone and her eyes were oh so sad. It made his heart clench.

"...Right." he answered. I wish you didn't have to be, he wanted to add. He didn't.

...They were truly one of a pair, holding on to this ambiguous relationship for far longer than they should've when rings and shrines and electric blues were in the picure.

But when he looked at her, he knew he could never have it any other way.

Three words hanged heavy on his tongue. He found it hard to let them out, but it was no surprise : ever since this engagement, he forbid himself from ever pronouncing them. He turned his gaze back on her.

I love you, he thought, as he picked a brick back up.

Ahh doomed Aoiaoi I love you..

Wish I were OG TL Terry rn to know more about them..

Trying to get new timeline info to write the fic and i'm dying i have NOTHING on new timeline Akane

I guess Akane becoming depressed/distressed about Aoi engagement happen in the New Timeline too?? Aoi at least doesn't seem surprised by it, just... sad.

She still calls him Akane-kun so they must have contact still?? So how do their convos go, it must be so awkward, save me. And where does Teru fit into all of this? i want to explode-

[deanpinterester]

watching an older youtuber like laura kampf (who is 40 which isn't That old but older than most internet celebrities) is very comforting because as much i don't want to, i keep feeling like my life is over when i'm only 25 and to see this woman who is out there living her life making stuff and inventing stuff and having a career on youtube and having a girlfriend makes me feel like everything's going to be okay

[fabdante]

This is probably just the high of finishing season 2 talking, but like. Can we get whoever did Arcane to do a DMC reboot show? Maybe as a reboot of the reboot? Or at least a sequel?

Like, just. People who love and respect the source material/preboot! But can also take that and craft something good based on those source materials that kinda does its own thing! And is actually good!

Just. My kingdom for some good character writing for DMC stuff. Preboot and reboot, tbh.

I'll be honest I kinda like...idk perhaps I'm in the minority but I don't really want more extended universe dmc stuff? Like I'm firmly in the 'I don't want a DmC2' camp and I'm also not particularly jazzed about the upcoming anime. IDK like more official works on the reboot in particular for me over the years has just become something I'm not interested in. I've spent a lot of time with the material and I've put thought into how I'd like for it to be followed up and I'm just...so confident it would not at all be what I want and it'd leave me disappointed and with a lot of work that would just now feel pointless.

I do, however, realize most of the fandom hasn't been making a like 250k prequel about Kat and Vergil that's been stuck in development hell and would probably not be bothered by any of this asdfghjkl

I do think it'd be interesting to see what Fortiche could do with Devil May Cry, any of the Devil May Crys. Though I'm not sure what they'd do with it given how much less...complex it is I guess? Not that the story has to have as many moving parts as Arcane for Fortiche to do a good job but still. I do think, though, with the new Netflix anime and Fortiche focusing on their own projects and new Riot projects that them doing anything for anyone else is not very likely (very much a shame I'd have LOVED to see what they'd do with Warcraft. The story of Warcraft is so ripe to be cleaned up, fixed up, and released in a comprehensive and coherent way, like the Warcraft cinematics team are incredible themselves but I'm still pretty sure there's only a handful of them. Warcraft just has such good meat in there that I'd really love to see someone else pick up and put together)

If I were to get my dream project from Fotiche on DMC/DmC I guess what I would like is either a much more slowed down and polished soft remake of what we get with the reboot. Like a version of it that really gets to take it's time. Though it would lose a lot of it's campiness asdfghj for good or for bad. For the preboot I mean there's a lot there with the preboot if they wanted to just go through the whole brother saga. Like across the board for both preboot and reboot, given Fortiches focus on writing complex and intense family dynamics that we see in Arcane, it'd be interesting to see how that'd play out in their interpretation because at the end of the day both Devil May Cry's are about like family bonds, both born into and forged, and what loyalty we do or don't have to those bonds and legacies. I think either would definitely be a good series, in the very least.

