#i know these are bad take them and leave me alone

[plaidcowboy]

HIMBO .ᐟ RAFE ┆ meeting reader ✶ ❝ not all quite there . . .

. . . crazy with a wrench ❞

pure lapdog behavior 𖥔 unabashed showing off chaotic inner monologue 𖥔 himbo .ᐟ rafe’s introduction 𖥔 he takes requests .ᐟ

“hey, hey,” rafe slapped topper in the chest about five times until topper responded, “stop hitting me, i’m right here.”

rafe ducked down in his seat suddenly, bracing his head, “did she see me?” topper looked around, already over rafe’s behavior, “who? why are you in that position, you look like a fetus, dude.”

rafe peeked over his arms, seeing you were now turned around. he blew out a breath then responded, “that girl over there. you know her? don’t answer, i don’t want you to know her. actually, can you go over there and put in a good word?”

topper blanched, “i am so confused. do you want me to talk to her or not?” rafe shrugged, tilting his side to side, “a little. not too long. crap,” he said suddenly, ducking back down, “i think she looked over again. or am i delusional? i can’t tell anymore. she can’t see me until i’m ready.”

topper frowned, “ready? what are you about to do, you just healed your ankle from jumping two stories, don’t do that again.”

rafe shrugged, “i can and i will. just . . tell her about how much i can press. girls like that right? does she look like she’s into bench pressing? don’t look at her. say something about how i fix cars. and i can fix her car if she has a car. if she doesn’t, tell her i’ll buy her one.”

topper stood, making his way over while walking backwards, “so, that’s all gonna scare her. i got it,” he turned around, making his way towards you.

rafe shifted in his chair, crossing a leg over the over, then putting them back down. he stretched to flex his arms, then quickly put them down too. how the heck do you sit?

while rafe wondered that, topper was doing his best to introduce rafe, “he’s not all quite there . . crazy with a wrench, though.”

rafe looked up after he settled himself when you turned your head to look at him, smiling when you spotted him. that means go, right? rafe sprung up, making his way over, not being able to sit still for another second now that you looked at him. smiled at him.

“sup?” he said once he reached you two, gesturing his head for topper to go away. topper got the hint, returning to his seat. passing rafe, he muttered, “she doesn’t have a car.”

rafe blurted, “i can buy you one,” startling you. he wasn’t able to see topper shaking his head in disappointment as he walked away. your brows scrunched, “sorry?”

rafe smiled nervously, “me too. um, i can buy you a jacket. you look cold,” you realized you were rubbing your arm, “oh, yeah. no, it’s fine. not that bad,” you laughed slightly.

rafe shook his head, anxious you were cold and possibly uncomfortable, “no, if you’re cold, i’ll get you a jacket.”

you tilted your lips, “it’s fine, really. i’m leaving soon, anyway. kind of bored . . was that your friend?” you attempted conversation, but rafe was distracted, staring at you after you mentioned leaving, until he heard the last part of the sentence.

“huh? no, don’t think about him. where are you going?” he didn’t want you to leave yet. did topper talk about his bench press? did you care? did you want to see the callous on his hand from handling tools?

“uh . . just back home. my comfy place,” you muttered shyly. rafe nodded, then frowned. you don’t have a car, are you walking? alone? “i can walk you. i can buy you a jacket on the way. what kind of cars do you like?”

you couldn’t keep up with all that he said at once. you giggled, rafe slightly going weak in the knees at the sound, “sure, you can walk me. i’m still fine about the jacket. mustang’s are pretty cool. what’s your favorite?”

rafe responded distractedly, “the one that drives. you said i can walk you?”

you really have never met a guy like him, “yeah, but i don’t even know your name,” you narrowed your eyes, jokingly suspicious. you didn’t expect rafe’s response, “i’d endure fifteen stab wounds before i hurt you, i’m rafe,” he held his hand out.

your eyes widened, “oh . . don’t do that. nice to meet you,” you shook his hand, responding with your name, then turned to start walking. rafe followed alongside you, thinking about how sweaty his hands just were and how you probably didn’t like that. is he walking alright? are you sure you don’t want a jacket?

“your hand . . ” you suddenly spoke. rafe stilled slightly, scared you noticed the sweatiness. great one, rafe. but then you continued, “it felt rough. what’s on it?” rafe turned to you quickly, excited you brought it up and not the sweat thing. he extended his hand again, “i have a callous, look . . ”

[niyafics]

: •̩̩͙ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙 ⋆｡°  •̩̩͙ ໋:🦁

chap1 : sweet talk frat!rich!paige bueckers x reader AU

˳ ⋅ ⊹ wc: 5k (*cries*)

˚ ⋅ ⊹ cw: alcohol (barley), swearing, LOWKEY EMO/LONER READER(i love opposites srry), estranged relationship with parents, golden retriever x black cat dynamic, an au things r diff obviously, the frat is made up lolol and not an established relationship either , lotsa building. angst(?), daddy issues(?). only proofread by me lolllll

˳ ⋅ ⊹ abt: after a long night of serving snobs you try to get a drink and a cute, hyper, frat girl home from college bails you out. now she won’t leave you alone.

˚ ⋅ ⊹(a/n): ty if u waited to read this, n srry if it sucks as always lolol. feel free to still use this idea btw!

ANOTHER exhausting night catering to posh assholes, and their colleagues. Some were easier to service. They screwed their face when you walked up, like you’d been interrupting a conversation, before bluntly repeating their orders, barley slow enough for you to hurriedly jot down.

They don’t thank you when you bring the food, they seldom look at you, like eye contact or a smile costs, and leave a fat tip that was probably change in their pocket.

Other times, it’s almost exactly the same. But, in place of the silence that showed they’re ‘better’, men the age of your parents, slipped a disgusting comment about your figure or an aggressively sexual invitation.

This long in the food industry, you were used to it. A forced laugh usually wards them off, and yet, it makes the evening drag. The 10 hours feels like 20. Your social battery is completely fried by the time you make it to your studio. Usually.

Certain nights, the tips stack so good, you have to reward yourself. This night in particular, you made the rest of your rent, and had fifty dollars extra to spend. Why not get a drink? It had been so long since you had alcohol warming your insides and cheeks. Since you had someone decent looking flirt with you face to face.

Your feet are throbbing after your shift, the money in your pocket keeps you motivated to get at least buzzed.

The bar you choose seems new, at least that’s what it’s listed as, nearby your place. Still cheap, but with a pathetic effort at millennial decorating. You wouldn’t see any of the richies you had to deal with at your job here, sucking their teeth at your chipped nail polish and beaten Vans. Throwing your apron in the backseat, you spray perfume to fight the smell of kitchen on you, and shake your hair free of its tie.

A chimes goes off, as you step inside, the place is almost empty. A middle aged couple play pool in a dim corner, and a few other groups or people spread out, leaving plenty room. Outdated music plays that clashes with the theme, so you get a feeling the decoration is just an effort to keep up with the times. You plop down in a stool at the bar with a grunt, sighing in relief, looking at the menu above, even though you were going to order the last drink you remember.

The bartender is a cute ginger, with freckles dotted on her face and down her arms. She glances over a few times with an apologetic smile, while an inebriated old man talks her ear off. You lift your hand to let her know to take her time, fiddling with a jar of toothpicks in front of you.

The bell echos at the front from behind you, and a rush of obnoxious conversation follows.

It was a warm summer night, and the suburban kids of the wealthy were home from school, but they usually drove through, to the overpriced clubs that suited them. You huffed an annoyed breath, taking a glance behind you. Everyone else’s head swiveled with yours. The children of the wound up business men you’d spent hours tolerating.

“This place stinks, like, actually..” One girl whispered. Two guys beside her laugh like hyenas.

“Yeah, good pick, Bueckers..” Another seethed sarcastically in disgust, with a string of chuckles following.

“Not too bad..” A tall blonde with her hair in a neat low bun pushed through and interjected. That must’ve been Bueckers. She turns to the group and gestures towards the pool table the couple had been playing at. You stared her down in her khaki shorts and pressed, short sleeve polo. Her friends dressed in similar preppy fashion. “Pool table’s cool.”

The couple of boys in outfits similar to hers groaned, moving towards it. The older couple was long gone, seemingly taking the group as a cue to leave. You were taking it as the same, still, you lingered. Your fingers dug into the leather of the back of the chair, looking at the lanky, yet toned, woman established as leader. A shorter girl, with brown hair, in an almost blinding white tennis skirt and jacket set, trailed behind, hooking her arm with Bueckers, as they walked over.

You identified her as the one that commented on the smell, she was right, but you still didn’t like her. A feeling bit at you that you pushed off as irritation, swiveling back around with a closed mouth scowl. The fiery haired bartenders’ kind green eyes met you, raising a brow.

“See someone you know?” She asked while drying a shot glass and setting it back on the rack behind the bar.

“No, thank god,” You joked, another whip of air pushing from your lips, relieving tension. “I’ll take a vodka and sprite, please.” She tilts her head knowingly, and begins to concoct it, while you reach into your pocket to pull out a twenty. Her hair whips back around with the drink and you’ve forgotten about the group. As she sets it down, a frown comes on her face at the sight of the bill. You’re raising your brow now.

“I forgot to tell you, card only, sorry…” The bartender bites her lip nervously, pointing to a sign behind her to back her up. Your shoulders slump, already knowing what your bank account looks like. A pang of disappointment stings your chest but you swallow it, and reach for your card anyways. You don’t know why. You already know it’ll decline. The sprite and vodka bubbles infront of you tauntingly.

“Put it on my tab.” A warm voice speaks up, and you feel a figure take the seat beside you, her long legs not fitting under the bar. They bump your thigh ever so slightly, as she swivels in boredom, facing you. Bueckers from earlier had came up to buy the first round. She shoots you a rosy lipped smirk, her blue eyes searching to meet yours for approval. You look down, putting the money back in your pocket instead, not feeding in. Her bottom lip purses out, brows stitching together so slightly, she probably thought you didn’t see it out the corner of your eye.

She slips a luxury brand wallet out her shorts, still looking at you when her slim fingers drag the thick black AmEx card across the granite bar, thick and shiny. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Bueckers, (Paige Bueckers, as the AmEx said) was trying to show off. Her icy orbs don’t leave you. You sip from the stirring straw as the bartender takes the card away. “Thank you.” You finally say after she leaves.

“No problem, doll face,” Her confident smirk is back as she scans over your work clothes. You’re not insecure, you fear that she’s sizing you up. That she can see the coffee stain at the bottom of your department store t-shirt, and feels oh-so sorry for you. You take a secretly angry sip. “What are you doing here all alone?”

You roll your eyes so hard they might fall out, finally lifting to meet her stare with a reserved expression. It doesn’t deter Paige, it makes her chuckle instead, and for a second you can hear a hint of nervousness.

“Okay, stupid question, sorry..” Her head turns back to the bar with a blush spreading into her round cheeks. For a second, you smile too, feeling something you can’t place, for a stranger making a corny move at you. Probably from the cocktail. You shake your head trying to pull yourself out of it.

“It’s fine, I’m just getting a drink after work..” You answer, although you usually wouldn’t. Something about the way she drank you in, her eyes pleading for approval with her metal rectangle of riches. It wasn’t hungry or cold, it was more like ‘please like me’. You exchange names, even though you already knew hers.

The server is back over, looking at Paige expectantly for her order. She gets a round of beers, turning back to you.

“Well, if you’re not too tired, you should come play me in pool,” Paige plucks up her card, and each Corona set infront of her. Two in each hand, between her fingers, then carefully swiveling around and standing. “I’ll buy you another.” She winks.

You hold her gaze and your breath until she walks away. Tipsy from the sips due to low tolerance, you slump back into the seat.

You had gone back to the pool table, even though her friends made your stomach twist. Their judgmental looks phased into the background as you and Paige played, the 3 watching, talking amongst one another. She had a talent of making it seem like you were alone.

Paige ordered another drink for you as promised, but you both barely drank again after your first, focused on the generic pool table. On the interesting stranger in-front of you.

Paige had politely demonstrated. Guiding your arms with her own, both lurched over the table, her hunched over you. She has to explain something an extra time, when her hips bump into you, and you space out. Once you get the hang of it, you’re ahead by two, determined to get the 8ball first.

Paige threw her head back once she misses a hole again for the same ball. You can’t help but explode in giggles, covering half your face with your palm. Catching you anyway, she grins at you, a twinkle in her eye as she squints.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, gorgeous.”

Her group watches you both banter, the short brunette coiling her face at you in the same way she did when the sticky stench of the bar hit her nose. You shoot an apologetic smile, awkwardly, even though you hadn’t done anything to her.

Paige ends up winning, with your head start, that you start to suspect was on purpose. Halfway expecting her to try to take you home, something heavy sets over you near the end of the night, asking if you wanted to leave with her. She was beautiful, seemed kind, and generous. Why not?

To your disappointment, and mostly curiosity, she gives the back of your hand a firm kiss instead, swapping numbers, wishing you a good night. You find yourselves turning to steal one more glance, walking to your cars, hers sleek and black with an engine the yelled as she veered away with her companions.

It started off with a simple ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’. You had full intentions of brushing her off after the bar. The two of you had shared a moment, that’s all, nothing would come from someone like that and someone like you.

Paige was persistent. She woke up around 2 when you’re enjoying your last hour of freedom before work, with offers to interrupt her precious rest and take you, pick you up, bring you lunch.

“I have to come in early.”

“I have to stay late.”

“I don’t have a lunch.”

You shot her down, only because you knew she wouldn’t be moved. Secretly, you didn’t want her to know where you worked. The mystery, and push of you was better than the reality, you figured. That you were taking an involuntary gap year from your dream school, you were paying out of pocket for. Refusing to take on too much debt, you saved to return. Friends suggested asking your parents, they weren’t offering, so why ask?

Paige was restless to meet again, you could tell from her invitations sprinkled in every conversation, the past few days. Never could you figure she’d show up to your job though.

You’d been thrilled to leave your shift. It wasn’t bad, it was slow, which is somewhat worse. The dark sports car from a few days ago would have been the farthest thing from your mind, if you didn’t see one so similar to it. Parked right next to your old Honda, in the nearly empty lot.

Your steps slowed and you stared, dumbfounded. The windows were tinted an illegal amount. It’s low rumbling is flicked off and exactly who you figure pops out from inside.

“My dad loves this restaurant.” Paige smiles, like you’re casually meeting here. You nod knowingly.

“Why do you know where I work?” A groan escapes you, trying to speak sternly, your small grin betraying you. The blondes smile stays put, tucking a few of loose curls behind her ear. She waits for you to step closer, to the open car door she’s leaning on with her elbows.

“Yeah, well, my friend said he’d seen you, when he was out to eat not too long ago,” She throws a shrug like the next part is the normal thing that anyone does. “You go to work at 3…they close at 11…I just kind of….” As she spoke it out loud, the pink from a few nights ago returned to her face, heavier now.

“That’s super creepy, you know?” You tease her. If she was anyone else. Heat spreads in your cheeks, shifting the weight on your feet, to distract from it. Still, her ego isn’t bruised.

“You don’t think that,” Said with a chuckle, like she knows it for certain. You’re about to shoot a rebuttal about how she’s basically a stalker. She doesn’t stop speaking. “On your next day off. Let me take you out.” Not said in the form of a question.

“Hm…” You hum, putting your finger to your chin. “I am off tomorrow, but I’m sure you knew that too.” Teasing her again.

“Maybe I do.” She throws her shoulder up with a sly expression. You raise a brow at her that she ignores. “We could go play tennis at the club, or I know a few restaurants. Way stricter dress codes than here, though…Do you have tennis skirts? How about heels? You don’t seem like you’d wear either of those. That’s fine, we can go shopping before we go..” Paige is rambling. Your arms slump in disbelief at how fast she’s talking, having a conversation with herself, almost.

“Or even better, we could make a whole day of the shopping. Then we go to dinner. Forget it, let’s just wait and I’ll get us floor seats to th-“

“Okay, wait!” You stop her before she makes up her mind to fly you out of the state. “This is super overwhelming. I will only go on one condition.”

Paige clings to your every word, finally quiet, her face flushed slightly with embarrassment for over talking.

“It has to be something normal. Something even I can afford.” Paige makes a face at you, like what she named off were tame settings for getting to know someone. You rub your tired face, and walk over to your car, the door creaks when you open it.

