#but he’d forget about it in a week
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emimii · 7 months ago
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got bored!!! clownaire gets to have some relationships
(featuring @/mysticalcats (foxglove), @/toki-toro (chaumet) and @/murdleandmarot (bluebelle) ‘s ocs as well but like only one way views for them lmao)
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blushy-tigerrr · 4 months ago
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vent in tags sorry
cw: mention of loss
#adding a long note to the beginning so no one sees the actual vent in the case that they don’t want to which is absolutely okay#okay that’s probably good#i feel like a failure today.#my car wouldn’t start on friday and i haven’t had a moment to actually call a mechanic until today#called early in the morning and he said he’d call me back with a time#i’ve reached out multiple times since then and have heard NOTHING#if i don’t get it fixed today i’ll have to take my partners car instead#and when i asked them if that would possibly be okay#they started off on a rant about how they were planning to do all this shit tomorrow morning and now can’t if they don’t have their car#but genuinely. how tf was i supposed to know about their plans?? why did they have to say it all like this is completely my fault???#i’m sorry that i’m still in a not so good mental place right now and might forget to do things in a more timely manner#i’ve had two grandparents pass away in the span of a few WEEKS. give me a little grace.#i give them the same understanding every day when they’re having a rough time#so why can’t they offer me the same thing?#i know they’re just stressed and tired and busy but FUCK SO AM I#i’m just. over it. i want to go to sleep.#and by sleep i mean literal sleep i’m not insinuating anything darker i promise#i may be in a rough spot mentally but it is not that kind of rough <3 i’m safe#just. very tired. and in need of support.#i feel like i’m always giving and rarely getting support in this relationship.#and now i’m just feeling like a burden and an inconvenience for even needing the extra support in the first place#the urge to run away and start my life over is strong holy shit
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sweetpapercroissant · 2 years ago
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everybody talks about demon!dean possessing sam. nobody talks about sam secretly liking it and hating himself for it.
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backtodecembertv · 25 days ago
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i know why we had to say goodbye like the back of my hand but i just miss you and i just wish you were a better man!! ok i’m done being sad about him now. need to do something messy. maybe i will sleep with that other guy
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skipppppy · 3 months ago
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The life of Stanford Pines must be so bizarre from the perspective of a random townsperson who doesn’t know him. Imagine you live in a sleepy lumber town, where the most interesting thing you’ve heard this week is that a plot of land on the outskirts of the woods was sold and someone has started constructing a cabin on there.
You later learn by word of mouth that he’s a phd student doing some kind of long-term research project. You don’t see his face until one night he comes blasting down the street on a trail of destruction, eyes yellow and glazed over, trashing public property, inflicting gruesome injuries on himself, and laughing like he’s on an erratic, drug-fuelled bender. He then goes home and locks himself in his cabin again. This becomes a cycle; he stays isolated for weeks, then comes out once in a blue moon to wreak havoc and be a nuisance to the authorities.
Then one day it stops. He doesn’t come back out. The next time you see him he’s at a grocery store looking completely different to how you remember; his hair is grown out, he’s put on weight, his clothes are completely different and he’s stopped wearing glasses. Some townsfolk finally work up the nerve to talk to him and you learn that he invited them to his cabin on a tour. His home is apparently FULL of dangerous research equipment and the scientist, who had allegedly been very quiet and level-headed on the days he wasn’t having his “episodes,” has had a complete personality change, he’s loud and confident and less than honest and a little sleazy but a damn good salesman and entertainer.
He hosts tours out of his home for the next 30 years. Over time he’d changed it into a museum of sorts that sells overpriced knickknacks to unsuspecting tourists, but aside from his shady business practices he’s a well known member of his community. He changes up the exhibits every few months, brings his niece and nephew to stay one summer and they become town darlings, and even exposes a beloved public figure for running a spyware scheme.
One day you hear he got visited by the FBI. They start going round town asking about him. A week or so later he gets arrested. The town goes CRAZY theorising why but then there’s a massive earthquake and in the chaos of that you forget what happened to him. One minute you hear that the feds were surrounding his house and the next they’re all leaving like they forgot what they came for. Another week later he resurfaces and announces he’s going to run for Mayor, dominated the polls, wins the popular vote, but loses his position immediately due to an extensive criminal record.
Then there’s gossip that he completely changed his appearance again. He’s lost his fez and is walking around in a coat and cable knit turtleneck in the middle of the July heat. Then you hear from someone else that he looks the exact same and didn’t change anything. Then you see two identical men walking down the street, one matching the description you saw. People are BUZZING to know what happened and you eventually learn that the “new guy” was actually the same Scientist and the guy that had been running the museum was his twin brother who stole his identity after he went missing. Then the apocalypse happens
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itneverendshere · 20 days ago
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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIX
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pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;
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Rafe had been clean for the past three years.
Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 
It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.
He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.
Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.
It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 
Until Ward died. 
Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 
Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 
To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 
Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.
At first, you were there for him, no question. 
He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.
You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.
At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.
He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 
After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.
For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 
Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.
He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 
He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.
Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?
He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.
Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.
After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.
If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 
It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.
This was different, a slower, quieter process.
Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.
So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 
He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.
Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.
Grounded.
Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.
You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 
Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.
She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.
But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.
He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.
Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.
“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”
It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.
“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”
The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.
Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.
It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.
He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.
“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”
Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 
“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”
You were mad at him.
It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.
“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 
There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.
As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.
His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.
By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 
You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.
He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.
“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”
“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”
You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”
Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.
“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”
He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.
“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.
“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”
He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.
“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”
“I know what you deserve.” 
He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”
“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”
He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.
“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”
You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.
“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”
His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.
“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"
You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.
“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.
His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”
“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.
He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.
“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”
"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”
Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.
He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.
“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”
“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”
You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.
That was it.
Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.
He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 
That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.
He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.
He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.
But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 
No, no, no.
Sofia was what he needed.
Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 
She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.
He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.
It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 
So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 
Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.
Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 
He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.
Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 
“I’m here because she called me.”
“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”
Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.
“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”
He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”
“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”
“Go away. I’m driving her home.”
She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.
“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”
A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”
“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”
He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.
But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.
“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”
Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.
It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 
His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.
Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.
You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.
But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.
He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 
Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.
His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.
He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 
Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.
Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.
But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?
This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.
He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 
He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.
Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.
If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.
He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.
He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.
With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.
He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 
You’ll just prove her right.
He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 
As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.
He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.
"Wake the fuck up."
He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”
But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.
“What the hell happened?”
Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.
Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”
Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.
Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.
“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”
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If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 
Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.
Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.
She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.
“Hi.”
You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.
“Thanks for coming.” 
“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 
You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”
She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”
She’d made him leave.
You could imagine his face distorted with anger.
You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.
You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.
“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 
Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.
You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.
Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.
“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”
You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”
“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”
You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.
"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”
There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.
You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.
Not like this, with the IV in your arm.
"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”
This.
You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 
“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”
Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”
“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”
A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 
“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”
You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.
This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.
"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.
Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.
“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.
"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.
But it didn’t. 
You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 
Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 
Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.
“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.
You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.
“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"
You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.
“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."
“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.
“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”
Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”
You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.
“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.”
“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”
The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.
“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”
“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”
Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”
“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”
“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”
She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”
“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.
“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”
You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”
She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”
“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.
“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”
You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”
When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.
You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 
The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.
She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.
“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."
Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.
You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”
“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”
You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.
And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.
“Thank you.”
And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.
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cerberin · 1 year ago
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i ruined my own birthday waiting for him to wish me happy birthday
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utilityknif3 · 7 months ago
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Nsfw!!! tehee
Imagine being Simon Ghost Riley’s ex wife who he can’t forget. You two have a son together and after being on a mission for a few weeks, he wanted to take him out somewhere for some quality time since you had full custody.
Even though he’s been away for only a few weeks, you two haven’t seen each other for months now.
Simon knocks on your door hesitantly. He wants to see you, he needs to. But when you open the door, he doesn’t know what to say.
You’re so beautiful, you changed but you’re glowing.
You just greet him with a simple “hi” and let him in. Simon walks in, lowering his head so he doesn’t hit it on the doorframe and you both sit on the couch and wait…
“He’s not here” you say, breaking the silence and trying to make the situation less awkward after a moment of silence.
“Where is he?” He asks with his deep voice and thick British accent that makes your heart melt each time.
