#how times change!!! look where they are now!!!

[sai-int]

fwb!simon, reader catches feelings- NO. FWB!SIMON BUT SIMON CATCHES FEELINGS.

it's quite simple.

simon comes home from a mission, he's restless, twitching, pacing, can't figure out what to do with his hands.

so what does he do? he knocks on your door, waiting anxiously until you open it and he's scooping you up, hauling you across the hall and into his basically empty apartment, and fucking you into the mattress for the night.

and you're just so good at taking it—whatever he gives you and whenever he gives it. you cry, whine, beg and plead for his cock in all the ways you know how—until you go blue in the face—and simon fucking revels in it. he's all harsh words and degrading names, calling you a filthy slut, his cocksleeve, a fucking cumdump—you name it, he's probably said it.

it's perfect, until it's not.

he's spent months fucking you stupid, night after night. he fucks you even when he's not restless. he fucks you when he's bored, when he's lonely. especially when he's lonely.

simon riley's a gridlocked man. hardly anything ever gets past him, but it didn't take many rendezvous between your thighs for him to forget that.

his mask would come fully off—not just above his lips—and you'd still kiss him breathless, still scream his name until your throat went hoarse. you weren't afraid of everything underneath. if anything, you liked it.

It's not like the both of you frequently exchanged actual conversations, but he could tell by the way you dripped and soaked his sheets even more than you ever had.

after that, he even began to gather enough courtesy to let you get some rest after he fucks you, letting you stay wrapped in his sheets for whatever sliver of the night was left.

you never pushed, and that's what he liked most about you. you always went by his terms because you never really cared as long as you got fucked six ways from sunday.

so, you always left when he woke without a problem. that was the arrangement and you were more than fine with getting a good fuck only a few steps away from your own home.

then even you began to notice the shift.

simon could never fuck you badly, per se. but he began to fuck you more softly. tenderly, as if he was suddenly aware that humans shouldn't be bent in half as long he's had you pinned underneath him in the past. he'll rock his hips into you with similar fervor, but he'd caress you, rather than grab at you. hold your forehead to his, rather than choke you with his thick hands.

then came the praise. god, it's like fucking a completely different man. from one week to the next, you're no longer a slut or a hole, you're pretty girl and angel. it makes your head spin. you try to pinpoint the change and why it happened, but you can't. somehow, you cum twice as hard now.

it all came to an ugly head when he spent the better part of 2 hours between your thighs, moaning and groaning as if you were doing him a service.

now, you weren't going to complain, but love just wasn't in the cards for you right now, and the looks simon was giving you from where he lapped at your cunt were filled with adoration, like he was waiting for you to tell him how good he was doing.

hell, you could see a phantom tail wagging each time his eyes met your own. and after a session that felt more like making love than an explosion of pure lust, you could feel his eyes lingering on you as you slipped your panties back on.

"what?" you hum, not wanting to face him in fear you'd see that godforsaken look in his eyes again.

and you were right, because he's staring at you like he's about to drop to one knee. "nothin'."

you toss your shirt back over your head and steel yourself as you turn to face him.

"simon," you start and he's already hanging on your words, "what's going on with you lately? i don't mean to sound rude but—"

this is it, he thinks. it has to be now, or nothing will change. he's not a religious man, but if he's ever prayed to god for anything, it's for this to become something real.

"'m in love with ya."

one blink, then two. two to three, three to four. you stare at him as you try to piece together what he's saying.

"simon, i don't think you understand—"

"—i do. i do understand and i want ya, bad. so bad, i can't even stop thinkin' bout ya, sweetheart. even when y'not 'ere im thinkin' about ya. everything about y'is perfect, and i don't think i can function without y'with me."

this is the most emotion you've ever seen out of simon and it rocks you to your core. if you didn't know better—and if the lighting wasn't so dim—you'd think he was tearing up.

you didn't know how to break it to him.

[theorphicangel]

sukuna who swears he would never get married, making this statement even when he was a little kid to his dad and wanting to stay far far away from girls because they were 'gross'

growing into his teens he viewed anything romantic with disgust and couldn't sit through a film, sitcom or advert which displayed any type of romance.

attending college he had his hook ups here and there and it was more than obvious that sukuna ryomen didn't do relationships whatsoever, it was strictly sex and he kept it as that, distancing himself away from anyone who began to show even the littlest emotions towards him

any time people talked about their future around him such as what cars they wanted, what type of house they would like, how many kids and when they would get married, sukuna would always remain quiet never being able to picture that sort of life of him.

being domestic? creating a safe and loving home?

don't make him laugh.

the word husband and marriage barely appealed to him and he would have to try his hardest to even imagine himself making that type of commitment.

at least he used to imagine it until his world was changed upside down and it suddenly became real.

in almost a blink of an eye sukuna found himself in a relationship. long term and serious. suddenly all his thoughts and actions were occupied with nothing but you.

yes, it was scary at first and his coping mechanism was to push you away. but fortunately you know sukuna like the back of your hand and unlike everything else in his life, you stayed.

you stayed to the point where he enjoys coming home early to see you.

you stayed to the point where he likes to sleep in on the weekends, the warm sun rising to greet your bodies wrapped up in the sheets.

you stayed to the point where he tries his hardest to provide for you, making dinner, buying flowers just because or getting that necklace you were searching up in secret online.

you stayed to the point where he introduced you to his family and found out that you fit in perfectly, both his brother and his nephew warming up to you almost immediately.

you stayed to the point where he went out and bought an expensive ass ring, rare in its kind and hid it in the bottom storage cabinet, waiting for the right moment to pop the question.

would you stay with him for the rest of your life?

now he stands in the mirror, all dressed up in a suit. a flower poking out of his chest pocket - this is the smartest he has ever looked in his life. he's already dealt with torment from his father about the gel in his hair and keeping his shirt tucked in.

sukuna would never have anticipated that he would make it to his own wedding day.

he's nervous for some reason, mentally running over his own vows, the palms of his hands sweaty as he practices putting the ring on your finger.

'I'll be right there with you.' you promised a week ago after your rehearsal. you knew how much he hates the public eye on him much less when he's confessing his love out loud to you.

sukuna takes an inhale and judges his own appearance for the nth time, he's scrutinising himself, deep in his thoughts about whether he should have gone for a grey suit instead.

it's only when he feels a tap on his shoulder that he's stirred out of his thoughts.

'hey handsome.'

sukuna turns to find you behind him, dressed in your own wedding attire with a bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand.

'isn't it bad luck for a groom to see his bride?' he frowns.

you almost let out a snort, 'is this the sukuna ryomen believing in superstitions.'

'whatever brat.' he mumbles before his tone turns serious, meeting your eyes. 'you look...beautiful.'

'thank you future husband.'

sukuna's lips twitch into a grin at the name.

husband.

he guesses it has a nice ring to it.

a reminder that you chose to stay with him, wanting nothing more to spend the rest of your life with him.

yeah, maybe he was cut out for this married life after all.

[bogboy420]

fr im legit considering getting a typewriter

tbh w all the algorithms and ads and subscription fees and ai bullshit i genuinely find myself abandoning newer forms of technology more and more in favour of smth more analogue, like not entirely, i'll still use newer tech when it's useful 4 me especially w my disabilities but tbh i feel like the internet as it is rn is genuinely so inaccessible already and becoming moreso as companies carve out features 2 make us pay more money 4 them

on top of that the fact that my brain has no attention span which is not the fault of technology im just neurodivergent but damn does modern tech love 2 prey on that shit, like more and more im finding that this idea of "everything on 1 device" that these companies use as a selling point is honestly more of a hindrance bc of my low attention span, i just end up spending hours on my tablet and then not getting anything done bc everything is on there but nothing is on there in a way where i can rly focus on it, idk sometimes i wonder how much of that was intentional? like if the point was 2 get ppl hooked on smart phones and tablets while feeling like they r not getting anything done, thus making them sad and spending more time scrolling,,,

ik this isn't every1's experience but 4 me it's enough that im genuinely trying 2 make some changes 2 how i approach new tech and again 2 b clear im not saying all new tech bad and all old tech good, it's not that simple but 4 me i find that especially having smth like that right up near my face is rly bad 4 that bc it makes me pay less attention 2 my surroundings so im not looking at all the stuff around me, this has in my life at least lead 2 my surroundings gradually getting more cluttered ect but also i find having a smart tv helpful bc while yes it has a bunch of stuff on it it's all just watching tv stuff, it's not trying 2 b literally everything at once, and it's not right in my face it's across the room from me so i can still very clearly c my surroundings, i use consoles exclusively 4 video games now instead of pc like i used 2 use bc i don't like the stress of troubleshooting pcs but also bc w a pc it's more in ur face? even when i tried hooking up my pc 2 a tv it didn't rly work as well since i still needed 2 use a mouse and keyboard and that doesn't rly work very well w how my hands r especially when im trying 2 relax

4 music im trying out switching over 2 cassette tapes since i can record stuff onto them if i figure out how 2 do it right and then i don't need 2 hav a bright screen in my face when i wanna listen 2 music i can just switch out the cassette, thinking of mayb doing that 4 audio books as well

4 writing i am genuinely considering getting a typewriter since it would mean smth that isn't a bright screen and i could set it up on a desk in a specific corner of the house that could b just 4 my writing

4 having video games on the go atm im using a tamagotchi uni but i basically only use it when ik im gonna hav a doctors appointment and im gonna b stuck in a waiting room, i then just play the mini games on that and i find that they r good since they r low stakes so i don't feel stressed abt putting it down when the appointment starts

and like, idk while ik op was joking and it was very funny 4 me at least it can b helpful 2 know that there's a way of trying 2 cut out some of the more harmful parts of technology w/out abandoning technology completely, i think it's nice how embracing older technology is becoming more normalised and also how it's becoming more normalised 2 cut out technology that is harmful 4 u as an individual while still using technology that is helpful 4 u as an individual,,, even tho tech companies try rly hard 2 bury any alternatives 2 the tech they want u 2 buy

idk late night disabled ranting from me ig

"We have a new AI feature!" "With the power of AI..." "Our AI..."

I am going to abandon technology and start only inscribing things on clay tablets

[holyblonded]

return of media day | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: you are about to drop your first signature cleats with nike and they decide to do a joint shoot with alexia

warnings: rfef mentioned 😐

notes: this was extremely cute y’all. it’s a bit short but i couldn’t think of anything else to add. tell me what else yall want to see with this series!!

You were already half-asleep in the car on the way to the shoot, having just landed back in Spain after international break. Nike hadn’t given you too many details about today, just that it was important and you had to be there.

So naturally, you showed up in a hoodie, sweatpants, and slides, looking like you had just crawled out of hibernation. You walked onto set, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze in place.

“There’s no way,” you muttered, blinking rapidly.

You turned away, rubbed your eyes again, then looked back to confirm you weren’t hallucinating.

“ALE!”

Alexia barely had time to react before you full-speed sprinted at her and jumped, forcing her to catch you mid-air. Alexia let out a surprised grunt as you crashed into her, legs wrapping around her waist like some kind of overly excited koala.

Her first instinct was to scold you, but an involuntary smile spread across her face as she held you. “You’re so dramatic.” She huffed, adjusting her grip to keep you from sliding to the floor. “You do realize I’m not a crash pad, right?”

You ignored her, squeezing tighter. “I knew I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“You thought you were hallucinating?” Alexia chuckled, finally setting you down.

“I’ve been awake since five a.m., Ale. I didn’t even know where I was going today. Nike just shoved me into a car and told me to smile.” You pulled back slightly, holding her shoulders as if to make sure she was actually real. “And then I see you? My brain short-circuited.”

Alexia smirked. “Understandable. Seeing me is a life-changing experience.”

You lightly smacked her arm. “Don’t make me regret missing you.”

By now, everyone on set had stopped what they were doing, watching your reunion with varying degrees of amusement. A cameraman filming the behind-the-scenes content caught the whole thing, likely already thinking about how to turn it into a dramatic slow-motion edit.

“Wait—” Alexia suddenly furrowed her brows, looking around the studio. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” you repeated, blinking. “Why are you here?”

Alexia gave you a deadpan look. “I work with Nike.”

“Well, so do I,” you shot back, placing your hands on your hips.

A pause. Then, ever so slowly, the realization dawned on both of you.

“Oh my god,” Alexia exhaled, eyes widening.

“No way,” you whispered dramatically.

“You’re the shoot?” Alexia asked, pointing at you.

“And you’re part of it?” you gasped, pointing right back.

“Did neither of you read your emails?” one of the Nike reps finally interjected, rubbing their temples.

You and Alexia turned to them, completely unapologetic.

“Absolutely not,” you said in unison.

Alexia shook her head with a fond smile, draping an arm over your shoulders. “Well, I guess this just got a lot more interesting.”

You grinned. “And a lot more chaotic.”

The Nike rep sighed, muttering something about “athletes and their aversion to reading”, before motioning for the crew to resume setting up.

Meanwhile, you leaned into Alexia, still grinning like an idiot. “Hey, Ale?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you miss me?”

Alexia rolled her eyes, pulling you closer. “Unfortunately.”

The interview started off smooth. Professional. Standard media day questions.

The crew had set up the cameras, the lights were bright, and the atmosphere was lighthearted. You and Alexia sat side by side, answering questions about the new cleats, the upcoming season, and your goals.

Then, someone asked, “How would you describe each other’s playing styles?”

Alexia hummed, tilting her head thoughtfully. You turned to look at her, fully expecting a compliment, maybe even some poetic analysis of your skills.

Instead, she casually dropped, “Estrella is… chaotic.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

“But effective,” she added, holding up her hands like that softened the blow. “You never know what she’s going to do next. It’s terrifying.”

You scoffed. “Wow. That’s crazy. You know, I was gonna be nice, but now?” You turned to the camera, shaking your head in mock disappointment. “Alexia is a control freak.”

Alexia gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest like you had personally insulted her entire family. “I am not a control freak.”

“Oh, you so are.”

“I just like order,” she defended, crossing her arms.

“You demand order,” you corrected, smirking. “Everything has to go exactly how you see it in your mind, and if someone does something unpredictable, you short-circuit for a second before trying to control the chaos.”

Alexia opened her mouth, then closed it, then sighed. “Okay, maybe. But that’s a good thing.”

You snorted. “Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, Capitana.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes playfully before turning back to the camera. “Well, since we’re being honest, I stand by what I said, chaotic, unpredictable, borderline reckless—”

“Hey!”

“—but effective,” she repeated, laughing.

You turned to the interviewer, pointing at Alexia. “This is why she stresses me out.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “You stress me out.”

The media crew was loving it. The interviewer barely held in their laughter.

“Alright, so if you had to pick one word to describe each other’s playing style?” they prompted.

Alexia didn’t even hesitate. “Unhinged.”

You let out a dramatic gasp. “That is so rude!”

“You’ve literally nutmegged someone while tying your shoe,” Alexia shot back. “I rest my case.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Fine. If I’m unhinged, then you’re bossy.”

Alexia smirked. “I am your captain, you know.”

“And I am your problem,” you teased back.

The media crew burst out laughing as Alexia groaned, throwing her head back.

“You are a menace.”

“And you love me.”

Alexia sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “Unfortunately.”

The interview wrapped up, but the banter continued as you walked off set.

“Chaotic?” you muttered. “That’s crazy. I bring excitement.”

“You bring stress,” Alexia corrected.

“Same thing.”

“Absolutely not.”

You smirked. “Admit it, though. You love playing with me.”

Alexia gave you a side glance, shaking her head. “I tolerate it.”

You grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll take it.”

Everything was going smoothly—well, as smoothly as anything involving you ever could—until it was time to officially start the photoshoot for your signature cleats.