“Okay, okay!” She rushes over to you, closing it back, “Something normal. I’ll pick you up, and we can do that.” You tilt your head up at her, both of you soaking each other in for a moment.

“Unless, you’re only capable of lovebombing..” You narrow your eyes at her with a smirk. Paige bursts out laughing.

“It’s not lovebombing, if it doesn’t stop, though.” grinning so hard all her teeth are showing, you don’t realize you are too.

“Right.”

You find yourself dreading Paige seeing your unkept apartment building. At around the time she usually is just waking up, she’s parked outside. Paige doesn’t see you walking up, being too busy with texting you she’s outside for the third time in five minutes.

She has no witty line prepared when you slide into the passenger seat, finally not in your work clothes, or makeup hours old. Her mouth is just gaped open like an idiot, she shuts it, when you give her a weird look.

You smelled like a bakery, in shorts and a crop top to accommodate the weather, with no clue where you were going, only that it’s across town, presumably near where she grew up.

“You look really pretty,” the corner of her lip curls up. It feels awkward, you’re still flustered hearing it. Picking at your nails nervously, while your eyes wandered up her to meet her own pair. She was in denim shorts this time, with a plain T-shirt, white and blue Jordan’s. It looked different from how she dressed at the bar with her friends, you felt less underdressed than you thought you would. “Finally get to see you outside of work.” Paige head turns to you every so often, one hand on the wheel, her elbow leaning against the armrest.

“Thank you, you look good too..” You bite your lip, gazing out the window, as she breaks at a red light. Good was just putting it lightly. Two pieces of her hair braided in the front, the rest straightened past her shoulders. Mascara coated her long lashes, and silver jewelry accented her whole body.

It was real silver and diamonds, you guessed, from the way it glimmered against the light. You stare down her arm taking up most of the rest between you. It reaches down, grabbing your hand, locking fingers automatically. Her thumb rubs the back of your palm.

It’s a park that she pulls into the lot of. A ice cream truck is a few spaces down, with families and small children waiting in line. Paige holds her finger up to you, signaling you to wait there. You don’t question it, unbuckling your seatbelt, agreeing to stay put.

You watch her jog up to the back of the line through the rear view, in front of you the vast greenery, sprinkled with jungle gyms, walking trails, and benches. The park near your apartment had grass high up to your knees, this grass looked like it was trimmed daily.

You’re suddenly anxious to get out the car. Paige comes back, this time holding a coned ice cream and some in a Styrofoam cup with a spoon. She opens your door for you, then hands you the cone.

“Thanks.” You lick a side that was melting, and Paige sticks a spoonful in her mouth beaming, with a nod.

Both of you decide to sit down, and enjoy your frozen dairy in silence for a few minutes. Then you smile and speak.

“Not a fan of cones?” You ask her, taking a long lick. She watches your mouth for a second then gently comes back to reality.

“Too messy.” Paige replies, shaking her head like she’s trying to push a thought away.

“Of course, too messy.” A smile is etched into your face the whole time, barley faltering. Paige gets a feeling you’re teasing her.

“Yeah,” She turns towards you, leaning her elbow on the back of the bench. Another scoop is shoved into her mouth before she dramatically adds. “I only get cones when my butler is here to wipe my mouth, duh.” You shove her shoulder gently, both of you erupting into tiny chuckles.

Small talk drives you crazy, but as you do it with Paige, it warms you up. You even find yourself asking questions. She talks about playing basketball as a kid, all the way to high school. Paige mentions how her dad is essentially a business mogul for a marketing company, and expects her to follow suit. She had been doing well so far, amazing grades, joining the same fraternity, like he wanted her to. Omicron Tau Sigma.

Her apprenticeship at the company her father ran with his fraternity brothers started a week ago, and she didn’t seem worried. As she put it, their less than welcoming children that she was forced to acquaint with and host, was work enough. You figured those were the friends at the bar.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re cool, and I have my moments where I’m worse.”

“Oh I’m sure..” You mumble between laps.

“Watch it.”

Before you know it, it’s your turn. You skip out on a lot of details, telling her a bit of your childhood, that you’re taking a gap year, and aren’t close to your parents. You didn’t have a pre planned multimillion dollar future, that didn’t have to be said.

“I don’t get you.” It’s so sudden, you don’t know how to respond., and you were used to being caught off guard.

“What’s there to get?” Paige nods, like she figured something out. You stare blankly until she further explains.

“You hate people. Or maybe you just seem that way. Either way, you’re closed off,” more vanilla into her mouth, as you’re starting to bite into the waffle cone. “You live alone, no mention of friends—“

“You’re very observant.” You nod thoughtfully.

“You’re very impossible.” Paige mumbles, finishing off her cup, and tossing it in the trash beside the seat.

“I just like being alone, what’s so special about it?” You look off at someone playing with their dog. “It’s the safest place to be. Depending on yourself, the only person who is reliable.” You cringe. It sounded edgy, yet, it was the truth, and you learned it the hard way.

Paige gives her full attention. Her hand crosses on-top of yours. For the first time, she looks sad for you.

“Safe doesn’t mean lonely. And all people aren’t the same.” A quick curl of her lip, lifts and falls from her face. You think about giving her a tough time. Shutting her down. Pushing those thoughts away, you quietly think about what she said, instead. She starts to talk again.

“You can, like…come over. Only if you want…. My place is right on the water.” Paige avoids your eyes, bracing your answer, a coolness to her voice that she seemingly flipped at will.

“Perfect place to throw my remains.” You roll your eyes at her, she wraps a arm around you suddenly, pulling you in.

“Good point.” She huffs, sarcastically, with a stupid grin, resting her chin on the top of your head. You jab her playfully.

You knew exactly the neighborhood she was talking about. With all the mini mansions, and huge pillars near the front doors, turned away from a private lakeshore. You passed it a few times. Your heart thumped thinking about being inside one. One where surely someone from her family would be.

Her rounded puppy eyes, and the look of willingness to follow you everywhere, had you agreeing before you truly scaled out the situation.

The driveway is so long you figured it burns gas just to drive up it. Big to match the massive house sitting beside it. Even her house stood out amongst others, there wasn’t anything traditional or welcoming about it. It was modern and cold, like a display home you didn’t want to mess up.

Paige snaps you out of your daze with the opening of your side. She takes your hand and guides you to the solid white doors. There’s a pin-pad above the silver knob that her fingers type so fast, you’re not sure exactly which number she’s pressing.

You’re staring wide eyed all around, anxiety making your heart drum in your ears. She hasn’t noticed the clamminess in your palm yet, thoughts of pulling it away before you faced whoever was inside stormed your mind. Walking in as friends already raises questions, you could only imagine the drilling questions reserved for Paiges’ partners.

Before you can make up your mind, she’s practically dragging you inside. Paige tosses her socks and shoes, you follow after her. The dark wood is warm under your feet. Heated floors. The interior design is just as minimalist as the outside. A few family portraits, and pictures of Paige at all ages, are blown up larger than you thought they could be, nestled on walls.

One wall, of the living room you get pulled through, to get outside, holds shelves of memorabilia. Framed jackets, paddles, shirts, brooches, several pictures of people in the same colors, trophies all consistent with a theme of gold and navy blue. A golden lion, with luscious mane, in the middle of every piece. You want to slow down and look, maybe even ask questions. You decide to ask when the time is right, considering how annoyed she’d been with explaining it earlier on the bench.

The glass slides open with a whoosh of air. Of course the backyard has been tended to, with lush grass, and intricate stone arrangements around the base of trees. Vibrant flowers are planted in rows around the balcony, between two trees, near the wooden stairs leading to the pier, there’s a hammock, chairs sprawled out nearby.

Walking briskly down the steps, Paige clasps your fingers with her own, guiding you down. She sits with a soft exhale making small waves with her feet in the water. You’re still mesmerized at seeing a lake so clear. You’d never leave this pier if you were her, you tell Paige. She responds with a dry, closed mouth laugh.

“You can have it. And everything that comes with it..” She looks down into the water, or her reflection, you can’t tell. Your eyes don’t leave her, when you sit down on the worn wood. Half your foot is in, and it’s warm, so you drop the other. Her thigh is flush with yours.

“Not having fun in the castle, princess?” You kick the water lightly, sucking in the fresh air deeply. She rests her head on your shoulder, suddenly, making you perk.

“Not really.”

A snarky remark is at the tip of your tongue, so you bite it. How could having everything handed to you, make you sulk in private? You thought, looking at a few fish swimming just below your toes.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“No you don’t.” You reply quickly, thinking about something else instead just in case.

“Yeah, I do,” Her head lifts up to look at you. There’s a slight hurt behind it.

“Shut up,” You sigh, gently pulling the weight of her head back onto you. “It must be…hard to keep up with.” That’s the only way you can put it, to try and soothe her.

“No, it’s not,” She admits, the sun beating down on the both of you through the leaves of trees overhead. “It’s not like working 40 hours a week, and still barely making it, I know.” Your arm wraps around her.

“Your dad graduated from my dream school,” It blurts out of you like vomit. It was drumming in your mind when you saw a diploma with the signature seal to it, framed alongside the other accomplishments. The words don’t stop. “I’m struggling because, yes the pay sucks, and because I’m saving to go back.” You’re almost gritting your teeth at the confessions. Paige pulls away and you let her.

“Damn. Dream school?….Really?” A silence sets over, you not replying. Paige gets up, standing beside you, wet feet dragging water next to you. She holds her hand out, you look up at her for a moment, her hair reflecting to look gold and white. You finally take it, her pulling you to your feet, and slowly up the steps this time around.

Once you reach the grassy yard, Paige stops dead in her tracks, like a deer, barley breathing out. Your feet start to dry in the blades of grass, by the time Paige speaks. Well, whispers.

“Shit, they’re here..” She’s mumbles under her breath. You’re about to ask who but the hearty laugh of a group of older men comes from the living room. “I forgot that was tonight..” Paige pulls the both of you to the side of the house, by the drive way, your legs barely keep up without a jog. Her fingers tap the pin to a room that’s used for coats, shoes, bags, all amounting to the cost of a small house. Theres three steps up to a black door that Paige opens so slowly, it looks like it pains her. You squeeze her wrist, stopping her.

“What?” She whispers.

“Who are we running from?” You whisper back.

Paige doesn’t respond, letting you hear the chatter of now voices young and old. Then she raises a brow at you, her only answer, twisting back towards the entrance.

“Because of me?” Your voice cracks as you ask. Paige turns around sharply, taking your face in her hands, brows furrowed in seriousness, foreheads nearly pressed together.

“Never. Because. Of you.” Her hushed, stern, tone makes a feeling you don’t recognize in your stomach, flip the desert inside it. “Okay?” This part is soft, and so is her expression. You nod slowly, as if in a trance, not wanting her mouth to move away from yours.

Having to fight back the urge to clash lips, Paige quietly steers you into the kitchen, the door closing behind you with a click.

Her slim shoulders drop, like you’re finally safe, bare sets of damp feet padding to the refrigerator. It’s roomy, and untouched, with the same dark flooring from the living room, where deep voices still laugh and discuss amongst each other loudly. The marble island sits in the middle, between the stove and fridge. A TV is installed outside of the door she digs two seltzers out of.

She gestures for you to follow her. You’re frozen still. Eyes bulging out your skull, social anxiety causing a tremble through you, at the sight of the small group crowding in. It was the other three, one guy shorter, with a mullet, the other taller, skinner than Paige, and of course, the brunette. An evil smirk stretches across her lip fillers, letting you know nothing good will come from this interaction.

It wasn’t them you’d been worried about though, it was the man towering behind Paige, his arms crossed, features scrunched in a frown, similar to Paige’s own. Mr. Bueckers, it has to be.

The way she jumps, when she swivels away from you, makes you think she’s going to drop the cans, instead, she squeezes them until they dent on the sides.

“So nice of you to join us, Paige. With company too?” He lets out a low, unimpressed, whistle.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Pt. 1

You couldn't help but anxiously fiddle with the hem of your dress as you sat beside Simon, one of his hands resting on your thigh, while the other gripped the steering wheel. "It's going to be fine, sweetheart. They're going to love you." Unsure, you glanced up at him, a frown on your pretty face. "Are you sure? Maybe they'll just see me as an inconvenience that will keep you from them in the future. Or maybe they'll-" Simon interrupted you as he tightly squeezed the fat of your thigh, a possessive growl leaving his throat. "They'd never. Trust me." With a sigh, you nodded. And he was right.

From the moment you two walked into the same dingy pub where you first met, the others treated you as if they'd known you for years, and you were a part of the friend group. The entire evening, you laughed and drank, Simon's hand constantly on you. At least until he left to go take a piss and smoke a cigarette.

The moment you were alone with the three men, the Scottish one leaned across the table, a gigantic grin on his face. "So? How did ya two meet?" The older one quickly pulled the Scottish one back, a scowl on his face, as he regarded his team member, but there was a certain hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

You chuckled, thinking back to the day.

Excitement cursed through you as you stepped out of the cab, your phone in your hand as you watched your best friend type. But the moment she sent her message, the excitement dissipated. "I'm so sorry, but I can't make it! I'll make it up to you though!"

You rolled your eyes, glancing at the sign of the pub you were standing in front of. She couldn't have let you know before you made your way there, could she? Inside you, two demons started to fight. One yelling at you to go back home and gulp down an entire ice cream pint. The other one calmly stating that you were already here and should at least get a little bit wasted. Before you knew it, the calm demon had won and you walked into the pub, quickly finding a place at the bar. But you noticed him immediately. Sitting in a dark corner, his face almost completely hidden. And very obviously staring at you. It didn't matter when during the evening you turned around, his eyes were always on you. At first, it creeped you out, but before long, you felt warmth spread through you. You almost felt protected, his obvious attention keeping all the usual creepers at bay. So, you decided you at least wanted his number.

But when you paid for your tab, hoping to be able to join him at his table, you watched as he stood up and walked outside. As quickly as you could, without tripping over the air, you rushed after him, finding him outside, leaning against a wall. After taking a deep breath, you started to walk over to him, but he immediately pushed off the wall and started to walk away. Were you really this repulsing?

Before doubts could start to fill you, you called out to him. "Uhm, I'm sorry, Sir?" He stopped and slowly turned around to face you. With a small and hopeful smile, you crossed the distance. The closer you got to him, the more you could really see him. While the lower half of his face was hidden behind a black surgical mask, you could see the top of his cheeks. And they were red, practically glowing with heat. Adorable.

"I'm sorry, I hope this isn't too direct, but I wanted to ask if I could have your number? You're really handsome and seem like a nice man. Of course, it's okay if not, I don't want to pressure you or anything. I-" You stopped, your eyes wide as you watched his entire body trembling slightly. Like a robot, he slowly stretched out his hand to you. Your eyes focused on it and you watched for a few beats as the trembling only got worse. Then, you quickly pulled out your phone and handed it to him.

Once again moving like a robot, the man slowly plugged in his number, his hands trembling bad enough, that you thought he would drop your phone at some point. When he handed your phone back, you looked down and saw that he had also put in his name. But it was a mix of upper and lower cases, making you chuckle. You grinned up at him and pocketed your phone. “Thank you…well…have a good night.”

You turned around and walked a couple of steps before his shaking hand on your elbow stopped you. “U-Uh…uhm…eat? Uh now?” His voice was shaking even more than his hands and he kept stumbling over his words, but when he got the question out, you couldn’t help but nod with a smile.

“And yeah, that’s it.” The Scottish and the pretty one immediately burst into laughter, slapping their thighs and each other, while the older one just smirked, slowly shaking his head. You looked at them, confused. “What…?”

“What did I miss?” Simon slid into his chair beside you, his arms loosely wrapped around your shoulders. His friends immediately started to tease him, recounting points from what you had just told them. Immediately, the blush was back on his face, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along. At least until his hand came to rest on your thigh, and squeezed tightly. Oh, you were in for a night.

A/N: Here we go! Part two and the real story all wrapped up in one! Hope you like it! Edit: Re-upload because I forgot to add tags... :)

@skeletonsucker

[bakuchrome]

Habits

Satoru Gojo x reader

Sypnosis: After your breakup with Gojo Satoru, you struggle to fill the void he left behind.

Master List

You don’t remember when you started drinking every night. Maybe it was right after he left. Maybe it was the first time you woke up alone in a bed too big for just you. Maybe it was when you realized his absence wasn’t a bad dream— it was real.

