#of them have had the space or time to process either of these things.

[animeomegas]

could you feed us some general malleus nesting headcanons my liege

Hmm, I suppose I can indulge you~ Also, this turned out so long haha, sorry!

Malleus nesting headcanons

The first idea that came to mind was that dragon fae nest in piles of gold haha. But probably not.

Briar Valley fae don't nest as a standard. Their nests are for their partners, their eggs, and their children.

(I think this is especially cute when you think about Lilia having to make one for the first time to raise Silver, and trying to make it more suitable for human children.)

But regardless, a Briar Valley fae will likely not build their first nest until they have a serious committed partner.

Seeing as fibre spinning is so sacred there, I imagine that the alpha will either commission or perhaps make some yarn for the omega that they are courting, and then craft it into something for their nest.

This could be anything from a small, handkerchief sized pieced of material, to a massive blanket depending on the skill/resources available to the alpha.

Presenting it to an omega is a sign of wishing to officially mate for life.

If the omega accepts, they then build their first nest.

It's an arduous process, it can take weeks or months. It must include the material spun for them, and often includes a bunch of shiny things, trinkets, and often even plants.

They are not generally as comfortable as nest made by human omegas, but there is still space to lay.

When the nest is ready, the omega will present it to their alpha. It's a massive moment in the relationship.

So, speaking of Malleus specifically, he doesn't have a nest until his alpha is ready to move to the next stage. He didn't get to use his mother's one as a child, and Lilia didn't have one until Silver came into the picture, although I'm sure Malleus has at least seen it a handful of times, and rested in it on occasion.

But Malleus is ready to move to forever mates almost immediately once he has someone that he likes. Once an alpha that he likes is in his life, he immediately decides that they are soulmates.

Every gift his alpha gives him is treasured and loved, but every time there's a little piece of him that is disappointed that it wasn't something they spun by hand.

He's patient... but he's ready whenever they are.

And once he finally gets that hand spun yarn in whatever form it comes, he's... it's everything to him. He's so excited, he's so touched and deeply emotional.

It could be the size of a fingernail, or a blanket big enough to cover the entirety of his castle, it doesn't matter to him.

It DOES matter to Sebek though, fair warning. He does not think that anything less than the biggest show of devotion is good enough for Malleus.

It takes him months of work to get his nest ready.

Malleus goes through countless highs and lows during the process, and there are many short storms that plague the area during this time.

He just wants to make it perfect. And he doesn't know what he's doing.

He gets advice from everyone. Especially Lilia though, as the only one to have built one himself. This goes double if his alpha is a human, because Lilia had to make a nest for a human as well, and he doesn't wish to put anything in there that may harm them.

In the end, he fills it with gargoyles of all shapes and sizes, of course. But thanks to Lilia, there is at least a soft space to lay in the middle. He also puts almost every gift his alpha has given him in there.

I think it would be supremely cute if his alpha gifted him a cuddly gargoyle toy so that he could put it prime and centre in his nest without compromising on the softness.

Fae aren't really concerned with texture, they just want their nest filled with the stuff they like, with precious things and trinkets.

Imagine the moment Malleus is inviting his alpha to see his nest for the first time though.

He's practically vibrating with nerves and excitement. He's standing next to it, with his hands behind his back, watching intently for their reaction.

And his alpha has to lavish it in praise, inspect every section, tell him what they like about it, feel some of the materials, and then formally ask for permission to enter. It could take an hour to fulfil the proper amount of praise and inspection, but this is a big moment!!

Once they ask, he grants permission, guiding them personally into his nest while they still ooh and ahh over how wonderful it is. Malleus is preening, staring at his alpha with love in his eyes and soul.

Fae are extremely protective over their nests, so while Malleus doesn't use it himself without the presence of his alpha, he defends it with his life.

Attempting to find or enter a fae's nest is essentially having a death wish.

It is a sacred space for him, because it's a demonstration of his love and commitment to his mate. And there's nothing more important to him than that!

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur kept his eyes on the man, attentive in a way that suggested archiving more than just listening. Arthur couldn’t help but find himself caught on the one phrase, the statement that the subject felt as if he were ‘everywhere’; not only was it poetic, it was structurally interesting. A statement of dispersed identity, of being smeared across the system rather than localized to a self. 

He wasn’t located in his chest. He was his entire body? He was the space that he took up? 

The last question only barely pulled him more than that; it caused an outward shift, a reaction without Arthur meaning to give one. 

Is being something undesirable? 

Arthur’s head disconnected from the wall, though neither in alarm or concern; it was something closer to alertness as his eyebrows pinched, head tilting. An experiment that had shifted in an unexpected direction. 

He rolled his shoulders, folding his hands in his lap and leaning back once more against the wall. “That’s the second time you’ve circled back,” he pointed out, his tone even. “I find that interesting. I’m going to make a note of that, as well.” 

He didn’t write, however, his fingers instead interlacing loosely. They formed an absent-minded steeple, his posture remaining still but the air around his thoughts coiling slightly. 

“You’re right, yes. I did say that. That’s a very important distinction, especially to the people who are funding this room.” He raised a hand to gesture around them, though didn’t elaborate further; he was getting paid to make the determination. He was getting paid to figure out what had happened to Kane, and what this thing was in front of him - and that was an important step in the process. 

“The difference between someone and something only defines what can be done to you. What rights you have. What… protections you can be afforded. If you are someone, then you need to be understood, and you can be worked with. If you are something, you can be studied. Dissected. Replicated. Archived.” 

There wasn’t any cruelty in the words - it was just truth. It was an offering. 

“But you aren’t asking me about ethics, I presume. You’re asking about whether it’s worse to be something, to exist without the burden of being someone. And that’s a much older question - one that humans don’t normally like to ask. I can’t really tell you if it’s better to be someone or to be something. I don’t think that has an answer.” 

It was objective. ‘Good’ and ‘bad’ were relative terms, and therefore it was impossible for anything to truly ‘be’ either. Something could not be a temporary title. If something was ‘good’ or ‘bad’, it was only a state of being, similar to identity. 

“Something can execute tasks,” he stated. “It can respond to input, it can observe, it can imitate. Programs do that. Viruses do that. They operate. Sometimes efficiently - sometimes brilliantly. But they don’t choose to operate. They run because they were made to run. Someone is different. They can reflect, they can override, they can stop. They can hesitate. They can wonder if they should do the thing they were made to do. That’s the distinction I’m looking for - because as I see it, presently, I have three theories.” 

He shifted slightly, one finger lifting up to mark each point in turn, like lining hypotheses in the air. 

“One: you are Kane. Not precisely the same, of course - altered, perhaps radically - but at your core, you are still the man who entered the Shimmer. A continuity of self, disrupted, perhaps moved into a new body, but not severed. That would suggest trauma, mutation, adaptation. I don’t believe this is the case.” 

A second finger, his hand falling to rest against his knee. 

“Two: you are not Kane. You are a separate being - an alien intelligence, perhaps - attempting to mimic him. You have access to his patterns, his speech, his gestures - but the man himself is gone. What is left is a reflection made in glass. Something… curious, maybe. Something learning.” 

A breath, paired with the raising of the third finger. 

“Three: you are neither. You are not Kane. You are not an alien. You are a process. A function. A virus, or something close to it - code that imprinted into matter, following the order to relocate. You do not understand what you are because you aren’t meant to understand - you’re a consequence of what the Shimmer made.” 

His money was on the third option. It made the most sense, it followed the most patterns; it made sense for what all was recovered from the location in the first place. A substance that could copy and remix whatever data was put into it; DNA, memory, anything. The only oddity about it was how perfect of a copy Kane appeared to be - though even that could be explained with statistics. 

“Does that make sense, to you?” 

Assembling he is, Dr. Harrow might be right with that one - collecting information, assembling, putting together, creating something new. Copying, mimicking, gathering and picking; Instinct causes it to happen, instinct causes him to be.

Perhaps this is precisely it, the very essence of... it. Of him. Of Kane who is not Kane, but at the same time is Kane. He exists, he is aware of concepts, aware of how Kane functions and behaves, and yet he isn't, not completely, not enough; The blueprint is a theory made of collected and gathered information, based on what had been seen, experienced, witnessed, consumed, built upon.

And yet, Kane who knows how to feel, who also doesn't know how to feel, struggles to understand what this is. Feelings. Emotions. It all is so very clear and makes sense in one way, yet he's left wondering in another.

Lips press into a tight line once more, teeth clenching, jaw working, sliding left and right as that gaze flicks away, thoughtful, thinking. Kane knows how to think now, he is thinking, he understood the concept to the fullest; Thoughts appear inside his head, that's what it is, and he pieces them together or watches them float away, feels bothered by others.

---Feels. He feels. Is he feeling? Perhaps... he is feeling.

Maybe there is more to feeling than this, the hand resting on his chest. That sensation existing inside his chest is there, maybe he's sick again? No, that had felt different. It had felt painful.

Kane, it, not Kane but also Kane, had felt pain not too long ago, he remembers. A memory, fresh and recent, a real one, he suddenly gains access to: After finding Lena, after fulfilling his mission, doing the one thing Kane had asked him to do before ending its own identity, he'd felt pain. It had stretched through the whole of his body, had pulled and tugged; Back then he wasn't aware of it being what it was - pain - but now he is. He'd felt pain, then he'd felt nothing, cannot remember anything that happened after a distinct taste coated his tongue - and now here he is.

What he feels right now, inside his chest, isn't pain. Not the same pain as what he'd gone through before. This is... different.

A blink, eyes back on the other being currently existing within this room, hand falling back onto his lap, away from the clothed dip of his sternum.

"I am everywhere, I think." It's hard for Kane to imagine his mind, his existence, to be focused on one part of this body alone. He might be there, but maybe he's also somewhere else - inside the head, the brain, the lungs? "...But I think I feel... ---I think I feel... more, in my chest. No pain, I have felt it before, it was different."