“He’s at his friend’s birthday, he’ll be back later…in a few hours” you reply not daring to look at him in the eyes.
“In a few hours…aight” Simon passes a hand through his short blond hair, trying to think of something to say.
You two have been trying to hold a decent conversation for an hour now, catching up on your respective lives. He tells you about the struggles of his job and you tell him about whatever’s been bothering you lately…until you felt his gaze lower to your hand, especially the finger where your ring is placed, the ring he placed. The ring you can’t get rid of even though you tried to.
“You still have your wedding band?”
He asks as he stares at the ring he passed on your finger a few years before, as if he was mesmerized. He wished to do it again, and again… see you all dolled up in your pretty dress for him with that beautiful smile on your face. You two were so happy that day, like it was the best day of your lives.
He wished he could fuck you again like the night of your wedding, slowly and steadily. It was so intimate, just the two of you, his hair tickling your jaw as he pounded into you. He remembers the way your arms were wrapped around his neck and the way your hands would move to touch his hair. He remembers the sloppy kisses he gave you while he was listening to the soft symphony your moans were composing.
Simon snaps out of his transe when you answer
“Yes…it’s a pretty ring after all”
He nods.
He feels dumb for thinking that you two still had something; you moved on and it was clear.
He doesn’t want you to know that he kept the ring and a few of your things too. He doesn’t want you to know that you’re the one in his mind when he’s alone jerking himself off and overstimulating his soaked cock trying to recreate what you would do to him. He’s ashamed. The shirt that you forgot to get back from him had already been stained with his cum so many times that it doesn’t even smell like you anymore.
You already moved on but he didn’t, he never forgot your dates where you’d be just the two of you on the couch watching an old crappy movie. He never forgot the long hours he’d spend sleeping on your pregnancy belly while you’d caress gently his freshly cut hair. He never forgot the way your son would grab his big tatted arm in his small hands…He never forgot the feeling of your pussy squeezing him and taking him so well. The way you’d ride him on nights he felt tired, or the way your tongue would swirl around his tip, trying to milk every drop of cum he had left in him.
Simon loves you, he loves everything about you and never stoped loving you…
…that’s why you’re on the couch right now with his face buried in between your thighs. Simon’s tongue passes through your folds and teases your clit slowly while you scratch his hair. He’s so good for you, going a bit faster each time he hears you whimper.
The tip of his tongue teases your soaking hole while your toes curl around nothing.
After a moment of this sweet torture, he finally decides that his pants were getting too tight and stops licking you. He lifts his eyes to look at you, his face all red from embarrassment as your hand leaves his hair.
“Please, let me fuck you like you deserve” He asks politely while you’re panting heavily. At this point, his dick is the only thing you’ve been wanting. It’s been a while, too long.
You agree with a nod and he doesn’t hesitate to lift you up and put you gently on the kitchen counter. He used to make love to you for hours on it, it was the perfect height. He could fuck you from the front with your legs over his shoulders or from the back with your boobs pressed against the cold granite countertop.
He takes a moment to appreciate your body and watches you all vulnerable and needy for him. He wants to make you cry, to make you beg for more because he knows you will want more. He’s the only one who knows what’s best for you.
As you adjust your body on the counter, Simon hurries to take his fully hard boner out of his pants and boxers. It’s bigger than you remember, covered of his precum and ready to stuff you full of his semen.
You bite your lip in anticipation the moment he grips your thigh to holds it up. He’s so hot when he’s on top, his eyebrows are furrowed as he lines up his dick with the hole of your soaked cunt.
He puts it in with a low “fuck” escaping his lips. You feel so good around him.
Simon pounds into you, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs, making sure to leave dark bruises on your skin. He’s loosing himself into your folds feeling your burning walls squeeze his cock too much for him to hold his orgasm.
He burries his dick deeply into you, his tip kissing your cervix at each thrust and eventually it begins to feel too stimulating, too good. Simon cums into you but doesn’t stop his hips from moving. The white substance drips down to the counter and his moans are higher and louder. Now, his thrust are messy and uneven because of the overwhelming pleasure he’s feeling trying to bring you to your climax.
You reach it eventually, your own juices melting with his as you two are panting messes. Simon looks at you, at your beautiful face he missed so much. He won’t let you go again.
About an hour later, after a good shower, he randomly decides to kiss you and mumbles “I love you”
I know the end is ass idk how to end fics 🤯 and tbh I know that my writing sucks also bc I have great ideas but poor grammar and vocabulary 😓 I promise to get better bear with me 🙌🏾
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luveline · 7 months ago
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i have a request for roommate!spencer where he's just miserable that no one remembered his birthday at work but when he gets home his roommate just welcomes him with the most thoughtful gift and a warm hug PLEASE
thank you for requesting! <3 fem!reader
The lights are off. The air conditioning blows a shade too cold. Spencer shrugs off his jacket and acknowledges that, despite his awful, aching day, it’s nice to be home. 
The living room is clean where it hadn’t been this morning when he left. If he had to clean it by himself, he’d die. It must’ve taken a good hour or longer, even the floor shines sparkling clean. 
“Hey?” he asks into the open air, wondering where you are. 
“Spencer!” you yelp from the kitchen, “Hey, what took you so long? It’s almost seven!” 
He sighs to himself with a great dash of self-pity. “I know. Had to stay and finish something. You cleaned?” 
“I had to! Quick, come in here, I need your help with something.” 
He doesn’t want to help, he wants to lay down in bed. Spencer wonders how a normal person, a normal boy, would feel after a day like today. He wonders if Morgan would go home and lay in bed and cry. He wonders if it could ever be possible for everyone to forget Morgan’s birthday. 
Spencer hangs his jacket on the rack and puts his bag by the shoes. He’s tempted to go to bed and pretend he hasn’t heard you, but he supposes he shouldn’t. He’d sort of been hoping you’d text him happy birthday, and but that never happened. He doesn’t think anybody in the world besides his mom knows what day it is today, and Spencer had to remind her, so. 
“Spence,” you say, your smile of a calibre he’s never witnessed, standing in front of the kitchen island with your hands behind your back, “I hope you know I’ve been waiting two whole hours for you to get back. Actually, I’ve been waiting all day, but you can’t be blamed for working. Okay. Are you ready?” 
“Am I ready? What did you want help with?” 
You step to the side, grinning, the sleeves of your nice blouse like big, soft petals around your wrists and against your thighs. “Tada!” you say, guiding his attention to the silver platter on the countertop, a chocolate cake at centre stage and stuck with candles, flames aglow. “I rushed to light them when I heard the door,” you tell him, and he can hear your breathlessness now, your excitement for him evident. “A lot of candles, you’re getting old! Too old for chocolate sprinkle. I should’ve got you something sophisticated.” 
“You got me a cake?” 
“It’s your birthday,” you say happily. “Happy birthday, Spencer. I got you some presents, too, but the cake is the best, it’s from the Leaven. How fancy is that?” 
“Will you sing?” he asks. 
He doesn’t know why he asks. He’s mostly kidding, but you smile shyly and beckon him toward you. “I’ll sing. Come stand over here.” 
You sing him happy birthday, and he blows out his candles, only ten candles altogether but enough to feel like a kid as the heat kisses his chin. 
“Okay, and I got you this,” you say, finally pulling both hands from behind your back, seemingly eager to move the focus from your performance.
It’s a bundle about as thick as an average novel. He knows it’ll be books before he opens it, because you know him, and it’s in your nature to give him your everything. 
He doesn’t look at them. He takes the package blindly and shoves it onto the counter, wrapping you in a hug so hard it makes your back click. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t let go. You don’t make him. “Sorry, I just– I–” You’re the only one who remembered. “Thank you for the cake.” 
You hug him not quite as hard, but tight. “Hey, it’s okay. I love you, you’re my best friend ever, you can pop me like a roll of dough any day of the week.” You might be exaggerating. Spencer doesn’t know. “But especially today, you know. You can have anything you want.” 
Spencer should let go. Anything you want, you’d said. He hugs you until he’s sure you’re sick of him, your thumb pressing little circles into his shoulder, his arms tucked up under your armpits and around your back. “Thanks,” you murmur.
“What?” he asks. “For what?” 