The club’s music pounds in your ears, loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. The bass rattles your ribs as your body moves without thinking, hands gripping a stranger’s shoulders, lips brushing against someone who isn’t him.

Their hands touch you, but they don’t feel like his. Their warmth doesn’t seep into your skin the way Gojo’s used to.

You laugh— too loud, too forced. Your body is a ghost of itself, dancing on autopilot, pretending. It’s easier this way. If you drink enough, dance enough, let enough people whisper sweet nothings in your ear, maybe you’ll forget him.

Maybe you’ll forget the way he used to hold you like you were his entire world.

Your apartment is a mess. Empty bottles on the counter, takeout boxes stacked on the table. You haven’t cooked in weeks. Haven’t slept in your bed since the last time he was in it.

You sit on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, scrolling through your phone with bleary eyes.

Satoru: Did you eat today?

Satoru: You really shouldn’t be drinking so much.

Satoru: I saw you at the club last night.

Satoru: Please stop doing this to yourself.

Your fingers tremble over the screen. You don’t reply.

Gojo is the strongest. He could destroy mountains, crush curses, change the world. But he couldn’t love you the way you needed. He couldn’t be yours in the way you wanted.

He still tries to take care of you, even from afar. But you don’t need his pity.

You throw your phone across the room. It clatters against the wall, but it doesn’t break. You wish it would. You wish something would.

Because if something shatters, maybe it’ll feel the way your heart does.

You see him everywhere.

On the street, in passing cars, in the reflection of a store window. Every time your heart jumps, only to crash when you realize it isn’t him.

But then, one night— it is.

You’re outside a club, leaning against the cold brick wall, head spinning from too many drinks. You close your eyes for a second, and when you open them, there he is.

Gojo Satoru.

Standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking at you like you’re something fragile. His usual grin is missing, replaced by something unreadable.

You laugh, but it sounds empty. “What, are you following me now?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His white hair glows under the streetlights, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. “You’re killing yourself like this.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you care?”

“Don’t do that.” His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it. “Don’t act like I don’t.”

You take a step toward him, heat rising in your chest. “Then why did you leave?”

Silence. A car drives by, headlights casting shadows across his face.

“You know why,” he finally says.

You do. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.

You reach for him without thinking. Your fingers brush against the sleeve of his coat, but before you can grab hold— he steps back.

It’s a small movement. Barely noticeable. But it feels like a knife to your ribs.

“Go home, y/n,” he says. And then he turns and walks away.

You watch him go, breath hitching, throat burning.

The cold air bites at your skin. But inside, you’re already frozen.

You should move on.

You should let go.

But instead, you find yourself at his door.

You don’t remember leaving the club, don’t remember the taxi ride. You only know that when you look up, you’re standing in front of the place that used to be yours.

You hesitate. Knock once. Twice.

Footsteps. Then the door creaks open.

Gojo stares at you, surprised, before his expression shifts into something pained. “y/n—”

You don’t let him finish. You step inside, pushing against him, arms wrapping around his torso. His scent— clean linen, mint, something undeniably him— fills your senses.

“Just one more time,” you whisper. “Please.”

He exhales shakily. You expect him to push you away. To tell you this is a bad idea.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his arms close around you, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

That night, you lose yourself in him. In the way his hands trace your skin, the way his lips move against yours like he’s starving. Like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

But when morning comes, you wake up alone.

His side of the bed is empty. Cold.

There’s no note, no message, no trace of him except for the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin.

You close your eyes, swallowing the sob rising in your throat.

You should have known.

Gojo Satoru was never meant to stay.

You wake up that evening and do it all over again.

Another drink. Another stranger’s arms. Another attempt to forget.

But no matter how many drinks you have, no matter how many people you kiss—

They’re not him.

And they never will be.

[galaxymagitech]

Ah, permission to ramble. I choose to take this at face value and rambled…a lot. Bear with me, I’m not really sure how to articulate this one.

Dick is a peacemaker in the family, but he’s not a peacekeeper. There’s a distinction there that a lot of people miss. They’ll portray him as either constantly fighting Bruce and holding grudges or completely just bowing to Bruce’s every whim.

Dick will fight with Bruce. He’ll stand up for himself or his siblings. But then his anger drains away like water in a colander, leaving him empty. He’s quick to fight, but pathologically quick to forgive. As soon as the fight is over, it just sort of drifts away.

I feel like Dick’s relationship with Bruce very much has a rhythm to it—high tide and low tide and then high tide again and then low tide again. A sort of inevitability that they’re both very aware of. And Dick doesn’t really stay mad at Bruce. He keeps leaving, but when he returns, it’s to help, with his previous grievances forgotten and unaddressed. Even after Bruce hit him over Jason’s death, he comes back without mentioning it to help. He fought Bruce over what he did to Jason, but was still there talking to Bruce as he pulled away and basically made Dick and Barbara the heads of the family. The strange thing is that Dick can hold grudges. But when it comes to Bruce, all that sort of just washes away. The tides again.

Why? Well, I have a theory about that. To some degree it’s subconscious, but people do have some control over their emotions. And staying mad often makes things really hard. For two reasons:

Sometimes, Dick’s relationship with Bruce is good. He doesn’t want to “ruin” it by focusing on Bruce’s past actions—ie: he wants to take advantage of what he knows will be temporary. And also, if Dick is too angry to enjoy the highs, then all he has left are the lows. So in order to get anything positive from interacting with Bruce, Dick has to push away his (100% valid) anger.

People don’t like when you’re angry at them. If Dick lets on that he’s still upset about something that Bruce considers to be in the past, let alone brings it up, the fragile success will be destroyed. And then it’ll be Dick’s fault for breaking the peace. So Dick needs to get really good at letting things go, or else he’ll just send things careening back into a fight, because Bruce leaves everything unresolved.

I’m not saying Dick is making an actual conscious calculation in his head where he goes “I need to stop being angry or else Bruce will hit me again.” But in general, I think that within the constraint of him not really being able to leave Bruce’s orbit, he developed the defense mechanism of pushing this away.

Over time, this becomes so ingrained that Dick literally can’t stay mad at Bruce.

I didn’t experience abuse, but after growing up constantly arguing with my mom I have trouble staying mad at people for any length of time—especially people who have said something hurtful to me. I will continue to act completely normally immediately after a really bad screaming match. Literally, tear tracks still on my face, back to normal interaction, what’s for dinner, here I’ll unload the dishwasher, etc. I’m not even pretending, I just. Literally don’t care anymore. My brain just whisks everything I’m upset about away and I can’t think about it while interacting with the person. Sometimes, depending on the situation, I can think about it at other times. But not when that person is in front of me. Something in my brain won’t let me.

And maybe it’s projection, but I feel like this matches up really well with Dick’s actions. He genuinely can’t stay mad at Bruce because he doesn’t let himself think of those grievances. All the horrible things Bruce has done to him are sectioned off into times when he’s fighting Bruce and forgotten when he’s on good terms with Bruce.

So in the context of therapy, he will genuinely believe it when he recants what he said about Bruce being awful. Because he’ll be calm (and maybe a bit numb) and look back at himself from a week ago and it’ll just be utterly incomprehensible. Why was he so mad anyway? It’s not a big deal. Whatever. It’s fine. He and Bruce are on great terms, no hard feelings! (He can’t have hard feelings, they’ve all just disappeared, and he’s glad of it, because Bruce made a joke during patrol today and that wouldn’t have happened if Dick was refusing to speak to him over something dumb.)

So, yeah. Dick’s anger at Bruce burns hot and then snuffs itself out. He would spend a therapy session crying about the abuse, and then come back the next week being like “oh that me wasn’t in his right mind, ignore it, I’m fine lol” and truly believe what he’s saying.

Oh. And in terms of disregarding his own feelings and believing that he’s completely unreliable when angry? Yeah, Bruce definitely taught him that. Whether through emotional abuse and repeated invalidation, Bruce saying that Dick is too angry for his opinions to have any weight, or just Batman constantly repeating that emotions make you too irrational. But I think Dick would consider anything he says when he’s angry to just be him acting irrationally. He could break down in therapy and say that Bruce is abusive and then just go “oh I was throwing words out there because I was upset, don’t trust whatever I said, Bruce definitely didn’t abuse me.” And then react completely calmly when the therapist asks him if each anecdote actually happened. Yes, Bruce hit him. Yes, Bruce spied on him. Yes, Bruce said that. But it’s all fine, what are you even talking about?

And I think the therapizing himself is a way to sort of skate over that gap in his emotions, because he doesn’t want to confront the fact that his brain is covering up large chunks of memory. So he doesn’t a brief analysis, thinks he’s dug into his brain fully, and then presents this “photocopy” Dick Grayson to the therapist. In his mind, he’s being completely honest. But by simply presenting everything to the therapist in the way he’s determined to be most truthful, he obscures all the messed-up thoughts that led him to that conclusion. It’s why you don’t have the overseers oversee themselves���they may produce a full report and believe it’s completely honest, but they’ll miss the things they don’t want to see.

So if Dick Grayson is going to successfully have therapy, then he should probably actually explain events instead of just presenting his self-psychoanalysis.

I think we all know that each and every one of the Batkids is on the verge of falling apart, constantly, just under the surface.

But I think there's something special about Dick Grayson when you think about him like this. Because generally, I think everyone expects the other batkids to be deranged and unstable, but Dick's general presentation to the outside world is as an easygoing dude. He probably seems like the most normal of the bunch.

But beyond even that, I think Dick thinks he's perfectly fine. Bro goes through life, constantly on the verge of breaking down, his mind consistently picking apart every single thing and every single person in his life, not really trusting anyone, and never really sleeping, and he's just like "Yeah, this is how life works."

Then he looks at all his siblings, and he's like, "Damn, look at how screwed up they are :(" and meanwhile he's 100% the worst of the bunch.

Barbara and Wally are the only people who are privy to this, I think.

[americas-ass-writing]

Not the game they play

Steve Rogers x reader

Words: 4.1k

Summary: An arranged marriage flips your life upside down. What you thought you knew about your family doesn't seem to be true at all. How will Steve and you navigate your life together?

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, a swear word here and there, insulting of Sarah Rogers, yes that needed to be a warning, difficult family relationship, if I missed anything please let me know

A/N: This is the first part of a series. I had this idea for over two years with some scenes already written out or well thought through. Thank you all for encouraging me to finally do something with it. But don't come for me, you wanted this!

I promised to tag the lovely @ronearoundblindly 🩷

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Chapter One - Cannot stop the rain

The constant bustle of people and their conversations were a white noise like no other. One you can't concentrate on too long, especially when you have to hold conversation with whoever thought it was his turn to smooze a king.

Steve hates galas. He hates the pretentiousness that came with them and the people who attended but most of all he hates that he had no choice but to go. A king missing one of these was only excused when a serious matter arose. And those don't come by easily when you need them. He yearned for the times when he didn't need to attend these things, back when his mom still was the reigning queen and shielded him from this world. But with his mom gone he had to step up.

Gone where the days he travelled the world, studied art and made new friends. So easily replaced with duty and grief... and a stupid crown on his head. He was lucky enough he could hire his friends as staff, lucky enough his oldest friend was his right hand man and never left him alone for too long. James Bucky Barnes, his childhood defender, his best friend, his right hand and occasionally, much to Steve's dismay, his wingman. If only that would have worked out already. He seems to be casually watching people dance but in reality he watches the couples spend quality time together at a stuck up event. If he had a partner maybe this wouldn't be so bad? Maybe people wouldn't constantly come up to talk to him because he'd be dancing himself, someone in his arms, looking at him lovingly...

"Senator Lee is coming up next" a smooth voice mumbles over his shoulder, Sam Wilson. A friend he found in college, a politics major and his chief of staff. Steves eyes find the older gentleman approaching him. He's talked with him before, quite often actually, and he was always so kind and encouraging.

The small talk with senator Lee went by faster than Steve anticipated. Before the next person could swoop in to talk to him he excused himself to the restroom. Bucky, his honorary security detail for the evening since he refused to take his actual one, made to follow him. "It's just the bathroom Buck. I'll be fine and I'll come straight back here." he says lowly, his eyes rolling at the antics. He didn't need this much security before he became a king. Bucky hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering to Sam who looks a bit unsure himself. "I mean... It's just the bathroom... No danger there. Nat wouldn't go inside with him either right?" Steve lets out a sigh at Sam's statement. Natasha, the head of security, ruled with an iron fist. She had all of them so scared they wouldn't dare to disobey her orders... except maybe her husband Clint but he got free passes for life.

"Right... Just come right back here?" Bucky looks at him and with a sigh and a nod Steve agrees. Before they can say anything else and before whatever lady just seems to approach them can start to talk, Steve hurries to the restroom. He locks himself in a cabin just for a few moments alone. But even those aren't truly alone.

The door to the restroom opens up not too long after him and of course that person takes ages to do their business. With a silent grumble Steve finishes up and leaves the cabin to wash his hands. Just then the door to another cabin opens and an older gentleman with thinning grey hair, in a three piece suit steps out. His eyes meet Steve's in the mirror as he walks up to the sink area himself. They look cold, although he has a smile plastered on his face. Fake niceties like Steve has grown used to.

"King Rogers." He acknowledges and Steve simply gives a nod. He isn't even safe in the fucking bathroom!

"Black isn't really your colour." Steve's brows furrow. What was that supposed to mean? "You know many families waited for the old crone to finally step down and let you be the king. Women shouldn't hold that much power, especially when there's no king at her side to keep her in check. Who would have thought it would take her to die for you to finally step up." The man seems calm and collected as if he didn't just insult Steve's mother.

"What the fuck did you say about my mom? Old crone?!" His blood was boiling and he was this close to hitting the old man if it weren't for his manners. His mom raised him better but she wasn't here to keep him in check was she?

"Oh calm down Steven. No need to get all flustered and angry. Hold your tongue before you say something you'll regret. We'll be one happy family soon after all." The man smirked and calmly dried his hands. He teaches over and turns off Steve's tab, the blonde frozen from anger. What did he just say? He must be demented. "What?" Is all that Steve can bring out. Confused and angry and still so so close to punch that guy.

"Oh you don't know. Can't say I'm surprised, your mother shielded you a lot. Now I have to do all the explaining. That's why women should never be in charge.” he rolls his eyes. “Are you familiar with the Hastings family?" The man hands Steve one of the towels and casually leans against the sink. Hastings? Steve has heard that name before... Wasn't that the royal family that fell from grace three generations ago? His eyes flit to the man.

"Sounds familiar." Is all he can grid out. What is this man on about? Is he just here to gossip?

"Clever boy." The smirk on the old man's face is uncanny. As if he can read Steve all too well. "You know exactly who they are but instead of going off to gossip like all the other royals out there you keep your answer neutral. What a good king you make." Steve's confusion grows.

"What does the Hastings family have to do with us becoming one?" Steve bites out. "Ah straight to business. Just how I like it. You see the Hastings family and the Rogers family go way back. Many, many generations in fact. King Joseph Rogers the first and King George Hastings even made a little pact, that yes, still stands today." His eyes search Steve's face and his grin looks so satisfied. "That the families will unite as soon as there is a male and female heir born into the families. Now ever since then both families only bore strong sons with an occasional daughter that was out of the age range for marriage. That is until roughly 30 years ago. When you and my granddaughter were born just two years apart." Steve's brow lifts. The old man was a Hastings. Wanting to fulfill a deal that was made over a hundred years ago... Bullshit.

"Whatever deal you're referring to will not stand with today's laws. So you can stop badmouthing my mom and trying to get me to marry your desperate granddaughter now." Steve spits. The man just grins. "Oh, it will Steven. Here let your lawyers check this and then get back to me about when my granddaughter can move in with you. " He laughs and hands Steve an envelope before he walks out of the restroom and back into the gala.

Steve's eyes fall on the envelope, it's burning in his hands but he needs to get this checked. He can't marry someone because of an old deal. He can't marry someone with a grandfather daring to insult his mom that's not even been dead for a month. Steve's eyes start to burn with tears. His mom shielded him from so much while she also did her best to prepare him for this life... He wishes she was here... That he wouldn't need to mourn her so publicly while also keeping his tears in to not seem weak. He wishes he could wear the dark blue suits she got for him because according to her that's the colour he looks the most handsome in. He wishes she could brush his hair out of his face one more time. Just once more with that sweet smile that was reserved for him only.

