#yeah im pulling out all the stops for this

[blushhbambi]

in your frat!rafe headcannons post, you said he mocks readers moans and stuff in front of his friends. can you do when reader gets upset abt it and he has to go fuck her in the bathroom to calm her down 😵‍💫

── ˙ ̟ ೕ !! ꣑୧ frat!rafe x reader mdniᝰ.ᐟ semi public, bathroom / mirror sex, p in v, unprotected sex, degrading, toxic relationship, rafe is mean and a shit boyfriend, hints of misogyny, finger sucking, spanking... . ༉‧₊˚. word count;²k a/n i love my anons sm like y’all are so creative. got a bit carried away with this one and strayed from the request a little, now I wanna make another version for u 😭

you hated him.

it was humiliating, made you want to shrink away into the crook of his arm and disappear behind his musk of cologne and cocaine. rafe had no shame when it came to you and your relationship and it was clear for all to see, he made sure of it.

you were perched on his lap frowning and pouting as he only got louder and snarkier, making fun of you to the group of his leering friends lazily sat in a circle, observing the two of you with their legs spread wide and half drunk grins plastered across their faces whilst the bass of the party music down stairs thrum through the walls.

“shes was so fuckin’ into it last night— couldn't get enough of my cock huh?”, he squeezes you against him with the arm he had curled around you.

“right…”, you mumble, tired and embarrassed, your face flushed hot. you thought you would've gotten used to how mean he could get but you never did, not when he acted like it was some game, trying to up his own actions everytime he dragged you with him to his stupid frat parties to show you off.

but you sit there, pliant and small in his arms not even letting out a squeak, zoning out of the surrounding conversations.

that was until you heard a lewd moan close to your ear. you blink up at him suddenly, wide eyed and tense. rafe can only laugh at the dumb look on your face.

he was mocking you in front of everyone, loud and unashamed as he tilted his head back to let out a louder laugh.

“yeah you sounded exactly like that, right babe?”

“rafe—”, you furrow your brow as you hand paws at his shoulder, clasping at the fabric of his shirt with tense humiliation. you were so embarrassed you couldn't get a word of protest out.

“all like— dumb and so fuckin’ needy—”, he laughs again.

“rafe—”, you grit out trying to assert your voice but he only interrupts you with a louder shameless, mocking moan.

“oh rafe— fuck me harder—!”, he pitched his voice higher tilting his head close to yours not even bothering to address your obvious discomfort, too focused on rousing his peers, desperate for what he thought was admiration.

“fuck— y’know its adorable babe.”, he rolls his eyes as he pushed his hair back lazily, shrugging casually. you only sit there with disdain in your now glossy eyes, grimacing up at him.

“stop it, you're embarrassing me—”

“what? you talkin’ back to me now?”, he flares back at you squinting with challenge behind his eyes, almost daring you to talk back. the room felt hot, everyone had gotten a bit quiet at the obvious tension between you two. rafe did not like that, didn’t you know how humiliating that could be for him? he was a man for fucks sake and your talking back to him, his girl, his little dollie talking back to him in front of his frat bros, probably too stoned to even realise what was unfolding. he rolls his jaw heavy with irritation. you chew your lip nervously in the silence, unsure of what he would do, whatever it was you knew it'd be drastic.

“get the fuck up.”

“what—”

“I said get the fuck up, you too fuckin’ thick in the head to clock what im saying?”, he raised his voice suddenly, standing up quickly and gripping your wrist tight in his hold, pulling you up with him.

“ow— rafe—”, you cry out tearily, before you know it he's dragging you through his house and shoving you into a bathroom. the door is slammed and locked making you flinch and back into the sink, shrinking away from the now pacing and immensely pissed rafe cameron. he's got his nose scrunched up and he's rubbing at his temples like he does when he's desperate for a line or a hit of anything that could relieve him of his tension.

you stare at him wide eyed and cautious, you didn't like stressing out rafe, he'd always make you feel so bad afterwards, talking about how he never got it easy, never caught a fucking break. you know he didn't mean to lash out at you.

but still that didn't stop your eyes from glossing over as he turned to you with a stern look.

“we talked about this.”, his voice is tight and serious, strangely calm but you knew him too well, you knew he was on the verge of bursting out at you in rage.

“the fuck did I say ‘bout talkin’ back?”

you swallow the lump in your throat, sniffling and teary.

“good girls don't talk back—”

“and what are you?”

you chew the inside of your cheek as he scolded you, stepping closer and crowding your space. getting all in your face while you couldn't stop yourself from crumbling before him. holding your face and hiding the tears that rolled down your flushed cheeks as he put you in your place.

“your good girl.”

he nodded with a grunt, rolling his jaw and contemplating whether he could soften up on you yet, he always got soft when you got all sniffly and sad, blinking up at him with those big wet eyes.

“that's right baby— my good girl hm…”

rafe clasps your face roughly with a big hand, swatting away your shaky hands and forcing you to look up at him.

“look at you— so fuckin’ precious.”

his voice softened slightly and you're pulled closer to him, stumbling a little into his bigger, stronger frame.

“you're never doing that again.”, he nods in a sure whisper like he knows you would never dare, his eyes follow your tears and the little hiccuped shakes that made you look so fucking small. seeing you so upset always did something to him, his grip on your arms tightened slightly and your noses brush in the proximity.

his hands stroke your face gruffly, pushing your hair back and out of your face tutting softly.

“that's enough now, hm?”

“no more tears baby.”

rafes’ voice is cruelly soft as he presses a firm kiss to your foreheads letting his thumbs brush at your damp cheeks. you swallow hard trying to pull yourself back together.

“y'know I don't like being upset with you…”, he whispers softly and you knew what was coming, it always did, his special way of making things up with you. in a way it did work, he'd fuck you so hard you'd forget and forgive his harsh words and brutish touch.

“c'mon baby y'know what to do— turn around f'me—”

your head felt light with his soft murmurs and how he gently tugged you into place. keeping quiet and pliant, just how he liked you.

“rafe im sorry, I really am—”

“none of that shit, this'll make it all better ‘kay—”

you nod softly sniffling as you turn you back to him, you see yourself in the bathroom mirror, how he towered behind you with his dark gaze dragging across your smaller form.

“thats right— c'mon ass up babe.”

rafe's a little giddy now, watching the curve of your ass as you bend over, leaning against the marble of the sink. you feel big hands come down on your ass, roaming possessively.

“mhm, dont cry baby y'know i love you—”, one hand reaches forward to hold your face, pulling it higher to see yourself in the mirror.