You stood in the center of the set, cleats laced up, lights shining, the Nike crew prepped and ready to go. Just as they were about to start, you clapped your hands together.

“Wait, hold on,” you said, making everyone pause. “Before we do this, we need to discuss the name of my cleats.”

Alexia, sitting off to the side watching, sighed deeply, already sensing disaster.

The Nike reps exchanged nervous glances.

“Alright, so,” you began confidently, “I was thinking we call them The Menace Ones.”

A heavy silence settled over the room.

“No,” Alexia said immediately.

“Okay, okay,” you continued, undeterred. “The Chaos Touch?”

“No.”

“The Ankle Breakers?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Nutmeg 3000?”

“Please stop talking,” Alexia groaned.

You turned to the Nike crew, hoping for support, but they all seemed too afraid to challenge Alexia’s authority.

“Fine, fine,” you huffed dramatically. “I’ll be normal about it.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced.

For the next twenty minutes, you behaved. You posed, dribbled, and shot dramatic looks at the camera like a professional. Everything was going perfectly.

Then came the first break and you disappeared.

Five minutes later, you returned, dressed head to toe in an Adidas tracksuit. The entire room fell into stunned silence.

Alexia’s eyes widened in pure disbelief as she stared at you. “No.”

“What?” you said innocently, adjusting the collar of the jacket. “We’re on break.”

“TAKE THAT OFF,” Alexia demanded, already storming toward you.

“I just thought I’d switch things up—”

Before you could finish, she grabbed your arm and started dragging you toward the changing room.

“You are going to get us both killed,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“You have to admit it’s a little funny,” you said, barely suppressing your grin.

Alexia shot you a glare. “You are lucky Nike likes you.”

“And you are lucky I love you enough to go change.”

Alexia sighed heavily, releasing you with one final warning look. “If you come out in Puma next, I’m leaving.”

The camera zooms in on your cleats as you spin them in your hands, running your fingers over the details. The black leather shimmers slightly under the studio lights, gold speckles running along the sides like stars scattered across the night sky. The laces are a deep navy, and the sole glows with a metallic silver finish. A rich purple fades into the black near the heel, blending seamlessly like the sky at dusk.

You smile softly, tilting the shoe toward the camera.

“These are the Estrella 001s—my first signature boots with Nike,” you say, voice filled with quiet pride. “The name comes from my nickname, Estrella, which means ‘star’ in Spanish. But it’s more than that.”

You turn the boot over, showing the gold lettering on the back heel tab, where Estrella 001 is printed vertically in a clean script.

“For me, stars have always meant guidance. I used to look up at them when I felt lost, like they were the only things that stayed constant. They remind me of my past, my struggles… everything that made me me.”

The camera pans over the subtle red and yellow stitching near the tongue of the cleat.

“This is for where I come from. Barcelona, Spain,” you continue. “I might not play for Spain anymore, but it’s still my home. It’s where I fell in love with football. Where I met the people who shaped me. I’ll never forget that.”

You flip the boot back over, running your thumb over the inside, where a tiny phrase is stitched in white.

“It says, ‘Siempre pa’lante.’ Always forward. That’s something Ale taught me when I was going through a tough time. I didn’t always believe it, but she did. And now? Now I do too.”

You set the cleat down and glance toward the camera, a small smile playing on your lips.

“But I wouldn’t be here without my family. My real family.”

Your eyes flick over to Alexia, standing off-camera.

“When Ale took me in, she gave me something I didn’t think I’d ever have again. A home. A place to belong. Someone who loved me without conditions.” You pause, voice thick with emotion. “She didn’t have to, but she did. And I’ll never be able to thank her enough for that.”

The camera smoothly shifts toward Alexia, who is very obviously blinking back tears, her lips pressed together tightly as she tries (and fails) to hold it together.

You grin. “Are you crying?”

She sniffs, shaking her head. “No.”

You smirk, standing up and walking over. “She’s crying.”

“I’m not—”

Before she can finish, you wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her into a tight hug. She exhales sharply, but her arms immediately come up to hold you close.

The camera catches the soft, warm moment between you two.

“You took me in,” you murmured. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

Alexia’s arms tightened around you. “You were mine the second I saw you.”

You squeezed her tighter, voice thick. “Thank you for loving me, Ale.”

She kissed your forehead, whispering softly. “Siempre pa’lante, mi niña.”

[scorpieuns]

BED CHEM | SIM JAEYUN

anon request: “a jake drabble inspired by sabrina's bed chem... i cant stop thinking of jake whenever that song plays!!! like imagine meeting a shy and polite jake at a party but a few shots in he becomes a completely different person. getting so flirty, and sexy, and just oozing with confidence around you... and soon leading you up the stairs of his apartment, stumbling along the way bc he couldn't wait to get a taste of you.”

word count: 2.9k

warnings (18+): smut. swearing. alcohol. kissing. nipple play. protected sex. switch!jake. pussydrunk!jake. switch!reader. a bit of fluff.

MINORS DNI!!!

A/N: I canNOT write a “short” drabble to save my life, I’m just a serial yapper atp. Anyways, anon I hope it’s to your liking!

The air was thick with the scent of salt, spilled liquor, and cheap vanilla perfume, blending into the heady haze of a spring break party in full swing.

Music throbbed through Jay’s beach house, shaking the floor beneath your feet as bodies swayed in time with the bass.

Out on the patio, half-drunk couples tangled under string lights, while inside, groups gathered around beer pong tables, their laughter bubbling over the music. It was the kind of party where inhibitions dissolved like sand under high tide, where the night stretched endlessly, ripe with possibilities.

You were invited by Jay, much to your chagrin. But he had insisted, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he pleaded with you a few days ago, promising just a few drinks and a little fun.

So here you were, smiling involuntarily as you chewed on your bottom lip, laughing every now and then—mid conversation with Jake, one of Jay's (devastatingly attractive) friends from astrophysics class.

Your breath caught slightly each time those honey-brown eyes met yours, framed by impossibly long lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheekbones.

You had caught him watching you earlier, his dark gaze lingering with something that made your skin tingle before flickering away, as if he wasn't supposed to be looking. His plump lips would part slightly whenever your eyes met, as if there were words caught in his throat.

It was endearing, really—the way he would rub the back of his neck when you laughed, or how he stammered through your introduction, his cheeks tinged with something close to nervousness. That beautiful smile of his would flash briefly, making your heart skip.

"I'm, uh, Jake," he had said, his voice a low, velvet rumble that seemed to resonate in your chest, his gaze dancing between you and the floor as if he couldn't quite decide which was safer.

But there was something about him that pulled you in like gravity itself. Maybe it was the way he listened—really listened—his focus entirely on you, as if the rest of the party had dissolved into static.

Or maybe it was how, under the soft-spoken words and shy smiles, there was something else that made your pulse quicken whenever he leaned in closer to hear you better, his cologne a subtle, intoxicating presence that made it hard to focus on your words.

And then, somewhere through the night between failed beer pong attempts and a few too many shots, something shifted in the air between you—undeniable, inevitable.

Maybe it was when his hands found your waist, gentle but sure, as he pulled you onto the dance floor. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you now—different, darker, like a switch had flipped and all his earlier hesitation had burned away into something more.

“You’re really something else, you know that?” Jake’s voice had changed—deeper, silkier, his lips brushing against your ear in a way that made your heart stutter.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He leaned in, and your breath hitched as his lips grazed your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “You. You’ve been driving me crazy all night.”

Something warm curled low in your stomach. This wasn’t the sweet awkward Jake from the living room. This Jake was bold, unwavering, and so sure of himself that it made your heart race.

His scent—clean, sharp, with the faintest notes of cedar—wrapped around you, drowning out everything else.

“I can’t believe Jay would hide such a pretty girl from me.” His fingers traced absent patterns along your waist, his touch deliberately featherlight but addicting all the same.

You laughed softly, threading your fingers through the soft hair at his nape. "Maybe he was trying to protect you from trouble."

Jake's answering laugh sent vibrations against your skin as his hands skimmed up your sides.

"Trouble looks good on you.” His gaze traveled down, appreciating how your dress hugged your body, before meeting your eyes again with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as gorgeous as you,” he murmured, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk. “It’s almost unfair, really.”

You laughed as your pulse stuttered. “Jake, are you drunk?”

“Maybe,” He replied, tilting his head—then, with deliberate slowness, his fingers traced up your arm. “But,” he spoke up, finding the fallen strap of your dress and sliding it back into place with a softness that beautifully contrasted with the look in his eyes.

“That doesn’t make it any less true.”

The touch was nothing. A simple gesture. And yet it sent a thrill coursing through you.

So this is what they mean by liquid courage, huh?

“Who are you,” you teased, running your fingers through his hair, just firmly enough to earn a low groan that made your stomach flip, “and what have you done with the shy guy from earlier?”

Jake’s hand found your waist again, drawing you against him until there was barely any space left. The air between you was thick, his lips hovering teasingly close to yours.

Close enough to taste the promise in his smile, close enough to make you ache.

“He’s in there somewhere,” Jake murmured, his grin slow and devastating enough to make your knees weak.

And then, just as you leaned in to close that maddening distance, he pulled back slightly, leaving you chasing the phantom warmth of his almost-kiss.

But you could grumble in disappointment, he lifted his gaze to yours, eyes dark with unmistakable desire and something deeper, more tender.

“Wanna get out of here?”

The answer tumbled from your lips without hesitation, “Yeah.”

—

There was something both thrilling and torturous about being so utterly, maddeningly consumed with sexual frustration.

From the heated, borderline shameless makeout session in the back of the Uber (which, judging by the driver’s stiff posture, was definitely unwelcome) to the way Jake stumbled his way up the stairs, his grip on your hand tight and desperate—it was a slow, agonizing burn.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could take it.

Jake groaned as he struggled with his keys, his breath uneven, his hands not nearly as steady as they should have been. “You know,” he murmured, voice thick with frustration, “what you’re doing is really distracting.”

A slow, teasing smile spread across your lips as you pressed another soft kiss along his jaw, feeling the way he tensed beneath your touch.

“(Y/N)” He warned and you sighed dramatically, letting your head rest against the door as you murmured, “Then what am I supposed to do when I can’t kiss you right now?”

As if the universe itself had taken pity on you, the lock finally gave way with a soft click.

And then you were stumbling inside, barely making it through the doorway before Jake spun you around, his lips crashing into yours with a need that sent a shiver down your spine.

The door slammed shut behind you, but you barely heard it over the pounding of your heart.

Jake pulled you close, his touch sending a buzz through your veins as he gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin.

You moaned softly against his lips, and his response was almost instant, his kiss growing more fervent, mouth moving against yours with a need that had you panting.

He was so good.

Jake tugged you closer, pulling you down the hall, trying to make it to his bedroom without tripping or running into anything. Not that it was an easy task when he was kissing you like this.

But finally, after what felt like an eternity, you were falling back onto the bed, the soft mattress catching you as Jake climbed on top of you.

There was something almost intoxicating about having him above you, his broad body looming over yours, his dark brown, heavy-lidded eyes raking over you as if he wanted to devour you whole.

Your lips parted, and Jake leaned down to kiss you, his tongue pushing past your lips to brush against yours. He pulled away without a second breath, grazing kisses along your neck, recklessly marking you from your neck to your collarbone as your head fell back.

The feathery feeling of his lips seemed to cloud your mind, soft moans emitting from your lips as he nipped at your skin.

You squirmed beneath him, and you could feel his growing arousal pressing against your thigh, making your breath hitch.

He continued his trail of kisses down your body, only breaking away as you pulled your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

Jake’s lips immediately met yours again in feverish measure as his hands trailed down your neck, curving over your sternum and landing on your tits.

You moaned into the kiss when his hands began to cup the soft flesh—pressing your thighs together, scouring for some sort of friction that would dull your painful desire.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Jake panted as his hand grazed over your tit, nipple pebbling against the cold sensation of his rings making you whimper.

He squeezed the soft flesh with a lewd groan, arching into him with an involuntary moan as his tongue flicked over your nipples. You were so sensitive, the feeling sending a jolt through you, gasping as Jake grinned against your skin.

Your fingers meet his dark locks at its own accord, gripping the messy strands as you arched your back with a cry, the feeling of his teeth scraping against your nipple causing a spark of pain mixed with pleasure.

His other hand snaked down between your legs, brushing the damp spot that had formed on your underwear as you bucked into his hand with a whimper.

“Fuck, you're soaking wet for me, baby.” He groaned at the feeling of your arousal coating his fingers, lips meeting yours once more in a hungry, feverish kiss.

Jake broke away from your lips, swiftly lifting his shirt off his body as he discarded it somewhere in the room, the sound of his belt unbuckling shooting right to your core.

“Wan’ you so bad.” You whined.

Jake smirked as he hovered over you again, hands meeting your jaw as his other hand travelled to your inner thigh—hooking his finger under the hem of your panties, stroking your clit and eliciting a gasp from you.

His voice was deep and raspy as he murmured, "Tell me, baby."

You could feel the flush creeping up your neck as his touch sent a shiver through you, your thighs trembling with desire.

"Please..."

"Please, what?"

His thumb swiped across your clit, the sudden friction causing you to moan, the sound muffled by his lips.

Jake pulled away slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he murmured, "Be good, (Y/N), and tell me."

The way his voice seemed to drop an octave had your heart hammering against your chest, the heat pooling in your stomach.

"Fuck me, please."

Jake wasted no time pulling your panties away from your body, discarding them somewhere off the side of the bed. He pulled his pants and boxers off with a few swift motions, his cock springing free from its confines.

“Fuck.” you whispered, marvelling at just how pretty his dick looked, clenching around nothing.

Jake grabbed a condom and slipped it on, his gaze never leaving you. "God, you look so fucking good."

Jake moved over to your lips, brushing against them as his tongue tentatively darted out, tracing the swell of your lips. You let him in, tangling your tongue with his and sucking hard.

You both simultaneously moan at the feeling of his cock grazing your clit. He moved again, lining himself up with your entrance.

"Ready?" He asked, his voice raspy and thick.

You nodded, biting your lip.

"Use your words, princess." he tapped his tip along your glistening folds warningly, whimpering at the contact.

"Yes! Yes– please. Fuck me."

He pushed the tip of his cock into your heat, teasingly rubbing it against your folds. He kissed your jaw, his tongue brushing against yours.

Jake groaned as he pushed his length inside you, your body tensing up at the feeling. Your head tipped back at the sensation of him entirely inside you, moaning when he took the liberty of moving.

"Fuck, princess."

You bit your lips as you moaned with every thrust if his hips–nails digging into his back, the slight pain driving him wild.

"God, (Y/N), you feel so fucking good."

You were a moaning mess, his cock filling you, stretching you, as his thrusts sped up—the sound of skin slapping filling the room.

"Fuck, Jake. Don’t—don’t stop." you cried out.

Jake kissed your neck, his breath warm on your skin. He was whispering sweet nothings to you, but you couldn't cohere any of it, only his groans and moans.

You whimpered, his thrusts hitting all the right places, your hips rocking against him.

You whimpered, his cock hitting a particularly sensitive spot inside you, over and over again as your moans grew louder, your cries filling the room—digging your nails into the skin of his arm as the pleasure overwhelms you.

"You’re so hot-so good for me." Jake moaned, eyebrows knit in pleasure as whimpers slipped past his pretty lips.

You were getting close, his beautiful moans and the pornographic sounds of skin slapping together sending you off the edge—the pleasure threatening to make you fall apart.

"M’ so close, please, don't stop." You beg.