He takes a shakey breath and swallows the lump in his throat. A brief look in the mirror, a deep breath, straightening his tie. He can't show weakness. Not here, not ever. 'Safe the tears for your bedroom, Rogers.' the voice in his head commands. He wipes away the stray tear that got caught in his lashes, pockets the envelope and with another deep breath makes his way back to his friends.

They're chatting, most likely teasing each other. As soon as Bucky sees him both heads turn to Steve with a concerned gaze swiping up and down. They seem to come to the conclusion that he's okay and relax. "We need to leave." he says as soon as he reaches them. His tone more urgent than he wanted to. "Why you got diarrhea? Took you pretty long in there... I told ya to lay it easy on the hors d'oeuvres." Bucky teases with a grin that immediately falls as soon as he sees Steves eyes. Sam can't even get his joke in before Bucky declares that they're leaving. He leads Steve to the host of the gala for a quick goodbye and then out to the car they came in.

Within 10 minutes they're on the road. For the first time with only the three of them in the car, Steve pulls up the divider for privacy. Shielded from Sam and Bucky, he allows himself to spill a few tears for his mother before he can make it to the safety of his bedroom. He knows that will be away for another few hours, especially with the envelope that's burning a hole into his pocket.

Ever since you were young your family hasn't cared much for you. The only thing that was important to them was that you did exactly what they wanted... in every aspect of your life. You got the education they wanted, you went to college for what they wanted and you hid your interests to make them like you. At the beginning of your twenties you finally broke out of that circle. You moved far away with your friend and only occasionally visited for important matters, much to their dismay. Just like you were now.

The train ride never isn't boring, even with a good book and music. The most thrilling plot or the most beautiful lyrics couldn't distract you from the stranger sitting next to you. Somehow you always had the luck of them eating something disgusting, talking loudly on the phone, constantly bumping into you or being a stranger to the concept of headphones.

Your eyes wander over to your friend and her husband for the millionth time. They were sitting together, cuddling, yet somehow each minding their own business. Her husband looking out of the window, headphones in, music on and daydreaming. Your friend reading the newest book from her favourite author. How you wish you had someone to share a seat with... to share a life with. You wouldn't have a stranger next to you. You'd have a partner. You could cuddle and mind your own business at the same time... or play a game? Would you get upset at them winning Uno? Or would you love them too much to get frustrated?

You let out a sigh. You've been single for so long... a partner was still written in the stars and wouldn't come by anytime soon. So you'd have to deal with strangers next to you on the train, the couch for yourself and your family constantly badgering you when you'd move back and find a partner. It's not like you planned being almost thirty and still single. As a child you dreamed about being married with children at this age. Maybe having a little house and a dog. You wanted to be surrounded by friends, leave your family out of it as much as you could. Just enjoy life with your partner. But here you were, still alone. Maybe wallowing in self pity at a life that could have been would be a good way to pass time till you were back at your family's place.

You pull your suitcase after you. The walk from the train station wasn't too long and you know better than to ask anyone to pick you up. You don't want to inconvenience them or owe them. Last time you asked your mother and she made you wash all the dishes from the family party by hand after you played waitress during the entirety of it. You'd rather choose walking 30 minutes to the house than do that again.

As you come closer you spot your grandpa's car in the driveway. He must be here to oversee the preparations for his birthday party tomorrow. You briefly look down at yourself, jeans and t-shirt. It looks good enough but you already know you'd be criticised left and right. Never enough for them.

With a deep breath you ring the doorbell and wait. It's not too long before the door opens to reveal your mother. She takes in your appearance and sneers before she greets you. She steps to the side to let you in. "You visit your family that you never see and you show up dressed like some slob. You could wear something nice every now and then." She grumbles before she goes to the living room to announce that you're here. Well if you knew your grandpa would be here a day early you would have tried to wear something nicer. You leave your suitcase next to the door and follow her into the living room. You greet everyone and listen to your siblings' judgments until your grandpa stops them.

"Enough. Let's not ruin this joyful day for our family." He announces before he gets up and stands next to you. Joyful day? What happened? Did he finally win the lottery? You look at him confused.

"You all need to learn to not criticise her so much anymore. After all it would be a bad image to her fiancé and the press." Everyone nods along as if what he said did make any sense. Even your father who usually only shows interest for the drink in front of him, nods along. Has he got dementia since the last time you visited? "What?" Is all you can bring out at which your mother scoffs.

"Well dear... It took you a long time to find a partner, which in hindsight I'm very grateful about. You know our family has a long history and its history and glory shall be restored soon enough.” Your grandpa declares like it's some victory. “Many hundred years ago our ancestors made a deal with the royal family of Brooken. The first heirs of opposite sex shall marry and unite our families. It just never worked out age wise until you came along. Born just two years after the now reigning King Steven Rogers." He explains and you're absolutely sure they all lost their damn minds. No royal family would make a deal with commoners, especially back then.

"Well I recently met the young man and reminded him of this deal. He's more than eager to fulfill it and marry you. He'll collect you and bring you to Brooken tomorrow." He squeezes your arm, a smile plastered on his face. You can't do anything but stare at him and then burst out in laughter. They were messing with you. Or playing along with your grandpa's dementia... But no one else was laughing. They all looked rather serious... And the house looked so clean... Was this not a joke?

"This... This has to be a joke...?" You say, looking at him with desperation. "Why would it be? You'll restore the Hasting family's glory and finally be of use to us.” your heart breaks a little more. Were you truly this worthless? Did nothing you did for them before count? You look up at them, desperate to find any sign that this wasn't true. That they were playing a prank. The stone faces of your parents and siblings look back at you. This... This wasn't a joke. They'd marry you off to some stranger. To a king? To gain what? What about your life? What about your place? Your job? You can't just leave that behind for some king who's probably a huge asshole... Your long fought for freedom taken by your family and that guy. Back under control, every move watched and criticised.

The rest of the day has been cruel. Your family was between joy at your engagement to a king and anger at you trying to refuse. In-between all the explaining, that really didn't give you any new information or any that would make sense of the situation, you texted your friend which promised to call you later.

“It's not all that bad… at least he's handsome!” Your friend tries to reason. “Plus you'd be a queen! No more shitty job that doesn't pay you enough. You'd live in a castle and wear pretty dresses.” She offers and is met with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah that's great but at what cost? My freedom. I really love my one bedroom apartment. You know why? Because it's mine. I can do what I want. And in his castle? I probably won't even be allowed to hang a picture on the wall. There'll be people watching my every move and reporting back to him. I'll be just as miserable as I used to be at my parents place.” The white of the ceiling starts to become blurry with the tears that are about to spill. “What if I can never see you again? What if he won't let me have any friends?” Your voice breaks at the thought.

“He doesn't look like he'd be such an asshole. He looks nice and the articles write nice things about him too.” She reasons. “Yeah and who has big influence on the press? Him. Of course they wouldn't write anything bad about him.” You complain. “They have written not so nice things about him. Especially with him grieving his mother…” that you do feel sorry for. They seemed to have a good relationship, losing a loving parent isn't easy. “Give him a chance. You never know maybe he's a prince charming.” Her voice sounds encouraging.

“What does a king even want with a commoner? Why would a king make a deal like that hundreds of years ago? I don't get it…” you question. “Who knows maybe your family had blackmail material on the royals.” At that you snort a bit. “Maybe… he seems eager to get married. My family is eager for this. Why am I the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?” Your hands pick on the scratchy blanket your mother put on the guest bed for you. “Because you're the one who loses a lot for this. Your family gains royalty… at least they'll be royal adjacent? I mean they do have the stick up their asses like royals already. And he gains a wife? Dating must be hard when you're a king.” She muses. “His last relationship was six years ago. His ex left him for another prince and got married like a year after.” You hum at the information she found. His whole life could be found on the internet which makes you wonder what he even knows about you? Your family didn't even know you so he couldn't even get something accurate from them.

“Listen, I gotta go… but give it a chance? And if he's an asshole and you need out, you text me and we'll come to break you out ok?” you sigh at your friends offer but ultimately agree. You'll try, it's not like you can leave the house and flee without your family noticing and coming for you anyways. You place your phone on the nightstand and cuddle up in bed. Your eyes fall on the monstrosity of dress your mother picked out for you. Maybe if you truly wore that pink pile of whatever the seamstress had left over, he'd run for the hills and you'd still be free.

"Sorry Steve... I can check a few more things but this is airtight... They can force you to marry that girl..." his lawyer says. Steve sighs and looks up from his desk to look at the brunette who meets him with a warm empathetic smile. Maria Hill, top of her class, badass in their softball team and brilliant lawyer. Steve recommended her to his mom when the old lawyer retired. Maria showed her wits and was hired within two hours of her interview.

"There's no way a deal from over a hundred years ago still holds up! You're telling me there was not a single occasion where this desk could have already been fulfilled? Aren't the Hastings fucking hornballs with so many family members? They're not even royal anymore! How does this hold up?" Bucky rants, clearly trying to protect his friend. Maria meets his eyes and lifts an eyebrow.

"Well if you want to go through the entire family trees and history to try and prove that be my guest. Matter of fact is that King Joseph and King George thought of everything in their agreement. Even the downfall of royalty... Or in this case the downfall of one royal family. This seems to be their way back. Making Steve marry the granddaughter so at least she is tuly royal." Maria says dryly. "I will check it over once more. I think we all should get as much rest as this night still offers but... don't get your hopes up Steve." She adds as she gets up and takes the contract that was in the envelope before. "What if we kill her. Can't marry someone that's dead" Bucky suggests and immediately gets a slap on the back of his head from Sam.

"As your lawyer I would advice against the murder of the future spouse of your best friend. You'd be one of the first suspects and I'm sorry to say this Barnes but your pokerface isn't as great as you'd like to think." Maria states before she looks at Steve. He's exhausted, his face in his hands, his hair ruffled. "Go to bed Steve." She says softly, worried about her friend.

Steve let's out a sigh and gets up. "Dismissed. Good night." Is all he can say before he drags himself out of his office and up the stairs. His mind is a flurry of thoughts that just won't shut up no matter how much he tries. He lets out a sigh as soon as he reaches the third floor. To the left is his room, to the right the room of his mother. His legs move on their own, carrying him to the portrait of her that's covered in a black veil. In the last month he often stood in front of it. He wished it good night before he'd get in bed. Just like he planned to do today.

"Night mom..." He whispers, the tears in his eyes returning once more. "This is all so hard without you… you would know what to do with this stupid deal… I wish you were here." his voice breaks at that. He gulps and tries to hold back his tears. He isn't in the safety of his own bedroom yet. But he isn't sure he's gonna make it till there. His eyes wander to his door, so far away, and back to the portrait. He gulps and moves towards her door. Her room is safe too. Even if it brings sad memories.

He softly closes the door behind him, his eyes falling onto her bed. He'd often sleep with her as a child. When he had nightmares, when he was upset about his father dying, when he was sick. Just one more time he tells himself and takes off his shoes. He can sleep in the sweatpants and shirt he put on earlier, he doesn't need a fancy pyjama set. Hesitantly he slips under the yellow covers. His nose immediately fills with her scent. Her favourite laundry detergent mixed with her perfume and he can't hold back the tears any longer. The dam breaks and he sobs into her pillow. After many minutes of crying he falls asleep enveloped by her one more time.

[blueskittlesart]

I don't think these people know what a dogwhistle is

i do recognize that i kind of brought this on myself here because this is what happens to me every time im even slightly vocal about my lesbianism on this website but it is genuinely exhausting sometimes. like. i recognize that terfism is so rampant in lesbian spaces that people feel the need to be especially vigilant but it’s gotten to the point where even the absolute tamest mention of decentering men nets me multiple asks telling me im probably a terf. and like i understand that if you’re online 24/7 it can be difficult to seperate the concept of feminism from the concept of transmisogyny because there are so many very vocal terfs online but i need everyone to understand that believing that trans women are women and believing that women are an oppressed class/decentering men in your own life are not mutually exclusive concepts and it actually does make you look bad when you assume that every lesbian expressing frustration with the way men are constantly centered in every conversation ever must actually secretly be talking about trans women instead of just like. taking my fucking words at face value. barring everything else it makes you look stupid to send me an ask suggesting that using the phrase “male character” is a dogwhistle, presumably because someone on twitter once told you that terfs often deliberately refer to trans women as “males.” it makes you look like someone who is incapable of comprehending the contextual difference between statements because it makes it incredibly obvious that you are reading the words i am saying without absorbing the meaning behind them. you think “dogwhistle” means “cheat code for weeding out bad people” when it ACTUALLY means “deliberately innocuous word or phrase which, when used IN CERTAIN CONTEXTS, may signal certain bigoted views or philosophies.” please either learn how to use context clues or leave me the fuck alone

[whiskeyskin]

Wild and Wanting

Premise: Halsin always puts others first, it's about time he feels like number one 😜🍑🫵

• Halsin x gn! reader • 18+ • Act 3

Reader POV, light Reader!Dom, submissive!Halsin, 69, oral both recieving, instructions, analingus, tossing the salad, eating cake, tonguing the chocolate starfish, you get the hint, he gets his ass ate right, it's about damn time.

3.8k words

Not my gif, but you're welcome for sharing Happy munching! 😏🍑🥴

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Halsin's mouth and tongue expertly lavish your sex; sucking, licking and nibbling. It drives you beyond distraction.

You're trying to concentrate on pleasing him, using your own talents on his thick, lengthy cock. You suckle at his tip, twisting your wrist on his shaft, your other hand massaging his testicles.

He lays beneath you feasting open-mouthed and greedy. He laves his tongue up and down the length of you, knowing exactly how to use his large hands to bring you to ruin already.

You drool down on his cock in absent-minded delirium, gasping and panting.

He takes a breath and kisses the inside of your thighs, still using his glorious hand on you, then flicks his tongue against your taint. Your whole body twitches and you whine out a garbled moan.

"Mm, cum for me, my heart. I need your spent down my throat." He growls, returning to his ministrations, his intent tenfold.

With a soft, sucking pop his length falls from your mouth, as you moan wantonly.

He strokes in perfect pace, mouth working in spectacular rhythm. The pressure inside your head ready to burst, the coil tightening in your gut ready to spring.

Your whole body tenses, every nerve-ending on fire. Your moans of pleasure getting increasingly louder and breathless. Halsin ushers you towards the precipice and you tumble willingly into it's nothingness.

All thoughts leave your head, as your orgasm washes over you, radiating from your core; from Halsin's mouth.

He hungrily revels in the banquet of your release, drinking you down, never ceasing.

Your hips stutter and jerk against his mouth, as ragged breaths heave from your lungs. Sweat beading from your forehead and forming on your top lip.

He swallows every drop of you, with a few long swirls of his gifted tongue.

You collapse on top of him, leaning against the muscle of his thick thigh, your hot breath tickling his sac.

He pats you twice on the ass and chuckles deep from his chest, "Ahh, my heart. You came so hard for me, thank you." You hear the smile in his praise and thanks.

"That wasn't fair." You protest, rolling unceremoniously to land in a heap on the blankets below you.

He chuckles, sitting up, "Whatever do you mean?"

Eyes still unable to focus, you struggle to look up at him, bathed in the moonlight above you. The sounds of the forest returning to your ears instead of the sloppy, slurping noises of oral sex.

"You always make me cum first." You point out, still slightly winded.

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, "And this is a bad thing?" He asks grinning, wiping a hand across his smeared chin. You purse your lips and irk a brow at him.

"Well, I can't complain when I'm in the moment.. but yes. Don't you want to be just a little bit selfish, sometimes?" You inquire, shrugging.

"Nope." He answers, definitively, clasping his hands together and bending a leg at the knee. He was still hard.

You run your tongue against your teeth, smirking in the face of his goading.

"In 350 years, you've never once just wanted to fuck for your pleasure alone?" You narrow your eyes playfully at him.

"I find pleasure in pleasing others. I cannot help how I am, nor do I intend to change." He states, curling himself around to be closer to you, "Does it bother you, love?"

"Not really. It's just.." you pause, measuring what you actually mean, "you've taken care of people for so long, always put them first and yourself second, or even third. Maybe for once, I want you to be put first." You implore, eyes insisting.

"I have no issues coming in second place, my heart." He says with a devilish moan, capturing your mouth in a consuming kiss.

He tries to move on top of you but you halt him, and push him back onto the grass.