He feels. Kane thinks he's feeling, yes.

Thinking, Feeling. And maybe... maybe it's an emotion---

"---Is being something... undesirable?"

A sudden jump back to something said earlier, something that seems to keep nagging at him, his conscience; Kane, not Kane, it, keeps remembering a certain sentence that has been said by that man in front of him, and that memory wants to be let out.

"You said you want to find out if someone is in here---" A gesture follows, a finger stretching and pointing at the body, the chest, "...Or if there's only something instead. Only. You phrased it that way." Is this why he feels that pressure?

[kismetconstellations]

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart) x.

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

The First Meet Self-Aware!Sylus

Is it still kidnapping if you’re in love with him? Yes. It is. Welcome to the N109 Zone get comfortable baby

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Self-Aware!Sylus who can call anywhere home, but is becoming less and less interested in the N109 zone because you’re not there “Well you can’t come here” “Why not?” “You’re not real Sylus how would you come here?” he turns tapping his chin as if he's actually trying to figure out a way to access your world “You could come here”

Sylus wouldn’t out right say it, but he was desperate to have you in his arms it just never seemed possible. There was nothing either of you could do so you settled for a love that would end tragically because you just couldn’t let him go. You found yourself daydreaming constantly about spending your days with him. What it would be like to hold his hand instead of your phone. To caress his cheek and feel his warmth in the palm of your hand. You gave yourself butterflies just imagining him melting into your touch.

Just him.

“You’re spacing out Princess” You slightly jumped at the sound of his voice. You glanced down at the celery you were mindlessly chopping. “Shit I didn’t mean to dice it” You huffed and scraped it onto the pan anyway; there was no way you were going back to the store right now. You looked back at Sylus who was casually sitting on his couch watching a musical. Sometimes it really made you feel crazy seeing him like this. Not the in-game repeated movements that he was programmed to do, but fluid movement and everyday life activities. It really felt like you were talking to a person and not just code in a game. “What are you watching?”

Sylus hummed off key as he answered “Heathers” You giggled at the fact that the big bad Onychinus leader watches musicals in his living room during his free time. “You should join me” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and smiled to himself like there was some inside joke you didn’t catch. “Only in our dreams” You smiled at him, but it was somber the reality of your relationship always made you a little sad yet here you were doing nothing to end it. You turned back to stir the vegetables you had sautéing because the last thing you need is for them to overcook.

That's when you heard the clearest voice in your ear “Just dreams?” You spun around rapidly flinging food in the process. Your heart pounded against your chest as you scanned the empty kitchen looking for any other sign of life. You immediately swapped out the spoon for the knife you had just minutes earlier. “Sylus please tell me you heard that”

Silence.

You glanced at your phone and saw that the screen was off. “Is there a fucking demon in my house right now?” You snatched your phone ready to call a friend to come over, but your efforts were thwarted when a band of silky red and black mist wrapped around your wrist wrenching you backwards. “I’ve been called worse”

You breath hitched causing you to choke on your own spit as you came face to face with Sylus. Are you going crazy? You struggled against his evol that felt like what you could only describe as smoke with density. “I must be hallucinating” You’ve imagined having this man in front of you for months, but you had no idea he would be this terrifying in person. It felt like you were standing before a hungry wolf that wouldn’t second guess snapping your neck. Why was his demeanor so damn scary? Before you could even process what was happening Sylus grabbed you buy the waist and pulled you close to him. “I’m sorry Princess but this is probably going to hurt”

“Wha-” Pain seared through you in an instant like lightning and fire at once. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as it felt like your vocal cords were singed to a crisp. The pain was unbearable it changed from searing to pins and needles almost like little pieces of you were splitting apart. You couldn’t handle it and your vision went dark as you passed out.

You came too slowly, groaning as you stretched your limbs on a stiff mattress. You sat up slowly realizing you were fine. Rolling your shoulders and rubbing your legs you were sure whatever that was must have just been a terrible dream. Maybe? “I knew I was dreaming” you couldn’t explain the amount of pain you felt though. You turned and noticed instead of your usual view of your room you were looking out amongst a vast dark city. “Where-”

“What do you think?” a voice said in your ear causing your fight or flight to kick in. You pulled your legs under yourself and swung your fist as hard as you could in the direction of the voice. The person groaned at the contact and you reached for the nearest object you could find which was a lamp and swung it, but your wrist was caught mid air and you were disarmed with ease. Within seconds you were pinned down on the mattress.

Your eyes widened in shock when you realized who was holding you down “Sylus?” He was just as intimidating as he was in your dream. Or was it a dream? “You’re not dreaming” Sylus squeezed your wrist tightly “Ow stop stop it hurts” he raised an eyebrow as his lip quirked up “See?” You rolled your eyes he was way too amused with your reaction for your liking. “We need to work on that right hook of yours it's a little weak” He can’t be serious right now you just punched him in his jaw and tried to beat him over the head with a lamp and the first thing he thinks of is training your punches to get better? Typical.

Sylus couldn’t help but, chuckle at your expression with your brows furrowed and your lips curled in frustration. “I wish you could see yourself right now” You pushed his face away with your free hand irritated with him for causing you that much pain.

“I wish you would get a new mattress why is this bitch so stiff my fucking back hurts” You squirmed underneath him. He inhaled a sharp breath making you freeze realizing the position you were in; he was nestled perfectly between your legs with one hand pinned above your head. Suddenly there was a knock at the door “Boss we heard some commotion are you okay?” Sylus rolled his eyes “I’m fine. Leave.”

“Yes boss” The sound of footsteps retreated until there was silence again. Sylus looked down at you furrowing his brows, this time is was your turn to smirk. “Don’t say it” He warned. Your lips quivered as you tried to stop your smile from forming “Are those my boys?” Sylus gave you a bored look before rolling his eyes at you as well. “Do you know how hard it was to bring you here Princess? You’re more excited for Luke and Kieran than me” Sylus expression seemed irritated, but the look in his eyes was pouty. You had Sylus jealous of his own men now that was an ego boost. You squirmed in his hold again trying to free yourself. “This is a lot for me Sylus you have some explaining to do" You kicked your legs like a toddler trying to sit up once again "And let me get up your mattress is not comfortable!”

Sylus huffed at your commands, but of course he listened getting up and pulling you with him. He had you straddle his lap with his hands gently placed on your waist. “Is this more comfortable?” He leaned back against the headboard his eyes traveling up and down your body. Based on the look in his eyes it was almost as if even he couldn’t believe you were not only in front of him, but on top of him at the moment.

“No! w-well y-yea but-” You cut yourself off to save face. This man really had you stuttering like porky the pig. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as best as you could. “How the actual fuck am I here right now Sylus”

“Energy manipulation is stronger than you think” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“If you turn something into pure energy it can travel wherever you want it to even into as you call it a game world” His words bounced around in your head as you tried to make sense of them. What does he mean energy can travel anywhere. Then it hit you. The searing pain, pins and needles, the black out. “You turned me into pure energy to bring me here?!” You screamed in his face.

“Something like that” He replied in a bored tone “The shopkeeper said it should only hurt the first time” You rubbed your temples just trying to stay calm, how were you supposed to be okay with the fact that you were seemingly ripped apart and put back together inside of a damn game. You felt Sylus shifting underneath you and his hands running up your sides. “Tell me” he tilted your chin down so he could look you in the eye. “Are you not happy to have me like this?” he wrapped his arms around your waist while he rested his chin on your chest. “I can hear your heart beating fast”

“Of course I'm happy to see you” You cradled his face in your hands and he immediately melted into your touch. It was even better than you imagined it would be. His eyes closed and you could feel the satisfying hum that rumbled in his chest. You stared in awe at the sight before you; he was really melting because of you. He opened his eyes and dropped his gaze to your lips causing them to part “Prove it.”

You didn’t need to be a genius to know he wanted a kiss. You two spend many nights talking about it. He made you promise that if you ever actually met him the first thing you would do is kiss him. That promise was clearly broken since the first thing you did was punch him in the face. His lips looked so soft and full you didn’t hesitate to lean in and Sylus met you half way. It lasted no longer than three seconds before you pulled away. “What's wrong?" You shook your head and looked away “Nothing you’re just making me nervous”

You had no time to prepare yourself as Sylus slammed you back on your back and pressed his lips to yours in a heated kiss. Your eyes bugged out of your head before slightly rolling back as you gave into him. He nipped at your bottom lip and shoved his tongue in when you opened up for him. You thought he would be more rough, but he was actually so gentle. He kissed you like he was trying to perfectly mold your mouth to only fit his. No more like it was already made to fit only him. You wrapped you arms around his neck and snaked one hand up the back of his head tugging the hair at the nape. He smiled against your lips “Do that again” he whispered, hooking your leg over his hip. You tugged even harder this time relishing in the satisfied groan he let out.

You could do this for hours, but you had too many questions. You pulled his head away trying to catch your breath. “We’re not done talking Sylus” He sucked his teeth and sighed heavily as he sat up. This time he didn’t pull you onto his lap he helped you sit up and fixed your shirt that was riding up from him almost removing it. “Ask your questions” He leaned back against the headboard with his arms crossed. You couldn’t help, but giggle at the slight pout he was failing to hide. "For starters where can we buy a softer mattress?"

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[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Cards and Casts

Part five of The Rain series

Synopsis: Ace and Deuce's visits to The Prefect in the infirmary after Ramshackle's collapse

TW: Aftermath of Ramshackle collapsing on The Prefect, Ace is out of it, Deuce is (more) all over the place than usual (in a trying to process things kinda way)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (here), Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (coming soon), . . .

The next person to come and visit you was Ace.

The moment the news had been announced, Ace was already booking it to sign up to see you. At the time, it hadn't yet been announced that the further up on the list you were, the sooner you'd get to see The Prefect; Ace was just desperate to sign his name as soon as he could. It was almost as if he thought doing so would in a way prove that he did care. That it would redeem him for not being there when you needed him. That it would make him feel less guilty.