Jake thrusts into you faster and harder, and you cry, feeling yourself teeter over the edge. Your hands reach out to grip his arms, his muscles flexing beneath your fingertips as you arch your back with a loud moan.

You squirm under him, screaming his name as your orgasm crashes into you, almost seeing stars as he continues to thrust into you.

He presses sloppy kisses against the blooming marks on your neck, hands squeezing your tits—as though he can’t get enough of you.

The way his cock disappears inside your pussy makes him groan, the sight alone egging him on as he snaps his hips into you making your breath hitch as you involuntarily clench around him.

His mind was mushy, thoughts jumbled, too consumed with pleasure to form any coherent idea besides you.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He slurred, sliding your thigh under his arm as he lifted your thigh over his shoulder, high on the feeling of your cunt hugging him with each hard thrust.

“Jake shit-“ you let out a choked moan, the new position sending your sensitive walls into overdrive, equally impressed and shocked that he was still going.

Jake leaned in to kiss you, his desperate moans muffled by your lips until he couldn’t kiss you back anymore, mouth falling agape.

The feeling of you around him was so intoxicating, so mind blowing, so good. You were so sweet, so beautiful—so so fucking pretty.

You brushed back his damp strands, hand traveling to his pink cheeks as your thumb toyed with his bottom lip.

A smirk found itself on your lips as you gazed at him, lust blown eyes looking at you with adoration as he continuously whimpered your name.

Pride couldn’t help but swell in your chest as Jake’s newfound boldness seemed to wilt away…all to being pussydrunk.

“You are such a pretty mess for me aren’t you, baby?”

Jake nods without hesitation or second thought.

"Fuck, princess. I'm so close." He drops his head into the crook of neck with whiny moans.

His voice was strained, his breath coming in shallow gasps, his body trembling.

“I'm gonna cum. Fuck, I'm gonna cum.”

“Then come for me, baby”

Jake's eyebrows knit together as bites his lip, his cock twitching in you as his orgasm washed over him.

You watched as his head fall back, his eyes rolling back into his head, a long, drawn out moan escaping his lips.

"F-fuck." Jake groaned, his eyes squeezing shut, his body shaking.

"That's it." You cooed as his hips jerked erratically, thrusting into you a few more times before you felt his warmth fill you.

"Fuck, (Y/N)." Jake breathed, his voice still ragged.

You giggled, the sound causing Jake's heart to skip a beat.

Jake took a moment to catch his breath before he rolled off of you, removing the condom and tossing it into the trash bin next to his bed.

“That was…” he collapses back into the bed, raking his fingers into his hair.

“…Amazing?” You tease, leaning over to rest your chin on his chest.

“Yeah.” But after a moment, the dazed look in eyes finally disappears as he sits up in a panic, “but was that okay—are you fine?”

You press a kiss to his lips, “Jake, I’m fine, relax.” You laugh, “I liked it, I mean…clearly”

He cracks a smile of his own, leaning in to kiss you this time, hand caressing the side of your neck as he deepens the kiss, much sweeter than the ones before.

You softly bite his bottom lip as you briefly pull away, smirking at the groan that leaves his throat.

“Are you free next week?”

[scoupsakakitty]

Could you do svt finding out reader has been skipping meals while they were away on tour? Like they come back from tour and notices how the s/o is looking?? Lmk if you’re uncomfortable with that

SVT reacting to s/o losing weight/skipping meals

tw: weight loss, skipping meals

S.Coups:

His heart drops the moment he sees you. You look smaller, weaker—your usual glow dimmed. He pulls you into a tight hug, resting his chin on your head. "Did you wait until I was gone to do this to yourself?" His voice is strained, a mix of frustration and worry. He pulls back to look into your eyes. "You think I wouldn’t notice? You’re already perfect. Stop trying to fit into something that will never love you back the way I do."

Jeonghan:

He eyes you up and down, his usual playful smirk nowhere to be seen. Instead, there’s a cold seriousness in his gaze. "Y/N, be honest with me." He crosses his arms. "Did you stop eating just so you could fit some beauty standard?" His voice is sharp, but his hands are gentle when he reaches for yours. "I know how bad this industry can get, but I won’t let you do this to yourself. Not while I’m here."

Joshua:

Joshua sighs, shaking his head as he cups your face. His thumbs brush against your cheekbones, now more defined than before. "This isn't healthy, Y/N." His voice is calm but filled with concern. "You don't have to do this to be beautiful. You already are. The people who make you feel like you aren't? They’re wrong." He pulls you into his arms. "Next time, talk to me, okay? You don’t have to do this alone."

Jun:

Jun doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he sets down his bag and slowly approaches you, his gaze scanning over you carefully. "Did someone tell you to do this?" His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it. When you don’t answer, he exhales sharply. "I get it. I really do. But hurting yourself like this… it won’t make you happy." He squeezes your hand. "Please, Y/N. Let’s eat together, okay?"

Hoshi:

Hoshi pouts dramatically at first, pinching your cheek. "Where did all your energy go, huh? You look so tired…" But then, his expression shifts, eyes darkening with worry. "You were waiting for me to leave, weren’t you?" He sighs, shaking his head. "I know what it’s like to be told you have to lose weight to be accepted. But you’re not an idol, Y/N. You don’t have to go through this." He takes your hands in his. "Even if you were… I’d still tell you the same thing: you don’t have to change for anyone."

Wonwoo:

Wonwoo is quiet. Too quiet. He studies you carefully, his sharp gaze missing nothing. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but firm. "Y/N… why?" He exhales deeply, shaking his head. "I get it. I know why you’d feel this way. But I also know it won’t bring you the happiness you’re searching for." He pulls you into his embrace. "Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do this alone."

Woozi:

Woozi’s jaw clenches the moment he sees you. His hands curl into fists at his sides before he forces himself to relax. "You think I don’t know what it’s like?" His voice is bitter. "To be told you’re not enough unless you fit a mold that someone else decided for you?" He steps closer, his gaze locking onto yours. "I won’t let you go through this alone, Y/N. I know how hard it is to fight it, but you don’t have to fight alone."

DK:

DK’s smile falters the second he takes a good look at you. His usual warmth turns into concern. "Y/N… have you been eating properly?" He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it. When you look away, he gently lifts your chin. "Please don’t do this to yourself. I love you just the way you are." His voice cracks slightly. "I don’t want to see you hurting yourself over something so meaningless."

Mingyu:

Mingyu’s excitement from coming home quickly fades when he sees you. His hands instinctively reach out, brushing against your arms. "You… lost weight." His tone is careful, but his eyes are full of worry. "Did you stop eating while I was gone?" When you don’t answer, he exhales sharply. "Y/N, I love you, but I won’t pretend this is okay. You’re beautiful just the way you are. Please don’t hurt yourself like this."

The8:

His expression is unreadable, but his voice is laced with quiet disappointment. "You’re trying to fit into their beauty standards, aren’t you?" He sighs, shaking his head. "I won’t tell you that it’s easy to ignore them. But I will tell you that it’s not worth it." He gently cups your face. "You’re more than just the way you look, Y/N. Please don’t forget that."

Seungkwan:

Seungkwan is visibly upset, his usual bright energy completely gone. "Did you really wait until I was gone to do this?" His voice is uncharacteristically quiet. He swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. "You think being skinnier will make you happier? That it’ll make you prettier?" He grips your hands. "You’re already the most beautiful person I know. Please don’t do this to yourself."

Vernon:

Vernon furrows his brows, staring at you for a long moment before finally speaking. "You think being thinner will make you fit in more?" He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it. I really do. But I also know that it’s not worth losing yourself over." He steps closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. "You’re enough, Y/N. You always have been."

Dino:

Dino immediately frowns when he sees you, his expression unreadable. "You didn’t have to do this." His voice is filled with frustration, but not at you—at the world that made you feel like you had to change. "I know how hard it is to ignore the pressure. But I wish you had talked to me before doing this to yourself." He squeezes your hand. "I don’t care what anyone else says. You’re already perfect to me."

[fierceawakening]

I'm going to be kind of a dick here too and say "what is the goal here?"

Because, while I think it is important to be visibly anti-Nazi (or whatever), I think where we choose to be visible can matter.

Years and years ago, long before Trump was anything but a weird racist ranting about Obama's birth certificate, I joined some leftist groups I now feel were high control and not very effective.

And they said... well not this exact thing, as this sounds like it's more about friend groups than family. And what they said was things like "if one 80 year old can understand not to be prejudiced, your uncle Jim is making a choice to be. And if you don't speak up, you're making a choice to let him be."

So I was at a family gathering, and my old relatives were talking, and there was a long history of Greek communities and Jewish communities having tension when they were young, and they said some things about Jews, using Greek terms that... well, I don't know if they were slurs or just "Jew" or whatever, but I found it weird and uncomfortable coupled with what they were saying (the thing about how Jews see themselves as "the chosen people" and this makes them do arrogant things, IIRC.)

I got upset, I said so, I stormed out.

The result of this was not my family members changing their minds or softening their rhetoric. The result of this was family gossip about how I'd been radicalized and there was something wrong with me.

It changed nothing, and some of these people died before I saw them again and had a chance to have a conversation about it. I still feel sad that some of these people may have died thinking I was their enemy, since I didn't really explain (or think, at the time, that I SHOULD explain) that I was saying "please don't do that" and not "I despise you utterly."

So... I think stands like the one I took, in public and loudly, CAN be good politics. But they're theater.

Who's the audience for the theater?

If it's the prejudiced person and they're deep enough in their beliefs they'll just deem you a Karen and look confused in the general direction of nice people.

If it's other people around in the public space, THAT can matter. But if you can, you should make sure that they heard the Nazi-ing that precipitated you calling everyone's attention to your comment or your flouncing. That helps ensure that people know why you considered it serious enough to call attention.

If it's your own conscience, that's okay too. But bear in mind that the universe is not always just, and people may just think you're being dramatic.

Especially if in your family or friend group, you're The Loud Leftist, as I was at the time.

Again, not saying don't do it. It's often needed. But do consider: is this something you will want to have done even if it bombs and no one sees the intent behind what you did?

If the answer is yes, THEN do it.

[reiding-writing]

i love ur writing sooo much, kicking my feet giggling as i reread your entire cold!reader masterlist

i think it'd be interesting to see some sexual tension between them 👁️👁️

THE CONVERSATION. — SPENCER REID!

after the hotel incident, you and spencer avoid the inevitable conversation until you can't anymore.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 2.4k | ?? | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — not really sexual tension, but definitely tension

The flight back to Quantico is suffocating.

Spencer sits across the aisle, book in hand, but you know he’s not really reading. His eyes flick over the words too slowly, the way they do when he’s using them as a shield rather than taking them in.

You don’t blame him. You’re doing the same thing—staring at the report in your lap, eyes skimming over the same paragraph for the fourth time, pretending you don’t notice the weight of his silence.

He’s quieter than usual. That alone is enough to unnerve you.

You should say something. A joke, maybe. Something dry and dismissive to shove things back into place, back into before. But your body betrays you, tense and unwilling to bridge the gap.

So you sit in it. The not-quite silence, the too-loud hum of the jet’s engines, the unspoken weight pressing into the space between you.

But things have changed.

It’s in the way he looks at you—just a second too long, like he’s cataloging every flicker of your expression, waiting for a signal he’s not sure will come.

It’s in the way you look at him, catching yourself watching the way his hands move when he flips through case files, when he tugs at his tie absentmindedly.

You hate it. The awareness, the sharp pull in your chest when he leans forward to adjust his bag and his knee barely brushes yours. The warmth that lingers too long. The way your own body responds before your mind can shut it down.

He doesn’t push. Of course he doesn’t.

Spencer is patient, careful in the way only he can be. He’s waiting—for you to say something, anything, to acknowledge what happened in that hotel room. But you don’t. You can’t. Because if you start, you don’t know where it ends.

And then there’s the team.

Emily teases, because of course she does. Some offhand remark about how you and Reid have been acting weird ever since the case wrapped up. JJ gives you quiet, knowing glances that make your stomach twist.

And Morgan—well. Morgan just smirks and says, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s something you two aren’t telling me,”

You brush it off. Pretend you don’t see the way Spencer stiffens beside you, or the way your face feels unnaturally warm.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Except it isn’t, and you both know it.

There’s an awareness between you now. A charged undercurrent in every glance, every movement, every second you spend in the same room.

It starts small. The way you feel his presence before you even see him. The way his gaze lingers when he thinks you won’t notice. The way your body tenses when he gets too close—not in fear, but in anticipation, in something unspoken and unbearable.

So you do what you do best: you bury it.

Your tone stays sharp, clipped, practiced in its indifference. You keep the distance, keep the edge, because that’s easier than acknowledging the way his fingers linger when he passes you a case file. The way they brush against yours, fleeting but deliberate, like he’s testing the boundaries of whatever this thing is.

You pretend it doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It does.

He doesn’t push. Spencer never pushes. But you know he’s waiting.

Waiting for the moment you slip up. Waiting for you to let the mask crack, even just a little. Waiting for you to admit what he already knows—that you feel it, too.

And the worst part?

You almost want to.

The tension is worse when it’s just the two of you.

It sneaks in during the in-between moments—when the rest of the team is occupied, when there’s no buffer, no reason to pretend the air between you isn’t thick with something unspoken.

In the conference room, you hand him a report, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second. He inhales sharply, a quiet thing, barely audible over the rustle of paper, but you hear it. Like it’s the first breath he’s taken all day.

You ignore the way your own breath catches.

In the break room, you’re pouring sugar into your takeout coffee when he walks in. You don’t look at him, don’t acknowledge the way his presence shifts the entire atmosphere of the room. But you feel him. Standing just close enough to press at the edges of your space, just far enough to keep it appropriate.

When he speaks, his voice is softer. Careful. “You should try decaf in the afternoons. Too much caffeine can increase cortisol levels, and you already don’t sleep enough,”

You roll your eyes, sip your coffee anyway. “Noted.”

It’s clipped, controlled. Everything about you is controlled.

But the silences are getting longer.

The pauses between words stretch too thin, stretched tight like a wire pulled to its limit. Every unspoken thought, every question neither of you dares to voice, hangs between you.

One day, something’s going to snap.

—

A week passes, and the tension becomes unbearable.

It’s everywhere. In the hallway, when you walk past each other just a little too close. In the team meetings, when your eyes meet across the table and neither of you look away. In the casual brushes of hands—when your fingers touch for a fraction of a second, a spark you both feel but don’t acknowledge. Every accidental touch lingers too long, and every word is too charged with meaning, too heavy with what’s unspoken.

You hate it. You hate how easily you fall into this strange, uncharted territory with him, how you can't seem to escape the gravity of what happened. And yet, every time you think you’ll address it, every time the words almost slip out, something pulls you back into the silence.

It’s late, way past normal office hours. The rest of the team has long gone home, but you’re still here, hunched over case files with Spencer.

There’s a strange, muted quiet to the space between you, and for once, it’s not just the weight of all the cases you’ve been working on. It’s the weight of this—the silence that surrounds you both, thick enough to choke.

Spencer doesn’t say anything for a long while. You’re both too immersed in the reports, in pretending to focus on the paperwork instead of whatever's hanging between you. But then he puts the file down, leans back in his chair, and the words come, simple and deliberate.

“Are we ever going to talk about it?”

It’s quiet. Too quiet. And the air in the room shifts. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard. Your mind instantly races to shut it all down, to run from the conversation you’ve been avoiding for days.

You open your mouth, prepared to deflect, to push it all back into the vault of things you don’t talk about. But then you meet his gaze.

His eyes are earnest, softer than you’ve ever seen them. There’s hope in them, and maybe something else—something fragile, something vulnerable. He’s not pushing you, not demanding anything. Just waiting.