"I wasn't finished," you smirk, a forceful hand pushing on his hairy, muscle-bound chest, "I couldn't even get a good rhythm going!" You exclaim with a faux pout, as you hook your leg over to straddle his impressive form.

He chuckles in reply, "I can't apologise for something I'm not ashamed of." He glides his calloused hands up the backs of your thighs and around the curve of your behind.

You smile back, "Well, I'm not one to leave a mission unfinished, so.." you press a kiss to his sternum, "just lie back and look at the stars, you'll be there soon." You promise with a salacious grin.

Halsin irks a brow and licks his bottom lip, "I have no doubt, my heart."

"I mean it," you sit up straighter, using his enormous pecks for leverage, "This is for you to lie back and indulge a little. A promise to take pleasure for yourself. Are you listening?" You insist, a slight jutt of your chin.

Another chuckle responds, a warm crinkle around his green hazel eyes, "Yes, heart. I'm listening, I promise."

"I'll hold you to your word, Halsin Silverbough." You purr, leaning down to kiss him again. A long, languid kiss of wet tongues and gasping moans. You taste yourself on his tongue and swear you can almost taste the warmth of honey on his lips.

Taking your time, you drag your mouth and tongue down his impossibly beautiful body, as he cranes his neck to watch you descend.

"You truly are the most beautiful man I've ever seen." You decide to tell him, keeping searing eye contact, trailing your wet tongue down the ridged plain of his torso.

You had beheld perfection in humanoid form before, but Halsin truly outclassed them all. His massive chest, muscular arms, thick thighs and tight butt; they could make a sinner convert to a life of piety.

He loves to deal out sweet, cherishing praise; you want him to experience the same.

"I doubt that but I appreciate your encouragement." He bats away your compliment with a shy shake of his head, as you shower his belly in long, languid kisses.

"I'm serious. You are sincerely spectacular. Your body, your face, your mind. The entirety of you is beyond anything I've ever witnessed."

His cock flexes against his lower belly, a line of precum beading between. You take the head in your hand and start to stroke him slowly.

"Th-thank you, my heart." He stutters, with a smile, his hands running the length of your arms.

"Your kindness, selflessness. Your wisdom and bravery. And these pretty little divets that lead so sweetly down." You croon, between kisses and suckles.

You lap your tongue along the bottom of his tip, wrapping your lips to encompass the girth of his long, thick erection. Halsin groans and pushes his hips up, rolling his head back with a throaty gasp.

Rolling your wrist over the head, using your mouth in tandem, you taste his desire for you. You release him with a satisfying pop, staring up at him over his heaving and hollowing chest.

"Gods, you taste so good." The salt of his skin is intoxicating, as you move to glide your mouth to the creases of his inner thighs.

"Mm, thank you, my heart. You feel extraordinary." He keens through a strained throat.

You flatten your tongue along the curve of his balls, first one side, then the other. Then gently sucking one at a time into your mouth, massaging them with your tongue.

Halsin groans as he bends his knees and opens his legs to allow better access.

"I'm going to take such good care of you, Halsin." Your hot breath teases his sensitive skin.

Laying on the layered blankets on the forest clearing floor; you lap at his testicles, suckling at them, flicking your tongue front to back. Every now and again, surfacing to slather his cock head with your eager tongue, your hand continuing a constant, teasing pace.

Halsin moans between tense lips, as he raises his hips, desperate for more friction.

A thought flashes across your mind, something you're pretty sure that he would be interested in trying with you.

"Love? Tell me if you want me to stop." You offer, before dipping your tongue underneath his sac, to push against his taint. Inviting, but not threatening, to go lower.

Halsin groans in agreement, "Mm, never.. never. Keep going. Yes." Pushing off his feet to grant a better angle.

You bite back a devious smirk, and tilt your head to suckle his perineum. Rearranging your non-dominant hand, you grasp at the meat of his buttcheeks.

Halsin makes a straining, encouraging noise from the back of his throat. Bolstered, you dip your tongue lower, between the tight crease of his cheeks. You press your tongue between the folds, flicking it firmly.

"Oh, Silvanus protect me." He sighs out quickly.

The precum on his head is gathering thick and fast, as you continue to stroke his huge cock.

"Is this something that you like, sweet thing?" You ask from between his tense thighs.

"It is, my heart. I don-don't like to ask," he falters as you dip your tongue once more, "Not everyone partakes in such activities."

"Well, aren't you a lucky boy?" You smirk with a playful tone, rolling your tongue the word.

"Every day since I met you." He chuckles, then hisses through his teeth, at the intensity of his lust.

"What do you want, love? Mouth, and fingers inside?" You check before proceeding.

"Yes.. yes.." he whispers breathlessly, fists grasping at the blankets beneath him.

"Say it. Own your needs." You order, your fingers lazily flicking the crease of his cheeks.

"T-Tongue. Tongue and fingers. Your mouth. Your hands.. please." He grumbles deeply, asking so nicely.

"Then I need you on all fours, sweet thing. I want to devour you." You purr his words back to him, teeth against his thigh. His eyes burn bright with excitement and desire, you bite your bottom lip with a scandalous grin. He responds with an equally devious smirk and huffing himself over with a ravenous growl, he obliges faithfully.

Apparently, the Elvish predilection of hairlessness extended to his asshole, if nowhere else.

You kneel backwards to reach towards the small picnic you'd brought yourselves, and retrieved his jar of lubricant. He hurriedly gathers the blanket toward him, to lean into the grass instead. Watching him get into position; he buries his face into his forearms and parts his legs, tilting his ass into the air.

You drink in the sight before you; the Ex-Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, splayed on all fours in front of you.

"Halsin." A wide, feral grin spreads across your face, "you look so damned good like this, arse in the air for me." You curl your lip through the words, catching them through a feral snarl. Halsin hums low appreciatively at your filthy words.

"Can I spank you, love?" You clarify, praying for him to agree.

"Not hard but yes." He answers from the grass.

You rub a cheek several times, then give a nice, satisfying slap and repeat twice more. Each time he twitches at the contact, groaning out; you moan with him, each time a little more exaggerated.

Reaching between his legs for his large, hanging erection, you find the tip already wet with precum. Halsin's body jerks and he lets out another long, hot moan into the ground.

You try to resist delving in deep already, only having enough strength to veer to the other ample cheek at the last second.

"Do you like baring yourself to me in this way, love? I can't wait to sink myself into your waiting hole." You keen, running your hands up the backs of his thigh, dangerously close to the valley of his yearning arsehole.

"Heart." Halsin growls a warning loudly and rounds his spine, shuddering. His body starts to glow and you back off before his nature takes over.

"It's alright, Halsin. Breathe, love." You instruct him gently, "breathe.."

He does as instructed, with apparent great difficulty. But despite his best efforts, he shifts to his bear form, leaves erupting outwards from impacting magic. Now looking at the behind of an enormous brown bear, you stifle a flattered, if not a little guilty, giggle.

"It's alright, love. I should've known. I'm sorry." You soothe, smoothing his rugged fur and moving to stand.

You walk to the side of him, running a hand softly and comfortingly along his flank. His big, sad eyes turn to look at you. He rumbles out a sad low grumble, and your chest inverts.

"Ohh, my beloved. It's alright. It can't be helped. You know I take it as a compliment." You shrug and smile warmly, stroking the softer fur of his face and shucking behind his ear.

He hoots with a toothy smile and shudders back to his original form.

"I'm sorry.. I'm sorry. It's why I don't.. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.." he repeats over and over again, pushing off his hands.

"Hey. You don't apologise for something you're not ashamed of." You remind him, catching his face gently. He rewards you with a chuckle.

"My mistake." He jokingly chides himself, pushing breath through tight lips.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" You venture once more, kneeling back to join him at his original size, smoothing along the soft curve of his back, drawing soothing circles on his shoulder blade.

"I know it isn't your usual position - even though you look so exquisitely good in it." You add, pressing a kiss to his bicep.

"I made a promise. A promise to indulge my own pleasures," he states with conviction, "something I have not done for a very long time, and there is no one I trust more than you, in which to do so." He swallows, his soft earthen eyes boring into yours.

You tilt you head to the side and regard this creature of undiluted perfection before you, unable to quell the smile on your face, "I adore you," You reach up to kiss him, slow and soft, "Thank you for trusting me."

"Thank you, my heart. You have given an old Druid more happiness these last weeks than I've had in a long time." He curls his lips in, a melancholic yet wistful expression on his face.

"You are heavenly, you know that?" You inform him, pushing up to stand. You kiss him again, cupping his scarred and tattooed face, nudging his forehead with yours.

Walking to return to your spot, he surrenders himself back between his massive forearms. You reach toward the jar of lubricant and unscrew the lid, the gentle scent of chamomile in the air.

Kneeling back down, you prepare a healthy dose of lube on your first two fingers. Gently, you begin to stroke the cleft of his arse, slowly drawing wide circles around his arsehole.

He grinds his jaw together and his eyes flutter closed. He trembles a breath through his nose, stretching his neck from side to side.

"Say, 'Emerald' if you need to stop." You establish, softly applying more pressure with the two digits in smaller circles against his rim, "What do you say to stop?"

"Emerald." He responds dutifully, bowing his head and scrunching his face.

"Good lad." You reward him, with a surprising tap on his ass cheek. He rumbles a chuckle.

Settling yourself comfortably, you announce, "I'm going to eat your ass now." just before launching into the valley of Halsin's awaiting hole.

Forming plenty of salvia, you dive in to assault him with your tongue. Using your hands to spread his cheeks wider, you begin by licking the length from his taint up, then flicking your tongue against his entrance.

Halsin hollers out below you in abject agreement, "Yes, my heart. Yes. Thank you. Ahh !"

You take no time in burying your face between his ass cheeks; slurping and licking, while fondling his balls. Bracing yourself against the strength of his legs, you tongue over the sweet, sensitive rim.

The taste of his home remedy lube was helpfully very pleasant, as you feast on his exposed ass. You moan and vocalise, as you dine on his most intimate and hidden part. Poking your tongue just passed his tight entrance, fluttering it around the rim and massaging your hands across the meat of his ample behind.

Shaking and nodding your head, prodding your tongue further inside his taut hole and licking all around. You move back and spit against his clenched skin, lube-thickened rivulets of saliva coat his sac and drip onto the floor, as you slap his ass another twice.

He exclaims, nearly falling from his forearms.

"Gods, my sweet. Yes-yes. I feel your spit dripping down me. You feel incredible. Do not stop. Please." He begs, his voice already hoarse.

You make a noise in your throat that informs him, you aren't even started.

Settling lower in your position, you take your bracing hand and pause to daub your peace fingers with plentiful more lube and smear it where his muscled back curves to meet his succulent ass. Then take that hand to gently pull down on his testicles, squeezing them within your palm, massaging the weight of them.

Continuing your ministrations with your tongue, you collect the awaiting lube, adding the sensation of your fingers of your dominant hand slowly. Gently cycling your fingers around the curve of his coccyx, you palpate his soaked, engorged asshole.

His entrance flutters against your tongue, as his moans get increasingly more gruff and desperate.

"More. My heart. More. Inside. Please." He strains, breaths hissing through his bared teeth.

Moving your mouth to kiss the crease to his leg, you stroke your fingers down to align with his prepared entrance. Teasing slowly, you test him with your middle finger, dipping in and out and watching for his reaction.

A muffled high cry expells from him, as he twitches, "Ahh!"

"Breathe out for me, beloved." You coach, pausing your hand cupping his balls.

He obliges, taking in a deep inhale and slowly exhaling. Your middle finger slides in with a small amount of resistance.

Halsin gasps, and his head shoots up from between his arms, "Oh! Silvanus bless me. More. More." he pleads, growling.

Taking your other hand from his testicles, you add more lube for comfort, then add the second finger. Both slide in with pliant ease; Halsin's lubricated warmth surrounding your digits to the second knuckle.

Halsin makes a crackling gasp, "Gods !"

"You're doing so well, love." You adorn him, delicately sliding your fingers in to the hilt.

You reach between his legs to tease his shaft with light, squeezing touches.

Halsin whines out a shudder, "Mm-argh. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you. Please. Let me. I'll-ngh." He rambles, slamming a fist to the ground.

"This isn't about me, this is for you. Or trust me, I'd be riding you already." You moan, he joins in with a wanting groan.

"Seeing you like this as I fuck your ass with my fingers. It's so fucking hot, Halsin." You start to thrust your fingers inside his asshole, curling down to hit his special spot.

He trembles out a call to the sky in Elvish, seemingly unable to speak Common.

"I'm going to take care of you, protect you, adore you and shower you in pleasure." You softly squeeze his sac again, "I need you to cum for me, Halsin. I want you to cum."

You reach around his hips and firmly grasp his massive cock; precum leaks in an extortionate amount from the slit. Your sex painfully twinges from how much this has been driving him insane.

Taking no time and giving no mercy; you stroke his cock hard and fast, simultaneously stuffing your fingers deep in his snug asshole.

His entire body roils, his muscles bunch and he cries out into the dirt. His giant hands carving monstrous rivets in the earth beneath him.

His sphincter clenches down on your plunging fingers, his hips sputtering. You can feel the notch of his prostate underneath your fingerpads, the thick pulsing veins of his enormous cock in your hand.

He was on the verge.

"I'm going to count you down, sweet thing.. and you're going to cum for me. You're going to scream nice and loud, and cum so hard you can't walk. Understand, love?" You urge, with a commanding tone.

Halsin barely acknowledges, save for affirmative grunts and pants, through a delirious grin.

"Five.."

His hole quivers around your pounding digits.

"Four.."

His gargantuan length pulses in your hand.

"Three.."

His back arches and his arse pushes higher in the air.

"Two.."

There's not a sound but the debauched sound of your hammering his abused hole and pumping his humongous cock. His ragged breaths and choked moans echo through the forest, as he patiently abides until he's told to cum.

You purse your lips around a pleased smile. Holding him on the very knife edge of his orgasm. He whimpers and growls from the back of his throat, his body and soul ready to explode on your order.

Damn. Even like this, he still brought you pleasure.

"One."

It all happens at once, but almost in slow motion.

Halsin roars in jubilant euphoria, straining and tearing his throat, pouring out semi-sensical gratitudes, "YES! YES! Ngh. All for you. All for you, my heart. Allforyou. Yes-yes-yes !"

His hole clenches and suckers onto your talented fingers, as you drive them inside his pulsating walls. Hot, white ropes of seed spatter onto the lush greenery below him, with a force backed by nature itself.

His hips jerk and sputter as he drains himself on the floor, his hole flutters around your digits and his body turns gelatinous.

"All for you.. all for you.." he mumbles, collapsing aside to the ground, your fingers slipping out of his supplicant hole with ease, "thankyou.. thankyou." He choruses, barely able to separate the words.

Thoroughly pleased with yourself at the current state of the proud Druid Elf laying blissed before you, you press a kiss to his thigh and pat it twice with the heel of your hand.

"Well done, my heart. You came so hard for me, thank you." You callback to his words earlier in the evening.

His chuckles, a little higher in his register than usual. "Clever little thing."

You shuffle to the pack nestling in the tree roots and find dampened tissues to clean your lubed fingers, and turn back to Halsin; who is now laying splayed on his back, staring at the stars.

You smile at him, tilting your head; you truly do adore this sweet, large Elf.

You don't pull that out for just anyone.

You needed to be careful though, or this would end in disaster.

He was explicit in what his expectations were in this arrangement and you needed to temper your growing feelings.

Leaning forward, you wipe his softening member clean of excess and throw the tissues crumpled together back near the pack.

"You were right, my love." He began, a drowsy, satisfied tone in his voice, "I am with the stars." He grins broadly, limbs stretched wide.

You snort a laugh and wind your way towards him.

"See, isn't it fun to be a little selfish sometimes?" You remarked, playing idly with his chest hair.

Halsin labourously tilts his head to you and smiles, "If it feels like that, I should have done so a long time ago."

•°•°•

Phew ! Ready for more? I've got lots more to share 😏😅

[wherearedagrapes]

The deleted scene from the second movie where Maddie almost lets Sonic off the hook for sneaking out because he brings her (a ridiculous amount of) roses and Tom (who realizes immediately what Sonic’s trying to pull) has to keep Maddie on track also highkey reminds me of Amy and her hopeless romantic side lol like she would definitely swoon over a gesture like that and almost forget she’s mad.