“For such a good hug. And being a great roommate. And for not complaining about the candles.” 
“The candles are perfect.” 
You lean back in his arms. “Thank you. Now what do you want first, cake or dinner?” 
Spencer really wants another hug. “Um. Cake?” 
“Good choice, handsome.”
His cheeks are pink by the time he gets a slice, but it’s the best birthday cake he’s ever had.
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sp0o0kylights · 2 months ago
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“Dustin isn’t coming.”
“What?” Eddie says, all frantic and jovial movements freezing instantly.
His eyes narrow on Lucas--the bearer of bad news. “Why?” 
“Family emergency.” 
Mike makes a face. “I saw his mom yesterday and she was fine, so is this a…?” 
He makes a gesture that is entirely incomprehensible to anyone who isn’t Sinclair and his terrifying girlfriend.
(At least, Eddie thinks Max is Lucas’s girlfriend this week. It got a little hard to keep up after the third break-up-make-up marathon, and he frankly, stopped bothering to try.
It helped that she barely spoke--The only time notable being when Eddie had mockingly asked Sinclair if he needed a cheerleader when she’d first sat in, upon which she’d asked Eddie if he needed new kneecaps with a look in her eye that said she was serious.)
Wheeler Jr.’s gesture however, made her put her book down.
“You think he’s having migraines again?” She not so much asked as demanded, which had Mike shrugging. 
“Dunno." Lucas says. "Dustin didn’t say.” 
“Gotta be, if he called Dustin.” Mike mutters, Lucas shuffling his papers about as he begins to set up for Hellfire. He was the last in the room, practically late, which Eddie had planned on harassing him for had he not announced Henderson’s absence. 
(Fucking freshmen. They just weren’t terrified of Eddie like they used to be.) 
 “Robin must be sick or something, otherwise he’d call her.”  Lucas finishes as he finally sits down. 
“Didn’t the Marching Band go on some trip?” Mike turns to address the rest of the table, and gets nods from Jeff and Gareth both. 
“Yeah they’re marching in some parade in Indianapolis.” Jeff confirms. 
“So his last resort was Dustin?” Max is getting that tone in her voice, the one that makes everyone at Hellfire very uncomfortable. “Typical.” 
She pushes away from the table, making a show of gathering up her things before rising easily to her feet.
Eddie trades looks with the elder Hellfire members as she makes her exit--the kind that says they’re all going to be talking about this later. 
They knew their freshmen had some weird obsession with the former King, of course, but Mayfield too?
What the hell was up with that guy?
At least Eddie thinks, right before things are once again shot to shit, they can go back to playing the game.
He can make it work this early into things, and if Henderson isn't’ a fan of what he’s about to do to the kid’s character in his absence, well. 
Maybe he shouldn’t be fucking absent then. 
“So what, Max, you're gonna go over there and make it worse?” Mike snorts. 
Fatal mistake.
Eddie almost strangles him for it, if only because it prolongs this entire unnecessary conversation. 
Max performs a military perfect heel turn, coming straight back for Wheeler Jr., which makes him right about fall out of his seat in panic. 
“What was that, Wheeler?” 
“I’m just saying--!” 
“We don’t know Steve’s having migraines.” Lucas reiterates, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it’s something else.” 
“Does Steve get migraines a lot?” Grant asks, because despite all appearances he’s a terrible gossip and gets sucked in far too easily.
Eddie throws a pencil at him for it. 
“Hel-looo, we have a game!?” He thunders, but unfortunately for him, precious Stevie-Weavies headache now has everyone’s attention. 
“Yeah, though he’s really good at pretending he doesn’t.” Lucas answers with a put upon sigh. 
“There’s a whole pattern--he ignores it until it gets super bad, then he has to call Robin or Dustin to come get him when he inevitably gets stranded at work or the like, grocery store.” 
“Well who else do you think he’d call?” Mike scoffs again. He does a lot of that, when discussing Harrington. “It’s not like his parents are--Ow, Max!” 
“Close your mouth before I close it for you.” She hisses and Mike, shockingly, does just that. 
To Eddie, she says; 
“Your ass isn’t any better, or did you forget I live across from you?” 
Eddie--who had an insult primed and ready--promptly shuts his mouth.
(Fucking! Asshole! Freshmen!) 
“Maybe I should go too.” Lucas says, hedging a look between his girlfriend and his DM. 
“No.” She snaps, pointing a finger at him.
 “If you go, then this idiot,” she flicks her finger to  Mike, “will go and then we really will make it worse. Stay here before your bichon frise has a fit about all his sheep abandoning him.”
Then she’s turning on her heel again, storming out. 
“What the hell’s a bichon frisé?” Gareth asks in the aftermath, frowning. 
“It’s a type of ahhhh--” Jeff clearly thinks better of the explanation, eyes sliding to Eddie.
Who’s scowling.
“I know what a bichon frisé is, Jeff.” He snaps. 
“I don’t.” Grant loudly complains. 
Jeff attempts to both calm Eddie and explain while Mike and Lucas spend far too many minutes looking after Max. 
“Enough!” Eddie howls, temper finally getting the best of him. “Are we playing or do you also need to go sit by the King’s bedside?”  
“Thank you,” Mike says, like he wasn’t a third of the entire problem. “Let’s play!”
They make it about ten entire minutes before getting knocked off track again. 
In fairness, not that Eddie would ever admit it--the second meltdown is his own fault.
xXx
Hellfire is Eddie’s domain. 
It’s one of the few places where he could relax without getting harassed or hounded, and having his freshmen--his!--abandon him for King Fucking Steve had set him off. 
So he’d made a few comments about it.
Maybe introduced an NPC who sounded suspiciously similar to Harrington, only to instantly kill him off. 
Made another couple of nasty comments. 
Who cares? It worked him through his snit rather nicely, and his boys all knew to leave him be.
Except, apparently, for Lucas. 
“Dude, would you lay off?”  The kid finally snaps, pencil slamming down on the table. 
Which is the most backbone-like thing anyone has ever heard Sinclair say, and he gets far more whistles for it than he should.
Eddie pins him in place with a glare. 
“What was that Sinclair?” He snarls, voice as menacing as he can make it.
(It’s pretty terrifying, he’s practiced quite a bit with it.) 
Sinclair flinches, but doesn’t back down. 
“I said lay off. Steve has migraines because of--” He stops, before seeming to come to a decision. “Because of me. He took a hit for me, and I owe him a life debt for it.” 
To Eddie, he says; “You get what those are, right?” 
Mike rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t just for you--”
“That time with Billy was!” Lucas is quick to snarl. “But you know what Mike, you’re right. It wasn’t just for me. He T-boned a car for all of us!” 
Sinclaire is on his feet now, which is the unfortunate moment that Eddie realizes he has once again lost control of the room. 
A situation he firmly blames on Steve Harrington, because he’s petty. 
“Or did you forget that part? That’s you, me, Will, Nancy and Jonathan right there! Nevermind the tunnel. Or the junkyard! 
“We had the junkyard handled--”
Lucas scoffs. 
“We absolutely did not.” 
“I don’t get why you’re all making such a big deal out of this. He’s the fighter. That’s what he does. That’s why we brought him to the tunnel.”
“You recall what happened at Starcourt, right?” Lucas challenges, furious. “You did see him after, right?” 
This, finally, seems to shut Mike up. 
“Shouldn’t you be mad at him for that?” He says after a moment, and the rest of Hellfire has completely put aside all actual gaming to watch this play out with a morbid sort of fascination. 
Eddie allows it, only because he’s trying to breathe the way Wayne taught him to before he loses it entirely and throws both of the idiot kids out of the drama room. 
“He pulled your sister into it.”
“Have you met Erica!? You can’t pull her into shit!” Lucas spits furiously. “That wasn’t D&D, Mike. It was the Upsi--real life.” 
Lucas is quick to correct himself, even in the heat of the moment--as all the kids are, like the entire school hasn’t clocked that they have some weird ass secret they’re terrible at hiding.
“And if we’re playing those games, then who pulled him into the tunnels? Who made him come to the junkyard?”
“Dustin.” Mike says snidely. 
“You don’t get to blame Dustin when Steve was the only person around.” 