It's a bummer though as I'm like...really not confident in the new anime and would much rather have this asdfghjk

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[snekdood]

bitches prolly out here psychoanalyzing my old art on behalf of my abuser to cushion their belief that im a Horrible Person but then dont see the irony when I point out the shitty things my abuser has drawn and how I see it as clear evidence of their mindset and beliefs (of what's okay to do and how to treat people) descending and pairing that along with everything else they've done and it paints a clear picture of how this person got to the point of thinking it was okay to abuse me the way they did and then the people looking for reasons to hate me through my art will act like "they're just drawings !!!" about their art. which one is it. does someones art say something about them or not? or does it only say something about them if you hate them?

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Friendly reminder to everyone to always fact check your work. Even when it seems like it's right.

Case in point: I'm making a short little post about Gambian pouched rats(!). Funnily enough, they're named not for pouches in which they carry their young, but for their cheek pouches. Apparently most other rats don't have cheek pouches like hamsters and gerbils do. Neat.

Anyway, some of the literature I was reading said that Gambian pouched rats can carry a lot of food in their mouths. Makes sense-- they're big rats. But how much food exactly? I started looking. More sources agreed that, yeah, Gambian pouched rats can carry a lot of food! Maybe even up to 3kg over the course of 2 hours! That seems like a lot, especially considering Gambian pouched rats only weigh 1.0-1.5 kg. So I do a little more digging. Every source agrees that they can carry a lot, and they all cite that very specific number of 3kg over 2 hours.

Finally, I track down an actual paper about Gambian pouched rat cheek morphology (yes I went down a wormhole. This is my HBomberGuy moment.) The paper cites 2 sources for that 3 kg/2 hr number! Great! I find those two papers, and read them. And.

Neither paper says that. In fact, they don't really talk about Gambian pouched rat feeding habits at all. One is just an observation on natural behaviors, with a brief section on their diet but no information on how much they carry. The second paper-- written by the same guy-- was about how Gambian pouched rat behaviour changes in captivity. There was a good-sized section on cannibalism, but nothing on transporting food. So that first paper, the one that cited those other two for that 3 kg/2 hr figure, just straight up lied.

Moral of the story: always do your homework kids, especially when it sounds too good to be true. Also, Gambian pouched rats can probably carry quite a lot of food in their mouths, but whether they really can carry up to 3 kg worth of food in 2 hours remains to be seen.

[nochepsicodelica]

Toji who leaves hickeys all over you so often that you have to push him away when you start looking like you fought an octopus.

"Toji, you know these aren't always gonna be so small. They're gonna end up looking like bruises. Just look at the ones you already left."

"Mhm," he hums, already leaving another one on your shoulder blade, releasing your skin with a wet smack of his lips. He rubs his spit into the mark like it's some sort of salve that'll make it last longer.

"I'm fine with these," you say, looking at all the one's he left on your chest and below. "but my neck... i'm running out of makeup, baby. I won't be able to cover them if you keep this up."

"Then don't." He would just love that. Despite how nonchalant he sounds about it, it's a highly recommended suggestion. He would genuinely love it if you walked around with his marks all over your neck. People will automatically know that you already have someone you get freaky with.

"I have to go to work sometime. I wouldn't be able to take having my neck stared at by everyone I talk to. No more neck hickeys."

He nears your neck, again. The second you say he can't put another mark on it, he spots a clear area and leans in, lightly pressing his lips against it.

"Tojiii," you whine, leaning forward, away from him. "Leave it alone."

"But, it's clear. It's lonely without being marked like the rest of your neck." He scoots forward again, putting his enormous hands on your waist to pull you close. "I'll be quick. Just-"

"Mm-mm. No," you interrupt, brushing his hands off of you.

"I might just die if you don't let me do this, ma."

"Really?" You raise your brows in disbelief.

"Really," he responds, so confidently.

You scoff. "You're so dramatic. You won't die if you don't get to suck on my neck."

"Who knows? I might spontaneously collapse because of it. Weirder, more unexplainable things have happened."

He's so dumb sometimes. Your hunk is absolutely ridiculous, and yet you find yourself weighing towards his point in this.

"Would marking up that blank space actually cure you?" You feel as silly as him for asking the question.

"Who's to say?"

You tilt your head and deadpan. "Right. I guess i'll take my chances and just keep the random patch of unmarked skin on my neck."