Maddie’s so funny. I really do hope we get to see more of her. (Just realized Maddie and Tom are also wearing pink and blue here lol)

More thoughts on Amy under the cut.

If Amy is indeed on a mission to save the future/world, I can definitely see her having little self-preservation. The world — all the lives counting on her — matter so much more than her own life and desires. And if she’s been alone a decent while, I can see her having some trust issues or wanting to do a lot by herself… Amy (at least the Amy in the games I grew up with) has also always been bullheaded, take-charge, and kinda reckless. In the movie, it seems like she’s been tracking the Metal Sonics and knows way more about what’s going on than the others.

With all that in mind, I can see her taking over and maybe steamrolling “Team Sonic” at first, much to Sonic’s chagrin. He would try to be cool about it despite his wounded ego, but he would feel bossed around and unheard, and I can see them butting heads over this early on. Like I can see Sonic lowkey not following one of Amy’s plans out of spite and to prove his strategy is good if not better than hers and causing a mess. I can see Amy during one of her plans putting way too much of the dangerous responsibilities on her self and Sonic having to save her. I can see Amy struggling to be a team player, but in many ways she’d be similar to Sonic. And it could be a good way for Sonic to learn what it’s like for his friends when he disregards them/runs off into danger without them… How scary it is to be on the other side of that, to watch someone you care about be reckless with their own life or determined to do too much on their own. How frustrating, when all you want to do is help them.

You mentioning that Amy could see attachments as trouble is interesting because I’ve been thinking a lot about… IF Amy is from the future, isn’t she doomed to nonexistence? Depends on the time travel rules the movie chooses to follow ig, but logically, if the gang changes the future, the Amy that is a product of the bad future will disappear, right? If the future is changed/saved, then Amy would have no reason to time travel in the future. And if she never time travels, she never meets the Wachowskis… Wouldn’t it be like they never met?

I doubt the movie would actually end that way, but I can see this complicating things. I can see Amy going into this knowing/accepting from the start that she’s probably going to disappear if she succeeds in saving the future. She’ll change when the future does. She’ll become a different Amy with a different life. It’s not much of a burden until she meets Sonic and his family and starts growing attached to them. Now, she has something to lose. She’s carrying this bombshell around by herself because she doesn’t want anyone to put the mission at risk. Saving the future is too important. But she doesn’t want to leave. She doesn’t want to lose these new connections. She doesn’t want to be forgotten...

Which circles back to those ideas of being too selfless and trying to handle too much by yourself. What Amy wants doesn’t matter, but it’s harder and harder to deny her feelings and the part of her that wants to keep this love and happiness she’s (maybe finally) found on Earth. She needs to trust her friends. She needs to let her friends help her. But that’s easier said than done.

With Amy coming along, I can't stop thinking about the Amy-Sonic/Tom-Maddie parallels.

You know, the pink and blue scheme, Tom having a similar personality to Sonic and Amy possibly having some similarities to Maddie, Amy and Maddie possibly being two big city girls with Amy being from New York and Maddie from San Francisco while Tom and Sonic are both from Green Hills, the setup of Amy plus 3 Wachowski siblings as well as Maddie and Tom, who canonically have siblings too.

They've been foreshadowing this couple since the second movie, fight me!!

(and Tom x Maddie are the parents and couple ever, I love them!)

(Also, please give Maddie more prominence. She's awesome!)

[heejamas]

scott street ── ˙ ̟🏡 ⛰️

pairings: beomgyu x female reader genre: childhood friends to lovers, beomgyu as your ex, romance warnings: none <3 w/c: 3.3k author's note: this fic was inspired by the song scott street by phoebe bridgers. it’s a drabble i’ve been holding onto for a long time, and i actually cried while writing it—it was really emotional for me. it’s nothing like the genre i usually write, but i hope you guys like it <3

It was sunny the day you saw Beomgyu for the last time.

The kind of sun that tricks you, golden and sprawling, but with a wind sharp enough to cut through skin. It was bright enough to make the moment feel less real, like the day was too beautiful to hold something so heavy. You remember the way the light caught in his hair, the way his shadow stretched too long on the pavement, the way he smiled at you—soft, knowing, like he had already made peace with something you hadn’t even begun to understand.

And then he was gone.

You didn’t cry that day. You remember thinking you should’ve. That it would’ve been easier if it hurt all at once, like a clean break, instead of the slow, creeping ache that settled in your bones. But you just stood there, staring at the spot where he had been, blinking against the brightness of the sky.

The days after were quiet. You learned to live around the absence of him, the way you’d live around a missing tooth, tongue always searching for something that wasn’t there. The spaces he left behind became part of the scenery—an empty chair at your favorite café, a number you refused to delete from your phone, a playlist you skipped over in the car. You kept expecting time to dull the sharp edges, to smooth out the rough parts of remembering. But grief is funny that way—it doesn’t soften so much as it changes shape, curling around the parts of your life you never expected it to touch.

Still, you tried.

You told yourself you’d move on. You changed your number, dyed your hair, picked up bad habits and dropped them just as fast. You filled your time with people whose voices you wouldn’t remember in the morning, let yourself laugh a little too loudly at things that weren’t really funny. You said yes to invitations just so you wouldn’t be alone, then spent the night staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, gripping the sink, wondering if he still thought of you, too.

You threw yourself into everything. You filled your time with new people, new routines, new cities. You let yourself be swallowed by the hum of life, the late nights and early mornings, the crowded rooms and quiet walks home. You stopped counting the months. You thought, maybe, this was what moving on looked like.

And then, two years later, on a day like any other, you walked into a flower shop.

It wasn’t something you planned. You were just passing by, taking a different route home, when the scent of fresh flowers drifted into the street. The shop was small, tucked between a bookstore and a bakery, its windows framed with ivy, soft music playing just loud enough to be heard over the sound of traffic. It wasn’t there when you first moved to this neighborhood. You hesitated at the door, not really sure why you went in at all.

Maybe it was the way the light poured through the windows. Maybe it was the empty space in your apartment, the way it still didn’t feel like yours. Maybe it was something else entirely.

The air inside was thick with earth and petals, the kind of scent that felt like stepping into another time. Sunlight slanted across wooden shelves, catching in the dust floating lazily through the air. The counter was lined with small potted plants, leaves trembling slightly under the hum of the ceiling fan. It was warm. Still.

For a moment, you just breathed.

Then—

Your name.

Soft. Familiar. Said like a secret, like something fragile enough to break.

You turned.

And there he was.

Beomgyu.

Older now. His hair was longer, curling slightly at the ends, falling into his eyes in a way that made your chest tighten unexpectedly. His hands were covered in soil, pressed against the wooden counter, but his eyes—his eyes hadn’t changed at all. Wide, bright, unreadable. The same eyes that once held entire summers, entire lifetimes.

He looked like he belonged there.

And you—

You felt like you had stepped into a memory.

Like you were seventeen again, sitting on his parents’ roof, listening to the cicadas hum in the heat. Like you were twenty, laughing into his shoulder, your hands tangled together under a bar table sticky with spilled drinks. Like you were twenty-four, standing on the sidewalk, watching his back as he walked away.

The way his laugh echoed in your childhood bedroom. The way he kissed you for the first time, all nerves and certainty, right before he left for college. The way he whispered I love you against your skin, when you thought forever was something you could hold onto if you just tried hard enough.

The way he left.

The way you let him.

Everything pressed in at once. The weight of all the things you never said, all the years spent without him, all the ways the world had changed and stayed the same.

And then—

“Hey,” he said.

Like it hadn’t been two years. Like the last time you spoke wasn’t a goodbye.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Your throat felt tight, like if you said his name, it might break something open inside you.

And now, here he is.

Smelling like flowers and soil and something achingly familiar.

Smiling at you like no time has passed at all.

You swallow, forcing yourself to find something—anything—to say. Your voice feels strange when it finally leaves your throat, too thin, too unsteady.

“Hey.”

It’s such a small word. So small, so weightless. And yet it lands between you like a stone dropped into water, sending ripples through the space you thought time had settled.

Beomgyu’s smile twitches, something flickering behind his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or something heavier, something that settles in the lines of his face, in the way he exhales as if he had been holding his breath.

The silence stretches, neither of you quite sure how to move through it.

He gestures vaguely at the counter, at the shop, at the air itself. “So… this is me now.”

Your gaze drifts, taking in the warmth of it all. The deep greens and soft yellows, the faint scent of soil and petals in bloom. The air is thick with summer, even though it’s still early spring. You think it suits him in a way you can’t quite put into words.

“I never thought you’d open a flower shop,” you murmur, letting the sentence settle between you.

His mouth quirks to the side, like he wants to argue but doesn’t quite know how. Instead, he exhales through his nose, gaze dropping to the countertop. “Neither did I.”

Another beat of silence. Another second where everything inside you feels like it’s trembling on the edge of something unspoken.

And then—

“I quit.”

You blink. “Quit?”

He nods, fingers brushing absently over a stray leaf beside him. “The firm. The whole thing.”

Your brows knit together, trying to bridge the gap between the boy who once traced constellations into your palm and the man who disappeared into something colder, sharper. The Beomgyu you last knew was all pressed collars and coffee gone stale, his voice too measured, his laughter too rare. You wonder when he stopped seeing the point in beautiful things. When he stopped letting himself reach for them.

“Why?” you ask.

His eyes linger on yours for a moment too long, like he’s deciding how much to tell you. Then, finally—

“Because it wasn’t what I thought it’d be.”

The words are simple, quiet. No bitterness, no regret. Just the kind of understanding that only comes after losing something you didn’t know you needed.

Your gaze drifts, tracing the curve of a vine creeping along the shelves. There’s a small, wooden sign hanging near the window—Lily of the Valley. The name catches on something at the back of your mind, but before you can follow the thread, Beomgyu shifts his weight, clearing his throat.

He watches you carefully, fingers twitching against the counter. There’s a question at the back of his tongue, one he doesn’t dare to say out loud.

Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?

But he swallows it down. Instead, he asks—“So… what about you? What have you been up to?”

You hesitate, like you’re sifting through your own memories, trying to find an answer that doesn’t feel like a lie.

But before you can speak, before you can string together something coherent, Beomgyu is already somewhere else. It happens so easily. The unraveling.

At first, it’s just a day, a week, a month. A shift so slow it barely feels like moving. Then suddenly, you look up, and you don’t recognize the space you’re standing in anymore.

Beomgyu tells himself it’s just part of growing up. That loving something and leaving it behind are not contradictions, just inevitabilities. He throws himself into the next thing, and the next, and the next. If he moves fast enough, maybe he won’t have time to feel the spaces he hollowed out inside himself.

But time is cruel in its stillness. The days stretch long in the quiet of his apartment, filled with things he does not love, things he did not choose. The walls are too white, too cold. His bed is too big, the silence too loud. He starts leaving his windows open at night, hoping the wind might carry something back to him.

It never does.

It’s funny—the things you don’t realize you’ll miss until they’re gone.

Like the way you used to laugh at your own jokes before you could even finish telling them. How your voice would lilt when you were teasing him, your grin all sharp edges and bright light. How you always knew when he was about to say something stupid before he even opened his mouth.

He doesn’t remember when it started. When looking at you became unbearable in the best way. When he started memorizing the way the sun caught in your hair, the way you bit your lip when you were trying not to laugh. He had known you forever, but at some point, it started to feel different—like he had spent years standing in front of a painting, only to wake up one day and realize it had been shifting the whole time.

And then he left. Just like that.

He never let himself feel guilty about it. Not at first.

Because it was what people did, wasn’t it? They left home, they outgrew the things that tethered them. It was a sign of something—of movement, of ambition. So he convinced himself that this was what he wanted. The long hours, the office with a view, the sound of his own footsteps echoing down endless white halls. He wore suits that didn’t fit right and shook hands with people who looked right through him. He pretended not to notice how his own reflection started to feel like a stranger.

But it was in the in-between moments that it would hit him.

Like when he’d come across something absurdly stupid and go to text you, only to remember that he hadn’t heard your voice in months.

Or when someone would try to make him laugh, and he’d think about how no one was as funny as you. No one knew him the way you did—how to push his buttons just right, how to make his ribs ache with laughter even when he swore he wasn’t in the mood.

Or when he walked home alone after work, passing storefronts filled with things he knew you’d love, things he knew you’d hate. It was strange, how the world kept carrying pieces of you, even when you weren’t there to claim them.

And then, one night, he caught himself staring at the skyline and wondering if you were staring at the same moon. And it was something so cliche, so painfully sentimental, that he had to laugh at himself. But then the laughter faded, and the ache stayed.

That was when he knew.

Knew that he had spent years trying to shape himself into something he never wanted to be. Knew that all the things he thought he was supposed to want—power, prestige, a life paved in sleek ambition—meant nothing if he wasn’t happy.

So he quit. Just like that.

And for the first time in a long time, he let himself want something just because it was beautiful.

He built something of his own. Something that reminded him of home, of childhood, of summers spent sprawled on front lawns with you by his side. Of the way you used to pluck wildflowers and braid them into his hair when you were kids, giggling at how pretty he looked.

And when it came time to name it, he didn’t have to think twice.

Lily of the Valley. A flower that meant sweetness, renewal, the return of happiness. The flower of the year you were born. He never knew if you’d ever walk through the doors. If you’d ever see the name and wonder.

But now, here you are.

Standing in front of him again.

Smelling like something achingly familiar.

Looking at him like no time has passed at all.

“I moved around here,” you say, and Beomgyu blinks like he’s just now hearing you. Like he had been somewhere else entirely. You can tell by the way he straightens up slightly, clearing his throat.

“Yeah?” His voice is even, but his fingers twitch against the ceramic pot he’s holding.

“Needed to be closer to work,” you explain. “New job, new place. Figured it was time for a change.”

Beomgyu nods, slow and measured. His gaze flickers over you like he’s taking inventory, checking for things that are different, things that are the same.

“You seem good,” he says eventually.

You smile, though it feels like pressing on a bruise. “You seem good too.”

The silence stretches, thin and delicate.

Maybe you both look fine, sound fine, play your parts so well that no one would know the difference. But the weight of the past settles in your chest like a stone, pressing against your ribs. Because you remember.

You remember the day he left. The way the air felt thick with something unspoken, the way you stood there, hands curled into fists at your sides, trying to swallow the ache in your throat. He had smiled at you then—soft, apologetic, like he knew exactly what he was taking with him when he walked away. And you had let him go. What else could you have done?

Now, your eyes sting. You blink fast, locking it all away before it can spill over. Not here. Not in front of him.

Then Beomgyu shifts, stepping out from behind the counter. “Well,” he says, voice lighter now, “I guess you’ll need some plants to fill the space, right?”

It feels like an offering. Like something small and safe between you, something that won’t crack open the past.

“Yeah,” you say, exhaling. “Guess I do.”

He picks up a monstera, large green leaves curling outward like open palms. Holds it out to you like he’s handing you something more than just a plant.

“You always thought these were beautiful,” he murmurs.

The weight of his words settles somewhere deep in your chest.

“I did,” you say, softer this time.

You think about all the times you almost asked. The quiet moments when his name would surface in conversation, sitting there, unspoken on your tongue. The way your fingers hovered over old texts, over the urge to reach out, to ask how things were—how he was.

But you never did. Out of pride, maybe. Or fear. Or the gnawing possibility that he wouldn’t answer.

Still, some things slip through the cracks.

“How’s your sister?” You ask.

Beomgyu stills for half a second, then huffs out something like a laugh.

“She’s good,” he says. “Finally got her degree.”

“Wow.” You shift the bag in your arms. “That makes me feel old.”

Beomgyu smirks. “What does that make me, then?”

You roll your eyes, and for a brief moment, something almost like comfort settles between you. Almost.

“What about the band?” you say, glancing at the shop around you, the soft green of leaves, the scent of fresh soil and something warmer, something achingly familiar.

“They’re all getting married,” he says, a quiet laugh in his voice. “Or buying houses. Moving up.”

You wonder if he means the garage band he had with his friends, or the life that came with it. If he means more than that.

His fingers brush absently against the edge of the monstera’s leaves. He doesn’t say what you can feel pressing against the air between you.

Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?

But he doesn’t ask. And you don’t answer.

You exhale softly, shifting the weight of the monstera in your arms. “I’ll take this one,” you say, fingers tracing the edge of one of its broad, waxy leaves. “Feels like a good place to start.”