A knock was heard from the other side of the infirmary door. You had been told that your next visitor would be ace, but Ace never knocked.

You rand the little bell next to your bed to tell whoever it was to come in (you had a bell because you couldn't yet raise your voice much).

An unfamiliar boy walked through the door. His hair was a ruffled mess, his clothes were wrinkled, and there were dark circles under his eyes. It took you a moment to realize it was actually Ace who stood before you. He looked like a mess. He didn't even have his signature red heart painted on his face.

The smile he gave you looked strained, but you didn't comment on it.

You ended up having to beckon the boy closer after he had been standing in the doorway for a good five minutes. He dropped his shoulders and basically hobbled to your bedside. He nearly toppled over as he tried to take a seat, but caught himself at the last moment.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

"I. . .I brought cards."

And so, that's how you ended up playing a few games of Rummy with him. But he was still off. He was playing like an absolute novice. He was letting you win. He NEVER lets you win.

Eventually, you had had enough, and you set down your cards with a scuffed huff. He didn't even notice!

You carefully reached up a hand and pushed his cards down onto the bed and he just let them tumble.

"Ace." Your voice was gruff, but still somehow airy.

"Oh, uh, yeah?" Ace seemed to snap out of a trance. . .well, more like slowly drift out of.

You tried to meet his eyes, but he refused to look directly at you. You thought about asking if he was okay, but the answer to that question was pretty obvious. You didn't ask him what was wrong for the same reason. Instead, you took a deep breath and held it as you painfully shifted over in the bed. You did your best not to make a noise as not to worry the already clearly upset boy.

Ignoring your screaming body, you mustered your best smile (your bandages kept it from reaching your eyes though) and gently patted the space next to you on the bed.

Ace gave you a hesitant look, but you just patted the space again to tell him it was okay. He wouldn't hurt you simply by sitting next to you.

When he finally did sit next to you, you let your head rest against his shoulder. Neither of you spoke

Tick Tick Tick Tick

When the silence was finally broken it was with a single mumbled word: "sorry."

"Hm?" you coughed.

". . .I-I'm sorry." His voice wasn't much louder, but you could hear it this time.

You slowly picked your head up and looked at him incredulously "What for?"

"I wasn't there."

"You knew Ramshackle would collapse?"

"No, I-"

"If you were there, you would have gotten hurt too."

"No! I could have helped. . .I could have-"

"No. No, you couldn't."

He went silent and his face fell before tightening slightly in the way it does only when someone is on the verge of tears.

"Nobody could have stopped it after it started. Nobody could have made it out in time either." Your voice reduced to a croak, but you continued. "You didn't know the dorm would collapse. It's not your fault-"

"Still!" His voice raised and a waver in his tone became apparent "If I was there, I-"

"Would have gotten hurt too. Then I would be too worried about you to do any healing myself." You could tell your voice wouldn't hold out much longer, so you said one more thing: "It's not your fault. You're doing all you can now by being here and being safe. Thank you."

Tears dripped steadily from the boy's face, but he didn't make a sound.

You lightly took his hand in yours, and you sat like that for hours. Together and safe.

Deuce walked in not long after Ace left.

He walked into the room silently and took a seat next to your bed.

"How are you doing?"

You were about to grab the notebook and pencil next to your bed to write a response as your voice was shot, but she spoke up again before you got the chance.

"Wait, no! That was a dumb question!"

Before he could start further rambling, you shook your head and began to write: 'I'm doing much better. I appreciate you asking.'

Deuce sighed and began fiddling with his hands. "Does. . .does it still hurt?"

You took a moment to think about whether or not you should answer his question truthfully, but ultimately decided not to lie. 'It still hurts, but not as much."

Deuce frowned, but nodded.

'I bet I'll get some cool scars! Like battle scars. We'll match!' You scribbled out sloppily as you weren't exactly able to properly hold a pen with your hands looking like a mummy's. It was meant as an attempt to cheer him up, but he only frowned further.

"You shouldn't have scars. You're a good person."

It was you're turn to frown. 'You're a bad one?'

Before Deuce could reply, you tapped the space next to you: telling him to sit.

Similarly to Ace, he hesitated, but you eventually got him to sit next to you on the bed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off again. This time you did so by dragging his arm closest to you onto your lap and grabbing a marker off of the nightstand. You uncapped the marker and rolled up his sleeve.

Deuce was too stunned and confused to say a word as he watched you scribble little pictures on his arm. The pictures were cartoony renditions of various times he'd done kind things for you. When you were done he finally snapped out of his daze.

"Wait! I should be the one cheering you up! First I let you get hurt, and now I can't even comfort you properly! I-I can't do anything right!" Deuce's head falls into his hands and you watch as tears fall onto the sheets.

A marker slips into Deuce's hand and he looks over at you with confused, tear-filled eyes.

You point to the cast on your leg. A blank slate. 'A drawing from you on my cast would make me happy'

"But. . .I can't draw-"

You cut him off by basically shoving the notebook in his face. 'Doesn't matter. Anything you draw will remind me of you, and thinking of my friends will make me happy.'

He ends up doodling a flower and an endearingly poor depiction of him, Ace, Grim, and you together and signing his name.

For the rest of his visit, you take turns doodling different things in your notebook and adding funny little details to each other's drawings.

When Deuce finally leaves, you let out a breath you had been holding. Your face contorts in pain and a soft whimper leaves your throat.

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[martian-astro10]

Solar return observations - part 6

Sun in 10th house indicates that you'll be very focused on your career this year. You could also start looking for a job, do your first internship, choose your major, apply for a master's or a PhD, basically anything that acts as a stepping stone in your career progression. Look at the aspects to see whether that process will be easy or difficult.

Jupiter in 1st, especially conjunct ascendant is the REAL glow up placement. This is the year in which your talents will be more visible to others. Check where Jupiter is in the natal chart to know where you'll feel lucky. For ex- if Jupiter is in the 5th house in the birth chart, then you may find yourself going on dates, partying more than before and taking more risks.

Gemini ascendant... this shit is so good, better than leo fr. You will express more of your extroverted side this year, this will happen even if you're the shyest person EVER. Talking to people, networking, posting more on social media, and just putting yourself out there will be the highlight of the year. You will also have an easier time making friends and people may think you're funny and charming.

Moon in 4th, in my opinion, is a stronger indication of getting married than any other placement, a lot of people around me are planning to get married this year and almost all of them have their moon in 4th. This shows a focus on family, you will want to spend more time with them and rebuild your connection. Any major fights that may have happened previously will be resolved.

Neptune in 10th can be a difficult year when it comes to choosing a path, you may have many options or none at all. This can indicate either over or underestimating your abilities. You should be really careful when choosing a job as career exploitation is something that I've often seen with this (Happened to me as well). If you're confused between options then try a little bit of everything before making the final decision.

Jupiter in retrograde motion brings good results with the speed of a fucking sloth, I kinda hate it. If it's in the 11th, you will get everything that you wish for, but just 10 days before your next birthday. If it's in the 9th, you may get that acceptance letter 5 days before the session starts, very "things happen at the end moment" placement.

Do not make travel plans when chiron is in the 9th house, they will almost always end up getting cancelled. I missed so many flights the year I had this. One of my friends who travels a lot for her job could not do so in the year she had this, like, a fucking war, a pandemic, tsunami, you name it, she faced it. Even if you do somehow manage to overcome all the obstacles and reach the destination....bad experience, you'll start hating the place.

Saturn in 6th can be such a sexy placement when accompanied by positive aspects. Slay in your career ✅, slay health ✅, finally putting that gym membership to use ✅, getting your life together ✅. I have literally seen people do a complete 180 the year they had this. Routine isn't boring, it's peaceful.

Mars in cancer and constantly sustaining physical injuries 😭😭, bro, LISTEN, I fell from my cycle and then this fucking car HIT me, and then I had to get fucking hospitalised AND GO TO OFFICE THE NEXT DAY, istg, I'm about to kill myself. I'm covered in bruises. If you have this, wear a space suit at all times, I.AM.NOT.JOKING.

Mercury in 11th is such an underrated placement, it brings good results in so many areas; education, friendships, networking. The connections that you make throughout the year will help you achieve your goals the next year, from what I have seen. If it's making mostly positive aspects then you will be in the spotlight this year.

Divider by @strangergraphics

© martian-astro10 All rights reserved, 2025

[tanzaniiite]

NOT SO BAD • EDDIE & VOLT

requests: open

warnings: angst

word count: 1.5k

a/n: sooo i got their hate ending and after crashing out for 40 days and 40 nights (30 straight minutes) i decided to write an after ending. to give myself some closure if nothing else. i apologize if this isn’t the greatest, i haven’t written fanfic in yearsss.

*cross-posted on ao3

You flinch as the door to the Breaker Box is slammed in your face.

Your dateviators sit askew on your nose as you try to process what just happened. Eddie and Volt hate you? Everything was going swimmingly up until now, where did you go wrong? Could you fix it? As you go to speak with them again, the specs on your face make a power down sound.

Out of charge.

It’s only then do you realize how late it is. The sun has set and the stars have begun littering the sky. This was your last interaction for the day, talk about depressing. And even if it wasn’t you could only talk to an object once per day, per Skylar’s detailed instructions. It’s fine, you’ll just… give them some space, check back in a day or two. Surely everything would blow over by then.

In the meantime, you kept yourself busy. You met new datebales, continued conversations with the ones you already met. And yet, your mind kept drifting back to Eddie and Volt. Really, where did you go wrong? Maybe kissing Volt wasn’t the greatest idea. It seemed right at the time, considering the atmosphere and all that. Or maybe you didn’t get close enough to Eddie? You should’ve been more persistent, asked more questions, his dislikes be damned.

