#thought: This is what it feels like when you overthink things

[gabseyoo]

FIFTEEN SECONDS — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: female reader, friends to lovers, love confession, fluff, bit of comedy. word count: 1,2k.

note: here’s a little something for valentine’s day, hope you like it!

What should I say?

“Here.” No, too dry.

“Here, it’s for you.” Shit, still too dry.

“I bought this for you, I hope you like it.” Okay, that one wasn’t so bad. 

For the past ten minutes, Kiyoomi had been locked in a brutal staring contest with the small black box sitting on the café table. The thing wasn’t even looking at him, and yet he was the one losing.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

He had bought the damn gift two weeks ago. Two weeks of overthinking, of waiting for the perfect moment, of nearly shoving it to the back of his closet out of sheer nerves. But then Valentine’s Day crept up on him, and he thought—maybe this was fate giving him a chance.

Or setting him up for humiliating rejection.

Kiyoomi had rehearsed this moment in his head. And still, here he was, breaking into a nervous sweat over a bracelet. What if you didn’t like it? What if you thought it was stupid? What if you liked someone else?

Then, in the middle of his internal crisis, a familiar voice nearly made him jump.

“Hey, Kiyoomi.”

He looked up so fast he almost knocked the gift off the table. There you were, standing in front of him with that impossibly pretty smile, your presence alone enough to make his pulse go haywire.

“Did you already order, or should I—?” You asked as you sat down in front of him. 

“I already did.” He forced his voice to stay steady. “Iced latte with two shots of vanilla, right?”

Your smile grew. “You know me so well.”

Yeah, because I’m hopelessly in love with you.

The words were right there. On the tip of his tongue.

Relax, Kiyoomi. Ease into it.

That was the smart thing to do. You didn’t just shove a confession at someone out of nowhere—there should be a conversation first, something natural.

“So, uh…” He wracked his brain for something—anything—normal to say. “How’s work?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “It’s fine?”

What the hell was that, Kiyoomi? It was comical how his calm and collected personality seemed to disappear at this moment when he needed it most. Was love always this complicated? Or was it because it was about you?

You tilted your head. “Are you okay?”

No. No, he was absolutely not okay. His fingers tapped anxiously against the small box. The longer he waited, the worse this was getting. His nerves were eating him alive. He could already feel the impending doom of chickening out.

Screw it.

With zero transition or warning, he grabbed the box and shoved it across the table. “Here.”

Goddamn it. 

You blinked in surprise. “For me?”

A stiff nod. This was fine. You’d open it, love it, and then he’d tell you. Smooth. Simple. Foolproof.

Except…

You were taking your sweet time untying the ribbon.

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to do it for you. Why were you so slow? Was this some kind of test? Did you already know he was panicking and just wanted to see him suffer?

Finally, you lifted the lid. Your lips parted as you took out the delicate silver bracelet, the small star charm catching the café’s warm light.

“Oh, Kiyoomi…” You breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

His fingers twitched under the table as your eyes widened slightly. “Wait… this is—”

Kiyoomi looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the café menu on the wall. “Yeah.”

Your fingers traced the charm, realization dawning. “This is the bracelet from that shop at the mall, isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

You turned to him, eyes suspiciously bright. “You went back for it?”

Kiyoomi picked up his coffee, taking a slow sip as if that would somehow make this moment less humiliating. “You wouldn’t stop staring at it.”

“I looked at it for like, five seconds.”

“It was at least fifteen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

This was it. The perfect moment.

He took a breath, preparing to say the words that had been stuck in his chest for way too long.

“I—” He began, but the words he had rehearsed for days were interrupted when a waiter appeared at the table.

“Here’s your order! One vanilla iced latte and one black coffee.”

Kiyoomi clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might crack a tooth. Not now, man. 

He nodded stiffly as you thanked the waiter. Okay, fine. Minor setback. 

“What were you saying?” You asked after the guy turned around, taking a sip from your drink.

His heart was about to beat out of his chest. Now. Now is the time. Just say it: I like you.

Kiyoomi opened his mouth, determined to do it, but then— 

“Do you need any sugar?”

Oh my god.

Kiyoomi glared at the waiter. Who was back. Did this man have a vendetta against his love life?

He mumbled a half-hearted, “No, thanks.”

“Cream?”

“No, thanks.”

“Any appetizer? We have a special red velvet cake because of Valentine's Day.”

Was this a joke?

“We’re fine.”

“Actually, I want a slice of cake.” You said.

Before the waiter could leave, Kiyoomi muttered, “Make that two.”

The guy finally left, and he was beginning to get irritated by his bad luck.

Just do it now! He scrambled at himself mentally. 

“Y/N, I bought–” He hurried to say, but then the loud hiss from the blender machine drowned out his voice.

Was this the universe making fun of him? 

By now, he was one more interruption away from actually losing it. So, ignoring the annoying noise, he decided to just keep going, “I bought this because–”

“Oh! Look at that dog outside.”

Kiyoomi stopped mid-sentence as you turned to the window, grinning at a fluffy golden retriever wagging its tail on the sidewalk. Are you serious?

But, when he turned back to you, you were watching him with amusement.

You two made eye contact for a few seconds, he blinked, you blinked, and then— you laughed.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

You smirked. “Kiyoomi, don’t be so shy.”

His stomach dropped.

“I like you too.”

For a full three seconds, his brain just ceased to function.

You… what?

His ears burned. His grip tightened on his cup. His entire soul left his body. “You knew?”

You giggled, tapping his hand lightly. “Of course. I actually got something for you too.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small gift box, setting it on the table in front of him. Kiyoomi tried—really tried—not to look too eager as he picked it up and carefully lifted the lid.

Inside was a watch. The watch. The one he had lingered on in the mall that day.

“You looked at it for at least fifteen seconds.” You teased, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

Kiyoomi froze. His fingers tightened around the box as the realization sank in.

You had noticed. Just like he had noticed you staring at the bracelet. You both had thought of each other.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight, his chest oddly warm. He looked up at you, something soft, something real in his gaze.

“This is—”

“Here they are! Two slices of red velvet cake!”

Kiyoomi visibly twitched.

Oh, come on!

[starheavenly]

https://www.tumblr.com/starheavenly/774872421568299008/drift-and-all-his-babies-from-different-universes

I love how OG!Locket is sulking in bed. Even when surrounded by their alternate versions, they’re still the smallest bot in the group—and they know it. That pout speaks volumes, and let’s be honest, they’re probably jealous of the attention their counterparts are receiving from Drift. Of course, they’d never admit it outright, but you can see it in the way they’re lying there, stewing in quiet indignation. Classic Dramatic Baby 1.

D!Locket, on the other hand, looks like they’re plotting world domination from under the blanket. They are probably

scheming to take out the others. Since they believe they are superior to their counterparts. And to reclaim what they see as their right, Drift’s attention and affection. Again probably not that they would admit it. Dramatic Baby 2

A!Locket, poor thing, looks utterly overwhelmed. They’re probably overthinking everything about this situation, especially when it comes to Drift. Since they chose to follow Ratchet in their own universe, they might be worried that Drift doesn’t love them anymore. And being sandwiched aside two grumpy, intimidating versions of themselves definitely isn’t helping their nerves. You can just see the anxious thought spirals: “Does drift hate me? Does Drift even want me here? What if I’m not good enough?”

Then there’s SG!Locket—poor baby finally getting the love they’ve always dreamed of. After everything they’ve endured, being able to rest in the warmth of Drift’s affection must feel like a miracle. You can almost hear their relieved, content thoughts: “He loves me back. He really loves me!” It’s such a heart-wrenching contrast to the life they’ve known, and you just know they’re holding on to every second of this rare kindness. (OG!Drift would absolutely despise his Shattered Glass counterpart, SG!Drift. It wouldn’t just be dislike—it’d be pure, murderous hatred for what that twisted version represents.)

And Drift? He’s having the absolute best moment of his life. His spark is practically glowing as he’s there, surrounded by his precious sparklet and their alternate versions. Every one of them is a piece of his family, and he loves them all dearly, no matter their quirks or histories. Drift’s thoughts are simple yet deeply heartfelt:

“They’re all so precious. I’ll stay right here and make sure they’re safe and happy. Nothing will ever hurt them while I’m around.”

I believe that if given the chance, Drift would steal all of them without hesitation.

YES YES YES people analyzing a silly picture of all of them tucked in bed...

Main Locket, the usual suspect.

D!Locket: Views everyone as lesser than them

A!Locket: SEVERE anxiety and self esteem issues

SG!Locket: Sweet little thang <333

[boybandbaby]

Secret (Evan Buckley x SingleMom!Reader)

word count: 1343

warnings/tags: nervous buck, 18+ mdni (mention of sex), as always please let me know if i missed anything

note: part of my single mom reader universe which can be found here

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Buck had noticed your change in demeanor from the first two dates. He thought things had been going well but he’s starting to second guess himself.

He starts to think that maybe he had worked up this idea that things with you could be end game. I mean it was only your third date and he was already thinking of engagement rings.

He had been scolded by each member of the team and his sister when he asked Chimney which ring shop he went to. They all told him to slow his roll and not to get ahead of himself. Though they were excited for him and his new situationship, they didn't want him to get too ahead of himself.

He wonders if maybe you had noticed that he was beginning to really have feelings for you. Maybe now you had found him creepy or too pushy or too needy. Was he texting you too much? Was he asking to see you too much? Had he made you uncomfortable and now you were trying to figure out how to break things off already?

Then he remembered a joking comment from Eddie on yesterday's shift. He had been discussing the movie you picked out for both of you to see and that he was really excited to spend more time with you.

"How long have you guys been seeing each other?" Eddie had asked.

"We've been talking for a little over a month but it's officially our third date." Buck replied, buttoning his shirt up.

"Ooh, third date? You know what that means." Eddie wiggled his eyebrows. Buck knew he said it to be funny but now Buck wonders if you maybe live by the ridiculous rule of sleeping together after the third date.

What if you’re expecting sex tonight? Or what if you’re freaking out about him wanting sex tonight? Or what if you don’t want sex with him at all, ever?

Buck can feel himself sweating through his shirt in the very well air conditioned movie theatre. He’s glad it’s somewhat dark or he’s sure you could see the sweat beads rolling off his forehead. He knows you very well may be able to see him as he can see your face clearly in the light from the screen.

You’re quieter today. Face bright under the movie lights with a small smile that has a hint of nervousness in it. The popcorn bowl is still quite full and candy boxes unopened despite both of you stating you loved movie snacks.

You spend the entire movie silent and rigid in your seats. Your hands found each others' the first two dates. The first time over the table at dinner and the second time on the car console on your way to the beach. Now, they lay in your lap and his on the arm rests. You're itching to hold his hand but you're just too nervous about the secret you're holding in.

Buck knows he has to confront you kindly after the movie about what’s going on and hopefully reassure you he’s not in this just for sex. So as you’re both finally leaving the theatre, the last ones, he goes to speak when you do first. “That was a good movie, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I enjoyed it.” He smiles, hands in his pockets as you stand in the cold, face illuminated by the neon lights of the signs out front. Buck cannot remember who was even in the movie, let alone the plot. “Look, I wanted to talk to you about something…” he trails off.

“Oh? Um, yeah sure.” You look around and guide him to a near by metal bench. “Everything okay?”

Internally, you’re spiraling. You know you haven’t been acting normal tonight but you hoped that he would just ignore it. You’ve only known him for a few short weeks but you know parts of him by now. You know Buck has a habit of overthinking things so you’re sure he’s picked up on it. You’re wondering if somehow he knows your secret.

“I know it’s our third date and there’s this like third date rule that people follow. I just want you to know that I’m not expecting anything from you. I hope that’s not why you’ve been quiet all night. I know we’re still getting to know each other but I hope you know that I would never try to pressure you into doing something you weren’t comfortable with.” Buck rambles, hands flexing and squeezing on his thighs. He can feel sweat accumulating on his palms and he realizes he hasn’t even looked at your face since he started talking.

When he looks up, your eyes are slightly glossy and he’s not sure what he’s said to make you…upset?

“Y/n…”

“I have a daughter!” You blurt. When you search his face for any sort of information on how he’s feeling about this news, you’re met with furrowed brows, mouth slightly agape, and silence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled it out like that. All night I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. It’s the third date and yes I’m aware of the third date rule but I of course know you weren’t trying to sleep with me. I just figured the third date is either make or break and it was time for me to tell you about my daughter. You know, that way you can decide if you want to continue seeing me or get out before it goes any further.”