“see— that's my pretty girl.”, he smiles proudly, patting your cheek as his other hand hikes up your skirt pulling and pushing at the fabrics that stood between him and his goal.

“now watch yourself get fucked by my cock m’kay?”

you feel him pressed against your underwear, his hard cock rutting softly between your ass cheeks. you whimper with need, unable to help the throb between your legs, your watching his face in the mirror, the focus in his eyes as he stares with his curled lips down at the growing wet patch on your panties. its like he gets some sort of high from it, playing the perfect boyfriend, how he coos soft praise, comforts you from his own actions and god seeing you so fucking pouty made him hard. rafe knew he was mean, knew he was rash and rude and horrible, knew how your friends hated him and how you did too sometimes but it was all worth it for this.

the push and pull of emotions building up just to crumble as he pulled out his fat leaking cock, making you gasp out as he rubbed against the soaked fabric covering your pussy. you moan out softly making him curl two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and you can't help but suck at them with drool dripping from the corners of your mouth. it made you dizzy, your head still light from your previous tears and all the emotions that had been let out.

rafe grunts roughly, tugging the soiled fabric of you panties lazily, eventually pulling them low enough to get a good view of your spread pussy. he quickly get lost in it, rubbing his fingers over your slick folds making you moan around his fingers and press back into the feeling. his big hand palms and kneads your ass punishingly.

“fuckin’ look at all this—”

“all f’me right?”

you can only nod dumbly as he picks up his cock again and rubs the thick head through your folds to find your soaked hole. he groans loudly as you practically suck him in. it's all happening so quickly you can't think. you catch glimpses of him in the mirror, his mouth gaped open with a sick smirk as he plunges into you hard again and again to find his rhythm. his cocks hitting you so hard, so deep. hitting that perfect spot that makes you see stars.

you don't even realise his thick fingers had left your mouth till he wipes your drool across the plush skin of your ass, you moan louder with your mouth hanging open now. your nails digging into the smooth sides of the sink, whilst your hip bones dug into it painfully with his unfaltering rhythm.

“oh my god rafe—”, you cry, moaning loudly.

his hips pound into you, letting the small room echo with both your moans and the lewd squelching of yojr pussy above the faint sound of the now distant party.

suddenly you feel a sharp stinging sensation as his palm comes down harshly onto the reddening plush of your ass. you yelp out loudly in a lewd pained whine that escapes your throat. he manages a breathy laugh watching you claw at the sink

“m'sorry baby, yknow— fuck— yknow you gotta learn your lesson.”

you whine out his name tearily as his hand comes down again, pain blooms from the impact, only making you wetter. his view is fucking amazing, his cock pumping your soaked cunt while your slick drips down your thighs and onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor. he's got one hand gripping at your waist hard, grounding himself with white knuckles while the other is grabbing handfuls of your ass, roughly, not even bothering to sooth over the red blossoms of pain across your skin.

“fuck—”

you close your eyes tight at the overwhelming feelings, the sweat covering the both of you and the growing hot smell of sex that filled the room. his pace grew faster, more desperate as his cock railed through you

“holy shit look at my girl—”, he groans out with another rough smack.

“my. good. fuckin’. girl.” each word is enunciated with a harsh spank.

he feels himself grow closer, and you, the way your sopping cunt clenched around his length had his breath hitch and balls tighten. your head lols forward with pleasure and he's quick to grab your jaw, holding it up to see the grand finale.

you cum first, its messy and sudden and you're creaming around his still pistoning cock as your eyes watch his. the way you were looking at each other so deeply at the height of your connection only made your orgasm hit harder.

maybe that's why rafe couldn't let you go, rafe could fuck any girl on the island but he wanted you. he was pathetic like that, greedy even, for that look he couldn't get from any other bitch. the look of pliance, awe and that sweet flush while you came all because of him.

watching your face had him cumming right after you. his hips stuttered as he let out a shaky groan, managing to give you a few more sloppy thrusts before he pulled out to cum over your reddened, plush ass. you feel his grip loosen, leaving harsh red marks on your hips as he leans back to take in the scene before him, letting your head go to pant against the marble sink.

“fuckin’ masterpiece—”

you let out a lazy whine in reply, not even sure of what you wanted to communicate as you slumped, limp and aching with twitchy limbs. rafe pushed his hair back lazily, staring at his cum dripping down the path of your ass and down to your folds, he let out a proud hum and pats the curve of your ass.

“that's what happens when you're a good girl baby.”

© written by blushhbambi— do not steal or claim as ur own ᝰ.ᐟ

[starlinggirll]

a/n: this is short and sweet because im going on a trip today! ill try to be active but i'll doubt ill be able to write. didnt want to leave you all with nothing!

the moment he saw you at the club he was hooked.

loud, obnoxious, slutty.

everything that tashi wasnt.

he was up for a change since his divorce, plus he always felt inferior when he was with tashi...you were his chance in being as rough and demanding as she was.

but what he didn't expect was him loving it. loving the way your pussy clenches when he calls you a slut while fucking you in his bed. loving the way tears roll down your cheeks as he forces your head down to take his cock deeper into your throat.

but he also loves the soft side of things. the aftercare, the hangouts...the soft touches while cuddling. he shouldn't feel so attached to you; your act is clear as day.

you're only here for the money.

and he's only here for the sex.

so why does he feel a pang each time you leave his place after a long night of sex?

"how much money for you to stay the weekend?" he mumbles as he crosses his arms behind his head. watching as you put your clothes on after hours of sex. a faint grin forms as he notices your wobbly legs.

"stay? like in here?" you giggle, brushing it off as a joke. "yeah. i can pay you $2000 a day." he says casually, too willing to throw away money for you.

"yeah right." you fish under his bed in search of your panties before you feel yourself getting hoisted up. "hey! stop!" he plops you beside him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders tightly.

"you're staying." "but i dont even-" "ill buy you clothes. food. anything you need."

you press your cheek against his peck, a pout on your lips. "dont act like you dont want to? what are you going to do? go fuck another man?"