"Hey, that doesn't mean we can't try. Come on, now."

You groan and roll your eyes before making your way back to him. He cups your cheeks, smirking as he looks into your eyes, before turning your head to expose the blank area on your neck.

"It's a reaaally good spot, doll. I think i'm gonna make it."

You huff, unable to look at him because of the way your head is turned. You feel his tongue slide over your neck, the gesture transitioning to his lips kissing the area and then it feels sharp. His lips leave a stinging sensation with every second that they stay on you.

"Ow, fuck, you vampire. It feels like you're actually trying to suck the blood out of me." You wince. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm done." He admires his masterpiece and smirks with pride. You have an entire collar of hickeys that he put on you, and the newest one looks mean.

"You look pretty. Could eat you up, mama." He swipes at the new mark with his thumb, looking at the color that will remain on your skin for the next few days.

"I can tell. You already devoured me. You're insane. Just look at all of this," you say, running your hand over your kiss stained neck.

"I was just nibbling on you," he speaks, into your jaw, before smoothly laying you down, onto the bed. "Just wanted a little taste," he says, taking your hands in his and pinning them above your head. "Am I really insane for that?"

"Um..." you laugh, making your flustered state obvious. "Yes?"

"Damn." He gives you a long, deep kiss, that makes you forget what you were talking about. "You think i'm crazy?" You hum, and he does it again.

"Haven't you played with me enough? I feel like i'm some chew toy for you." You giggle, feeling his lips on your cheek, trailing towards your jaw.

He hums, dismissively. "Found more blank space."

[plutotheplum]

Winter's Kiss

sylus x fem!reader

summary: luke and kieran rope you into spending christmas at the n109 zone (and kissing their boss).

cw: fluff, soft!sylus, kissing under the mistletoe, luke and kieran being idiots, found family

wc: 2.7k

a/n: merry christmas eve/christmas my lovelies!! some fluff for the holiday season! here's to hoping sylus turns up under our christmas trees :)

also on ao3!

Somehow, you’d ended up in the N109 Zone for Christmas.

It wasn’t like the barrage of texts from Luke and Kieran had weighed upon your decision, the rapid influx of messages from the twins demanding your presence for Christmas. That coupled with the image of Sylus alone on Christmas night hadn’t made your stomach churn and heart ache at all.

The year had been a tumultuous one. Wanderers, disturbing visions and wanted criminals had you on edge these past few months, so perhaps unwinding with said, now somewhat mellow, wanted criminals was warranted in some way. 

You heft the presents under your arms, moving your fingers to stabilize the wrapped goods when you feel one of them begin to slip. Shopping hadn’t been too difficult, although choosing a gift for Sylus had proved to be somewhat of a challenge. You weren’t sure whether to get him something heartfelt or to gift him a refurbished gun with new prototyped features that were advertised to the Hunter Association. 

The glittering streams of tinsel drags you out of your thoughts, a smile pulling at your lips as you imagine Luke, Kieran and Sylus decorating. You hear panicked, hushed whispers when you turn the corner, a laugh spilling out of you when you see the sight before you.

Luke perched atop Kieran’s shoulders, Kieran grumbling irritatedly when Luke flails and misses the tip of the Christmas tree, the golden star falling off only for Kieran to shift and have Luke catch it.

“It’s not that hard, you idiot,” Kieran grunts, his knees bending in an attempt to readjust to Luke’s weight.

“Then you try!” Luke protests.

“I thought you two were meant to be in tune,” you muse, stepping closer, over the strewn wrapping paper and bending down to add your presents to the growing collection under the Christmas tree. 

“We are,” they both say in unison, their eyes landing on you.

“You made it!” Luke says happily, squirming, “Boss will be glad.”

“ Really glad,” Keiran adds, his annoyance forgotten momentarily. “We’re glad too.”

You smile at them, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s nice to see you guys too. Maybe you should try holding the star at the tip, Luke?”

“That’s what I told him!” Kieran says, letting out an aggrieved sigh. 