“What’s uhhhh, what’s her name?” He stutters.

“Her name is Evie. She just recently turned 7. Her father isn’t in the picture but that’s a story for another time.” You wave off. “What do you think? Or like how are you feeling about all this? I'm so sorry I haven't said anything up until now."

“It’s doesn’t change how I feel about you. I’m surprised, sure, but I know you probably kept it a secret for a reason. I can’t imagine it’s easy being a single parent and trying to date.”

“It’s not just that. I don’t want to bring someone around her until I know that it’s serious and it hardly gets to the serious state. I really like you but I was scared this would scare you away. I’m also scared that we’ll get in too deep and you’ll realize you don’t want to be with a woman who has a kid or that the other shoe will drop and you’ll be this horrible evil guy.” You finally grab his hand. "But I know you're not a bad guy."

“Just breathe.” Buck kisses your knuckles. “Breathe, babe. I totally understand where you’re coming from. We'll take this as slow as you want. Your daughter comes first and I want to be part of your life and eventually hers if you'll let me."

"You're seriously so sweet, Buck." You pull him in for a hug. "I don't want to force you to stay or make you feel like you have to be okay with this."

"You're not forcing me to do anything. I really really like you and I want to make this work. I'll be as involved as you'll let me and I'll be patient with you just like you are with me and my job." He rubs your back before kissing your forehead. "Please don't ever scare me like that again, though. I was freaking out the entire movie."

"I'm sorry! I was nervous!" You laugh. "I could barely pay attention to what was happening."

"I don't even remember what movie we were watching." He smiles. "You want to go for ice cream? Or do you have a curfew?"

"Shut up, I don't have a curfew." You push his shoulder. "I could go for ice cream, as long as you're buying."

"I think you should buy me ice cream since you had me on edge all night." He winks. "Come on, milfy."

"Evan!" Your eyes widen as he starts running to his car. "I can't believe you just said that!"

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[hrrtshape]

Hiiii!! About your method, I'm not sure how to convince myself on how to let go and remind myself that I just forgot? Like do I gaslight myself? Do I need to visualise where I want to go and just remind myself that I am already there and that I am just having long boring dream of the cr?? Sorry if it's a stupid ask but my overthinking won't shut up and overomplicates it 😔

how to let go during shifting... and by extension, my method !!

౨ৎ letting go is, ironically, the thing people grip onto the hardest. like trying to float by forcing yourself to sink. like opening a fist while clenching it harder. it doesn’t work because it was never meant to be done. it’s something that happens when you stop doing.

people ask how to let go, like it’s a step, like it’s something you have to try to do. but you don’t try to fall asleep. you don’t try to get lost in a daydream. it just happens when you stop needing it to happen. that’s the trick. letting go isn’t an action. it’s the absence of action.

　　　　　　　　　　  ⊹　 ︶︶　 ୨୧　 ︶︶　 ⊹

so how do you let go? stop holding on.

◞ stop chasing thoughts. they’ll run faster. ◞ stop forcing yourself to relax. it’ll tense you up. ◞ stop needing to shift. you already did.

it’s like forgetting a word that’s on the tip of your tongue. you don’t sit there, gripping your brain, demanding it to remember. you let it go, and it comes back on its own. shifting is the same.

and now, letting go in my method.

my method isn’t about letting go as much as it’s about realising you were never holding on. there was no struggle, no weight, no distance to cross. you were just convinced there was.

you don’t need to gaslight yourself. not really. you just need to doubt reality a little. poke at it. let it feel less real. let your brain hesitate for a second, and that’s all it takes. the illusion starts to flicker.

do you need to visualise?? only if you want to. but think about it. when you remember a dream, does it take effort? no. it comes back to you. not as something new, but as something old you misplaced. shifting works the same way.

so when you lie there, still and weightless, don’t reach. don’t try. just let your mind falter. let it wonder, wait... what if i already shifted and just forgot?

because if you’re already there, what’s left to let go of?

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.8): stop being weird - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

an; lmfao i watched babygirl last night so smut coming in the next few chapters FINALLY!!

part 7- part 8 - part 9

you don’t do weird, dramatic silences. you don’t ignore each other. you don’t fight.

so why does it kind of feel like you are?

it’s been days since the last pogue hangout. since you started seeing rafe a little less. since you realized he wasn’t really… talking to you anymore. not like normal. not like you two.

it’s not like he’s outright avoiding you—he still shows up, still answers when you text—but he’s dry. dismissive. like he doesn’t really care. and maybe you wouldn’t care either, if it weren’t so obvious.

you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, your phone resting on your stomach. music plays softly from your speaker, some song you don’t even realize is on until it ends. the room feels too quiet. the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts louder than they need to be.

before you can think too hard about it, you grab your phone and open your messages.

it’s not like you to overthink things. not with rafe. but the whole thing is just… off. and it’s not like he’s going to tell you what’s up—clearly—so you do the next best thing.

meanwhile, your life is moving. no time to think about rafe. no time to care.

you’re at the chateau, cross-faded, curled up against jj on the couch, barely processing the conversation happening around you. his arm is slung around your waist, and at some point, your head ends up on his shoulder. the night moves fast like that, all smoke and static and warmth, the air thick with laughter and the low hum of music from a speaker someone set on the counter.

jj’s rolling another joint, half-focused on pope and john b arguing over something stupid, while kiara eggs them on. you don’t even know what they’re mad about, but it’s funny watching them get worked up, hands flying, voices overlapping.

jj nudges you with his shoulder, eyes lazy, smirking. “you good over there, champ?”

you hum in response, tilting your head back to look at him. “never better.”

he grins, flicking the lighter to life.

at some point, jj drags you off the couch, pulling you toward the kitchen under the excuse of “we need snacks.” the real reason, as it turns out, is to shotgun a beer with you, which you only half succeed at before nearly choking on it. jj laughs so hard he almost chokes too, smacking the counter as he wheezes, before shoving the neck of his hoodie at you to wipe your mouth like you haven’t known each other for two weeks at most.

“you suck at this,” he says, grinning.

“fuck you,” you cough, still recovering.

“nah, that was tragic,” he teases, cracking open another one like you didn’t just borderline aspirate the first. “you gotta commit. you hesitated.”

you glare at him, wiping your chin with his hoodie before flipping it back at his face. “let’s see you do better, mr. professional.”

jj winks, tilting his head back as he downs the beer effortlessly, then slamming the empty can on the counter with an exaggerated gasp. “light work,” he announces.

you roll your eyes. “congrats. you’ve peaked.”

he throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a loose side hug as he grabs a bag of chips off the counter. “c’mon, princess. let’s go pretend we got the snacks and not just our crippling alcohol dependencies.”

sometime past 2 a.m., you end up back on the couch, jj next to you, kiara half in your lap, legs thrown over the armrest. your limbs feel heavy, head fogged over with exhaustion, but you feel good. easy. warm in the way that only comes with nights like this.

you don’t check your phone. don’t think about unread messages or stubborn boys who’d rather sit in their heads than get out of them.

not your problem tonight.

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecameronswifeyy @hello-therree

[gold-onthe-inside]

blind date

who? spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader summary: you finally give into your godmother's insistence on going on a date with her colleague, if only to get her off your back, and find yourself having to break the heart of someone who could have been the love of your life. content warnings: not a happy ending (i warned you, you don't get to yell at me), reader is blake's goddaughter and a therapist. word count: 2.1k

You let out a slow breath before entering the restaurant, smoothing down your dress, still second-guessing your outfit - a purple dress matched with a dark velvet jacket and a black purse with a gold chain belt - as if you hadn’t spent your day looking up what women in their 30s wore on first dates. Not like it matters, you told yourself. You’d get through the date, politely tell the guy that he was great but you weren’t interested, and hopefully be home by 10pm. You turn your gaze to the maitre’d, telling him the table was under Reid’s name.

You had told yourself on the way that you couldn’t hold it against him if he was late — you still remember the coffee meetings your own godmother never turned up to — but it turned out he was earlier than you. Where you showed up to everything ten minutes in advance, he showed up twenty-five minutes.

You saw him first, looking into the silver ware and flattening down his hair and adjusting his tie, clearly nervous, looking up when he heard you thank the maitre’d. Spencer almost stumbled over himself as he stood up to pull your chair out for you and you feel an overwhelming urge to reassure him. “H-Hi,” he said, matching your awkward smile. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking the seat and watching him take his, his hand splayed against his chest to keep his tie back. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”

His laugh is nervous, God help him, and he corrects the displaced silverware so they align perfectly before he looked at you again. “I, uh, I get that a lot.”

“Go on a lot of blind dates then?” you asked, sipping the water within reach, and you can see panic flash across his face.

“No! I mean, I’ve-I’ve been on dates before. Just um—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I meant I get the-the height thing, quite a bit. Not that there’s been a lot—”

“Breathe, Spencer,” you feel compelled to say as his face flushes. You’d meant to tease, not give the man a heart attack.

“Sorry,” he murmured, trying to get a grip on himself. God, how did Derek do this? “Um… Blake, sorry, Alex, told me that you’re a therapist,” he said, focusing on something concrete.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, not sure how much information you wanted to tell him. Though, to be fair, he was a federal agent. He could have it found out anyway. “I work at a clinic in Georgetown,” you said, folding your hands in front of you and overthinking whether you should be crossing your legs or not. This was usually the point where the guy would ask if you could read his mind, or attempt to educate you on how mental health was a sham and everyone just needs to get some exercise, and that would be your cue to fake an emergency exit. Maybe you’d get home in time to watch some decent TV.

“Is it hard?” he asked, taking a sip of water before he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. It was endearing, and surprising.

“It can be,” you answered, leaning in slightly. “Some days you get really, really good sessions, you know? And other days it’s…”

“Hell?” he offered and you let out a small huff.

“Try having a seven year old drawing on furniture with chalk,” you told him, watching him wince.

“I, uh… have a confession,” he said, leaning even closer, his voice a dramatic whisper. “I did that as a kid.”

"Understimulated in class, huh?" you asked, smiling at him a little more.

“A lot,” he admitted. “I learned to read very young, and… well, then everyone wanted me to read, and it wasn’t as fun anymore, you know?”

“Mm,” you say in agreement, but before you continue, the waiter comes, and you both order a glass of wine, and appetizers to split. “So, you must be dealing with a lot worse than pre-pubescent vandalism, right?” you asked, pulling apart the fried mozzarella balls with delicate precision, and you watch him think for a moment.

“I’m just trying to decide if the last case we worked would be preferable to handling a toddler, and I honestly think I’d prefer the serial killer,” he said thoughtfully and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you.

"Yeah, no, I don't blame you," you replied, sipping your wine.

“What about you?” he asked between bites. “Did you know you wanted to be a psychologist from day one?”

"Uh... No, I actually thought I would go into linguistics, like Alex, but somewhere around my first year into undergrad, I realised that psychology was my calling," you said.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and leaning his elbow on the table. You liked the way he gave you his full attention; his eyes hadn’t strayed from you since you’d gotten there.

“Uh, we used to have to do these case studies and we’d do these role plays where everyone had a presenting concern to work with, and I used to get this… high whenever I’d figured the client out. Like that moment where everything just… clicks into place. And I got addicted to it,” you said, your words and love for your job captivating.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his smile widening. “I’m sure Alex’s told you that I have an… impressive memory. The cases we work on-the ones they don’t put in our files on purpose-I remember every single piece of information. It’s like the details don’t leave me. So when we finally catch the unsubs, the-the serial killers…” His voice lowers, leaning further over the table to you and he’s so close, you can almost smell his cologne. “That’s when it clicks.”

You stared at him for a beat, like everything else in the world had gone still, his soft hazel eyes looking affectionately into yours, and then the waiter comes over and the bubble between you two pops, springing apart like two teenagers being walked in on. You can see the flush come over his skin, just as the waiter places his plates in front of him, and focus on ordering your dinner, Spencer agreeing to whatever you ordered.

“So,” you started as the waiter left, and you could see the hint of a smile cross his lips. “Spencer, what do you do for fun?”

He hums a little, thinking. “I read, obviously, and I play poker, although I think half the team suspects I’m counting cards.” He leans forward. “Don't tell them, but I am.”