"that's none-" he cuts you off, again. "it is my business. it turned my business the moment i fucked you." he says matter of factly, nuzzling his cheek against your forehead. your cheeks burn, but you dont answer.

instead you curl up further into his arms, draping your arm across his chest. "plus," he starts again. "no way you're sleeping in this state. you can beraly hold yourself up." he taunts, giving your ass a loud smack. but you beraly react, too deep into his arms to care.

he sighs, smiling. like a real a smile, a smile he hasnt let out since his divorce. and maybe, just maybe, you're it.

you're his person.

a young girl that has her life ahead of her. years of experience waiting for her. but he wont let you do that; wont let you be touched by someone else.

its like the same fixation he felt with tashi back in college. but this time he's in control, he wont let you get away from him.

thankfully for him tho, you look like you have no means on leaving. not with you sleeping so peacefully against his chest. not with your naked body pressed against him.

he kisses your forehead softly before giving your ass another squeeze. leaving his hand there while using his other hand to pull the blanket over both of you.

he closes his eyes, ready to rest.

because he knows the weekend is going to be full of sex, love, dinners, shopping. everything that you could ever want.

[cloudyzeusy]

Bitchy arrogant pro hero Katsuki getting dicked down for the first time?

All Bark No Bite

pairing: katsuki X top male reader

warnings: smut, defo insufficient prep, light dub con

The Hero Commission training arena echoed with silence. You and Katsuki stood across from each other- the only ones left in the building.

He was already smirking as you faced off against each other. Because of course he was.

“Try not to cry when I drop your ass into the pavement.” He stretched his neck, cocky as hell.

You rolled your shoulders slowly only just a touch amused by his bravado.

“You talk a lot of shit, Dynamight,” You said circling him. “Maybe I’ll finally shut you up today.”

“Yeah right im gonna have you eating concrete by the five-minute mark.” He grinned, all teeth, cracking his neck.

“You talk like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

His eyes narrowed on you like he was trying to hunt an animal.

“Shut up let's make it quick- I’ve got better shit to do than wipe the floor with you.” He responded seriously now.

But you just rolled your eyes, he most certainly was not a threat to you. “Arrogance looks cute on you."

He lunged at you first with a loud blast his palm popping with sparks. But you dodged it in time the blast scorching the air near your cheek.

He followed up with another explosion-powered punch but you only raise your arm and block, feet skidding slightly.

“C’mon, that all you got? You’re moving like a fuckin’ rookie.”

“You’re fast, I’ll give you that- not fast enough though.”

You took him off guard with a slight shoulder shove and he stumbled off balance. Giving you the chance to use your shoulder to slam into his torso, knocking him into the back wall.

Your chest brushed against his as you both panted tired from the previous spars. You took the opportunity to check him out, you couldn't lie he looked good like this - all sweaty and flushed.

“You’re really getting off on this, huh? Sick bastard.” He grinned, breathy.

“You always this mouthy when you’re winded?” You said close to him, voice low.

His eyes then narrowed as he also checked you out - it was clear he was also enjoying this too much.

Katsuki was reckless, hotheaded, brash but damn if he didnt make it look good.

He pushed you away, finally trying to attack again having caught his breath. But it was more sloppy this time as he moved forward palms sparking again.

You stepped into it. Caught his wrist mid-swing and twisted. He cursed, staggered. Your leg swept behind his knees and..

THUD.

He hit the floor hard.

Before he could recover, you were on him- body pressed to his, one knee pinning his thigh, one palm flat against his chest. Your other hand wrapped around his throat. Not tight. But just enough to let him know: you won.

“What’s the matter, Dynamight?” You leaned in, smirking. “You like being under me?”

You saw his pupils dilate as his breath caught in his throat. His hands twitched as he clearly hesitated unsure whether to push you off or pull you closer. You grinned wider seeing a blush rising in his ears.

You've seen all possible states of Katsuki and right now? He wasn't mad. He was aroused. And now that he basically gave you the green light. You were not stopping.

“Don’t... fuckin’ look at me like that” He ground out, suddenly embarrassed. “Get the hell off me- ”

“Say please. Might make me feel more generous.” You teased, confused by the sudden change until you felt it.

"You’re hard already, Bakugou. I barely touched you. Thought you’d at least make me work for it.” You said smugly feeling his bulge through yout thin sweatpants.

“This doesn’t mean shit.” He exhaled harshly through his nose.

“You don’t have to pretend. Your body’s already telling the truth.” You assured him feeling an involuntary twitch against your leg.

You moved sightly shifting your weight causing him to arch against you, panting. You delighted in his reactions as he responded with a glare, teeth bared- but he didn’t move to stop you.

"This is going to be fun." You said internally.

You shifted your grip your hand sliding from his throat to his jaw, tilting his chin up so he’s forced to look at you.

“Tch- what the fuck are you doing-” he growled, but didn’t resist when you haul him up by the collar.

You walked him backward, his body still close to yours till you were both in a dark corner wall. From the animalistic wwy you were looking at him he knew exactly what your plan was.

His hands tried to shove at your chest, weakly. “We’re not doin’ this here-”

“We are,” You said simply, pressing your thigh between his legs. “You’re already leaking through your uniform.”

“You want this, Katsuki. Stop pretending you don’t.” Your hands grabbed at his belt and pulled the buckle snapping it ignoring it's clattered as it fell to the floor.

He gasped, pissed. “The fuck- ! That shit’s Commission-issued- ”

"You'll live." You tore his shirt open, revealing his sweat-slicked abs, scarred but gorgeous.

He glared still and you responded in kind. "Keep acting tough. It’s cute.”

His pants were next with one sharp tug, they fell down to his thighs, leaving him in just his boxers.

You palmed his crotch making his head fall down onto your shoulder. He let out a moan as you pulled out his cock jerking him off slowly. You watched him fall apart on you.

"Look at you.” You cooed degradingly.

You spit into your hand and you pushed him gently turning him around. You put one hand on the back of his neck holding him in placw while the other pushed into him.

“Are you really gonna stretch me with just with one fuckin’ finger like I’m some extra.”

You shoved in two slick fingers. “Don't worry my cock isn't that small .”

He shuddered , gritting his teeth. You slid in another. Causing a loud gasp, as he bit back a moan.

He kept mouthing off incoherent curses at you but yet his hips rocked back onto your hand, chasing more. "Come on, love. Let go just like that."

You deemed him stretched enough so you pulled out your fingers with a wet pop. You only pulled down your pants just enough to expose your hard cock.

You lined yourself up slowly, letting him frel your length. Your hands gripped his hips tight, teasing him.

“You sure?” You ask, teasing him like he had a choice.

“Shut the fuck up and do it ” He growled so you pushed in all of your cock at once. You enjoyed the way his tight heat stretched to accommodate all of you. Once all the way you stayed still trying to let him adjust despire hoe good the slick heat felt.

"Fuck," You groaned. "You're squeezing me so fucking tight."