“There were people around! They just weren’t people who--weren’t--who couldn’t--”
“Finish that sentence.” Lucas demands 
“Be trusted.” Mike spits out, like it hurts him. 
“Exactly.” 
“El went through way more than Steve ever has! El--”
“El was using her po--doing mage things! And also, she shouldn’t have had to go through all this shit either! We can’t rely on her to save the day every single time, Mike--and look at how hurt she gets!”
“She--”
“She hides it from you, you know. How bad she hurts. Cause she wants to put your feelings first.” 
“I--”
“Will does too.”  Is Lucas’s parting shot. His backpack is in his hands in a blink, papers and character figure shoved wildly into it, before he’s storming out the door in a poor mimicry of Mayfield.
“Harrington T-Boned a car?” Grant says, in the resounding silence. 
“That BMW of his hasn’t had a scratch on it--” Jeff says, with an inquisitive tilt to his head. 
“He didn’t use the Beamer.” Mike interrupts, angry and sulking. “Are we playing or not?”
“I’m gonna say not, given we are down two players.’ Eddie tells him through clenched teeth. 
“I’m going to be so mad if Steve doesn’t have a migraine.” Mike grumbles, as he begins packing up his stuff. 
The rest of Hellfire follow his lead, after one look at Eddie’s face convince the lot of them that it’s best to flee now, before Eddie unleashes all his pent up rage. 
“Not as mad as I’ll be, Wheeler.” Eddie promises darkly.
And it is a promise--because now, he’s going to follow all his stupid (sans Mike, who isn’t in his good graces either but at least stayed) freshmen--and go visit one fallen King.
If Harrington doesn’t have a headache now, he will when Eddie’s done with him.
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fastandcarlos · 3 months ago
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Bump Cuddles : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen
summary: watching you pregnant is a dream for max, especially with your bump there on offer for him to always snuggle up to
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His eyes landed on you as soon as you walked into your bedroom, Max’s smile turned up as he watched you close the door behind you, knowing that was you for the night. You placed your phone down before perching on the edge of the bed, slowly rolling onto your back and stretching out. 
As you reached up, the material of your pyjama shirt lifted up, revealing your babu bump. “Look at you,” Max chuckled, instinctively moving towards you and placing his hand on your exposed skin. 
“This thing is lethal these days,” you chuckled, relaxing under the pressure of the warmth of Max’s hand. “I could do some serious damage if I wanted to with this thing.” 
“Tell me about it,” Max chuckled, all too familiar with being on the receiving end of you barging him forgetting how much space you now needed to get around. “Just think, there’s only a few more weeks to go until you won’t have this anymore.” 
“I can’t wait,” you laughed as Max turned his frame around so that his head was resting just beside your bump too. “The bump might look nice, but it’s the most impractical thing in the world.” 
With your bump growing day by day, you were finding it harder and harder to manage. Max was struggling to sit back and watch you, knowing that there was very little that he could do to help you. He did as much as he could, more than enough as far as you were concerned, but he still felt as if he could do more. 
“This is the stage that I’ve looked forward to the most,” Max admitted, brushing his hand over the surface of your bump, pushing your shirt up. “It’s so cuddly and the size of it too, no matter what you’re doing, or wearing, it just looks incredible.” 
As your bump became more prominent, Max’s excitement grew. He was glued to your side whenever he was around you, his hands couldn’t get enough of feeling your bump and the little movements of your son who was wriggling around inside. 
“Do you need anything?” Max asked you, realising that you were settling for the night. “Can I get you anything to make you more comfortable?” 
Your head shook in reply to Max. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt properly comfortable, but you were settled at least for now. Max was used to you being pretty restless, happy to do whatever he needed to do to help you whenever you needed to shuffle. 
“Let me know if you change your mind,” he added, reminding you once again that he was there for you, offering you a sympathetic smile as your eyes met his. 
Your hand came down, brushing through Max’s hair as he made himself comfortable to lay down beside your bump for a little while. “I think he must know that you’re home as he’s been kicking around a lot more than usual today.” 
“Has he?” Max excitedly asked, quickly moving his hand around wondering whether he could feel one for himself, having missed the feeling of your baby’s kicks during his weekend away racing in Qatar. 
You could only chuckle at the excitement on Max’s face, searching and searching for that sweet spot. He made no secret of the fact that feeling your son’s kicks was his favourite part of your pregnancy, every single time excited him as if it was the very first time he’d felt it.  
“What are you going to cuddle when the baby arrives?” You teased. 
“I might actually have to cuddle you again, not your bump.” 
When you first fell pregnant your bump baffled Max, he couldn’t believe how you had a little human growing inside. Now though, he couldn’t imagine the last few months without it, cuddling up to it had become a habit for Max without him even realising he was nearing it most of the time. 
“Sometimes I feel as if I’ve forgotten what you look like without your bump,” he laughed, continuing to move his hand around in search of a sign. 
You nodded in agreement with Max, having forgotten what your feet looked like having been unable to see them for quite a few weeks. “I think my body will be glad when what’s growing in the bump is on the outside, not the inside causing me any pain.” 
“Are you in pain now?” Max nervously asked, immediately panicking. His doubtful eyes looked at you as your head shook, but trusted you all the same. 
Max had always done a good job of taking care of you, but your pregnancy had introduced you to a whole new world with max. Protective was an understatement to describe how he treated you from the moment he found out you were pregnant. 
“I’m scared you know,” Max suddenly whispered, “our son will be tiny, I’m scared when I cuddle him out of your bump I’ll squash him or something.” 
You couldn't help but laugh as Max spoke, “you’ve had plenty of experience holding babies and you’ve managed not to squash any of them.” 
“But they weren’t mine,” he added, “I’ll give them an extra cuddle knowing that he’s mine.” 
Your hand continued to brush through his hair, “trust me, if you look like you’re going to crush our son then I’ll be sure to let you know.” 
The way his mind worked fascinated you, especially as Max seemed to overthink everything. He wanted every little thing to be perfect and would stop at nothing to make sure that it was. Every possible scenario had been considered by Max, even those that seemed completely out of the ordinary. 
“I think once the baby is here you’ll forget about me,” you joked, “you’ll only want to cuddle our son rather than cuddle up to me.” 
Max’s eyes were wide as he tilted them up to look at you. “There’s no way that I’ll ever forget about you, with these broad shoulders I’ll be able to hold the two of you without any problems at all.” 
“You know I’m only messing with you,” you replied, surprised by how serious Max was as he responded to you. 
“I’ll cuddle you more than ever once the baby is here,” Max assured you, moving his hand from your bump to rest against the top of yours. “I’ll cuddle you forever in appreciation for all that you’re about to put your body through in order to make our family complete.” 
As the two of you fell silent, you quickly grabbed Max’s hand placing it against your bump. Luckily for him, you got it there just in time as your son kicked out exactly where the palm of Max’s hand rested. 
“There he is,” Max chuckled, snuggling in closer to your bump, savouring the feeling of your baby letting you know that he was there. 
“That’s the hardest he’s kicked all day,” you breathed, taking a deep breath through the discomfort. “Obviously he’s very happy to have his daddy home too.” 
Max’s eyes studied you closely, “only a couple more weeks and you’ll be able to rest in peace again sweetheart, without all these interruptions.” 
“Are you forgetting the fact that we’ll have a screaming baby instead who will happily keep us up all night long Max?” 
“Let’s just forget about that for now,” he sniggered. 
Your head nodded in agreement, “I don’t know about you, but I’d quite like to make the most of these last few weeks with our bump.” 
“Me too,” Max smirked, “I’ve not got long left to cuddle this bump of yours, and I’m determined to make the most of it.” 
˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗
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kngrose · 6 days ago
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imagine a situationship with sevika
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WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, drinking, bi! reader but wlw, eventual smut, modern au
authors note: i have way too many thoughts about this— this will have multiple parts ^^
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It wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t plan for it. But somewhere along the line, something changed. Your relationship had gotten too… comfortable. At first, the changes were subtle; He wasn’t saying anything outlandish, nothing to make you question your relationship.
But there were small instances, ones where he’d forget plans you made, or when he’d linger on his phone a little longer than usual in your company. You told yourself it was nothing; he might just be a little more stressed than usual– maybe there’s something personal he’s going through.