“You can count cards?” you asked, looking at him in disbelief.

He tilts his head to the side, and he looks like some kind of adorable dog, and your cheeks flush a little darker. “Is it that surprising?” Spencer asks. “I mean, if you know the math, it’s-“ He seems to stumble a little, like he’s worried he’ll bore you with the explanation.

“Keep going,” you prompt him, interested.

“I mean, it’s not foolproof,” he starts, the words flowing quickly from him. “You can’t really predict probability with any certainty. It’s just… really good guessing.” He smiles proudly. “I’m actually banned from a few casinos in Vegas.”

You sipped your wine, shaking your head. "You've gotta teach me how, cause I swear, Alex beats me every time."

“You play poker?” Spencer asked, and you nodded, taking another sip of wine. “Of course, you do,” he added, smiling. “You’re perfect,” he blurted, then started, his face flushing a deep colour.

You could fall in love with this man if you let yourself, and it’s a scary thought. Alex hadn’t been kidding when she said that Spencer was perfect for you. Then why was there this horrible pit in your stomach, like an anvil hovering over you?

The rest of the dinner went perfectly, Spencer pulling out your chair for you as you both prepared to leave. The air was crisp, just a little chilly — spring wasn’t quite ready to fully come out of hiding yet. There was a certain energy between you both; a sense of hope you had long forgotten, and as he walked you to your car, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking up and meeting his eyes.

You'd felt this way before... four years ago when you met the man you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with, and suddenly, the idea of going through that again... It scared the living daylights out of you. "This was really nice," you managed, looking at him.

“It was,” he agreed, his hands shoving into his pockets. “I’d like to see you again.” He said it casually, but his eyes betrayed him, like he was afraid you were going to refuse.

You swallowed, reminding yourself to take a breath. "Spencer, you're... really great. I mean, seriously, any girl would be lucky to go out with you," you said slowly. "But if I'm honest... I only came out tonight to get Alex off my back."

You can see the way it crushes him; the light in his eyes dimming. His shoulders drop and his head lowers, and you feel a wave of guilt overcome you, but your feet stay rooted to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but you know his words are meant more for his own failings than for you - you can see it in his body language, how he’s withdrawing into himself. What you expect is for him to walk away; instead, he looks back up at you, and you feel your heart break as your eyes meet his pained ones.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," you said softly. "I should never have..." You took a sharp breath. "I like you, Spencer. A lot, probably more than I'm ready for. But I just got out of a long-term relationship. I'm not ready to jump into another one, especially with someone who... who deserves a lot more."

“I-I don’t mind taking things slow,” he said, his voice soft as his eyes searched your face, and you knew he was telling you the truth. But he doesn’t deserve to be some kind of… emotional training wheels for you, as you work through a bad breakup. He deserves more than you’ve got to offer.

"Of course you don't," you said, with a tinge of fondness. "You're perfect."

"I think I'm far from perfect," he says, with a self-deprecating grin. "But I'd be happy to be, um... whatever it is you're ready for."

You don't want to say it, but he's really, really, really hard to say 'No' to, and the fact he was so genuine in wanting to be around you made your heart clench. You wanted to say 'yes' so desperately.

Maybe you should say 'yes'. Just to see what happens.

"It's a bad idea," you said reluctantly, your resolve crumbling.

"But it might be just what you need," Spencer said, and he's right - you hate it but you can feel the way he's pulling you in. The way those hazel eyes hold you; the way you just want to spend more time with him.

A mistake, you think to yourself, just as his hand slides down, his fingers slotting with yours. A glorious mistake.

"I don't want to do that to you," you murmured, even though all you wanted to do was kiss him and take him home and ruin him.

"Please," he murmured, stepping just a little closer, as if you had any resolve left at this point. "I'm a big boy. I can make that decision for myself."

The way he stepped so close to you made your skin tingle, and something deep within you tightened, and you were sure that Spencer could see it in your eyes. Your free hand lifted, sliding along his cheek. "I can't," you said, thumb gliding against his cheekbone. "I'm sorry."

Spencer stepped back, and you watch the way his face falls, your hand falling away to your side, but he nods, and the part of you that wasn't ready for this, was happy you'd made that decision. That he would stay safe and away from you - but then he leaned down, and before you can process what it was, he presses a warm kiss to your cheek. "I had a really nice time, tonight," Spencer murmured, and you can hear the sound of his footsteps leave before you can get your mouth to work again.

"Me too," you murmured into the air, sinking against your car, wondering if you'd just made the biggest mistake of your life, letting him slip through your fingers.

[blitzynatural]

WHY BE APART...

Read on ao3

@bucktommyfluffebruary

FLUFFEBRUARY DAY 9 - MOVING IN

“You've been spending an awful lot of time here lately.” 

Tommy can tell right away that it's the wrong thing to say when Evan's smile goes from relaxed to almost strained and his body tenses up next to him. In hindsight, there are dozens of better ways he could have worded that without sending Evan's thoughts to a downward spiral of doubt and overthinking, and he can already see him getting there. He shuffles closer to him in bed and touches his face reassuringly. “What I meant to say was, we never spent so much time in my house before the…”

“The break-up?” Evan adds helpfully, the word sour, but not resentful. Just spiced with a bitter reminder of past mistakes. 

Tommy inhales and exhales. He is nervous. He rarely lets that show, but he is learning. He is learning with Evan, and it's a progress, but it's one that he is willing to face for Evan, no matter the hardship. If he is running, he knows that Evan will be running with him this time.

As if Evan can sense his nerves, he feels Evan's hand covering his own over his face and stays quiet to patiently wait for what Tommy has to say next. 

“Yeah. That.” He caresses his thumb gently over Evan's jaw. Iove having you here, Evan,” he breathes. “I love coming here knowing that you are here. I love making you coffee in the morning, I love going to bed with you at night. I love our impromptu frisky moments, I love you resting your feet on my lap researching while I am watching a game.” He exhales and stares at Evan who is staring back at him with much less tension now. He can tell he is anticipated and he still remains quiet. Going at Tommy's pace. 

“Evan, I– I want you to move in with me. Why be apart when we can be together, right?” His voice is trembling with nerves. Evan grasps the back of his hand more tightly and smiles brightly. 

“Hey. That's my line.”

Tommy huffs out a nervous laugh. “Well, I am borrowing it. So what do you say? Do you want to-?”

“Yes! Tommy, yes!” 

“Yeah? Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I am sure,” Evan breathes out and shuffles closer to kiss him softly. “I've never been more sure of anything. How soon do you want me?” 

Tommy looks at Evan's naked frame and smirks. 

“To move in, Tommy! Mind off the gutter.” 

“As soon as possible.” 

And just like that, Evan is out of the bed. “Wha- where are you going?” 

“We got lots of things to do, Tommy. Lots of packing. I need to get boxes, make a phone call to my landlord and– whoa!”

Tommy laughs loudly as he tugs Evan back in bed and holds him close. “It's the middle of the night, Evan. All of that can wait till tomorrow,” he assures him softly and kisses his cheek. “Clipboard Evan can stay though,” he teases. It earns him a playful slap on his ass. 

[guapitas]

The Unwinding (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Chapter Five: The Alaskan Bull Worm

Chapters: one, two, three, four

Rated: Mature

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Navigating tea leaf readings with a mildly upset Draco Malfoy, and attempting to repair that little bridge. (See the overarching summary for the future of this fic, here.)

Warnings: Language probably?

A/N: Writing is just a tad difficult when you're hit with holiday seasons, a crippling fever, then the hell-bent desire to do nothing but read back to back (': thank you for everyone's patience, should you still be interested in this fic (: <3 we push through it!

You haven’t slept in days. 

Which, okay, is a bit of an exaggeration– but it feels true. Like some psychological thriller, you’re constantly rescreening the events of that night in the infirmary, tossing and turning over them in your bed for an entire weekend. 

What if you had said something differently? Used a different approach, or tone, even? Could you have done anything to achieve a more ideal outcome– whatever that would have been? It’s tortuous. You finally think you’ve driven yourself loony when you can’t even bring yourself to leave your room, too busy contemplating the odds of running into Draco. And, Merlin, the thought of Divination class alone is enough to knock your lungs out of rhythm. 

On the bright side, there’s a single piece of good news, and it greets you in the moment that you step foot in the classroom— the widest smile on Cedric’s face. 

“I’m back,” he says, singsongy when you get close, as if you hadn’t just seen him a couple days ago. Regardless, you cheer with him, offering yays towards him and Marla when you reach your chair. The upgrade from bedrest is exciting enough, but the interaction doesn’t give you an adequate amount of time to prep or stall, before you have no choice but to actually look at where you’re sitting– and who you’re sitting next to. 

Draco’s no different than he’s ever been, writing something down on parchment and exhibiting no physical proof that he’s even aware of your presence. A fucking stone could fly through the window and you think he still would not let it disturb him. And, for the sake of social awareness, you have to pry your eyes away before it becomes weird. 

This is perhaps the one instance that you need Professor Thyme to begin the class immediately, and of course, it’s the one time she isn’t. Instead, you’re forced to fumble around with your things and sit real stiff, too self-conscious to even make conversation with your friends. You’d probably nitpick your afterthought words more than Draco would, but you won’t take the chance. 

After about eight good seconds of an attempt to build your mental fortitude and ignore, you just can’t help it– you should say something… shouldn’t you? This is your semester-long partner, someone you’ve actually been establishing solid rapport with…You have to reach out. 

…Oh, but you can’t! Literally, your mouth is not cooperating with your brain and you refuse to even open it, because you fear whichever words might tumble out against your will. Maybe if you could just apologize, or try to explain whatever distress and ultimately heroic attitude you were undergoing that night– maybe then, you wouldn’t spend this entire class period overthinking every damn breath. 

But just when you consider the possibility of glancing at him again– which could eventually lead to the formation of sentences– Thyme’s voice pulls you in. “Evening, everyone, evening!” 

Mini textbooks soar their way over to each table as she throws herself and her students into the lesson, and once they settle, teacups on saucers follow in suit. Tea leaf readings, you presume, before you’re confirmed by the guidebook in front of you. 

“Tasseography!” White chalk spells it out on the board behind her. “For today’s new adventure, you’ll read each other’s fortunes in the cups that sit before you.” 

And— yeah, sure, of course you will. 

She gives you the breakdown, about drinking the tea and setting the leaves at the bottom, documenting your findings— the works. With how thick the guide is, entailing an overwhelming amount of symbols and what they may mean, the assignment should be easy. Unfortunately for you, however, your partner is Draco Malfoy— particularly, a Draco Malfoy that isn’t very pleased with you at the moment. 

Tea has never quite been your favorite. It has its moments,  but there are certainly plenty of ways to make bad tea, and the one in your hand might as well be the worst of all. This isn’t the fault of the tea itself— in actuality, it’s devastatingly average— but you don’t think you’ve consumed anything any slower than this. There can’t be more than a few spoonfuls of liquid alone, but damn it, the lengths you’ll go to prolong the inevitable. 

You’re left to your own advances, and Draco has probably finished his cup, ready to swap, but you don’t know for sure— you still haven’t looked in his direction again. What should take you maybe two minutes flat is instead pushed into five— seven if you’re patient— until there’s nothing left but the mushy leaves. They drain out at the bottom and begin to take shape with each other…Maybe you could pretend to keep drinking? 

Ah, to hell with it. You lock eyes with Thyme and have no choice but to bite the bullet before causing a scene. He’s already looking at you when you finally turn to face him, expression entirely blank. 

“Are you quite done?” His eyes aren’t exactly holding you hostage, but the emotionless phase is. The friendship you had been chipping at wasn’t all in your head, was it? Sure, a couple of conversations and a class-mandated assignment aren’t the most ideal indicators of companionship, but you enjoyed that time together. You had fun. Hadn’t he? 

“With…”

“With the tea.” He nudges the cup with his own grounds over to your side of the table. 

“Right,” you say, and oblige his implications. In the process of an exchange, you brush up against the cool skin of his thumb. The glasses are so small in any average hands such as yours, let alone Draco’s. He can’t even try to fit two fingers into the handle, so he cradles the other side and lets it swirl.  

Unable to resist the nerves in your chest, you blurt, “I wanted to say sorry… for the other night.” 

The contents of your cup have captured his interest far more than your words, it seems. He’s so calm that you think he may have not heard you, but he eventually shrugs a shoulder. “What for? It won’t change anything.” 