This loop of “could’ve, should’ve, would’ve” continued until you finally had the courage to approach the Breaker Box again. It’s been a couple of days, surely whatever “hatred” they had for you has dissolved or at the very least, dampened. You didn’t expect them to not be mad at all, but maybe they would be willing to hear out and you guys could repair your relationship. Become friends if not anything else. That hope quickly drained as Volt approached the entrance, a sour and borderline terrifying look on his face.

He was different now, blue and electrifying. It was a far cry from the charming and sweet Volt you’ve gotten to know. He didn’t say anything at first, just staring at you like you have done the most unforgivable thing in the world (and maybe you did, you still weren’t sure exactly what it is you did). That silence stretched until you tried to break it, in which Volt immediately cut you off.

“Volt, I–”

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough last time. You’re not welcome here.”

“Please, can’t we just talk this out?”

“No, we can’t. I was foolish to trust you the first time around. I won’t allow you to have the opportunity to hurt us again.”

It took everything in you to not sob right there and then but you’re sure the tears that shone in your eyes got the point across clearly. “I care about you and Eddie so much, I never meant to hurt either of you. I swear.” The tremble in your voice was as clear as day but you couldn’t really find it in yourself to care. Not when it felt like everything was on the line. And for a moment, that hope you had fluttered in your chest as Volt’s expression softened. He sighed deeply and leaned against the door, reminiscent of the dramatic flare he had when you first met him.

“I’m sorry live wire, I don’t think we can trust you again.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the tears that have taken up residence in your eyes, slipped down your cheeks silently. You could do nothing but stare as the door to the Breaker Box was closed in your face once more. Part of you preferred the slamming, the yelling, and the volatile way things had originally ended. This felt non-negotiable. Final. You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

So, you stood at the entrance for what felt like an eternity. Not sure what to do or where to go from here. You knew you couldn’t get every dateable to love you, hell, even like you but hatred? Not indifference or some weird limbo state? Just pure hatred? As you finally began to turn away, Reggie popped into your peripheral vision. God, you were not in the mood for him. You had met him before as you and another dateable didn’t exactly see eye to eye. The details aren’t important as you didn’t care for that dateable nearly as much as you care for Eddie and Volt. Still, it seemed you were stuck and had to hear Reggie’s spiel.

“It’s one thing to be rejected and another thing to lose trust completely, yeowch!”

“....”

“Still, I dig your style. Rejection really isn’t so bad when you think about it. Helps you pick out the duds that simply aren’t worth your time.”

That’s the thing though, Eddie and Volt weren’t duds, far from it actually. And even if they hated your guts right now, you couldn’t find it in yourself to speak ill of them. “They aren’t duds, Reggie.” You mutter, arms crossing over your chest. Reggie raised a curious brow, “Don’t tell me you still have feelings for them? Do you not realize they kicked you to the curb? That they want nothing to do with you?”. You sucked your teeth in frustration, you knew that. Volt had made that painfully clear both times you spoke with him. As if reading your mind Reggie continues, his hands finding your shoulders and his head dipping down so his mouth is right next to your ear. “I know you have this good person act going on but doesn’t that make you angry? Isn’t that hatred mutual?” He questions.

You were mainly sad and confused. And sure, maybe a little bitter too. You still didn’t know what you did that was so wrong to warrant them to hate you but you didn’t hate them. Still… as Reggie’s hands stayed firmly placed on your shoulders, you couldn’t help but get angry. It was as if that energy was radiating off of him and seeping into you. Or maybe, that anger was always there and Reggie gave it the space to roam free. Either way, you were starting to get pissed. The low chuckle that came from Reggie wasn’t lost on you as you swiftly took off your dateviators. Volt and Eddie wanted to hate you? Fine, you’ll give them a reason to hate you.

It almost seemed weird, looking at the Breaker Box and seeing… a normal breaker box. You close the box firmly, a little rougher than you normally would but you didn’t care. They didn’t want to see you, so you didn’t want to see them. You surveyed the small closet wondering what else you could do to relieve that pressure that had started building in your chest. In all honesty, you wanted to scream, maybe cry some more, put the dateviators back on and curse both of them out. Instead, you dropped down and picked up Tony and Beau– er, your toolbox and spare boxes. You didn’t want any reason to come back here if you didn’t have too. You placed them in the closet in your makeshift home gym. It wasn’t much bigger than their previous residence, and they certainly had more roommates but hopefully they wouldn’t mind too much. You made sure to lock the door to the breaker box too. You’re not sure how that would translate to their world, if Dorian would simply just unlock it, but maybe it would slow the business of the Breaker Box.

You still had four more uses of your dateviators for the day but you really couldn’t find it in you to want to talk to anyone else. Your mood was dampened and you would hate to take it out on the other datebables. You would come back when you felt slightly better, when you could give them your full and undivided attention. Plus, it probably wasn’t the healistest to be talking to the inanimate objects of your home day in and day out. Considering how much emotional turmoil this one rejection put you in, maybe this was for the best. Maybe a break was needed. An hour tops.

That hour turned to hours.

Those hours into days.

The days into weeks.

And so on.

You haven’t put on the dateviators since your last interaction with Volt and by extension Reggie. That anger was still there, simmering in the back of your mind but all that you felt currently was sadness. As you went on with your day to day life, you’ve come to the conclusion that maybe there’s nothing you can do. Maybe whatever was going on with Eddie and Volt wasn’t meant to be. That you shouldn’t sit here, making yourself sick and miserable dwelling on it. And while this was your general takeaway, a part of you still held onto hope. Hope that with time; you, Eddie and Volt could make amends. And be friends. You’d never say it to the other dateables but they were your favorites, still are honestly. But it’s time to move on. You guess Reggie was right, in his own twisted way.

Rejection really isn’t so bad when you think about it.

tanzaniiite © 2025 — all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or copy. do not plagiarize. thank you.

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

[plutoasteroids]

18+ What Would Your Future Spouse Do To You If They Had You With Them (MDNI) - PAC

PILE 1 PILE 2 PILE 3

My readings are allegedly for entertainment purposes only. I am not responsible for any choices made in accordance to my readings.

This reading contains sexual references you have been warned!

I tried to make this as gender neutral as possible and yes before you ask, I did grow up reading Wattpad 😭

PILE 1

Pile 1 your future spouse may be shyer when it comes to more sexual acts, I want to say that they are naiver and more unexperienced when it comes to sexual acts, but this is for some of you not all of you. For the rest of you it's kind of like their nervousness or shyness comes from a place of wanting to impress you. Collectively though you might have to be one to tell them what to do, what you want basically teaching them how you like. Anyways to the actual steamy bit your future spouse will be sitting on the bed just watching you in anticipation for what you will do next with batted breaths and shaky hands as you approach them slowly, they will swallow hard as they lean back while you come closer straddling them in the process. They want you to touch them, they want to feel your skin against there's with almost no space separating your bodies. Before thee sexual part of it all they will want to kiss you deeply and passionately and they will whisper to you 'Show me what you like as their hand goes down between your legs pleasuring you in slow yet deliberate strokes 'Like this?' They will whisper to you as they watch your face contort in pleasure. Their only desire is to bring you pleasure even if they neglect themself in the process, they find satisfaction in your pleasure and they are more than willing to learn what you like and do what you like at your pace.

I am getting switch vibes but leaning more to sub

PILE 2

For you Pile 2 your future spouse is giving me the impression that they want to take you in a more animalistic sense, rougher, more passionate. As you are both in the room together the first thing, they will do is kiss you it will be urgent like if they don't do this now, they'll never get the chance to. Honestly, it feels like your future spouse waited a long time to do this, it's been a long time coming. Once he gets you alone, he will kiss you hard, clothes being practically torn off and hands desperately roaming each other's bodies 'I have waited so long for this' they will whisper to you as they push their body closer to yours. Your future spouse will either throw you or push you into the bed doesn't matter your gender or theirs. As you lay on the bed, they will crawl over you taking your lips in another hot Seering kiss. This time their hands will make their way to your sensitive region, their hands on their own mission. Their lips will trail down your body until it reaches your private region. Their mouth will pleasure you and just before you reach your climax, they will stop positioning themself to take you relentlessly. Make up running, tears, screaming type of sex (I heard pounding)

Your person is clearly a dom XD

PILE 3

Last but not least Pile 3, your future spouse is more of a gentle lover. They are in no hurry to let the experience end they will drag it out as long as possible. This is giving multiple orgasms I won't lie to you btu anyway your future spouse prefers more passionate, slow sex and again they WILL prolong it. For you Pile 3 you would be cuddling with your future spouse their hand will gently stroke your side as they spoon you. Their hand will continue to travel down your body until it reaches you Nethers. The sensation will cause you to push into them eliciting a soft groan from them as you reach your climax, they'll position you to lay on the bed with them on top of you. They will take you slowly and gently, eyes closed and soft moans filling the air.

Anyways your person is most likely a soft dom.

[crheativity]

Mc/Yuu that when given genuine affection from their friends such as a small gift or just being told that they enjoy being around them, they just get really quiet and look at their friend with shock and disbelief, tearing up a little bit and just going "...oh..." in a real small voice.

Bonus points if they're not usually emotional like this.

It would be fun if it was the overblot gang since they just got some gifts themselves, or maybe ADeuce duo...idk man, I just want some wholesome friendship, I feel like there aren't enough fics like that in this fandom-

WARNINGS: Can be read as platonic or romantic, some of these might be longer/shorter than others, all of them care about you but (almost) all of them are bad with Emotions. also there are slight references to book 6 in Idia’s section if you squint

COMMENTS: AWH this is such a cute idea! And yes, there should definitely be more wholesome, platonic fics! Also, sorry these are short D:

Wait, crap, you’re tearing up? He just got you a present- are you okay?? He’s low key worried about you, unsure if this is just you being extremely excited about his (amazing) gift or if there’s something else going on. Either way, he’s quick to figure it out and reassure you as best he can. He’s torn between feeling bad about making you cry and being happy you liked his present so much. Either way, he pulls you into a hug and rubs patterns into your back until you feel better.