Luke huffs indignantly, adjusting his position yet again as Keiran steps closer to the tree, giving Luke some more leverage. It’s another failed attempt and Kieran is rolling his eyes, dumping Luke onto his feet unceremoniously. 

“You do me now.”

“What about her?” Luke asks, pointing at you.

“You could ask Mephisto,” you offer, pointing at the mechanical crow that was currently preening his feathers. “What do you say, buddy?”

Mephisto gives an indignant squawk, his little head turning away arrogantly, tending to his feathers with care.

“Nevermind,” you sigh, before looking towards the twins. “Kieran is taller than me, though.”

“Just get on,” Luke whines as he bends his knees, waiting for you to climb up onto his shoulders.

You open your mouth to protest, but there’s a warm hand curling over your hip, pulling you back gently, flush against a firm chest. “Let’s not badger our guest, hm?”

Deep and velvety, you have no doubts as to who this voice belongs to. Your head tilts back to find Sylus smirking down at you, his expression amused.

“Glad you could join us, sweetie. The N109 Zone isn’t usually so… festive.”

“Yeah, well, apparently you were missing me, so I figured I’d drop in,” you tease, a sly smile spreading across your face.

Luke and Kieran snicker until Sylus’ stern expression silences them, his hand squeezing at your hip in warning.

“I never said that.”

“Must’ve been the wind,” you murmur.

“Right,” Sylus deadpans.

You squeak when the red mist wraps around you, lifting you off of the ground, the golden star being thrust into your hand by the same swirling mist. The trio of men beneath you seem amused as the tendrils sweep you higher, closer to the top of the tree, giving you enough height to place the star right where it needs to be.

Sylus’ Evol dissipates as it sets you down onto your feet, the mist sweeping across playfully and making your dress flutter. 

“That’s one way to do it,” Kieran remarks, slinging his arm over Luke’s shoulders before they shoot each other knowing glances and disappear from the living room.

“You came,” Sylus says once the twins have left, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I did,” you reply, peering up at him, your hands clasping behind your back, “too bad you never sent me a personal invitation.” Sylus smiles, and you can’t help but think he looks softer in this light, the ruthless leader of Onychinus replaced by a man who seems less intense and more accommodating than usual.

“I figured Luke and Kieran would’ve gotten through to you,” he muses, his head tilting as he lets his gaze dip over you.

You do the same, taking in his sweater and trousers, trying to quell the inconvenient yet undeniable pull of attraction you feel towards him. 

“Well, they did,” you sigh, managing to drag your gaze back up to meet his, “although I can’t say I appreciated how many texts they sent.”

“The twins tend to get excited,” Sylus replies, reaching out towards you, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s hard to not notice how Sylus’ touch lingers for a moment, his expression looking a little absent-minded as though remembering something from the past. Your brows furrow, unable to decide between asking him or letting his touch linger further. His hand drops away after a few moments before he clears his throat. 

“I made dinner,” he announces.

You laugh, eyes lighting up at the thought of Sylus in the kitchen. You don’t quite believe him though, not when Sylus had enough money to hire at least a dozen personal chefs.

“You’re not serious,” you say, head tilting in amusement.

“I am,” Sylus smirks, his hand landing on your lower back as he guides you forward, towards the hallway, “Luke and Kieran pitched in.”

“Now I feel special,” you muse.

“I suppose you are,” Sylus replies, his expression sobering, “to all of us.”

You’re taken aback by the sincerity in his words, heart giving way to a flutter that you attempt to squash down by pinching yourself, not that it helps. This sense of belonging isn’t what you’d planned on, warmth blooming in your chest as you stare up at Sylus and remember the twins. It’s nice, really, to be valued like this. You can’t help but think you could get used to it. 

Laughter echoes through the hallway as you and Sylus move through it. You startle when Kieran shouts, his voice urgent. 

“Don’t move!”

“Oh, look at that ,” Luke sighs dramatically, feigning innocence as he peers upwards, directing his gaze above you and Sylus.

Bewilderment flashes across your face until you hear Sylus let out a low laugh. You tip your head back, eyes narrowing when you spy the sprig of mistletoe hanging right above where you’re standing. Mephisto adds in something that sounds like a suspiciously happy squawk, and you stare at the crow, realising you’ve been betrayed. 