“I happen to quite like Div,” you say, simply put, “and I don’t want to hate my partner. Believe it or not, I would prefer being friends.”

And, finally, something other than an unbelievable amount of impartiality graces his face. It takes a moment to decipher, but you settle on bemusement– then the smallest twitch of his mouth. “Friendship is rather optimistic.” Something about the lift of his eyebrows when he darts his gaze sideways has you cracking a smile. “But I can be civil, I suppose.”

“Brilliant.” A weight suddenly lifts itself from your shoulders, unclouding your mind for the first time in what feels like forever. “Now, on with it. What are my leaves telling you?” 

Draco sits up a little straighter than before, adjusting as he raises the cup to his level. The mini inspection is brief, and in time, he notes, “You’ve got a spiral in yours, spinning counterclockwise. It’s… introspection. It’s asking you to slow down and reflect.”

It’s asking you? Oh, he must be taunting– he didn’t even look at the guidebook! And to be so certain… so succinct… 

You peek over to confirm his findings. “And what if it were spinning clockwise instead?” 

“You’re aware, I’m sure, that there are quite a myriad of ways to analyse divination results– where the spiral is, what surrounds it, its size…” he rambles on with a sigh, head gently lulling alongside the dramatics. 

“I’m aware.” 

“So something like a clockwise spiral could otherwise refer to growth, or a journey. Moving forward. It’s subjective, vague enough to be personalized to the individual. But that isn’t the fortune for you today– you’re being guided to look inwards.” 

Is this Thyme, disguised as Draco, giving you a read? The theory is quickly dispelled by the tapping of her boots coming from the back of the classroom. She waves and twirls around the massive, silky drapes that frame the great window. Huh. So your eyes don’t deceive you– this is Draco. 

“You knew all of this? Off the top of your head?” 

He shrugs, and fucking smirks, smug as hell, despite whatever composure he’s been trying to upkeep. “One of us should be knowledgeable on the subject, don’t you agree?” 

“Alright, show-off, don’t get too excited now. It’s my turn, and, honestly, I think you’ve managed to defy all laws of tea leaf readings, because I swear on my life…” You peer down into the teacup of Draco’s fortune, grimacing, then tip it to give him a better view. Even after a pause for any further ideas to reveal themselves, you have no other answer. “This is a worm.” 

He scowls in an instant, managing to tenderly snatch the cup right out of your hand. Whilst he frowns down at the squiggly line of tea leaves, you take a shot at the guidebook– only half seriously– and go right to the back of the alphabetically ordered list… and there’s just no way. On its very own page… The Worm. And, to make matters worse, you don’t think you’ve ever seen the words ‘hidden’ and ‘danger’ written so frequently in a single section before. 

“Good news, there’s a page for the worm symbol! Can you believe it?” Your stare is plastered onto the thick book in your hands as you skim it. “Bad news, though, the fortune itself is terrible.” 

It’s his huff that lures you away from the writing, and only for a second do you lock eyes, before he’s back to scrutinizing the cup. “This is not a worm.”

“What is it, then?”

Before he can respond, your name is being called from the opposite direction. It grabs your attention and, from her table with Cedric, Marla is the source. “Have you gotten anything good?”

“A spiral! It suggests I reflect and look inwards, or something.” You nod solemnly, mentally holding onto the description that Draco gave. “And Draco got a worm.”

Marla’s brow hitches, and behind her, Cedric stifles a laugh. He absentmindedly turns through the guide, only visibly engaging in the conversation when Marla replies, “Cedric got a heart.”

“Yeah,” Cedric chimes in, leaning forward to reach within your earshot, “So don’t be surprised when I find the love of my life this term!” 

Shaking her head, Marla rolls her eyes so hard it appears painful. “Romance is not the only conclusion from a heart, but, sure, why not?” She then lifts her cup from the table and lets you get a glimpse into it. “I have a key in mine. New opportunities, prosperity, adaptability…” A real sweet smile on her face contrasts the faux nonchalant shrug she gives. 

“Oh? That’s so perfect for you!”

“Isn’t it?” Her eyes must twinkle with how great her grin is, the glee blooming off of her as she sets the cup back down. “I’m thinking it refers to that internship I applied for at the Astral Administration.” 

“Mention my name when you’re giving acceptance speeches.”

“I’m sure I’ll give you thanks in at least one of them..” 

You laugh in jest, “Ha-ha,” before Cedric draws her back in with something about an actual Snitch being an official tea leaf symbol. How very topical, in a world such as this. 

When you turn back towards Draco, it’s as if class has just barely begun– his stance is identical to before, with a stone cold face and eyes that could be anywhere else but here. You wonder if the interaction with Marla was enough to upset him, but no… this is different. The disturbance doesn’t seem like it has anything to do with you at all. The cup with his worm has been nudged to the very edge of the table. 

An are you okay? is on the tip of your tongue, when Professor Thyme swoops in from seemingly nowhere, right to Draco’s side. She looms over the two of you, brunette hair dangling at her elbows. “Anything marvelous in your fortune, Mister Malfoy?” 

His eyes snap upwards, and his neck tilts back just the slightest, while every other aspect of him remains idle. “I’ve got a worm,” he says, with no inclination to elaborate. 

Thyme’s appearance contorts with curiosity, and her lip kind of curls like she’s in on some secret– and who wouldn’t be, when so intertwined with the world of divination? Her fingertips sweep across the table as she continues to walk, digits and knuckles thinly veiled by the skin of her hand. Pleased with the participation of her students, she nods, “Excellent,” and moves onwards. 

Has he given into his vermian fate? It’s rather silly, actually, how much you’d pay to know his thoughts. This entire ordeal of friendship would be made far easier by it, no doubt. 

You nearly ask him, again, if he’s feeling alright, when he masterfully drags his fancy quill along his paper, keeping to himself once more. He must need time to think, you figure, with his sinister, wormy fate and whatnot, so you only mimic his behavior. With a pen, you write up something about looking… inwards… towards what? An aim to please? Crippling indecision? Whatever the case, it’s all on the table. 

When Thyme concludes the class, Marla’s soft hand embraces yours, but only for a beat, in farewell, before she’s off to her next lesson. She leaves you to pack up, slipping materials into your bag alongside Draco, and unable to shake the desire to make at least one more attempt for the day. So as he stands up and out of his seat, you almost snap your damn neck to look up at him. 

“Hey,” you say, perhaps beginning to accept your idiotic nature.

He halts any further movement, the strap of his book bag in hand, and meets your eyes. “Hi?”

“Me and Cedric are off to get drinks right now. Would you join us?” He doesn’t appear any more amused than before, so you try a smile. “My treat.”

Eventually, he gives way with a half-roll of his eyes, glaring to the side. “As if I need to be treated.” And you hold your breath for him to continue– to outwardly agree– but the way he slips into his crossbody bag and waits is enough to ensure your victory. 

Meanwhile, since the damn millisecond of the invitation, you’ve been ignoring the fucking sear of Cedric’s eyes in the back of your head. You’ll have to apologize for this later. 

Partly because the walk to El Mago Dulce is… something else. First, the pace is just utterly off. Draco’s at your left, tall and in stride, and Cedric is just a hair slower than usual to your right, not fully back in his best shape. And second, by the time you’re halfway there, you still have not mastered the balance between a dual conversation. Cedric yaps about how kind his professors have been, how he’s managed to stay on top of his workload, and the next time they’ll let him back on the quidditch pitch. Every so often, you attempt to loop Draco in, but he’s as uncooperative as Cedric is— and he doesn’t seem to particularly mind taking the backseat to this entire interaction. 

And in other ways, you’d have to apologize to Draco, because you hadn’t realized that bringing him to El Mago Dulce would be like introducing him to your relatives. When you bring a third— unfamiliar but familiar— face through the door, and that bell rings, you think Panne must’ve been too surprised to even greet you. Instead, she makes a tiny ‘O’ with her mouth and stares from the table that she’s tending to. 

Is she also going to be weird about this? Not that any of it is entirely unwarranted, but you aren’t sure if you can handle another conversation about how careful you should be around Draco Malfoy. The concern sort of slips your mind, though, when you and Cedric pick a booth and sit across from each other, and Draco slides in right next to you, bumping a little into your shoulder— not that he pays any special attention to it. He’s instead distracted by the pretty pink lampshades and the tall, clear pantries lined up along a wall. They’re always stocked with the freshest sweetbread, any kind you can think of. 

“Ay, mijo,” Panne’s voice comes nearer at a record-breaking speed, before any of you can get a word in, until she’s at Cedric’s side of the table. He does his best to stand and meet her, but the tabletop restricts his knees, so he goes in for the hug the very best he can, grinning mad. “How are you? Did you get everything?” 

“Every cookie, bread, drink, I got it all,” says Cedric, pulling his face away from her shoulder and sitting back down, his hand offering a final squeeze. “And I’m practically brand new! Not a scratch on me anymore.” 

Though this isn’t… particularly true. The majority of Cedric’s injuries– scrapes and bruises and all– have gone away with remedies and time, but he’s also shown you and Marla a split on his ribcage that refuses to ease up. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, but it’s thick and scarred and you cringe just thinking about it, hidden beneath Cedric’s layers. 

When they’ve just about finished catching up, a round of butterbeers finds the table, and from behind the counter, Canelo gives a small nod of acknowledgement. You wave in thanks, and Panne clasps her hands together. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Butterbeers are on the house, to celebrate our sweet Cedric’s recovery!” And there’s no protests about that. 

“Have you ever tried champurrado?” You ask Draco, to which his eyebrows pinch together and he shakes his head. “I’m usually not a fan, but Panne’s is a must-try! He’ll have one, please.” 

Panne has been primarily focused on you and Cedric, but now she looks at Draco, and her smile never falters. “Of course, one champurrado for sweet…”

“Draco,” he finishes, “thank you.” 

And then she’s off to assist new guests that walk in, and you kind of can’t resist a breath of relief. She must know the… iconic Draco Malfoy, even by appearance alone– but to ask him his name regardless? The gesture warms your heart, if no one else’s. 

“That was Panne,” you say, mostly to fill the gap of silence, “and her husband, at the bar, is Canelo. Los Dulces.” 

Draco looks all confused again, eyes squinted now like he’s trying to detect something else in your words. He asks, hushedly, “Are those their real names?” 

Well… mostly, you think, so you shrug, even though his sincerity urges you to laugh. A couple of years ago, you asked the same question to Panne herself, long since securing your spot as a regular. Canelo Dulce is and has always been Canelo Dulce, but Panne is a nickname. Patricia Analise Dulce… Panne. “Yeah, pretty much. A cute coincidence?” 

By the time the champurrado arrives, and you’ve already had a few drinks of the butterbeers, you’re fairly certain that Cedric has looked in every fucking direction, at all corners of the café, except for Draco. The worst part is, you can’t really blame him– you did spring this on him, after all, but you didn’t think that his distaste was anything beyond a general distrust, rather than some personal beef. As always, his melodrama has been underestimated. 

“It’s thick,” Draco notes, and drinks again from his new mug. You wait for further analysis, and you catch his eyes when they drag over towards yours, acutely aware of your attention. “Chocolate, cinnamon, and something else…” 

“The masa, probably. That’s what makes it thick.” Your input does noticeably little to serve his curiosity, but he returns to the drink anyway.

At the other end of the table, Cedric cannot be any less engaged. Chin in one hand, butterbeer in the other, and he is fucking glowering at you. It almost makes you laugh again– and you do crack a smile– but you opt to entertain him instead. “Have I told you about my shift tomorrow? And, yes, I’m being forced to work.” 

This finally subdues him, but only slightly, as he releases himself from the laser beam glare and leans back against the plush leather seat, arms crossed. “Merlin forbid you work two shifts a week.”

“Three, actually– sometimes four! Can you believe it?” 

“Absolutely mad. How dare they?” He eases up now, even tossing back the little playful simper     as his shoulders fall. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll forgive them this once. I’m doing another tour tomorrow and it’ll be the last before the snow sets in! Butterflies everywhere, fairies working overtime, and the gardens coming out of transition phase. It’ll be perfect.”

To your side, Draco is slithering around at the mere mention of fairies. That memory of your time together at The Grove rouses you, so before Cedric can respond, you add, “Draco actually met Flora the other day.” 