And suddenly, you realise that you don’t want to run anymore.

You feel it in your chest, that sharp pang of wanting to bridge the gap between you, to close the distance that’s grown between you both over the past week. Maybe you don’t have the right words. Maybe you never will. But for once, you’re not afraid to try.

You swallow hard and finally speak, your voice quieter than usual, rough with the weight of everything unspoken.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Let’s talk.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s thick with everything you’ve been holding back. And then—something shifts. The air between you crackles. You both lean in slightly, but neither of you makes a move. Not yet.

And then, without another word, Spencer stands, stepping toward you with that same quiet intensity. It’s a move you didn’t expect, and for a moment, you freeze. But then he’s closer, his breath warm against your skin, and you realize that he’s waiting for you.

Your heart races, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you let him close the distance, and this time, there’s no hesitation.

The kiss is slow. Tentative at first, like both of you are afraid to shatter the fragile moment. But it deepens quickly, and it’s everything—everything you’ve been feeling without knowing how to express it. His lips are gentle but insistent, a soft pressure against yours that makes your pulse spike.

You kiss him like it’s the only thing that matters, because in this moment, it is.

The kiss lingers in the air, charged and unresolved, as you both pull back just enough to catch your breath. You’re still close, too close, your faces a breath away from each other, and the space between you hums with something different. Something new.

You break the silence first, your voice tinged with that familiar edge of sarcasm that you use to shield yourself. “That’s not exactly us talking.”

Spencer freezes for a moment, his expression shifting from confusion to a slight grimace. He knows you’re not exactly serious about it, that the tone you’ve carried throughout the whole exchange has been more about self-preservation than actual disappointment.

But the weight of it still settles on his shoulders, and he winces at the mild reprimand, even though he understands it’s more a defence mechanism than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters quickly, the apology falling out of him without hesitation. His eyes are a little wider than usual, like he’s bracing for something more, but he also knows it’s not really warranted. You’re not angry with him. You never were.

But the words are enough to make you exhale sharply, and you roll your eyes as you shift back slightly, breaking the proximity just enough for your mind to catch up with everything that’s just happened.

You study him for a moment, watching how his hands twitch slightly at his sides like he’s trying to keep himself together. His eyes are wide, darting between yours, looking for some kind of confirmation.

“I like kissing you… sorry—” he blurts, his voice cracking slightly as the words tumble out in a rush, and then he keeps talking, his words pouring out like he’s finally letting go of the tight grip he’s been holding on everything.

“I’ve wanted to for so long, but I was scared that you wouldn’t be into it. I mean, I’ve seen how you act with me, and I get it, I do, I just—” He stumbles over his own thoughts. “I didn’t want to ruin things between us. You’re—well, you’re you, and I’m me, and I didn’t know if you’d even want that, you know?”

You blink at him, trying to process the flood of words, and for a moment, it’s overwhelming. He’s still standing too close, so you take a step back, crossing your arms defensively as you try to steady yourself.

“Spencer,” you start, your voice gentle but firm, “you need to breathe.”

His eyes flicker at your words, and you see the immediate tension in his face relax a fraction, but only a fraction.

“Listen,” you continue, your voice steady now as you push past the weight of the awkwardness. “I’m not exactly a romantic person, okay?” You can feel the vulnerability creeping in, but you don’t let it overwhelm you.

“I don’t—” You sigh frustratedly. “I don’t know how to do this, or what I’m supposed to say, but… I don’t want you to think I’m rejecting you. I just— I need to know where we’re going with this. And I need to know what you want.”

Spencer opens his mouth to say something but falters, clearly still unsure of how to navigate this strange, new territory with you. You take a deep breath, feeling the space between you growing thicker with every second.

“I need you to be straightforward, Spencer,” you say, softer now. “Just— tell me what you want from this,”

For a moment, Spencer just stands there, eyes fixed on you, as though trying to read between the lines of what you’ve said. And then, finally, his shoulders relax as he nods.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he says quietly, his voice earnest, “but I do want this. And I want you to know that, even if I’m nervous and all over the place, I’m not trying to make things difficult. I just want to— be with you. If that’s something you’re open to.”

You chew on his words for a moment, and the weight of them hits you all at once. He’s not asking for anything more than what you’re willing to give, and he’s not rushing you, either. The idea of having someone like Spencer—someone who isn’t expecting perfection from you, who’s patient enough to understand your walls—feels almost… safe.

You take a deep breath.

“I’m not good at this. But I don’t want to screw it up either.” You step forward a little, trying to meet him halfway. “I can’t promise all the right words or the grand romantic gestures, but if you’re okay with that…” You pause, meeting his gaze squarely. “I’m willing to try.”

Spencer exhales slowly, his eyes lighting up just slightly, the weight of relief crossing his face. He doesn’t move closer, but the air between you feels a little less tight, a little less heavy.

“That’s good enough for me,”

The words settle between you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no tension—just the quiet understanding of what comes next.

[sunseed-fandump]

Jailhouse Rock

The kids make a new (and very questionable) friend.

AU: Bad Batch Word Count: 3,281

Well, it was official, this was the most awkward moment of Gingerbrave’s life.

The jail cell was a cramped little thing, definitely not something built with the idea of containing more than one prisoner, just like the jailhouse itself didn’t seem to be built with that many criminals in mind, as there was only one cell. He supposed it made sense that a small town in the middle of the desert wouldn’t expect too many criminals stopping by, let alone having the misfortune of all of them being caught at the same time. Yet here they were.

It wasn’t like they had wanted to get caught. This was actually one of the few times they had bothered to keep a low profile. They had stopped into town for supplies on their trip down the Pilgrim’s Path, and figured it would be best for their long journey to conserve their energy. Just get in, grab the stuff, toss the money on the counter, get out. Simple.

Then things got decidedly less simple when a couple of bounty hunters recognized the kids from their wanted posters. (When did those get printed? They looked so cool! Gingerbrave hoped he got to take one home to put up on his bedroom wall.) The scuffle resulted in a lot of property damage, Wizard getting a minor concussion, and all three kids getting hit with tranquilizer darts. Who the hell carries those around? Well, those guys, apparently.

An hour later found the trio waking up disoriented, disarmed, and awaiting transfer to the nearest Kingdom for processing. Oh, and they had a cellmate. A cellmate who seemingly hated their guts if the way she scowled at them from the other side of the tiny cell was any indication.

Resulting in the awkward stare-down that was currently happening. On his right, Wild Strawberry seemingly lost interest and started fidgeting with the drawstrings on her hood. Meanwhile to his left, Wizard had begun muttering something to himself. (A quick glance to the clock on the wall beyond the bars told Gingerbrave they probably had about an hour or two before Wizard started going off the deep-end due to withdrawal from his stupid staff. Gingerbrave couldn’t stand that parasite…)

Luckily, since he was undead, Gingerbrave didn’t have to blink, which meant he could literally stare at this weird angry lady all day if he wanted. He didn’t want to, though, so instead he tried to strike up a conversation.

“So, uh…” He scratched at the stitches on his neck. “What are you in for?”

The cookie’s scowl deepened. She was a spicy cookie if the red hair and strong scent was any indication. Her hair was done up in a ponytail and she had a scar on her forehead. She was dressed in the traditional black-and-white striped outfit one typically associated with criminals. Gingerbrave wondered, when the sheriff came back, if they would be expected to get changed into something similar.

At the cookie’s lack of a response and neither of his friends lending him a hand, Gingerbrave decided to keep talking.

“Right. Anyway, I’m Gingerbrave, and these are my friends Wizard and Wild Strawberry—“ He was cut off by the other cookie’s very clipped response.

“I know who you are.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. It seemed that was all she felt like saying though as any attempt to talk to her earned the boy the cold shoulder.

Gingerbrave eventually figured she was a lost cause, and judging by Wizard starting to rock back and forth from where he was seated, he was beginning to head into the first stages. So it was time to get going.

“Alright, we’re gonna leave now.” Gingerbrave said with a shrug before getting up from his seat and heading over to the front of the cell. He pressed his face up against the bars to get a better view of the hallway. He could just barely make out the sheriff’s office at the end of the hall. No doubt, that’s probably where their stuff was. Judging by how quiet it was, the sheriff was still out doing whatever it was that sheriffs did, which meant Gingerbrave had to be quick.

The boy tested the bars. Solid as a rock and he had neglected to bring any of his stronger arms with him. Unfortunate, but he’d have to work with it.

“Hey, Wizard,” Gingerbrave looked over to the shorter boy, who seemed to briefly snap out of whatever daze he had slipped into. “If I can get you your staff, could you get us out of here?”

“Yes!” He replied way too quickly, before shaking his head and rubbing at his temples. The migraine must have been setting in. “Yes, get me my staff and I can teleport us.”

“Sounds like a plan!” And without any hesitation Gingerbrave grabbed at his forearm just under the stitches on his left elbow, and snapped it off.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” The spicy cookie jumped back, clearly startled; all the color had drained from her face in an instant. All the kids laughed a little at her expense. (Even Strawberry, with a barely restrained ‘pfft!’)

“It’s fine! See?” The severed hand waved at her like nothing was wrong. “Watch this!” He gently set it down to the floor where, with a bit of awkward finagling he got it balanced on its fingers like a spider. He walked his hand out of the cell, slipping it between the bars, and all the cookies watched as it scuttled down the hall towards the office. Gingerbrave scrunched up his face in concentration, leaning the stub of his left arm out of the cell as far as it could go to help keep his hand within range. His spirit could stretch pretty far, but not forever, and he wanted to make sure he had full reign of the office.

Okay, that felt like the office chair. There’s the desk. He poked around a little to the right and hit a wall so maybe if he…

“Does that hurt…?” The spicy cookie’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts briefly and the boy looked over his shoulder at her. Huh, that usually wasn’t the first reaction he got when severing his parts in front of new cookies. Usually it was fear, panic, and accusations of being a dough-eating monster, but this cookie’s initial surprise had melted into an emotion Gingerbrave wasn’t quite familiar with.

“Nah, they were made to come off.” Gingerbrave said with a shrug before turning his attention back to feeling around the distant room. What was that? A bookshelf? Maybe he should try a few paces to the left.

The spicy cookie gave him an assessing look before turning her attention to the other two, specifically Wizard who was looking a little more harrowed than usual. “Yo, shortstack, you good?”

Gingerbrave snorted at the nickname. Oh! That felt like a chest! Maybe their stuff was in there but… it was locked. Rats. Then again, maybe the staff couldn’t fit? Probably best to be thorough.

“I’ll be fine once Gingerbrave gets my staff back.” Wizard said with a harrumph and a mutter of “I’m not short…”

“What’s the hold up? Any longer and Wizard is gonna start getting all freaky.” Strawberry asked, to which Gingerbrave huffed.

“I’m trying!! This would’ve been a lot easier if I was awake when we were brought in. Wizard, tell your stupid staff to be less stupid—!”

‘BANG!’

A screech ripped itself out of Gingerbrave when pain shot through his hand. He flung himself back from the bars, hitting the opposite wall and clutching at his stubby arm as if it would stop the pain. He heard a few exclamations of surprise from the cookies around him along with a horrified scream from down the hall followed by two more gunshots that (thankfully) missed their mark.

The sheriff was back and he just shot Gingerbrave in the hand.

His hand scuttled wildly around the office, blindly bumping into everything in an attempt to get to some kind of cover. Wild Strawberry had gotten up and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“He shot me…!” Gingerbrave bit out between clenched teeth just as a few more shots rang out, one of them glancing the boy’s dough.

“Screw this.” The spicy cookie flung herself at the cell door and after a few moments it popped open…

Wait, what?

“You could’ve done that this whole time?!” Strawberry voiced what Gingerbrave was in too much pain to say.

“Shut up and move!” Replied the other cookie who sprung out of the cell and down the hall. Wizard was right on her heels, no doubt seeing the opportunity to get his staff and not at all caring about the actively shooting lawman. Wild Strawberry called out to him, cursed under her breath when she was ignored, then grabbed Gingerbrave and hauled him out of the cell to give chase.

They arrived just in time to watch the spicy cookie deliver a round-house kick to the sheriff’s face, sending him flying back and hitting his head on the corner of the bookshelf, knocking him out cold.

“How could a cookie that moves so slow become sheriff? Can’t believe I let myself get caught by this moron…” she tsked and checked his pockets.

“There you are!” Wizard exclaimed happily before flinging himself at his staff that was propped up in an umbrella stand for some weird reason. He scooped it up into his hands, the tension practically melted from his body as he felt the staff’s familiar magic settle once more within his dough. “That fool didn’t shoot you, did he…? No?” He sighed in relief.

Gingerbrave looked at the scene with a small frown, but held his tongue. Instead he focused on trying to find his hand. He experimentally tapped his fingers against the nearest hard surface and cringed at the pain blossoming from his fresh wounds.

Wild Strawberry Cookie got down on her knees and checked under the desk when she heard tapping, sure enough, there was Gingerbrave’s hand with a bullet wound in it. “Got it.” She pulled it out and held it up for her friend to take, who cradled it close to his chest. “I’ll get the extra icing stitches from my backpack and we can stitch everything up.”

“No time.” Wild Strawberry jumped when her backpack and lollipop were shoved into her arms by the spicy cookie. She had picked the sheriff’s pockets clean, gotten the keys to the chest in the corner, and cleaned that out too. She strapped a belt around her waste and clipped two daggers to her side. “All that ruckus is gonna have the whole town coming down on top of us. Pointy hat, if you got magic I suggest you start using it!”

“My name is Wizard–!” The small boy’s correction was cut off by the glass of the window shattering in front of him.

“GET DOWN!” She grabbed Gingerbrave and Strawberry and pulled them behind the desk. Wizard, who had been a bit further away, joined them shortly after just as a hail of bullets poured in through both windows and the open front door. “Unless you wanna have more holes than swiss cheese then I suggest you get us out of here!!”

Wizard growled, but instead of snapping at her, he focused on the vocal components of a well-practiced spell. A magic circle appeared beneath the group of cookies and in a flash they were gone. One moment they were hiding under a desk, the next they were on top of a bluff overlooking the town. The gunshots, once deafening, were nothing but an echo on the rocks at this distance.

The spicy cookie stumbled, not used to the sensation of being teleported around, caught herself, and then let out a huge ‘WOO!’

“Wow! What a day!” She exclaimed with a sigh of relief.

“Tell me about it…” Wild Strawberry muttered as she dug into her backpack and pulled out the icing stitches. “Yo, Gingerbrave, let’s get your arm back on.”

“Y-Yeah…” The other boy hissed, allowing himself to be guided over to a rock and took a seat.

“That was some nice quick-casting there, pointy hat!” The spicy cookie went to pat Wizard on the back, but paused. “Oh, right, I’m supposed to be mad at you guys…” She pondered this for a moment before shaking her head with a laugh and then patting him anyway. “Ah, but it’s hard to stay mad after such a fun jailbreak! Definitely one of my favorite ones yet!”

“Who even are you?” Wizard Cookie turned on her, giving her an absolutely baffled look as he adjusted his hat.

“And, uh, why are you mad at us?” Gingerbrave called over, trying to remain as still as possible while Strawberry worked. It wasn’t like they weren’t used to being scorned by most, if not all, of Crispia, but this strange cookie’s anger seemed rather out of left field. The spicy cookie reared back, as if offended by this line of questioning.

“You mean you guys don’t recognize me?! Seriously? And here I thought you were supposed to be big shots…” She reached into her pocket and produced a rolled up piece of paper which was quickly revealed to be a wanted poster that she unraveled with a proud flourish. “The name’s Chili Pepper Cookie and I’m the best thief in the world! There’s nothing on Earthbread I can’t steal.”