"D-Don't stop-" He whimpered, his body trembling as he tried to fuck himself back onto your cock.

"Wouldn't dream of it," You mumbled, snapping your hips forward. He tried to claw at the wall to find purchase against your thrusts. As you fucked the breath outta him.

“You feel that, Katsuki? That’s what being fucked like you need feels like.”

He didn’t answer with words. He couldn’t. His breath hitched, high and sharp, caught between a moan and a gasp as you drove into him again. His forehead thunked against the wall, palms spread flat like he was bracing for impact, muscles tense and trembling.

“Shit..fuck,” he hissed, voice breaking.

You grinned, tightening your grip on his hips, thumbs pressing bruises into his skin. “Thought you said you were gonna wipe the floor with me. What happened to all that noise, hm?”

You thrust again deeper this time and he moaned, sluttishly, before instantly slapping a hand over his mouth.

Your eyes darkened grabbing his wrist and yanked it away from his face, pinning it to the wall.

“No hiding. I wanna hear how much you like it.”

He tried to glare at you over his shoulder, stubborn fire still flickering in his eyes but another hard thrust knocked the breath out of him, leaving him gasping.

“You fuckin’ nghh bastard- I hate you”

He writhed under you, one hand curling into a fist against the wall like he was fighting himself—fighting the sounds clawing up his throat, the way his hips were moving with you now.

You slid one hand from his hip to his cock, wrapping around him firmly, stroking in time with your thrusts.

“See? You’re leaking. Fuckin’ mess already,” you rasped, jerking him rougher when he didn’t respond.

His voice cracked on a moan. “Shut-up-!”

“Can’t. Not when you’re this fuckin’ pretty taking it.”

He snarled but it lacked bite, cut off by a choked moan when you angled your hips just right for his prostrate. He jerked beneath your hold, a full-body shiver rolling through him. His cock bounced with every thrust, dripping, neglected—but he didn’t beg. Not yet.

You leaned in, your chest brushing his back, lips ghosting his ear.

“That the spot?” you murmured, voice low and smug.

“F-Fuck you-!”

You snapped your hips again, harder. He cried out, the sound punching from his lungs, raw and needy. You chuckled, pulling out halfway and slamming back in—once, twice, until he went silent save for his ragged breaths and the wet slap of skin-on-skin.

“You are fucking me, baby. Keep up.”

He tried to turn his head, maybe to glare at you, maybe to kiss you—you didn’t give him the chance. You fucked into him harder, deeper, and his knees buckled slightly as he grunted, hips stuttering, legs shaking under the weight of his own need.

You bit his shoulder, enough to mark. He arched into it with a guttural moan.

“Katsuki,” you breathed, voice dropping into something darker. “You close?”

He didn’t answer. Just clenched around you so hard you saw stars. So you jerked him faster.

He choked on a whimper. “I...fuck-I’m gonna-!”

You growled, “Then do it. Come for me. Right fuckin’ now.”

And he did—with a shout, legs trembling, body going taut as his cum splattered the wall and your fist. You fucked him through it, didn’t stop until he was sobbing open-mouthed moans, hips jerking with overstimulation.

Only then did you slam in one final time, burying yourself to the hilt as you came with a grunt, spilling into his twitching heat.

Both of you stilled. Panting.

You let your forehead fall to his shoulder as your hand slipped from his cock.

He still looked good like this with his body trembling still from the overstimulation. His face was flushed, cheeks red, lips parted.

You then remembered his forehead was still resting against the wall so you gently wrapped your arms around him, slowly pulling him back toward you.

You then sank back down on the ground together, your cock pulled out so it rested at his back. He leaned into your touch instinctively, even though be would vehemently deny it tomorrow.

“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you,” You murmured, brushing sweat-damp hair from his temple.

You used his ripped shirt to clean up his stomach and thighs as best as you could. He just let you. Clearly worn out from sex and sparring.

“…Still think I’m a fucking extra ?” You mumbled against his skin, afted kissing his temple.

He huffed, voice hoarse. “Fuck you.” Turning around to face you so he could punch your chest half-heartedly.

You smirked. “Already did.” Your hand rubbed soothing circles on his thigh.

He breathed without looking at you: “Next time I’m riding you.”

You held him tighter, your eyebrows arching before you spoke “Say please first.”

He didn’t answer, but you felt the tiniest smirk against your shoulder.

[ficsbyfrankie]

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

warnings: british. (derogatory)

pairing: george russell x fem!reader

summary: y/n’s many battles against the british weather

a/n: can we give our boy george some love :((

❀ y/n stood with her hands pulled right under her sleeves, shoulders hunched as the rain trickled down the back of her neck, cold and sharp, a permanent frown stretched across her disgruntled face. in short, her and the british weather very much did not get on.

❀ “you look like an angry wet kitten,” she heard a voice snicker from behind her, turning around to see her boyfriend with the usual, stupid grin plastered across his chiselled features, smiling like a bloody maniac, as she said when she was mad.

❀ “ready to accept defeat?” his voice was sing-song in a playful way. they’d made the bet before they had left, y/n saying she wouldn’t need a coat and george arguing that she very much would. it was her fault going against a british man’s judgement on the british weather.

❀ “ha-ha,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes, her hair plastered to her cheek and forehead as he grinned, all dry in his rain coat, “ill be fine thanks for the concern,” she added sarcastically under her breath as george snickered again.

❀ the girl flinched slightly as a clap of thunder echoed, her expression filling with stubbornness and genuine irritation. thunder wasn’t going to make her give in, no matter how much she wanted to wrap her arms round george and bury into his musky, warm cologne.

❀ “this is ridiculous!” she finally declared, stomping her foot - and landing it in a puddle, causing a wave of water to splash back onto herself, not that it caused a difference, she was soaked to the bone anyways.

❀ “oh?” george smirked, raising a brow as the girl huffed, staring at her drenched clothing. “it’s like the universe is trying to…to drown me out of spite,” she pointed up at the sky, glaring. y/n must have looked like a mad woman.

❀ “you sure you don’t want my jacket?” he teased as he walked down the road, making sure he took his time. “im fine,” she declared, ignoring the warmth that could be provided by his jacket. never would y/n admit defeat.

❀ “yeah alright,” he rolled his eyes, taking out the umbrella from his pocket, “you’re gonna catch yourself a cold, baby,” he opened it, holding the umbrella above her head as she muttered something about ‘it not being cold anyways’.

❀ “this is actually so stupid,” y/n grumbled, kicking some of the sand and coughing as it filled her mouth and seeped into her eyes, her boyfriend walking around in his loose summer shirt and shorts, not a care in the world.