Cedric stalls in his reply, locked up with your gaze, like he’s wondering if you’re being deadass, if you’re really trying to force him into a conversation about and– oh god, maybe even with Draco Malfoy. It takes everything not to giggle at how quickly the buoyancy is wiped clean off his face, leaving a dry smile in its wake. He yields, though begrudgingly, “Really…”

And… that’s all. You hold out hope for him to say literally anything else– anything that you can use to propel the conversation further– but the makeshift rhetorical question is the last of his contributions. Your attempt is hopeless, however, like your savior, Draco butts in all on his own. 

“That bloody Flora, wouldn’t mind if I never saw her again.” 

This has you jumping to her defense now, testifying on behalf of Flora’s good character, and joyed to have something to work a conversation with. Although the sneer on Draco’s face is relentless, you’ve at least got his ear. “Oh, and just wait ‘til you meet Ivy! She’s much easier to befriend.” 

This route of conversation, though purely accidental, might be your saving grace of the evening, if only Cedric would give in. You watch each other for a few hardened seconds, before he shifts his attention over to Draco, utterly defeated. He fishes something from the logs of his memories in an attempt of affability, on your behalf. “When I first met Flora, she managed to sic a colony of fire ants on me. One crawled right up my leg and burrowed itself, until I was a case even Madame Amani had never seen before. So… you’re not quite alone.” 

His voice is so calm, entirely opposed to his live reaction that day, maybe two years ago now, and it has you laughing, even if neither of your companions are up for that sort of mood at the moment— the absurdity of the memory still drags it out of you. And the masked terror on Draco’s face does nothing to quell your hilarity. Through your fist, you physically attempt to reign yourself in and intervene once more, “To be fair, that was mainly George’s doing. It was all in good fun.” 

“And you made no effort to talk sense into either of them! Quite the friend you are, I should’ve cut you off right then.” 

��Yeah, you should’ve.” 

Draco and his everlasting posture endures in the spot next to you, but he leans into the seat a little further now, perhaps, like Cedric, accepting the circumstances. It had earlier crossed your mind that you may have to cut this coffee date short, make something up about schoolwork or preparations for tomorrow’s tour, only for the sake of mimicking a natural end to an awkward event. Though by the time your butterbeer dwindles down to nothing at the bottom of the glass, and Draco offers up the rest of his own–  “The champurrado is superior anyway.” – you find those efforts unnecessary. 

When you’ve managed about half of the second mug, giving up on the rest, Panne interrupts a conversation about quidditch cups. It’s nice, for a moment, to experience the conversation rather than lead it. In one hand, she has another rolled up bag with what must be sweetbread, and with the other, she palms it flat against the plane of her chest, right over her heart. 

“Those poor kids,” she says, sullen, and meets the confusion on your face. You weren’t quite aware that the news had made it so far out of campus, though word spreads fast, and perhaps news outlets even faster. “Canelo checks the papers every day, and nothing! Zilch, nada. No updates on them.” 

“It’s the same for us at school,” says Cedric, in a softer voice now that the bell is ringing at the entrance, bringing in more guests and bigger crowds. “Nurses won’t tell us a thing.” 

Panne curses to herself and leaves the bag at the center of the table, rolled up nice and neat. “You three be careful. I don’t think our old hearts could take it if you were hurt.” She directs her attention between you and Cedric then adds, “Make sure you tell Marla this, too.” 

If Panne had wielded the same information about the potential cause of this tragedy— or that you dared to press the matters and get involved— would she be upset? Try to convince you to leave the situation alone, to let the professionals deal with it? Maybe, and perhaps she’d be right to do so. The clutter escapes your mind as you bid farewells and head back to campus, Cedric wasting no time to unravel the bag. 

“There’s an extra vanilla!” He looks across from you, finding Draco on the other side, and holds out the offering. “Must be for you.” 

Once distributed, and the lone strawberry is wrapped up to be saved, Draco finally speaks up again, mostly to himself, and just before biting into the treat, “How could they possibly know vanilla is my favorite?” 

Cedric is the first to split off once you hit the edge of campus, leaving you and Draco to lead once more to the Slytherin dormitories. The sweetest nap in the school’s most comfortable bed awaits you, now that you can bear to sleep again. In this spirit, there aren’t many words to be said as you walk, instead embracing the breeze and dusting sugar powder off your fingertips. This was a success, you think, and you wonder if Draco might be inclined to join again on one of your butterbeer outings. 

Down the last turn to the dorms, a voice calls out, “Mister Malfoy!” 

Your head whips around in every direction, but not a single person in sight appears to be the source. Had Draco not followed the sound, you might’ve thought yourself to have imagined it. He even replies to someone you still cannot pinpoint, “Good to see you sir.” A little bow of his head steers you straight to the wall, where a portrait of a man waving a few fingers greets you in passing. 

“You‘re friends with the portraits?” Mentally add it to the list of fun Draco facts that have surprised you thus far; though, upon consideration, it sort of suits him. 

“They’re good company.” He speaks so casually, and glances into your gaping eyes when he doesn’t get a response. “Rather wise, too.” 

It’s a jovial stroll to the common room, where Draco mutters something about alchemy coursework and scurries off up his set of stairs, too fast for you to even slip in a meaningful goodbye– or to segue into a debrief of the afternoon. It’s too bad, but you figure that you’ll catch up with him again during the next class. 

Nothing insane has changed by the end of the day, really. Your relationship with Draco has been remedied, and he and Cedric may be able to do more than simply scowl at each other now, but the world still spins, and much business has yet to be tended to. Best save it for another time, you agree upon yourself when you’ve curled up in bed at the end of it all. 

As for now, the weight of Draco Malfoy on your mind, particularly for the nth night in a row, is becoming too much to bear. Though, for once, you’re at ease, because at the rate things are going, with the amends and truces of the day, all should be settling back to what it once was– or even to a new and improved version, you dare to hope. This will be the last night Draco Malfoy consumes your consciousness. And in the back of your brain, swinging between sleep and wakefulness, Henry Selwyn and Rebecca Avery. Finally, anxiety has no grip on your heart, and surely the nurses will find a way to cure whatever curse or illness has fallen upon them. You’re certain of it.

..taglist? (': @malfoy-mrsdracomalfoy <3

[adumbratrapedme]

Tsutomu Goshiki x reader | teen pregnancy series | pt.1 the news

Synopsis. a teen pregnancy storie between goshiki and reader.

wc. | genre. angst to fluff |cw/tags. angst, teen pregnancy mentions, fluff, etc. teen pregnancy series masterlists here!

general headcanons

╭⋅The moment he realizes what’s happening, he goes into full dramatic mode. His first thoughts aren’t even about responsibility or the future—it’s more like, “OH MY GOD, A BABY? ME? A DAD? WHAT IF THEY THINK I’M LAME?!” ╭⋅He starts overthinking immediately—“Do babies like volleyball? What if I spike too hard and scare them? Will they think my jump serve is cool? WHAT IF I DROP THEM?!” ╭⋅Despite panicking, he never once considers running away or avoiding the situation. He may be dramatic, but he’s loyal as hell. ╭⋅After the initial freak-out, he does a complete 180 and starts acting like he’s got it all under control—even if he clearly doesn’t... He suddenly starts reading parenting books, watching baby videos, and Googling the most ridiculous things. ⋅“Can babies eat rice balls?” ⋅“How do you hold a baby without breaking it?” ⋅“Can babies play volleyball? Asking for a friend.” ╭⋅He Over-Prepares. ⋅Buys a tiny volleyball way too early. He just knows the baby will be a prodigy. ⋅Starts saving money—he has no idea what for, but he feels like he should. ⋅Tries to eat healthier, even though he’s not the one who’s pregnant, lol. “If I’m gonna be a dad, I need to be STRONG.”

You and Goshiki had been together for about six months now. Your relationship had started as a friendship—late-night calls, study sessions, him always trying (and failing) to act cool around you. When he finally confessed, it was dramatic, loud, and completely endearing. Since then, things had been sweet—full of nervous hand-holding, awkward but sincere kisses, and him constantly trying to impress you.

But now… this was something neither of you had ever imagined.

You had been feeling off for a while—exhausted, nauseous, emotional over the tiniest things. At first, you brushed it off as stress from school and staying late to watch Goshiki’s practices. But then, the realization hit. The test confirmed it. And now, you had to tell him.

You had planned to do it after practice, maybe in your usual spot near the gym. But before you could, he found out on his own.

It happened completely by accident. You had asked him to grab something from your bag while you tied your shoe, not thinking twice about it. But when he reached inside, a small folded-up piece of paper slipped out—a doctor’s appointment confirmation. You didn’t notice at first, but when you looked up, Goshiki was standing completely still, staring at it like it was written in another language.

"Prenatal consultation."

His hands shook slightly as he read the words over and over again, his usually loud and confident energy completely gone.

“…What’s this?” His voice came out quieter than usual, almost hesitant.

Your stomach dropped. There was no backing out now.

You swallowed hard. “Goshiki… I was going to tell you. I just—”

“Wait—WAIT.” He held up a hand, as if physically trying to stop time. “This is—this is saying—does this mean—??”

You bit your lip, heart pounding. “Yeah. I’m—” You took a shaky breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Goshiki’s face went pale, his eyes impossibly wide. Then, in an instant—

“WE’RE HAVING A BABY?!”

His voice echoed through the empty hallway, pure panic and disbelief clashing in his expression. His breathing picked up, hands still shaking slightly, his entire body stiff like he had just been hit by a truck.

“I—I’m gonna be a dad?!” He looked at you, then at the paper, then at you again, like his brain was malfunctioning. “Like—a real dad? With a real baby?! That’s—a baby? Inside you??”

You winced. “Goshiki—keep your voice down—”

He ignored that completely. “OH MY GOD. I—I CAN’T EVEN DO A JUMP SERVE PERFECTLY YET—HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO—” He gasped. “WHAT IF THE BABY THINKS I’M LAME?!”

You blinked. That’s his concern right now?

Seeing him spiral, you grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight. “Hey—breathe. Please.”

He sucked in a shaky breath, his body still tense. His mind was racing at a thousand miles per hour. He was sixteen. He was a first-year. He was supposed to be focusing on volleyball and proving himself—not this.

But then, he looked at you—really looked at you. And suddenly, his panic took a backseat to something else.

“…Are you okay?” His voice was softer this time, full of genuine concern. “I mean—how do you feel?”

You let out a slow breath. “Scared,” you admitted. “But also… I don’t know. It still doesn’t feel real.”

Goshiki swallowed hard. He still looked like he might pass out, but he straightened his shoulders, trying to pull himself together. He wasn’t the type to back down from anything—not in volleyball, not in proving himself, and certainly not in this.

He nodded, mostly to himself. “O-Okay. Okay. Then… we’re in this together.” His grip on your hands tightened. “I mean—I don’t know anything about being a dad, but—I’ll figure it out. I promise.”

You stared at him, surprised. “Just like that?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, determination taking over his panic. “Just like that.” Then, after a beat—“…Unless you don’t want me to?”

You laughed, despite everything. “Of course I do, dummy.”

Relief washed over his face, though he still looked overwhelmed. He exhaled, rubbing his face. “Holy crap. I’m gonna be a dad.” A pause. Then, almost panicked again—“Wait—DOES THIS MEAN I HAVE TO TELL USHIJIMA?!”

“…One thing at a time, Goshiki.”

General Taglist:

@chilichopsticks @dreadnoughtus101 @starykari @staygoldsquatchling02 @alpha-mommy69 @curlyhairkk @b1xi @reuka1 @feyrfly @elmaa127

if you want to be part of the taglist you can always DM me or coment! also if u only want to be tagged on specific characters.

-if i forgor someone pls tell me and dont be shy, i get really lost with the taglist thingy ahhh

[livingformintyoongi]

Safe Haven | Kim Seokjin

Summary: Based on this post by @foryoufics (She also did her version with Jimin, you can read it in this link <3). Warnings: I guess we can say it's a bit angsty, but it also has fluff! Jin is a sweetheart and tries to comfort his wife because he can't stand to see the love of his life sad. Pairing: Fem!reader x Kim Seokjin Word count: 2.3k Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthoughts Dividers by @kodaswrld

This day had been more exhausting than any other. You were used to carrying the weight of everything, filling your mind with questions generated by your anxiety that made you overthink everything over and over again: Am I enough? Am I trying too hard? What have I done wrong? Those, and hundreds of other questions, made your insecurity take over every corner of your mind.