You’re crying?! Ohhhh crap oh crap oh crap- he doesn’t know what to do! Was his present that bad-? Once you reassure him and tell him you love it, he relaxes a little bit but is still clearly distressed. He isn’t very good at figuring out why you’re reacting this way, but his genuine care for you shines through and helps you feel a little more comfortable in his own way.

Wh-what?? Did he do something wrong-? He did a bunch of research, so he had assumed that this gift would be something you’d appreciate, not tear up over! Riddle is. Confused. And scared. He’s new to this whole “having friends” thing, and he thinks very highly of you, so the thought of messing up is pretty scary. He’s at quite a loss of what to do. When you reassure him and tell him you’re okay, he’s very relieved. He makes a note of how much you appreciated the gift and is determined to do more for you. If he has to get used to having friends, he wants you to get used to receiving the affection you deserve, too.

Awh, come on. You’re seriously tearing up over this? He ruffles your hair affectionately, giving you space to process your emotions while staying nearby. He doesn’t quite get what all the fuss is about - all he knows is he got you something and then you “exploded into tears” (you did not, he’s exaggerating). He sits with you until you feel better and tries to think of ways he could give you stuff without you “freaking out” like this. Maybe some money left in your pockets would be a good idea…

As soon as you tear up, he wants to go hide in his octo-pot. He knew it, it was a stupid idea. He should’ve gone with the other present idea, maybe then you’d be less disappointed. If you even still want to be friends with him after this. The moment you explain that you’re really happy, however, his mood does a complete 180, attempting to both comfort you and gloat a little at the same time. He would pat you a little awkwardly on the shoulder, wanting to express he appreciated your vulnerability. He’s definitely making notes on things he could spoil you with.

He freezes. Dang, he thought it was something you’d like. If not, that’s okay, he did keep the receipt. You can take it back to the store and get a refund if you’d- oh? You liked it? He’s another one that would try to comfort you and feel smug at the same time. The thought of making anyone but particularly you so happy is a little jarring to him, and your way of expressing emotions is definitely unexpected, but he’s glad he got you this. Maybe he’ll get you something better next time.

For once, Vil is speechless. For a moment he just kinda stands there in surprise, before sweeping you into his arms for a hug - completely ignoring how his clothes might crinkle. He didn’t think you would react that way, and - although he’s pretty sure you’re happy - he wants to comfort you anyway. Once you confirm you’re actually happy, he thinks your reaction is sweet and endearing and pure. He’s definitely buying you more things if this is your reaction to it,

The moment you say “oh” and start to tear up he’s internally going say sike rn. Bro was not prepared for Emotions. He can hardly handle his own feelings, why’d fate dump him with someone else’s?! Especially since they belong to someone he cares about. He’s not real good with other people, let alone taking care of them. He wishes Ortho was here - he could google Top 10 Ways To Comfort A Friend Who Randomly Starts Crying. Idia kinda just ends up patting your entire head awkwardly and saying “there there” through his tablet. He knows it’s pathetic, okay?

He’s utterly confused. He followed the Human Customs of buying a gift for someone you care about, why are you displaying a negative reaction? Was the gift not satisfactory? Lilia said this would be enough, although perhaps he should’ve gone with his original plan and bought you significantly more. Were you perhaps disappointed? Once you reassure him, he almost laughs. He thinks your reaction was very cute, he will be buying you significantly more things. Prepare yourself.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[sleep-drunk-kitten]

pairing: Sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: angst with a happy ending, fluff, established relationship

content warnings: emotional neglect, some swearing, hoon is kinda a workaholic ig?, I don't think there's anything that really needs warnings other than this is sad but lmk if I miss anything!

summary: your boyfriend comes home late after promising to be home on time for once, only to find that you're nowhere in sight...

notes: this is another one that I'm not sure how to feel about ;-; but I hope you guys enjoy it TwT fun fact, the whole thing was inspired by an rp that I did with an ai where the robot somehow managed to call me by another person's name while cuddling XD

I'm making a general taglist for my fics so if anyone would like to be added please either send an ask or a DM ^w^

Everything below the cut is NOT proofread

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  The white noise of your favorite movie buzzes through your living room, conversation and dialogue that you’d learned by heart filling the cold space with a false sense of familiarity. You sit cross-legged with your back pressed into the arm of the L-shaped couch in front of the tv, resting your chin on a plushie held close to your chest, looking not at the flickering screen to your right, but at the clock hanging in your kitchen–the only room in the house with the lights on. 

  9:17 pm, it reads. Roughly three hours and seventeen minutes since your boyfriend would typically get home from work. 

  Three hours and seventeen minutes since you’d been waiting on a barstool by the kitchen island where you both usually took your meals. 

  A tiramisu cake and a bouquet of flowers laid out in front of you. 

  Waiting.

  Waiting.

  So much waiting. 

  After an hour or so, you’d gently slid the cake back into its box, distracting yourself with the task of putting the flowers into a vase before they could wilt. 

  ‘He’s late again,’ you think sleepily, eyes struggling to stay focused on the clock, ’he promised he wouldn’t be tonight.’

  Your vision blurs as the long hand hits 12, eyelids too heavy to keep open, mind wandering to the conversation you’d shared with Sunghoon that morning. 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

  “What time will you be home from work today?” you asked sleepily, sitting up in your nest of blankets, having woken up to find that he was already in the process of pulling his socks on, careful not to wake you. 

  “I don’t know, Love, you know how crazy things have been with this update, I might be late again,” he said absently, looking around for his glasses. “Where the fuck did I put them?”

  He runs a hand through his hair frustratedly, leg bouncing in agitation. It made your heart ache slightly in your chest, disappointment, guilt, and worry mixing confusedly in your stomach. 

  You loved Sunghoon, more than almost anything else in your life, he was the man you’d chosen as your partner, who you’d decided to stand by through thick and thin. But ever since the game company he worked for had started work on a new update, you’d been seeing less and less of him. Always coming home late, tired and stressed, mind wandering and absent even when he was sitting right in front of you. You understood, you really did. Between the two of you he was the one with the bigger income, the burden of taking care of you, of making sure that the two of you could build a future together, was on his shoulders. And it was a responsibility that he did not take lightly. 

  But still. 

  In moments like that, where you slid off your bed to fetch his glasses off the nightstand–blanket wrapped securely round your shoulders to fend off the cold that permeated your apartment since the heating had started to malfunction–moving round the bed to stand in front of him… you couldn’t help but feel like he was breaking your heart. Just a little. 

  It was in the way he only met your eyes briefly when he took them from you before standing and gathering the rest of his things, sighing in what could’ve been frustration or relief, it was hard to tell. 

  It was the way he didn’t stop the flow of movement steadily taking him away from you and towards the office till you called his name twice, stopping in his tracks and fixing you with a look that, though probably unintentional, made you want to bury yourself under your mountain of plushies and hide. 

  “I’m going to be late, (y/n), what is it?”

  You winced. You couldn’t help it. Unaccustomed to hearing him say your name with so little emotion. “Just… could you come back on time tonight?” your voice is barely more than a whisper, tapering off into silence the longer you force your eyes to meet his. “Unless you can’t of course! I’m not saying you have to do anything, I understand that you’re busy and you can’t really dictate when or how things get done but just that it would be nice if you could be home on time tonight since-”

  “Okay.”

  “Huh?” 

  “I’ll make it home on time tonight.” 

  His voice was softer than it had been a moment ago, giving you the courage you needed to meet his eyes. They were still heavy with worry, brows drawn together to dig a permanent crease into the middle of his forehead, but they weren’t quite as cold or distant. He was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time in what felt like forever. 

  It wasn’t much, you knew that. But it was still enough to ease the knot building in your throat. Enough to bring a small smile to your face as you nodded. “Mnm! Okay, I’ll see you tonight then.”

   “Mnm, alright,” he said, a small, slightly strained smile coming to rest on his own lips.

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  The apartment was almost completely dark when the lock to the front door chimed, alerting the darkness that someone had arrived. The figure that stepped through was slumped over, backpack sliding off one shoulder with his jacket, shoes abandoned haphazardly. 

  It took a moment for Sunghoon’s mind to catch up to his body, for it to fully sink into his bones that he was home. That he was home and it was nearly 11 pm. Home and the tv and kitchen light were both on, white letters onscreen asking the room if anyone was still watching Netflix. 

  Something in the kitchen caught his eye, a handmade vase his sister had given you for your birthday set out on the kitchen island, filled to the brim with pink, white, and purple flowers he did not recognise. 

  ’Oh’

  It was his birthday. 

  That’s why you’d asked him to come home on time. 

  Sunghoon groaned, face twisting with what could only be described as pain as he quickly set his bag down by the front door and made his way to your shared bedroom. You were usually asleep by this time, unable to pull all-nighters the way you used to back when you were in high school, always out like a light by no later than 10:30 every night. 

  ’But she still stays up every night waiting for you,’ a voice in his head hisses.

  ’I know… fuck I know she does,’ his own voice replies, panic setting in when he finds your room empty, the bed neatly made, not even a dent to show that you’d been laying in it while working on your laptop during the day. 

  ’She’s not here… are you surprised? How long did you expect her to wait?’ the voice whispers, a chill cascading down his spine.

  The panic sets in with more vigor, wrapping round his throat and sending his tired mind into overdrive as he checks the bathroom, your home office, and finally the dark living room. Fear telling him that this was it. 

  He’d really gone and done it now. 

  He wasn’t a complete fool. He knew the moment you stood in the middle of your bedroom floor instead of closing the distance between you and wrapping your arms around his waist, choosing instead to clutch your favorite duvet like a lifeline, wincing when you heard his voice, all because you wanted to ask him to come home… he knew right then that he’d been an absolute idiot. 

  He’d meant to come home early, to be there to make it up to you, to apologise properly, tell you that he’d take some time off as soon as the update was done and dusted. 

  But he didn’t. He let work sweep him up again. Drowning in error messages and buggy code till the sky outside his office windows was filled with the flickering lights of the city at night. 