Beomgyu watches you for a moment before nodding, stepping back behind the counter. “Good choice,” he murmurs, ringing up the sale.

The hum of the register fills the quiet between you.

“How are your parents?” he asks, glancing at you as he types in a price he doesn’t intend to charge.

“They’re good,” you say. “Still in the same house. Still in Scott Street.”

His eyes shift at the mention of that street, a spark of recognition lighting up his expression. Scott Street—a river of memories flowing through your mind, winding back to days of innocence.

But now, that street feels like a faded photograph, each memory tinged with a bittersweet ache. You stand there, caught in the tide of nostalgia, longing for the comfort of those moments when everything felt right, before life pulled you both in different directions.

“My dad still spends his mornings on the porch, waving at every neighbor like he’s running for office. My mom still keeps the same wind chime by the door. Says she knows when I’m visiting because I always hit my head on it.”

You say and Beomgyu smiles at that. A real smile, though it fades almost as quickly as it comes.

His hand stills briefly against the register. “Mine moved a while ago. Somewhere quieter. Said they wanted a fresh start.”

“I know,” you say softly.

Beomgyu blinks at you. Then something like understanding settles over his face. Of course, you’d know.

The past has a way of circling back, even when you think you’ve left it behind.

You reach for your wallet, but before you can pull out a card, Beomgyu shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says. “It’s a housewarming gift.”

You frown, looking down at the plant. “Beomgyu—”

“It’s my store,” he interrupts, a teasing lilt to his voice, but his expression is something gentler. “I make the rules.”

You hesitate. “Then I owe you a store-warming gift.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, looking down at his hands for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

“You already gave it to me,” he says.

Something shifts in the air.

The words settle between you, warm and heavy. You don’t need to ask what he means. You can see it in the way his fingers tighten slightly against the counter. The way his shoulders drop just a little, like he’s been holding something up for too long.

For a second, you want to say something. Anything. But the weight of it all sits too thick in your throat, and you think maybe he feels it too.

Then he inhales, exhales, and shakes his head slightly, like shaking off a thought.

“Anyway,” he says, voice lighter now, carefully placed. “Don’t be… a stranger.”

The words settle somewhere deep, pressing against your ribs, slipping between the cracks of something you thought had long since healed.

You swallow around the bittersweet ache, adjusting the plant in your arms before offering him a small, quiet smile. “I won’t,” you say, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise or a lie.

Outside, the world moves on. A car horn echoes down the street. A bike bell chimes, sharp and fleeting. Somewhere, a dog barks.

Inside, nothing feels normal at all.

my masterlist <3

author's note: yeah. anyway. so.

[delight-angelsbliss]

Hiii!!! Your ADHD post was perfect, thank you so much! I have the inattentive type as well, but I got really good at masking it/forcing myself to focus in some school classes lol (that is, if I had some sliver of interest in that class haha) I have another one, if it's ok :3

Could you maybe do shadow and sonic with a reader that is just absolutely terrible at getting proper sleep (4-3 hours 😭) who usually just can't sleep or is up doing something? Maybe hyper focused on a task? The amount of caffeine I have to consume in the morning is probably unhealthy 💀

Hope things are going great for you!

Precis: Shadow + sonic with an insomniac!Reader

Warning: side effects of no sleep and too much caffeine, no fender specified

Notes: I remember as a child (5) I would always stay awake longer to practice for ballet that I've been doing since I was 3 but I was taken out of gymnastics and ballet cuz of health issues:(( I love this blinkie too much please never leave me. I keep thinking of my step sisters and I can't stop crying knowing my dad is probably doing something to them the same way he did to me and it's eating at my heart tbh I could barely focus on writing

Sonic

We all know Sonic has massive amounts of energy, seemingly never running out of it. He isn't really a night owl type of guy, nor does he ever want to be, but when he met you, that changed. You were the complete opposite of him, always tired, staying up late, always drinking coffee etc. He didn't mind at first, but your unhealthy habits scared him greatly; you crashing out in the middle of the day was the thing that scared him the most, the way your energy turned down so fast was enough to get Sonic on the internet to try and fine some kind of help for you. He knew there were many healthy ways to get you to follow a routine. Sonic tried giving you melatonin, it worked for a few months, but it strung you out fast and you needed more to be able to sleep properly, he tried getting you some tea, but those smelled and tasted to bad you'd puke it all up.

It felt hopeless, but he didn't wanna give up helping you. You meant too much to him, you were such a nice person, yet you had the worst problems. He didn't understand it, but that didn't stop him from helping you. "Hey! [Name], let's go for a race! Whoever loses has to buy us a chili dog" he'd try to tire you out, cut your screen time and do as much as he possibly can to help you sleep. It broke sonics heart to see you so tired and strung out all day, he doesn't want to intrude too much, but he'd do anything to see you in a happy state. Besides all the chaos, Sonic doesn't mind your attitude much. He finds it kind of funny when he sees you almost falling asleep on your desk while studying.

Overall, Sonic doesn't mind it too much but he still worries daily about you, about your health. No matter what, he'll stay by your side though. He finds it fun to stay with you during the day, your calm demeanor (maybe a side effect) is like a refreshment for him, but the sudden mood swings and headaches you complain about will always bring his worry back to bloom all over again

Shadow

Shadow is also a night owl! The sun is too blinding for his brooding behavior, he'd rather watch it fall and the moon come up to greet his cold demeanor once more. He's the ultimate lifeform so he doesn't need sleep that bad, but since you're a mortal you obviously need sleep. He finds this out a few weeks into your relationship (platonic or romantic) Since he's so stubborn, he gives you an ultimatum: "It's either you sleep or you sleep on the couch" that worked for a day or two, but your bad sleeping habits, caffeine addiction, etc. Would always lull you back into staying awake doing whatever you wanted, it was your alone time. He wouldn't take that away, Shadow understands what it's like wanting to have some alone time... But he still knew how harmful this was for you

Shadow started switching your coffee with decaffeinated alternatives. The first few nights were the most rough, your body was still getting used to and adjusting to this new schedule, which helped greatly! Instead of trying to use medicines or tiring you out, Shadow tries discrete methods and ways to get you to practice better habits. Shadow knows he might not be the best for this, but he will still try and help you nonetheless. Shadow does know that you don't exactly enjoy all of this frustration from your lack of sleep, but he's baffled to know that you don't actively try to find some solutions, he doesn't mean it in a bad way... At the same time it feels like he does get angry, not at you, but your lack of motivation to help yourself. The way you continually have to go take naps just not to pass out

Shadow doesn't believe in naps, he sees them as the average way to ruin your sleep schedule. When he sees how many small naps you take just to function, it makes him worried knowing you're so tired all the time. He sees the way you strain yourself everyday, every passing second of the day. Shadow tries his best to help you, he really does. Shadow isn't the best at communication, so he doesn't see that as an option. That won't stop him from helping a loved one, Shadow isn't a very open person, but his past trauma makes his overbearing nature show easily. If overbearing helps you sleep easy, he'll stay that way

[nerdbabee]

NATAL PLACEMENTS OBSERVATIONS —NERDBABEEE

NOTE: these are my own observations i’ve experienced with these placements/people this is not necessarily true for everyone so take what resonates & leave what doesn’t.

Mars in the 12th + Scorpio moon

i’ve noticed these placements are often susceptible to bad things happening to them almost immediately, I had a friend with these placements & i often consider these placements together as karma, with scorpio moon usually having a rough upbringing or experience a lot of criticism in their younger years these people often grow up to be just a critiquing to others as well, in return they experience bad luck in the areas they are criticizing (eg. my past friend would always critique others beauty & appearance & in return it would flip back on her, this also resulted in her crushes or boyfriends liking or falling for the women she would critique as well as if she critiqued another’s woman’s weight then her partners & boyfriends would easily be drawn into liking that part of whomever she’s criticizing yet it be result in the opposite for her)

Eg. she would critique someone’s weight i’ve also noticed her partners or people around her would then start to criticize hers as well*

NOTE: these are just observations based on both placements in the same chart, this can be different from everyone else ! this specifically applies to my mars in the 12th house people as y’all are very offended by everything i say.. unfortunately i don’t really have anything utterly good to say about you guys based on my experience with this placement.. i don’t dislike this placement i’ve just had bad experiences with them.

Gemini Rising + Sagittarius Sun

these people are quite sociable yet flaky, i’ve noticed with this pair they can be easily liked by others & socially accepted, it’s rare to see these people alone. the bad part of this pair if that they can’t function alone, one of my past friends had this placement & she was very insecure in terms of standing firm by herself, it’s almost like she never felt safe but ultimately these people are usually well liked and popular😭 they are fun asf too, very spontaneous & funny asf i absolutely adored this aspect of her as a friend she was literally the best person to be around literally.

sagittarius moon + sagittarius mars

these people are quick to call out somebody’s bullshit. When they see some unjust hanging around somewhere they will be speaking up about it. The people around them see them as a strong-willed people, someone who is never going to let anyone walk right over them. they are loyal to themselves and their friends, and if any of the people they care about gets harmed they always know that revenge is going to be bittersweet. they are people that others look up to, even those people you don’t believe ever would do. They wish they had the balls that these people seem to possess as long as they know them (for many of you this obviously isn’t true, you have learned to become like this, or forced to become like this)

Saturn in the 9th

When they are young they often experience many types of injustices that make them question the authorities. They may feel that good people are the worst off, they may feel separated by their way of seeing things, their attitude, their race, sexual orientation and even gender, and this gradually makes them lose faith in humanity. I have this placement & i also noticed others try to “prove me wrong” in regards to my knowledge as well, although they often end up being the wrong one it’s a frustrating experience

3rd house ruler in the 7th house

These natives may have many partners before getting married. And precisely because of these experiences many can perceive them as ���counselors of love.”, i have this placement & i often found myself giving my friends relationship advice A LOT!, If the ruler is badly aspected, this placement may have a bad relationship with their brothers, while if it is well aspected, they can enjoy a harmonious relationship with them, (eg. me and my brother no longer speak to one another & we are always arguing) & lastly these people can show interest in issues such as law and justice, they have very defined criteria and they will always do their best to defend those who are discriminated against or treated unfairly. (Eg. I’m a social science + Pre law major)

Pisces Sun + Capricorn mars + Saturn in 5th house

these natives are undeniably the most loyal & dedicated partners anyone can ask for, with their pisces influence they are very compassionate & standout to be the ideal partner for any romantic suitor interested in pursuing a connection with them. these people usually go through trials and tribulations regarding love but ultimately they end up with someone just as committed as they are, their partners tend to adore them & spoil them with a lot of gifts i’ve noticed, with the saturn in 5th house influence these people are disciplined and as they grow older become wiser in terms of love, these people deeply understand the meaning of love and how to express to their partners (note, i had the sweetest homegirl with this placement & she would constantly get hurt in love due to this Saturn in the 5th house influence but ultimately she ended up with someone who values her presence whole)

Aquarius Sun in 4th house + Scorpio Rising

These people are often quiet & very private. Usually their home life & romantic life are usually clandestine & hidden from the general public, often times with this placement lineup even their own friends & family see them as secretive & are often trying to discover more about their lives. These people are introverted with a tendency to retreat in the comfort in their own homes, they are often “homebodies” & prioritizing making their home their special sanctuary. these people can be interested in writing, psychology & cooking

ok , i’m done

[honey-on-your-tongue]

FWB

Part 8 Logan Howlett x fem!reader Series masterlist

two weeks ago

He’d run away. He’d disappeared. He’d turned his back on what scared him and he’d left.

He’d left you. There, in his bed, alone. He knew you’d probably wake up confused, unsure. You’d look for him, you’d call him. But he’d turned his phone off, he’d left no note, and he had absolutely no intention of going back.

It’s best if I just disappear, he convinces himself. It’s best if I’m not in her life. She’s better off…

He repeats that to himself, over and over again, until no amount of emotion could make him doubt it or wish it away.

But he misses you. Misses the scent of you, the way you’d look at him with eyes full of warmth, the way you’d bite down on his shoulder when he fucked you hard, the way your body fit against his while you cuddled. He misses everything about you, and it hurts. So bad. 

So he drowns it in alcohol, wills the world away.

He’s not exactly sure how or when or why he returns to the mansion. He just finds himself there again, standing in front of your bedroom door, his cock already hard just from the thought of fucking you.

He needs you so bad.

I’m not good for her. I should leave her be.

But, fuck, he can’t. He really, really wishes he was a better man. But he’s not. 

He bursts into your room, throws the door open and barges in just like he did in the beginning, just like his entire life has been. Him just barging in everywhere he’s not welcome, everywhere he hasn’t been invited, everywhere he doesn’t belong. Still, he does it and then he stays until he’s pushed past his welcome. 

Your sweet eyes find his and they light up. “Lo,” you say, and his resolve almost crumbles, his lust almost gives way to his heart. Almost. “Where’d you go? I woke up and—” 

“Yeah, I know,” he cuts in, shutting the door after himself. And I wasn’t there. And you were alone. And you realized you deserve better. And I know you’ll figure it out eventually. But, God, please, let me have one last moment with you. Please. 

It doesn’t take much convincing to get you into bed. In fact, it doesn’t take any convincing at all. You pretty thing, always so willing for him. He refuses to believe that you like him or, worse, that you love him. He tells himself he’s just good in bed, enough that you’re so enthusiastically giving yourself to him again. 

He ends up flipping you over, pushing your pretty face into the pillows and pulling your ass up. He fucks you hard and relentless, mind spinning as your warm, wet cunt accepts him in. 

I don’t deserve this.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, fingers digging into your hips, as he tries to push his thoughts away and focus on you. 

Your body jerks forward with every deep thrust he delivers, and he hopes he’s not hurting you. Although you keep whining and moaning, pretty pussy clenching around his cock, so he assumes you’re enjoying yourself. 

I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve her love. I don’t deserve to love her. She deserves better.

Every time his orgasm comes close, he can feel his guilt get the best of him, and it retracts him from the brink of pleasure.

“C’mon, c’mon!” he growls, willing his mind to shut the fuck up for a second so he can get his release before his conscience gets the better of him. 

To his grand relief, his body seems to have had enough edging and his cock twitches in you, his thick load spurting into you and his mind goes into blissful blankness for a full minute.

But the second he comes down from his high, he realizes what he’s just done, realizes that he’s come back to you, realizes that he’s exposing you to the hurt and that he’s betraying Jean’s memory and everything comes crashing down on him until he feels like he can’t fucking breathe—

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing. It’s like he watches his body take control of his mind. He pulls out of you and leaves you there, on the bed, without you having finished too. He climbs off the bed and scrambles for his clothes, quickly pulling them back on.

You glance at him over your shoulder, those soft, innocent eyes full of confusion and uncertainty. “Logan?”

He almost flinches at the sound of his name on your lips. “Gotta go,” he manages, glancing at the floor, not wanting to see the disappointment in your expression. He doesn’t want to see how he hurts you. 

A frown creases your eyebrows and he has the urge to kiss it away. But he holds back. “What?” you ask. “What are you talking about?”

I’m not good enough for you. Don’t you understand? You’re better off without me.

“I’m leaving,” he says, wishing he could offer more.

“Wh—? Is something wrong?”

He hates the way you sound so vulnerable, so unsure, the way he knows you’ll wonder if you messed up.

But it’s not you. It’s him. He just can’t tell you that.

He gives you a look and you fall silent, pulling the rumpled bed sheets up around your naked body.

“I’ll see you around,” he grumbles and heads for your bedroom door. It takes all his self-control to pull away from you, to leave and not run back, kneel at your feet, kiss your thighs and beg for your forgiveness.

She’s better off without me. 

---

Taglist

@nerrivm @rosiahills22 @d3vils-adv0c8 @thychuvaluswife @18lkpeters @daddy333 @e-nonsense @ch3rryblossms @ayamenimthiriel @thesecretlifeofmo @simming4sims @raideaters-blog @1cam8 @angelicbbsblog @giuliahowlett @lemonsquaredd @meadow-field @secretpandaconnoisseur @givenoutlaw @wunder-blunder @aredheadednerd @fictionalmen-dilflover @insanesociopath @m1cky-y-y @fictional-hooman @ion-even-know @znerac @steviebbboi @insanesosciopath @reidsworld @arrozconpepitoria @meadow-field @sir-thisisadndserver @wolviesgirl @rooroen @tezooks @nervousmumbling @sowhatariyana @mikyapixie @breezeybre @andmuzzlethat @takeyour-pants-off @manifester3 @ddwnghead 

---

Blog masterlist

[juliet-017]

Remunerate - L.B.