And honestly, you were so tired of it all.

“Y/N…” your father murmured behind you, watching you as your attention remained focused on the oven in front of you. You had spent the last few weeks going back and forth from your house to your father’s café, trying to do everything you could to help him, to be useful, all in hopes that someone, anyone, would notice your efforts.

Customers love this kind of stuff, right? Cakes make people happy, you wanted to make people happy with your work, was that too much to ask?

“I just put the muffins in the oven, so we can’t take them out yet. Should I start making the cookie dough? Mom said they’ve been selling the most these past few days.”

“Y/N, stop.” You felt your father’s hands land firmly on your shoulders, forcing you to shift your focus towards him. You could see it in his face, that look everyone had been giving you these past few days: pity, sadness. You really hated it. “I really appreciate that you want to help, and I’ve enjoyed having you back after all this time apart, but I think it’s time for you to… go home.”

“What do you mean?” you whispered, feeling your heart shrink in your chest at his request. Were you bothering your father now? Were you not being helpful to him either? Had you become a second choice for him as well?

“You’ve been coming here for weeks, working nonstop, we barely have time for ourselves…” He paused before continuing, his eyes, although hesitant, stayed locked on yours. “You barely have time for yourself. You’re still so young, you have a life out there, a husband, friends… You shouldn’t be wasting your time with your parents. We’ve lived a whole life with you, it’s time for you to start living yours, sweetheart.”

Ah.

You wanted to cry again.

How could you explain to your father that he was wrong about most things?

You had no friends, at least not any who cared in the same way you cared for them. You felt like your life was crumbling little by little, like you had built a house of bricks that you kept demolishing because one of them didn’t fit with the others. And your husband… Ah, Jin, your dear husband.

Thinking about him brought you a little peace. For a second, you felt the pressure in your chest become a little more bearable; Jin loved you, he always had, he was one of the few people who always put you first. You were always his first choice, even when dozens of women were in love with him. He was always there for you when your mind played tricks on you, and he was always patient with you, even when you couldn’t be with yourself.

You loved Jin, and he loved you, and that gave you a deep peace amidst the storm that was your mind.

“I’ve called him to come pick you up, he should be here soon,” your father’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you quickly refocused on him as he came closer to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “Go home and rest for a bit, okay?”

You let out a soft sigh, one that sounded just like how you felt: exhausted. “Alright… thank you.”

Your eyes began to sting the moment his arms enveloped you in a warm hug. This was exactly why you came here. The warmth of home, the security your parents gave you, the fact that no matter what happened, you would always be their daughter, someone irreplaceable, someone they would always love.

You squeezed your father’s sturdy body against yours, using all your strength, holding onto his shirt as if you were that little girl again who would come crying to her parents’ room after a nightmare, needing the comfort of the only people who could protect her from the horrors of the outside world.

The soft ringing of a bell followed by the sound of the door closing caught your attention. You barely peeked your face from your father’s neck, just enough to see who it was. You almost let out a sob when you saw Jin standing in the doorway, looking like he had just run a marathon.

Had he really come here running just to pick you up?

“Sorry for the delay, traffic was crazy,” he let out a laugh, not the usual one that made everyone around him laugh, but one more nervous, as if he wanted to lighten the mood with a poor attempt at humor. “Uh… are you ready to go or…?”

“No, no, I’m… I’m ready,” you murmured, letting go of your father’s shirt and saying goodbye with a barely perceptible smile. “Goodbye, Dad, see you later,” you gently patted his shoulders, a small part of you still refusing to let him go completely, maybe that inner child that still lived within you, needing the shelter of your parents. On the other hand, the more mature side of you, the one that governed most of you, knew you couldn’t stay here baking cakes and cookies forever.

So, you let him go.

“Let’s go,” you said quietly to Jin, walking straight to the door to leave the place. The suffocating feeling was hard to shake off, even when you were outdoors, and the slight pressure in your chest was becoming more unbearable. You had barely stepped outside, and already felt like you were about to crumble.

“Sweetheart,” Jin’s voice sounded far away to you, was it your imagination? Had you walked too far? Had your thoughts become so loud that even the voices of real people now seemed muffled and lifeless? “Why don’t we sit down for a second?”

You didn’t respond before his hands took yours and guided you to a small bench in the park just a few meters from your parents’ café. When had you walked so far?

His soft hands gently held yours as he helped you sit down on the bench. Your tumultuous and overwhelming thoughts, although still present, seemed to shrink into a small corner of your mind, allowing you to return to the real world. Allowing you to see Jin.

His dark brown eyes watched your face with attention, and one of his hands had risen to your cheek without you noticing. His touch made you melt into him the moment your brain fully processed what he was doing. It felt good to have him close.

“I’m not going to pressure you or anything, because I don’t want your little head playing against you more than it already has, so I’ll ask you this question, and if you don’t want to answer it, then we’ll just go on as if nothing happened until the moment you’re ready, okay?” A small smile appeared on his plump lips when he saw you nodding quietly. Well, at least you were listening, that was progress. “Can you tell me why you’re like this?”

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered with a broken voice. You hated that question, hated the answer, and hated how the urge to cry began to flood you again to the point where even breathing became hard, like the pain in your chest grew stronger, and how you couldn’t see clearly due to the salty water beginning to form in your eyes.

You hated feeling like this.

“Are you sure?” Jin asked, tilting his head slightly so he wouldn’t lose eye contact with you. It was only then, when you saw the worry in his face, that you broke down.

Finally, you let everything you had inside pour out in the form of a messy cry, cheeks filled with tears and soft gasps hidden between sobs that made it hard to speak normally. The only comfort you had were Jin’s strong and warm arms wrapped around your body protectively, trying to calm your sadness with sweet words, soft kisses on your shoulder, and caresses on your back.

You were a walking mess right now, yes, but, for some reason, it felt comforting. Crying on the shoulder of one of the most important people to you, letting out the pain that had been in your chest… it felt liberating.

“It’s okay… everything will be okay,” he whispered beside your ear, using one of his hands to stroke your hair. You could feel his head resting against yours and his hands holding you tightly against him, as if he knew you felt like you were going to collapse at any moment.

“I feel so… so alone,” you groaned between sobs, hiding your face in that area where his neck met his shoulder. The hiccups became more constant, making it really hard for you to speak, but that didn’t stop you, not now that you could finally get it out of your mind. “I’ve tried everything, Jin, but no matter how hard I try, no matter how many times I try… it’s never enough.” You clenched your jaw, trying to stop a sob from escaping too loudly; you were still aware enough to remember you were in a public place. “I’m never enough for anyone.”

“Hey, hey,” he pulled away slightly from you, creating enough distance to take your cheeks in his hands so he could look you in the eyes. “Sweetheart, look at me.” His warm, soft thumbs wiped away the stream of tears falling from your eyes, and although he couldn’t stop the sobs from escaping, the way he caressed your face managed to calm your crying a bit. “What are you talking about? What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just that… I’ve tried everything to be what everyone always expects. I always gave my best to fit in with other people and no matter how much I try, it never seems to work," you said, your voice shaky, your eyes avoiding Jin's every few seconds because you were completely incapable of looking him in the eye. "I'm always the second choice, Jin. No one has ever truly considered me; Seojoon always invites Seulgi to his outings and only turns to me when she cancels, the same happens with Jumin and Seyeon and with absolutely all of my friends." You covered your eyes with your hands, just like a five-year-old child trying to wipe away tears or hide their gaze. "Am I that unpleasant? Is it really that hard to think of me as someone other than the replacement for someone else?"

"Of course not," he quickly shook his head, frowning when he heard your concern. Jin had known you’d been having some issues with your friends lately; he figured it out when you started going to your parents' café, but he never thought it was because of the insecurity their actions were causing you. "It's not hard to love you, of course it’s not! Loving you is as easy as breathing, it’s... it’s something you do unconsciously, that's it!" He moved his face closer to yours, gently pressing your foreheads together. "I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding, but even if it's not, what does it matter what they think? Other people's decisions don't define your worth."

"But—"

"No, Y/N, no buts," he said with the softest voice he could, lifting your face so he could kiss your forehead. "You are the sweetest, most thoughtful, and loving woman I’ve ever met in my life; you are my best friend, my wife, the love of my life, and I won’t let you speak ill of someone so important to me because of idiots who don’t know how to value the wonderful friend they have." He couldn't help but smile when he heard you let out a soft laugh at his comment. Good, he had managed to calm your tears a little. "Friends come and go, if they really loved you, they’d stay by your side through the good and the bad... maybe you haven't found the right people yet, but you’re still young, you still have time to find a circle where you’re accepted for who you are, not for who you pretend to be to please them." He gently stroked your cheeks, watching as your red nose scrunched up slightly and your brow furrowed. "And until then, I’ll be by your side, I’ll take care of you at all times because you are my best friend, and I’ll be with you no matter what, understood?"

You took a deep breath. Slowly, you counted to 10, regulating your breathing as best as you could. Then, you nodded. "Understood."

"Good, then," he stood up from the floor, taking your hands to help you up from the bench, never stopping the gentle caress of your knuckles. "What do you think about going home, I’ll make your favorite food, and we can watch a couple of movies until we fall asleep?"

You smiled faintly, watching as your husband smiled back at you cheerfully, as if you didn’t look like a complete mess at the moment.

"That sounds perfect," you murmured, giving his hands a soft squeeze before starting to walk back to where his car was parked.

Jin glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noticing how your gaze stayed low and melancholic, but less depressed than before. He knew it would take time to lift that weight from your heart completely, but he was willing to wait and help in any way he could to make that fear disappear.

Masterlist.

[octaneink]

Confessions

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Previous: Only the memories Summary : The memory of his forehead kiss replays in her mind, soft and lingering. Did it mean anything? She can’t stop wondering, her thoughts tangled between hope and doubt. Warnings : mentioned death of a relative (breifly mentioned) Notes: Heads up for my fellow lactose intolerant folks, this gets cheesy as FUCK...enjoy 🩷

You wake to the sound of rain tapping against your bedroom window, a steady rhythm that feels almost soothing, if not for the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your head. The memory of yesterday plays on a loop behind your eyelids, vivid and unrelenting. His thumb brushing your shoulder, slow and deliberate, as if he was afraid you might shatter under his touch. His quiet patience, sitting there beside you in silence, offering nothing but his presence when words felt too heavy. And then—the press of his lips against your forehead. So soft, so fleeting, it could’ve been a trick of the mind, a figment of your sleep-deprived imagination. But it wasn’t. It was real.

You sit up, the sheets pooling around your waist as your fingers drift to the spot where he’d kissed you. It still tingles, a phantom warmth lingering like a promise you’re too afraid to fully believe in. You press your palm there, as if you could trap the feeling, keep it from fading. Was it just for comfort? The question gnaws at you, relentless. You’d replayed the moment all night, dissecting every glance, every smile, every word he’d said. Did he mean it? Did it mean something? Or was it just Will being Will—kind, thoughtful, always knowing exactly what to do to make you feel better?

You reach for your phone, the screen lighting up with the time and a handful of notifications—none of them from him. Your stomach twists, a mix of disappointment and something else you can’t quite name. You scroll through your messages anyway, half-hoping you’d missed something, but there’s nothing. Just the same group chat with the lads, a meme from James, and a reminder about the shoot today.

You toss your phone onto the bed, running a hand through your hair as a small, involuntary smile tugs at your lips. The rain outside picks up, its gentle rhythm filling the quiet of your flat like a comforting lullaby. You glance at the framed photo on your night stand—the one of you as a child, grinning with your family, so full of joy and innocence. It’s been there since you got it back, a reminder of what you’d almost lost, but also a symbol of how life has a way of bringing things full circle.

For a moment, you let yourself imagine what your grandparents would say if they were here now. You can almost hear their voices, warm and teasing, encouraging you to stop overthinking and just let yourself feel. The photo doesn’t judge you—it feels like it’s rooting for you, a silent cheerleader from the past.

You take a deep breath, the tension in your chest easing slightly as the weight of your thoughts begins to lift. Maybe it’s okay to let yourself hope. Maybe it’s okay to believe that the kiss meant something more, even if it was just a small, fleeting moment. After all, wasn’t it the little things that often meant the most? The way he’d looked at you, his eyes soft and searching, as if he was trying to tell you something words couldn’t quite capture. The way his thumb had brushed your shoulder, steady and reassuring, like an anchor in the storm of your emotions.