“Whoa! Look at that bounty!” Gingerbrave gasped at the sight of all the zeroes. “But… Uh… What does that have to do with being mad at us?”

“Because!” She rolled the paper back up and jabbed a finger at the trio. “Your collective bounties are higher than MINE! How am I supposed to go down in history if I’m being outclassed by a bunch of twerps?!”

Wizard Cookie sputtered indignantly at this revelation. Wild Strawberry stared at her, thoroughly unimpressed. Gingerbrave, however, burst into laughter.

“That’s what all of this was about!?” He cackled a few moments, clutching his aching gut, before settling down and saying breathily, “You’re a weird cookie. I like you!”

“If you want our bounties, you can have them! They’re what got us into trouble in the first place!” Wizard huffed.

Chili Pepper tilted her head, fixing them with a weird look. “Wait, you mean to tell me you aren’t in this for the infamy? Guess that’s why I haven’t seen you around the usual haunts rubbing your status in everyone's faces. You’re totally out of the loop!” She brightened, as if this revelation was both a massive relief and a big joke at the same time.

“Yeah we’re… not really interested in whatever weird crime competition this is.” Wild Strawberry Cookie shook her head as she finished up Gingerbrave’s stitches and stashed the spool into her bag. “If anything those bounties make reaching our goal harder…”

Chili Pepper Cookie looked at her as if she had grown a second head. “What could a group of kids like you want so badly you land bounties that put you in the criminal elite?”

“We’re going to steal the Soul Jam to free the world!” Gingerbrave proudly announced, jumping to his feet, he was already feeling a lot better now that his wounds were stitched up.

“A world without judgement!” Wizard added with a nod.

“And lawlessness…” Wild Strawberry muttered.

Chili Pepper Cookie gave the three children a thoughtful expression, putting a hand to her chin with a little ‘huh…’ before shooting a wide grin at the kids. “Well, I’m not sure about half of that, but I can definitely get behind the stealing and lawlessness parts! Are those Soul Jam things shiny?”

“They are incredibly powerful magical artifacts that have the capability of changing the world as we know it!” Wizard rattled off. When Chili Pepper gave him a blank look, he sighed and said, “And they’re shiny, yes.”

“Hey, I have an idea,” Gingerbrave cut in with a wide smile. “Chili Pepper Cookie, why don’t you come with us?” He got a mixed reaction of surprise and confusion from the cookies around him. Wizard Cookie and Wild Strawberry Cookie knew that Gingerbrave didn’t just extend offers like this to just anyone. He might have been the more chipper and outgoing of their group, but he didn’t trust others so easily. He must have really liked something Chili Pepper did or said to even think about such a proposal.

“You want me to come with you? Why?” Chili Pepper was just as confused as Gingerbrave’s friends. She couldn’t imagine them wanting her around after she gave them the silent treatment back in the jail cell.

“You seem fun.” Was Gingerbrave’s simple reply. “You helped us get out of that jail cell when you really didn’t have to. Plus, if you travel with us, I’m sure your bounty will sky rocket! And we could use the world’s greatest thief on our team!”

Chili Pepper Cookie seriously considered his proposal for a minute. When she had first heard about them and their rapid climbing of the leaderboard, she had thought they were nothing but a bunch of punk kids who wanted to be rowdy and cause trouble. Now she could see though, they had bigger plans than just topping the charts of the Underworld. She could appreciate such a large ambition.

Besides they didn’t seem to be jamthirsty monsters like all the rumors said they were. They were just… weird. The criminal underworld had plenty of downright monstrous folks who Chili Pepper tried not to associate with, but she could tell, these kids didn’t seem heartless. Mischievous, yes. Troubled? Absolutely. But not heartless.

“You know what?” Chili Pepper grinned. “I’ll think about it. But for right now, I got a job I need to finish.”

“A job?” Wild Strawberry asked just as Chili Pepper turned to walk towards the cliff that overlooked the town.

“Yeah? Do you think the greatest thief in the world would screw up and get arrested in a nothing town like this?” She gestured to the settlement below. “I let myself get caught! The train they were gonna put us on has a massive safe full of gems. I was gonna bust out of my cuffs mid-transfer and clean it out! But now I guess I gotta do it the good old fashioned way…”

Gingerbrave once again laughed, giving Chili Pepper a sharp grin. “Well, if you decide you wanna join up, head to the Bear Jelly Village in the Land of Little Big Dreams! There’s a cookie there who’ll point you in the right direction.” With that he raised a hand in farewell. “Good luck, Chili Pepper Cookie!”

Chili Pepper gave the kids a mock salute. “See you around, stitches! Make sure you stay out of any more jail cells, punks!” With that she jumped over the side as nimble as an acrobat, and out of sight.

“Well, that was certainly… interesting.” Wizard sighed, before clutching his stomach. “But we failed to get any supplies, and teleporting us this far has made me famished…”

“Right… I forgot about that…” Gingerbrave’s brow furrowed. Should they try heading back into town and risking getting arrested again? Did they push forward and hoped they reach the next town before they starved? He didn’t really know much about hunting or foraging, but he doubted they’d be able to sustain themselves with much in this sugar-free wasteland.

“Hey, look!” Wild Strawberry pointed further up the main road where the kids could see a huge cloud of dust being kicked up. “I think that’s a caravan.”

All three kids stared at it for a long moment.

“Welp!” Gingerbrave clapped his hands together. “Fellas, it’s time to commit robbery!”

“YEAH!!” Strawberry and Wizard raised their respective weapons into the air, excited at the prospect of getting some food in their stomachs. With that, the trio ran off to intercept those travelers.

From the bottom of the cliff, Chili Pepper watched the kids disappear. She lingered for a moment, deep in thought…

‘CHOO CHOOOOOOO!’

The thief turned on her heel and raced towards the tracks. Their paths would cross again someday, but for now, she has a train to catch.

[wendichester]

.ೃ࿔*:･cramps,

summary. sam always takes care of you.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 473

You groan into your pillow, curling up tighter as another wave of cramps rolls through your abdomen. It’s miserable. The worst it’s been in months, and you swear your uterus is actively trying to ruin your life.

The world outside your blanket cocoon barely exists—you’ve been buried in it for hours, shifting between whimpering and cursing at your own body. You’re half-asleep when you hear the bedroom door creak open, the quiet pad of socked feet moving toward you. The bed dips behind you, and then there’s a familiar warmth—Sam.

His big hand smooths over your back, slow and gentle.

"How bad is it?" he murmurs, voice laced with concern.

"Awful," you whimper. "I think I might die."

"You’re not gonna die," he soothes, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "But I did bring you something."

You peek over your shoulder to see him holding a heating pad and a steaming mug.

Your heart swells. "You’re the best," you breathe, already reaching for the heat.

He chuckles, helping you press it against your stomach before settling in behind you. You feel the warmth of his body almost immediately, his arms circling you, his long legs tangling with yours. He holds the mug to your lips.

"Drink. It’ll help."

The tea is warm and sweet, the floral taste settling something in your chest. You sigh as you swallow, letting your body melt into his.

"Comfy?" he asks, nuzzling into your hair.

"Mhm." Your eyes flutter closed as he rubs slow, soothing circles over your stomach, his warmth completely surrounding you.

"You know," he muses, voice low and affectionate, "if your uterus weren’t trying to kill you right now, I’d say you look pretty cute like this."

You snort. "Flatter me when I’m not suffering."

He smiles against your skin, his breath warm where it tickles your neck. "I’ll do it then too. And all the time."

You shift slightly so you can look at him, his soft hazel eyes already watching you. His face is impossibly close, lips curved into a lazy smile, dimples showing.

"You're too sweet to me," you murmur.

He hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You deserve it."

You sigh, a deep, contented sound, and nestle into his chest, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing lull you into relaxation. His fingers find yours beneath the blankets, tangling together easily.

For a long moment, neither of you speak, wrapped up in warmth and softness. Then, just as you’re drifting off, Sam’s voice reaches you, low and teasing.

"You know, I read somewhere that orgasms help with cramps."

You groan, smacking his chest weakly. "Go to sleep, Winchester."

He laughs, tightening his hold on you. "Fine, fine. But if you change your mind…"

And though he doesn’t finish the sentence, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

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[hollow-keys]

Okay so I've spent a lot of time thinking about this because my notifs are. Dying. And not just the normal distribution of notifs either, almost all of them are reblogs with tags.

What I have gathered is that for Americans, the essence of burger is stored in the patty and for non-Americans, the burger is stored in the buns.

Now the American audience might say "But the definition of a burger is the patty!" and that may have been true when hamburgers were originally created (in the Hamburg province of Germany, that's where they get their name), but the term has experienced semantic drift since then. Because if you ask for a burger and I put a patty on a plate and give it to you, you'd probably say "Where's the rest of the burger?" But if you asked for a steak and I gave you a steak on a plate, you'd probably be happy. Steak has experienced no semantic drift, so it only refers to the actual steak. Burger has, so the term has come to refer to the entire Burger Experience.

But people don't always have a burger patty and buns, so how much can you change the makeup and it still be a burger?

I'm gonna be real, in my experience, non-Americans don't have burgers regularly. It's like a treat when you go out for food or you make some for a summer barbecue. So we always buy burger buns and patties for the occasion so we're not really ever caught with patties but no buns. In fact, we're more likely to have buns than patties because buns can be used for other non-burger things. So we might put some breaded chicken in there instead and go "Well, it still looks a lot like a burger with the buns and the chunky meat and the other fillings so it might as well still be a burger." Like it still has the shape of a burger because of the buns.

But Americans have burgers more often and patties can be frozen for months while buns can't, so it's more common to have patties with no buns. So they might put a patty in sliced bread and go "Well, it's still bread and patty, it might as well still be a burger." Even though it's got a different shape than the standard burger, its ingredients are like, basically the same.

That's my psychoanalysis of the situation.

Americans saying this isn't a burger because "a burger is the patty" have got me thinking about what Americans would think of the opposite:

[traveler-at-heart]

Run, baby, run

Summary: Natasha is very competitive, and that includes your daughter.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Based on some real life events lol

Natasha was a lot of different things for many people. Depending on who you ask -friends, foes, family- she could be stubborn, deadly, relentless. To you she was kind, loving and supportive, in a way that no one else knew.

You would all agree on one thing, though.

Natasha was too competitive.

Being married for three years, you’d grown used to it. As a matter of fact, it could be entertaining especially if she was playing pool or darts against the boys.

But this morning, when she shows you the flyer, you actually have to look twice, sure that Natasha lost her mind.

“Baby crawl race?”

“Yeah, only for babies under one year. You know, they set a track and time them…”

“I mean, I figured. I just… why would we want Anya to do that?”

Your daughter perks up when she hears her name being called and you both smile.

Anya is ten months old, but she’s way advanced for her age. It must be Natasha’s genes, because you’re sure that before she turns one, she will be walking or even running after her other mother.

“It sounds fun”

“And winning has nothing to do with it?” you press, reading about the prizes. “Everything listed here are things we already have. A stroller, a crib… ooh, a formula machine, fancy”

“We can still register if we leave now” Natasha picks up Anya from her playpen, and the sight of their matching red hair melts your heart as usual.

“Fine. We better get going”

—

To your surprise, there are over a dozen babies registered to compete. Natasha takes care of everything as you walk around the store where they’re hosting the event.

She comes back with a smile and a little paper with the number 17 on it.

“Your lucky number” she smiles at you, taking Anya in her arms.

You both watch as other kinds play and stumble around the mat. Most of them seem younger than your daughter, and only a few look close to being one year.

“That one’s gonna be easy to beat” Natasha muses, looking at a small kid that can barely sit.

“Natalia” you slap her arm. “He’s a baby”

“No. They are all competition. And we have no mercy, right, detka?” Natasha insists, bouncing your daughter in her arms.

“Alright, I’m changing her diaper before everything gets crazier” you decide, noticing how there’s a crowd forming around the place where the kids will crawl.

You make small talk with some of the clerks, who seem excited at the prospect of a silly race that will entertain them in the middle of their shift.

By the time you return, Natasha’s quiet, looking at the parents and their children.

“Everything ok?”

“Perfect” she nods, taking Anya in her arms. “Now, kiddo, listen to me, we are Romanoffs. We are fighters and more importantly, winners. So go and make us proud”

Anya responds by giggling and pulling a strand of her mother’s hair. Natasha smiles, saying something in Russian and kissing Anya’s cheek.

The mat is split in half so only two kids can compete at the same time, a screen with a timer behind them.

As expected, some of the kids get distracted by their race mate or crawl around instead of going in a straight line.

“What did I tell you? We’re gonna crush the opponents” Natasha whispers and you slap her arm.

She’s taking this way too seriously.

As you stand next to some parents, Natasha sniffs around, speaking into Anya’s back.

“Baby, did you go potty?”

“I don’t think so” you know Anya frowns and makes a little grunt when she does number two and she’s been pretty quiet this whole time.

“Oh, never mind” she turns to the parents standing next to you. “Not ours, detka”

The parents hurry to the bathroom. There’s a nagging feeling at the back of your mind when you notice how quiet Natasha is. It increases when the parents miss the race because they were stuck chaning a diaper.

Your wife tries to hide her smile, but there’s no way she planned this. Just a coincidence.

Right?

“Babies 10 and 11” the organizer calls. You noticed the girl is older than the other kids, standing out because she can close the distance faster.

“Best time has been 55 seconds. This should be interesting” Natasha comments.

Sure enough, the kid is about to finish when a bright blue ball crosses her path, getting her distracted and making her return to the start line.

The parents try to guide her back but it doesn’t work at all.

“Oh, well”

“Try not to look so happy about it” you whisper, but Natasha just chuckles and places a kiss in your temple.

After a few more minutes, it’s Anya’s turn. You carry her to the start line and Natasha kneels at the end of the mat, keeping her eyes focused on your daughter.

“Three, two, one. Go!”

All Natasha has to do is place her open palm on the mat. Anya’s seen her do it so many times and knows it means one thing: as soon as she touches her mama’s hand, she’ll throw her in the air the way she loves to.

It takes Anya 15 seconds to get to Natasha. Your wife rewards her with her favorite thing, and if it were anyone less graceful and quick, you’d be unnerved by the sight of your daughter kicking her feet while being lifted off the ground.

“Nicely done, pumpkin” you join them, smiling as Anya jumps to your arms.

“A worthy adversary, at last” a man comments as he takes his son to the race. “Let’s see if we can do it better than you”

“Doubt it” Natasha glares but you elbow her, smiling at the man.

“She meant to say, good luck. You’ll do great, sweetheart” you smile at his son, who waves back at you with wide eyes. He’s incredibly cute.

“Fraternizing with the enemy” Natasha tsks.

“He’s a baby, Nat”

“I didn’t like the way the father was looking at you either” Natasha grumbles, leaning forward to kiss you.

Definitely not complaining about her competitive streak now.

As your declared enemy gets ready to race, the father frantically looks around for something lost on their backpack.

“Did you bring it?” his wife insists.

“Yes! The purple elephant! We were playing with it a second ago!”

Apparently, that was their only resource, because the timer starts and their kid is focusing on everything but them.

They manage to finish after two minutes.

“Better luck next time” Natasha comments as they leave, her hand going around your waist.

She’s being so ridiculous but somehow you love it.

The winners are announced, and you cheer when the first place goes to none other than Anya Romanoff.

“Yes, baby. We are the champions” Natasha sings, bouncing her around. Anya has no idea what’s happening, but she’s enjoying the moment.