❀ only yesterday it had been chucking it down and now that y/n had taken her boyfriend’s advice, it was hotter than the bloody bahamas, and there she was, in a woollen sweater and thick, baggy trousers. the universe hated her.

❀ “you and the weather app would get on great,” george flashed his toothy grin as she rolled her eyes, nudging him away. “stop holding my hand, you’re sweaty,” she wiped her hands on the side of her trousers as george scoffed.

❀ “never can get you in a good mood when the weather’s involved,” he clucked his tongue like a mother hen. “only when the british weather is involved,” she corrected, walking down the beach in the somehow, rather hot british weather.

❀ “i’d love to see those tan lines, eh?” george looked at the full coverage outfit she had on as y/n groaned. “stop joking, it’s not funny,” she said, though a smile threatened to come to her face as he led her to an ice cream truck.

❀ “now you’re smiling,” he smirked as she blushed. “at the food, not you,” y/n declared, taking it from his hand as he smiled fondly. “i know,” he nudged her with his shoulder and took the chocolate flake from her ice cream. “not a chance,” she snatched it back.

[goonforgeto]

・☄︎ CRUSH

chapter 6:

SYNOPSIS — The last thing ten-year-old you ever imagined was falling in love at fourteen, getting your heart broken at seventeen, and spending your early twenties hunting down Jujutsu Society’s most wanted — your (ex?) boyfriend. But the last thing your twenty-something-year-old self expected? Falling for his best friend... just before your ex comes crashing back into your life after over a decade of silence.

WC — (2.2k) not proofread

CONTENT — angst

a/n: spotify changed their layout wtf. i might edit it in the future but im lazy rn. this ch was supposed to be much longer but i decided to split the rest of it into a new one! hope you enjoy

series m. list | m.list

Mid 2014

When Satoru’s missions ended and he got through the inevitable stack of paperwork piling up at the edge of his desk, he always seemed to find his way into your little detective’s classroom.

He’d slip in without a word, dropping into the corner chair like it belonged to him, limbs sprawling, blindfold pushed up into messy white hair.

And then, without fail, a long, dramatic sigh, loud enough to make sure you heard it. Even if you weren’t at a dead end and you were still nose-deep in the mess of maps and curse reports pinned across the walls.

This time was no different. He was back from a four-day mission in the countryside, slipping into your space quietly.

You didn’t look up from the files scattered across your desk, but you felt him, his cursed energy, the familiar shuffle of his coat as he flopped into the corner chair.

“God, I hate trees,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And mosquitoes. And cabins with no proper plumbing.”

You smirked faintly, still scanning a report. “Welcome back.”

“Miss me?”

“Sure..”

He chuckled, tipping his head back against the wall. “Hey, someone’s gotta liven this place up. All this string and paper makes it feel like a serial killer lives here.”

You rolled your eyes, finally glancing at him. “Yeah, well, I’m trying to find one.”

His blindfold was completely off — a rarity — and the bruised shadows under his eyes gave away just how tired he really was. Dirt smudged the edge of his jaw, and there was a tiny scrape on his knuckle he hadn’t even bothered to bandage.

“You look like shit,” you said, gentler than your words.

He cracked a smile. “You always know just what to say.”

You stood, crossing the room, and without thinking, reached out to brush the hair from his eyes. “Seriously, Toru. Go sleep.”

He caught your wrist lightly, not stopping you, just… holding it for a second. “Nah,” he said quietly. “I’ll rest here.”

You let him hold your wrist for a moment longer before gently pulling away, heading back to your desk. “Suit yourself,” you murmured, flipping open another folder.

Satoru exhaled, slouching deeper into the chair. “You ever think about getting a couch in here? Maybe a little fridge? We could really level up the whole haunted-basement vibe.”

You snorted. “This isn’t your personal lounge. It’s not really mine either.”

“Could be,” he said, eyes closed now, head lolling to the side. “You practically live here.”

You hummed in agreement. “It’s my job to be here, Satoru.”

“Mmh. Or maybe you don’t wanna go home.”

You didn’t answer that. Just tapped your pen against the edge of the desk, eyes moving across a report that no longer held your attention.

He cracked one eye open to look at you. “You eat yet?”

“No.”

He dug into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a crumpled convenience store sandwich, still sealed. “Here. It’s egg salad. Don’t complain.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You were saving this for yourself.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, waving a hand. “I like you more than I like protein.”

You took it, your fingers brushing his as you did. “Thanks, Toru.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He sighed again, softer this time. “You know, if this whole sorcerer gig doesn’t work out, we’d make great roommates.”

You gave him a look. “You think we’d survive that?”

He grinned. “Absolutely not.”

You both fall into silence again, the low hum of the air conditioning unit filling the room. You unwrap the sandwich slowly, picking at the edges before taking a small bite. It's not bad.

“You ever think about slowing down?” Satoru asks suddenly, not looking at you.

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He shifts in the chair, stretches his legs out. “I mean this,” he gestures vaguely to the case files, the cluttered bulletin board behind you. “This job. This obsession with finding him.”

Your stomach tightens. “It’s not an obsession.”

“Isn’t it?” he says, tone still light, but a little too carefully so. “You haven’t taken a break in months. You go on missions and come right back here. You haven’t even been home.”

“This is my job. You know that.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

You press your lips together, setting the sandwich down on its wrapper. “You think I should just drop it? Because you know I can’t.”

“I think,” he says slowly, “that maybe you’re starting to forget who you are without him.”

You stiffen. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m not trying to fight,” he says quickly, hands raised in mock surrender. “I just… worry about you.”

“I don’t need you to worry about me,” you reply, more sharply than intended. “I need you to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

He goes quiet, jaw tight. “I do. But you’re not the only one who lost him.”

That lands heavier than either of you expect.

You meet his gaze across the room, his blue eyes darker than usual. His voice is quiet when he adds, “You’re not the only one he left.”

You scoff, standing up from your desk as your chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Satoru shoots back, already irritated. “Tell the truth?”

“No,” you snap, “pretend like you’re the only one allowed to feel hurt by this. That you’re the only one who gets to miss him.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to!” Your voice is rising now, tight with everything you’ve kept in too long. “You act like I’m the one who ruined everything. Like I’m the one who let him walk away.”

Satoru stands too, slow and deliberate. “You think this has been easy for me? You think watching you waste away chasing after someone who chose to leave us is easy?”

You flinch. “He didn’t choose this.”