But as time passed, the pattern became clearer. Conversations that used to flow easily were now strained, almost forced, filled with half-hearted responses. He didn't pick up on the little things anymore; your new manicure or your haircut you had gotten to perfectly frame your face, in hopes that he would notice.
He wouldn’t be as passionate anymore, the fire he once held slowly dimming before your eyes. It was disheartening. The spark that once kept your relationship alive is fading, and you're left with a gnawing feeling of emptiness that you can’t quite explain.
And then there was her.
It wasn’t anything too large, the event. Just a kickback amongst some of your shared friends and some extras they’d invited. You’d tagged along with your boyfriend who’d long forgotten about you, chopping it up with a few of the guys on the couch. You felt a sour twinge in your gut as you sat beside him; this is the most enthusiasm he’s shown in weeks.
You’d noticed her in your solitude; shooting you glances across the room. Similar to you, she hadn’t said much of anything, just idly man-spread on the neighboring couch, red cup held loosely in her hand. You’ve never seen her before… you wonder whose friend she is.
You can't help but return the glances– look at her. Her broad shoulders, her thighs, her hands decorated with rings. The piercings that decorate her face. Those eyes, assessing you as she circles the rim of her cup with an index finger, a little smirk forming on her dark lips.
How could you help it– when she’s just radiating with unspoken confidence? It’s captivating, drawing you in like a deer in headlights. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that unsettles you, and yet, something about it excites you. She’s not like anyone you’ve ever seen.
You realized later that she was just waiting. Waiting for your boyfriend to excuse himself so she could move in. It’ll make you wonder later, how much of this she premeditated. It doesn’t take her long to approach you when he leaves, sliding into the spot next to you curtly, smirking as she meets your eyes. She’s beautiful up close.
She’s looking at you with that calculating gaze, making it clear she’s intrigued. She scans your face up and down, “Like your hair… suits you.”
Her voice was deep, commanding, like she had the power to bend the world to her will. You feel your cheeks warm under her gaze, touching your hair softly. “Thank you.” You manage to retort, embarrassingly glancing away. When you shot your eyes back to hers your breath got caught in your chest, her gaze is unwavering. A chuckle rumbles from her throat, “You’re cute.”
But it's not just the look—it’s the way she speaks to you. It’s amazing how easily she manages to fluster you, it’s effortless. Sevika, you learn that her name is, charms you with her dry humor and college stories, entertaining you the entirety of the night.
She tells you about all of the petty fights she’s been in, and all of her run ins with the police. Some of which are so descriptive you have to wonder if she’s being generous with the details. All the while she’s charming you up, placing a hand on your knee, then to your thigh, drawing small circles. You take note of the way she seems to fixate on your hair, constantly moving it from your face or twisting the strands between her fingers.
The flirtation feels different—darker. Her voice rumbles with a kind of quiet power, and when her hand brushes against yours, it lingers just a little too long. You want to pull away, but instead, you stay. The tension builds, and despite your better judgment, a part of you is drawn to it. To her.
You wish you could go back in time and slap yourself. You knew better than to get yourself alone with this girl, this freakishly charismatic, freakishly, randomly attractive girl. But you let her lead you away to a secluded hallway of the house, her excuse being the music was too loud.
And she continued conversing with you, leaning against the wall and swallowing down the rest of the cup. She huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh, “You a nanny or somethin’?” You shot her a confused look in response. She looked down, nodding her head towards the red cup in your hand. “You’re babysitting.” 
“Oh, this…” You mutter, swirling the drink around plainly. “Not much of a drinker.” You notice the roll of her eyes as she pushes herself off the wall and your breath hitches as she closes in on you. She pulls the cup from your hand, raising a large hand to your chin to tilt your head back. You barely manage to sputter, “What are you doing–!” before she orders you to, “Open,” nudging your chin softly.
You lock eyes with her for the umpteenth time, her eyes filled with something different this time around. You hesitantly part your lips, allowing her to pour the rest of the content into your mouth. There’s a soft groan leaving her mouth as she watches some of it spill from the corner of your lips down your chin.
The way her eyes lingered on your lips made your heart race. You were suddenly aware of how close you were, how her scent filled your senses, how her gaze felt like a slow burn.
You don’t say anything, but you can feel the heat between you both, the pull that’s been growing stronger with each passing second. Before you know it, she’s kissing you—rough and urgent, her hands gripping your hips with a hunger that matches the storm brewing inside you. Her kiss is overwhelming, like a fire that consumes you whole. You melt into it, into her, not thinking about the consequences, not thinking about him.
The moment ends just as quickly as it began, but the aftershocks are impossible to ignore. You stand there, breathless, disoriented, and yet, there’s a part of you that doesn’t regret it. It feels raw, real, and alive in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.
You pull away from Sevika, your chest tight with confusion and shame. But Sevika just watches you, unfazed. There’s no sympathy in her gaze, in fact, all you could register was a sly smirk on her lips. Sevika moves to stand close to you, her presence overwhelming, wrapping a hand around your throat, "What's holding you back?" she mumbles against your lips.
And in that moment, you realize that nothing is holding you back. You’ve already made your choice without even knowing it.
There’s no turning back now.  
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taglist: @opropheticsoul
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writersdrug · 3 months ago
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Convincing bartender Simon to make one of those overly decorated and sweet cocktails or even add it to the menu because it’s cute and you know it’d do well on the gram and attract the ladies. He’d huff and puff but do it anyway
Like one of these with cotton candy, glitter, and sprinkles etc!: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/825988387943179970/
OMG wait I soooo want to try that-
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The video ends, and Simon stares at the picture of the drink with a furrowed brow.
"Looks like somethin' you'd see at a bridal shower." He comments, handing you back your phone.
"Doesn' it?" You say with a smile, shoving your phone into your back pocket. You lean your arms over the bar and poke his side. "Come oooonnnnnn, Simon - imagine how many sales you'd make on something like that! People would love it."
"Imagine the money I'd lose, havin' t' buy bags of candy floss..." he grumbles, hiding his smirk behind his mask when you groan dramatically.
"You could do it as a promotional thing...? Like- ladies' night... in October?"
He snorts. "'Ladies' Night in October', hmm? N' what are ladies celebratin'?"
"Ok, fine- forget Ladies' Night. What about something for Halloween?"
"Like wot?" He grunts, grabbing a glass from the stack and pouring out one of the taps.
"I dunno... something fun, but practical - Oh! You could- like a Moscow Mule, but just serve it in a different glass and use edible glitter!"
Simon quirks his brow as he slides the beer glass to a customer. "Edible glitter?" He asks, wiping his hands on his rag. "Didn't know there was such a thing."
You nod quickly, your eyes full of excitement. "Yeah! God, I could pick up a bunch from the baker's supply down a few blocks. You could call it 'Witches' Brew.'"
He turns it over for a moment - in his opinion, it's ridiculous. He runs a pub, not a college bar. He would have scoffed at the idea of someone else had brought it up - but, it's you bringing it up, and that's a completely different story. You have such a brilliant gleam in your eye that melts his heart. He can't say no to you, especially after making you cry last week. He's still carrying out his penance for that.
"You think it'd sell?"
"Oh, for sure! I can make an insta post about it to get some attention."
He clicks his tongue, turning to the POS and seemingly uninterested by it. "Fine - if you spend anythin' promotin' it, let Price know. He'll reimburse ya."
You let out a triumphant whoop and slide of the barstool. He lets out a huff as you trot back to your tables, a noticeable pep in your step. He chances through the window on the kitchen door to see if his food is ready - what he's met with is Johnny's face, staring through the warming counter as he stands at the stove, a smug grin resting on his lips.
Simon can practically hear the cook's thoughts. Whipped bastard.
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You had left without saying goodbye that night. You waited by the counter, rocking eagerly on your toes as Simon grabbed your tips from the night before out of the safe. As soon as he handed them to you, you snatched them and ran out the door. He was a bit irked by that, standing there with a stubborn frown as you pranced out of the restaurant - maybe you're still not back to being cheeky and chipper yet after last week. He can live with that... for now.
However, not twenty minutes later, you come stumbling back in with a paper bag in hand and a smile on your face, panting like you'd just run a marathon. Simon's anxieties quell at the sight of you.