“Very nice” you comment when the organizers hand you the prize. “Good work, Anya. Keep it up and maybe we won’t have to pay for college”

“Of course she’ll get a scholarship. Or become a professional athlete. Or become president” Natasha says, walking back to the car.

“Oh, those are a lot of things. Maybe she’ll want to focus on just one”

“Nah, she’s got it. She’ll do it all” Natasha kisses Anya’s head and you can’t help but melt.

“Best thing you ever won?” you ask Natasha as you drive back home.

“No, that would be you” she says. “Of course, I mean the bet I made with Tony that I’d get you to date me over him”

“Ugh, you’re so ridiculous” you roll your eyes.

—

The excitement of the race exhausts your daughter, and she’s fast asleep by the time you get home.

You know this won’t last long, so you prepare her clothes to run a bath once she’s up.

As you’re going through her bag, you pull out a toy that’s definitely not Anya’s.

A purple elephant.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova!” you shout, looking for her.

“Oh-oh” Natasha mutters and clears her throat. “Yes, dear?”

“You took that baby’s toy!”

“I did not! Ok, I did. But look, I timed him when they were practising and Anya’s time was still better. I just really didn’t like the way he was staring at your boobs”

“Mhm, right. Winning was just a plus”

“See? You get me”

“That ball that distracted the other kid was not a mistake either, huh?”

“I don’t know what you mean, darling”

“And the parents that missed the race for changing the diaper?”

“Now, that was just a happy coincidence. The rest, yeah. Totally me”

“Evil! Stealing a toy from a toddler” you wave the purple elephant in her face. Natasha takes it and throws it over her shoulder, wrapping your legs around her waist in a swift motion. “What are you doing?”

“I got you that fancy formula machine, didn’t I? Where’s my prize?”

You laugh against her lips, but it soon turns into a moan, as you feel Natasha’s hands slide down your back to cup your ass.

“Anya's gonna wake up in thirty minutes or less. Can you handle that?”

“I do enjoy a good challenge” Natasha says against your lips, showing you how much she loves to win.

And honestly? After a mind blowing orgasm, you love it too.

[leighsartworks216]

Sunrise

Sylus x gn!Reader

Been rotting today so this is how I'm coping ✌️

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, silly, established relationship, cuddling, kissing, literal sleeping together, swearing, suggestive themes, insecurity, references to depression

Word Count: 1,268

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The sun is now, officially, above the horizon. And while it doesn't shine very bright here in the N109 Zone and its shroud of eternal darkness, Sylus's internal clock is well attuned to its presence.

He sighs as he plucks his glasses from his face and sets them aside with the book he was reading. It's one he sees you pick up often, though he can't tell if it's for the charming slice-of-life moments, the love interest that sounds very similar to himself, or the toe-curling imagery of their (very, very frequent) copulation. Either way, it's a way to pass the time for those last few hours before bed.

At these hours, when night turns to day, and again when day turns to night, a sort of trade off happens. He slips into bed, holds you, speaks with you softly as you wake up and he drifts off; or you tuck yourself into his side as his barely-awake conscious automatically curls around you, where you tell him about your day to get the last vestiges of energy out of your system while he tunes back into his itinerary for the night. There are times when this doesn't occur. If you want to go out at night, or if he decides to tag along with you during the day; both of you and your not-so-subtle clinginess. That yearning you both share to spend as much time together as possible, even when it seems impossible.

But today, it does happen.

He stretches like a lazy cat as he quietly makes his way from the couch to the bed. He changed into pajamas hours ago, just after his shower to wash away the evidence of the night's exhaustion. Pants that hang loosely around his hips despite having a drawstring to adjust them. The waistband of his underwear peeking out the top. Exposed torso with muscles that shift and flex with his movements. He'd grown quite fond of wearing these more mundane things instead of his usual luxury robe, if only to better take in the way your hands slip over his abs and cling to his back.

He carefully draws back the covers. The bed shifts under his weight as he crawls in, his eyes focused only on you. Your cheek squished against the pillow. The sleeve of your nightshirt slipping off your shoulder. The irrefutable drool slipping from the corner of your open mouth.

You'd probably cringe and hide away if you knew he saw you like this every day. A complete and utter mess. Maybe you'd even refuse to let him wake you the next day, leaving him to curl around you from behind and pepper kisses all over your shoulder, begging to let him see you, his disastrously beautiful partner. As it is, it's a secret, just for himself to keep.

Your body reacts in tune with his as he pulls the blankets back up and gets to work wrapping himself around you. Arms circling your middle, hands against your back pulling you close. His legs tangling with yours. You turn into his chest. In exchange for your pillow, you use his shoulder. Your fingers seek out his waist, feeling up along his ribs as you hug him like it's the last time you ever will.

He brushes a kiss against your forehead. "Good morning, my love," he whispers. His voice is little more than a soft rumble, a gentle purr by your ear to coax you back to the waking world.

You inhale deeply. Your legs stretch out, toes pointing, back arching, until they're shaking, before you relax and melt into him once more. He still has to stifle a chuckle as you do it, watching as the blankets shift with the movement underneath.

Your face contorts into a sorrowful frown with a soft whine. "Don' wanna get up..." you mutter petulantly. You squish your cheek against him, trying to hide your face against his collarbones, but you just wind up looking insufferably cute. Still, he humors you.

"Hmm, why not?" He tries to pull back to better see your face, but you don't let him. He has to disentangle one of his arms from around you so that he can cup your cheek in his hand and guide you to lean back. Because it's his warm touch leading you, you don't fight it.

You grumble as you crack your eyes open to glare at him. "My body is made of sludge."

He can't fight his smile then. You see his lips curling up into something so amused and mirthful, and you pinch sharply at his side in retaliation.

"'S not funny!" you chide, but your voice is still slurred with sleep and your eyes haven't really focused enough yet to really be able to see him for how squinted they are. You pinch him again just under his ribs when he laughs.

Still chuckling, he brushes back your hair and strokes your cheek. "Okay, okay, it's not funny. I'm sorry." You huff, but your hand relaxes against his skin once more. "Why does your body feel like sludge?"

A minute of contemplation passes, punctuated by an eventual shrug. It could be something you ate. Could be a virus. More likely than not - Sylus recognizes - it's your brain deciding today would be the perfect day to be cruel to you.

"What did you have planned today?" he asks.

"Mm, I wanted to go to that really nice bookstore in-" You yawn, mouth gaping wide and fat gathering under your chin where it presses against your neck. "In Linkon. To get the next book in the series."

He hums. His fingers have started to trace idly along your features. They wipe away the tears from your yawn, then they wander across your brow. Across your cheek, your chin, your nose. Tracing, committing your face to memory. "Is the next book as - how did you phrase it? - 'spicy' as this one?"

Maybe you're too tired to realize the secret he just spilled, of reading your book while you've been asleep. Every time he asked about it before, you'd grow warm in the face and flounder over innocent explanations for the plot.

So you nod, sluggishly. Your eyelids flutter slightly as you fight to stay awake. "Is that all?"

"... Mhm."

"Then you can go back to sleep." He kisses your forehead as he draws you back into him. They linger, dancing against your skin as he speaks low and quiet. "We'll spend all day in bed, hm?"

You sigh. Your warm breath fans across his skin, sending sweet trills of delight through him. It's hard to remember a time when he didn't get to hold you so close, close enough to feel your breath, but there are times his body reminds him, leaving a cruel gap for his mind to fill in that he may not always be able to hold you like this one day. You, already drifting off back to sleep, completely unaware of anything else he could say right now no matter how ridiculous, squish your face up against his heated skin with an incomprehensible agreement to his proposal.

He himself feels his last grasp on consciousness slipping as the sun reaches out toward the midmorning sky. With the final moments he has left, he slips a hand under your shirt to rest against your sleep-warmed skin. The honeyed fingers of dreams caress the thoughts from his mind in time with your even breaths, until the last thing he's aware of is your hand slipping past the loose waistband of his pants to hold onto his ass.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman @nothankyew

[khioneee]

ORGAN THIEF

synopsis. you tell yourself caleb was never yours to have, so you let zayne get close. until caleb decides he doesn’t like to share. warnings. jealousy. mentions of violence. angst. pairings. caleb x reader (x zayne) word count. 7k. an. felt like crying tbh. might edit later.

when you were young, there was no such thing as distance between you and caleb.

you were always together, moving through life side by side, never questioning it. there were scraped knees from racing down the street, grass stains from summers spent lying in the backyard, and lazy afternoons where he let you steal food from his plate without complaint. nights meant whispered conversations under blanket forts, his voice always the last thing you heard before sleep took you.

you grew up together, side by side, pulling each other out of the awkwardness of childhood, shedding timidity like second skin.

caleb and y/n, y/n and caleb.

here’s y/n.

here’s caleb.

here's a bond that no one else quite understands.

your love for caleb hasn’t changed, but it’s grown into something you didn’t understand. can’t understand. not yet.

but caleb has grown. taller, sharper, still careless with his hair, but just as hopeless at tying his tie in the morning. there’s a natural ease to him now, a quiet confidence that draws people in without effort. he doesn’t just enter a room, he shifts the atmosphere, commanding attention without needing to say a word.

you hear the way the girls in the hallways whisper about him, their voices hushed but excited, their eyes lighting up when he so much as glances in their direction. he’s the kind of person people gravitate toward, like planets drawn to the pull of the sun.

kind. athletic. smart. golden.

the one who remembers names, who helps the new kid find their classes, who scores the winning shot and shrugs like it was never in question.

when caleb talks to people, he makes them feel important, like they’re the only one in the room, like whatever they’re saying is the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. he finds beauty in everything, in everyone, and in return, people can’t help but see the same in him. they admire him, look up to him, want to be close to him.

but they also fear him.

they don’t realize it at first. not until they get too close to you.

at first, you didn’t think much of it.

the way conversations with guys ended abruptly, how some hesitated before sitting next to you, or how your lab partner, who had been openly flirting with you just the day before, suddenly kept his distance. his easy confidence had dulled overnight, his laughter forced, his eyes avoiding yours.

maybe it was just a coincidence, a strange pattern you convinced yourself wasn’t worth questioning. but then it started happening more often. the brief glances, the quiet goodbyes, the way some of caleb’s teammates barely acknowledged you despite knowing exactly who you were.

still, you never questioned it. because, in the end, it never really bothered you.

caleb had always been like that.

like how he insisted you wear his jersey at his games. the first time, he tossed it at you casually, like it was an afterthought. ‘now they’ll all know exactly who you’re watching.’

you rolled your eyes but pulled it on anyway, ignoring how it smelled faintly of his cologne and sweat. after that, it became a habit. if you ever showed up without it, he’d pull it from his bag and toss it over. no words, no discussion.

or how he always left his jacket with you when you were cold. it didn’t matter if you insisted you were fine. if he caught you rubbing your arms or tucking your hands into your sleeves, his jacket would be around your shoulders before you could protest. warm, a little too big, and never once did he ask for it back.

if you returned it to his room later, he’d only shrug like he hadn’t expected it back in the first place.

and then there were the small things. how he always found a way to sit next to you, even when his friends were at another table. how he would drop by your class between periods, casually placing a snack on your desk before walking off without a word. he never explained why, and you never asked.

maybe you should have questioned it more.

but the thing that stood out the most was that caleb never introduced you as his sister.

it would’ve been the easiest thing to say. it would have explained the connection, the way you were always around each other, how naturally you fit into his life. but he never said it. not once.

until people noticed.

one day, after a game, one of his teammates finally asked.

‘so, she’s your sister, huh?’ the guy grinned, nudging caleb in the ribs.

caleb didn’t respond immediately, just looked at him, unreadable.

the guy smirked, pushing further. ‘should i start calling you brother-in-law, then?’

you expected caleb to laugh it off, maybe roll his eyes or shove the guy off like he usually would. but he didn’t. his response was smooth, controlled, and too even.

‘she’s off-limits.’

there was no room for argument.

his teammate hesitated, raising his hands in mock surrender before forcing out a laugh. ‘damn, man. didn’t know it was like that.’

you didn’t think much of it.

not until a few days later, when that same teammate got injured at practice.

a bad fall, they said.

a collision that left him with a bruised eye and a limp that lasted over a week.

accidents happen all the time in sports. it was easy to write it off as bad luck.

but when you glanced at caleb, standing on the sidelines, unbothered, indifferent with bruises along his knuckles, you felt something shift in your stomach.

maybe you should have been mad. maybe you should have confronted him, called him out, demanded an explanation.

not because it was unfair.

not because it was wrong.

but because you liked it too much.

you liked the way caleb made it impossible for anyone else to get too close. the way his hand lingered at the small of your back when he guided you through a crowded hallway. the way he always waited for you after school, even when you had nothing planned.

the way he looked at you sometimes. like there was something simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken and dangerous and impossible.

and that was the problem.

because he wasn’t yours.

because he was supposed to be your best friend.your family. the one person you shouldn’t want.

you understood now. the love you had for him has grown to fill the spaces you didn’t have when you were a child. it’s grown into longing and desire and jealousy, something so fucking powerful and essential that there isn’t a piece of you that doesn’t love him.

so you did the only thing you could think of.

you avoided him.

at first, caleb let it slide, pretending not to notice the way you pulled away. he let you ignore him in the hallways, let you skip out on lunches, let you slip past him at home without so much as a glance. maybe he thought you just needed space, that whatever was wrong would work itself out on its own.

but after a few weeks, the cracks started to show. he stopped lingering after class, stopped waiting for you outside your door, stopped trying to pull you back into his orbit. the easy confidence he carried dulled, his smirks a little less sharp, his presence not as loud. he wasn’t himself, and he knew it.

then, one day, he cornered you after the last period.

the hallway had mostly emptied, students filtering out in groups, their voices fading into the distance. but caleb wasn’t moving. he stood in front of you, arms crossed, blocking your path, his amethyst eyes sharp and unwavering.

‘you’re avoiding me.’

it wasn’t a question.

your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. ‘i’m not.’

his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. ‘bullshit.’

you exhaled slowly, willing your voice to stay steady. ‘i’ve just been busy.’

he scoffed, shaking his head. ‘right. too busy to come out of your room? too busy to even lok at me? we live in the same house, y/n. you don’t just disappear on me.’

you swallowed, opening your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. caleb ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, frustration radiating off of him.