  And now… now you weren’t there. 

  He’d left you alone. 

  He’d left you alone too long and you were gone. 

  You were gone. 

  You were gone and-

  ’Oh.’

  There you were. 

  The relief when Sunghoon sees you–curled up on the couch, partially hidden by a small pile of blankets and stuffed animals–is immediate.

  He doesn’t really register the way he sighs your name, shoulders relaxing, body melting into the floor the moment he’s in front of you, hand brushing a few messy strands of hair out of your face. The need to feel the warmth of your skin, to confirm that you really are there in front of him more an instinct than a conscious decision. 

  You mumble something in your sleep, tilting your face away from his cold fingertips, eyes fluttering open. “Hoon… hi baby… welcome home,” you say tiredly, shifting under your blankets in an attempt to pull yourself up. 

  Sunghoon feels his heart crack in his chest. Why were you smiling at him? You should've been angry. You should've pushed him away, demanded to know why he was back so late, why he'd been neglecting you in the first place. 

  “Baby? My love… why are you crying?” you ask, reaching for him through the haze of sleep still clinging to your limbs. 

  Choking back a sob, he leans closer, tucking his head under your chin and doing his best to wrap an arm around you from his place on the carpeted floor. “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head, though the tears soaking into your sternum say otherwise, “just missed you…”

  Your vision blurs at his words, a thread of steadily building tension and worry that had been constricting your heart for the past few weeks snapping. “Oh…” your voice shakes slightly, lungs shuddering as your breaths begin to feel lighter, “I’m right here you goose, what’re you crying for?” 

  “Who says I’m crying,” he says, hoarse with tears. 

  “Right right,” you laugh despite the dampness now soaking through your own cheeks, “because my baby never cries, huh?” 

  “Never,” he sniffles, nuzzling closer.

  You stay like that for a while, eventually urging him to sit more comfortably on the couch, allowing you to settle yourself on his lap, his arms still wrapped firmly round your waist, hands occasionally kneading whatever part of you he was in contact with as if he needed to assure himself that you were there, solid and real. 

  He waits until he feels your heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm, trying his best to calm down so his own can match yours, beat for beat. The way it–in his opinion–should. 

  But it wouldn’t, there were words lodged in his throat, and every time he tried to get them out he felt that same panic wash over him, sending his heart into a frenzy. 

  You could feel like beating against your cheek, could sense that there was something he wasn’t saying from the way his grip on you would tighten almost imperceptibly, stiffening as if he was bracing himself for something. A part of you wanted to push him, prompt him and ask what was going through his head, why you’d woken up to the sight of him crying in the dim light of your living room. And you would’ve if he hadn’t beat you to it. 

  “I’m sorry, (y/n).”

  “What do you mean? For being late? I know you can’t help it, Hoon, it’s not some-”

  “No! I mean yes, I’m sorry for being late tonight but… I mean… I mean for everything… for not being… here, with you, like this… as often as I should be, I’m sorry,” he says, the hands at your sides nervously fidgeting with the fabric at your hips, nervously looking between your face and the static tv screen behind you. 

  Sunghoon had never been good with words. You’d learned early on in your relationship that he preferred to show how he felt through his actions. Yet here he was, fumbling through an apology because… because… 

  “My love… did you think I’d left?” you ask, gently cupping his face with one hand, urging him to look at you. 

  Puffy red eyes still wet with tears, messy unkempt hair from running his hands through it all day, tired and probably as emotionally spent as you’d ever seen him and still… still he was the most beautiful person in the world to you. He nodded, hiding his face in your chest again, hands stilling. 

  “Well,” you sigh, resting your chin on top of his head and running a hand through the hair at the back of his head, combing through it in a way he swears only you can, “at least you know you’ve got things you need to make up for…”

  “I know… I forgot for a while… but I know…”

  “That’s okay then,” you breathe, leaning back to kiss his forehead. “But Sunghoon… baby… darling… the love of my life… my little pookie bear… “ you both giggle a little at the pet names, “You know I’d never leave you over something like this right? I was sad, and hurt, and I still expect you to make it up to me by never doing this again but… I still love you, it only hurts because I love you… I’m not going anywhere.”

  Sunghoon pauses for a moment, letting your words sink in. You think that when he looks up, lips slightly parted, it’s to say something in response, but you really should’ve known better. 

  Slowly, giving you enough time to pull away should you choose to, his breath mingling with yours before he steals it away with a soft, lingering kiss. Neither of you is in any rush to take things further. 

  It feels like a small eternity before he pulls away, like time stills for you both, but then he’s pressing his lips to your jaw, butterfly kisses tickling you down to your pulse point, making you giggle so you almost miss it when he says, “I love you too… so much…” 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

  It isn’t until the next day when you’re shuffling into your home office dressed in one of his oversized jerseys, complaining about a meeting that he remembers the flowers he’d seen on the kitchen island.

  Pulling out his phone, he makes good use of his detective skills (and google lens), remembering all the times you’d spoken to him about the language of flowers, and the meanings behind certain blooms. 

  He wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or cry once he’d figured it out, opting to dig through the cabinets for a pack of waffle mix to fix you some breakfast instead. He had a lot of apologies to make…

Baby’s Breath: pure everlasting love

Pink Camellias: longing for you

Forget-me-nots: true love memories, do not forget me

[katemoneymartinsgf]

hi hi this might be asking a lot, but I can’t seem to find any other ones can you write a pazzi fic where they’re just friends with benefits and one of them can’t communicate properly and they break up and they both get different partners, but they’re jealous

Friends With Benefits |pazzi|

a/n: hey so sorry i disappeared, im currently in the process of switching from swim polo and dive to basketball and i could kms. Sorry this is rushed . Writing more tonight. Thank you sm for all the love.

-

It wasn’t a plan.

No one sat down and said this is what we are — there were no rules, no boundaries, no timeline. Just two people who spent a lot of time together. Who laughed a little too hard at each other’s jokes. Who sometimes lingered after practice, eyes locked a little too long across the gym.

And eventually, a night where Azzi leaned against her doorframe in a hoodie and shorts, and Paige stepped into her apartment like she belonged there.

That was the first time.

No big moment. No strings.

And maybe that’s what made it easy.

At first.

—

They never talked about it. Not the first time, or the second, or the seventh. Azzi would text Paige after lift, a simple you up? or bring snacks. Paige would show up. Hoodie, slides, her usual crooked grin. They’d mess around, sometimes fall asleep tangled up, other times not.

It was light. Familiar. Comfortable in a way that made too much sense.

“We’re just chillin’,” Paige told KK once, when she caught the way she looked at them in the film room.

Azzi told Ice the same thing the next week.

No one really bought it.

But no one pushed, either.

—

They were careful, in their own way.

No kissing in public.
No holding hands.
No overnight texts unless they were already in the same bed.

And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

—

It wasn’t just about the physical part. That came easy. Too easy. Paige knew exactly how Azzi liked her coffee in the morning. Azzi always remembered to steal extra protein bars for Paige after away games. They had inside jokes. Routines. Favorites.

But they never let it be anything more.

Not out loud.

Not where it counted.

—

It started to shift in ways neither of them said anything about.

Paige noticed that Azzi never posted pictures of her. Not even a blurry background cameo on her story. She knew Azzi was private, but still. It stuck with her.

Azzi noticed someone comment “miss u” on Paige’s most recent Instagram post. She’d liked it without thinking. It made Azzi’s chest tight in a way she didn’t have words for.

But neither of them brought it up.

They kept pretending.

Kept moving.

—

It unraveled slowly.

That’s what made it worse — the fact that there wasn’t a single fight or blow-up, just a gradual slipping. A quiet growing apart. Like missing each other in their own shared space.

Paige noticed it first in the way Azzi didn’t reach for her hand anymore after. How she didn’t lean in to kiss her shoulder in the dark like she used to. How the silence started stretching longer between conversations.

Azzi felt it too. Paige stopped staying as long. She’d pull on her hoodie faster. Mumbling “gotta get up early tomorrow”even when they both knew she didn’t.

Still, they kept coming back. Kept showing up. Kept telling themselves it wasn’t serious, so it couldn’t really hurt.

But it did.

—

The last time it happens, Paige stays late at practice. Azzi’s already home when she shows up. There’s a movie playing, something Paige picked without asking.

Azzi’s quiet the whole night. Her laugh is soft, but her eyes don’t match it.

They hook up.

It’s slower than usual. Not out of passion, but something heavier — like they’re both holding on too tightly to something already slipping away.

After, Paige lies beside her, fingers brushing Azzi’s bare waist. Azzi doesn’t move closer. She just stares at the ceiling.

“You good?” Paige asks softly, her voice barely above the hum of the TV still playing in the background.

Azzi nods.

“Yeah,” she says.

But she doesn’t mean it.

And Paige knows it.

She leaves before sunrise.

Azzi wakes up alone.

She doesn’t text.

Paige doesn’t call.

And neither of them says goodbye.

—

Two weeks later, Paige sees her at a team hangout — sitting across the room, head tilted toward a girl Paige’s never seen before, someone new, someone with long braids and easy laughter and hands that rest a little too comfortably on Azzi’s knee.

Paige doesn’t say a word.

Just watches from across the room.

Later, when someone asks if she’s okay, she shrugs. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

—

A week after that, Paige brings someone to the team dinner.

She’s tall. Pretty. A bit too loud. Laughs at all of Paige’s dumb jokes.

Azzi watches from her spot at the end of the table. Doesn’t say much. Smiles when people talk to her. Pretends she’s fine.

KK clocks it immediately. Leans over to Ice and mutters, “They’re gonna explode.”

No one disagrees.

—

But for now, they keep pretending.

They’re not in love.
They’re not jealous.
They’re just chillin’.

Even if it’s killing them.

Paige sees them together for the first time in a real way at that charity event the team’s forced to attend.