“Get it together,” you mutter to yourself, though this time there’s a lightness in your voice, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, your feet hitting the cool floor as you stretch, feeling the knots in your shoulders loosen. The rain outside continues its gentle patter, a soothing backdrop to the quiet determination settling over you.

You glance at the photo on your night stand one last time, the child in the frame grinning back at you as if to say, “Go for it.” And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a flicker of excitement, a spark of anticipation for what the day might bring.

You’re reorganising the prop table, the familiar chaos of cables, mics, and random bits of equipment scattered across its surface. The rain outside has slowed to a drizzle, but the sound still filters through the walls, a steady hum that feels almost comforting. You’re lost in the rhythm of sorting—coiling cables, and testing mics—when the door swings open with a soft creak.

Will walks in, hair damp from the rain and slightly out of breath, as if he’d sprinted there. In one hand, he holds two takeaway cups, condensation beading on the sides of one—an iced coffee, you realise, his usual. In the other hand is a steaming cup, the sleeve damp from his grip. He freezes when he sees you, his hand still on the door handle, cheeks flushing pink. For a moment, he just stands there, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. Then he clears his throat, his voice louder than necessary. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you reply, suddenly hyper-aware of the three feet between you. Your heart skips a beat, the memory of his forehead kiss flooding back in vivid detail…again. You force yourself to focus on the prop table, fiddling with a mic to keep your hands busy.

He steps closer, his shoes squeaking faintly on the floor, and thrusts the steaming cup toward you. “Extra shot,” he says, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Figured you… uh… might need it.”

Your fingers brush as you take it, and the brief contact sends a jolt of warmth through you. His gaze flicks to your forehead, lingering for the briefest moment before he looks away, his throat bobbing as he swallows. You can’t help but notice the way his Adam’s apple moves, the way his jaw tightens just slightly, as if he’s holding something back.

“Thanks,” you say, fighting a smile. The coffee smells rich and familiar, and you take a sip, the warmth spreading through you. It’s exactly how you like it. You glance at him, surprised. “How’d you know?”

He shrugs, his lips quirking into a half-smile as he takes a sip of his iced coffee, the straw crinkling slightly. “Lucky guess.”

Before you can respond, the door bursts open again, and James strides in, whistling a tune. He stops mid-step, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene—Will standing awkwardly close to you, the coffee in your hand, the faint blush still colouring his cheeks.

“Well, well, well,” James says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Look at Mr. Thoughtful over here! Where’s my coffee, Will?”

Will rolls his eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his expression. He grabs a sugar packet from the prop table and chucks it at James’ head with surprising accuracy. “Make your own.”

James catches the packet with a grin, holding it up like a trophy. “Oh, I see how it is. Favouritism at its finest.” He waggles his eyebrows at you, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Shut up, James,” Will mutters, though there’s no real bite to his words. He glances at you again, his gaze softening for just a moment before he turns back to the table, pretending to inspect a mic.

You take another sip of your coffee, the warmth settling in your chest. The room feels lighter somehow, the tension from earlier easing into something more comfortable. James starts humming again, louder this time, and you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

Will looks up at the sound, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, the noise of the room fading into the background. Then James claps his hands, breaking the spell.

“Alright, lovebirds,” he says, grinning. “Let’s get to work.”

Will groans, running a hand through his damp hair, but you catch the way his lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile. You shake your head, turning back to the prop table, but the warmth in your chest stays.

Filming passes in a haze of stolen glances, each one carrying a quiet weight that lingers long after he looks away. It’s not just the way his eyes find yours across the room—though that alone is enough to make your pulse quicken—but the way he seems to gravitate toward you, his presence steady and grounding amidst the usual chaos of the shoot. There’s something in the way his hand lingers on yours for a heartbeat longer than it should when you pass him a prop. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there—a quiet undercurrent that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

Later, during a lull in filming, you’re adjusting a camera angle when you feel his eyes on you. You look up, and he mouths, “You okay?” His brow is furrowed, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to memorise the answer. You nod, offering a small smile, but the intensity of his gaze makes your stomach flip. 

James, of course, notices. He always does. Every time you and Will share a moment, no matter how small, James is there, clutching his chest and fake-swooning. “Oh, the tension!” he declares dramatically, flopping onto a nearby chair. “I can’t take it!”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn. Will just shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Prat.”

Ieuan, ever the peacemaker, steps in with the next item for the video—a small, unassuming box—and shoves it into James’ hands. “Here, make yourself useful,” he says, cutting off James’ next quip. James grins, unbothered, and immediately starts inspecting the box like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, holding it up to the camera and narrating in his best documentary voice.

“And here we have… a box,” he says, his tone overly serious. “What secrets does it hold? What mysteries lie within? Stay tuned, folks, because this is about to get epic.”

Will couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he turned to face James. You smile, too, though your attention keeps drifting back to Will, the way his shoulders relax when he laughs, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

By wrap time, your nerves are frayed. The day has been a whirlwind of emotions—Will’s lingering touches, James’ relentless teasing, the constant awareness of every glance and smile. You’re packing up your things, trying to steady your breathing, when Will appears at your elbow. His sleeve is rolled up to reveal the faint tremor in his forearm, and you can’t help but notice how close he’s standing. You could smell him. 

Is that weird?

You swallow and focus when he speaks. “Walk you out?” he asks, his voice low and a little hesitant, like he’s not sure how you’ll respond.

You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the softness in his eyes. “Sure,” you say, your voice wobbling slightly. You sling your bag over your shoulder, trying to ignore the way your hands shake as you zip it closed.

He nods, stepping back to give you space, but his gaze never leaves yours. The set is quiet now, the crew is already heading out, and the sound of your footsteps echoes in the empty space. You walk side by side, the distance between you shrinking with every step. The rain has stopped, but the air is still damp, the scent of wet pavement mixing with the faint aroma of his cologne.

You glance at him, your pulse quickening when you catch him looking at you. He smiles, a little sheepishly, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. For the first time all day, the tension eases, replaced by a quiet, steady anticipation.

You’re halfway to the tube station when he stops under a flickering streetlamp, the amber light casting a warm glow over his face. His shoulders are tense, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if he’s trying to steady himself. The rain has stopped, but the air is still damp, the faint scent of wet pavement mingling with the crispness of the night.

“I need to say something,” he blurts, his voice breaking the quiet between you.

Your pulse thrums, a steady rhythm that feels impossibly loud in the stillness. “Okay,” you say softly, turning to face him fully.

He runs a hand over his face, his laugh strained, almost nervous. “The kiss. Yesterday. I didn’t—I mean, I did mean it, but not… not just as your boss, or—or a friend. Christ, I’m rubbish at this.”

You step closer, your shadow merging with his under the flickering light. The space between you feels charged, electric, like the air before a storm. “Try again,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a shaky breath, his eyes locked on yours, searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or courage. “I know this isn’t… professional. But I can’t stop thinking about you. Not just today—for ages.”

The world narrows to his eyes, earnest and a little scared, like he’s baring a part of himself he’s kept hidden for too long. Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice, the way his words hang in the air between you, fragile and raw.

“You’ve been thinking about me?” you ask, your voice trembling.

He huffs a laugh, his grin lopsided, almost self-deprecating. “James says I’m obvious. …Am I?”

You reach for his hand, your fingers trembling as they brush against his. “Only to everyone but me,” you admit, your voice soft.

His fingers intertwine with yours, warm and sure, like they were always meant to fit there. The contact sends a shiver through you, a quiet reassurance that this is real, that he’s here, that he feels it too.

“And now?” he asks, his voice low, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your eyes again.

You rise onto your toes, your heart roaring in your ears as you close the distance between you. “Now you’re perfect,” you whisper, the words barely out before his free hand cradles your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.

The kiss starts soft—a question, a tentative exploration—until you loop your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He responds instantly, his other hand settling at your waist, anchoring you to him. The world falls away, the flickering streetlamp, the distant hum of traffic, the cool night air—none of it matters. There’s only him, the warmth of his lips, the way he smiles against yours, giddy and disbelieving, like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

When you finally part, foreheads touching, his breath mingling with yours, he whispers, “Took you long enough.”

You laugh, the sound shaky but genuine, and he grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped in each other, the weight of everything unsaid finally lifting.

“I was scared,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch achingly gentle. “You could never ruin this,” he says, his voice steady, certain. “You’re… you’re it for me.”

The words settle over you, warm and grounding, like the first rays of sunlight after a long night. You smile, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.

“Good,” you say, your voice teasing now. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

He laughs, the sound rich and full, and pulls you into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, like a promise. The flickering streetlamp above you hums softly, casting golden light over the two of you, as if the universe itself is smiling down on this moment.

The photo of your five-year-old self sits framed on your desk, its edges slightly worn but still vibrant with the joy of that long-ago birthday. It’s nestled now among other frames—your parents’ wedding photo, your grandparents laughing on a sunlit porch, and a new addition: a snapshot of you and Will, taken just last week.

In it, you’re both grinning, his arm slung casually over your shoulders, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

You smile every time you see it, the warmth of his words settling deep in your chest. It’s not just the note or the photos—it’s the way they tell a story, a quiet reminder of how far you’ve come. The family you thought you’d lost, the love you thought you’d never find again, and the man who somehow managed to give you both.

I hope people like this! And its as sweet as they'd expect! I think it's becoming really obvious that I'm a romantic...😅

[untitlednerd]

"See? I told you chocolate helps everything."

Remus Lupin x Female Reader

Summary - Whenever things become a bit too overwhelming in life, you know Remus will always be by your side.

Warnings - subtle mentions of potential/past SH, but nothing specific, as I wanted to leave it up to interpretation, as it could be imagined without it as well. Other than that, just overthinking, anxiety, sadness, and Remus being the best boyfriend ever.

_________________________________________

Everything was okay.

Well, at least you thought It was. But your mind always had to change and ruin everything. And then what was once peace and quiet, turned into chaos and noise.

Sometimes it felt like a war was happening inside your head. It was constant, no matter how good or bad things were. If you were happy and calm, then it was as if those in the war took time to dispose of their dead, and regroup for another day. But when it was bad, it was like a bloodbath. Brutal and seemingly neverending.

To be honest, you never meant to let it get this far again. Remus had made you promise to talk to him whenever you even started to have one little bad thought, but with classes, and friends, and life, you forgot to take care of yourself.

The schoolwork was part of the reason your anxiety got worse. It was always there, festering in the back of your mind, and only bring brought to the service when it was set off, like a candle turning into a blazing fire. First school stress, and then people stress. If you were too worried about school, then how could you make sure everyone else was okay? And if you couldn't make sure that they were okay, then would they still even like you? Maybe your slight absence would make them finally realize that you're not enough, and then they'd drop you. Maybe Remus would finally realize that you're a horrible person, and a bad girlfriend, and eventually dump you.

"Stop." You heard his voice inside your head, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. Why were you like this? One little thought, or feeling, could set you off and change the course of your whole day. The class anxiety changing forms into friend anxiety, then to insecurities and not feeling like enough. Now that you felt less than enough, you didn't want to do anything at all. What was the point in trying in school or trying with your friends? If you'd never amount to anything for anyone, then why try at all? Maybe you were just destined to rot in your bed, like you were doing right now.

You laid on your side, pinching your forearm slightly, as if trying to force yourself to feel something. Although, it's not as if you didn't think about doing anything else. Things you've done before. But you couldn't. Physically? Yes, of course you could. But Remus. Sweet Remus. When he found out before, he looked so broken, and you promised to go to him if you ever felt that way again. Thankfully, you had enough willpower to do so, considering you had sent him a note via owl that morning after deciding to not attend your classes for the day, to which he informed you that he'd visit right after the school day was over. Was that technically the same as going to him? Yes, and no. Considering the fact that you hadn't even left the room, you considered it a victory that you left your bed to write the note in the first place.

If you told him it was urgent, he would have shown up sooner, but he was a good student, and you didn't want him to worry. You just told him you wanted some company, and that you had been feeling a little down lately.

Hours later, when classes were over, you were spaced out, not able to tell if you were awake or asleep when the door to your dorm finally opened, and you felt a weight dip into the bed behind you.

After feeling a soft kiss on your cheek, you then felt a hand, his hand, grab yours, kissing the back of it, and then kissing the part of your arm that you had been pinching earlier, as small red marks now adorned it.