‘so you win. whatever it is i did, i’m sorry. now will you please fucking forgive me and put us both out of our misery?’

the words hit harder than you expected. he thought this was about him. he thought he had done something wrong. and worst of all, he looked miserable. bruises under his eyes, the tell–tale signs of too little sleep. heartbreak seeping through the sunshine boy's skin and weaving its way through his veins and making rivers.

the weight of it crashed into you all at once, the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. before you could stop it, your vision blurred.

caleb’s face shifted the moment he saw the tears, his frustration dissolving into something softer.

his shoulders relaxed, his hands twitching at his sides before he finally reached for you, pulling you in without hesitation. his warmth wrapped around you, solid and steady, his breath slow against your hair. his fingers found their way to your hip, his lips pressing lightly against your forehead, his presence sinking into you in a way that felt painfully familiar.

and you didn’t resist.

because despite everything, despite the space you had tried to put between you, despite how complicated things had become, caleb still felt safe.

so you pressed into his touch, letting yourself breathe him in, letting yourself forget, just for a moment, that you had ever tried to let him go.

friends, friends, friends.

he held you close, his voice rough with emotion. ‘i’m sorry, pipsqueak,’ he muttered against your hair. ‘whatever i did or said, i’m sorry, okay?’

you didn’t answer.

you couldn’t.

because the truth was—

you were the one who needed to apologize.

because this was never about him.

it was about you.

and the fact that no matter how hard you tried, you could never, ever stop wanting him.

too much, too much. you wanted caleb too much, want too much always, but you are not together and you had to accept that.

caleb’s pinky locked into yours. you weren’t sure if it’s another apology or a source of comfort you need in your state, or just plain habit, but he’s touching you (friends, friends, friends) and that’s all you really need to know.

because despite everything, caleb still felt like home.

but home didn’t last.

caleb starts staying out late.

at first, it’s nothing. just a few nights out, a way to kill time.

you hear about it through his teammates, offhand mentions from gran when she asks if he’s home yet. It doesn’t bother you.

caleb has always been social, always had people orbiting around him, always found ways to fill the spaces in his life.

but then it becomes a habit. the late nights turn into early mornings, his weekends disappear into parties, and soon enough, it feels like he’s never home. he moves through the house like a ghost, slipping in while everyone else is asleep and leaving before anyone notices.

and you notice.

you notice the way he comes back smelling like perfume that isn’t his, how his lips are redder than before, how his amethyst eyes seem heavier, dimmer, weighed down by something you don’t recognize. you see the kiss stains on his neck, the scratches down his back, the way he barely looks at himself in the mirror anymore.

you wish they hurt. you wish you left them there.

you don’t avoid him, not entirely, but you don’t talk to him the same way. your words are clipped, your tone indifferent. you stop waiting for him after school, stop lingering in doorways to say goodnight, stop reaching for him first.

when he nudges your shoulder, slings an arm around you, tugs on your sleeve like he always does, you pull away before he can get too close.

and caleb notices.

at first, he brushes it off, shrugs like it doesn’t matter. he teases you the way he always does, pokes and prods, waiting for you to roll your eyes and shove him back. but the space between you keeps growing, stretching into something neither of you know how to name.

he stays out later. comes home smelling stronger, marked up worse, his voice hoarse in the mornings like he’s been screaming into the night. he looks at you, waiting for a reaction.

but you don’t give him one.

and for the first time in your life, caleb stops trying.

the sky was falling weeks later when the door of your own room opens. blinking sleepily, you leaned over and flicked on the bedside lamp. he swayed against the wall, there is purple and green pressed all over his skin.

it’s caleb, whose lips are swollen again.

it’s late. too late.

the smell of beer clings to him, mixed with something sweeter. something that isn’t his.

his hoodie is loose, his hair messy, his steps uneven as he leans against your doorframe, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp as they land on you.

‘you mad at me, pipsqueak?’ his voice is lower than usual, playful, teasing, but there’s something behind it. something that isn’t entirely a joke.

your lamp lit up the dark bruise on his neck in a ghastly light. you could still see the fingertips, could feel the ghost of them pressing into his skin. friends.

your hand goes white–knuckled, gripping into the sheets. ‘go to bed, caleb.’

‘i am in bed,’ he mutters, like it’s obvious. like it’s true.

you exhale, shaking your head. ‘you’re drunk.’

‘and?’ he counters, stepping into your space, his smirk faltering just slightly. ‘you say that like it changes anything.’

you don’t answer.

because maybe it doesn’t.

he peeled off his hoodie without a word. there are red fingernail marks on the ridge of his spine and bruises on his hips, signs from the girl with perfume you smelled on him last night, the girl who gets to touch caleb in the places you can’t.

he watches you for a long moment, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure something out. and then, finally—

‘i don’t get it.’ his voice is quieter now, more serious. ‘what did i do?’

you settled back against the bed. ‘nothing.’

‘bullshit.’ he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. ‘you’ve barely looked at me in weeks, y/n. you don’t wait for me anymore. you barely talk to me. and every time i try to touch you, you act like it makes you sick.’ his jaw clenches. ‘so tell me. what the hell did i do?’

you should lie. you should push him away. you should say something sharp, something final, something that makes him leave.

but you don’t.

and caleb, drunk and tired and hurting, sees right through you.

when he reached your fingers, he thread them between your own, collecting all the pieces of your conscience and disappearing without a trace, all remnants of your soul in hand.

his expression shifts, something softer flickering across his face. and then—

his fingers graze your cheek, barely there, like he’s testing the distance between you. the touch is slow, hesitant, deliberate. like he knows he shouldn’t, but he’s never been the type to stop himself when it comes to you.

his hand moves to your hair, tucking it behind your ear with practiced ease, like it’s something second nature, like he’s done it so many times before that he doesn’t even have to think about it.

his thumb lingers, brushing over your cheek, tracing the frustration etched into your skin. it’s warm, careful, almost apologetic. like he’s trying to smooth out the anger, the hurt, the weight of everything unspoken between you.

then, softer than you’ve ever heard him, he murmurs, ‘how can i sleep if my favorite girl is mad at me?’

and when you look at him, really look at him, your breath stumbles in your chest. he knew how to do it. how to make you feel like the sun rises in your veins only for you.

because caleb doesn’t just sound tired. he looks it.

the dim light casts hollows into his features, emphasizing the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. his eyes, usually sharp and full of mischief, are duller now, heavier, shadowed by something that feels dangerously close to regret. there’s no cocky grin, no teasing glint.

just quiet, aching exhaustion.

for the first time, caleb looks small. like the saddest man on earth, like he’s holding onto something he doesn’t know how to fix.

you couldn't help but think of the amount of stars that had fallen with every step he took with a frown.

and it wrecks you.

you wanted to hold him, but you knew you’ll be left with burned fingertips and calloused heart.

because he smells like beer and someone else’s perfume. because there are scratches on his back that weren’t made by your hands. because he has no right to touch you this softly after spending his nights with people who don’t know him the way you do.

because no matter how much you wish you didn’t care. you do.

and so, despite everything, despite the weight pressing against your ribs, despite knowing you shouldn’t. out control, out of control, out of—

you kiss him.

for a tense, breathless second, he didn’t move.

his body stiff, frozen, caught somewhere between hesitation and something else entirely.

and then, you felt it.

his hands sliding up, fingers threading into your hair, gripping tight.

and then he was kissing you back.

it’s desperate, reckless, a collision of everything you’ve been holding back. his lips taste like beer, and you don’t care. your fingers grip his hair, pulling him closer.

and for a second. just a second. he kisses you back.

his lips crashed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless.

a quiet moan escaped you, swallowed by the heat of him, by the way his hands moved down, gripping, pulling, like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

then, he tore himself away from you, stepping back so fast it felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. the warmth of his mouth, his hands, his presence, gone in an instant, leaving behind nothing but the sharp contrast of cold in his absence.

your eyes snapped open, breath uneven, pulse hammering as you stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just happened. caleb stood right in front of you, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his disheveled hair messier than before, his lips still swollen from the kiss. his amethyst eyes were dark, unreadable, but something about them made your stomach twist.

because he knew.

he knew what this kiss meant. he knew what you felt, what you had been too afraid to say. he knew you had shattered whatever fragile barrier had been keeping this moment at bay. he knew.

and yet, he smiled.

not the kind that comforted, not the kind that softened his sharp edges. this one was different. it was hollow, something cold curling at the edges, something sharp enough to cut through you with ease.

‘had enough practice?’

his voice was light, almost amused, as if the kiss had been nothing at all, as if it hadn’t just unraveled you completely. you could only stare, frozen in place, his words slicing through you before you even had the chance to process them.

and you took it for what it was, a dagger to the heart.

then, with careful, deliberate movements, he stepped back, putting more space between you, widening a distance that already felt impossible to cross. his hand raked through his hair, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips, but there was no real amusement in it.

‘if you just wanted to get your first kiss over with, you could’ve told me.’ the words were effortless, thrown out like they meant nothing, but there was something in the way his voice faltered at the end that made your stomach drop. his gaze flickered over you for a second, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite anything at all. ‘guess now you’re ready for the real thing with whoever you actually want.’

your mouth opened, but no words came out.

it didn’t matter. caleb didn’t wait for a response. he exhaled sharply, his eyes lingering for a beat too long before he turned away. there was no hesitation in his steps, no second glance, nothing to suggest that this moment had shaken him the way it had shaken you.

and then, just like that, he was gone.

he doesn't think, doesn't wait, doesn't want.

he just leaves.

disappearing into the dark, leaving you standing there, cold, alone, and regretting everything.

and maybe that was the moment you lost him.

y/n and caleb, and it's hard to tell where one end and the other begins. there probably isn't a difference, and trying to draw the line would doom the both of you.

this time, caleb starts avoiding you.

and this time, you know exactly why.

it’s different now. worse. because he doesn’t just disappear at school. he disappears at home, too.

you hear him tell gran he has practice when you know he doesn’t. you catch glimpses of him slipping out late at night, hood up, car keys dangling from his fingers. when he comes back, it’s always late, long after the house has gone quiet.

you pretend not to hear the front door creak open, the careful shuffle of his footsteps down the hall, the way he pauses outside your door for just a second before moving on.

he doesn’t look at you.

not in the morning when you pass each other in the kitchen, not when you sit at opposite ends of the dinner table, not when gran asks him a question and he answers without ever acknowledging the weight of your silence. the air between you is thick, heavy with everything unspoken, but neither of you say a word.

at school, it’s even worse.

you used to know exactly where to find him: leaning against his locker, sprawled across the lunch table, laughing too loudly, always moving, always there. but now, he’s everywhere except near you.

and when you do see him, it’s only for a second. a glance across the hallway before he looks away. a flicker of amethyst eyes lost in a crowd. an almost-moment before he disappears again, slipping into someone else’s world, somewhere you don’t belong.

you should’ve expected this. you should’ve known that kiss, your first kiss, would wreck everything.

but somehow, it still hurts.

and what’s worse, what makes your stomach twist, what makes your skin feel too tight and your throat close up, is that you hate yourself for it.

you hate yourself for wanting it.

for wanting him.

you feel disgusted when you think about it, about how easily you caved, about how much you liked it, about the way his hands felt on your skin, his lips against yours. you hate that even now, when you close your eyes, you can still feel it, still want it, still crave the weight of him against you like a sickness you don’t know how to cure.

so you do what you can. you push forward. you stop waiting.

and that was when you met him.

it started with a name, called out in class like it meant nothing.

‘zayne and y/n.’

your biology teacher paired you together for a semester-long project, and you hadn’t expected anything from it. zayne wasn’t someone you had paid much attention to before, and when he pulled out the chair beside you, there was no hesitation, no awkwardness, just quiet acceptance.

‘looks like we’re partners.’ his tone was even, uninterested, like he was already calculating how much effort this would require.

‘looks like it.’you mirrored his indifference, expecting nothing more than a few study sessions and a forgettable final grade.

but it wasn’t just another assignment.

zayne wasn’t like caleb.

he didn’t overthink his place beside you, didn’t steal glances to gauge what others might think. he wasn’t loud, wasn’t overbearing, didn’t fill the silence with pointless conversation just to make his presence known. he was steady, self-contained, comfortable in the quiet. after weeks of feeling like you were walking on eggshells, that steadiness ws a relief.

at first, your time together was purely academic.

library meetings that were structured and efficient, an easy rhythm of work that never strayed beyond the boundaries of your project. but then, something changed. lunches became routine, neither of you discussing it but always sitting at the same table. walks to class happened naturally, steps falling in sync without effort. conversations stretched beyond assignments and deadlines, carrying into late-night messages about things that had nothing to do with school.

zayne told you about his love for the winter, and how he would sneak out during the first snow fall. you told him about the time you and caleb got caught sneaking out, how caleb had talked his way out of trouble while you stood there panicking.

unlike caleb, zayne didn’t tease, didn’t turn your stories into jokes at your expense. he just listened, nodded like he was actually picturing it.

too kind, too understanding, too much of exactly what you needed.

somewhere along the way, you became friends. and soon, you were always together.

dinners with gran started to change. it used to be the three of you. gran, caleb, and you.

but caleb started skipping them, claiming he was busy, always finding somewhere else to be, never home long enough for it to feel like anything but an excuse.

zayne, on the other hand, filled the space caleb left behind.

it started as a casual invitation.

gran insisting he stay after studying, reassuring him there was more than enough food. he had accepted without fuss, without hesitation, and from that night on, his place at the table never felt out of place. gran told stories you had heard a thousand times before, and zayne listened to every one of them, nodding along, asking questions like he hadn’t already picked up on the details from you.

he wasn’t a replacement for caleb.

but he was something constant.

then one afternoon, you and zayne crossed paths with caleb in the hallway.

there was no tension, no hesitation, no moment of discomfort where zayne second-guessed himself. he just looked at caleb, gave a simple nod in acknowledgment, and kept walking, like it was nothing.

like caleb was no one special.

like he wasn’t even worth a second thought.

caleb didn’t say anything. he just stood there, watching.

but you knew that wasn’t the end of it.

and you were right.

the moment the wrong boy fell in love with you. and you wished he could pull out your heart, and make him see that you fell in love with the wrong boy too.

that was why you were here, standing in the biting cold, surrounded by barren fields of frost, with zayne’s rare laughter curling into the air like something warm, something that was meant to feel safe. that was why you let him get close, why you let yourself believe, even for a moment, that this could be enough.

you shouldn’t have been thinking about caleb.

so you focused on the wrong boy instead.

on the way his voice carried in the quiet, on how he walked beside you without hesitation, how his presence didn’t ask for anything more than what you were willing to give. he wasn’t waiting for you to figure things out, wasn’t demanding answers you didn’t have. he was just there. steady. certain.

maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like when you didn’t want it. something easy, something quiet, something that didn’t threaten to tear you apart.

but it still didn’t fit right in your chest.

‘we’re here.’

zayne’s voice pulled you back, his excitement evident in his eyes as he gestured toward the sled he had set up.

you blinked at it, then at him. ‘are you serious?’

he grinned, brushing the snow off the seat before tossing his scarf around your shoulders, adjusting it with careful hands. the fabric was thick and slightly uneven, the pattern something you wouldn’t have picked for yourself, but it was warm, and it smelled like him.

you raised an eyebrow, eyeing the details.

‘gran taught me how to knit,’ he admitted, a flicker of amusement in his expression.

your fingers traced the edges of the scarf as you exhaled. ‘it’s nice.’

and it was.

you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry over how endearing it was, how easily he gave things to you, how much he seemed to mean it. he could have handed you anything, and you would have taken it, because this. this moment, this feeling. was already too much.

then, without a word, he just looked at you.

not a passing glance. not a fleeting moment of consideration.

zayne never did things halfway.

when he looked at you, he made sure you knew.

his hazel eyes were bright despite the winter gray, his expression unreadable but not indifferent. there was something certain about the way he watched you, something steady in the way his gaze settled, like he was memorizing the shape of you.

like he took in every detail.

the way the cold had flushed your cheeks, the way your breath curled into the air, the way the weight of the moment made your fingers tremble against the scarf.

‘is there something on my face?’ you asked, startled by the intensity in his stare.

he shook his head, his gaze flickering slightly before settling again. ‘i wish i had more time with you.’

the words were quiet, simple, but the weight of them landed hard.

you swallowed, pulse stuttering, because there was something in the way he said it that made your chest ache. he didn’t say it like a passing thought, didn’t say it like he was reaching for something just out of grasp. he said it like he knew.

like he already understood that whatever this was, whatever you were, had an expiration date.

his eyes dropped, just for a second, barely noticeable, but enough.

enough to know what he was thinking.

enough to know that if you leaned in, he wouldn’t stop you.

and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to.

not because it was right. not because it was real.

but because you needed to forget.

you needed something to press over the ache in your chest, something to drown out the weight of caleb’s absence, the sound of his voice in your head, the way he had always, always been there. until he wasn’t.

but you didn’t.

because it would have been a lie.

‘gran, we’ve talked about this—‘

caleb’s voice cut through the air, sharp with frustration, breaking the moment before it had the chance to solidify into something real.