Black outfits. Media passes. High ceilings and polite claps. Azzi shows up with the same girl from the team hangout — her name’s Jada, apparently. She works with the athletic department, helps with NIL deals. She's all smiles and polished charm and the kind of presence that makes you notice when she walks into a room.

She has her arm around Azzi’s waist the whole night.

Paige tries not to care.

She’s brought someone too. Tia — volleyball player, grad student, pretty and warm and not from this world. She says all the right things. Laughs at all the right moments.

But Paige can’t stop watching Azzi.

Even when she looks away.

Especially when she catches Azzi looking back.

—

“Y’all okay?” KK asks, bumping Paige’s hip as they wait in line for something unnecessarily overpriced.

Paige sips her drink and shrugs. “What do you mean?”

KK lifts a brow. “You haven’t blinked since we got here.”

Paige forces a laugh. “I’m chill.”

KK hums. “Sure.”

Paige doesn’t say anything else. Just stares down into her cup like it holds some kind of answer.

—

Later, Azzi walks by her in the hall near the photo booth setup.

They don’t say anything at first.

Just a glance. A breath.

Then Azzi, stopping: “You clean up nice.”

Paige lifts a shoulder. “Tried to match your energy.”

Azzi’s smile is tight. “You did.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward, just heavy.

Azzi’s voice drops slightly. “She’s pretty.”

Paige nods. “So is Jada.”

Another pause.

“You look happy,” Paige says.

Azzi’s gaze doesn’t move. “Do I?”

“You want me to say no?”

“I want you to tell the truth.”

Paige swallows.

Azzi’s the one to walk away this time.

—

That night, Paige gets in bed with Tia and feels everything too sharply. The way her sheets feel colder than usual. The way Tia kisses her like it’s easy. The way she doesn’t flinch when Paige rolls to the edge of the bed to avoid too much contact.

Tia doesn’t notice.

Or maybe she does.

And pretends she doesn’t.

Just like Paige.

—

Azzi doesn’t last much longer either.

Two weeks into “official” with Jada, they go out to a small team dinner. The music is loud, everyone’s talking over each other, and Azzi is smiling so hard her cheeks start to hurt.

She doesn’t see Paige come in until Jada’s hand finds her lower back and Paige’s voice cuts through it all with a quiet, “Hey.”

Azzi turns.

Paige’s hair is pulled back. She’s in a cropped hoodie and jeans. She looks… good.

Too good.

Azzi clears her throat. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

Paige shrugs. “Wasn’t going to. KK dragged me.”

They stand there too long, just looking.

Jada slides her hand back into Azzi’s. It feels wrong the second it happens.

Paige nods toward it. “You two seem good.”

Azzi answers too fast. “Yeah.”

Paige gives a tight smile. “Cool.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t correct herself.

Even though she kind of wants to.

—

That night, Jada asks if she’s okay. Says she feels Azzi slipping.

Azzi lies.

Says she’s just tired.

Then she spends the next hour staring at a picture Paige posted on her story — a blurry shot of a Gatorade bottle and her socks on the couch.

And the background.

The edge of her old hoodie on the coffee table.

The one Paige never gave back.

—

They don’t text.

But both of them are reading into everything.

One teammate’s like, “You and Paige cool?”

Azzi says yeah.

Another asks Paige what happened with Azzi.

Paige says, “Nothing.”

Nothing.

Like that word doesn’t mean everything.

Paige’s phone buzzes twice on her nightstand. Then a third time, harder. She doesn’t even look at it.

Her date — the one she’s been “sort of” seeing, the one with the playlists and the folded sweatshirt Paige never asked to keep — is sitting on the edge of her bed, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

“I’m not stupid,” she says.

Paige finally looks up.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You think I don’t notice the way you freeze when she walks in? How your voice drops when you talk about her?”

Paige stays quiet.

“She’s still in here,” the girl says, pressing her palm to her own chest. “And you know it.”

Paige swallows hard.

“I can’t compete with someone you never got over,” she says, and this time it’s not angry — it’s just sad.

And that’s worse.

Paige doesn’t argue.

Because she’s right.

They don’t talk again after that.

—

Azzi’s comes undone just as quietly.

It’s after practice. Jada’s waiting outside, in her car like always, hair tied up, sunglasses on.

Azzi climbs in, tosses her bag into the back.

Jada doesn’t say hi.

“Where were you last night?”

Azzi doesn’t answer.

“You said you’d come over.”

Azzi shifts in her seat. “I forgot.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Azzi looks at her.

Jada’s jaw clenches. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

There’s no use denying it.

Azzi nods. Just once.

And the silence that follows is louder than anything she could’ve said.

—

Neither of them talks to the team about it. But the team knows.

Sarah watches Paige drop 26 in scrimmage, then walk out without talking to anyone.

KK catches Azzi staring at the bleachers like someone’s supposed to be there.

Even Ice, who usually keeps to her own lane, looks between them one day and mutters to herself, “Just kiss already or go cry in a parking lot.”

—

The breaking point doesn’t come big.

It happens at a team dinner. Nothing special. Someone brought cookies. Everyone’s loud and joking.

Paige is quiet.

Azzi walks in late. Eyes find Paige without even trying.

And it’s KK who finally breaks.

“I swear to God,” she says, standing up mid-story. “If I have to watch y’all look at each other from across the room one more time like this is some CW drama—”

Paige blinks.

Azzi blinks.

KK points between them. “Go outside. Figure it out. Lock yourselves in a room. I don’t care.”

Sarah claps once. “I’ve been WAITING.”

Even Ice nods. “Clocked it months ago.”

Azzi opens her mouth to argue.

Paige doesn’t.

She just stands up.

“Come on,” she says quietly.

And Azzi follows.

—

They end up outside on the porch. The night is cool. The air feels thick.

Neither of them speaks at first.

Then Paige turns around, arms folded over her chest.

“You said I was still yours.”

Azzi nods. “I meant it.”

“You don’t get to say that.”

“I know.”

They stare.

“I tried to move on,” Paige says. “Really tried.”

“So did I.”

“Why didn’t it work?”

Azzi’s voice is soft. “Because I still wanted you.”

Paige exhales hard.

“I didn’t know how to ask for more,” Azzi adds. “I thought if I did, I’d lose you completely.”

“You lost me anyway.”

“I know.”

“And I didn’t fight for you either,” Paige says, the words like gravel. “I just… let it happen.”

Azzi steps closer. “We both did.”

The porch is quiet.

Azzi’s voice cracks. “But I never stopped.”

Paige looks at her.

“Loving you,” Azzi clarifies, eyes shining. “Even when I wasn’t allowed to say it.”

Paige’s heart stumbles.

“You still love me?” she asks, barely audible.

Azzi nods.

Paige steps forward. Closer. Inches away now.

“I never stopped either,” she whispers.

And that’s it.

That’s everything.

The first kiss back is gentle. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just full of everything they’ve been too scared to say.

They stay there like that. Foreheads together. Hands clasped at the middle. Breathing like it’s the only way to hold steady.

When they walk back in, nobody says a word.

But everyone knows.

Because sometimes love doesn’t have to be clean.

It just has to come back.

[neil-gaiman]

This isn’t a question, but I want to thank you for your books and how they’ve impacted my life.

Over thirteen years ago, I read Neverwhere for the first time and it changed what kind of writer I wanted to be. I went on to read more of your books—my other two favourites were The Graveyard Book and The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

About 11 or so years ago, I asked you on Twitter if I could read Stardust on a Twitch livestream, and you responded, “Fine by me”. It was one of my best streams, and while life got in the way of me doing more, I still remember it incredibly fondly.

Ten years ago I had a baby, and while he was an infant, I read him, Fortunately, the Milk, in an attempt to read him a book. He didn’t seem interested. I decided I’d try again some other time perhaps. But I did resolve to get him to read The Graveyard Book someday.

Nine years ago, when I was a mother of a one-year-old, I posted a status on Facebook simply saying, “We do not forget.”

Two years ago, I went on holiday, and I downloaded the audio book version of The Graveyard Book from our local library. My eight-year-old son listened to it as he fell asleep, though he ended up missing some parts, and we shelved it.

Last year, he read Coraline and didn’t like it. That isn’t your fault. He read Charlotte’s Web and didn’t like that either. He just didn’t quite have the understanding for them.

This year, he read Coraline and liked it. I told him it was from the same author as The Graveyard Book. He lamented that he never finished The Graveyard Book, and I said he could always download it from the library again.

Then about a month ago, he and I went through a tough time. I was really stressed about life, he wasn’t doing so well either, and our relationship got strained. I was angry with him all the time. I needed a break from him, or I thought I did. But one day when he was at his dad’s I realised that I wouldn’t get this time back. That I needed to fix it. So I asked him if he wanted me to read to him at bedtime. Just like when he was little. And we settled on The Graveyard Book.

On nights when he got to bed on time, I’d read a chapter. It often meant stretching past bedtime, but I could never stop halfway. It had been years since I’d read it too, and I found myself remembering things I’d forgotten. I’d watch his dark eyes widen whenever things got exciting, and I loved when he would interrupt me with an important revelation. “It’s Scarlett! His friend!” he’d say. “The dog! The grey dog!” “I know what Silas is!” He would tell me that I did the voices so well, that it seemed to match each character so perfectly.

We didn’t read every night, but it was a treat when we did. One night we had an argument and he told me he hated me. That he wished I was dead. And that he wanted to be with his dad. I told him to go take a shower, and that I’d ask his dad to come get him. His dad said no, but agreed to talk to him on the phone. After the shower, my son apologised for what he said. I said okay, and told him to call his dad to chat. After their call, he asked if we would still have story time. I asked if he preferred that or to have some space. He said he wanted both, but wanted story time more than space. So I read to him. It was the chapter when Bod and Silas argued, and then apologised to each other. Halfway through that chapter, my son asked for snuggles. I said, what happened to space? And he said, “I want snuggles more than space.”