"Hi," you whispered, bringing his hand to your mouth next, and returning his gesture by kissing it, and then intertwining your fingers with his as you turned over to face him.

"Hi, lovely girl." He replied softly, his smile just as gentle when his face came into view, and he was happy that you were now facing him. His eyes searched yours, as if putting the puzzle pieces of the recent moments of your life together, even if he hadn't been there every second of the time it started to get bad again. "Hug?"

He always asked for a hug before giving you one whenever you were overwhelmed like this, as sometimes physical touch could be hard to emotionally process when already feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed from your emotions. So, never wanting to push you, he always asked for things like that. Small touches, like kisses and holding hands, were something that you didn't mind him doing without asking. If you didn't want the contact, then you would have already pulled away.

After thinking for a moment, and taking a breath, telling yourself you were about to be hugged, and that you deserved the comfort, you nodded. He shifted closer to you, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back soothingly.

"Wanna talk about it, or do you just want to stay like this?" He asked, wanting to give you time to collect your thoughts, or even to give as little or as much information as you were able to manage at this time.

"Both," you sighed, burying your face in his chest, although realizing you'd now have to talk a bit louder for him to be able to hear you. "I've just been overthinking. Again. It feels like a routine now. First classes, then stressing, then I'm not doing enough, then everything becomes too much and I can't even get out of bed. Which is stupid, considering nothing even happened other than me letting myself freak out."

Remus stayed quiet, letting you speak until you were finished, taking your head away from its hiding place in his chest so that he could place a kiss on your forehead. "It's not stupid at all."

"It's not?" You asked, brows furrowing slightly.

"No, love. It isn't stupid, and you aren't stupid. Everyone, like a cup being filled with a beverage, has a limit. I realize this is a random analogy, but I'm trying to think quickly here," he chuckled. "What I'm trying to say is that everyone has a certain amount of things they can handle before they need a break. And it's not saying that others can handle things better than you, nor is it that they can handle things in a worse manner. Everyone is different."

"But why does it feel like I got the weaker side of it all? I barely lasted in a few days of stress before it all came tumbling down–" He cut off your rant with another kiss to your hand.

"Nothing about you is weak, or wrong, or messed up. You've gone awhile without having any moments like this whatsoever, and for that I am so proud of you. But with feeling better, there's also the possibility of knowing things can get hard again, but knowing how to manage it better if it ever does. And you did." You didn't believe him, but he continued to speak before you could voice your doubts, or even continue thinking about them.

"You reached out to me. You may not have ran straight to my dorm, but you reached out. You asked for me to be here, and if you didn't want to be talking about this, then I would have laid here with you until you were ready, or until you wanted to go be social again." He sat up, gently pulling you to sit up with him, cupping your face between his hands. "Nothing is wrong with you. You are beautiful, in every way possible. The way you love, the way you laugh, the way you make others feel. You draw others to you in such a positive way, and that's what matters. That's what's real. Not your thoughts, not what is telling you that you're not enough." If you weren't tearing up earlier, then you definitely were now.

"Everyone gets stressed about classwork. I have been plenty of times, and you've adapted to my abruptly changed schedules whenever I've wanted to take more time to study, or to finish homework before hanging out with you, so that I could have my full attention on you. I can promise you, that no one thought any differently of you. No one is better without you, and no one would be happier without you. And if you are struggling with school, you can always ask me or any one of our friends for help. If you are struggling at all, you can always come to us, love. We love you, and we want you to know that you are loved."

He moved his thumbs, gently wiping your tears away before reaching down into his bag, and pulling out a chocolate bar. After breathing a few pieces off, he held them up to you. You took them with a small smile, and a sniffle, nibbling on the pieces.

"See? I told you chocolate helps everything," he said as he put the chocolate away, although you knew that if you wanted more, he'd give you all the chocolate he had.

You quickly moved forward, hugging him tightly. In moments like these, it was hard to convey how you felt in words to him, especially when he expressed himself with his own words so beautifully. All you could do is hold him tightly, and tell him what you did know was true.

"I love you, Rem."

"I love you, too, sweet girl."

[fearoftheminotaur]

How not to take accountability

Lately this callout for genderqueerdykes aka equinox has been going around. tl;dr, a blatant terf sent a rambling ask about how trans women are privileged for their genitals, and equinox responded with a rant about toxic masculinity and the kinks held by an ex who accused it of SA.

I don't know the scope of how influential this user is, or how much its follower base is going to be affected by this mask-off moment, but the short-term reaction from equinox has been to bury the post under new content, delete the original, and say that it was wrong and want to grow from its mistake.

The lack of any overt response, clarity on its point of view both before and after the negative reception to the post, or even acknowledgment of the rhetoric in the original ask, makes me think that it has no actual intention of taking real accountability, and that it wants as many people as possible to come away from that post agreeing with it. Just my opinion. But I want to highlight this part specifically, as just in-general useless garbage for anyone's circumstances.

"being informed that what I said hurt people was all I needed... so I stopped it"

That is not how this works! Sometimes saying something that is true and useful involves hurting the feelings of people who are upholding injustices. Sometimes it even involves hurting the feelings of well-intentioned people who did nothing wrong, because you can be emotionally invested in a wrong idea!

It said, about this terf in its inbox, "they are genuinely right and it doesn't matter how much it bothers you", and "these are hard pills to swallow". It knows that hurting someone is not a good enough reason to take something back; the reason you should take something like this back is it is misinformation and libel. Yes, when you make post you regret, it is completely fair to apologize for the harm that it caused. The stereotypes that you amplified, the trust that you broke, even the ways it went against your intentions are an understandable topic. But saying that you wanted to 'stop' (no idea what it even means by it stopped - because it deleted the post, thanked the people criticizing it, and gave a non-apology?), because you hurt people; that's just not a good enough reason, especially when it knew people were going to get hurt by the post before it even made it.

This is not responsible; it's only a step above "I'm sorry that you felt that way" because at least genderqueerdykes acknowledges its agency in causing harm. But by not acknowledging that its post was not just hurtful, but harmful, transmisogynistic, and wrong - and not being able to articulate an actual argument for that (which hey, if anyone reading this wants some of my thoughts on why the original post was wrong, or even just my thoughts on one specific point of it, the ask box and dms are open), means that:

anyone who saw the original post and advocated for it, agreed with it, or was influenced by it, has no real reason to move the other way. Even if they see the "retraction", it will come off that equinox had to take its post down because the "woke tgirl mob" complained too much, and not that there was actual merit to disavowing it.

I think if you asked most of the people in genderqueerdykes' posting circle, they'd say that uncomfortable conversations are needed, so this "I don't want to offend anyone" behavior just comes off as dodging an argument that it can't win, because it's only sorry that it got caught.

Maybe I'm overthinking this, maybe there's some context where ostensibly molding your online presence to whatever won't be hurtful to your followers is the best thing you can do as a public figure, or even in your interpersonal life. But I'd need a real good argument to the effect that a) this can actually address or stop the harm, and b) the intentions here are in any way coherent.

[rubiehart]

feb 10th: words of affirmation

🝮 sarah cameron x shy!gf!reader

word count: 0.8k warnings: nsfw 18+, allusions to smut, allusions public sex, allusions to oral (f.receiving), cut to black smut.

you’d always been the shy one in your relationship, naturally, sarah being kook princess n’ all, always social, always perfect, pristine, no less than what’s expected for a girl of her status.

you couldn’t be more different, always reserved, cautious and meek. it was one thing that always agitated you about yourself, when sarah would drag you to a new gala opening her father was hosting, or a dinner party for a new business opportunity for the cameron’s, or even something as casual as a party at the boneyard, you could never seem to loosen up.

always that little voice in the back of your mind telling you that you didn’t fit in here, everyone was looking, whispering, judging. so when sarah had told you she’d planned a date for the both of you, your heart soaring and cheeks already burning when the notification popped up, the name ‘sare💓’ lighting up your screen.

things were going well whilst getting ready, and you were silently grateful for it, a break from that constant nagging in the back of your mind that made you overthink your every step. listening to the playlist you and sarah had made together one night, tangled up in her sheets with sticky sheet masks stuck to your faces and ice cold wine glasses she’d snuck from rose earlier that day.

it made you feel happy, you felt good, until you didnt. when sarah was beeping the horn outside of your front door, not urgent, just making you aware she was waiting, but it was scrambling your mind because you were still scrambling for your bag, pocketing your keys, and wallet, and lip gloss, and perfume, and powder for touch ups and it was so much to do in so little time, once you’d finally made it outside, your skin was balmy from the outer banks sun, palms sweaty and smile meek as you padded out to the car.

she’d greeted you with a pretty smile that made your heart ache and eyes avert as you sunk into the passenger seat, fingers fiddling anxiously in your lap, grateful for the air conditioning she’d put on full blast which was quickly cooling your burning skin.

the drive to your spot went better that you thought, sarah made casual conversation without missing a beat, hand resting on your bare thigh when it wasn’t shifting the gear stick, throwing sickly sweet compliments towards you like it was nothing into her ramblings about her dad and brother, and rose’s new listing that you weren’t really listening to, too focused on stopping your heart from exploding, and you’re sure sarah knew that, and she really didn’t mind, because she knew you, she knew how your mind worked even better than yourself sometimes, so she really wasn’t fussed, content to fill the comfortable silence with her own anecdotes and thoughts.

once she’d pulled up to the little spot at the edge of some marshland, multicoloured flowers spouting prettily out of the grass, the sun setting in orange and yellow hues over the horizon. it was beautiful, it really was, so you’d settled on the picnic blanket she’d brought and immediately dived into the picnic blanket she’d provided without question.

you’d fed each other berries, cheeks burning pink when the red juice from the raspberry she was suckling innocently on dribbled between her breasts, staining her tanned skin as it went. she’d noticed, and maybe it was the look in your eyes, or the flush on your cheeks or the way your lips parted in suprise, but she’d pushed, something she wouldn’t normally do, knowing how shy you got about those sorta things.

her eyes would flick up to yours with a knowing smirk, mumbling a humorous ‘what?’ around the sweet fruit. your eyes would catch hers after a second, having to kickstart your brain into processing her words because the look on her face was one you could drown in and die the happiest girl in the world.

when you lacked a reply to her flirtatious remark, she’d let her fingers graze at your ankle, soft and loving but an undertone of something more underneath. ‘y’know you don’t need to be nervous around me, right?” she’d ask, hands slowly skimming up, up, up until her fingernails were dragging softly up and down the silky skin of your calf.

you could smell her now, the soft floral scent wafting off of her and straight into your senses, clouding your judgment as you hiccuped out a soft. “i know, ‘m not, sare.”

“no, you are,” she’d mumble, with a soft shake of her head, and without you even realising she was now playing lazily with the hem of your summer dress, shamelessly ogling the triangle of your panties that were on show, the wet spot evident as she bit her lip.

“but..” she starts, pushing up onto her hands and knees as you sink down with a soft gasp, eyelashes casting pretty shadows over your cheeks as you watch her situate herself between your thighs, pushing up your skirt to pool around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, breath tickling the skin.

“it’s what i love most about you.”

[gifsbymel]

Jinx Arcane, S02E04

[royalarchivist]

[A sad violin song plays over an image of a sad hamster]

Pac: This doesn't have anything to do with me – I wear a blue sweatshirt, you're crazy, this mouse doesn't even have a sweatshirt, this hamster! [Reading chat] Am I a depressed hamster?

[ Transcript continued ↓ ]*

–

Pac: Actually– that's fine! I embrace that idea – of course I'm going to be depressed, are you crazy? [He hits his desk, then starts counting off people on his fingers] Fit is gone, Richarlyson is gone, Ramon is gone, Bagi and Empanada who were always there when we were there are also gone, I haven't seen them! It's just me and Tubbo, and sometimes Philza shows up.

Pac: I lost Chume Labs, I lost the Favela, I lost Murder Mystery, I lost Ilha Chume Labs, it's crazy! Look at how much I've lost, and I've gained nothing! Of course I'm going to be depressed, are you crazy?! How am I supposed to be happy?!

Pac: [Reading chat] "You have us Pac," that's true, thank you. No, that's true, sorry.

* NOTE: Please note that this is an incomplete transcript, as I was primarily relying on Aypierre's translation mod at the time and if I am not confident of the translation, I do not include it. As always, please feel free to add on translations or message me corrections.