“Funny,” you say drily, shaking your head. 

Kieran sighs just like Luke, as though he can’t quite believe the situation. The cunning expression in their eyes gives them away. 

Devious, little brats.

“Well, you can’t move now,” Luke says, sounding positively aggrieved. 

“I suppose you’ll just have to kiss, isn’t that right?” Kieran says, looking towards Luke. Luke nods, a self-satisfied smile settling on his face. “Those are the rules.”

“What rules?” you shoot back, glaring at the pair of twins, “there are no rules. I could quite literally just walk away.”

“Christmas tradition !” Luke and Kieran both argue, their faces looking a little crestfallen when they hear the tone of your voice, “you have to kiss!”

You can feel your heart twinge at the earnest tone present in their voices, your eyes flickering up to meet Sylus’. Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem to have any protests, his gaze boring down into yours expectantly. 

“You seriously have nothing to say?” you grouse, head tilting.

“It’s just a kiss, sweetie,” he replies, his arm wrapping around your waist to bring you closer to him. “What’s the matter, hm? Afraid you’ll fall for me?”

“The thought is laughable,” you retort, trying to ignore the soothing squeeze of his hand against your side; the unrelenting warmth that was currently seeping into you and melting your hardened resolve.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers gripping your chin to tilt your head. “We have time.”

“Move a little to the right!” Kieran calls out, waving his hand.

“What for?” you ask exasperatedly, feeling Sylus step closer, moving you with him.

“For- for the aesthetic !” Luke huffs out.

The twins look a little impatient as you stare at them, your brows furrowing further when you see Kieran whisper something to Luke.

Sylus doesn’t let you dwell longer on the twins’ antics, his calloused hand cupping your cheek to turn you towards him. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his lips slot over yours, your hand curling around his wrist. Sylus kisses you like he means it, lips soft yet insistent, his thumb smoothing over your cheek. You forget where you are momentarily, knees feeling weak as you fist his sweater pulling him closer, rising up on the tips of your toes to meet his kiss better.

Sylus tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Your stubborn resolve weakens pitifully and you can only think about how perfect this moment is, how good Sylus’ lips feel, how warm his embrace is-

There’s a blinding array of flashes, white sparking out from under your closed eyelids until your eyes snap open, head turning to the side to find both Luke and Kieran with cameras in hand.

“Oh, shit,” Luke begins.

“I thought the flash was off,” Kieran mutters, frowning.

You grit your teeth, taking one step towards them, your eyes narrowing. “Give that to me.”

Luke and Kieran hug their cameras to their chest protectively.

“Christmas memories,” Luke laughs nervously when he sees the determination in your eyes. “Wouldn’t- wouldn’t want to lose those.”

Kieran nods in agreement.

“Boss!” They cry out when the cameras get swept out of their hands by Sylus’ Evol, one of them landing in your hands.

You click through the images, heat blossoming in your stomach when you see how intimate the kiss looks, Sylus’ body pressed firmly against yours, his hand on your cheek. It’s romantic, your somewhat eager response, Sylus’ tight hold, all captured closely through the lens.

“‘s nice,” Sylus murmurs, his chest pressing up against your back as he peers down at the little camera screen.

“ No ,” you shake your head vehemently, “it’s not nice.”

“We look good,” he whispers, his voice dropping lower, lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

You try to ignore the way his hands feel on your hips, his body pressing a little closer into yours. It’s hard not to agree with him the longer you stare at the images though, you do look good, and Luke’s interjection about Christmas memories has you feeling a little forgiving. 

“Fine, keep them,” you sigh, handing the camera back to Luke whilst Sylus does the same to Kieran, “but don’t share them, please.”

Luke and Kieran nod enthusiastically and you snag onto Kieran’s arm before he can leave, your voice dropping to a low whisper.

“Send them to me,” you whisper, “and not a word to anyone.”

Kieran smiles deviously and you roll your eyes, reaching up to ruffle his hair. 

“You’re such a jerk, Kieran.”

“C’mon,” he whines, “you love us.”