“Yes, he did,” he growls. “He made a choice. And you can keep romanticizing it all you want, but he left. He left you. He left me. He left all of us.”

You shake your head, fists clenched at your sides. “He wasn’t well, Satoru. He was angry and hurting and—”

“And what?” he cuts you off. “That makes it okay?”

“No! But it makes it understandable!”

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, stepping toward you. “You want so badly for there to be a reason. A good reason. Because otherwise you have to admit the truth — that the person you loved, that we both loved, just… left.”

You’re breathing hard now, eyes stinging. “Stop talking like you know everything.”

“I do know everything,” he says, pointing a finger at you. “I was there. I saw him slipping away while you were too busy pretending everything was still perfect between you two. You didn’t want to see it coming.”

“Of course I didn’t,” you whisper. “Because I thought he loved me enough to stay.”

That silences him.

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and raw.

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, voice softer now — but no less intense. “You still think he would’ve stayed for you.”

You meet his eyes. “Wouldn’t you have?”

And that—more than anything—shakes him.

For a second, neither of you says anything. The silence buzzes, too loud, too full of everything you’ve both refused to say for years.

Then he mutters, voice hollow, “I would’ve burned the world down to make him stay, but that wouldn’t make me any better than him.”

You blink, startled, throat tight. “You think I don’t know that?” Your voice comes out quieter than before, but sharper. “You think I don’t think about that every day? About the people he’s hurt? The villages he’s wiped out? The families?”

Satoru looks at you, jaw set tight. “Then act like it. Because the way you talk about him, like he’s still the boy who used to hold your hand on the train, is fucking delusional.”

“Don’t do that,” you warn. “Don’t stand there and pretend like you don’t miss him too.”

“I do miss him!” Satoru exclaims. “I miss him so goddamn much it makes me sick. But I don’t let that get in the way of what he is now.”

“And what is he now, huh?” your voice rises again, bitter. “A villain? A monster? Just some name on a bounty list?”

Satoru’s eyes narrow. “No. He’s a mass murderer. He kills people, innocent people, just to make a point. He’s not some broken boy who lost his way—he chose this.”

You flinch again, but you don’t back down. “I know. I know that he made a choice. But so did you. You chose to pretend like he doesn’t exist. Like none of it matters.”

“I don’t pretend he doesn’t exist,” Satoru hisses. “I’m the only reason we haven’t had to kill him yet.”

That makes your breath catch.

He steps forward, and this time, his voice is low and furious. “You know how many times I’ve covered for you? How many reports I’ve rewritten? How many people I’ve lied to so no one finds out you’re still chasing him down like it’s a fucking love story instead of a disaster?”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“No,” he says, “you didn’t. But I did it anyway. Because I knew you weren’t ready. Because I thought maybe if I gave you time, you’d see what he is now. That he’s not coming back.”

Your hands tremble. “He left without saying goodbye, Satoru. We never even broke up. I never got closure. I—”

“You think closure matters now?” Satoru snaps. “You think that’s going to fix anything? You think knowing why he walked out is going to un-kill all the people he’s slaughtered?”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Because he's right. And it hurts.

And he sees that hurt, sees the way your shoulders sink under the weight of it.

He softens slightly, but only slightly. “You can love who he was. I get that. But you can’t keep pretending that version of him still exists.”

You look away, voice small. “Get out.”

Satoru freezes.

His jaw tightens, and for a second, it looks like he might argue—but then he sees your eyes. Sees the way you won’t even look at him. The way your hands are clenched tight in your lap, like holding yourself together is the only thing keeping you upright.

He exhales, slow and heavy.

“Fine,” he says quietly. “I’ll go.”

You don’t say anything. Don’t move. Just keep staring at the same spot on the desk, like if you look at him, you’ll shatter.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. There’s a pause near the door, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, say something, anything—but you stay silent.

When the door finally clicks shut behind him, the room feels colder.

You’re alone again.

You brush your hair out of your face, forcing your focus back to the open file on your desk. The words blur together, familiar reports you’ve read three times over, each line pulling less meaning than the last. You try to ignore the silence and the way the argument still hangs in the air.

It’s nearly dusk when you finally close the file. The light filtering in through the windows is soft and orange, the kind that paints the world in gold. Without thinking too hard, you grab your coat.

You need air or space or something else to look at besides the hollow chair in the corner.

You take the train into the city, headphones in, letting the rhythm of the tracks drown your thoughts. You don’t even realize where you’re going until your feet lead you there — the familiar turn, the old stairs, the street that still smells faintly of street food and cigarette smoke.

The same shopping district he used to take you to.

Your pace slows as you step into it, eyes drifting over the stalls. It looks the same. Almost painfully so. The same lights strung above, the same fruit vendor still arguing with the taiyaki cart owner two stalls down. You walk past the old photo booth — the one you once crammed into, laughing too loud as Suguru kissed your cheek between flashes.

A tightness coils in your chest, but you keep moving.

You don’t expect to run into anyone, definitely not him. That’s not why you’re here. But a part of you aches anyway, hopes for something familiar to wrap around you, even if it hurts.

The streets start to empty as the sun dips lower.

That’s when you feel it — a subtle chill in the air. The wrong kind of stillness.

You turn down a quieter alley, and that’s when they come. Curses.

Three of them (maybe four) grotesque, snarling things that creep along the walls and drop down from the rooftops. But they’re weak. Low-level. They barely make you blink.

You exorcise them quickly, efficiently, with your movements fluid and practiced. Almost bored.

But just as the last one dissolves into smoke, your senses prick again — this time sharper. Like the air itself has shifted.

You don’t move right away.

A bead of sweat rolls down your spine despite the cool breeze.

And slowly, from the far end of the alley, something begins to step forward — not clumsy and loud like the curses before, but deliberate.

You don’t see it yet, but you can feel it.

Your hand tightens into a fist and you realize you’re not alone.

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[bueckersbitxh]

she says im 'so american' Ch 3

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chapter master list

pairing: uconn!paige x british OC

summary: As classes start, Paige is Rowan’s own personal ipad kid nightmare, sent by the heavens as a punishment. Rowan finds a groove, school, friends, and familiarity. But Paige is somehow at the center of all of it. one thing leads to another and a drunken confession makes its way into the light. But things are never that simple.

warning: wonderful banter, cursing, suggestive language, alcohol usage, paige being down bad as fuck, rowan being a paige x rowan denier, and me being a dyslexic (sorry).

a/n: this chapter was so fun to write, i’ve already created the entire story line for this fic and this is only the beginning.