We were sad when it ended. We finished it last weekend. I cried as I read it. But it was a beautiful sadness. We’ve talked about it a bit since then, to process it. He says he would like to read more about Silas and Bod’s adventures and asked if there was fan fiction about it. I told him to look, and to write some if there wasn’t. Perhaps I’ll write some too, just for him.

Last night he was at his dad’s and I was browsing Facebook and sent him a couple of his old pictures. Then I found an old post. From exactly nine years ago. And so I sent it to him.

It brought tears to my eyes. I did not remember making that post, and I’ve forgotten a great deal over the years, but I hope I do not forget these little moments with my son. But even if I do, I have them written down here to remind me again.

And thank you. For the words you’ve written and the impact you’ve had on our lives and hearts. I hope that your life holds the same amount of joy and love that you’ve given to others with your words.

That made me so happy. Thank you. I hope you and your son keep growing together.

[orphicsun]

.・College Ellie Headcannons゜・

Note: This is more loser Ellie-centric, I wanna maybe do a part two with just reader and her. Some sexual content and mentions of getting zooted below so 18+ warning!

•Art major, but she’s not the typical hot artsy lesbian you dream of her to be. More like rolls a fat blunt and sketches in her journal, it’ll either turn out to be a masterpiece or look like a crackhead had a go with her paper.

•Speaking of art major, when she’s horny and frustrated because she refuses to hook-up…she draws the lewdest art known to woman-kind. Those are her real masterpieces, but she can’t exactly turn them in for credit in her art class, can she? Fuck, the things that woman can make, though. Lowkey uses her exes naked bodies as inspiration though, maybe kind of weird but who’s gonna stop her?

•Doesn’t eat the food on campus half the time. She is embarrassingly addicted to Tai Pei containers and the occasional microwavable egg-roll. “That shit’s nasty, Ellie! Goddamn, just eat the Tacos 4 Life we have on campus.” Her friends will all tell her, but no. It’s like a guilty pleasure. Maybe it’s cause she grew up lower class and is used to TV dinners, has a special trauma bond to food that should be banned and probably is outside of America.

•Wardrobe consists of band tees, honorable mentions to Gorillaz and Falling in Reverse.

•Is actually an insanely talented writer. After reading her journals I feel like nobody talks about how emotional her entries are and she keeps a journal of her own in college for sure, not only for sketching and organizing art but also to write all her feelings out.

“Fuck me, this is my last year being gay.” -After her and Cat’s break-up, probably.

•Hates coffee. Definitely game-cannon, but this is important to the college setting. It’s the classic Monster or nothing, and she will absolutely judge you for drinking coffee. She calls it “the devil’s dirt.” So dramatic.

•Used to watch bad Hallmark movies because of Dina, now watches them alone because she misses Dina. There’s nothing like crying your eyes out to Christmas Under Wraps!

•Has a collection of rubber ducks on her shelf. Doesn’t use her very small space for normal things like her wallet or books, no. It’s rubber fucking ducks.

•Also has a slipper collection in her tiny closet, from Pikachu all the way to dinosaur feet.

•Has the “two-seater” t-shirt (iykyk) but refuses to wear it in public because she’s a pussy

•Favorite fruit is grapes. I just know my girl loves grapes when she can get her hands on them steer clear bc she will NOT share. Favorite candy is gummy worms!

•Actually wears rain boots when it’s wet outside or snowing

•Likes wired earbuds over airpods, listens to Pearl Jam when she misses living with Joel

•Is oddly good at making those little paper stars and has a huge grocery bag of then in all different patterns and colors

•When she starts dating you she shows you her dinosaur cookie-cutter collection because you're really good at baking. (Also bc she wants to see you in a frilly cute apron!)

•Is a slut for hugs. Kisses are cool, sex is great but agghhh Ellie just loves wrapping her arms around you and sometimes when you two are in her dorm she'll just hug you for what feels like hours on end, she calls it her 'weekly therapy.'

•Loves high sex because when she's sober she hates feeling like she's awkward or all up in her head. She also has a tendency to invite you over for sex after smoking.

•Has a septum piercing. Maybe this one is self-indulgent because I would go ballistic over seeing actual Ellie with one, but I say that college Ellie got hers pierced at 16 and didn't cry over the pain but wanted to literally jump off of a bridge the entire healing process it was so bad.

•Sometimes when you kiss her, her septum will slide over and look uneven and she feels fucking NIGERIA FALLS in her boxers when you fix it for her. Also for those of you who are sluts for glasses, you can fix her glasses too and it'll make her just as weak.

[munsonsmixtapes]

hello! not sure if you've written this already, but how about biker!eddie finding a spot to make you ride him/fuck you dumb on his very metal motorbike after a night riding through the city? :)

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) degradation, use of the words whore and slut

When Eddie got the motorcycle, you were a bit hesitant. You've heard about how dangerous they can be and were just concerned about your boyfriend getting hurt. But the second he pulled up to your apartment building, you swore you were drooling because of how hot he looked. From then, all you've been able to imagine is him fucking you stupid while you sit on the seat.

That's not all you can think about when he takes you for rides. You've had to take care of yourself multiple times afterwards because you're too afraid to ask Eddie. He is your best friend after all and that's not the kind of relationship you have.

But god, you want him so bad it's gotten to the point where all you want is ask him to drive you somewhere private and have him take you right there, fucking you hard and deep then take you home where he has to carry you up to your apartment because you're unable to walk.

Eddie's not as oblivious as you think he is, though. He knows very well how badly you want him as is just waiting for you to say something. And if he's being honest, he's thought about that exact thing more times that he can count. Imagining you spread out on his bike as he fucks your brains out is something that constantly plays in his head.

It's gotten to the point where last week, he actually almost did that exact thing, but decided against it. He doesn't know why, he just chickened out at the last second. But tonight, he's going to go for it. The second he finds a good spot, he's going to pull in and go to town.

When he picks you up, he can't help but noticed that you're dressed differently. Instead of the jeans and t-shirt he's used to, you're in a dress. a dark blue short one that leaves almost nothing up to the imagination. and fuck does that make him hard.

You rush over to him and and get onto the bike before taking the helmet from Eddie, putting it on your head then holding onto him for dear life as he peels out of his parking space.

You rest your head against Eddie's back and he's so grateful that you can't see his hard on right now. You'll see it soon enough anyway. He knows you wore that dress on purpose and he doesn't know if it's because you actually want him to fuck you or if it's just to torture him. Either way, you're going to get fucked tonight.

You both fly through the city, the pretty lights the background to your adventure. You notice that Eddie's going faster than usual, but you don't say anything about it. There has to be a reason and you really hope it's what you think it is. You want that dress to be ruined by the time he's done with you and you have to clench your legs as you think about it.

Eddie pulls into an alley and your heart is racing as you smile brightly, your dream finally coming true. You're beginning to think that maybe that manifestation session wasn't for nothing after all.

He stops right in the middle and gets off the bike, removing his helmet and tossing it to the side before doing the same with yours. Before you can even process what's happening, he presses his lips to yours, grabbing hold of your hips and pulling you to sit sideways on the seat of the bike.

You spread your legs and Eddie steps between them as his tongue flicks into your mouth, the two of you moaning as he does so, the kiss slowing down as you take the time to taste each other. He tastes like cigarettes and you taste sweet like candy.

Eddie nips at your bottom lip and you whine as he pushes your dress up around your waist, only pulling away to get a good look at you, letting out a gasp at what he sees in the dim lighting of the alley.

"Baby, you're not wearing any underwear."

"I know," you reply as you bat your eyelashes, biting down on your bottom lip. "I wanted to speed up the process."

"Thought your were going to get lucky tonight, did you?" He asks as he unbuttons his pants and lets then drop around his ankles.

"I did. And clearly it worked," you tell him as your gaze drops to his underwear which he also pulls down, showing his rock hard cock that you can barely see in the terrible lighting.

"I guess it did," he says as you pull a condom out of your purse, handing it to him and he's quick to put it on before he grabs onto your hips, already going for it as he slides inside you.

You're already stretched out and he's grateful for that as he pumps in and out of you hard and fast as he spreads your legs wider so he has more room to fit inside. You already feel weightless and Eddie is quick to hold onto you so you don’t fall, his hands resting on your back as he continues to move quickly.

“Oh my god,” you moan, burying your face into Eddie’s shoulder, biting down on him to show him how much you’re enjoying it.

“Fuck, taking me so well,” he compliments. “If you can behave, I’ll take you back to my place and I’ll make you my whore.”

Eddie has always had a mouth on him and you had heard from girls in the city that he always knew what to say in the bedroom, you just never thought you’d be on the receiving end of those filthy words.

“I can-behave,” you tell him as he finally gets all of him inside you, taking your breath away as he does so. You can tell every inch of him as he stays there for a second, pressing a kiss to your lips as he starts back up again, full sending as he fucks into you as hard and as fast as he can, moan after delicious moan fall from his lips.

One of the street light reflects on the side of his face and you pull back just in time to take the most beautiful mental picture of him mid-moan. His mouth is wide open, sweat forming on his forehead, his hair a perfect mess. It’s something that should be in a museum for everyone to admire because it’s just that pretty.

“More,” you beg. “Need more.”

“You’re a greedy little slut, aren’t you. Already given you all of my cock and you want more?”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“Fine,” he says as he pushes inside of you once again, but he stays there, wanting to see exactly how long you can take it. You clench around him as your back arches and just when he thinks you’re about to give out, you orgasm, a hot, loud moan escaping your lips as you do so.

“That’s it,” he says as you collapse into his arms, your face going back to the crook of his neck. “Now c’mon,” he nods his head towards the exit of the alley. “I think you’ve behaved well enough to have earned your treat.”

And with that, Eddie pulls out and fixes your dress before tossing the condom to the side and getting dressed. Once he’s back on the bike, you put all of your weight on him as you fall asleep on the way back to Eddie’s apartment where he fulfills his promise by making you how whore over and over until he’s fucked you absolutely stupid.