You smile up at him, your arm hooking with his. “Maybe just a little.”

He snorts and you let out a laugh, following after Luke and Sylus who had left earlier, talking about something else. Dinner goes smoothly enough and you refuse to tell Luke and Kieran what their presents are, despite their whining.

You feed Mephisto little bites of your food, your finger petting his little feathery head gently every now and then. He preens at the attention, letting out an odd sounding chirp every now and then when you tap his little beak and offer him some more food.

Sylus is seated beside you and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to stop stealing glances at the side of his face. The longer you stare, the more you can feel yourself falling deeper, a pressing crisis unfolding in your mind. 

Fuck . You think you might like him.

Deep rooted feelings of yearning never lead to any good, and yet, you were too impatient not to act on them.You wait patiently, fingers playing with themselves in your lap, for the perfect opportunity. 

It presents itself when Luke and Kieran break out into an insignificant quarrel, their eyes moving elsewhere. Sylus is already looking towards you and you’re leaning forward, cupping the back of his head to bring him closer, lips meeting his in a slow, sweet kiss. 

“What was that for?” Sylus murmurs when you break away, his eyes roving over the flush settling on your cheeks.

“No reason,” you reply nonchalantly, leaning back in your chair.

Sylus scoffs out a laugh, behaving seemingly unaffected. There’s a light flush dusted across his cheeks however, his tongue darting out to taste the remnants of you on his lips.

“This is for no reason too,” he says, grabbing your chin and pulling you closer.

You sigh contentedly when he kisses you, arms wrapping around his neck, your lips working against his a little feverishly as though you can’t get enough.

A cacophony of protests breaks out from the twins when they see you and Sylus kissing at the table.

“Gross! Get a room!”

You roll your eyes, breaking away from Sylus to peer over at them. 

“You were the ones that made us kiss,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, we didn’t mean all the time,” Luke corrects.

“Deal with it,” Sylus interrupts, brushing a kiss to your cheek.

You hum happily, Sylus’ hand warm as it encases yours under the table. Luke pouts and Kieran mirrors him, both of them slumping back in their chairs.

You and Sylus get a little more privacy when you step outside, snow dusting across both of you, covering the shrubbery and trees. Mephisto swoops through the air, his mechanical wings flapping as he lands on a tree branch above. The icy chill of the wintery air isn’t so bad, not when Sylus is stepping up behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder as he holds you close to him.

“It was bound to happen,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again as you stare up at the night sky, glittering with stars.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself,” you reply, squeezing his forearms.

“Let’s just say… I had an inkling. I know you, sweetie.”

“I don’t understand what you mean sometimes,” you sigh, peering up at him, head resting on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” he whispers, dropping a kiss to your temple.

You sway gently in his arms, pressing yourself closer, eyes slipping shut. You’d kill for more moments of peace like this.

It never seems to last for long.

The beginnings of torn wrapping paper begin to fill your ears and you peek through the glass window to find the twins tearing at their presents.

“Oh, these are sick !” Luke announces, beginning to twirl around the pair of knives you had gotten him.

“They have to wait!” you protest, reaching for the door, “Sylus, they have to wait!”

“Let them,” Sylus murmurs, dragging you back into his arms, his chest rumbling with laughter.

You can’t help but let out an exasperated noise, smiling up at him. Sylus lowers his head and you nudge your nose against his gently, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

“What?” he asks quietly when you trace the curve of his cheek, your fingers splaying across his skin.

You kiss him again, revelling in the softness of his eyes when you pull apart. There's a strange warmth in your chest, an unknown pull in the back of your mind as though something familiar were evading you.

You feel like you know him too.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Continuation to This Post :]

------

It was always so strange to hear adults argue.

Grown up fights never seemed quite the same as the trivial spats her and Dipper sometimes had. They were similar in some aspects, yes; Adults and children weren't as different as people liked to think. Mabel had seen adults verbally lash at one another with vicious words just as low hanging and petty as the ones she'd sometimes see kids the same age as her use. Adults arguing was essentially just a louder, angrier version of children fights.