"Got it!" You say breathlessly, walking to the edge of the bar and dropping the bag onto it. Simon folds his arms over his chest as you reach in and pull out a small bottle of glitter. You hand It to him and he takes it, holding it up to the dim light above.
"You can eat this shit?" He asks, brows furrowed.
"Mhmm!" You chirp, settling into a barstool. "Now, bartender - I'll have a Moscow Mule."
He sets the glitter down and grabs a clear glass, working on gathering the ingredients. "Ya only call me that when you want something."
"I'm calling you what you are." You respond, watching as he skillfully mixes everything together, pouring vodka from the jigger between two fingers, tossing in lime juice and topping it off with ginger beer. As shameful as it is to admit, you're kinda attracted to the skill he presents.
"Should be callin' me boss." He says, topping the drink off with a straw.
You slide off your stool and chuckle. "Yeah, you'd be into something kinky like that."
Simon has to bite the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the thought of you - nope. He won't even entertain the idea. He simply steps back a bit as you wedge yourself behind the bar (yes, he actually forces himself to give you enough room - he doesn't need you feeling hiw aroused he is).
You grab a bottle of the glitter and dash some into the drink. After swirling it with the straw, the liquid becomes iridescent with purple shimmer that billows about the glass. You look up at him with a satisfied smile.
"Witches' Brew." You announce, holding the drink out to him.
You look happy - an observation that makes Simon smile, even if he wasn't the one to cause your happiness. He lifts his mask, grabs one of the straws and plugs it, before bringing it to his mouth and sampling the drink.
"Tastes like a mule."
"But it looks like a potion, right?"
"'S this glitter goin' to be in my gut whenever I get autopsied?"
You laugh, grabbing the glass and leaving Simon behind the bar. "That would be a cute party trick." You call over your shoulder.
Simon watches you, arms folded over his chest and his eyes curious. You set the drink on the opposite end of the bar, pulling your phone from your pocket and pointing the camera to the glass. You grimace; your arm reaches over the bar to grab the rag lying over the faucet, and quickly wipe down the bartop. He huffs, grabbing his phone from the register and pulling up his group text with Soap and Price.
Ghost: got ourselves a marketing team.
He looks back up at you - you're hunched over, taking picture after picture of the drink. You twirl the straw in the liquid every few seconds, kicking up the glitter and making it reflect the low lighting of the bar.
Hus phone buzzes.
Price: ??
Ghost: she's making a drink for october and promoting it in social media
Soap: clever girl
Soap: what drink?
Ghost: moscow mule, but in a clear glass and with some edible glitter shit. it's pretty neat.
Soap: picture?
Price: Promoting? Will this cost me anything?
Simon chuckles. He pulls up the camera on his phone and aims it at you-
Except you're in a different position. You're perched so nicely on a barstool, holding your phone at arm's length and your drink in the other hand. You're smiling up at your camera, nose scrunched as you pose for a selfie. Your hair is down, your back is arched, and - did you tug your neckline down? You most certainly did. You're breasts weren't that pronounced before.
Without thinking, Simon takes a photo. The shutter clicks loudly: you look at him, as do the three patrons sitting at the bar.
Fuck. He panicks, clearing his throat and lowering his phone. "Jus' showin' the lads what you're up to." He says, but you can see the tension in his shoulders as he quickly sends the picture to the chat and puts his phone in his pocket.
You smirk - whether it was truly just for Price and Soap, or if it was for himself, you felt a little flattered that you'd caught him in the act. You hoped for the latter.
Simon exhales heavily and rests his palms on the counter. His face burns beneath his mask as he tries to calm his racing heart. Fuck- was that weird? Course it fuckin' was. Goddamn creep.
His phone buzzes again. He sighs and pulls it into his hand.
Price: Cute thing, isn't she?
Simon immediately frowns, any previous shame now replaced with a fire in his chest.
"Fuckin' wot?"
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lavenderspence · 4 months ago
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A bunch of cuties in love | A.H.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader
Content warning: fluff, nicknames (i think that's about it?)
Word Count: 2.2K
Summary: Running late to a meeting with Strauss, Hotch leaves Jack with his favorite person - you. The scene that greets him when he comes back leads to some realizations. 
Request: Hotch request: BAU!Reader is Jack’s favorite and always spends the day with them when he’s brought along to the office. They have a cute bonding moment that Hotch secretly watches. Cue the “oh god I’m in love with them aren’t I”
A/N: it’s been two months today since I made this blog, and it’s been wild, it’s been fun, and it’s been a little teary. thank you for the love and support! Please enjoy this cute little hotch piece, I had a blast writing it! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I’d love to hear what you think! Also, I miss old Disney😭
masterlist
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9:23.
On the days you weren’t working on a case, and the only thing you really needed to catch up on was paperwork, your usual start time was 8:30. Yet almost an hour had gone by and he wasn’t in his office like he usually would be.
With a punctual Unit Chief like Aaron Hotchner, it was a shock, and a little nerve-wracking that he was late. 
You’d lie if you didn’t say you were getting a little worried, taking into account the last and only time he’d been late - Foyet attacking him in his own home, leaving him with long-lasting trauma, scars, and without his family. 
You'd never forget that day, and every day after where he was left to suffer, laying the blame on himself. No matter how many times you said it, how many times Rossi patted him on the back, reminding him it wasn't his fault, you knew a part of him still didn't believe it.
And the part of you that cared about him, maybe a little more than you should, didn't have the heart to watch him do this to himself - the silent guilt, the long empty looks. 
You’ve known him awhile, seen him through many of his ups, and just as many as his downs. You’d seen him laugh in glee and beam with happiness, you’d seen him lose it in anger and anguish and you’d seen him cry in heartbreak. 
So much of your life spent beside him, so many memories linked with him, and your team. And much of it you knew was friendly love - your love for Emily and Spencer, JJ and Morgan, Penelope and Rossi. But the love you felt for him was just a tiny bit different, deeper, not the friendly kind. 
You’d only recently started to understand what you were really feeling for him, as recent as the last few weeks. Still new and a little unexplainable at times, you were learning to balance that, within your friendship.
You didn’t think you wanted to pursue anything, right now. It had been a little over two years since he’d lost Haley, since he’d needed to start navigating his life as a single dad, a widower. 
You could still see the pain in his eyes, fresh as the day it had happened. You knew he was managing, but it was still apparent, that it was hitting them both hard.
And Jack? He was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise gruesome life all of you led - the same could be said about Henry. But Henry was Reid's favorite, as his godfather, you knew the bond between them was unbreakable. 
But Jack? You were his favorite, and he was yours. 
He was your little buddy, your partner in all things art, cartoons, and Disney shows. He was your little helper during all things baking - you'd babysat once and he'd requested chocolate chip, peanut butter cookies and you'd been more than happy to help him make them.
He was a natural baker and a little taster. 
Your love for the little cutie ran as deep as your feelings for his dad.
At the end of the day though, you were a friend, a shoulder both could use to lean on and rely on. You were comfortable in your role within their little family and weren't looking to make any changes then.
9:28.
You were playing with your watch, already having decided you’d be giving him a call if he didn't arrive by 9:30.
Worry was making your hands sweat, and just as you went to wipe them on your pants, the door to the bullpen opened, and in walked a very frantic Hotch - his tie was a little crooked, shirt a little wrinkled, and Jack - a little backpack on his back, and a curious look paired with a timid smile.
Aaron's eyes searched the bullpen, as did Jack's, the little Hotchner noticing you seconds before his father did. You stood up, watching as the blond pulled away from his dad, and on a little run, made his way towards you. 
“Cutiee.” He called out, using the nickname you called him, to address you too. You leaned down when he was a few steps away, accepting his hug, his little arms wrapping around your neck. 
“Hi, cutie.” You greeted him, a wide smile on your face. Hotch had made his way over to you by then, giving you a barely-there smile, but his eyes shone.
“You're late.” You started, pulling to your full height.
“Yeah, Jessica was called on an emergency at the last minute, and Liah is away on a hiking trip, so here we are.” Liah was Hotch's neighbor, she looked after Jack for a few hours when Hotch couldn't stay with him, or Jess was busy.
He looked at his watch, running a hand through his hair, messing it up a little.
“I have a meeting with Strauss…well, right now. Can you please watch him until I get done?” 