———————————————————————————————

The first day of classes snuck up on me like a monster in a haunted house. Being in my senior year isn't too frightening, except I've never studied in the States before, and I'm really not sure what to expect.

However, Uconns campus was a great distraction. As I made my way toward the Austin building for my American Lit class, I couldn't stop glancing around at all the buildings as I walked. The air here was warm but not suffocating, huge oak trees lined the walk the whole way there. Cobblestone pathways lead in different directions to each building, and students rushed all around me. I laughed to myself as I saw a couple of different people wearing Paige's jersey number on their shirts. Campus royalty at its highest.

As I made my way into the building and up the stairs to my class, I entered an auditorium-like classroom, roughly seventy students had already arrived and sat in different seats. I chose the right back corner of the room and climbed the steps to sit down in a row with an open seat on each side of me.

I wasn’t too worried about this class. I’ve read plenty of American lit on my own—and took a few courses back in England. I pulled out my laptop and opened a blank doc. Then a loud thump made me jump. I glanced down to see a black basketball bag dumped at my feet.

Oh, please no.

“What’s up, London?” Paige’s overly chipper voice filled the space as she plopped down beside me. I turned slowly. My face must’ve screamed not again because her grin only got wider.

What did I do in a past life to deserve this? Must’ve been a puppy-murdering Hotspur fan.

“Paige,” I sighed, turning back to my screen. Her blonde hair was loose in waves, casual sweats, and those ridiculous lavender glasses perched on her nose.

“Funny you’re in this class too, huh?”

“Not really,” I said, glancing sideways. “Considering it’s my major.”

She smirked. “You, on the other hand? Yeah, funny you’re stuck here with me.”

Paige bit her cheek, totally unbothered by the jab. “You’re an English major?”

I hummed, leaning back. She grinned. “Perfect then. I suck at English. Still haven’t passed this class—and I’m in my fifth year.”

She said it like a badge of honor. I raised an eyebrow.

“Fifth year?”

“Redshirt senior,” she explained, eyes rolling. “That’s athlete code for staying an extra year after an injury. Missed my whole junior season. Gotta play again.”

I did the math. She’s gotta be twenty-two. That means Briar’s my age—one year younger than Paige.

The professor started talking, and the room quieted down. I sat up straight, focused. I could feel Paige’s eyes on me—definitely not on the lecture. I made a mental note: that’s probably why she keeps failing.

Then the words I dreaded: semester-long partner project.

I tensed. Paige leaned closer, whispering, “So, you wanna hear why you’re gonna be my partner, or just accept your fate now?”

I groaned, dropping my head onto my chest. She laughed softly and muttered, “Thought so.”

Fuck my life.

-------

Paige and I were in the library now, all we needed to do was create an outline for the project together. Just set up a timeline and plot out when we will tackle each section of the presentation. It sounds so easy. And it would be easy if my partner weren't Paige, an ADHD nightmare who's also an iPad kid.

"You're such an ipad kid." I remarked looking at her side ways as she sat across from me. she scoffed glancing up at me.

"Bro, im a scholar using modern day tools to achieve academic success," she replied, offendedly.

"You're coloring a digital sticker book." I deadpanned.

"Its not a sticker book, it is a productivity reward app."

"You never even did anything productive"

"I made a heading for the outline"

"You wrote down 'stuff we should say" I said exasperatedly, dropping my elbows on the table.

"Uh yea...and what goes in a outline?" She asked, leaning forward across the table with raised eyebrows, "Stuff we should say, in the presentation," she replied before sitting back with a big grin.

I stared at her unimpressed, glancing between her and her purple ipad, the way she grasped both ends of it tightly even though it was already propped up with the case.

"You were one of those children who watched YouTube on full volume inside restaurants, weren't you." I squinted. She grinned.

"With my fries and a little cup of ketchup"

"Do you need me to cut up apple slices for you too?"

"Only if you do it with that sexy little accent."

I bit the inside of my mouth to stop my smile, "Unbelievable," I muttered rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, you like it though," Paige finished, before finally reopening the document on her iPad.

A quiet settled over us, finally, as she started typing on her end while I created a calendar for the project. Every now and then, she would move her leg under the table, her shin would brush my calf, or she'd start to bounce her foot while she worked, inadvertently bumping me in the process. I never flinched, just quietly nudged her back under the table. Sometimes she would lean forward and peek over my computer screen to see how much I had gotten done.

"Are you seriously competing with me right now to see who finishes faster."

"One, thats what she said, and two, yes." Paige grinned at her joke while nodding her head once.

"Such an athlete," I scoffed, looking back down at my laptop so she wouldn't see my smile. She saw it anyway.

It surprised me how easily we fell into a teasing groove with each other, like that first night between us never happened. Except for when I start to remember it very well did happen.

I glanced up at Paige then, her eyebrows were drawn together as she focused on what she was doing. She had MY pencil drawn between her teeth, the pencil she snatched from my side of the table, regardless of the fact that she didn't need it. I tried to focus, glancing back down at my laptop, but my eyes moved without my permission. I looked up again, eyes zeroing in on her mouth and the way the pencil rested between her lips.

"You're staring" Paige muttered without looking up at me.

I jumped softly, looking down immediately, "I'm not staring, I'm zoning out....you just happen to be in my way."

Paige grinned, dropping the pencil from her teeth, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, sparks".

I huffed, leaning back in my chair some more and refocusing on the document. This project was going to be an absolute failure, that's for sure.

--------

The next few days slipped by without too much drama. Classes went okay, and I finally found my rhythm—me, my notes, and an impressive caffeine intake.

But Paige? She was like a human mosquito buzzing around my focus.

During lectures, she’d elbow me at the exact moment the professor dropped some complicated theory—like she knew I needed distracting.

She muttered sarcastic comments loud enough for me to hear but too quiet to get caught, usually about how “thrilling” early American poetry is.

"If this poem had a heartbeat, it'd be flatlining." She deadpanned one day.

I choked on the coffee I was drinking.

Having Paige in my class was annoying and exhausting. But also charming and infuriatingly cute.

------------

By the time the third week of classes rolled around, I was head over heels with my life in America. Briar and I continued to bond, eating dinner together almost every night, sometimes joined by kk and ice (and maybe Paige), she took me shopping on the weekends, claiming I needed to experience the 'American mall'. Which I will say, the soft pretzels they sell are otherworldly.

All in all, everything was going well; the pain and sorrow I’d brought with me from England had begun to dissolve, as if softened by distance. I spoke to my mum at least twice a week, keeping her updated on my American adventures (her words, not mine).