‘no, you talked. an aviation school halfway across the country? when there are good ones right here? what’s wrong with being close to home?’

the front door creaked open, and as if time couldn’t be any crueler, gran and caleb stepped outside.

his presence was immediate, impossible to ignore.

caleb had always carried himself like he belonged in any space he occupied, but now, standing in the cold with the weight of an argument still lingering between him and gran, he felt like something distant. something storming just beneath the surface, unreadable and untouchable.

zayne sighed, shifting beside you, but you barely noticed.

because while he was looking at you, you were looking at caleb.

your stomach twisted, the weight in your chest pressing down harder, suffocating in a way you didn’t understand.

‘and i know it’s far. i know it’s hard. but it’s not about running away.’ caleb’s voice was firm, steady, like he had already made up his mind. he barely hesitated before adding, ‘this is what’s best for me. for all of us.’

and just like that, it was over.

he turned before anyone could argue, before you could even process what he had said, stepping back into the warmth of the house.

the door clicked shut behind him, and somehow, that sound felt louder than anything else.

you don't know what's love and what's hate now. if there is a difference between the two of you, y/n and caleb, here.

later that evening, you fell.

it was late, exhaustion pulling at your limbs as you trudged up the stairs, arms full of books. zayne followed a few steps behind, his pace unhurried, hands tucked into his pockets as he listened to you yap.

you were mid-sentence, distracted by the conversation, too focused on the warmth of another presence at your side to notice the uneven step beneath your feet.

your toe caught the edge, and before you could react, your balance shifted forward. books tilted dangerously in your grasp before slipping from your fingers as gravity pulled you down. your stomach lurched, breath catching in your throat—

but you never hit the ground.

zayne’s hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, his other pressing against your waist with steady ease. his grip was strong, grounding, keeping you upright before you even had the chance to panic. your breathing was uneven, heart hammering from the sudden shock, your body tensed from the lingering adrenaline.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

his fingers still pressed against your skin, his touch neither hurried or hesitant. . he had caught you, steadied you, and yet he didn’t let go.

you became painfully aware of the way his chest hovered just inches from yours, the warmth of his palm burning through your shirt.

when you looked up at him, his expression was unreadable. calm, composed, but something else lingered beneath the surface. he wasn’t just looking at you. he was waiting.

waiting for you to move. waiting for you to step back. waiting for your permission.

and that was what made your pulse stutter.

it’s too much and it’s never enough.

you should have pulled away. should have created space. should have let the moment pass as nothing more than a near fall. but you didn’t.

because then, his gaze flickered. just slightly, just for a second. before his eyes dropped to your lips.

your breath hitched, and before you could process what was happening, a voice shattered the moment.

‘y/n? zayne?’

gran’s voice, light, amused, pulling you back to reality.

and then—

‘what the fuck?’

caleb.

your entire body locked up, tension snapping through your muscles as your head turned toward the sound.

he stood at the end of the hall, unmoving, his eyes dark, expression unreadable. his jaw clenched, the muscle ticking, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

he wasn’t just watching. he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

zayne, still close, exhaled a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck, as if this was nothing, as if caleb wasn’t standing there barely a few feet away. gran smirked, clearly entertained by whatever she thought was happening.

caleb did not.

he didn’t speak, didn’t demand an explanation, didn’t so much as glance in your direction. he just turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing down the hall without another word.

and somehow, that was worse.

dinner was slow, thick with something unspoken, the weight of the evening settling over the table like a fog.

gran, as oblivious as ever, carried the conversation, her voice the only thing filling the silence. ‘he’s going to be a doctor, y/n,’ she said, beaming like it was something worth celebrating.

zayne gave a polite shake of his head, still eating, still composed, his presence unwavering despite the obvious tension in the room. ‘still got a long way to go.’

but the real shift came when caleb sat down.

for the first time in weeks, he joined dinner.

he didn’t make an excuse, didn’t disappear before the plates hit the table, didn’t claim to have somewhere else to be.

he was here. silent, stiff, but here.

his fork scraped against his plate, but he barely ate. his shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the edge of the table just a little too tightly. he answered when spoken to, voice clipped, his eyes fixed on his food, refusing to meet yours.

zayne, on the other hand, didn’t react. he carried himself with the same quiet steadiness as always, like nothing had changed, like caleb’s presence, or his anger, meant nothing to him. he didn’t fidget, didn’t acknowledge the storm brewing across the table, didn’t shift under the weight of caleb’s unspoken frustration.

and that made it worse.

but you noticed.

caleb was stiff, his usual relaxed posture replaced with something rigid, something tense. his grip on his fork was just a little too tight, his knuckles flexing under the strain. he barely touched his food, answering gran’s questions with clipped responses, his voice measured, controlled.

through it all, he never once looked at you.

your stomach twisted, the weight of his silence pressing down on you more than any harsh words ever could. it wasn’t like caleb to hold back, it wasn't like him to sit in the same room as you and act as if you didn’t exist. but tonight, he was locked in his own storm, letting it brew under the surface, making sure you felt it, even if he refused to acknowledge you.

then, after zayne left, gran turned to caleb, her gaze slow and assessing, studying him the way only she could. she took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down with a quiet clink before speaking, her tone light but deliberate.

‘zayne is a good boy, but whether he’s good enough for you...’ she let the words linger just long enough to make them feel heavier before tilting her head toward caleb, watching for a reaction. ‘what do you think, caleb?’

the shift in him was subtle.

a slight tightening of his jaw, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, the barely-there twitch of his fingers against the table. you barely had time to process it before he moved, smooth and purposefully, his arm slipping around your shoulders like it belonged there.

his grip was warm, steady, and possessive.

‘i think,’ he said, his voice softer than usual, the perfect balance of ease and sincerity, ‘as long as pipsqueak’s happy, then i’m happy too.’

the words were convincing.

to anyone else, they would have sounded effortless, genuine even. but you knew him. you knew the calm in his voice when he was anything but. you knew the way he smiled when he wanted to bite back something sharper. you knew the restraint in his touch, the tension running just beneath the surface.

and right now, caleb wasn’t just mad.

he was furious.

furious that you had kept something from him. furious that you had let someone else too close. furious that, for the first time, there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

later that night, when you knock on his door, he opens it immediately, like he had been waiting.

the hallway is dim, the only light spilling from his room, casting sharp shadows across his face. the space between you feels suffocating, thick with something unspoken, something heavy you aren’t ready to name.

his expression is unreadable, his face carefully blank, but you see it anyway.

the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip tightens around the doorknob, the barely restrained control in the way he stands, like he’s holding himself back.

your pulse thrums in your throat as you force the words out. ‘did you mean it?’

caleb doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, his silence stretching unbearably between you.

you swallow hard, pushing forward even as your stomach twists. ‘as long as i’m happy?’

a second passes, then another. his jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he finally answers.

‘no.’

the word lands between you like a blow. it should make things clearer, should make it easier to understand, but instead, it only makes everything worse.

you shift on your feet, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs, but caleb just watches you, his amethyst eyes locked onto yours in a way that makes it impossible to breathe.

‘then why are you acting like this?’

there's a crack in his surface, his electric electric eyes gleaming in undetectable, hidden message. his expression was a clear indication to what he felt.he wasn't ready to hear that.

his exhale is slow, controlled, measured, but there’s something beneath it, somehing restrained. and then, just as carefully, he says it.

‘get rid of him.’

the command slices through the air, sharp and undeniable, like a final puzzle piece snapping into place. your stomach drops at the certainty in his voice, at the quiet weight behind his words.

‘i-i can’t.’ the response comes out weak, barely more than a whisper, but it’s the only thing you can give him.

something in caleb shifts instantly. his body tenses, his expression sharpening as his focus narrows completely onto you. his movements are deliberate, controlled, like he’s making a conscious effort not to move too fast, not to let whatever he’s feeling slip past the careful edges of his restraint.

‘what do you mean you can’t?’ his voice is low, steady, but there’s an edge to it, a dangerous thread of something unraveling just beneath the surface.

you look away, knowing that whatever comes next will change everything. ‘i don’t want to hurt him.’

the silence that follows is heavier than anything he could have said.

his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders squaring as the warmth in his eyes fades into something colder, something unreadable. his posture doesn’t change, but the shift in the air between you is unmistakable.

‘so you’d rather hurt me?’

the words hit you harder than they should. you weren’t prepared for them, weren’t expecting the weight they carried, the way they landed with a finality that made your chest ache.

your throat tightens, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix whatever just cracked open between you. but caleb doesn’t look away, doesn’t take it back, doesn’t even flinch as the meaning behind his own words settles over him.

his gaze flickers, the muscle in his jaw tightening before he exhales sharply, like he’s regretting letting you see this part of him.

‘are you saying… you’re jealous?’ the words feel too fragile, too uncertain, but they leave your lips before you can stop them.

for a moment, he doesn’t move.

doesn’t breathe.

you expect him to deny it, to roll his eyes, to throw some dismissive remark at you like he always does. you expect him to do what he’s best at, pretend it doesn’t matter.

but he doesn’t.

he just watches you, his silence heavier than any answer he could have given. and then—slowly, carefully—he smirks.

‘if you want me to say i’m jealous, i will.’

his voice is smooth, effortless, light in a way that only makes your stomach twist. it should be reassuring, should make this moment feel less like a breaking point, but it doesn’t.

because it’s too easy. too casual.

like he’s still pretending.

like he’s still keeping you at a distance.

your fingers curl into fists at your sides as the frustration rises, your voice barely more than a murmur. ‘you could have just lied.’

caleb exhales sharply, tilting his head slightly, and then he moves.

too close. you're too close together for just friends.

your back presses against the wall before you even realize you’ve stepped back. his presence is everywhere, surrounding you, his warmth pulling you in even when you know you should push him away.

and then his hands are on your face, fingers cupping your jaw, steady and warm, grounding in a way that makes it impossible to think.

your pulse jumps, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as his amethyst eyes lock onto yours, the distance between you disappearing entirely. there’s no teasing in his gaze this time, no smirk, no sarcasm.

just heat.

just certainty.

his thumb brushes against your cheek, slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of you, like he needs to. and then, his voice drops lower, softer, barely above a whisper.

‘i am jealous, baby.’

a pause.

a beat of silence so heavy you can feel it in your ribs.

his fingers tighten just slightly, his grip firm but careful, like he’s making sure you don’t move, like he doesn’t want you to look away.

you're trying to not cry now but you missed everything you never had.

and then—

‘more than you think possible.’

[jack-of-heartstrings]

OH HOLY SHIT, ANARKA FANART??? This literally made my morning. I absolutely adore her and I never see this level of appreciation. She looks amazing!!!

I'm not sure about the past stuff, given Crocoduel goes out of its way to make it clear there was some huge miscommunication. It's very likely neither of their stories is quite the truth. But he says their record saved him after she left him, and she says it tore them apart, so it SOUNDS LIKE something might have happened where either they were "taking a break" or he wildly misunderstood her being upset with him as leaving him or something, and she didn't think it was over but he did, and then he went and got famous on his own, and she took it as going behind her back/abandoning her. Or something?

It would... honestly be kind of grimly funny if her pregnancy was directly a factor, too. She has anger issues even now. I could fully imagine her getting worse because early hormones and neither of them realized yet that was why. Either way, given Jagged knew Luka's name and how Anarka adamantly refused to talk about him, I kind of assume it was her choice to be full no-contact. A stubborn "I don't want your money. You made it clear you didn't want to be part of this family and I don't want you around in any capacity." Dumbass goes on to write My Guitar Is My Only Family to vent his feelings about that with no idea his kids will grow up loving the song. 😔

EITHER WAY...

God I love her. Like... One of the writers described her as "the mom everyone wants unless she's yours." She's fascinating to me.

She clearly does still have anger issues, but "your sister and I are the only ones I've never wanted to throw overboard." I still have to imagine that's a big part of why Juleka's so timid and Luka's so emotionally mature. That even if it wasn't aimed at them, Juleka still grew up watching her go off on other people and never wanted to risk adding to her stress. That Luka is like this partly due to learning to watch for times Juleka was holding her tongue, and partly because he himself was more stubborn and abrasive for a while. That Anarka always did her best to keep herself more in check when dealing with the kids but she and Luka still used to get into arguments about things like her refusing to disclose any information about their dad, leading to him often running off to the bridge to calm down, like he's mentioned to Marinette. And that learning to accept and process all that has led to his "it's not worth it" and walking away faster from arguments now.

I still imagine she's always done her best and succeeded for the most part. She supports the kids in everything they want to do. I've been a little feral over the cameo in Sublimation showing her teaching music and fully want to believe that's been her job for a long time, in other schools, because yeah that makes sense. Turning her passion into a more mundane job that helps other people... And that makes Luka's dream of not being a musician but giving other people the gift of music in another way that much better. 🥹

Also?

Her name is Anarka Couffaine. LIKE... It can be loosely translated as "Anarchy of the coffin" (/"from the grave"?) AND it's a pun on acouphène / "tinnitus". I am 1,000% convinced this woman as a musician gave herself the edgiest stage name imaginable, legally changed it, and then just casually passed that name onto her kids. Her name was probably like, Nancy or something. (Anything "less cool" could work but that one could explain Jagged calling her Nanarky.) She just straight up went "I make my own rules" and then she did forever.

Also the Liberty is just insanely cool on its own. Delighted that it immediately became the designated Hangout Spot from its introduction onward as it should. Anarka just letting twenty kids casually come and go at all hours like. God I love her.

Young Anarka

I dunno… Like

Her past intrigued me the most out of all the adult characters, and I can't understand her mix with Jagged. Like, he cheated on her and she got pregnant? They had an open relationship? Or did they only share intimacy? Why did she never tell her kids about their father? And why didn't their father pay child support lmao…

[247-diaperboy]

Trying on new clothes

The last thing I remember was standing in the middle of the store trying on a new shirt. As I pulled it over my head everything went black.

As I came to all I can remembered is standing in my track pants and socks, checking out an older guy as I was getting ready to put the shirt on.

Now I have no idea where I am how I got here or even how long I have been here. As I look down all I have on is an oversized baby diaper. I have no idea who put me in it or where it came from. The thing that bothers me most is it seems to be warm and wet. How did it get wet I have never wet myself before how did this happen?

You hear a noise and turn your head to see him. The cute guy that was at the store that caught your attention.

He turns and looks at you kneeling on the bed in your wet diaper and t-shirt and say's I see my boy has woken up. Do you need a fresh diaper boy? You stare in disbelief as he says this to you. Then you speak up and say NO and what in the hell happen how did I get here and who are you?

All he says is I am your new daddy, and you will be my baby boy from this day on.

You try to stand and walk to get away but your legs won't support your body. Daddy walks over to you and say's I see the muscle relaxers are still working on your body.

Your shocked to hear this and try to move but your motor skills have been taken away. At this time, you feel a warmth spreading in your diaper and realize you have no control over your bladder either.

The man that has taken your control away say's that's a good boy use your diaper like the baby you are. I will get you changed then lay you down for a nap in your new room.

He picks you up and carries you to the changing table. as he sets you down, he shoves a pacifier in your mouth and lays you back. Slowly he removes the soaking wet diaper and cleans you up. Next comes the baby powder you feel i being rubbed around and then feel the thick diaper being pulled up and fastened on. You close your eyes not wanting to see what it is happening.

Next thing you wake up in a crib dressed in a diaper and baby clothes clutching a Teddybear like a baby would.

You come to realize your adult life has ended and this hot guy is going to be your daddy. No more collage, no more adult life, no more doing as you please. You're going to be daddies little diaper boy for the rest of your life.