“Go, don't make her wait. We'll be okay and we're going to have fun. Right, Jack?” You watched him nod at both you and his dad before Hotch exhaled.
“You're a lifesaver. Be good for Y/N, okay buddy.” Another nod from Jack, and he was on his way to Strauss's office.
‘’Okay Jack, let's see if Aunt Penelope can download a few episodes of ‘The Suite Life’ for us, and then we'll go color and draw for a while. Does that sound good to you?” 
“Very good. Can I also have orange juice?” He asked, taking your hand in his small, soft one, fingers wrapping around your own.
“Let's go see if we have any.” You walked towards the small communal kitchen space, checking the fridge and then you checked the pantry…and, “Bingo. Let's go see the lair.” You led him to Penelope's office.
“Knock, knock, may us mortals enter?” You joked, making your little partner giggle. 
“Us?” Her voice rang from the other side of the door.
“I have sir Hotchner with me. The smaller one.”
“Hey,” Jack said in outrage
“My favorite Hotchner.” You added.
Penelope pulled the door open, beaming at both of you, before she made space for you to enter. 
“Jack, my love, hi,” She raised her hand, letting him give her a high five. Even though she was affectionate, Jack wasn’t as much, especially after Haley. He only hugged a few people now - Jess, his dad, and surprisingly, you. 
It really showed how comfortable he was with you.
“What brings you to my tech cave?” She asked. You raised your brows at him, prompting him to do the talking. 
“Can you, please, download a few episodes of Zack and Cody for us?” His voice rang with its usual child calm and sweetness, fingers intertwined in front of him. 
Penelope's smile softened even more, “Sure thing, sweetie,” Her eyes turned towards you then, “Your tablet?”
“Yes, please.” You knew it was a work tablet, but no one had to know.
“Any requests?” She asked the little guy.
“You pick.”
“Okay-dokey. Should have it in about 10 minutes, my loves.”
“Thank you, Aunt Penelope.”
“Thanks Pen.” You gave her air kisses before you led Jack out and towards his father's office. 
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His day had started rocky, hell, the whole night had gone that way. 
Jack had woken up from a nightmare - twice at that. After the second time, he’d asked Aaron to sleep in his bed, too scared and sad to stay in his room.
He’d snoozed his alarm, just once, and had a hard time waking his son up too. He’d had 20 minutes to get himself ready, but Jessica had called 10 minutes before she was supposed to arrive - apologizing because she’d been called on an emergency at work. 
Aaron had to rearrange his whole morning then, already aware he’d be late for work. He’d had to get Jack and his backpack ready and cook him breakfast. All of that, and be in the office before his 9:30 meeting with Strauss. 
Breakfast and preparing Jack for a day at the BAU, he’d done successfully. Arriving on time had been a little tricky, with barely 2 minutes to spare. 
But when he’d walked into the bullpen, Jack spotting you just seconds before he did, and he’d watched your smile grow, he’d known all would be okay. 
Watching you with Jack always brought a warm feeling within him, like he was watching something sacred. You were always patient and kind, always interested in listening to him talk, even though he was a quiet kid, who appreciated quality time more. 
You gave him that too, and a lot of it - you watched cartoons and shows with him. Colored and drew, baked cookies, and played with him whenever he wanted. Any time spent with Jack was about what he wanted, what he liked doing, and above all, making him comfortable. 
Even if it meant cleaning flour off your kitchen floor and whatever had gotten in the drawers too. 
He appreciated, even loved the bond you had with his son, every smile, every hug, and every minute you spend with him. He loved hearing about you from Jack - what you’d done together, what you’d told him, the stories, the jokes, the conversations. 
Hearing his son proclaim you as his favorite person in the BAU had made his heart soar. Taking into account all the time you spent with him, it wasn’t really a surprise. He bonded hard, but once he did, he never went back.
He was much like Aaron himself in that regard. His trust had to be earned, as did his friendship, and it required hard work. Jack was much the same. And you’d successfully earned both of theirs with your beautiful and caring personality. 
He exhaled a breath, checking his watch, step fast, and briefcase in hand. 
11:18.
His meeting with Strauss had run longer than he’d anticipated - over an hour and a half. Diplomacy, politics, budgets, and cuts, they’d run through countless things, half of that meeting already fully blacked out from his memory. 
He was tired - every meeting with Strauss left him drained. Worried,  about Jack and his state of mind after last night. All he wanted to do was get to his office and check up on his son. 
Walking into the bullpen for the second time that day, he quickly made his way towards his office, only to stop short at the window. The blinds were open, having forgotten to close them last night, so he had a clear and full view of his office.
You were sat on the couch close to the armrest, Jack cuddled against you, cheek squished against your collarbone, face almost buried in your neck. 
Your work tablet sat propped on the coffee table, and your arm wrapped around his small body, keeping him close. His eyes were almost closed, your thumb running soothingly on his back. 
He watched, mesmerized by the scene. He felt himself soften, all of him. His face, the furrow in his brow, and the tight set of his lips. His whole body, his heart, suddenly at peace. 
For months he'd observed the kindness you showed everyone - the families of victims, heartbroken by the injustice of life. Passersby, people you might never see again. Your team, especially, your work family. Jack, and even Aaron himself. 
And as he watched you with his son, the one person left in this world who truly loved him, no matter his rights or wrongs - he couldn't help but feel himself unravel. 
Every little thought he'd had about you, every feeling he might have somehow suppressed in order to protect himself and his child, they all attacked him, in seconds. 
Because the truth was, you earned his trust, his friendship, and somehow along the way, you'd won his heart as well.
Right at that moment, his heart pounded in need, in adoration, in pure, clear love. Love he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Haley. Love, he'd frankly hadn't felt in years, ever since he’d put his signature down on the dotted line. 
He wanted to get home to see this. He wanted to see you put Jack to bed, and kiss his forehead with a whispered ‘good night’.
He wanted to stroke your cheek tenderly, pull you into a kiss that made you melt, and stroke a fire within you like no one else could. 
He wanted to tell you he loved you - in the car, as he drove you to work. In the kitchen during breakfast and dinner. In his office, a few stolen moments as you worked. And under the sheets, while you made love. 
And even through the fear that gripped him in a vice, of rejection, separation, and even trust - he still wanted to love you, as if he was loving someone for the first time again. 
“Everything okay, Aaron?” David asked, passing on the way to his office. 
Aaron barely spared him a glance, nodding his head a little, “Yeah, it's okay.”
He pushed the door to his office open and walked in, greeted by his new favorite sight, and his two favorite people. 
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girllblogging777 · 2 months ago
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𝐴𝐹𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅𝑀.ೃ࿐
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↳ bf!mattheo riddle x fem reader (slight angst ? fluff) requested by @ilovematteoxx ♡
↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1.2k
𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you can’t find your boyfriend after an argument, and the castle is surrounded by dementors
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
the argument had started over something small. ridiculously small, actually. you couldn’t even remember the details anymore, but somehow, the two of you had managed to let it escalate and before you knew it, mattheo and you were throwing sharp words like hexes.
your boyfriend, as loving as he was, had a way of getting under your skin sometimes. he was all about teasing smirks and cocky grins that usually made you laugh, but tonight you weren’t laughing. tonight, you were tired and on edge from a long week of classes and when he joked about you taking things too seriously, something inside of you snapped.
“not everyone has the luxury of not giving a damn, mattheo.” you’d answered with your arms crossed. “not everyone has parents who don’t care.”
the moment the words left your lips, you swore you could’ve felt the air shift. it was like time froze, everything suddenly stood still and went way too quiet. mattheo’s expression shifted, the usual soft gaze he saved for you disappearing. you saw how the hurt flickered in his dark eyes, before he quickly covered it with cold indifference.