Bsf!Lorenzo Berkshire x fem!reader

Minors dni!

Warnings: first time, oral f!reciving, manipulative undertones, dubcon (reader is intoxicated), brief allusion of puke like one line, unprotected p n v

Synopsis: Lorenzo Berkshire was probably one of the best people you could even call your best friend. He was sweet, kind, funny, and sacrificed so much time just to make you feel special. Honestly, you felt like really.

a/n: This oneshot actually started out as a Draco one but as I got further in I realized it was actually very Enzo, especially with the undertones and such that I used to portray him. Hope you all enjoy! (Adding here that to my new follows that followed me bc of "Kisemis" (or anyone who liked it and is seeing this) to please comment over on it if you want to be tagged for part 2!! Thank you so so much!

1st divider creds: @d-oie

Wc: ~1.7k

One of the first things you recognized about Lorenzo Berkshire is that he was utterly obsessed with always having the absolute best—shiny, new, and expensive. Wanting to be the first to have something, he used his connections to do just that.

He denied being spoiled, and that he would always get what he wanted one way or another. But you knew better, often teasing him over it, feigning annoyance when he'd buy you anything. Any dress, skirt, or shoe you'd show even the slightest bit of interest in while looking over the news edition of Witches Weekly.

But that's what friends are for, right? Holding back hair when you get sick after a party, helping you change into something more comfortable, only to excuse himself right after every time before returning to help lull you into a peaceful sleep. You never heard about him doing this with other girls.

He could've been with anyone else, like how all of his mates would end up with a new girl practically every time, tangling in bed sheets after a long night of drinking and dancing. And he used to be like them, till you two became close. But no, more than half the time he was with you, catering to you. All fleeting and platonic touches.

Until tonight, just drunk enough to be clingy you hold onto Enzo’s arm like a lifeline, blabbering on about how amazing he is. How you don't know why he puts up with you.

He chuckles, brushing it all off playfully, till you prompt a more explicit question. “I just don't get why you spend time taking care of me instead of going off with other girls.” You whine, looking up at him through your lashes. “You could be out and having fun,” You continue. “I don't need you to babysit me, Enzo.”

“I never said you needed to be babysat,” He hums, guiding you up to your dorm. “I just wanted to do you a favor. It would be rude of me to leave you alone and sick, love.”

“You're too kind for your own good, Enz,” You slur, letting him open the door and close it behind you as you make your way to your bed, stumbling before landing harshly on it. “I just feel bad. You give and give but don't get anything.”

“Well, you're allowed to give too, Princess. You know that, right?” He hums brushing your hair out of your face before kneeling and helping you take your heels off. You blush, shifting your weight some.

“Well… I mean yeah..” You reply quietly, recognizing him going through the usual motions of the night. You comply, helping him with stripping you. “I just..” Your voice trails, spotting the bulge in his trousers for the first time after one of the escapades. After a few moments it clicks, Would he actually go through all of this just to sleep with you?

You shake your head, clearing it of that thought. Enzo wouldn't do that. He's kind, a total sweetheart. He'd do anything for you, right?

He returns from your dresser, having grabbed a nightgown which he helped slip over your head. You can't help but eye his groin again, yep.. definitely hard.

Lorenzo grinned, cocky as ever. “My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” He taunts, looking down at you and taking your chin to lift your gaze. Your mind feels fuzzy, as if he’s looking at you in a whole new light.

“Duh.. I know that.” You murmur, trying to think of how to word it. “But I was just thinking about how you said I can give too.. and uhm… I think I want to.” You continue, averting his gaze slightly.

He chuckles, causing you to chuckle in turn. “Oh darling, you don't have to. I don't want you to regret it, after all you haven't done anything like this before from what I know.” He starts, voice honeyed, eyes wide and sweet.

“But you do all of this for me when you could just ignore it. I'd feel bad if I knowingly left you like that.” You interrupt, pouting slightly. “And after all… I wouldn't mind you being my first.”

“Sweet girl, you can't be serious.” He tsks, shaking his head and taking a step back and observing you.

“I am serious, Enz. Other girls talk about you all the time, and your my best friend. I just.. want to know what I'm missing. That's all.” You argue, looking up at him still. “Please?” You press, softly. “I'm not dumb, I know what sex is. And if I'm going to have it I want it to be with someone I trust.”

He hums, a huff of amusement escaping him. “Only if you're sure.” He mumbles, dropping your chin, stripping himself of his shirt. You nod, eyes roaming over his abs.

It's not like you haven't seen them before. But it felt different with the current undertones, the dark room and the wetness growing between your thighs. “Go and rest up by the headboard, love,” He instructs, you nod gently and comply.

It feels unfair that he's practically naked, save his boxers, and you're covered in a nightgown. But that doesn't last long.

Enzo starts at the foot of the bed, peppering kisses up your ankle slowly working his way to your knee and onwards. He nips occasionally, making you whine and jolt. He smirks against your skin, continuing and stopping just short of where you need him most. Your hips buck slightly and he can't help but chuckle some.

“Are you absolutely sure about this, love?” He asks again. You wonder if he's teasing, or is actually wondering, but you nod feeling far too needy to speak.

You feel him pulling your panties off, tossing them off to the side somewhere, your thighs ending up on either side of his shoulders. You tense, anxiety hitting you before he gives your needy clit a soft peck.

He starts small and delicate, gently alternating between licking stripes down your pussy and sucking on your clit. Your hands digging into his hair and pulling at his scalp as you writhe in his grip, his hands firmly grasping your waist in order to hold you still. “So sweet.” He hums against your core, the vibrations only driving you crazy.

Unexpectedly you feel him withdrawal, a whimper turning into a gasp when he slips a finger into you, slowly pumping it before giving your clit some attention.

Moaning softly you can't help but buck your hips slightly, feeling pressure grow in your lower stomach. “Mm, Enzo- I'm gonna…” You whine, flushed. “ ‘m so close.”

He gently adds another finger, bringing you even closer, making you an utter mess. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

Your back arches slightly, trying to hold on for a bit longer only to crash down, pleasure blinding you as your body goes slack.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of you, making you clench around the loss, shivering. Propping yourself up on your elbows you look down at him, about to clean off his fingers in his mouth before raising a brow and bringing them to your own lips. You hesitate before opening your mouth just enough for him to fit his fingers, and he does.

You swirl your tongue, tasting yourself. “Such a filthy girl… who would've thought it just took some drinking and trust to turn you into this.” Enzo murmurs.

He presses down on your tongue, fingers making you gag before he withdraws them. “Wish that was my cock in your mouth instead,” He growls, pulling himself up to be more even with your face, slipping his boxers off in the process.

Flushed you try to think of a response, squirming under his touch. Any words you wanted to say were cut off by him. “So responsive…” he purrs, burying his face into your neck, softly biting and sucking in order to mark you up.

He teases you with his tip, running it between your folds and drawing a high pitched moan from you. Bucking your hips, looking up at him. “Enz, please… I want- I need-.” You grumble pathetically, whining.

“Fucked out already and I hardly did anything.” He taunts, clicking his tongue and shaking his head before slowly entering you, watching your expression slowly shift as you take him.

Bottoming out he can't help but watch you, face screwed up as you adjust. “Look at me, love.” He whispers, pecking your forehead before slowly moving in and out of you.

“Enzo, mh- feel so full.” You moan, adjusting to the stretch still. “Fuck, please.” You mutter incoherently, watching your best friends face as he fucks you, clearly holding back. “More.”

He can't help but pick up the pace at that, the sound of moans and skin slapping echoing throughout the empty room. His head dips down, grunting into your ear as your hands wrap up around his back and dig into his skin.

“S’tight squeezing around me,” Lorenzo grunts into your ear, trying a new angle and helping your legs to wrap around his waist to hit you even deeper. “so good for me.”

One of his hands playing with you tit over your nightgown, only deepening your pleasure. “Wanna feel you come ‘round my cock.” He pants, his free hand moving down to swirl around your clit, causing your back to arch as you scratch him up even more. Heat coiled in your stomach as you give your best attempt to meet his thrusts.

Balancing on the edge you dig into his shoulder blades, feeling his thrusts become more sloppy as he twitches inside of you.

It's enough to send you barreling off the edge, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, feeling him fuck you through your high before the spassming of your walls sends him over his own edge. His cum spurting deep inside of you as he collapses on top of you, both sweaty and panting.

Eventually he pulls out of you, rolling the both of you over so you can rest your head on his chest.

If not for that you’d’ve missed the smug look on his face. A smirk of someone that looks as if they've just won the Quidditch World Cup. You're too drunk and fucked out to care, hearing him murmur what you assume to be a charm to clean the pair of you up before subcomming to sleep.

[witchinatree]

magnus protocol episode 31 ramble

this is THE most back we've ever been yall. ever.

gonna start doing the cut for spoilers btw i think

i missed this intro so damn bad ohhhhh my god geeking OUT

why did he pronounce compartmentalizing like that is that a brit thing

IT'S ONLY A HAND HELPPPP i fucking knew it gang. i told you. i told you fr.

this is horrifying thanks!!!!! colin is in the computer now

lena come BACK lena come BACKKKKK

the hand is gone the hand is gone

"i am in charge" gwen pls

it can open its own damn cases i guess

JMJ EQUALS NULL??? hey becher though

it recorded what happened to colin oh no :(

HOLY FUCKING SHIT HOLY WHATTTTTTRT OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL

??????THEY DELETED COLIN IN THE COMPUTER??????? DOES THIS EVEN COUNT AS DEATH

i guess it does

gwen. dawg.

the lie noise on "i'm sure we can leave"

"she's gone home" which home....

gwen's holding it together skills are really good is she okay internally

the fear in her voice when alice left her in there alone for a sec okay yeah she's not

SAM?? SAM??? SAM OH MY GOD

was that helen or am i tripping

i heard the door and the echo oh my god sam are you okay honey

celia and jack :(

the lie on sam will be okay wtf help celia pls

i appreciate alice going by herself gwen would be too harsh

see this sounds like what teddy tried to do and i'm not hearing an update for my blog

alice you can't go after him queen

gwen LEAVE the building get OUT of there leave the building leave the building leave the building get out of there get out of there get out of there wait OUTSIDE girlie

back to sam? is it the archivist following him or what?? SAMMMMM THEY FOUND HIM OMG so okay post mag200 is hell! NO FUCKING CIRCUSI KUSOIC

georgie <33

DON'T ASK QUESTIONS

we're back to sam so quick omg anyway what have they done to him

please be basira melanie and or georgie

YESSSSSSS IT'S GEORGIE

WELCOME BACK ARCHIVES GEORGIE BARKER

awe gertrude the vehicle

the domain trauma reference too omg

sam are you okay man holy shit also georgie i needed you to clock the celia reference

celia tell the TRUTH i fear. the final girls need to stick together like the archives ones

do not touch your email this office is paper only okay

the lie on "didn't eat colin" and "we can maintain business as usual"

yeah i'd quit and also take gwen with me this is the end of it for me

celia you're correct get out get out get out take them and.. ok i guess..

the lie on i am very busy LMFAOOO

the archivist oh shit this guard is so fucked i think oh shit she's gonna fall in to finish the balance oh my god ??? oh MY GOD

the eye reference

oh? she knew the magnus institute

she must've been in the london watcher domain omg

dawg

this domain sounds horrifying but like a degree funnier than the other ones we know

"the archivist died" WHAT.

ohh ok so everything is contained to london and the rest is rebuilding ooook

oh no :(

my god! but also she's a badass

rip heidi

THAT'S THE END WTFFFFFFF

[sharksfrommars]

what if the pines family were cursed to have constantly terrible love lives.

like Filbrick pissed on some ancient enchantress so bad that she decided to curse the bloodline. That’s why no pines can get a date that lasts.

wrote this a while ago on the tube. Please steal the idea and run with it. Idk if I’m gonna…

The love curse

Dipper wanted to ask Pacifica Northwest out. They’d been friends for 4 years, texted all the time, and they kept having these intimate moments that ended in awkwardness. Pacifica even said she’d be upset if Dipper dated someone else! It was practically a done deal.

Except every time he tried to ask her out, something went comically wrong. The first time, at the beginning of the summer, dipper was about to ask, when Stan came out completely naked. Apparently, he’d pissed off a gang of pixies, who kept stealing Stan’s clothes as he was putting them on. Needless to say, it ruined the moment.

The second time, they were at the lake. It was just Dipper and Pacifica, a nice quiet day. But just as the sun was setting and Dipper was about to ask, the Gobblewonker decided to take a bite out of the boat, and they had to swim to shore. The gobblewonker barely came out in the day! It was absurd!

Then there was the time with the gnomes, that one time a piano fell out of nowhere, when Ford accidentally set the stanleymobile on fire, when that witch decided to turn pacifica into a tapeworm… it was frankly ridiculous how many things kept getting in their way. After the 27th time, Dipper had had enough.

“I don’t get it, Mabel!” Dipper said, pacing around their room, “Yesterday, i tried to ask her out and I was STRUCK BY LIGHTNING!  It wasn’t even raining! It’s like I’m cursed or something!”

Mabel was dressing up waddles as she considered this. “maybe you ARE cursed, dip!”

Dipper stopped pacing and turned to Mabel.

“OF COURSE! That’s the ONLY. Possible explanation! Someone or something must be pissed that I’m trying to ask Pacifica out!” Dipper resumed his pacing. “But who…”

Mabel looked at dipper with wide eyes. “I have an idea, dipper! The Woodstick Festival is back in town next week, and guess who’s going to be there” Mabel shoved a poster in Dipper’s face. He grabbed it and then looked at Mabel.

“The love god? Doesn’t he hate you for stealing his potion or something?”

Mabel waved him off.

“Pffft water under the bridge, brother. We can ask him for advice on whatever love curse you got!”

So the next day, the two went looking for the Love God. It wasn’t hard, they just had to follow the trail of kissing teens to greasy’s. They sat opposite from him, uninvited, and gave him a look.

“Ah, you kids looking for some love?” Love god said. Dipper glared, and Mabel stuck out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Mabel! Big fan of your work!”

“I know you! You stole my love potion!”

Mabel looked away sheepishly. “ uh… sorry about that. I realised it was a bad idea pretty quick. Anyway my brother needs your help!”

Love god turned to look at Dipper. He gave him a charming grin. “How can I help you, kid! You seem like you would be into …” Love God closed his eyes and wiggled his fingers, “…lumberjacks and mean girls. I can do that in a heartbeat, just say the word!”

Dipper blushed. “Um no thanks, mr Love God. Actually I think I’m cursed.”

“Ahh” replied Love God, “I see what’s going on. Look, kid, it’s normal for boys your age to feel like you’re cursed when It comes to lo-“

“Like actually cursed! Not just bad at talking to women!” Said dipper. The love god gave him a strange look. 

“Kid I’m telling you, it’s probably nothing.”

Dipper sighed. “Can you just check! Please, then we’ll leave you alone.”

The love god sighed and held out his hand. Warily, dipper took it. Love God sprayed some blue liquid onto dippers face and waved his arms around. He looked confused, so he did it again. And again. He then let go of dipper’s hand.

“What is it?” Asked dipper. Love God ignored him and turned to Mabel.

“Give me your hand…”

Mabel offered it and Love god did the same to Mabel. He gave both of them a grave look.

—————————

“Our bloodline is cursed?!” Cried Ford at dinner that night. 

“That’s what the love god said” dipper said with a sigh, “cursed to have terrible love lives.”

“Honestly, that explains some things” said Stan.

“The worst part” cried Mabel, “is that we can’t break it without figuring out who cast it! How am I supposed to find the perfect boyfriend like this!” She cried into the table. Ford got a look of consideration on his face, before he pulled out the second journal.

“Don’t worry kids, we can summon the person who cast the curse with this Curse Tracing spell I found in the 70s! It will bring them here, and then we can demand they break it!”

So half an hour later, the Pines’ were standing in a circle, chanting something in Latin.

—————

the idea I had was that the Pines (read: Stan) have to reconcile with all their exes before the curse is lifted. I think it would be funny. But please! Steal the idea! Make it your own! I want other people’s ideas constantly.