And yet, there was somehow... more to it. Grown up arguments always seemed to weigh so much heavier in the air, and for so much longer than she'd ever thought possible.

Sometimes, the weight would leave quick and early, practically gone by the next morning. However, occasionally, the weight would stay; and grow heavier, and heavier over the years. Until it came to a point when the weight was nothing but a choking, stifling presence that seemed to fill every room in the house and buzz deafeningly in your ears like an unpleasant static that made your head pound.

Then, one day, the pressure would burst with a loud yell, a slam, and a bang, and start building up all over again. It was a cycle Mabel was much familiar with.

Her Grunkle Ford's "Mystery Shack" didn't have that air.

The shack's air smelled like burnt out candles and cheap discount Halloween fake blood, with a hint of real blood underneath the stinging scent of old wood and aged parchment. It wasn't necessarily a very nice air, certainly not in any way the fresh, crisp, clean air of the streets of Piedmont, but it smelled more like home than she'd ever felt back in California. It just smelled like... Grunkle Ford.

She liked her Grunkle Ford. He was super weird; with an even weirder Uncle as his roommate. He checked her and Dipper's arms and legs every morning "just in case someone broke in at night to steal a sample of their bloods"; he despised overly sweet foods (baffling, truly); and he had exactly 27 locks installed on the front and back door respectively that he could unlock all in under a minute with his really fast extra fingers. He reminded her a little of Dipper on some occasions, no matter how much the latter liked to deny the similarities (although, bar the demonic obssession).

However, last night, the air suddenly grew heavy.

Grunkle Ford had a fight.

Mabel hadn't heard it, and she hadn't seen it, but she knew there had been one. She was an expert recognizing the signs; she could always tell.

When she had awoken that late morning, the stuffy summer air had taken an even more sour note than usual, and had become a touch heavier than it should have been. Either that meant Grunkle Ford had just recently finished up a ritual, or a particularly rowdy argument had taken place; and Mabel knew that Grunkle Ford only performed his rituals between 2 to 4 AM, when he thought the twins were well asleep.

It was strange, to feel that same heavy air push down upon her temples and pound that same painful rhythm of a mounting headache as it used to do so often back when Mabel was in California. It had already happened a few times at the shack, but this one felt... heavier, than usual. She didn't think she would have to encounter the discomforting weight again this summer, away from her parents. Yet here she was. Aching.

She knew Gunkle Ford and Uncle Bill fought and bantered. With Bill being a permanent resident trapped within her Grunkle's mind, she couldn't imagine how they wouldn't. She didn't think even she could keep her cool if she had Uncle Bill as her brain roommate 24/7.

In any case, their interactions in front of the twins were mostly a mixture of exasperated resignation, or irritated tolerance, mostly from Grunkle Ford. Their occasional volleying exchanges of vitriol doused insults and words were short lived, and brief most of the time, especially when in front of the kids. They were nothing like the long, loud ones that could go on for hours back at her house in Piedmont.

Even so, there were some times when Mabel would see Grunkle Ford late in the evening, red faced and tight fisted, stomping down to the basement and disappearing into his lab there with a deafening slam of the rickety wooden door. She recognized that slam. He didn't want the twins to hear the argument.

Even if they could hear anything, what little they could glean always seemed to be only side of the argument, with Grunkle Ford yelling curses at Uncle Bill inside his head. She always did wonder what happened inside Grunkle Ford's head. Although, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. She couldn't imagine the state of the mind of someone who sometimes forgot to eat or sleep for almost a full week until someone reminded him.

The entire day passed with that same, tense air choking the atmosphere. Dipper had dragged Mabel and himself to some adventure in the forest, but it seemed to her that he was just trying to find excuses to stay out of the shack for the time being. Even he seemed to feel the unnerving heaviness of the air.

That night, underneath her sheets, Mabel pulled out the worn and well used wooden art mannequins Dipper and Grunkle Ford seemed to keen on using to summon Bill rather than their own shadows. With her trusty golden glitter pen (that she knew Uncle Bill loved despite what he claimed), she gently drew a closed eye upon the blank wooden face of the little model.

The eye opened, and she spoke: