#story: drinking from an empty cup

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[autumnscribbles]

come back | r.c

summary: you and rafe get into a fight on a night out, when you’re left to find your own way home, you find yourself in a bad position

warnings: drinking, creepy men, i think that’s about it

wc: 2k

a/n: my first official rafe fic!!! thank you so much to the person who sent in this request, i’m a little rusty but had so much fun writing this! pls send more :) enjoy

~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

You let out a loud laugh as JJ continued to tell you one of the most ridiculous stories you’ve ever heard. Between fits of laughter, you took small sips from your red solo cup. You were starting to feel tipsy, the alcohol coursing through you. It made everything funnier, and you found yourself leaning in towards JJ, unable to control your laughter. You clutched your stomach as he laughed along with you, his own laughter triggered by how much you were laughing. It was always an endless cycle with JJ, when one of you started to laugh, it was over.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you hiccuped, as you stared down at the empty cup in your hand.

JJ patted your leg and nodded at you before you stood up, making your way over to the table where the drinks were. The room spun slightly around you as you clumsily poured yourself another drink. You were mixing it yourself, and chuckled at how heavy handed your pour was. You tilted your head back as you took a sip, nodding to yourself in approval.

As you turned around to head back to the couch you were sitting on, you bumped into a familiar chest. You looked up at your boyfriend, smiling drunkenly at him.

“Hey! There you are!” you cheered, leaning your head on Rafe’s chest as you inhaled his familiar scent.

“Took you long enough,” he scoffed, stepping to the side and approaching the same table you were just walking away from.

“What does that mean?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you took another sip.

“It means you should probably lay off the liquor and maybe don’t hang all over JJ like an idiot,” he retorted, his eyes glued to the table in front of him.

You thought it was hypocritical, him telling you to stop drinking as he poured himself another rum and coke. He drank as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted and you never said a word to him about it. JJ had been your friend since childhood, your family taking him in when he had no one else. You grew up together. Your friendship would always be special.

“You should lay off the liquor,” you muttered under your breath as you walked away from him, going back towards JJ.

“Running back to him?” Rafe called out to you.

You turned around, seeing his bright blue eyes darken as he looked at you. His jaw twitched as he clenched it. You knew he was biting his tongue. Holding himself back from saying something he would really regret.

“You know what Rafe? You’re childish. JJ is my friend, and you know it. Maybe you should stop drinking and you wouldn’t be so fucking delusional,” you bit back.

Rafe rolled his eyes and you walked back over to JJ, plopping on the couch beside him again. He looked concerned as he asked you if everything was okay. You assured him you were perfect, and tapped your cup against his as a cheers.

You ignored Rafe as you saw him walk passed you, not even sparing you a glance. You knew you upset him, and that he was bothered. For once, you didn’t care enough to do anything until you got home. You didn’t want to cause a scene, and more importantly, wanted to have fun with your friends.

After a few rounds of pong with John B, Pope, JJ, and Kie, the alcohol was really getting to your head. You realized you hadn’t seen Rafe since your argument, anXd thought maybe you should look for him.

“I’m gonna get some air and look for Rafe,” you said to your friends, voice raised to be heard over the music. They nodded at you before setting up for another game.

You weaved through drunk, sweaty bodies before stepping outside. You breathed in the fresh air, closing your eyes as everything spun.

“You should lay off the liquor,” you muttered to yourself as you stumbled down the front steps.

You assumed Rafe would be outside. He usually stepped out for air when things were tense between you. He used it as a way to calm down. You were surprised when you didn’t find him.

You glanced down the street full of parked cars. You couldn’t spot Rafe’s truck. Did he leave? Would he? You felt tears springing to your eyes, suddenly feeling guilty for what you said to him. You pulled out your phone, calling him. It rang and rang, but eventually left you on voicemail. You shot him a quick text before sitting on the steps, spinning head in your hands.

“Hey…” you heard an unfamiliar voice behind you.

You looked over your shoulder to see someone you didn’t recognize. Obviously a kook, based on the polo shirt and khaki pants he had on. You had never seen him at one of these parties before. Or maybe, you just never recognized him.

“Hey,” you muttered, pulling out your phone to see if Rafe answered.

“Lost your boyfriend?” he asked, sitting down comfortably beside you. You felt yourself slide over, wanting distance from him.

“No,” you shook your head. “Just waiting for him.”

“Don’t think he’s coming back, sweetheart. I saw him get in his truck,” he chuckled. “I could drive you home though.”

“I’m good,” you answered shortly.

You stood up, taking a second to regain your balance. You had to go home. To find Rafe. You realized you didn’t have the keys to your place. Rafe had them. You came together and were going to leave together. You guessed you’d just knock until he answered once you got there.

You knew you should tell your friends you were leaving, but in a drunken haze you were too focused to go back inside. You’d just text them later.

The boy on the stairs was in a conversation with a clone of himself, so you started walking. The cool evening hair sent a slight chill down your spine, your shoulders exposed. You tried to walk as quickly as possible without falling.

When you heard footsteps behind you, you reluctantly decided to look behind you. You were surprised to find the boy from the stairs and his friend walking a few paces behind you.

You felt your heartbeat pick up a bit, your hand clutching your phone tightly, willing Rafe to call. You took a turn, and realized they were not too far behind you. Enough distance to try to make it seem like they weren’t following you, but you knew.

You decided you’d take the short cut. You had to go through the woods, but it wasn’t too far. The boys behind you wouldn’t know the path, even if they saw you turn off. You’d just run, you thought to yourself.

As you dashed quickly into the woods, your breath was loud in your ears. You were trying not to panic. You would be fine. You heard the footsteps behind you, branches cracking under their feet as their pace picked up. You’d run as far as you could.

Eventually, you slowed down, catching your breath. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to listen for the boys following you. Your heart beat hard in your ears as you took deep breaths. You didn’t hear them anymore. You were in the clear.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and flashed the light, realizing you had no idea where you ended up. You were surrounded by trees, no path in sight.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

You started walking where you thought you had come from, hoping to end up back on the path. You’d tripped over something, landing harshly on the hard ground. You hissed in pain as tears started filling your eyes.

You dialled JJ, thinking maybe you had a better chance of reaching him. No answer. You tried Rafe again, and again, and again.

The third time, he picked up. His voice choppy on the other line because of the bad service.

“Rafe?” you cried, overjoyed that he answered. “I need help I-I was walking home and I cut through the woods to get home but I’m lost.”

“Y/N?” Rafe answered. “Where are you?”

“The woods, I-I don’t know where exactly. Please help me, baby,” you cried.

You couldn’t hear his reply as the call dropped. You cursed under your breath again as you began to cry. You didn’t even know if Rafe heard you. You felt yourself starting to crash, the adrenaline wearing off and the effects of the alcohol hitting you all at once. You felt your eyes flutter shut, and succumbed to the exhaustion.

You eyes opened again to a faint sound in the distance. You sat up, disoriented, your head pounding behind your eyes. You winced as you tried to figure out how much time had passed.

You heard a voice in the distance, and as it approached you realize they were calling your name.

Rafe.

He came.

“Rafe!” you screamed as loud as you could, trying to signal to him where you were.

You heard his footsteps pick up as they got closer, and you kept calling out. Eventually he was in front of you, crouch down as his hands cradled your face.

“Baby, oh my god,” he breathed. “I’ve been looking for you, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry I acted like a bitch,” you cried, falling into his chest. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“Shhh I shouldn’t have left you there. I was a fucking asshole. I’m so sorry. What if something happened to you?” he rambled, holding you close.

“These guys were following me so I cut through the woods. I tried to get away,” you breathed. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What? Who?” he asked angrily.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sighed. “I just wanna go home.”

*

Rafe brought you inside and into the bathroom, turning the light on.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered. There was a cut down your leg, bleeding from when you tripped. You were covered in dirt, leaves, and branches.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you told him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry baby, I can’t say it enough.”

He turned the shower on, the steam starting to fill the room. He helped you gently peel off your clothes and step in, where he joined behind you. He rinsed off all the dirt and blood, and gently massaged your head with shampoo to wash out the dirt. You began uncontrollably sobbing as the warm water fell down your body, and you were so worn out you didn’t even know why anymore.

Rafe dressed you into your favorite pyjamas and brought you to bed, tucking you in gently. All while whispering that you were okay, that he was sorry, and that he loved you. He set down a glass of water beside you, urging you to drink it.

“Do you need anything? Are you hungry? Cold?” he asked.

You shook your head, reaching your arms out to him. He fell on the bed beside you as you lay on his chest, his heart beat faster than normal.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered to him, your eyes beginning to close. “I’m okay.

“I don’t know how I can forgive myself,” he said. “What if those guys..” he stopped himself before continuing. He didn’t want to voice what he was thinking. It was unimaginable.

“I shouldn’t have ignored you, or walked away when you were clearly upset. It was stupid,” you muttered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “I was just being jealous and stupid. I overreacted.”

“As always,” you chuckled, making the corners of his mouth turn up.

He watched as your eyes began closing, your previously stressed out facial expression smoothing out.

“Just rest, baby,” he cooed as he rubbed his hand along your back. “I won’t leave you again.”

You finally gave in to your exhaustion, just happy to be safe and warm in Rafe’s arms. You didn’t care about the fight anymore, or anything that happened. All that mattered was you were safe. You were okay.

He came back. He would always come back.

[1d1195]

Chances

~5k words

From Me: It's been about 2 minutes since my last love at first sight story so I figured that was long enough for another one. Just a silly little thing.

Warnings: A tiny bit of smut. Also she's shorter than Harry (only relevant for 20 seconds, max). Other than that, should be fluff fluff fluff.

Summary: Airports are gross, overpriced, and extremely anxiety-inducing. She hates being there.

But it's also where she sits with a really cute guy who makes her feel like she's flying from the moment she looks at him and before takeoff even begins.

What was it about airports that were so romantic? Everyone knew how gross they were. A petri dish of diseases on every surface. Overpriced food and drinks. Not to mention the exorbitant price of books and magazines. Almost everyone passing through was stressed with worry about missing their flight, losing their bag, losing their kid, or personal items. She was one of them. Even with an hour and half cushion she was worried it would take off or something while she was going to get a coffee.

Which was perhaps why she didn’t notice where she chose to sit at her gate. All that anxiety festering and building in her that only the relief of flopping into one of the seats near an outlet would release. She put her coffee in the little cup holder, tucked her bag beneath her feet and placed the overpriced book on her lap.

Someone called out for another person making her head tip up at the noise.

It was fate. Destiny. Whatever corny thing a romance writer would say it was. But there were only so many places her eyes could fall, and they happened to land on him.

What was it about making eye contact with a guy her age at the airport that made her feel like she was in a Hallmark movie? He gave her a polite smile. One that was downright pretty. Too pretty to be on a man's lips and one that made her heart skip a beat.

Hence why she was thinking about the romanticism of the airport in the first place.

She sincerely hoped she returned his kind smile because at the very least she didn’t want to be rude. But it was all a matter of seconds; this little romance novel scene she was playing out. Her cheeks felt warm with a rush of blood to her skin before she dropped her gaze back to her book. She had to. If she didn’t, she was going to do something crazy like profess how taken she was with him after meeting those stunning green eyes for half a second like the love at first sight she saw in movies.

But was that his gaze she felt heating up her skin? She refused to look up, but the words of her novel blurred together, and she could only think about how blue was one of her favorite colors growing up but green might have kicked that right out of the top spot in that moment.

*

Their flight was delayed which stressed her out beyond comprehension. It wasn’t even that long but if she didn’t have somewhere to be when she landed, she would have felt a lot better. She swore she was the last person to board the plane, and it only fueled her anxiety further.

But if it weren’t for the delay, her being last, or the fact that she was going to miss the rehearsal dinner for her friend’s wedding, the anxiety of seeing the hot guy from the gate was sitting next to her empty seat was surely going to give her a heart attack at the ripe age of her late twenties.

She felt her cheeks burning in recognition as he smiled again at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

That pretty face that was going to haunt her dreams for a lifetime. “Are you 12A?” He asked. The window seat, fortunately. His voice was warm and gentle.

“Yeah, sorry,” she bit her lip.

He chuckled standing in the aisle to get out of her way so she could get settled. “S’nothing t’apologize for.”

“I’m sure you thought you were going to have the row to yourself,” she sighed and placed her oversized purse on her seat so she could stow her carryon above her head.

“Allow me,” he offered and hoisted the bag to the storage space as if she hadn’t crammed a week’s worth of clothes and shoes inside it for only a long weekend. “S’okay. S’not a big plane. They said it was full.”

Stupid airports and their romantic goggles.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully and slipped into their row.

She noted all of his items were ready: a book tucked into the seat back compartment, a bottle of water stowed there as well, and his phone and headphones that he pulled from his pocket and placed on the tray once he was seated again. She fiddled with her bag, pulling out the items she wanted tucked into the spaces she had easy access to as well. Most importantly, she grabbed the travel package of disinfectant wipes to clean off her little home away from home for the next few hours.

“Oh, that’s a smart idea,” he smirked admiring her tidiness.

“I think Covid taught me that airplanes are one of the most disgusting places on the planet.”

He chuckled. “I suppose s’fair,” he nodded in agreement. “D’you have an extra one?” He asked. She nodded and held the little package out to her row-mate. He took two and repeated her routine to clean. The air vent, the tray table, the belt buckle and arm rest. He used the second to wipe down his headphones, phone, and book with a quick swipe. She held out a little sandwich bag she used for trash while on the plane. “Y’must fly a lot,” he smirked at her preparedness.

“Used to,” she took a deep breath. “I still get kind of nervous.”

“Honestly, would think y’were not human if y’didn’t get nervous.”

The announcements were being made and she focused on the flight attendants and their safety demonstration. Well, tried to. The man beside her was so handsome it was like he demanded to be stared at; it was hard not to comply to such a silent request. He looked effortlessly comfortable and so attractive it was unfair. But maybe it was those stupid airport goggles making her fall in love with someone relatively close to her age and perhaps he was only a little hot.

But as he reached for the air vent again, his sweatshirt sleeve slid down his wrist so that her eyes darted to his forearm and landed on the tattoo on the inside of his arm. It wasn’t even something she would qualify as a sexy tattoo, but it was there. As it appeared in her vision, all her dignity, self-respect, and thought of him being only a little hot, flew right out the window.

Stupid men.

The plane jolted a little as it started its take-off, making her gasp and she gripped the armrest tight. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as it settled into its rhythm. The final announcement that the ascent was going to begin came through the speaker and the plane got quiet as it always did at that time. “Hey, love?”

It was pathetic she recognized his voice already. Pathetic that she was going to respond to the little pet name. They had barely spoken. But the two little words were soft and sexy. In a gentle kind of way. She peeked out of one eye to glance at him. She swallowed thickly around the nerves. “Uh... yeah?”

“I can hold your hand, if y’want. S’just a tight grip y’got on m’arm,” it was so gentle. He didn’t even sound annoyed or pained. She gasped again, released his arm from her goddamn death grip, and covered her mouth. How fucking embarrassing. She didn’t even notice.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“No, s’fine,” he assured her, his smile was so kind. Like she was a wounded bird that he found after it flew into the window. “Here,” he offered pulling her hand from her mouth and laced their fingers together. “M’not a fan of takeoff either,” he explained giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Did he feel how perfectly their hands fit together? Or did she imagine it? These airplane goggles were thick as hell. She was fucked when she got off the plane and never saw him again. They were silent during the remainder of the ascent and once the bell signaled that they could unbuckle, the pilot announced they were at cruising altitude, Harry gave her hand a squeeze again before releasing it.

“Thank you,” the sincerity in his voice made her blush and she was glad it was dark on the plane and the flight would remain dark. Because if she had to see how pretty his face was for the whole flight, she wasn’t going to make it. It was unfair that someone so handsome was seated next to her and she would never see him again. Someone who was thanking her for holding her hand. After she tried to rip his arm hair out.

Did his hand feel cold? Her hand felt cold. It was so ridiculous she just wanted to scream.

She had the worst luck.

*

Harry had the best luck. The pretty girl from the gate was in the same row as him. He got to hold her hand. The flight was only five or so hours long and the thought of it being delayed was miserable. But there she was looking so unbelievably beautiful.

There’s a REALLY pretty girl at my gate. He texted Mitch the second he saw her.

You better not be creepy. Sarah says there’s NOTHING worse than a guy being creepy at the airport.

I’m not going to make my soulmate uncomfortable. I’m just going to ask her every question that pops into my head to get to know her, and then ask how many kids she wants to have with me.

...Best of luck to her.

I’m probably not even going to talk to her :( She looks busy and what are the chances she’ll be sitting next to me? There’s no way I have that kind of luck.

But Harry did have that luck it seemed. The pretty girl was tucked into their row against the window, her head resting against the side of the plane. She was clean, organized, and adorable. He liked how she spoke to the flight attendant. Like she was a hinderance by being a passenger. It was sweet and he admired her kindness and thoughtfulness. She was so grateful when Harry handed her the little bag of pretzels and the drink she got.

“Reading something good?” She asked quietly.

Harry smiled and held it out to her so she could read the back cover. “Something m’sister recommended.”

She intently read the words on the back and nodded. “I think I’m going to add it to my never-ending list.”

God, he wanted to say he could give it to her when he was finished. But he was never going to see her again. So maybe he didn’t have the luck he hoped he did. “How ‘bout you?”

“Um...” she smiled. “It’s nothing... intelligent. It’s a brain-rotting romance thing. I don’t know, I like to read trashy stuff on the plane. Take my mind off it and everything else.”

“I see,” he didn’t ask Gemma a lot of questions, but he knew that meant it was filled with spicy romantic scenes that he could only dream about with someone as pretty as her. But that would be what Sarah called creepy, so he pushed that thought away quickly. “M’not a huge e-book person.”

“They’re good for travel,” she smiled. “I love bookstores, and I think I could build a whole house out of the books I have or want to buy. But traveling... it’s nice to have something compact. But I bought a book at the convenience store before we left. Which is so dumb because the mark up is like an extra ten dollars and I could have gotten it for free on this thing but the Wi-Fi is a bit of a problem sometimes, like I can’t get my new book to—” She paused as Harry listened intently. It was so disarming listening to her talk about books and her e-reader. It was adorable. Her eyes, even in the faint glow from the emergency airplane lights, were lit with excitement. “I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”

“No!” He frowned, shaking his head hurriedly. He immediately missed the excitement in her eyes. “Y’weren’t. I never thought ‘bout how the traveling is easier with it. I had t’forgo a whole outfit t’get m’books in m’bag.”

She smiled and sipped her drink. “I always do that. Except I’m sure you felt how heavy my bag was, I didn’t do it this time. I told myself I wasn’t going to overpack and I just couldn’t do it.”

“M’sister has a hard time with it too.”

“It’s impossible, I think. Especially for an event, you know?”

Was Harry still smiling? He couldn’t stop smiling. She just had this air about her. The air between them was vibrating and it wasn’t because of turbulence. She had to feel it, right? Harry couldn’t be imagining this electric feeling that was pulsing between them. They were just sitting there, staring at each other.

“Can I say something crazy?” He asked.

“Crazy? Are you planning on murdering me?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I jus’...” he paused and scanned her face memorizing the moment wondering how on earth he could meet her again. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to have a plane ride back with her. But there couldn’t be that much good luck. “This is a bit...” he trailed off and he chuckled. His face was only inches from hers. She bit her lip.

“Yeah... it is.”

“S’crazy, right?”

She nodded. “It is,” she whispered back.

“Hi,” he said quietly, a smile growing on his face.

“Hi,” she giggled.

*

When the plane began its descent, he held her hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze. It made her stomach flutter. As they left their little row, her heart hammered in her chest. How unfair it was that she would never see him again. He grabbed her bag from the compartment above and he walked with her all the way to baggage claim. They chatted a little more. Smiling and giggling. She didn’t even realize he was still holding her hand.

At least the airport goggles were working both ways it seemed.

“You let me go on and on about overpacking and you checked a bag?” He smirked, grabbed her hand again and led her toward the rideshare pickup spot. “Can I say something crazy?”

“Are y’planning on murdering me?” He asked.

“You felt it right?”

“Felt what?” The smile melted off her face and she dropped his hand like it burned her. “Whoa, hey,” he laughed and snagged it quick into his again. “S’bad joke,” he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly. “Course I felt it.”

She looked at her feet. The seconds felt like hours as she looked for something to say. “I don’t know where to go from here,” she frowned looking back at him.

“Yeah...” He sighed. “It’s...” he sighed. There was so much he wanted to say. So much she wanted to tell him. They needed more time, more space.

She wanted to live on that plane.

Harry wanted to stay at that airport.

She pushed up onto her toes and kissed him. It was crazy. Outlandish. Ridiculous. She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing his skin. He smiled on her mouth making her want to melt. His hand found her lower back, pulled her closer because in just sneakers she couldn’t reach his lips completely. With her firmly in his embrace, he nipped at her lower lip. It was so sinful she shivered.

The honking interrupted their moment, pulling each other apart. “I have to go,” she whispered looking at the Uber that matched the license plate listed on her phone.

“I know.”

“Hi,” she whispered with a quiet laugh.

“Hi.”

“It was... really nice meeting you,” her smile was so goddamn pretty it was going to make Harry cry.

“It was nice meeting you, love,” he answered. Safely tucked her into the back of the cab. She unrolled the window.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Harry,” he said.

“Harry,” she repeated. “Nice meeting you, Harry.”

*

“You have outdone yourself,” she smiled as she turned. The woman before her had a stunning smile, her hair half pinned, her white silk pajamas shimmering in the light. “They’re stunning.”

“You’re one to talk, I’d give you a hug but I don’t want to mess anything up,” she wrinkled her nose. “You love them?” She asked.

“I love them. They might upstage me.”

“I sincerely doubt it. You look stunning already.”

“Do you hate me for not making you a bridesmaid?”

“God, no,” she shook her head. “I’m more of a behind the scenes kind of person anyway. If you need anything today, I’m your girl,” she promised. “I was too far away,” she shrugged.

“Don’t remind me,” she frowned. “These flowers are the things of dreams. You are the best,” she sighed dreamily. “Can I see my bouquet?” Her frown quickly turned into a smile again. “I’ve been dreaming about it.”

She went to the bucket that was at the edge of what would be the ceremony floor and pulled the bouquet from it. She felt so proud and happy with the arrangement she made for one of her long-time best friends. “Seph,” she smiled. “You look beautiful,” she reminded her.

Persephone grinned admiring the bouquet. “You’re incredible... How was your flight? Other than delayed?”

“It was...” she tried to think about anything but the color green. “Good.”

“Oh?” Seph’s perfectly plucked eyebrow arched suspiciously “How good? Did you join the mile high club?”

“Oh my God, Persephone, of course not.”

“Well, you don’t say good like that if he’s not cute.”

A slight pause as she looked at the ceiling and then back at her friend. “He was really cute.”

“You’re a walking Hallmark movie.”

“That’s literally how I felt.” They giggled then she sighed thinking about the kiss she shared with a stranger. It was so unlike her to get all in a twist about a guy she just met. This wasn’t normal. It was like she was still in the airport. There were so many things they didn’t talk about. So many things she didn’t know about him and never would. It was unfair and yet she couldn’t stop herself from feeling like she was still flying. Shaking her head, she turned to her friend once more. “Alright, I have to finish these flower arrangements. Not sure if you know this, but there’s a wedding happening here tonight.”

“Sorry about your airplane man, babe,” Seph squeezed her shoulder.

“Hey, no frowns. It’s your wedding day,” she turned back to the table she was working on before her friend’s interruption. “I think some moments are meant to just... exist in that moment.”

*

Harry had thought about only three things that day. Breathing, cake, and of course the beautiful girl he met on the plane.

You KISSED her?! Sarah asked.

I know... I’ve never met anyone like her.

That’s a real bummer, Harry, honestly. It was and Sarah was right. At first, he was joking, but now he was certain she was his soulmate, and he just let her go. But what choice did he have? Yes, there was the feeling of his heart beating faster. The excitement of making her laugh. But there was the calmness, the tranquility of being beside her. Holding her hand.

Maybe it was morbid, but Harry was certain he was looking for someone to hold his hand if the plane were to go down and maybe that’s what a soulmate really was.

It was easy. Easy to talk to her, make her laugh. It was easy to get to know her and he didn’t even know anything about her. He didn’t know where she was from, what she did, where she was going, but he just knew that she was his and he let her go. There were too many variables. Too many things he couldn’t control.

“Harry, you almost done?”

“Jus’ putting the finishing touches,” he mumbled.

“We’re going to be late!”

“They won’t start without us,” he rolled his eyes.

“If there is a speck of—”

“I’m clean, I’m clean,” he shook his head, coming to the other room and brushing his hands along his coat. “Let’s get married, yeah?”

*

The maid of honor talked about how lucky the pair of them were to find one another. How there were an infinite number of opportunities for them to not have met but there was this special moment destined for each other. Where Persephone would walk into the library to sit in her favorite study spot and if she wasn’t so superstitious she would have just found another table.

But instead, she walked right up to the table, told her future husband he was in her spot, and she was preparing for an exam, and she wouldn’t let him use her favorite seat.

The best man spoke about how he was actually destined to be with the groom for forever and ever which made the entire place laugh.

But talk of luck and destiny just made her feel miserable on the inside. If she asked for his number or where he lived, it would be hours from where she lived. She would be devastated. A kiss was a good ending to her little story. That would suffice.

Maybe he already had a girlfriend. That would work too. Something to make her feel like a horrible person and lessen the blow that her soulmate was somewhere out there never to be seen again. Harry was just a guy that held her hand on a plane and talked about books with her for hours so she wouldn’t be scared. Someone that split his snacks with her even though she didn’t know him.

No. She couldn’t think about him. She had to stop thinking about him. It wasn’t good for her brain or her heart.

It was a beautiful ceremony. That’s what she needed to focus on. Persephone was a gorgeous bride and the event was just... perfect. “I think I’ve given your name and number to just about every single woman here,” Seph said sliding into a seat beside her and kissed her cheek.

She laughed. “Well thank you,” she smiled. “Let me see,” she held her hand out for the one with her new jewelry and she admired the pretty diamond that glimmered alongside the new band of diamonds below it. “Everything is beautiful.”

“This place is beautiful because of you. Just like you said.”

“Oh... it was beautiful before. I just added to it.”

“I didn’t see it though. It’s a bargain if you can envision it like this. I seriously wouldn’t have picked it without you saying you’d do the flowers,” Seph explained. “You saw so much more than I did.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think there’s a place on earth that doesn’t benefit from flowers.”

“Well, thank you,” she squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t be having a wonderful day without you. I know it was a lot to travel out here and—”

“No, no. Don’t even. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Flowers or no flowers.”

Persephone grinned. “Well... in other news... do you see anyone as cute as your airplane man? Lerone has a lot of single friends.”

She smirked and shook her head. “No offense, Seph, but there is no one that’s going to be as cute as my airplane guy.”

“No one?”

Her head snapped up to the voice that she had already planned on dreaming about for the rest of her life. Her eyes met the same green gaze she had the pleasure of looking at for five hours while chatting about books and whispering about nothing of importance (but it all seemed important at the time). There was no way. She didn’t have this kind of luck. If there was a squeaky carriage at the grocery store she was sure to pick it. There was no way that—

“Hi Harry!” Persephone smiled. “Do you two know each other?”

“Something like that,” Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Hi,” Harry grinned at her.

She cleared her throat, adrenaline flowing through her body. “Hi,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Harry baked our cake. He went to school with Lerone.”

“Oh,” she swallowed.

“And I heard y’did all the work with these pretty flowers,” Harry smiled.

“She’s like the flower queen,” Persephone giggled.

“I see.”

There was a pause while they stared at each other. Harry grinning like a madman, he was sure. But she was stunning. A floral dress draped her body, her hair half pinned up. She was so pretty. Somehow even prettier than the way she looked on the airplane and Harry was certain she could never be prettier than the moment she sat next to him.

“Hi,” she laughed.

“Hi,” he chuckled.

“Of all the gin joints.”

Harry took a seat beside her. Persephone had moved onto the next table and yet, she hadn’t even noticed. “I haven’t stopped thinking ‘bout you, love,” he grabbed her hand. “Been thinking ‘bout the plane, y’e-reader, and that earth-shattering kiss.”

Her cheeks heated up and Harry reached out to brush his thumb on her cheek. “This is insane,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed.

“I don’t have luck like this,” she explained. “I’m the kind of person that has their luggage get lost. Or my coat will snag on the doorknob. If I didn’t want to be paired with someone in a group project in high school, I could guarantee I was going to be in their group.”

“Y’think it’s lucky you’re meeting me?” He practically wiggled his eyebrows. Trying to sound egotistical but all it did was make her fall harder for him.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Well...yeah,” she swallowed. “I mean... what else am I supposed to call it?”

“It doesn’t have t’be luck. Can jus’ be meeting you.”

“I don’t think it works that way for me.”

“Can I dance with you?” He asked.

“I’m not very good and I think there’s a good chance I’ll step on your toes and—”

Harry was already helping her stand and tugging her to the dance floor. She did step on his toes, not hard, but her quiet “sorry” was lost on Harry. It felt perfect to hold her in his arms. One hand in his, her other at the back of his neck, his free hand on the small of her back. They fit like puzzle pieces. “A florist, hmm?” He hummed right by her ear.

“A baker?” She replied.

He chuckled. “What are the chances?”

*

“D’you have any idea how good y’look?” He groaned. She was in just a T-shirt. Harry’s T-shirt. He propped his head in his hand as he looked at her laying in his bed. His finger skimming just below the hem of the shirt. It barely touched her thighs and the only thing that stood in his way was a scrap of fabric she called underwear.

She giggled. “Back at you.”

“This is insane,” he smiled and pressed his lips to hers.

“It is,” she whispered.

If all her bad luck had been to make this weekend happen, she was forever grateful. This was worth it. Harry was worth it. “When’s your flight?”

“Quarter of five. When’s yours?”

“The same, of course.”

She smiled and tucked her face into his chest. “How far away are you from my shop?”

“Only ‘bout a half hour drive,” he told her. “Why?”

“Just... wondering.”

“Jus’ want t’know how much time and distance is between you and a toe-curling orgasm?”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I wasn’t talking ‘bout you,” he peppered a line of kisses down the side of her face and along her neck, down the curve of her shoulder, even when the T-shirt got in the way. “You are so pretty,” he mumbled pulling at his shirt to touch her soft skin and curves. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so pretty.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, I’d remember you,” he smiled pressing his lips to her collarbone. He pulled the shirt off her and he brushed his thumbs across her nipples softly. Making them perk up more than they already were with the cold air from the room and no barrier between her. “Definitely remember this,” he mumbled into her skin.

“I have to pack,” she whispered but her voice was air and her resolve wasn’t there.

“Put it in m’checked bag,” his lips were occupied by one of her nipples making it extremely difficult for her to concentrate. “Jus’ shove everything in there. Then s’a promise I’ll see y’after we land.”

Her heart fluttered. “You want to see me again?”

He popped his head up from licking at her like she was candy. The air was even chillier against the sensitive skin without Harry’s warm mouth wrapped around her. “M’sorry, was I not clear?”

She smirked. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about airport goggles.”

“Airport goggles?” He repeated.

“I have really bad luck, Harry. I just worry that the idea of me in an airport because I’m roughly your age... or like, you know airplane food is a real thing? Not just a joke? Something about the altitude messing with your tastebuds or something. So maybe this is all an illusion, is what I’m saying. Maybe I am really unlucky because when we get back to our real life we won’t have airport goggles and—”

“Kitten,” he chuckled and rubbed his thumb across her lip. “Shh,” he whispered and pressed a soft kiss on her mouth.

“I’m just saying—”

“I know,” he rolled his eyes. “I hear you. But m’telling you, there’s no such thing as airport goggles. Even if there are, m’never taking them off.”

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[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ ONE MORE CHANCE? (IT WON'T BE THE LAST) ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ you hate your ex, but nobody else can fuck you half as well — so maybe you'll give him one more chance.

contents: fem!reader. implied unprotected sex, dirty talk (?), lil' bit of praise, lil' bit of degradation, oral (fem. receiving), couch sex, gojo covers your mouth at one point, cursing, lil' bit of teasing/mocking (?). sorta toxic but whatevs we love a toxic king! 2000+ words.

author's note: got lazy in the middle of writing this loll

"he's just so fucking annoying," you groan, swirling the drink in your hand. the ice clinks against the side of the glass as you lift the cup to your lips, sipping the whiskey and wincing at the way it burns the back of your throat. you lean back in the plush couch in your friend's living room and sigh. "i don't know why i ever dated him."

your friend nods in agreement, eyes fixed on her phone for another second before she turns it towards you. "look what he posted on his instagram."

on your friend's screen is an instagram story, and the tag shows that it's from your ex-boyfriend — satoru gojo. tired of his insensitivity and annoying nature, you had dumped him two weeks ago, and god, you'd never had such a petty ex in your life.

after you broke up with him, he blocked you from all his socials and got all his friends to do the same. so, since he practically knew everyone, you lost a hundred followers.

and apparently, he's out fucking some other girl right now.

the story on your friend's phone is a picture of a smirking satoru with his arm wrapped around some girl with a red plastic cup in her hand. they're bathed in overhead red lights, and you can barely make out a familiar dark-haired boy in the back — another one of satoru's fuckboy friends.

"he's such a manwhore," your friend says with an eyeroll. "d'you want to stay the night?"

you shake your head, setting down the now-empty glass on a coaster. "it's alright, i wouldn't want to intrude," you say with a rueful smile.

your friend eyes you suspiciously for another second before leaning back in her own seat and closing her eyes. "stay safe, it's pretty late."

you nod and toss your things into your bag before stepping out the door, closing it gently behind you. as you get in your car and drive back to your house, thoughts of satoru fill your head. 

you don't recognize the girl under satoru's arm, but she's pretty — too pretty for him. sure, satoru was conventionally attractive, with his ocean-blue eyes and flawless physique, but still. 

satoru was a shitty boyfriend, and now he's an even shittier ex. when you two dated, his spoiled brattiness and constant sorry, i forgot's drove you insane. he couldn't even remember your birthday. it was a miracle that you tolerated him for that long — until your one-year anniversary, which obviously slipped his mind.

"you're so insensitive," you groan, dragging a hand down your face. satoru suppresses a sigh, blue eyes looking everywhere but at you. "and— satoru, are you even listening to me?"

you're quiet for three seconds before he responds, and naturally, it was with a "huh? yeah, what is it?"

every time. every single time.

"it's over," you mutter, shaking your head frustratedly. "we're over, satoru."

"fine," he responds after a moment. "i never really liked you anyways."

"fuck you."

if you didn't give a fuck about that white-haired bastard anymore, why did the memory of your breakup still sting?

you try to tell yourself that it doesn't matter. maybe it was for the best — he was out with some pretty girl, so why couldn't you go out and sleep with some hot guy? 

you make up your mind right as you step into your house, and thirty minutes later, you're in a tight dress and four-inch heels. and it's almost funny how easy it is to doll up when you don't have a horny boyfriend trying to fuck you every two seconds.

right before you step out the door, you eye yourself in the mirror and can't help but admire the way your dress hugs your waist, accentuating your curves. that smug manwhore didn't know what he was missing out on — so why not show him?

you pull out your phone and take a picture of yourself, snapping a couple before deciding on one and posting it on your story. you knew he'd see it — you intentionally let his burner stay unblocked, and coincidentally, he didn't block you either. 

just as you push open your door, you realize that your phone's on death's door — just over five percent remaining. so you plug it into your charger, kicking your feet impatiently as you wait for it to charge to a reasonable amount.

some part of you wants to chicken out, to stay home and spend the night watching a classic romcom. but the other part of you, the part that can't ignore the fact that you haven't had sex in two weeks, urges you to go out and get laid.

so twenty minutes later, when your phone finally hits forty percent, you practically throw open the door and rush out and find yourself face-to-face with the guy who's somewhere between belly conklin and andy bernard on your most-disliked list. satoru gojo.

"what the fuck are you doing here?" you snap, wrapping your arms around yourself as the cold night air touches your bare skin. satoru eyes you up and down, and suddenly, you're very aware of just how exposed you are. "satoru, answer the damn question."

"where are you going?" he asks, eyes narrowing when they settle on your dress's deep neckline. 

"none of your business," you reply shortly, biting the inside of your cheek. unfortunately, satoru looks good. just like in his instagram story, he has one button undone in his collar, and his hair is rumpled and perfect all at the same time. "answer the fuckin' question."

"saw your story," satoru replies, slipping his hands into his pocket. "you going out on a date or something?"

the question catches you off guard, and your irritated expression drops for a moment. strangely enough, satoru doesn't have his usual smug expression on his face — he looks conflicted. he never looks conflicted.

"doesn't matter," you respond, walking around him and relishing the way your heels clack on the concrete ground. without turning around, you ask, "so, what about my story made you come over?"

you're not sure why you're baiting him. maybe it's the slight chance that he would beg to get you back, maybe it's the tightness in your chest and pussy, or maybe you just want the satisfaction of seeing satoru squirm.

whatever it is, it lets satoru take you by the wrist and drag you back inside. you suppose that if you can get dick at home, then there's no point in going all the way to the club. and it's not like you're gonna get back together over one night — this would be purely physical. he wanted you, and you wouldn't mind him.

"fuck, right there, sweetheart," satoru groans, pushing your legs impossibly farther apart as his tongue laps at your pussy. the two of you barely made it to the couch in your living room before satoru pushed you down, a mischievous smile on his lips. one thing turned to another, and soon enough he was on his knees in front of you and eatung you out like a starving man.

"you're such a loser," you mutter, threading your fingers through his hair as his tongue makes you see stars. he really was — who shows up to their ex's place after getting dumped? a laugh bubbles out of satoru's lips while his mouth is still on your pussy and it makes you shiver. satoru looks up at you, an amused gleam in his eyes.

"s' that so?" satoru mumbles, pressing his lips to your inner thigh with a smirk. "then why'd you let me in, huh?"

"why would i go out when i can just get fucked at home?" you say dryly, a smile growing on your lips. "since you made the effort of coming all the way here."

"my pleasure," satoru scoffs sarcastically, getting up and joining you on the couch as he tugs you into his lap. "so i'm the pathetic loser here, yeah?"

you nod, letting satoru unzip the back of your dress with one hand. he laughs and shakes his head. "you're the one who let me in, baby."

"yeah, well, you showed up."

"you coulda slammed the door in my face."

"maybe i should've," you mutter, not liking the way he's grinning at you. "you gonna fuck me or what?"

"aw, you're desperate. how cute," he replies without missing a beat. it's been a while since you got to banter with satoru like this, and some part of you misses it. sure, he's disgustingly cocky, but at least he has the dick to back it up. and it's fun, too — you like the chase, and clearly, he does too.

"not really," you say with a shrug. that's a lie — the only reason you let him in was to get fucked, and contrary to the excuses falling from your mouth, you were getting impatient. not that he needed to know that.

"fine. have it your way, brat." satoru smiles cheekily and bounces his leg up and down, making you grit your teeth as you struggle to focus.

you make a face at satoru, crossing your arms. "what are you—"

"waiting."

"for what?"

"for you to beg."

your mouth falls open, and you glare at satoru, hating the way he's smugly grinning at you. this isn't the first time he's asked you to beg for him to fuck you — back when the two of you were dating, he had no problem edging you the whole night and practically making you cry for him.

"not this again," you groan, letting out a drawn-out sigh. "just fuck me already, satoru. or i'll go get someone else to."

satoru clicks his tongue, smiling lazily. "we both know you won't do that."

again, he's right, and god, you hate him for it. "just shut up and fuck me."

"alright, since you asked so nicely," satoru drawls, running his tongue over his teeth. he studies you intently, white hair falling into his eyes. before you can ask what he's looking at, he has you pinned against the couch cushions, face down and ass up. 

"good girl, stayin' nice and quiet for me," satoru groans, hand clasped over your mouth as he pounds into you from behind. "you always talked too much. never knew when to shut that damn mouth."

you moan against his hand, unable to think about anything else but satoru and his dick. that's the only reason the two of you stayed together for as long as you did — because the sex was irreplaceable. and after two weeks without getting fucked, you seriously consider throwing all pride out the window and begging for him back.

"shit, you're so fuckin' tight," satoru says with a rough laugh. "have you really not fucked with anyone else since you dumped me?" 

you shake your head, eyes pressed shut as satoru continues sloppily thrusting into you. there's a coil in your chest that's threatening to burst, and the whines slipping out of your lips increase in both pitch and volume.

at this point, you can hardly remember why you broke up with satoru — or maybe, he's just not giving you a chance to remember. his pace is relentless and mind-numbing, and shit, maybe it's for the best.

when he finally lets you cum, it's the best feeling you've had in what feels like forever. the edges of your vision go white, and satoru removes his hand from your mouth, letting out the lewd, muffled sounds that you've been suppressing all this time. not long after, satoru cums too, and it's sloppy, messy, and all over you. 

satoru collapses on top of your back, hot breaths slipping out of his mouth and brushing against your cheek. "took me so good, baby," he groans, pressing his lips to your neck and laughing breathily. "we should do this again sometime."

you shouldn't like this. you should be shoving him out your door, but his mischievous smile is irresistible. and even though you know this time probably won't end any different than the rest, you decide to give satoru one more chance.

"yeah, same time tomorrow?"

"anythin' for you."

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Angel || LN4

Summary: Kingsday gets a little wild, in honour of Lando’s nose. Warnings: alcohol, injuries, blood WC: 1.7k

Lando wasn’t drunk, but he was by no means sober either. Everyone had warned him the Kingsday event was a marathon not a sprint so he was taking it slow, sipping his rum and coke out of the orange paper cup while the river boat cruised its course.

By midafternoon it was another story completely.

Martin had taken a break and let a playlist continue the party without him on the deck while he went in search of Lando. The British driver had reached the point of being tipsy and fallen into a state of drunkenness where he could no longer block out his intrusive thoughts. Everywhere he looked couples were dancing or making out and he couldn’t help the despair of loneliness that separated him from the fun.

Leaning back on the cushions that covered the bow, Lando looked up to the bright blue sky and wondered why he couldn’t find someone that loved him with the same passion he had. He was always the one to fall harder and knew it was why things didn’t work out long-term.

The half empty cup was stolen from his hand and Lando lolled his head to see Martin drinking it dry. “No more for you, my friend. Smile! It’s Kingsday: the sun is out and the music is loud.”

“Sorry,” Lando sighed, not quite able to muster up a real smile.

“What’s wrong?” Martin dropped onto a cushion beside him and nudged his shoulder until Lando spilled the thoughts he was harbouring.

—

“These heels are killing me,” you complained as they wobbled on the cobblestone. “Can we stop for a minute?”

There were groans from some of the guys in the group but their girlfriends silenced them. You smiled gratefully at your friends but knew they were in just as much pain after hours of drinking in the city for Kingsday. The thought of walking any further to the house party someone had invited everyone to nearly had you calling for a taxi, despite the chances of getting one next to nothing.

“Lennon said there will be tons of single guys at the party. In that dress you will totally pull a 10,” Sarah said as she leaned back against the bridge rail and rolled each ankle to ease the ache.

You laughed at the statement and mirrored her position, careful not to drop the glass you had accidentally stolen from the last bar. “Getting laid isn’t the problem, it’s getting the guy to stick around afterwards.”

“Relationships are overrated,” she said, blowing a kiss to Lennon when he looked her way and raised a brow. “Not ours, baby.”

You sighed longingly as they shared a smile. “I want what you guys have.”

“Well then you better hurry up because the love of your life might just be waiting for you. Wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?”

You rolled your eyes but decided that you would continue the walk barefoot and put your heels back on when you got to the house. Leaning against the rail, you balanced on one foot and reached for your heel just as a drunkard went flying past on his e-bike.

“Ah, shit!” you screamed as you lost your balance, toppling back over the rail and straight towards the murky water below.

—

Martin yawned as he listened to Lando’s long winded explanation for why he was alone and all his friends were in relationships.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was putting you to sleep,” he sassed.

“Well if you want some advice, from someone in a relationship, you’re not helping yourself moping around. For starters, you need to get up,” Martin encouraged as he rose to his feet and offered his friend a hand before the sunlight disappeared, the boat passing under one of the many bridges. “Love isn’t going to just fall into your lap-”

A scream pierced the air before a flurry of orange material crashed onto Lando, both their eyes squinting to readjust to the bright sunlight out of the tunnel.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you realised you were still alive and you looked around to see what had broken your fall. “Holy shit, I am so sorry!”

A stunned man sat beneath you and you reached for his face as you noticed the blood running down his nose. “Oh my god, did I do that? Are you alright? Shit, you probably don’t speak English.”

“He speaks English. It’s getting him to shut up that’s the problem,” a man standing above you said with a laugh. “Lando, mate, snap out of it.”

You started to climb off his lap but his arms tightened around you and he shook his head with a wince. “Don’t move, you might have broken something.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you apologised again.

“Not me, you muppet,” he laughed. “You might have broken something.”

You patted yourself down, straightening your dress back into place at the same time, but everything felt fine. You tested your wrists and ankles too, only to notice you had indeed broken things.

“What’s the damage?” Lando asked.

“Ego mostly,” you admitted sheepishly. “I think I broke my heel on your face.”

“Pretty sure that was your glass,” he said looking at what remained in your hand, the sting of the cut on your palm finally appearing when you noticed the blood on the broken glass. “How bad is it? Am I hideous?”

“You are still a 10,” you giggled after noticing he was devastatingly handsome, even with the cut across his nose. Grabbing the hem of your dress, you gently dabbed the blood away before realising that it was a stupid idea. “You don’t have any diseases, do you?”

“Rabies,” his friend joked.

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Lando shot back and while they bickered jokingly you heard your name called from the river bank. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Are you alive?” Lennon shouted as he ran along with the boat.

“Nope, I’ve died and gone to heaven!”

“I’ll let Sarah know!” He grew smaller as he stopped running and the boat continued downstream to some unknown destination.

“That’s my best friend’s boyfriend,” you explained as you patted your bra but found your phone missing. “Can I borrow your phone? I think mine drowned.”

Lando carefully shifted you so he could get to his pocket before settling you back on his lap. The grateful smile you gave him almost made him drop the device and he had to enter his passcode in twice before he got it right.

“Where is this boat heading to?” you asked as the dial tone connected. “Hey, it’s me, calm down, I’m alive.”

“Good, I’ll kill you myself! You gave me a fucking heart attack, woman!” You had to hold the phone away from your ear as she shouted her concern.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, but I’m sorry for giving you a heart attack.”

“As you should be! Len said you landed on some guy. Is he hot?”

Your face heated and you knew he had heard the question with the curious look on his face. “Mhmm, very.”

“You should invite him to the party and do a little sexy dance for him!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I kind of…broke his face.”

The silence was damning before you swore you heard her laugh from all the way upstream. “Only you could have the worst luck with men.”

“Trust me, I know all too well. Anyway, they are stopping at the Rose Bridge so I’ll just meet you guys there. Guess my luck isn’t all that bad.”

You ended the call and handed the phone back.

“What party are you going to?” Lando asked as he pocketed it again.

“I don’t know, it’s some house party. There’s a local DJ playing.”

Lando’s smile grew and he pointed to his friend. “Local DJ, ha!”

As it turned out the house party wasn’t actually a party at someone’s house and the DJ wasn’t just locally renowned. Once you were finally introduced to Lando’s friend you found out he was the DJ, Martin Garrix, and Lando was even more famous.

“I can’t afford a lawsuit,” you groaned when you realised you had practically assaulted a celebrity.

“It’s just a scratch,” Lando assured you after Martin found a first aid kick. His poor attempt at wrapping a bandage made Lando look like a mummy so you took the box yourself and found a couple of small butterfly stitches. “Nothing a kiss wouldn’t fix.”

You giggled at his flirty nature you had come to adore in the last hour and if you hadn’t drunk so much liquid courage at the bar you probably wouldn't have been able to lean closer and kiss his cheek. His skin was warm and soft beneath your lips and when you opened your eyes you found his blue eyes staring intently back. “Better?”

He shook his head. “Nope, I think it needs another try.”

“Hmmm, good idea.” You kissed his other cheek and grinned when he pouted. “No? One last try.”

Your fingers delighted in the feel of his soft hair as you combed the curls and dipped your head to his. Your heart rate spiked and you closed your eyes as you kissed his pillow-soft lips teasingly slowly before his hands cupped your face and he deepened the kiss.

You broke away with a small gasp and your eyes were wide with the want for more. It was a look reflected on Lando’s face as he gently stroked your heated cheeks.

“Hey, lovebirds! We’re here,” Martin called as the boat reached the canal edge.

You kicked off your broken heels and Lando frowned before he gave you his, looping his fingers into the straps of your shoes to carry them. You were already wearing his shirt since your dress had his blood on it and you were certain you looked at absolute mess.

“Ready to party, Angel?”

“Angel?”

“What else would I call a beautiful woman who fell from the heavens?” Lando wondered if he was making a mistake and moving to fast like he always did but it was too late, the question was already out there.

“You could call me your girlfriend.” You cringed in an instant. “I mean not tonight, that would be way too quick but-”

Lando cut you off with a kiss and you felt his smile against your lips before he asked, “How about tomorrow?”

[marauder-misprint]

Animal person

Part 1 Part 2

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.6k words

cw: smoking, drinking, fluff

With a drink in one hand and Marlene’s cat in your lap being pet by the other, sitting on the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room was proving to be more fun than you had imagined. You were only there since Marlene wanted Dorcas there and Dorcas didn’t want to go alone. So, you got dragged from the dungeons to Gryffindor Tower. Conversations surrounded you as the Gryffindors animatedly told stories and jokes fueled by spiked punch. Marlene’s cat somehow managed to purr loud enough for you to hear her over everything around you. 

“I swear, she loves you more than me!” Marlene pouts as she is snuggled into Dorcas’ side on the couch. 

You laugh. “I’m an animal person, what can I say? They love me.”

As if on cue, the cat looks up at you and mews. 

“How come you don’t have a pet then?” Dorcas asks, tipping her cup toward you before bringing it back to her lips.

“Mum’s not as animal-friendly as I am,” you say with a shrug. “So I’m waiting until after Hogwarts when I move out.”

“Going to get your own cat?” Lily asks from the chair next to you. 

“No. Dog.”

“Dog?” Marlene gasps. 

“I’m a big dog person.”

“Are you now?” James asks, suddenly joining the conversation despite having been in the middle of one with Remus and Peter.

“Yes?” you reply, unsure why that caught his attention.

“You should get to know Sirius then,” Remus says, gesturing to the window off to the side where Sirius is. He’s leaning against the wall, peering out the slightly cracked open window. He blows a puff of smoke out into the night. 

“He likes dogs?” you ask. 

“You could say that,” James says with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

You look at the girls, trying to get a read off of them. They offer no insight to why the boys want to send you in Sirius’ direction.

“Didn’t get the vibe that his family was all that into animals, based on Regulus.”

“Yeah, well, Sirius, he's different than his brother, yeah,” James rattles off. “Bit of a dog himself, if you know what I mean.”

Remus barks a laugh, leaning on Peter who is also laughing. The girls exchange glances of annoyance. You cast a wary look toward Sirius and take a sip of your drink. The cat nudges your now-limp hand, asking for your petting to resume. 

“Anyways,” you say, trying to turn the conversation back from the boy smoking at the window, “any of you lot done Slughorn’s essay?”

“I have,” Lily and Remus say at the same time, causing them to smile at each other and laugh. 

“Of course our prefects have the homework done,” Marlene says.

“Not going to lie, I’m more than okay I didn’t score well enough to take N.E.W.T. level Potions,” Dorcas says. “Never really liked Slug anyways.”

“He’s our head of house!” you laugh before taking a sip of your drink and then deciding to down it. 

“Does not mean I have to like him,” she defends. “I bet they all don’t like McGonagall.”

“That woman is a saint!” James declares. 

“A saint who gives you detention once a week?” Lily snorts. 

“Sometimes more,” Peter corrects her. “Depends how busy we are.”

“And he’s usually busier than the rest of us,” Remus adds. 

You gently shift the cat over to Marlene; it lets out a chirp of protest. You shake your empty cup in a silent explanation to Marlene’s confused look that she gave you. You head over to the punch bowl and refill your cup. Instead of returning to the couch, you decide to humor the Gryffindors and approach Sirius. 

“I’ve heard smoking is bad for you,” you say, leaning against the wall opposite of him. 

He takes a drag and blows the smoke in your face, causing you to slightly grimace. However, once the smoke clears from in front of your face and you can see his smirk, you take the cigarette from his hand and take your own drag, blowing smoke back into his face. 

“Oi! Out the window!” some yells from nearby. 

You hand Sirius the cigarette back. 

“Keep it,” he says. “I got a whole pack.”

You’re still holding out the cig to him. 

“I don’t smoke.”

He rolls his eyes. 

“So you’re just going to stand here then?”

You shake your head and take a sip from your cup. Once you lower it from your lips, he takes the cup from you, taking his own sip. When he gives it back, he takes the cigarette back. 

“Eye for an eye, huh,” you say, a smile playing on your lips. 

“Drinking’s bad for your liver,” he says, looking you up and down. “You’re not a Gryffindor,” he adds after a moment. 

“Good observation.”

He looks around the room as if taking account of who is all there. It’s mostly Gryffindors, Dorcas and maybe two Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. He looks back at you.

“Who’re you here with? Not exactly open invite.”

You take a sip of your drink. 

“With you right now, aren’t I?” There’s a hint of flirtation in your voice. 

His eyes narrow. 

“Who let you in?” he rephrases his question. 

“Marlene.”

He looks back at the couch where Marlene was watching them intently. She was still leaning into Dorcas’ side and petting her cat. He hums, coming to a conclusion. 

“Meadowes…” He chuckles dryly. “How’s my brother dearest?”

“Apparently less into animals than you are.”

He cocks his head. 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

You shrug, taking the cigarette for another drag and this time, you blow the smoke out the cracked window. As you do so, the cold night air really hits your face and you relish how refreshing it feels compared to the hot common room. 

“I said I’m a dog person and Lupin declares I should get to know you.”

He barks out a laugh and shoots a look towards the boys who are all smiling wickedly as they have also been watching the two of you converse. You look between the boys and Sirius before taking another drag on the cigarette. 

“Some joke I’m missing?” you ask, forcibly placing the dying cigarette back in his hand. “Potter said you were a bit of a dog yourself,” you add, imitating James. “But I’d have to be dense to not know what that means.”

He looks back at you, smiling a bit wider now. 

“And what does that mean?” he asks, ignoring your original question. 

“It’s how you treat women,” you say with an eye roll. 

You take a large sip of your drink before crossing your arms. You watch as his grey eyes take you in again. Trying not to feel unsure of yourself, you look him over. He’s still in his uniform, although it’s more disheveled than it usually is, shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up and tie barely hanging on. His hair was partially tied back to be kept out of his face. 

“I get good responses from the ladies,” he says nonchalantly. 

“But do you deserve it?” 

“They leave satisfied and come back for more,” he says with a wink. 

He snuffs out the cigarette and pulls out the pack to retrieve another one. You reach out to lower the box and put it back in his pocket. 

“It reeks.”

“But you had some!”

“Hmm, no. I don’t smoke.”

He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a packet of gum. He offers you one and you accept it, popping it immediately into your mouth. 

“‘Preciate it. Dory’s already going to kill me for abandoning her tonight; I don’t need double time because of your bad habit.”

“Darling, you already smell of it.”

“Because you blew it at me, instead of out the window.”

“You just have all the answers, don’t you?”

“Most of ‘em.”

“Yeah?” His voice was teasing. “What’s something you don’t know?”

“Why your friends thought I should get to know you.”

“Because I’m an absolute delight.” 

You laugh. “Right, and Reg is a fucking ray of sunshine.”

“He’s an acquired taste,” Sirius muses. 

“Like you’re not?”

“I repeat, I am a delight.”

His gaze seems to be challenging you to disagree. 

“You’re an acquired taste too. And,” you sigh, “it appears your brother is more to my pallet.”

You pat his shoulder and give him a gentle smile before turning to head back to the couch. You can feel his eyes follow you. You pause in front of Dorcas and Marlene. 

“Meadowes, do you need me to stay? I’m thinking of heading back.”

Lily looks at you from her chair. “Did he say something?”

“Huh? Black? No,” you say, shaking your head. “Just done with tonight.”

“Fine, go,” Dorcas says. You knew she was far too content to leave Marlene just yet, if at all that night.

Back in your own common room, you spot Regulus sitting on the couch by the fireplace. He’s reading. You plop down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder. You hear him audibly sniff the air. 

“Why do you smell like my brother?”

“I was Meadowes’ escort to Gryffindor Tower tonight,” you say nonchalantly. “Surprise, surprise, he was there.”

“Okay, but you smell strongly of him.”

“Smoke and mint gum is your brother’s signature scent?”

“That and those leather jackets…” he mumbles. 

You absentmindedly blow a bubble. He gives you a sideways glance. 

“At least tell me it was all consensual.”

The bubble pops. 

“Merlin, Reg! I didn’t shag Sirius!” 

He shakes his head, not believing you. 

“He offered me gum when I didn’t let him light a second cig,” you defend, sitting up straighter. 

Regulus hums as he turns the page of his book. 

–––

“Well, Pads, what did you think of her?” James asks after all four boys had abandoned the common room later in the evening. 

“I think you need to stop sending girls my way because they like dogs.”

James and Remus exchange a glance. 

“That wasn’t an answer,” Remus says. 

Sirius rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, she has my attention.”

Peter, Remus and James cheer at their success.

[occamstfs]

Triple Shot Theft

Trying to nab himself a sweet treat, Liam finds himself growing into the behemoth whose order he stole.

Shorter story! Petty thief to meathead bodybuilder, hope you enjoy this slightly more succinct story! -Occam

The coffee was in his sights. Liam just needs to wait for a moment when the mobile order counter was unattended andddd- There. He’s already out the door and headed down the street with enough caffeine to get him through his morning. I mean he’s not proud of his little act of delinquency, but it’s not like anyone’s suffering right? The coffee shop has unlimited resources, they'll make whatever poor schmuck whose drink he just nabbed a new one. 

Speaking of, now that he’s home free it’s well time for the first sip. Liam briefly checks the name on the cup, Elijah. “Well Eli, cheers to you. Bottoms up-” Raising the steaming togo cup to his lips Liam prepares for the ritual first burning sip. Not checking the label as he wants to be surprised by whatever hides underneath the lid. As soon as the drink touches his tongue it is revealed to be quite the unpleasant one as he rears back from the scalding drink and grimaces.

Totally unrelated from the boiling heat, the taste was the single most bitter thing he’s ever experienced before in his life. Sticking his burned tongue out before whispering a complaint he checks the label, “Jesus Christ dude!? What the fuck did your order?” Taking no time to analyze his criticism of a man who is by all intents his victim, his eyes grow wide as he sees the drink is a Black Dead Eye, that is drip coffee with three shots. 

He feels his heart flutter as he thinks about the amount of caffeine he now holds in his hand and plans how he is going to ration it out so he doesn’t completely overload himself. His mind briefly tries to picture the type of man to order this, though before a clear thought could be produced he shrugs and takes another sip. Could’ve at least had some syrup in there guy. Still taking a strained sip, an idea unfamiliar fills his mind, ‘psh as if I’m gonna drink some empty calories to start my day.’ 

Eliam’s eye twitches as he scrunches his face, presumably from the bitterness and grunts, “ugh, I hate-” Feeling a frog in his throat he clears it a few times in short succession. “Man, this drink sucks.” His brow immediately furrows as he hears his voice almost sounds deeper to his ears? Eliam eyes the drink for half a second before shrugging and assuming he must be coming down with a cold. Something within his subconscious questions how that will affect his time at work? No, not work, something else. Something close though, his arm rises in a right angle and he tilts his head as the thin limb tries to flex, immediately confused as to why he just did that, after a pause he reconsiders. Why does his bicep look so puny?

Uncomfortable with his bicep barely manipulating the sleeve of his shirt he considers, “Maybe I should start hitting up the gym?” Eliam scratches at his chest and frowns as he feels truly no muscle definition hiding under his T-shirt. His head buzzes with foreign emotion and instinct as the general apathy he has for his body and appearance is rapidly being replaced with disdain nearing disgust. He grunts and keels over as static, burning pins and needles, begins to overwhelm his senses. In the process he nearly spills his coffee which hits him with far more anxiety than losing a drink you didn't even pay for should.

His mouth is cold and dry as he stares at his nearly lost midnight dark drink and, even greater than the bizarre numbness and strange sensations contorting his body, he feels an urge, a need, to drink. Lips puckering as they strain to get closer to the cup as he brings it to his mouth, his legs give out and he falls back against a shop window. Passersby sneer at him as doggedly sits on the sidewalk and raises the cup completely upside down and lets it pour into his wanting mouth. His throat struggles to keep up as something besides himself, something with a will stronger than his own, forces him to down the burning drink in one go.

Mission accomplished, he gasps for air and wipes the few drops of coffee that landed outside of his mouth off his face before sucking them off his stained finger. When a businessman looks down at him with an eyebrow raised Eliamh feels a burning in his chest at the challenge. His jaw clenches and every muscle burns with the desire to show the pen pusher what’s up, dude doesn’t even know what the grind is! Eliamh’s eye twitches and he clenches at his gut as for the first time in his life it seems to be straining his intentionally baggy shirt.

The pettiest thief struggles to stand, using the wall for support as his legs suddenly struggle to carry his body. All the while making embarrassing grunts. He begins burping loudly as his stomach tries to get him to reject the drink in the only way it can. He feels more bloated with every labored breath and heavy movement, his midriff now exposes his thin treasure trail as his arms begin to fill the sleeves of his wrinkled button up. In between burps and groans he just gets out in his now decidedly duller voice, “Whuh- what was in that cup-” 

Usually happy to hide, Eliamh feels a rising need to challenge every man in sight, realizing something is beginning to overwrite his usual instincts, his rational ideas. As his pants begin to strain, thighs and ass bulging larger, Eliamh realizes that no matter his new desire to post up he needs to wait out whatever, uh, food poisoning this is. Stumbling into the storefront he’s thus far used as a stabilizer he groans out to the clerk, hand covering his mouth as he tries to hold back a loud burp, “Burmgh- I, ugh. Need yer restroom, dude.” Mouth curling into a frown at the clearly unwell man the cashier just points to the room at the back and Eliamh quickly stumbles through the door and locks it behind him.

Panting, Eliamh falls to the floor. Sweating through his clothes he leaves a trail on the door as he slides against it. Unconcerned with the filth of being on a bathroom floor his mind screams as his body begins to expand in every direction. Fabric tears as his bloated gut redistributes itself across his whole form. His arms that only recently bulged with any weight at all suddenly rip entirely through his shirt. Veiny biceps tear through, bursting larger than his thighs before his forearms race to match. His hands grow rough with callouses as he tears at his clothes as they begin to suffocate him.

Elijam’s shoulders pecs are initially inhibited by the clothes barely hanging in there. As soon as they give way and his torso is freed to the air do they begin their transformation outright. Drool pouring from his mouth as his mind flitters between the horror of becoming something anathema to himself while at the same time rapidly recognizing the arms as the powerful weapons he has honed for years now. Initially absent, the muscle on his chest pointedly makes up for the years spent abandoned. Pumping larger as his lungs expands and his chest widens to match shoulders that thicken to be shoulderpads, his pecs begin to become unseemly. Weighty enough that his current legs could never support them, his pecs surge to a size where the idea that he could ever be anything but a diligent bodybuilder is foolish.

His rougher hands trail down his sweaty, impossibly large chest and find that there are now swaths of his body where his bulging biceps and dense pecs collide that he simply can no longer touch. Moving down to feel abs as they push themselves out of his lower torso like cobblestones, his grunts and burps turn to deep moans as he bathes in the pleasure of becoming Elijah. Finally reaching low enough to free his package as it begins to fill his constricting pants, Elijah palms his balls as they begin to fill his body with hormones that make his boorish mindset make far more sense. 

Outside in the store the clerk contemplates calling the authorities as the deep moans echoing from the bathroom begin to scare off customers. Back in the restroom the bodybuilders thighs expand to truly the size of tree trunks as they lengthen along the cold tile. Immediately do they tear his pants as it becomes clear that he’ll never take a step without his massive legs rubbing against each other. It’s a wonder his package has any room at all to be as large as it is given the real estate taken up by his massive lower body. In no time at all the sweaty behemoth finds himself filling the small room with his musk which only heightens his heady delight.

His eyes cross as the few shreds of Liam that remained ingrained in his psyche through it all begin to give up the ghost. His balls pulse as the paltry aspects drain from his mind and every inch of him fully shifts to that of Elijah. Memories of countless hours spent underneath the bench press bar, tracking protein consumption, comparing his form with other massive titans. At the very same moment do loads begin to fly. Shooting high enough to grace the ceiling, his spunk stains the wall behind him like splatters on a canvas. His impossible changes took less than a minute but in his ecstasy he feels each and every one of Elijah’s memories soar to fill his mind.

Stumbling to his thick soled feet Elijah scratches his head as he tries to think how he’ll leave this store with nothing to cover his titanic form. The cogs of his mind turn slow enough that it seems like he can barely produce a thought at all. He grabs toilet paper to start to clean the mess made, but only ends up smearing it against the walls. Suddenly he laughs a dull guffaw as he remembers he lives nearby, just needs to run through the store and he’s home free. He’s sure the customers won’t mind seeing him in the buff, he thinks as he smirks at his peaking bicep. 

His cock stirs again as he wonders when he got this pump in. Knowing he doesn’t have time for another session right now he covers his impressive package with his torn clothes and sprints through the lobby, the clerk doesn’t have time to finish his name before he’s exited the storefront and begun to sprint homewards. Pushing through any man who doesn’t quite move out of the way in time, Elijah hits himself in the head as he realizes he needs to apologize to his bro for stealing his coffee this morning. Just as soon does the thought fade with another slow witted guffaw. He’s sure Elijah won’t mind, he’d probably do the same even. After all, they’ve got a lot in common.

[luveline]

Omg I love the hot bombshell bau reader x Spencer!! Could you write a scenario with them when the team is out drinking and she’s flirting with him even more & she can take it a lil further because they’re not in work? Thank you🥰

thank you for your request! this isn't a perfect fit of what you asked for but I hope you like it! fem!reader, 1k

"Psst! Psst!" Your perfume floats his way. "Spencer!" 

Spencer turns to your whisper shouting, much less whisper than you probably mean it to be. You're as in his personal space as you can manage without falling into his lap. Luckily, the rest of the team seem to be more interested in the previously unheard story Emily's deigned to tell about a Sin to Win weekend in Atlanta, and no one turns to investigate your secret.

"What?" he asks.

"Can you get me another drink?" you whisper. You insisted on sitting next to him, your breath sharp with cherry liqueur. If you hadn't, he would've tried to make it this way anyhow.

It's not fair. You've drunk enough to get cut off and still you look so pretty, bombshell through and through —there's no other word for it. Your eyes are glittering and unsmudged despite an evening of laughter and a pitcher's worth of bourbon bombs, and they're looking at him with this weird pinching pleading that makes his stomach twist. 

"I don't think you should have anything else." 

"Spence…" You put your hand on his thigh. Not cupping it, nowhere inappropriate, just your fingertips pressed to the fabric of his pants as you twist in your seat to beg. "Please, Spencer. Please." 

He really likes you, and this tone you're using threatens to haunt him forever. Resigned, he moves your hand off of his leg and grabs your empty glasses. "A spritzer," he says, standing up from the booth. "That's it." 

"Hey, no," JJ says, her thin brows pinching as she smiles, perplexed. "She's cut off." 

"That's why Spencer's going to get it for me. He's my angel," you brag, words tipping, tumbling all over the place. 

Spencer looks at the disapproving expressions on their faces, Hotch, Emily, Derek and JJ all looking as though they learned how to frown from the same place. Only Penelope and Rossi seem encouraging. Penelope tipsy herself, and Rossi a self-professed believer in, "Living life to the fullest. Get the girl another drink, Reid." 

"A spritzer," Spencer says again. 

You smile gleefully and follow him out of your seats toward the bar. The barkeep gives Spencer a knowing look when he orders your drink but doesn't say anything when Spencer puts the change in the tip jar, which is questionable. Spencer secures your cold beverage and hands it to you, fully intending on walking you back to the booth. 

You pull him off course. He has little power in the situation, a yelp and a yank and you're dragging him toward the bar jukebox. Your spritzer paints your hand as you put it down, lips wet with it as you beam at him from over your shoulder. 

"Pick a song?" you ask. 

"I don't know if they'll have anything I like." 

"Pick one anyways." 

Spencer has to stand directly behind you to read the titles. "Why don't you pick one?" he asks gently. 

You sway. He doesn't know if it's down to the alcohol or the five seconds of music that plays as you scroll through songs. "I don't have a dollar."

Spencer laughs and gets his wallet out, handing you two dollars from the fold. "There. Pick two." 

"You're such a nice guy, Spencer, and I don't mean it like, oh, you're a nice guy, you don't mess girls around, I mean…" You fold the dollars he gave you mindlessly. "I mean, you're just nice. In the best sense of the word. You're gentle, kind…" 

You gasp, sounding pained. Spencer's hand leaps to the small of your back, "What? What's wrong?" 

"They have Out of Touch by Hall and Oates. Hold my spritzer, handsome, I need to put this on before I die." 

Derek comes looking for you both somewhere in the second play of the same song. Spencer's cheeks are bright pink, people staring in confusion at the repeat and the pretty drunk woman speaking the words. Spencer tries to flag Derek for saving, but when Derek sees the way you've wrapped your arms around Spencer's bicep, he chuckles and waves goodbye. 

You look up to Spencer eagerly. You're close enough to kiss him. "You know how to play nine ball?" 

"In theory," he says weakly. 

"Good! If I win you can buy me another spritzer, and if you win, I'll let you take me home." 

Spencer was always going to be taking you home tonight, but for a distinctly different reason. "If you win," he says, licking his lips, "I'll give you another dollar for the jukebox." 

"And if you win?" you ask.

"I'll take you home," he says slowly. "But only to take you home." 

"That's cute." 

No matter what drunken delusion you're under, Spencer does end up taking you home after a third round of Hall and Oates. You're not so drunk as to need help standing, and you manage to get to bed without help. He just wants to make sure you lock the door. 

You kiss him on the cheek, your hand behind his neck like you might turn his lips to yours. Spencer turns his face away. 

"I'm not gonna try anything, Spence," you say, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. "Just wanted to say thanks. You'll stay, right? Don't get the train." 

Spencer sleeps on your couch. In the morning he wakes to the smell of eggs fried in sesame oil and the heavy scent of hot chocolate. Oh, and you in your tiny pyjama shorts at the helm, completely untouched by the copious booze intake of the night before. "Loverboy," you sing-song. "Come on! I'm gonna sit in your lap and feed you like a Grecian emperor. It'll be fun." 

It'll definitely be something. 

[misscammiedawn]

Time Loops and Dissociation

CW: suicidal ideation, glitchy unreality, overt depictions of self-harm, parental abandonment

This essay contains full game spoilers for In Stars and Time.

You wake up to your alarm at the same time every day. The same view greets you from your window. Same sheets. Same outfits in your closet to get dressed in. Same choice of drinks in your kitchen to put in the same choice of cups. Same 24 hours but a different day. What better way to capture the existential horror of disconnecting from the world than to simply take away the words "but a different day" and make it the same 24 hours.

Time Loop fiction likes to capture the monotony of being caught in a rut. For some stories, like Groundhog Day, the rut could be that of not working on one’s self and accepting the eternal trappings of a never ending moment and not seeking change. For others, like Palm Springs, it is the conflict within a romantic relationship between one partner wishing to grow and find new experience while another wishes to remain in the safety of the known. Others still, like All You Need Is Kill, the conflict is a matter of maintaining one's optimism and drive in a hopeless fight against an antagonistic force that will crush their spirit upon the weight of eternity.

The constants in this genre are the forces of change and stagnation. Exit can be accomplished via self-improvement, it can be accomplished by having the bravery to risk leaving safety, it can be accomplished by killing every last time looping alien until you’re the only one left. But the allegories are always there. Tomorrow can only be attained by growing beyond Today. Change doesn’t happen in a day and as those stuck in a time loop know… a day can be an impossibly long time. And what does a person do during that impossibly long time? Repeating the same acts over and over again, where people become predictable and all the complexity of life has been stripped down until there’s nothing but cold empty and predictable monotony? You dissociate.

Dissociating is the experience of detaching from reality. Dissociation encompasses the feeling of daydreaming or being intensely focused, as well as the distressing experience of being disconnected from reality. In this state, consciousness, identity, memory, and perception are no longer naturally integrated. Dissociation often occurs as a result of stress or trauma, and it may be indicative of a dissociative disorder or other mental health condition.(*)

Every time loop story inevitably includes a segment where the pain of going around and around becomes simply too much to handle and the audience must witness the protagonist's mental health decline in real time. It is the moment in the story when they no longer feel able to connect with other humans, when they disconnect and just succumb to the weight of the eternity that they are trapped within. For most the idea of being stuck in a rut is a horrific thing. People are a social species. We seek connection and we seek change. We actively want to grow. But this is not true for everyone. Some are so scared and scarred by the world that they dare not ruin the safety that they have managed to find. Narrowing one's world down to avoid conflict and danger is a common feature in Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, particularly in those with a tendency to freeze in the face of their emotional triggers.

The flight-freeze type avoids potential relationship-retraumatization with an obsessivecompulsive/dissociative “two-step.” Step one is working to complete exhaustion. Step two is collapsing into extreme “veging out”, and waiting until [their] energy reaccumulates enough to relaunch into step one. The price for this type of no-longer-necessary safety is a severely narrowed existence. - (Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving - Pete Walker)

And that is the heart of any time loop. Safety at the price of a narrow existence.

-

For this essay I want to talk about a piece of media that masterfully manages the time loop dilemma while managing to depict a remarkably strong representation of Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Today I want to talk about In Stars and Time. Because if I'm gonna highlight a time loop story for my essays on dissociative disorders then I'm going to do the one which has a "Press X to dissociate" mechanic.

In Stars and Time is an RPG Maker game in the stylings of Earthbound and Final Fantasy. The star of the play game is Siffrin (he/they), a silly little one who tells light-hearted puns and has their tongue stuck out in a :3 cat face smile.

As the thief type of the party he leads the group through dungeons to deactivate traps and find keys he can sometimes be bad at his job. They have managed to help the team get to the final dungeon and take on The King who has managed to freeze most of the nation of Vaugarde in time. Their adventuring friends are Mirabelle (she/her), the housemaiden; Isabeau (he/him), the fighter; Odile (she/her), the researcher; and Bonnie (they/them), the kid. Siffrin finds themselves trapped within a time loop. Reliving the same 2 day period as the party make their approach to The King and must defeat him to release Vaugarde from being eternally frozen in time. The game speaks frankly and kindly on many topics beyond mental health and trauma. Among the many rare and beautiful things it organically depicts it has an asexual and an aromantic discussing society's pressure to enter relationships and perform intimate acts, a trans masc discussing the destructive and yet necessary process of transitioning and two expats discussing how difficult it is to integrate their cultural roots (or lack thereof) with the values and expectations of the dominant culture of their new environment. Keep that last one in your back pocket for now. It'll be important for later. This is the last chance to check the game out unspoiled and so if anything I have said intrigues enough then please buy the game (Steam - Switch - Playstation 4 - Playstation 5 - GOG - Itch.io) and enjoy it. The game is about 20 hours at a casual pace (WR speedrun is 2.5 hours) and it has much in the way of hidden conversations and content that can help a person stick around and dig deep to find all the content in the game (but watch out). Go with my blessing and check DoesTheDogDie for content warnings if needed. For those who have played or want to read on into spoiler territory, then please forgive my long-windedness. I've too much time on my hands and have not cultivated the skills or talent to present this as a video for passive enjoyment. Let's begin. The game is split into 6 acts so in the interests of not bombarding with information. Shall we follow suit?

Act 1 - The Stage

The curtain rises and the play begins. Act 1 makes up the first loop from Siffrin's perspective. If not for the time loops then this would be a very short adventure. Siffrin wakes up from a nap in a field as they will every single loop from now on. They are in the final town before the enemy stronghold, one final day to rest and gather their strength and resolve to save the country. The group's leader, Mirabelle, has decided to have a sleepover. One final day, one final dungeon, one final fight... and then it's all over. The world will finally be saved. It'll all be over... Siffrin spends the day speaking to their friends, making a wish on the local Favor Tree to spend time with an ally after the adventure and then it's on to the adventure. Isabeau has something he wants to tell Siffrin but decides it can wait until they have saved the world. Entering the house and moving through the first few rooms all seems to be going well. The party of friends beat their first few enemies and Siffrin is sent to check for traps in a corridor leading into the main areas of the house. He checks and checks and checks and doesn't find anything so...

The trap is activated by feeling safe.

For clarity I wish to say much of the analysis and discussion is our personal read of the plot. Before writing this essay we reached out to insertdisc5 to ask about how they approached depicting mental illness in the game and they responded that it was not a matter of research as she was worried about checking off boxes rather than depicting authentic experience. Which makes it all the more impressive that the game was able to depict so many aspects of Complex PTSD so seamlessly. From Walker's book the primary symptoms of CPTSD are:

Emotional Flashbacks Tyrannical Inner &/or Outer Critic Toxic Shame Self-Abandonment Social anxiety Abject feelings of loneliness and abandonment Fragile Self-esteem Attachment disorder Developmental Arrests Relationship difficulties Radical mood vacillations Dissociation via distracting activities or mental processes Hair-triggered fight/flight response Oversensitivity to stressful situations Suicidal Ideation

Over the course of the game Siffrin displays many, if not all of these. One of the core conflicts of the game is Siffrin's feelings of loneliness and abandonment as well as their inner critic and toxic shame.

Another common trait of those with C-PTSD not referenced in the above list is a sensitive startle reflex. It is mentioned in the same book at a later point, however:

A startle response is the sudden full body-flinching that survivors experience at loud noises or unanticipated physical contact. This is usually a somatic flashback to previous abuses.

I bring this all up now because Siffrin's first death. The cause of the first loop. HIS FIRST FAILURE. Was because he let his guard down. He felt safe for even a moment. This is not a reading or something which can be brought up for debate. On floor two of the house there is a book that explains the traps and speaks of the boulder that landed on Siffrin's head earlier:

Throughout the entire adventure Siffrin will have the toxic and universe validated belief that if they ever drop their guard, even for a single moment they may die. This belief will only get worse as they progress, unfortunately. For those with Complex PTSD they walk through life in a state of hyper-vigilance. Never quite feeling safe. Siffrin died the moment he let his guard down. [Dawn here. This is turning out to be the longest Media, Myself and I article by a wide margin. For the sake of not destroying everyone's timelines I'll put the rest of the game under a readmore. I would so very much love it if you did click on, though.]

Act 2 - The Performance

The curtain rises and the play begins. Again. Much of Act 2 is spent trying to get to The King and defeat him. Mistakes such as forgetting a key on an earlier floor or taking a wrong path will cause Siffrin to need to loop back. All the while inwardly berating themselves for their carelessness, knowing that in a world without the time loops they would have been trapped and unable to challenge The King at all. We are also introduced to Loop, a star who watches over Siffrin during his journey. Loop is in the time loop with Siffrin and can follow his progress, offer advice and comment on everything. Loop is a little disaffected and likes to play things silly and coy and can be a little mean at times. But they say they're here to help Siffrin. As the adventuring friends climb to the final boss we get to see Siffrin's rapport with the party. Siffrin likes to stay on the sidelines and listen in to other people having animated conversation. Everyone is nervous to touch him having universally come to an understanding that Siffrin does not like to be touched. They make fun of Siffrin's poor memory (another common trait of those with dissociative disorders that we will talk about more in time) and they treat one another warmly. However during a bit of banter in a snack break...

(source: ISAT Script Project) Note that Siffrin internalizes the comment "we're not friends." instantly. From this point of the game until a latter moment all times that Siffrin's monologue refers to his party the word "friends" is replaced with "allies". They are so sensitive to abandonment and rejection that the they simply accept Odile's words, not even aimed at Siffrin themselves and internalizes them deep enough that the HUD of the game itself changes to accommodate this belief. It was mentioned at the start that Siffrin is a silly traveler who enjoys puns and makes light of most situations. In battles the game uses a Rock, Paper, Scissors weapon triangle and all of Siffrin's attack names are puns. In the profile menu he sticks his tongue out. His battle image is a playfully confident smirk.

During the game we always have access to Siffrin's inner monologue and can tell how they interpret the world around them but they seldom ever voice their opinions. This allows us to see how often they are convincingly laughing on the outside while hurting on the inside. Siffrin, unable and unwilling to approach their shame and self-loathing and terrified of becoming a burden to their friends allies will deflect whenever he sense that they are hurting.

A person (or dissociative part) may avoid being aware of inner experiences such as feelings or thoughts that might evoke shame. Thus, he or she is not aware of the experience of shame, typically does not acknowledge the negative experience of self, engages in denial, and attempts to distract self and others away from the painful feeling. For example, a person who felt ashamed in therapy might start making jokes or flippantly comment that the session is boring or useless, or he or she might try to change the subject entirely or even switch to another part that has a different agenda. The experience becomes neutral or positive; shame may be disowned or denied, or overridden with joy or excitement in distracting activities (joking around, talking about something else). There is little to no awareness of shame or one’s shameful actions, faults, or characteristics. The motivation is to minimize the conscious experience of shame or to prove that one does not feel shame. - (Coping With Trauma Related Dissociation - Suzette Boon, Kathy Steele, Onno van der Hart)

The other key thing we have come to learn about how others perceive Siffrin is their memory issues. Memory issues are a constant part of dissociative disorders with a lack of childhood memories being a key feature in Complex Dissociative Disorders such as Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder and Dissociative Identity Disorder. If I am being honest about my motivations for writing this essay, while playing it I keyed in on the lack of memories early and assumed it to be an allegory for such trauma. Even made a Tumblr post stating this. On the top floor of the house of change in a secret room and only during Act 2 there is a bit of dialogue where Siffrin speaks about their childhood.

This was the moment we knew we needed to write about this game. What is missing from the text above is that when Siffrin stammers on their words there is a time loop effect. The first one in the game that is activated by something other than a death or the natural end of the loop. Siffrin edits out this conversation so that not even he can remember it.

Amnesia goes far beyond normal forgetfulness. It involves serious memory problems that are not caused by illness or extreme fatigue, by alcohol or other mind-altering substances, or normal forgetting. Amnesia falls on a continuum. People with a dissociative disorder may recall some aspects of an event but not other essential parts of it. In some cases all memory for certain events is unavailable for conscious recall. Some people with a dissociative disorder describe their memory as being like “Swiss cheese holes,” “foggy,” or “full of black holes.” They may suspect that something happened, or may have even been told by others that something happened to them, but have no personal recollection of events and often feel afraid to think about them. People may have amnesia for longer periods of time during which normal life events took place, for example, a person may report being unable to remember anything from the fifth grade, or from ages 9–12. - (Coping With Trauma Related Dissociation - Suzette Boon, Kathy Steele, Onno van der Hart)

Instinctive use of time travel to edit out parts of a conversation that a perspective character does not wish to accept or confront is a fantastic allegory for how dissociative symptoms manifest. When a person or dissociative part stumbles too close to a severe trauma trigger. To speak from personal experience it is a moment where in a conversation a question comes up and the answer feels wrong in your mouth. Like you just lied. But you know you didn't intend to lie... so of course you interrogate the piece of information and the wall of confusion that hits can make a person feel truly powerless. Like you're not even certain of what you are saying anymore and a mixture of shame and fear flood in and tell you to stop talking, stop lying, stop exaggerating, stop speaking, stop, stop, STOP. Poor Siffrin shouldn't have their memory made fun of. But... his friends allies don't know. Do they? How could they? Siffrin doesn't speak up and when he does it tends to be a showy performance of being light hearted and silly so no one can see how hurt he is. Because if he does try to be honest... well. You saw what happened when they tried to open up. Through hard work and persistence the allies loop enough times to gain the knowledge and strength to win against The King. The King's first attack will force the allies to see a vision of the future and without a special magic shield will kill them in a single strike. Siffrin stays determined and prepares his allies. Helps them become stronger. Helps them win. The world is saved. Everyone in Vaugarde is released from the time freezing spell... But something's wrong... Siffrin is given a chance to talk to everyone as they all happily speak about what they'll do now that the country is saved but no matter what happens. Isabeau attempts to confess the thing that he wished to tell Siffrin if they won but is interrupted before he can get the words out, much to Siffrin's annoyance. The world is safe. All is well. It shall return to normal soon enough... only thing to do is speak with the head housemaiden and accept the praise and thanks for all the hard effort in saving Vaugarde... Then world starts to fall apart and... The second act comes to an abrupt close.

Act 3 - Family and Culture

The curtain rises and the play begins continues. The loop begins with Siffrin back at the start, even though the day was saved. Simply killing The King must not be enough. There must be a reason that the loops are continuing, even after Vaugarde is saved. The only way to understand is to find out more about why The King is able to freeze the country in time and if it has anything to do with why Siffrin can loop back. Speaking with Loop, Siffrin recognizes that as long as there are ideas and leads to explore then giving up is not going to happen. Loop seems reluctant to encourage Siffrin to continue, in fact Loop seems doesn't appear surprised by the time loop continuing at all. Loop is an interesting character and deserves an article unto themselves. We should focus on Siffrin right now.

Their first order of business is to attempt the Golden End exit route. It worked for Bill Murray, why not in this situation? Simply work out a way to make everyone have a perfect loop. Saving the world isn't enough. Siffrin can solve everyone's problems. Here we learn that Bonnie, the kid, harbors a deep well of shame for allowing Siffrin to be blinded in an eye while protecting them earlier in the adventure, before the loops. Siffrin, true to their dissociative nature, did not even remember the event. Siffrin also spends quality time with the adults in the party. Always hoping Isabeau would be brave enough to confess this loop. On this journey up the house of change the team are closer and more caring. No one makes fun of Siffrin for bumping into the counter. Siffrin discovers that the other party members have noticed his breathing exercises. Very helpful for those with dissociative disorders, by the way. They ground the body and allow one to ease somatic symptoms by soothing the nervous system and preventing activated sensations worsening symptoms. As they get closer to The King the warm and familial banter continues with Odile using the word 'friend' out loud. A guarded Siffrin allows themselves to confront Odile on saying that they were not friends (something she did not even say this "Golden" loop) and through an awkward but kind conversation she confesses she, a Too Old For This lady cannot feel comfortable calling a group of people with a pre-teen "friends" but she can perhaps call them "Family" The menu updates. Siffrin's Allies are now Sif's Family Members. This remains true in all the menus no matter what happens in any loop. But in this moment, there is a golden ending. There is joy. Though Isabeau is unwilling to discuss his confession when Sif is feeling vulnerable. They need to have a Feely-Feels talk. Sif hates the idea of a Feely-Feels talk. Yet, even still... In this moment Sif is loved.

Many people with Complex PTSD have attachment wounds from their family of origin. The concept of a found family is common among survivors, particularly in those who choose to go Non-Contact with the family of origin. Others, like Sif, have lost their family to tragedy and simply have no roots to return to. The role of a chosen family is vital in the healing journey. Survivors can become aggressively attached to those who they view as chosen family and are often activated by the concept of another loss. The wounds of losing one family enough to have massive impact on how the survivor handles relationships going forward. It is why unstable relationships is listed as a symptom of CPTSD and why there is such a big overlap of CPTSD and BPD diagnosis.

There’s no way around the fact that on the journey to finding your chosen family, you will get hurt. People you thought would be there for you will abandon you, people will decide they no longer have the emotional capacity to hold space for you, and… people who made promises to be by your side will betray those promises. That’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just life. Not everyone belongs on our journeys, but… when you find the right people, don’t let go of them. Nurture the relationships, reciprocate the support, and above all, respect the myriad of ways that people can and will show up for you. - (The Role of ‘Chosen Family' in Trauma Recovery - Monika Sudakov)

Sif is desperately attached to the Family Members that they travel with. In many ways the only reason they can endure the time loops is to protect them. Any time there is a prompt which threatens these relationships Sif's monologue insists that they will not abandon the script that ensures their safety and happiness. Yet despite all this power of love and Family, the loops continue. Which is fine. Golden Ending was a long shot anyway. Clearly it has to be related to The King and it's power to stop time. It seems to know the mysterious art of Time Craft. Talking to The King will help. The answers are still attainable and now Sif has a Family. To get the information required to learn about Time Craft and The King one must interact with as many books and items in the house of change as possible. In doing so we learn more about Sif and their history. By this point in the story the concept of croissants has come up a number of times for the party. In the opening town Sif has the option of buying one from a bakery and gives an uncharacteristic scowl. When they are spotted in the house Sif tends to duck out of conversations, not caring to listen to people talk about the pastry he loathes so desperately. He jokes about it and obfuscates but Sif hates croissants. With a burning passion. There is literally a food that can kill him in the game (he is allergic to pineapple and can die on a banana plantain peel) but his ire always turns towards croissants. Croissants are an emotional trigger for Sif. They harbored such a deep hatred of croissants that when, in Act 4, he is pressured to tell everyone what he wished for at the start of the game he says that they wished for croissants to disappear forever. Sif's reactivated trauma is related to croissants. Up until now he had been living his life blissfully unaware of his dissociated experiences and yet a croissant cracked the amnesia barriers that kept him safe and now each time he sees them they cannot help but be reminded of "The Incident". By examining the Silver coin in their inventory a number of times one can see "The Incident", a moment that happened days before the plot began which informs Sif's entire emotional state throughout the game...

(source: ISAT Script Project) Note the time skip at the tail end of that sequence. Sif was thinking too heavily about the trauma again and skipped time to avoid thinking about it. Dissociative barriers. He literally cannot think about it. The universe won't let him. Sif's home isn't there anymore. In the canon of the game where reality can be rewritten on the whim of a wish, the country that Sif comes from was wiped off of the map and all knowledge and memory of it has been erased, even from those who lived there. Sif's trauma is that he lost his home. His family. Everything and everyone that he ever knew. Through traveling with his family members he has gained a slither of the emotion, comfort, connection and safety that he lost and in being reminded of all that he lost so close to the end of their journey he was reminded he can and will lose it all again and the thought is too terrifying to process. This is the core conflict in Sif's heart for the entire game. The more they interact with memories of the destruction of his homeland the more keenly aware he becomes of the fact that the quest will end and his family will go their separate ways and abandon him. They have no home to return to when this is all done. CPTSD is not currently recognized by the DSM-5. An official diagnostic description can only be found within the ICD-11. On the ICD-11 page for Complex-PTSD there is a specific segment for "Culture Related Features" that reads:

Cultural variation exists in the expression of symptoms of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. For example, somatic or dissociative symptoms may be more prominent in certain groups attributable to cultural interpretations of the psychological, physiological, and spiritual etiology of these symptoms and of high levels of arousal.

Given the severe, prolonged, or recurrent nature of the traumatic events that precipitate Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, collective suffering and the destruction of social bonds, networks and communities may present as a focal concern or as important related features of the disorder.

For migrant communities, especially refugees or asylum seekers, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder may be exacerbated by acculturative stressors and the social environment in the host country. - (ICD-11 for Mortality and Morbidity Statistics)

We do not learn much of Sif's culture of origin but we know that they were in tune with The Universe, that they had spiritual aspects that allowed them to use Wish Craft and follow when fate leads. Act 3 is an info gathering quest on The King's motivations and we discover that King and Sif both hail from the same country and have lost all their social bonds, networks and communities and cannot even recreate the specifics of their culture. It has literally been erased. No culprit is ever named for this atrocity but from Act 3 onwards Sif mourns this lack of roots and via the power of the magic that prevents anyone from remembering the country they cannot mention this tragedy to anyone. Though Odile is able to infer it. Odile is also an immigrant to Vaugarde, her mother was from Vaugarde and her father from Ka Bue. Her mother abandoned her and Odile's quest in Vaugarde is to find parts of her history within the foreign land and fill in the parts of her soul that she feels are incomplete from the lack of her mother's presence and history in her life. In Act 3 the two bond over it as part of Odile's "friendquest", in Act 4 and beyond Sif's inner monologue seethes with bitterness and envy for Odile having connections. The initial connection of them both being foreigners in an accepting land caves to the pain of loss that consumes Siffrin whole.

(source: ISAT Script Project) What's worse is that some of the things that the family members joke at Sif about for being too forgetful to know the words "Kiln" "Pottery Wheel" or "Stuffed Animal" (though they do remember on some loops) become less about silly forgetful Sif letting incidental information slide out of their dissociative mind. It becomes making fun of a person speaking a second language and not having complete mastery over it. By Act 5 Sif has no patience for the playful jabs because they happen every single loop and they hurt. Minimizing is a lot harder in a time loop. Every small moment of tiny pain repeats again and again. Every time Sif bumps their hip on a counter the party laugh at him. Well... except for the time he screamed at them for it... or the time he collapsed into a defeated pile on the floor on the verge of tears. Heaven help me if bumping into a counter hasn't been the last straw to break my facade when the weight is too much to carry. Poor Sif... As Sif learns more about Time Craft and the country that both he and The King come from, Sif starts to gain an understanding of The King's motivations. After losing one country he couldn't bear to risk losing another home. Vaugarde was so kind to him and took him in and he wants it to remain perfect and safe forever. Frozen in time like a photograph. Now that Sif has come to recognize how important his Family Members are to him, they understand. To have people you love and consider Family is so important and the idea of losing that is simply unspeakable. It is a fate worse than the time loops. By now Sif has done the Golden Ending a time or two...

He understands why The King would do this. The final loop of Act 3 allows Sif to attempt to convince The King not to fight. The pair have attempted to bond over their roots, they have tried to force The Universe to allow them to speak the name of their nation (but it refused to be said) and now Sif wants to try and use understanding. The King agrees. He stops the fight. Asks Sif to come to his side and... Then he freezes the Family Members in time. He understands now that Sif is using Wish Craft to fight him and he cannot win on traditional terms so he decides to carve it into Sif's memory, a reminder of what happens if he continues defying The King's will. He picks up poor little pre-teen BonBon... and FORCES SIFFRIN TO WATCH AS HE CRU-

Act 4 - Shame Spiral

The curtain rises. The play begins continues. And Sif is not okay. They witnessed the game break the well established rule that the kid was not able to be hurt. Even in runs where you lose to The King Bonnie always gets away. The Family will always go out of their way to ensure The Kid survives. It's happened so many times by now one doesn't even think to question it... And the player had to watch. There is no avoiding that event. Sif will lower their guard to speak with The King and offer compassion and trust to someone they thought of as a kindred spirit and no sooner had they laid down their arms for a moment they were punished for it. Brutally. It's the rock again. Feel safe, even for a moment, and it comes crashing down to crush with full weight... only this time it's not the Sif taking the hit. Sif can take all the hits in the world. It was BONNIE. Someone else was crushed because Sif trusted. From this moment on Sif's intrusive thoughts become louder and meaner. Look above at the conversation with Odile about her roots and notice the changes between Act 3's inner monologue and Act 4's. By this point in the story Sif is losing track of how many loops they have gone through. Unless you keep your Memory of Self equipped you will find that any time you loop forwards or backwards the loop counter will jump up by leaps. Sif is so numb to the cycle by now that they're just dissociating through iterations of the time loop. Other times he 'blacks out' bits of time include sleeping at the clocktower. We learn that he never ever sleeps at the tower. He just blacks out and comes to at the house ready for the next run. All Sif can remember is what the player sees. But stuff does happen besides that which we see. It's not just the amount of time that Sif has been in the loops that is causing this degradation of mental health, though. It's the continuous activation taking a toll. When a person is continiously hyperaroused they become disaffected, chronically dissociated and begin experiencing somatic symptoms. Headache, stomach ache, exhaustion with no ability to sleep, hunger without ability to eat. At this point of the story Sif is constantly hungry and is not sleeping at all. The primary cause for this is the attachment trauma being continuously triggered. Where in early acts it was a matter of worry over losing his new family while being reminded constantly of losing his old one, now he is reminded of allowing his family to die because of his actions. The shame spiral claims him and his emotions become wild, even if he is not able to express them outwardly. This level of emotional sensitivity is a primary symptom of Borderline Personality Disorder. The similarities between CPTSD and BPD are enough that much of the discussion around the potential for including CPTSD in the next revision of the DSM centers around whether it should replace or be combined with BPD. The Foundation for CPTSD writes on the topic:

At one-time, complex post-traumatic stress disorder was proposed as an alternate form of borderline personality disorder because of the shared link to severe childhood trauma. The jury is still out to recognize CPTSD as a diagnosis in the DSM, but it is believed that the symptoms and causes of BPD and CPTSD overlap substantially, but it is not warranted to replace one diagnosis with the other or conceptualize CPTSD as a subtype of BPD. Borderline personality disorder and complex post-traumatic stress disorder are commonly found together, with between 25% and 60% of people living with BPD also having CPTSD. Complex post-traumatic stress disorder is listed in the 11th edition of the International Classification of Diseases (ICD-11), and this has spurred research differentiating the two disorders. Evidence suggests that CPTSD and BPD may represent a continuum of the stress response, and both seem to have a component of dissociation involved. The most significant difference between the two diagnoses is when they form. CPTSD typically forms in early childhood, while BPD forms during early adolescence. Having both CPTSD and BPD makes life difficult, to say the least. - (CPTSD Foundation)

BPD is a personality disorder categorized by attachment wounds. Part of the diagnostic criteria includes "Frantic efforts to avoid abandonment, whether it is accurate or not, by family and friends" It is safe to say Sif feels this way about their family. They lost their entire home, their history, their family of origin. They cannot conceive of losing the family that they have gained. The concept is simply too painful for them to consider and so emotional and dissociative barriers force away anything which could potentially bring the topic of losing them to mind. Heaven knows we can understand the impulse... But since being directly responsible for failing the promise they made to protect Bonnie this is no longer a matter of fear of the unknown, it is shame in having failed to keep a promise to protect. This shame grows and cripples Sif's emotional regulation, leaving them prone to volatile outbursts of their repressed rage. Either forcing it inwards on the self or outwards on others.

When you feel chronic shame, you believe that no amount of punishment or corrective actions would be sufficient, and you are unable to forgive yourself or have any empathy for the terrible suffering shame brings to you. It is as though chronically ashamed people have received a life sentence of shame with no hope of parole, even when they are unsure of exactly why they are bad. In fact, some people will say there is no particular reason they are bad and unworthy: The mere fact that they exist and take up space on the earth is shameful enough. They believe they are not worthy of living and do not deserve anything good. In such cases, shame is an emotion of hiding: The last thing an ashamed person wants is to be open, vulnerable, and seen by others. Thus, it is an emotion that often is not addressed sufficiently in therapy, even though it is a major impediment to healing. - (Coping With Trauma Related Dissociation - Suzette Boon, Kathy Steele, Onno van der Hart)

Act 4 is about learning the origins of the Wish Craft that rewrites the universe and allows for Sif to use Time Craft. We learn that any time they are upset they will instinctively rewrite history to prevent the things that they fear from coming to pass. This includes moments when their anger gets away from them and they lash out at their family. Some optional scenes include forcing Isabeau into a kiss or screaming at Odile when she knows too much and tries to help Siffrin. Any time these outbursts happen time rewinds and only Siffrin is left with the knowledge that they happen, deepening the growing well of shame. All the while Sif feels more hollow in the interactions he has with his Family. In forcing them to be their best selves via the "Friendquest" events every loop he starts feeling like he is manipulating them. Where he felt loved the first few times he now accuses himself of forcing them to love him.

To the degree that our caretakers attack or abandon us for showing vulnerability, to that degree do we later avoid the authentic self-expression that is fundamental to intimacy. The outer critic forms to remind us that everyone else is surely as dangerous as our original caretakers. Subliminal memories of being scorned for seeking our parents’ support then short-circuit our inclinations to share our troubles and ask for help. Even worse, retaliation fantasies can plague us for hours and days on the occasions when we do show our vulnerabilities. I once experienced this after being very honest and vulnerable in a job interview with a committee of eight. Over the next three insomnia-plagued nights, my outer critic ran non-stop films featuring my interviewers’ contempt about everything I had said, and disgust about all that I had left out. Even after they subsequently and enthusiastically hired me, the outer critic plagued me with “imposter syndrome” fantasies of eventually being exposed as incompetent in the new job. - (Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving - Pete Walker)

It doesn't matter. Sif tries everything. Learns all the things that they can learn. Explores all the hidden areas of the house of change. Nothing matters. It's hopeless.

And with each loop The King's attack shows Sif a vision of the future. What do they see? Endless looping or... does Sif see the future beyond the loops? After the party return to their various homes? Act 4 ends with The Head Housemaiden, the only one who could have potentially held answers telling Sif outright that there was no escape... Before the loop begins anew.

Act 5 - Curtains

[Hello there. It's me, Dawn. I'm pausing the essay and dropping the cute little play structure to reiterate the Content Warnings from the start of the post. During Act 5 there are options to commit self-harm that a player may stumble across unintentionally. During previous acts one has to work exceptionally hard and against the game and characters within it to unlock a means of self-harm and it is unambiguously seen as a bad thing. In Act 5 there are no external forces to comment on Siffrin's actions.] The curtain rises. No point in wasting time. Get the actors. Make them strong. Beat the king. Do it right this time. Unfortunately our star has lost all of the mental fortitude they had. They were so strong for so long but there is only so much a person can take before they let the anger win. It is all too common for people with significant trauma to harbor resentment and anger in their soul. It sometimes remains repressed under layers of emotion numbing dissociation, it sometimes turns inwards into self-destructive acts and viewpoints and it sometimes turns outwards into explosive acts of physical or emotional violence. But it's there... lurking within the injustice of all the pain a person has felt.

When you have experienced a trauma, anger often becomes the central emotion that you feel. Angry thoughts about revenge may consume you. According to Enright and Fitzgibbons (2000), your anger is more destructive if you focus it on another person or people; it is intense, even in the short term; it leads to a learned pattern of annoyance, irritation, or frustration with others who are not the source of your anger; it is extremely passive; it is extremely hostile; or it is developmentally appropriate for someone much younger than your actual age (e.g., you act like a two-year-old and have a temper tantrum). - (The PTSD Workbook Mary Beth Williams)

and so... with the 5th act of our play about to begin, the star wakes in a familiar meadow for what may be the hundredth time... and they simply cannot take it anymore.

The actor on stage has reached Rock Bottom and likely unlocked the skill Rock Bottom to go with it, though they are beyond the silly puns now. Rock, Paper, Scissors, Breathe or Heal. Just get to The King. Just kill it. One. Last. Time. The GIF above starts with the line "YOU WANT YOUR FAMILY BACK!!! NOT THE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS THAT HAVE TAKEN THEIR PLACE!!!" Up until now we have only spoken about dissociation in terms of zoning out or blocking out memory. I now want to talk about Derealization and Depersonalization. DPDR has been a subject of other Media, Myself and I essays, most notably our discussion on Night in the Woods. To be brief about it for this essay Depersonalization is a detatchment from one's sense of self and Derealization is a detatchment from reality. Our star has become so disillusioned with the endless looping that they no longer view their surroundings as real. The people in their life are just actors in a play that they are directing. Everyone says their lines. Even the star must say their lines. But there's still some stage direction. Some purpose that our hero must fulfill. They know that there is a chance if they can just kill the king without Mirabelle landing the final shot. Then. Maybe... In their disaffected state and unable to convincingly perform their lines in the play, our star manages to upset everyone else on stage causing them to doubt if it would be safe and productive to continue traveling with such a horrible disgusting unreliable stupid person. This causes the final act to be a solo performance. One final walk through the house without friends allies family actors to help. At the clocktower the other actors talk about our star and are uncertain if they can trust them any longer. Our star reacts by rejecting them entirely and going it alone. There is a concept in BPD called Splitting in which a person devalues or exaggerates the value of an individual in their compromised emotional state. It can cost a person relationships if they act out of these temporary emotions. At the start of Act 5 the actor manages to scream at the kid for getting in danger, calls the fighter a coward and mocks the researcher for her mother abandoning her. The individual, so desperate to shield their wounded heart, pushes the people they love away because their proximity is too close to their open wounds and they push away to maintain space. This is particularly true in those who struggle to create healthy emotional boundaries. This game is such a god damned call out at times. As the actor climbs the house everything is broken. The universe itself is trying to maintain the reality of two wishes that it needs to make a reality. "Save Vaugarde" and the one the main character wished for in Act 1. Do you remember what it was? The Universe cannot allow Siffrin to remain with their Family Members if they run off alone and reject them. The Universe simply cannot accomodate such a reality. Everything is falling apart. What proceeds is the ISAT equivalent of a Genocide Run in Undertale. Everything is broken and wrong. Rooms are breaking the collision boundaries of a video game, textures are cut wrong, doors lead to the wrong location, time is looping without rhyme or reason. And the menu is blunt. You cannot change your equipment, now stuck with Memory of Emptiness with the description (Nothing comes to mind, hahahahaha!) Some rooms contain hallucinations that make our star feel more abandoned and empty and mournful of their situation. In rooms where they would normally receive a modicum of physical comfort brushing against the other actors there is nothing now.

(Aaaaaaah…) (You rub your arms once, twice, thrice.) (Your throat tightens) (You feel like you're floating in your own body.) (If only someone would touch you to make sure you're real! Someone, anyone!)

This is an example of extreme depersonalization. Also the garden has a table with 4 healthy plants and 1 dying plant to the side. Our star notices it and it acts as a visual indicator of the barriers between the director and their actors. Some of the other rooms on the Act 5 climb depict overt self-harm...

It can be understood as a substitute action for more adaptive coping that attempts to deal with a variety of overwhelming problems, many involving too much feeling (for example, loneliness, abandonment, panic, inner conflicts, traumatic memories) or too little feeling (numbness, depersonalization, emptiness, feeling dead). Self-harm is thus often related to the need for regulation skills, that is, finding ways to modulate and tolerate unbearable inner experiences, such as painful emotions, or traumatic memories (Gratz & Walsh, 2009; Miller, 1994). Some people harm themselves in secret and carefully hide the inflicted wounds from others. Other people harm their bodies in places that are visible to people around them. (Coping With Trauma Related Dissociation - Suzette Boon, Kathy Steele, Onno van der Hart)

The shame only increases upon doing these optional (but distressingly unprovoked) actions. Honestly, if I had one criticism of the game and its depiction of mental health it is that there is no way to know that looking at the cupboard with the eye patch conversation would cause a self-destructive action. As someone with extreme sensitivity to depictions of suicide and self-harm I felt that having no agency or warning over that (I had no reason to assume this would happen. Any other form of self-harm requires selecting a menu option. This one jumps out at a player unexpected) was... unfair. It is noted in monologue that breathing exercises no longer work by this point of the narrative and due to not being at the clocktower our star is proceeding with no food and no sleep. Their already bottomed out mental and emotional state is in sore need of external intervention. Something the actor both desires and rejects in equal measure. Upon finding and fighting The King our hero is frozen in time and locked in a dream. Placed face to face with their worst fears and worries of how their actors Family would perceive them.

(source: ISAT Script Project)

After the screen stops being blurry and the player wipes the wet spots off of their Nintendo Switch. The fear of being perceived. The fear of being seen as manipulative. Being seen as insincere. Being seen as lazy or too afraid to change. Callous. Aimless. Manipulative. So many survivors have these negative scripts and inner critics. Caught in their cycles. Their own little loops. But there's still hope. Family. The chance to be vulnerable. The game concludes with Sif's Family saving him from The King. But even though The King's spell is broken and the people of Vaugarde are unfrozen the sky has a giant red crack in it. Sif's wish is still tearing the world apart. Realizing that when the quest is over everyone will go home Sif has their temper tantrum, becoming the final boss in which every move is a choice to either lash out at the party or lash out at themselves. A boss mechanic version of the final embers of a violent extinction burst. That is to say a person who does not have control over their ability to maintain a sustained behavior will lash out and attempt to assert control in order to prevent losing the conditioned routine.

An extinction burst is characterized by a temporary increase in the frequency, intensity, or duration of behavior being extinguished through operant conditioning. This phenomenon occurs when the reinforcement for a previously learned behavior is removed, leading to an initial escalation of the behavior before it decreases and eventually ceases. While not all instances of extinction involve such bursts, they are observed in some cases, particularly during the treatment of problematic behaviors. Extinction bursts can complicate the treatment of behavioral disorders, as they may temporarily increase undesired behaviors like aggression or self-injury, making it challenging to assess the effectiveness of interventions. (*)

In this case Sif is lashing out because he has no way of preventing his Family from going back to their lives. It's a destructive and unhealthy mechanism. The fight ends with everyone refusing to let Sif run away or hide anymore. He is forced to admit that his wish was to stay with everyone. That he didn't want the family to go away. He opens himself up to the vulnerability of being seen of being understood and yes, even potentially rejected. The Family agree to travel together at least long enough to get Bonnie back to their sister. But there are no guarantees what happens beyond there. There is love. There is acceptance. There is honesty. There are no more time loops. Maybe now, finally... there can be change. Growth. Tomorrow.

In time loop fiction everything eventually loses meaning. There are no permanent consequences, no external pressures, nothing inherent to strive for, no meaning but what the protagonist(s) give themselves. The option to just accept things and remain is always there as Andy Samberg's character in Palm Springs does. The option to never stop trying to escape is there for those like Keiji in All You Need Is Kill.

The brilliance of In Stars and Time is that there are two wishes that are influencing the universe. The wish of the people to save Vaugarde from being frozen in time and Siffrin's wish to remain with his family. Change and Stagnation. That's what it always comes down to in these time loop stories and the conflict in this game is that those two forces are playing against one another. The only outcome was to give up on one or the other. As we'll learn in Act 6 there is no reality where Siffrin gets to stay with all 4 party members. They will have to separate at some point. Accepting change is accepting that things can and will and do end and life will go on and you have to be okay with it. Many of our essays have focused on representation that includes a healing journey from Ange Ushiromiya accepting the circumstances of her tragic past to Elliot Alderson's 4 season long representation of trauma therapy for dissociative clients. I think the thing I love about In Stars and Time is that it's the long and arduous process of a chronically traumatized individual asking for help. It's the first step on the healing journey. Acceptance. Siffrin spent the entire game in denial and rejection, making jokes and pushing things aside. Our long and hard journey was just getting to the point where they were able to recognize and admit it. And I really hope that Sif and their family members will be okay. I wished on my leaf for Sif to see Ka Bue with Odile. I hope they get to go. But as insertdisc5 says when asking any questions about what happens next "it's your turn" -

Stars that was a long one. Thank you for sticking with me if you read the whole thing. We like to write these essays as a matter of helping our study on dissociation (we, ourselves, are a DID patient and reading and comprehending this material is essential to our recovery and treatment) and providing a little insight to bits of media that are positive examples of what we go through. If you enjoyed always feel free to leave an ask or leave some silly tags. I never care if I get a flop post as writing is its own reward but the encouragement is good for my ego <3

Special thanks to @insertdisc5 for answering when I reached out for comment on the writing of this essay. The reply was helpful and encouraged us to take our time and write this with extra care. (In Stars and Time can be found on Steam, Itch, GOG, Nintendo Store and Playstation Store. The Prologue Game can be found on Steam and the Start Again comic on insertdisc5’s website) Media, Myself and I is a series of Tumblr Essays for positive depictions of dissociative disorders. Other essays include: A History of Murder Alters Discworld and Plurality Incidental, intentional and accidental representation Gender, Dissociation and Clinical Stigma in The Third Person Recontextualized Memories in Umineko Derealization in Night in the Woods and Metal Gear Solid The Dangers of Hypnotic Personality Play in Penlight System Origins in The Incredible Hulk Relationships with Systems in The Incredible Hulk The Healing Journey in Mr. Robot

...wait... what happened to Act 6?

I did say Loop deserved their own essay, didn't I?

[livebeforeyoulearn]

Truth in Your Lies

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You haven’t seen Alexia in years and when you catch a glimpse of her at a party, you try not to go back to her, but she’s just too irresistible.

Request

-

Your girlfriend’s fingers linger on yours, squeezing gently before slipping away as she leans in close. “I’ll be back,” she says softly, a reassuring smile lighting her face. But then she’s gone, her presence dissolving into the pulsing crowd, leaving you standing alone at a party you never wanted to come to in the first place. You watch her disappear into the throng, catching glimpses of her between bodies, a flash of her hair, a corner of her smile, until she vanishes altogether, engulfed by the sea of unfamiliar faces.

The room is filled with people who all seem to know each other, intertwined in a web of friendships and stories that don’t include you. They’re her friends, people she’s known for years, people who hold pieces of her past that you only know in fragments. You wonder how she can be so at ease here, moving comfortably between strangers, while you’re on the outside looking in, detached and uninterested.

Resigning yourself to a long night, you turn towards the drinks table, feeling the prickle of awkwardness settle into your skin. You pour yourself something, letting the cup fill slowly, hoping it will keep you busy, hoping it will make the night blur by. Taking a sip, you scan the room with vague curiosity, hoping for a glimpse of her. But the crowd remains indifferent and unfamiliar. 

Setting your drink down, you consider finding somewhere quieter, a corner to retreat to until your girlfriend returns. But as you turn, your gaze catches on a figure across the room, someone you recognise instantly, someone who pulls a breath straight from your lungs. You freeze, eyes locking on her. Alexia. She looks almost exactly as you remember her – the same sharp gaze, the same self-assured posture. Your eyes trail, unbidden, to the smooth skin exposed by her crop top, and memories rush back unfiltered, vivid memories of moments when you were close enough to touch. You didn’t mean to look, but it’s too late; your gaze lingers just a second too long, and by the time you meet her eyes, she’s already noticed. Her gaze is steady, a smirk tilting her lips as if she knows exactly what’s running through your mind. 

Before she can cross the room, before she can make her way over to you, you turn sharply, the need for distance almost overwhelming. You hurry towards the bathroom, your heartbeat quickening with each step. The door swings open under your hand, and you step into the empty room, letting the stillness swallow you. You close your eyes briefly, feeling the tension in your shoulders, the tension in the room, all centering on the fact that Alexia is here. After all this time, she’s here.

Your eyes open, and you stare at your reflection. You haven’t seen her in years, but there’s no denying the effect she still has on you, the way her presence digs up old memories you thought were buried. Things between you two hadn’t ended on terrible terms, but they hadn’t been good, either. It was a time when you were struggling, questioning yourself and your own worth, tangled in doubts that made it hard to love yourself, let alone someone else. She’d been patient, tried to understand, but she couldn’t hold onto you forever – not when you were pulling away, struggling in a place she couldn’t reach. Eventually, she’d let go, and you’d parted ways, leaving behind a bittersweet memory that lingered somewhere in the back of your mind. She was once your everything, your biggest love. And now, suddenly, here she is, the embodiment of your past, standing just a room away.

You feel it, this twist of emotion in your chest. You don’t want to go back out there. You don’t want to risk seeing her face again, don’t want your girlfriend near her. Tonight, you realise, might be one of the hardest in a long while.

The door opens, and your stomach drops. Your eyes lift to the mirror, knowing even before you look that it’s her. Alexia. Of course, she’d follow. You turn slowly, watching as she steps inside, the door clicking shut behind her. Her eyes meet yours, calm but curious.

“Y/N,” she murmurs, your name slipping from her lips like a memory, settling around you in that way it used to, filling every quiet space. Her voice is warm, gentle, and the sound alone makes your chest tighten, sending a pang of recognition through you that you hadn’t expected. She takes a careful step forwards, her gaze steady as you instinctively lean back, gripping the edge of the sink for grounding, the cold metal biting into your palms.

“Alexia,” you manage, though your voice wavers.

She studies you, her eyes searching before softening her expression into something tender. “I didn’t think I’d see you here,” she says quietly, her voice gentle, unchanging, the same tone she used to reserve just for you. It’s as if, in this moment, nothing has shifted between you, as if no time has passed at all. 

“Me neither.” You’re trying to keep yourself together, to stay composed in the face of the emotions stirring inside. But the way her eyes hold yours, unwavering, familiar, it makes you want to break. You thought you were over her, thought you’d left all of this behind, but here you are, barely holding steady.

She takes another step forwards, the distance between you shrinking. You should feel the need to pull back, to maintain a safe distance, but you don’t. You stand rooted, and the realisation makes your stomach turn. You’re in a committed relationship; you’re not supposed to feel this way, not supposed to want to stay in this moment.

“Alexia, why are you here?” you ask, your voice low, barely above a whisper.

“I was invited,” she shrugs, stopping just in front of you, her eyes holding yours, steady and sincere.

“No, I mean why are you here?” you clarify, gesturing to the small space, the tightness of the room closing in around you both.

She watches you for a moment, and then her hand lifts, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers grazing your cheek, lingering. “I saw you come in… and I wanted to see you. I missed you,” she admits, her voice barely more than a breath. Her hand stays on your cheek, and the softness in her eyes pulls at you, tugging you back to a time when things were simpler, when you were hers.

Her gaze darkens with a look you recognise, one you’ve seen a hundred times before. It’s that look that tells you she’s holding back, that she’s only a step away from reaching out, from claiming what she wants. You feel yourself hoping, irrationally, that you’re wrong, that she doesn’t want what you think she does.

But then her hand slides down, resting on your hip, her thumb grazing over the fabric of your dress. You shift under her touch, uncomfortable but transfixed, unable to break away. “Alexia, I have a girlfriend,” you say, your voice barely audible, laced with guilt as your gaze falls to the place where her hand rests on your hip.

A small smile flickers across her lips, her gaze sparking with amusement. “You’re embarrassed to admit that,” she murmurs, a teasing edge to her tone. You look up at her, brows furrowing in confusion, and she elaborates, “You’re blushing… unless it’s something else?” Her hand tightens ever so slightly.

You widen your eyes in surprise, and her smile shifts into a smirk, confident and knowing.

“Tell me to stop,” she whispers, her voice low and steady, leaning closer until her face is just inches from yours. Her breath warms your skin, and the nearness of her is dizzying. You know you should push her away, tell her this can’t happen. But your voice catches, and the words refuse to come, and then her lips press against yours.

It feels so familiar, the way her lips move against yours, like no time has passed, like she’s picking up where you left off. Your heart pounds as you kiss her back, the memories flooding back, overwhelming you. You think about why you and Alexia ended things, why it couldn’t work then and why it won’t work now. This shouldn’t be happening, you know it.

Your hand presses against her chest, and she lets out a soft, breathless sound, one you catch before pushing her back. She stumbles slightly, her chest heaving, her lips red and kiss-bitten, and her eyes meet yours, arrogant and unbothered.

“I need to go,” you mumble, slipping past her.

“Y/N,” she calls after you, her voice echoing as she follows. You glance around, hoping to see your girlfriend, but there’s no sign of her, and the only escape you can see is the door.

You push through it, stepping into the cool night air. It washes over you, a brief moment of clarity, a chance to breathe. But the door opens behind you, and her voice follows, calling your name one last time. You turn, meeting her eyes, crossing your arms tightly, bracing yourself.

She steps closer, her expression shifting to a playful frown. “It’s too late now,” she says, a slight taunt in her voice, as if she’s already won. “You kissed me. You can’t undo it.” She watches your reaction, savouring it, enjoying the way her words linger. “No matter what you tell her – that I kissed you, that you didn’t want it – she’ll be upset. Won’t she?”

The truth of her words stings, and you nod unwillingly, the weight of it all sinking in.

“So why are you running away?” she asks, voice soft, her eyes still sharp.

For a moment, you’re lost, no answer to give her, and her smirk only widens, her victory clear. She steps closer, leaning in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “Come back to mine.”

Caught in the pull of her words, Alexia’s lips hover just above yours, her breath warm and mingling with yours, her proximity blurring the lines between her presence and your own. Your heart pounds erratically, each beat heavier than the last, and it feels as though she’s drawing the air straight from your lungs. Her body presses close, and before your mind can catch up, you’re here – naked and vulnerable, lying back on her bed, gazing up at her as she stands before you. The strap around her hips catches your eye, a sight that makes your throat tighten and your stomach clench. Her gaze drinks you in, reverent yet smouldering, the intensity making your skin prickle under her scrutiny.

The guilt simmers in your stomach, a steady, aching weight that you can’t ignore, yet it doesn’t deter you, doesn’t make you pull back. It’s wrong – you know it is – but the pull is undeniable. You came here with her, agreed to this, let yourself be drawn back into her orbit despite the consequences. Your girlfriend’s face flashes in your mind, bringing a brief wave of shame, but it’s immediately overshadowed by the thundering of your heart as you look at Alexia. She does something to you, stirs a part of you that no one else can touch. With her, everything feels heightened, intensified – a rush you can’t replicate, a connection that feels almost supernatural, as if she’s an entirely different form, something more than just human.

She moves with a deliberate slowness, climbing onto the bed and settling herself between your parted knees, her hands soft but commanding as they rest atop your thighs. She leans forwards, her lips brushing one knee, then the other. Her eyes never leave yours, she knows, without needing to ask, the effect she has on your body, the control she still holds over you, and a small smile – a real smile, not a smirk – breaks across her face as she takes in the evidence of your desire for her.

“Does your girlfriend ever make you this wet?” she asks, her voice low and teasing. You feel a wave of heat rush to your cheeks, a soft whimper escaping you in reply as you squirm beneath her, the truth laying bare in your response. Embarrassment swells within you, but it’s powerless against the desire that pulses through your veins. Alexia’s smile widens, her white teeth flashing as her fingers glide up and down the inside of your thighs, each stroke making you shiver and tense under her touch. The feeling is overwhelming, almost dizzying, her hands on you after so long bringing back memories that blur with the present, memories that make you wonder if you’re even awake or dreaming.

She leans down, her lips soft and warm as they press against the sensitive skin along your thigh, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake. “Does she fuck you like I do?” Her voice is a taunting whisper that makes your breath hitch, and you shake your head without a word, unable to deny her. A low, appreciative hum slips from her lips, and she places a small, teasing bite on the skin just above your knee, the sharp sensation making you gasp, your hips bucking in reflex.

“No?” She presses, a teasing lilt to her tone as she looks up at you.

“No,” you manage to breathe out, barely a whisper. Her lips curl, satisfaction in her eyes as she leans back down, her mouth tracing over the bite she left, her tongue soothing the skin with languid, deliberate strokes. She works her way up, her lips grazing over each inch of sensitive skin, until she’s almost where you need her most, placing a featherlight kiss just above. Her movements are excruciatingly slow, so familiar, yet so tantalising, a pace she knows you crave. She remembers everything. Each kiss, each caress, is a deliberate reminder of how deeply she once knew you, how deeply she still does.

And with her so close, every touch, every breath between you carries something you’ve missed more than you’d ever admit. Your heart beats erratically, its rhythm matching the intensity with which you’ve yearned for this feeling again. This closeness, this intimacy, the way she knows how to unravel you piece by piece. It’s intoxicating, the taste of nostalgia mixed with the present, making you feel almost like you’re hers again.

When Alexia’s tongue finally finds the spot you’ve been aching for, a sigh slips from your lips, your fingers threading into her hair, pulling her closer as she kisses, sucks, and grazes her teeth against you with an expertise that’s almost dizzying. Her fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as she presses her mouth to your most sensitive spot, making your chest rise, your breath catching with every movement.

She groans softly, the vibration humming against you, your mind and body caught in a whirl of sensations, barely able to process the reality of this moment. Your legs begin to tremble, your hips moving in sync with her, each movement drawing you closer, until her finger slips inside, pushing you over that edge. Her name escapes your lips, breathless and longing, a sound that feels almost right, as if it belongs there, as if you’re meant to call out for her.

She doesn’t let go, guiding you through the high, her tongue and fingers lingering until the sensations subside, until you’re left breathless and dazed beneath her. When she finally pulls away, she doesn’t break her connection with you, her lips pressing a gentle, almost reverent kiss just above your hip before trailing up your body. 

When she reaches your chest, you let your head fall back onto the pillow, giving into the pleasure of her mouth enclosing around you. Her lips are soft yet relentless, each pull of her mouth deliberate, leaving marks that bloom under her touch, claiming you in ways you know will leave you marked tomorrow. Each one reminds you of the impossible explanation you’ll have to offer later, but in this moment, it doesn’t matter. 

As she reaches your neck, you tilt your head instinctively, offering her more. She lingers, her breath warm and tantalising, and you can feel the curve of her smirk pressing into your skin, owning the space she’s found. Her mouth dances over your pulse, teasing, nipping, leaving her presence imprinted on your skin like a map, leading you back to her, as if she knows you aren’t supposed to be hers and is claiming you anyways. 

Your hands thread through her hair, fingers brushing against her scalp, the sigh leaving your lips as you surrender fully to her. Each time her mouth grazes your neck, it’s a reminder that you’re beyond return, bound to her in a way that feels fated. 

“You still feel so good,” she murmurs, her voice a low hum against your neck, punctuated by a playful nip, her lips hovering close enough for you to feel the warmth of her breath. “Still taste so good.” Her gaze drifts down between your bodies as she presses the strap against you, letting the tip brush along your slick skin, eliciting a whimper from you. 

It feels like time slows as she finally inches inside, her lip caught between her teeth, her gaze never leaving where you connect. You drink in every part of her – her toned torso, the mesmerising push and pull between your bodies, the way her hair falls messily over her shoulders, the look of unfiltered desire etched across her face. You press your hands against her stomach, feeling the smoothness of her skin beneath your fingertips as she sinks deeper, her hips setting a languid, almost torturous rhythm, pressing into the spot that only she knows how to reach. 

Her lips find their way back to your neck, planting feverish kisses, sucking at your pulse points, sending shivers cascading down your spine. Your hands wander across her back and her sides, feeling the definition in her muscles, tracing the curves that you’ve missed. She’s close, her body holding yours firmly, moving with the exact, practised confidence that only comes from knowing you so intimately. 

She holds herself steady on her elbows, her hips driving into you with slow, purposeful thrusts. You feel lightheaded, immersed in the sensations flooding your body, and the way her lips press against your neck, her breath warm against your skin, adds to the overwhelming pleasure enveloping you.

“Fuck, Ale. You feel so good,” you manage to whisper, but your words come out broken, choked off by a moan.

Her hum against your neck vibrates against your skin before she tucks her face into the crook of your shoulder. You pull her even closer, your nails tracing gentle paths up and down her back, grounding yourself in the rhythm of her body against yours. She’s careful and deliberate, each thrust aligning with your heartbeat, the slow, sensual rhythm pulling you deeper into the connection until it feels like she’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

She knows your body as if it’s second nature, every movement designed to push you closer, her hips maintaining a pace that’s maddeningly perfect. Each shift, each slight increase in force has you gripping her, your nails pressing deeper into her skin. She feels it, and her response is immediate, her hips quickening to match the surge building inside you. Her teeth graze your shoulder, a contrast to the gentle slide of her hand down between your bodies, her fingers tracing over your clit with a touch that’s as calculated as it is devastating.

It’s the spark that sends you over, the sensation so consuming that it takes every sense with it, leaving you clinging to her in utter surrender. She guides you through it, her whispers soft against your ear, grounding you as her lips trace delicate paths along your skin, her presence anchoring you through each wave that rolls through.

Finally, as your breathing slows, you press a soft kiss to her temple, your lips lingering as you inhale her scent, letting yourself exist here, if only for this moment. She returns the tenderness, pressing her mouth to your neck, her arms tightening around you as she holds you close, as if neither of you wants to let go. 

After a moment of resting in each other's arms, Alexia slowly lifts herself onto her knees between your legs. Her hands rest on your stomach, her thumbs tracing gentle, soothing circles that calm you both. There's a deep contentment in her gaze, her eyes reflecting the unspoken joy of being with you again, of rediscovering this closeness. Still catching your breath, you sit up, feeling a warmth in your chest as your hands reach to cup her face, drawing her down into a kiss that’s fiercer than the last few shared, a kiss that says all the things you can’t put into words. 

You moan into her mouth, and her response is immediate as her tongue meets yours, asserting her familiar dominance. You know her tendencies well – she loves being in control, taking the lead, guiding the night as if it’s a dance only she can command. But tonight, after all the time without her, after the distance you’ve both endured, you feel a deep need to have her, to truly make her yours.

“Alexia, please,” you begin, letting her forehead rest against yours as you catch your breath. “If we’re going to do this… let me,” you murmur, your hand trailing down her chest and across her stomach, finding the harness that kept you connected and carefully undoing it. She doesn’t resist; instead, she helps, lifting her hips slightly, an easy smile breaking across her face as she nods. 

“Okay,” she whispers, her gaze warm and trusting. You can’t help but mirror her smile, feeling something new settle between you – a mutual surrender.

She lies back, her smirk never fading as she watches you straddle her, her eyes roaming over your body with open admiration. You feel validated under her gaze, alive, the heat of her eyes sparking something wild in you.

Her hands find your hips, and the firmness in her grip is grounding, making you feel completely hers as you lean down, connecting your lips to hers in a kiss that’s all heat and hunger. Teeth and tongues clash as you both fight for control, your fingers tangling in her hair once more, pulling slightly, drawing a low groan from her that sends a shiver through you.

Your lips leave hers to trail along her jaw, then down her neck, your teeth grazing her skin, tasting her, marking her as you go. You cover her chest, her abs, her hips, and her thighs with your own trail of marks – a mix of payback and pure indulgence. Each kiss, each bite, leaves a reminder of your presence, a tangible declaration that she’s yours. And she loves it, her smirk unwavering, revelling in each mark as if wearing them proudly.

Alexia is quieter than you in bed, her breaths controlled, but when your mouth finally reaches her clit, her inhale is sharp. Her hand drifts down, pushing back your hair so she can see you, her head tilting with that captivating focus of hers. You reach up to take her hand in yours, threading your fingers together – a simple, yet intimate gesture that feels like a promise you’re too far gone to break. 

As your tongue begins to work, her fingers tighten around yours, each stroke drawing a deeper reaction from her. Her other hand, tangled in your hair, tightens its grip as her hips press into your mouth, grinding in perfect rhythm. She’s trying to hold herself back, but the way her body responds, the way her breathing becomes shallow, tells you she’s close. 

“Fuck–” she chokes, cutting herself off with a shaky breath, her voice low and urgent. “Right there,” she gasps, her command clear, and you obey, keeping the rhythm steady, guiding her closer to release.

Her legs begin to shake as the tension peaks, her moans soft but growing in intensity. She clutches you tightly, her nails digging into your skin as her release overtakes her, her entire body arching beneath your touch. 

“Oh my god,” she gasps, voice breathless, her grip on you possessive. You smile against her, keeping your mouth on her as the aftershocks pulse through her, savouring every moment, every sound, every taste. When her breathing steadies, you pull back, the taste of her still lingering. 

Her eyes flutter open, and she looks up at you with a softness that pulls a smile from you both. For a moment, you simply stare, sharing a silent joy that bubbles over until laughter escapes you, warm and unrestrained. It’s absurd, maybe, to laugh like this under these circumstances, but with her, happiness feels so effortless that you can’t help it. It’s as if nothing else matters; there’s only her, this insatiable warmth that fills the space between you.

She rolls to her side, her gaze unwavering as you follow suit, lying beside her. Her arm slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and her thumb begins a gentle sweep over your hip. There’s something nervous in her eyes, her teeth catching her bottom lip before she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Please don’t go back to her.” The words are laden with vulnerability, and a flicker of fear shadows her expression. She’s afraid of losing you, of this moment fading into a memory.

You reach out, brushing a few strands of her hair back, fingers grazing her cheek. “I have to,” you murmur, your voice soft, letting your hand linger to offer some comfort. Her face falls just a little, but she shakes her head, the desperation unmistakable.

“No, you don’t.” Her voice grows firmer, each word a plea. “You could stay… here, with me. Forever.” Her eyes glisten, and the pull between desire and responsibility feels like it might tear you in two.

A small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips, a spark of hope lighting up her eyes in response, like she believes this smile could mean you’ll choose her. She’s finding her own ways to convince you, to hold onto what you both share.

“You said it yourself – she doesn’t make you feel the way I do,” she adds, her voice soft yet resolute. 

“I know.” The truth settles in the air, and you find yourself looking away, conflicted. You draw in a slow breath, eyes meeting hers again as you exhale, seeing nothing but tenderness reflected back. It’s impossible not to feel pulled towards her, to want nothing but her in these moments.

You bite your lip, leaning down to kiss her, drawn back to her touch. And with that kiss, it’s as if the night reawakens, as if all the words unspoken can be translated in touch alone. What was and what could be blurs into one, and nothing else feels real. 

By morning, you know what you have to do. You end the relationship that has been holding you back, choosing to follow the only path that makes sense. Your love for Alexia feels undeniable, as if fate has always intended for your hearts to meet like this, intertwined.

[sunsburns]

need art taking my virginity

oh my gosh whaaaat who said that

oh my gosh now it's writing itself oh noooo stop thisss

but all jokes aside, i know this would take place at stanford. you were strictly friends at the time, in the same bio med class and you were in his dorm room, finishing up the last details on your final project that was due at midnight. the second you turned it in, art practically jumped for joy while you tossed yourself onto his bed, kicking your laptop to the side.

he would offer some celebratory drinks which consisted of a six-pack from the mini fridge before he sat beside you. the both of you clink your glasses together and drink, enjoying the rest of your night together.

after three drinks on an empty stomach, the two of you were moving slower, giggles escaped your lips while art told you a story from when he was in the academy.

holding your half-empty bottle to your chest, you couldn't stop yourself from staring at his lips, the way they turned and moved or how he pouted and frowned. you watched the way they curved when he said your name.

when he reached for your shoulder, you finally looked at him in the way. there was a redness to his cheeks all of a sudden, and a shy smile tugged at his mouth when he looked at you. "i thought i lost you there for a second. am i that boring?"

"what? no. of course not." you blinked at him, a little embarrassed, "sorry, i just... i got distracted."

it was ridiculous how fast the two of you were on each other after that. he took the bottle from your hands and placed it aside, reaching over you as he did so. before he could lean back, you had cupped the back of his neck and kissed him. a quick, tight-lipped kiss to test the waters.

when you pulled away, he stared at you, looked at every detail on your face before he wrapped an arm around you and kissed you harder. a deep kiss that had you shutting your eyes tightly, holding him with both of your hands while he pulled you onto his lap.

when his tongue ran over your lower lip, you grew a little shy but parted them for him anyways. he caressed your cheek as his teeth crashed against yours, his tongue reaching for yours. your lips moved in tandem, slitting against each other with ease.

your tongues flicked playfully against each other. you giggled at the odd sensation, which quickly turned into a moan as he lightly sucked it into his mouth. 

"art..." your moan left him moaning as he deepened the sloppy kiss further.

"i like you," he muttered into your mouth, "like, i really like you." he started to kiss your cheek, then your jaw, mouthed at your neck. "i think you're smart, and really pretty."

"i really... i really like you too," you were blushing, your fingers curled into his hair, pulling slightly when he sucked a bruise into your neck.

art's red tennis polo is the first thing that came off after he gently led your hands to the hem of it. you ran your hands over his chest and that had him sighing against your lips. your shirt is discarded next, and the moment that was gone, art was reaching to cup your breasts, digging under your bra, his warm hands against your skin.

you tried to unbuckle his belt, moaning into his mouth. when he started to tug at your nipples after tossing your bra aside your mind stuttered, "art," you tried to say. "art-"

"yeah?" his big hands were running across your skin, leaving a hot trail behind them. he stopped when they were on your ass, just holding you there while your curled a strand of his hair in your finger.

you could feel his hard dick poking at the inside of your thigh, it made you frown as he looked up at you. his eyes were big and blown wide, darker than you remembered them, lust swirling behind them while he looked at you like you were the embodiment of the sun. you ran your thumb across his lower lip.

"i've never done this before," you whispered.

something softened within him, and he brought one hand up to cup your cheek and bring you closer. when your forehead rested against his, art kissed your cheek sweetly, "that's okay. we can stop if you want-"

"no," you quickly told him. "i want this. with you. i just... i just don't know. i want you to talk me through it."

he nodded, and kissed you again, slow and sweet before he said, "okay, yeah. just relax."

you could have sworn you had turned into nothing but mush in his hands by the time the both of you had stripped yourselves of your clothes. art led you to lay back on the bed, and he made sure to kiss every part of your skin, leaving marks here and there as he learned what made you moan and whimper or what made you arch your back towards him or tug at his hair.

he stayed hovering over you, watching you closely as you mewled under his touch, his fingers sliding in and out of you at a slow, tantalizing pace. his name came out breathless from your mouth, and yours was a restrained grunt at the back of his throat when you tried to palm at his cock.

you could've felt sparks at the ends of your fingers, an impatient turmoil in your stomach. "c'mon art. fuck me already."

he nearly laughed, watching your arch against him when he pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you waiting. art shifted one hand holding his weight up beside your head while the other rolled a condom over his dick.

he pressed his tip against your entrance, running circles against your clit with his thumb. when he started to push against the tight ring of your slick cunt, you were letting out a startled whimper.

"fuck, you're so tight." he muttered, dropping his weight against you.

you groaned, "fuck, art. get your fatass off me." you tried to sound annoyed, but your pants and breathly moans told him otherwise.

"shut up, i know you like it." art let out a strangled snort, slowly pushing the rest of himself in. his pace was steady, drawing out every little sound from your wrecked body, unable to hold back any of his own.

the both of you come soon after.

[cherrycolored-punk]

NHTK - Chapter One

Masterlist

summary: You’d always been warned by your older brother about the bad boys. The ones with the long hair, tattooed arms, and played in a band. Especially the one that is his best friend.

pairing: brother's best friend! Eddie Munson x fem! Reader, reader is Reefer Rick’s little sister.

trope/themes: forbidden love, friends to lovers

w/c: 5.6k

author's note: this is a repost from my previous blog @strangemagicc and I’ve been debating whether or not I should but I love their story so much. I hope you enjoy ! 🖤 a side note: yes, I did get drunk off my own jungle juice and yes, that did result in the worst sunburn of my life. I pour with a heavy hand.

warnings: angst, mention of cheating (technically not reader), mention of anxiety, brief mention of unwanted touching, underage drinking/smoking, a little sprinkle of smut (does clothed grinding count?). Let me know if I missed anything!

The Cunningham home was packed with bodies, familiar faces, and those you didn’t know. You stood near the front door fiddling with the zipper on your purse as you scanned the room searching for a familiar face.

Party lights bounced off a disco ball that hung haphazardly from a chandelier sending a kaleidoscope of blues and purples dancing across the foyer.

The loud music hummed in the walls, vibrating when the bass dropped. You bobbed your head to it mindlessly, without rhythm, feeling uncomfortable in the swarm of bodies around you. The foyer was crowded with partygoers, some locked in an embrace and others pushing their way up the stairs to the rooms that lined the hallway for some privacy.

Your teeth dug into your lower lip, eyebrows marrying in the middle as you searched above the sea of bodies. You were supposed to meet your best friend, Rachel, outside nearly an hour ago but your shift at Hawk Theater had dragged on, and now you didn’t know where to find her or your boyfriend for that matter.

That’s when you spotted them.

It felt like ice had filled your veins as you watched the way the familiar form of your boyfriend’s lips pushed against your best friend’s. Their mouths a frenzied dance, their eyes squished close. Her hands in his hair, his palms tracing down her exposed skin. You couldn’t move, disbelief keeping you anchored in place and watching the two of them as the rest of the world fell silent. Loud music muffled, and voices drowned out by the hammering of your heart against your ribcage.

A shoulder bumped yours causing your purse to fall as a partygoer rushed through the door to where their friends were gathered.

“Fuck,” You blinked rapidly and bent down to grab the black leather, eyes darting around at people’s shoes as you tried to regain your surroundings.

When you stood, you watched as Simon whispered in Rachel’s ear. She let out a small laugh in response to whatever he said before nodding. You began to push your way through the crowd, but bodies pushed back, and you watched as Simon led Rachel up the stairs through a throng of people. Her hand clasped in his, megawatt smile on display, and you wondered if this was the first time he had led her to a secluded room. Wondered how many stolen glances or hints you had missed.

You stopped pushing your way through and ignored the shouting in your head telling you to move, move, move.

What would you do?

What would you say?

Did it matter?

Shoulders pushed into yours as you stood still, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

You held in the tears threatening to spill, allowing the hurt to settle into your stomach and create a dull ache.

People shoved past you, and you let your body be moved by the crowd as your eyes danced around the house.

For the first time, you noticed the smiling faces and chiseled jaws you’d ignored the past four years.

Squaring your shoulders, you pushed back against the bodies creating a path to the kitchen. Empty bottles and cans littered the counters. White granite stickied with beer and liquor.

You grabbed a plastic cup and waited for your turn at the keg. Jason Carver manned the pump and eyed you as you approached, handing him your empty plastic cup.

“Well, if it isn’t Rick’s little sister,” he started, a fake smile plastered wide on his face. You gave him a sarcastic grin and grabbed for your beer as he topped it off. None too keen on being called, let alone known as Reefer Rick’s little sister.

Jason pulled away, holding your beer just out of reach.

“Your brother was supposed to have someone here supplying the party favors. What gives?”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes rolled. Hawkins’ Golden Boy was always itching for his next fix.

“I’m sure one of his little lackeys is crawling around here somewhere.” You held your arms up, gesturing around you before reaching back up for your drink. He held it away from you again, and your shoulders sagged, annoyance building.

“Come on, Carver. Give the lady her drink,” Another boy grabbed the cup, handing it to you with a soft smile.

He was cute in an obvious way, skin glowing with a fading summer tan that highlighted the blue of his eyes.

“Thanks,” you responded with a small grin, your hand grazing his as you grabbed for your drink.

“Any time.” His eyes held yours, his hand still outstretched and warm beneath your touch.

A perfect distraction.

———————————

Eddie sank into the worn-down couch cushions with a heavy sigh, his legs spread wide so no one would sit too close. Not that they would dare to anyway.

He sat with a view of the foyer and kitchen, both areas crowded with people in various stages of inebriation.

Unfamiliar faces were cast in a rainbow of colors by the party lights illuminating multiple parts of the house. His eyes darted from one room to another.

Empty bottles of hard liquor were toppled against the kitchen counter. Plastic cups littered the room near the two kegs that sat in the middle of the tiled floor, sticky with spilled beer and marred by dirty footprints.

It was a familiar scene, one that played out the same way nearly every weekend since Eddie could remember.

But now his nerves were withering away, disappearing into nothingness as the minutes ticked by. Bored out of his mind.

Another generic pop song blasted through the speakers, another once jock tried to negotiate the price of Eddie’s already cheap supply.

His jaw was set, and if he didn’t need the money so fucking bad, he wouldn’t be here. At another house party for has-beens and once popular teens inching towards full-blown adulthood. No longer barely legal, a year closer to buying beer without sneaking it past an unsuspecting convenience store clerk.

He chugged his beer, streams of amber liquid pouring out on either side of his mouth as he drank harshly. Sloppily. Until the lukewarm liquid was gone and he was staring down into an empty plastic cup. Eddie threw his head against the cushions debating whether another cup of cheap beer was worth giving up his spot on the couch.

And then you caught his eye. Your back pressed to a guy he’d never seen you with.

His brow quirked up curiously as he watched you. The way the hem of your dress inched up with the movement of your hips, the way your eyes were closed as you swayed to the rhythm of the music and took a swig of whatever filled your plastic cup.

Didn’t you have a boyfriend?

He was surprised to see you here. Somewhere seemingly not your scene, surrounded by people he knew you didn’t like.

In truth, Eddie knew very little about you these days. Your interactions had been limited since the two of you worked side by side at the theater. A job he was fired from when the manager caught him making deals on the clock and company property. Since then, he only caught glimpses of you when he came by your house to see your brother. A passing hello or a quick goodbye. Never anything like those days spent conversing by the cinema dumpsters while being scorched by the summer sun.

You turned around and whispered something in the guy’s ear and pointed to your cup before weaving through the crowd.

Your back was to Eddie, hands reaching towards bottle after bottle, shaking them to check their contents. All coming up empty.

He chuckled when you spotted the giant cooler filled with Chrissy’s concoction of jungle juice; a mix of pineapple malibu, cherry moonshine, and fruit punch.

Eddie pushed himself off his spot on the couch and moved through the crowd towards you. Approaching just as you filled the cup to the brim and brought it towards your waiting lips. He pulled the red plastic from your hands and gave you a chastising grin.

“Don’t think so, little Lipton,” he took a swig and raised his eyebrows as the sweetness hit his tongue.

You gave him an annoyed glare and reached for your drink just as he pulled it out of your nearing grasp with an amused grin.

“I’m sorry, Munson, since when did you become an advocate against public displays of intoxication?” You reached up and snatched your cup back from his hand, looking at him with a questioning arch of your eyebrow.

He noticed the way your words were somewhat slurred, your cheeks a shade darker from the alcohol you’d already consumed.

“See you got a new boyfriend,” Eddie stated, jutting his chin toward your dance partner and ignoring the insinuation of your words. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at you with an amused gleam in his eye as he waited for your explanation.

“That guy?” You turned to the cute brunette who was waiting for you to return before looking back at Eddie.

“I just met him like two seconds ago,” you hiccuped and let out a small laugh as Eddie looked back to the brunette who was eyeing him wearily.

“What happened to Simon?”

“He’s probably still upstairs fucking Rachel,” you waved him off and shrugged before taking another sip of your drink.

“What?” Eddie couldn’t have heard you right. Simon had been your boyfriend since the summer you turned sixteen, having met him while working at Hawk Theater alongside Eddie.

“Look, Munson, is there a point to this line of questioning?”

Your buzzed mind was becoming less cloudy, the feelings you’d been pushing down threatening to come to the surface, and all you wanted to be was distracted.

“Your brother wouldn’t be too happy if I let you get drunk at some house party,” he sighed, changing the subject.

“Well, isn’t it a good thing that he isn’t here, and you can just pretend you didn’t see me?” You smiled over your cup before chugging some of the drink.

The sugary sweetness of the fruit punch nearly overpowered the taste of the strong liquor mixed with it but still, it burned as it went down. Eddie shook his head, his tongue jutting into his cheek to fight the wide grin that threatened to spread at your words.

“I wouldn’t chug that if I were you,” he warned, and you rolled your eyes, removing the plastic from your lips with a scowl pointed in his direction.

“Since when are you such a party pooper?” You poked at his chest with your free hand.

“Plus, I’ve already had a beer or two.” You held up one too many fingers to him as you pressed the cup to your lips and swallowed harshly.

“Come on, (Y/N), this isn’t like you,” he frowned.

“How would you know, Eddie?” You said his name like it was a curse word as you looked at him through hooded eyes.

He opened his mouth to respond when a passerby pushed against him to get through the crowd causing his frame to lurch into yours. A small splash of your drink soaked through your sweater, and you pushed back against his torso instinctively, his chest hard against the palm of your hand.

“Shit, sorry,” his warm breath fanned your face. A hint of spearmint mixed with the scent of cigarettes caught your nose as you inhaled sharply, caught off guard by the sudden contact of his hand against your hip, steadying himself from the crowd's sway.

You gazed up at him, your hand still on his chest, into his wide brown eyes. His cheeks were colored pink as his hand darted away from you.

“Sorry,” he whispered again, and you gave him a sardonic smile, enjoying the way he squirmed by being this close to you. Too close.

“Maybe we should get you home to change,” he pointed to your stained sweater, and you shrugged as you placed your drink on the counter.

“Trying to get me alone, Munson?” You teased, and maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the way you wished his nervous energy was because you affected him the same way he had always affected you.

You pulled at the hem of the green pullover revealing the tight black lace dress you wore underneath. Eddie’s gaze dropped instinctively, eyeing how the material hugged your curves. You grabbed his wrist and dropped the sweater into his open palm.

“Hold onto that for me,” you picked your cup back up from the counter.

“And don’t worry, Rick doesn’t have to know,” you gave him a small wink before turning away from him and pushing back through the crowd.

Eddie stared at you, his mouth agape as you disappeared back into the sea of people and picked up where you left off with your dance partner. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck—the guy whose name you didn’t even know.

Eddie glanced back down at your sweater in his outstretched hand and shook his head unsure of exactly what had gotten into you.

He grabbed another cup of beer and leaned against a wooden beam near the living room, his eyes always finding you when he looked around the room. Eddie made a few deals and sold most of his supply, a few hundred dollars closer to his goal of finally leaving Hawkins behind.

Eddie looked up and watched as stranger boy’s hands drifted down your hips and dug into your thighs. You pushed his hands back up to your waist, your head swaying to the music as the two of you continued to dance.

But stranger boy’s hands crept down your hip once again, inching lower and lower until they glided past the hem of your dress. You stilled and turned around, wrapping your arms around his neck. His chest flush with yours, blue eyes dull into you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. A flirty smile on his lips.

“Able to keep your hands to yourself, pretty boy?” Although you wanted a distraction, you still had reservations. Boundaries you didn’t want to cross. Not when your still boyfriend was upstairs.

“What’s the fun in that,” He whispered into your ear, palms sliding down and cupping your ass. Your smile fell, and you pushed at his chest, putting space between you.

“Knock it off,” your voice came out louder, barely heard above the music. Eddie tensed and pushed off the wooden beam he’d been leaning on. Your date looked uneasily around the crowd and back at you.

“Don’t be such a tease. You’ve been grinding on my dick for most of the night.” You scoffed at him and shook your head.

Eddie began to walk in your direction, pushing past the crowd that had turned its attention towards you.

“I was dancing,” you corrected just as Eddie approached. His lean frame towered next to you, eyes set on the guy whose name you now didn’t care to know.

“We got a problem here?” Eddie questioned.

“Should’ve expected your brother’s dealer to be your little lap dog,” the brunette laughed, cocky. Annoyance thrummed through your veins, and you began to step toward him but Eddie grabbed your arm, his warm palm pressed against your exposed skin.

“He’s not even worth it,” Eddie whispered and pulled you back, “let’s go.” You nodded at his words and turned to leave with him, emotional exhaustion now weighing heavy on your shoulders.

Eddie followed behind you, ignoring the way the sea of heads watched him like he was some carnival freak on display.

“Stupid slut,” the brunette muttered as he turned towards his friends, and Eddie stopped in his tracks, a dark grin coloring his features.

“On second thought.” He turned and took a wide step, swinging without hesitation. 

His clenched fist connected with the guy’s jaw sending him stumbling back and falling to the ground. Eddie stood over him, chest rising and falling rapidly. Ready for a fight. The guy groaned on the ground, holding his jaw where Eddie’s fist had already left a mark. You stood stunned into silence, the whispers of the crowd breaking you from your reverie.

“Eddie, we should go,” you grabbed onto his hand and pulled as the crowd’s murmurs began to grow louder. A bigger fight could cause the police to be called and Eddie didn’t need a bigger record.

He didn’t budge, gaze still fixed on the guy writhing in pain on the floor.

“Let’s go,” you urged and pulled on his hand hard, this time he followed. You led him through the crowd and out the front door, ignoring the dozens of eyes that watched you leave.

His palm was still pressed to yours when you reached the sidewalk, the night breeze cold against your exposed skin sobering you. You stopped and dropped Eddie’s hand as you looked up to him.

“What the fuck was that?” You pointed towards the house now in the distance with an outstretched hand before crossing your arms over your chest. The moon illuminated Eddie in a hazy white glow, the street lamps dim on the other side of the street.

“Me protecting you?” He questioned, his eyebrows creasing as he took in your sour expression.

“You didn’t need to do that!” Your voice rose.

“That guy had his greasy hands all over you and called you a slut, but you’re mad at me?” His tone was filled with incredulity, eyes wide and shocked.

“No, I just-,” you sighed and pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose, closing your eyes as you tried to put into words how you felt.

Hurt?

Confused?

Angry?

Like a fucking idiot for dancing with some loser at a house party you didn’t even want to be at in the first place.

“Thank you,” you sighed and looked up at him. It was better than an explanation of your misplaced anger.

“I mean it,” you grabbed onto his hand so he knew that you meant it. He looked to your connected hands and back at you.

“Any time, Spielberg,” he gave you a cocky smile and you dropped his hand, watching as he walked past you to his van.

“We agreed you’d never call me that again,” you said through gritted teeth, following behind him. Eddie turned and began to walk backward, keyring twirling on his finger.

“No, you asked me to stop. I never agreed to it.” He stopped in front of his black van and opened the passenger door.

“Your chariot awaits,” he stepped aside so you could climb in, presenting the passenger seat as though it were a grand prize.

“I can walk, Eds,” you chuckled and began to walk past him. You figured the night air would do you good. Eddie yanked you by your shoulder reeling you back towards him.

“Get in the fucking car,” he pushed you towards the seat and waited until you were situated before closing the door. He ran around the front of the vehicle and quickly climbed into the driver’s seat.

As Eddie started the car you noticed his bloody knuckles. Guilt reared its ugly head and you grimaced at the sight of his already bruising flesh. As he waited for the car to warm up, you rummaged through your bag looking for the travel-sized first aid kit you kept buried at the bottom, and quietly rejoiced when you found it.

Without asking you reached for his hand and settled it into your lap. When he tried pulling away you squeezed his wrist to hold him into place.

“What are you doing?” He questioned, glancing between you and his split knuckles.

“What does it look like?” You gave him a teasing look and grabbed an alcohol wipe, tearing open the package before blotting the pad gently against his skin.

Eddie winced and you looked at him with a silent apology before blowing on his knuckles to help them dry.

His gaze traced the curve of your nose down to the plush of your lips, swallowing hard as his eyes lingered. A little hypnotized, just as you’d always had him. You placed a bandaid on each cut and patted his hand softly breaking Eddie from his trance.

“All better,” you stated and glanced up at him with a satisfied grin.

He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, refocusing his attention on the road ahead as he pulled away from the curb. Eddie eyed his bandaged hand resting on the steering wheel as he drove.

Of course, you’d have Hello Kitty bandaids.

He shook his head but couldn’t fight the way his grin grew wide and took over his features.

The two of you drove towards your house in silence, Soundgarden playing low on the radio.

Houses passed in a dark blur, the clouds covering any light the moon had offered. It had been years since the two of you had been alone for more than a passing moment. Not since those days spent at work where Eddie got to know you as more than his best friend’s little sister.

You fiddled with the hem of your dress, conflicted by to say or if you should say anything. It didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie who began to glance between you and the road, measuring his words just as cautiously.

“Sorry about your-“

“Do you think-“

The both of you began speaking at once and you chuckled awkwardly as you looked towards him. He nodded at you to go ahead, giving you the floor to speak.

“Do you think we could go somewhere? It could be anywhere, I just really don’t want to go home right now,” you shrugged, continuing to play with the material of your dress.

The two of you were already close to your home, the trees becoming more dense as you approached but he nodded. He turned his van down a different path, the trees opening as you approached the Lake.

The light of the moon and stars glittered off the calm waters, peaceful. Serene. A different scene from the events of the night. He parked near the edge of the trees and killed the lights, taking off his seatbelt before looking at you. Nervous energy hummed in his chest and was evident in the way he bounced his leg absently.

“This good?”

You gave him a weak smile and nodded. The guilt had spread and made a home of your chest. Eddie got hurt because of you. Lost out on sales defending you.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you began, your eyes focused on the darkness of the lake.

Eddie watched you, the way your teeth chewed at your bottom lip. Your anxious energy palpable.

“I’m sorry you had to get mixed up in my mess,” you looked at him now and Eddie shook his head.

“Like I was going to let Chris Grandy call you a stupid slut,” he rolled his eyes.

You giggled to yourself. So that was the douchebag’s name.

“It really doesn’t matter,” you shrugged. “Probably was acting like one.”

You’d only ever had one serious boyfriend in your life and he’d spent the night upstairs with your childhood best friend. There was a lot you didn’t know about dating or the rules of flirting. What gave guys the wrong idea or made them think you wanted something more and you kept playing it over in your head wondering what you could’ve done differently.

Eddie’s leg stopped bouncing as he watched you and the anger built up in his chest. He wasn’t mad at you, he was so fucking pissed off that the slime ball made you feel like this. Made you feel guilty for enjoying yourself or question whether you did anything wrong.

“You were having fun,” he started, “and regardless of how you danced or what you said, when you told him to stop he should’ve stopped. Nothing you did or said justifies him being a fucking creep.”

He was seething, you could tell from the way his chest rose and fell. From the way his jaw was clenched, the moonlight illuminating his features.

Munson had always been handsome, cute in a not-so-conventional way. It was the way his curly hair framed his high cheekbones and the plush of his lips. The way his big brown eyes were always animated when he talked about something he liked.

The first time you noticed it, noticed him, was when you were thirteen. You spent that summer blubbering in his presence, finding any excuse to talk to him or go into your brother’s room. The crush never really went away, always lingered in the back of your mind and now in the way your heart thrummed as his gaze was fixed on you. A silent plea begging you to understand what he told you.

It was like a magnetic pull the way you leaned closer to him, eyes trained on his as you inched closer.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with me having fun?” You questioned with innocent eyes and looked up at him through your lashes, your face closer to his.

“Why would there be?” He swallowed, his gaze flicking from yours to the pout of your lips.

Eddie was losing the little bit of composure he’d been able to maintain all these years. The warnings your brother had given sounded off like alarms in his head.

“Also, I’m the one who needs to apologize,” he grimaced and began to play with the rings on his fingers, changing the subject. Trying to distract himself from the way the scent of your perfume had him a little disjointed.

“For what?” You pursed your lips, perplexed.

“I’m, uh, pretty sure I left your sweater back there at the party. Nearly one hundred percent positive,” he looked at you with a sideways grimace, already shrinking away as he anticipated your reaction but you only laughed.

“I ruined it with Chrissy’s weird concoction anyway,” you dropped your face into your hand, your body shaking with laughter.

“I still can’t believe you drank that shit,” he laughed with you, “it had me on my ass a few years ago at her Fourth of July party.”

“No way,” your laugh grew louder as you absently held onto his arm, encouraging him to divulge.

“In my defense, those sugary drinks are the ones that get you,” his body shook with his building laughter.

“Could barely taste the moonshine she puts in it so I had a few cups,” he shook his head, “I fell asleep in one of those loungers by the pool and the next thing I remembered was waking up in some random room laughing to myself with the worst sunburn of my life.”

You winced at the picture he painted, imagining his pale skin marred by the sun.

“So that’s why you took my cup,” realization dawned upon you.

“Just trying to save you, little Lipton,” he agreed and you groaned.

“I wish people would stop calling me that. I’m not just Rick’s sister you know?” Your shoulders sagged. It had always been like that.

People, boys, avoiding you because of who your brother was. Ghosting you once they found out your last name, his reputation preceding you. 

Until Simon.

“I know you’re not,” he assured you earnestly.

“You’re definitely just saying that,” you rolled your eyes.

“Since when have I told you something just because it’s what you want to hear, Spielberg?” He emphasized the nickname you hated to prove his point.

You leaned over the middle console and jabbed at his ribs with your finger causing him to jump and grab at your hand.

“This is the thanks I get for saving your life,” he dramatized and grabbed your other hand as he dodged its attack.

He held onto your hands, your laughter mixing with his, and stared up into his eyes.

You could say it was the alcohol still clouding your mind for what you did next, could say it was because you still needed the distraction you sought at the beginning of the night.

Eddie smelled like apple and bergamot, a hint of weed and tobacco. He swallowed hard as you leaned closer. He felt the warmth of your breath against his face and watched as your eyes fluttered close.

He hesitated for a moment before closing the rest of the space. Heart beating faster than it had that night.

Your breath hitched with the first contact of his lips. They were smooth, almost pillowy against your own, as they matched the pace you set. He released your hands and you twined them in his curls, soft like you’d always imagined.

Eddie’s hands fell into his lap and clenched into fists as the kiss deepened, your tongue parting the seam of his mouth. He opened and slowly met yours with the tip of his own.

You tasted like cherry chapstick and fruit punch, sweet like he always thought you would be and it was getting so hard not to touch you.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, spreading to your veins in a low hum and you pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him flush against you. His hands left his lap and wrapped around your waist, fingers digging into your flesh.

He pulled you across the middle console into his lap and you moved without hesitation, your mouth still pressed to his.

There was an unspoken need shared in the way your mouths meshed, in the way he swallowed your sighs and you elicited his groans. It felt like you were floating, head buzzing from a different kind of inebriation.

You wanted more, you needed more but the bright lights of a passing car broke you two apart.

Eddie stilled beneath you and pulled away from your still-pursed lips.

“Shit,” he whispered and closed his eyes as he hit his head against the headrest.

You bit into your lower lip and played with the material of his black t-shirt, looking at him curiously. Confusion evident on your brow.

“What’s wrong?” He shook his head, eyes still closed as his fingers traced absent lines back and forth over your naked thighs.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he shook his head and you stilled.

“We shouldn’t be or you don’t want to be?” You felt as though he was making an excuse, trying to let you down easily instead of telling you that he regretted kissing you.

“Shouldn’t be,” he lifted his head and finally opened his eyes.

He brought his hand to your face and held you, tracing an absent thumb over your cheekbone.

“Who says we shouldn’t be?” You leaned into his touch and rubbed your hands over his chest, enjoying the way his heart thrummed against your palms.

Eddie had trouble concentrating, distracted with you pressed against the evidence of his budding arousal.

Even in the silence you both knew the answer to his question, the boundary that had always been there. Invisible but palpable.

You’d always been warned by your older brother about the bad boys. The ones with the long hair, tattooed arms, and played in a band. Especially the one that is his best friend.

“You know who,” he finally responded, hands gripping your thighs as you shifted in his lap and you smirked. Enjoying the way Eddie Munson looked a little dazed beneath you.

“Nobody has to know if you don’t want them to,” you muttered as you leaned closer, your breath fanning his face. Lips enticing him and he swallowed hard. Resolve wavering under the intensity of his want.

He closed the little space that remained between the two of you, lips not as gentle as before when they pressed against yours. His kisses were hungry. Needier than before.

It felt like he was kissing you like he’d always wanted to, but you didn’t dare hope for that type of reciprocation. Satisfied to have him bucking into your clothed pussy, moans escaping his lips as he held you against him and ground your hips over his boner.

You moaned as he peppered kisses down your jaw and across your neck, nibbling against the sensitive flesh of your throat.

Leaving his marks where everyone could see.

Where Simon could see.

You stilled for a moment but a moment was all Eddie needed to stop, to regain clarity. To push you off his lap with a heavy sigh, a quick rise and fall of his chest. You sank into the passenger and stared at him, your breaths matching his.

“We need to stop,” he shook his head and took a deep breath, running his sweaty palms over his pants. You only nodded, your voice lost as your thoughts collided with each other. Confusion etched into your forehead.

Eddie adjusted his jeans and looked over his shoulder before reversing his car. He needed to get you home before his resolve completely dissipated. Before you did something with him that you might regret like the others.

You fell into silence, eyes trained on the passing trees that were barely visible under the pale moonlight. Embarrassment clung to you, sticky and suffocating. Rejection mingling with the hurt that was beginning to resurface.

The short drive to your house was quiet and you didn’t turn to say thank you as you hopped out of his van.

You clamored through your door, the quiet of your empty house greeting you.

Eddie watched as you slipped into the darkness of your home, and a wave of guilt settled over him as he remembered your brother’s words. As the image of your confused face resurfaced behind his closed eyes. He thumped his head against the steering wheel and groaned loudly.

“Fuck!”

-

next>

[cherrygirlfriend]

bsf!rafe and reader miss each other

warnings: angst aka the one where rafe is in the doghouse. i wanted to try and write a bit of a dual-pov situation of the time after reader ended things, it's a bit experimental for me but i hope it's still enjoyable! this might be a bit melancholic but eh (also i baked two whole pies today let's go baker era i live alone idek what to do with em)

when you were hooking up rafe, every moment without him felt empty. like he completed you. that was partially what made you continue on with him for so long; you were worried that if he wasn't in your life, you'd constantly walk around with this hole in your chest, like a part of you was missing.

but you found that after you ended things, he wasn't the only thing on your mind all the time. sure, you missed him, but what you missed wasn't the sex, or even the almost-romantic part of your relationship, but his friendship. you missed the boy you told all your secrets to, the one who'd been your shoulder to cry on for as long as you could remember. but a part of you wasn't completely sure if that boy even existed anymore.

you knew that the boy who'd passed notes with you all throughout your middle school and high school years wouldn't do what he did to you. or the boy who let you stay at his house whenever your parents argued, and stay up with you trying to comfort you.

when you had been involved with him, you never told anyone; when your friends asked you where you always disappeared off to, you said you were just 'meeting up with a guy' and none of them really cared enough to pry, and only after did it end did you realize how shallow most of your friendships felt. none of them even noticed when you'd shut yourself away, or the fact that you started to distance yourself from everyone.

except for one.

one friday evening, the doorbell rang and you forced yourself to go open the door, only for it to reveal vivian, someone who you'd pretty much known since kindergarten, holding up two bottles of wine. "i'm not gonna leave before you tell me what's wrong with you." she said, and even though you knew she'd probably judge you for everything that went down, you also knew you couldn't hold onto it all.

and so the two of you ended up laying on your bed, drinking straight out of the bottle, with you recounting the whole story to her, without vivian interrupting you even once. and even though it was only one person, it made all the difference in the world.

"jesus, what a dick!" was the only thing he said when you were done, the two of you bursting into laughter.

but as time went by, you slowly started to miss him less and less, and as the marks he had littered all around your body started to fade, so did your longing for him.

sometimes you'd see him when you were out; it was mostly at the country club, or whenever one of your friends had convinced you to come to a party, and to let loose. but whenever you saw him, you never said a word to each other, you never even smiled. but for a brief moment, as you stared at one another across the room, it was as if it was just the two of you, lying on the floor of his living room, surrounded by beer bottles and used plastic cups, remnants of yet another party.

but as soon as one of you looked away, the moment faded away, like you two had never known each other. it was like he was never your first love.

and before you knew it, summer had come to an end, it had been three months since the night you ended things with him, the sky above you turning grey as you sat on the dock in front of your house with your feet in the cold water, when your phone started ringing, and for the first time in three months...

incoming call... rafe

and as you wondered what to do, a raindrop fell over the green circle displayed on your phone, as if telling you what to do, and so you took your phone into your hand, chewing on your bottom lip as you were thinking of whether to accept or decline.

to say that he wasn't good when it came to emotions and feelings would be an understatement when talking about rafe. most of the time the only thing he allowed himself to feel was anger, and so, when you walked out of the bathroom, the only thing he could do was stare at that locket, and even though he wanted to be angry, to start punching the bathroom sink until his hand broke, he couldn't. all he could do was stare at that damn locket, feeling like someone had punched all the air out of his lungs, like there just wasn't any anger left in him.

the day after you ended things with rafe, he broke up with sofia. for the next week the only thing he did was drink just to get the thoughts of you out of his head. for the week after that, all he did was think about you.

you needed your space, but he knew that every sunday you spent the afternoons playing tennis with one of your friends; so every sunday he'd drag his friends there on the premise of playing golf, just to get a glimpse of you; and unlike him, you looked fine, like nothing had ever happened between the two of you. he'd go out to any party he got wind of, just in case you showed up.

and whenever you noticed rafe's presence, when you looked straight at him, it was like the emptiness that had been in his chest since that night was slowly going away, like it was that night when you slept in his arms when he whispered "i love you." into your ear, hoping to god that you wouldn't hear, and now, the only thing he wished was for you to hear it even though he couldn't say it. but whenever you looked away from him, that emptiness came back.

rafe rarely drew anymore, not since he started working with his father, but now he found himself sketching images he had carved into his memory, ones of you sleeping in his bed, his sheets pulled up to cover your chest while your hair covered a good part of your face, ones with that look on your face when your face was flushed from alcohol when you were trying your hardest to find the words you were looking for when you were chattering about something you were passionate about.

and the next three months went in a cycle of drinking or throwing himself into the family business to forget about you, or finally giving in and thinking about you with that locket held in his large hand, and whenever he saw you, the more alright you seemed, and he kept wondering if that'd ever happen to him.

he was sitting in the office that formerly belonged to his father, his jaw clenched as he stared at your contact image, a picture of you petting a stray cat that lived around the island, obsessing over your contact something he'd been doing a lot lately, as if daring himself to call you. but before he could, he'd dropped his phone down onto the desk, rubbing his palms over his face with a deep sigh, telling himself to just focus on his work.

but rafe was drawn out of his thoughts of a familiar ringing, of one telling you that you were calling someone. and when he pulled his hands away from his eyes, they landed on his phone calling a familiar number.

and before he could hang up and pretend it never happened, the call was connected, and a soft voice on the other side simply said,

"rafe?"

[sturniqlo]

Let Her Go- C.S

summary: seeing her across the room with someone else makes chris realize he needs to let her go. BLURB

cw: cursing, party setting, mentions of drinking, pinch of ANGST; break up, arguing, toxic!chris, trust issues, mentions of cheating (not actually) manipulation(?)

an: i've been going through some writers block lately, sorry if this is shit :/ | lowercase intended

masterlist | join my taglist

-----------------------------------------------

"want another?" nate, chris' friend, nods his head towards his empty red solo cup. "i'm good, you should slow down on em' though." chris says and nate scoffs. "shut up." he cackles and stumbles to the kitchen to refill his cup. tonight, chris and nate had came to one of their friends party. it was a celebration or anything, just a party on a random thursday night.

at first, chris had said no, however, nate didn't take no for an answer and dragged him to this party. nate had realized that chris was staying home a lot more after he had broken up with y/n.

"i'm missing her." is what he would say when nate would go over and see chris laying in bed hugging a random shirt. it was the shirt that y/n would always wear of his and it still smelled like her. "she dumped you for a reason, chris." he always stayed quiet when someone would say that.

y/n was the one who had called it off. and chris realized, after they had broken up, that he was the toxic one in the relationship and she deserved better. whenever he would be out she would send him a text that she would be going out with her friends, she was never asking for permission, never that, just informing him.

however, chris feared the idea that other men would try and get at her and he got jealous just at the idea of it so, he would reply with i was planning on going over in about twenty minutes :(. y/n away fell for it and backed out from the plans with her friends.

she'd always wait... and wait, and chris always showed up 3 or more hours later which would result in an argument. "you said that five hours ago! i could've gone and been back by now! but, no because you always think i'm going to cheat on you or some shit! do you really think that low of me?"

y/n's breaking point was when she had posted a group picture at the mall to her instagram story and when chris saw he was furious when he saw a guys arm across her shoulders. what did he do? he looked at her location and drove there a caused a scene in front of her friends.

"come on, we're leaving!" he spotted y/n standing alone in a store. "chris? what are you doing here?" she said. "i said, we're leaving. i didn't let you come here just so you could be lovey dovey around assholes." he grabbed her arm and tried to walk her out. "what are you saying right now?" her voice caught the attention of her friends. "chris, hey?" one said.

"this is chris? didn't know he was coming today." someone he had never seen before says, he then realizes this is the guy who had his arm around her shoulders. "oscar, not now." y/n said. "yeah, oscar, not now." chris said. "we were just leaving, sorry. you guys can go back to shopping." chris walks out with y/n.

"so, oscar seems nice, did he buy you something today?" y/n ignored him. "hm? did he hold your hand? kiss you? you two seemed happy in the picture." she snapped at last. "take me home, i can't stand being around you right now!" she yelled. during the car ride, chris went on and on. when he dropped her off she finally spoke.

"we're done, chris. i've put up with you for so long, i hate that you don't trust me when i go out, whenever i tell you i'm going out you always tell me that you're coming over and make me wait just so i won't go out. you thought i was just cheating on you, for crying out loud! i can't do this anymore!" she unbuckled herself and got out the car. "oscar is my fucking cousin." she slammed the door behind her and ran inside her house.

chris texted, and called. y/n finally decided to talked to him. chris heard her out and agreed although he didn't fully understand.

until now. months later.

chris spotted her while he was pouring himself some soda into his cup. it's almost as if he felt her presence enter the house. he stared at her as she walked in from the backyard, he smiled to smiles, until he saw her arm extended backwards. she was holding someone's hand. behind her, hands intertwined, was a tall guy he had never seen before.

she had someone new.

as creepy as it sounds, he watched them the entire night. he saw how she smiled when he touched her waist, kissed her forehead and held her hand when he felt like it. she looked happy. she finally got what she deserved. the person she deserved.

y/n's eyes roamed the crowd and met a pair of familiar eyes. they stared at each other until y/n broke into a soft smile. that's when he decided to finally let her go.

[omosoclose]

I've seen a few things about fantasy omorashi curses lately, so here are some more 🪄💧:

You can only pee when your bladder is 100% at its limit (when it normally would start coming out on its own without your control). You don't get any special knowledge of when that is, just the regular feeling of desperation. If you try to go to the bathroom, even if you're 99% full, you won't be able to get any out. When you hit 100%, your bladder automatically empties itself completely, regardless of where you are.

You can pee whenever you want, but it comes out one literal drip (~0.05mL) at a time, maybe 2 drips per second if you're lucky, 1 drip per second or even longer if you've really pissed off the curse caster. If your max bladder capacity is 500mL, it would take almost an hour and a half to empty completely at 2 drips a second. You could only get about 30mL out in a regular 5-minute bathroom trip. To keep a regular schedule, you would often have to stop the flow and go about your day, still full to the brim but out of time to empty. And then when you're absolutely desperate, having to suffer through the torment of that desperation releasing itself one...drip...at...a...time...

The person who casts the curse picks an activity of daily living (eating, walking, speaking, etc.: let's say sleeping for this scenario), and now you can only do it if your bladder is at least 75% full. You literally, physically won't be able to do the activity if you're less full than that. Now, when you're tired, you have to drink a bunch and wait to fill up, then get in bed uncomfortably full and try to fall asleep. You'll have to get over your anxiety about wetting the bed, because no matter how tired you are, you physically can't sleep unless you have to pee, so having insomnia from your full bladder just won't do. Maybe sometimes you do wet the bed and then instantly wake up, unable to go back to sleep until you fill yourself up again.

You can only pee if someone else is pressing on your bladder for you. Otherwise, the curse makes your bladder and torso expand indefinitely, so you'll hold it without bursting until you can get someone to help, but you'll be in absolute agony. And how embarrassing and heavy it would be to walk around with a bladder bulge the size of a yoga ball. It's an okay curse if you have a willing friend or partner, but what if you live alone? What about at work? What if you're home alone for the day (or the week)? How would you find someone to help you?

You wake up every morning with a different bladder capacity, but there's no way (except trial & error) to tell what it is. Some days it's huge and you can hold a gallon of water just fine. Other days you have half a cup of coffee and you're wetting yourself. The curse also makes you very thirsty, so avoiding drinks altogether isn't an option. You just have to drink very carefully and hope to hell whenever you take a sip of something that there's a bathroom readily available in case it fills your bladder way more than you were expecting.

Feel free to elaborate on any of these, add your own, or use them for stories 😉. Maybe I'll do more later.

[slu7formen]

luke castellan x fem!reader

You knew that your friend, Luke, was a tease. What you didn’t expect, was that he was going to be a tease to you.

while I finish writing part two of this story (btw, thank u so much for all the love it’s getting) , I drop this one out here for the wait <3

warnings: teasing, praising, drinking, kinda s3xual tension

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

The bonfire crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows on the faces of the demigods huddled around it. The air thrummed with the low beat of stolen music from a borrowed radio, a symphony of laughter and easy conversation punctuated by the clinking of ice inside your plastic cups. Exhaustion from a particularly harrowing week of monster attacks had finally settled in, driving the older campers to this clandestine revelry deep within the safe haven of the camp's woods.

Across from you, Clarisse was emerged in a play-fight with his brothers, not truly a good idea based on the drunken state they were in, but who would tell them otherwise? Travis and Connor were huddled together, their whispers punctuated by bursts of laughter that hinted at some upcoming evil plan or prank. You could practically see the gears turning in their heads. Silena leaned towards Katie’s ear, whispering some secret that boys couldn’t know about, her voice barely a murmur.

And Luke Castellan sat next to you, his presence warm and familiar. His profile bathed in the golden glow. You'd known him for years, a bond forged in shared battles and late-night training sessions. But lately, you'd begun to see him in a different light. The way his muscles tensed beneath his t-shirt as he tossed another log onto the fire, the glint in his dark eyes - it all sent a delicious flutter to your stomach.

Reaching for your empty plastic cup, you realized with a groan that you'd polished off your cranberry juice and vodka concoction. Glancing sideways at Luke, you noticed his cup held a suspicious-looking red liquid that gave off a pungent, almost medicinal smell. "Let me have a sip of yours" you declared, leaning towards him without even questioning.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. Your cheeks, flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the fire, were undeniably red. Your lips, slightly puffy and wet, was not something his eyes would miss either. But he'd never admit the effect you had on him, not here, not amongst their friends.

"Not sure that's your thing, doll" he pointed out, looking down at his drink for a second. "You won´t like it"

You knew you were pushing your luck, but the defiance simmering in your blood, thanks to the vodka, wouldn't be ignored. "Come on, Luke" you pout, placing your chin on his shoulder. “If you can drink it, why can´t I?”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "I don't think you can handle it" he said with a little smirk on his face, the playful challenge in his eyes impossible to miss. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way he was looking at you, but a spark of competitive spirit ignited within you.

“Oh, yeah?” you challenged. “Just watch me, then” you declared, snatching the cup from his hand before he could protest. You were so sure of yourself. The liquid was a fiery red, the strong scent even more potent up close. You took a tentative sip.

It was horrible.

It was like drinking liquid fire infused with cough syrup. A strangled cough escaped your lips, your eyes watering. Luke chuckled slightly. You sputtered, almost spitting the liquid out in disgust.

Before you could fully react, Luke's hand cupped your chin, surprisingly gentle despite the rough calluses that adorned his palm. His eyes held a mischievous sparkle. "Take it all down now, you told me you could handle it"

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the way his words sent a thrill down your spine, but you were determined not to back down, especially not in front of him. Fueled by a mix of pride, the burn of the liquid fire, and a strange flutter in your stomach thanks to Luke's closeness, you took another swig, then another, determined to finish it. You ignored the way your throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper and the fire that seemed to erupt in your gut.

Suddenly, a loud "Chug! Chug! Chug!" broke the silence. Travis and Connor, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, started a rhythmic chant. Silena and Katie soon joined in, their cheers echoing through the clearing. You choked down the rest of the concoction, gasping for air as it burned its fiery path down your throat.

The cheers reached a crescendo as you slumped back, eyes squeezed shut, your head swimming. As the commotion subsided, you dropped the plastic cup with a clatter. You felt dizzy, and your throat felt like someone had lined it with sandpaper, but a sense of accomplishment washed over you. You'd done it.

Suddenly, a gentle touch on your chin startled you. You blinked your eyes open to see Luke leaning in, his gaze holding a playful spark. With his thumb, he brushed away a stray droplet of the red liquid that had escaped your lips during your valiant chugging endeavor.

The simple gesture sent a jolt through you. It was so unexpected that your breath hitched in your throat. Then, in a move that stole the air from your lungs completely, he lifted his thumb to his lips and sucked off the red droplet. Eyes on yours, the whole time.

"Good girl" he murmured.

He turned away then, casually rejoining the conversation with Chris about their upcoming training session. But you couldn't tear your gaze from him. The playful glint in his eyes, the lingering warmth on your chin from his touch – it all played on repeat in your mind.

Gods, you thought, your head swimming from a potent mix of alcohol and newfound desire. You really wanted to be anywhere else right now. Anywhere with him, away from the prying eyes and teasing laughter of your friends. You felt crazy in the matter of just a few seconds. You couldn´t let this slide, you just couldn´t.

You couldn´t deny the wet patch on your panties either.

You stood up, maybe a little too fast for the state you were in, but you managed to look down to Luke, who was already looking into your eyes the moment you stood up.

“I´m going for a walk. Care to join me?”

inspired by this right here, with a little change <3