“forget it,” he said sharply before walking out, turning his heel and disappearing out of the common room before you could even get a word out.
you stood there, frozen, the weight of your words slowly sinking in. merlin, you hadn’t meant it like that. in fact, you hadn’t meant to hurt him at all. but you had and now he was gone, and you didn’t even know where.
you couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the evening and as wandered around the castle - silently hoping you’d bump into him around the corner - the hallways felt emptier than ever. dinner passed in a blur too. every time someone entered the great hall and sat down at the slytherin table, you quickly looked up, only to realise it wasn’t him.
you spent the rest of the night alone in your dorm, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, trying and failing to get any sleep. your last conversation kept replaying in your head, what if you’d really hurt him this time ? what if he didn’t come back ? sure, mattheo had his walls, but he never stayed mad at you for long… your mind spiralled. outside the window, everything was dark and still. inside your heart, everything was twisted in knots.
and then, just as you were finally drifting off, a loud noise jolted you awake. it wasn’t just you either, you heard frantic footsteps outside your dorm, and voices raising as well. you sat up, heart pounding and confused. it wasn’t long before a frantic knock echoed through the door, and your best friend pansy came in.
“you have to get up, everyone is being taken to the great hall. now !” she said quickly. “what’s happening ?” you asked in a panicky tone as you got out of bed. “dementors,” she muttered, pulling you outside and rushing you to join the many students making their way through the dark halls. “they’ve been spotted outside.”
your heart skipped a beat. dementors.
the crowd of students rushed to the great hall, tension filling the air, already thick with worry and whispers. you scanned the faces around, searching for any signs of mattheo. but he wasn’t there. he wasn’t anywhere.
“pansy,” you breathed, tugging on her sleeve as realisation dawned on you. “i don’t see mattheo. where is he ?”
she shrugged, concern flickering in her eyes “don’t know, i haven’t seen him since this afternoon”
you swallowed hard, your chest tightening. where was he ? the last time you saw him was when he’d left after the argument, angry and hurt. what if he was outside when the dementors had left ? what if… what if the last thing you said to him was the stupid comment about his father ?
your breathing picked up and theo noticed it from across the room, before making his way over. “what’s going on ?” he asked with furrowed brows.
“i can’t find mattheo,” you whispered with a trembling voice. “we had a fight earlier and now he’s probably out there, and-“
theo exchanged a knowing look with pansy before cutting you off by gently pulling you into a reassuring side hug “he’s fine, amore. probably just running late, you know him, always slipping off to do merlin knows what.”
but you weren’t reassured. not when the castle was in lockdown. it when dementors were around. not when mattheo was nowhere to be seen, and the last thing he heard from you was something you didn’t mean.
“i didn’t mean it,” you whispered with regret. pansy rubbed your back to comfort you but it didn’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes as you reached the great hall. the place was crowded with panicked students and teachers, but you still felt terribly alone in your world of fear.
“i shouldn’t have said it,” you choked out, wiping your eyes and ignoring the people running around and bumping into you. “i shouldn’t have-“
before you could finish, a heavy sound echoed through the hall. the giant wooden doors swung open with a gust of cold air, and every head turned toward the entrance.
mattheo stood in the doorway, along with some others students you didn’t even glance at. his curly hair was damp with the rain, and his robes slightly disheveled. he looked like he’d been through a storm, but he was there.
without thinking, you ran. you pushed through the crowd, not caring who you bumped into, your heart racing as you closed the distance between you. by the time you reached him, a tear had managed to roll down your cheek, but you didn’t care. you threw yourself into his arms, your hands fisting his robes as you breathed him in.
“mattheo,” you gasped, holding onto him like he might disappear. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean it, i swear i didn’t mean it.”
his arms came around you immediately, pulling you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “it’s okay, love. i’m not mad.”
you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your slightly red eyes searching his face. “you’re not?”
he shook his head, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “no. i just… needed some time. but i’m not mad. i promise.”
you bit your lip, trying to stop the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you again. “i thought—i thought something happened to you. i was so scared.”
mattheo’s gaze softened, and he wiped the tears away with his thumb. “i’m sorry i scared you. i shouldn’t have just left like that.”
you shook your head quickly, you knew your boyfriend’s habit of walking out during arguments was just to help manage his anger. it was something he’d started doing when he realised you were the only good thing in his life, and he didn’t want to take his negative feelings out on you.
“no, it’s my fault. i shouldn’t have said what i did.” he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “it’s okay,” he whispered. “i’m here. i’m not walking away this time.”
for the first time that night, you felt the tightness in your chest ease. the panic, the fear, it all melted away in his arms, replaced by the steady, grounding warmth of his presence. “nice pajamas by the way,” he chuckled, and you rolled your eyes.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
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timmydraker · 15 days ago
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Tim accidently referring to the Joker as Dad but those who know about Joker Jr aren’t present and so everyone is left with the ‘realisation’ that Tim is the son of the biggest nightmare to their family.
It’s probably Jason and Steph, her there to bother Tim but Jason went to the manor for food and the two naturally started arguing. Maybe Jason tells Tim to stop costing on his case and prove a point be made against blonde, but Tim just offhandedly goes, “Later, I think my dad broke out of Arkham again but the guards aren’t doing anything. Maybe they’re in on it…”
The two present naturally look at each other with confusion and for the first time stop bickering to peak over his shoulder and see what his case is because, holy shit Tim had a villain for a dad and didn’t tell us? Only to see numerous photos of the Joker in his cell and many reports over the last week of how he’s been behaving and Jason…
Steph pushes the man out of the room when she sees his face go from frozen fear to anger, thinking it’s towards Tim and his secrecy and, while she totally gets that, now isn’t the time.
Though when they get into the Jason starts a rant about how Bruce and Dick should have told him that the monster had a child, even if that child wasn’t Tim! Jason protects kids! Did they think he’d hurt him just because of who his father is?
No!
If anything, he’d become the kids full time body guard to stop that mad man from making Tim into another version of himself!
The two naturally go to tell the others, pulling Damian, Cass and Duke into a mostly unused room and telling them what they discovered, all while Tim stays in the library working on his case.
Cass is beyond worried but also confused because he doesn’t seem to have any physical characteristics of the Joker or Harley, but maybe the mother is different? Perhaps it’s still Janet and either she had a fling with the Joker or something far worse, which makes the young girl enraged on the woman’s behalf.
Damian makes a comment about him killing Tim, not in a serious manner but more as an option, but Duke shuts it down, saying that having a villain for a parent doesn’t mean anything about who you will be. He points out those in the family of that nature and other heroes like Superboy.
When asked why they didn’t get Dick or Babs involved, Jason says they defiantly know and lied about it.
It’s only after another three hours of working that Tim catches himself referring to the Joker as dad and shuts his laptop, making his way to Bruce’s room to hide under the older man’s bed like he usually does when that happens, only to overhear what his siblings are saying.
Tim presses his ear against the door to hear better.
“If that maniac had a kid, surely he’d have told everyone he had an heir or something.” That’s Steph’s voice, filled with worry that only he and Cass could detect as she hides it under a whiney tone.
Jason is next to respond, “maybe he doesn’t know? I mean, did Tim ever even interacted with him before he became Robin?”
It doesn’t take much more than that for Tim to realise that he must have been talking aloud again or absently answered someone earlier and misspoke in front of them.
Panic fills him as he avoids telling Bruce when he gets bad, even if it’s just a small thing, because the older man will start of being a concerned parent then go into Batman mode and only just stop himself from putting Tim in the confinement cell. Sure Tim came up with the idea of the cell so he wouldn’t hurt anyone if his conditioning got too bad, but he’s learnt the signs. He’s not a mindless drone, he still knows who he is and doesn’t hear someone talking to him or anything like that.
He just… sometimes forgets the Joker hurt him.
It’s not Tim’s fault that memories of watching TV with him and Harley, tucked between them with a big bowl of ice cream felt better than most memories of his real parents.
But he knows it’s wrong, always comes back to calling the Joker his enemy.
Bruce just doesn’t get that.
Tim hears them talk a bit more, theories about who his mother might be, if Tim is safe at the manor, if Joker knows he has a son…
Opening the door, Tim stands there and stares at them as all eyes snap to him in alarm.
He doesn’t let anybody speak, cutting them all off quickly, “He’s not my dad. Go the cave and search for file number 26557933301-JJ and put in the code AGELAST, all caps.”
With that he turns and leaves, walking at first before running to Bruce’s room to hide.
He goes to family dinner and pretends not to notice the quietness or how Jason is still there, eating his food quietly and waiting for the ball to drop.
Naturally, Damian is the one to say what he wants first, “So why is okay that Tim shot the joker but I got in trouble for stabbing Bane?”
Everyone groans.
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