But still, something tugged at the back of my mind like a constant shadow, or should I say someone. Paige was everywhere, all the time. And by everywhere, I do mean everywhere. If she wasn't beside me in class, she was with me in the library, if she wasn't there, she was in my apartment with the team, and when I was finally alone, her freaking face was plastered on posters around campus.

Flashbacks of that night with Paige hit me like tidal waves—unexpected and relentless. They came in shards: a stolen glance across a crowded room, the ghost of a touch lingering on my skin, the sudden rush of a feeling I tried to bury deep. Sometimes they arrived in dreams, vivid and raw, pulling me back to moments I thought I’d locked away. No matter how hard I tried, those memories refused to stay quiet, crashing through the calm I fought to keep.

I told myself it didn't matter, it was just a physical attraction. Anyone would be attracted to paige, she's funny, driven, beautiful inside and out, it was normal. On top of that, the chemistry we had together that night was intense; of course, I thought about it. Again, totally normal.

The mantra that it was normal is what i needed to keep repeating in my mind if I was going to survive my current situation; Game Night.

Wanna know the most entertaining and stressful thing you could ever do? Ask a friend group full of competitive basketball players to play Uno, the drinking version, on a Saturday night.

Pure Fucking Chaos.

Paige was hosting game night at her and Janas' apartment, the whole gang was here, including some new players I had recently met, Azzi, Kaitlyn, Sarah and Aubrey.

We were all in their living room, sitting around the coffee table as Kk dealt out cards. I was sitting between Aubrey and Paige on the couch. Once we all had our cards, the game moved fast, cards were slammed down on the table with much more force than necessary, and emotional betrayal was handed out in the form of plus-four cards. Insults and exasperated lies were shouted out repetitively, as the rules were that every time you draw a card, you take a drink.

"Skip my turn? thats COLD bro, COLD." Paige yelled.

"Im gonna flip this fucking table." Ice.

"UNO and don't forget it," KK.

"Whoever invented this game obviously hates fun" Azzi.

"Nah, bro, you're CHEATING, stop looking at my cards," Jana.

When it got to my turn everyone 'oohed' as Aubrey laid down a draw four card before me. I smirked to myself preparing for chaos as I played my next card.

"Stacked," I said calmly, as I laid down a draw four card to match Aubrey's.

Paige was next, now with a draw eight against her.

A beat of silence—and then chaos. Screaming. Groaning. Someone fake-fainted onto the carpet.

“Eight cards?! Rowan, you’re a menace!” “Friendship ended. Right here.” “We’re not recovering from this!”

In the middle of the uproar, Paige leaned in close, her voice low and razor sharp—meant for no one else but me.

"This is what I get in return for making you cum five times in a row, huh?".

I coughed loudly as Paige smirked around the rim of her cup, chugging the entire thing down instead of taking eight sips. I blushed scarlet as I looked down, praying no one in the room noticed and then thanking the heavens Briar couldn't be here tonight due to work.

That was the first time Paige had acknowledged our hook-up since the day I moved in. I took a large gulp of my drink.

"Damn Rowan that was cold as hell" Aubrey said from beside me, talking about the card game. I shrugged my shoulders innocently.

"I don't do losing."

"Did you play sports in school perchance?" Azzi asked softly from across the table, her words slightly blurred together from alcohol.

"Soccer" I nodded, finally catching on to the American word for it. Sick of everyone always thinking I mean American football when I say it the Brit way.

"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense," Kk nodded enthusiastically from her spot.

"Oh my god, you're right," Azzi said, "You scream 'midfield aggression". She said, putting her hands in the air to emphasize the words. I let out a loud laugh at that, mainly because it didnt make any sense.

"Oh please, she does not scream 'aggressive' anything," Paige scoffed, leaning back.

I whipped around to face her, "Excuse you," I said, offended. She grinned widely.

"Sweetheart, nothing you say in that little accent sounds dominant in any way."

Across the table, quiet and indiscreetly, Kk's eyes widened as she glanced sideways at Sarah, "She's flirting," Kk mouthed. Sarah snorted. "You're just now noticing?"

I opened my mouth, the retort right on the tip of my tongue, 'Oh yeah? That's not what you said when I topped you.' Paige was looking at me like she was daring me to say it, like she could read my mind right now.

I stopped myself remembering we had an audience, "Yea Bueckers? well nothing you do on the court screams 'point guard', it mostly screams cardio with commitment issues."

Laughs exploded from everyone.

"Damn P she clocked your ass"

"No way you're gonna sit there and just take that."

Page's mouth fell slack as she looked at me, but even slack-jawed she couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from turning up. Her eyes were glossy from the alcohol, and her cheeks were flushed. She looked unreal.

"Well damn, who knew that accent came with a bite" She leaned forward on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. Her arm brushed against mine with the movement.

The game night continued on with that same fire, and I sat beside Paige, trying to ignore the fire igniting under my skin with every brush of her thigh against mine.

The best part of the game, though? The comments Paige muttered under her breath that were only for me to hear, a secret between us.

"Careful, you're getting cocky. its cute you think you could beat me"

"If I lose, i'm blaming your witchy British energy."

"You're lucky I like girls who play mean."

And with every comment she threw my way I threw one back, just as hushed, just as private, just as ours.

"Careful, you keep talking and I'm gonna start to think you enjoy the punishment."

"You always this mouthy when you're losing?"

"You play uno the way you play basketball- loud and slightly confused."

The last card hit the pile with a dramatic slap. I grinned triumphantly as Paige groaned, her remaining cards fanning out in surrender.

"That’s it," Paige muttered, slouching back dramatically. "I’ve been publicly humiliated by a British export with a god complex.”

"Careful," I said, swirling the last of the drink in my glass, "you’re starting to sound impressed."

"Worried, actually. I think I’m developing a thing for brutal women with accents."

I smirked—but the alcohol made me hold the eye contact longer than I should have. Paige didn’t look away either.

Around us, the group had descended into that warm, hazy state of laughter and yawns. Someone was lying halfway off the couch. Someone else was loudly attempting to order pizza at 1:17 a.m. with a coupon that had expired in 2019.

Jana yawned. "Alright, no one’s driving anywhere. Everyone just crash here. There’s a couch, two air mattresses, and then me and Paige both have room in our rooms too."

Jana said it so casually, because why wouldn't she? It was totally normal to sleep in a bed with your friends.

Yea unless you recently fucked said friend in said bed.

"Okay, but Rowan, you're with Paige. I am not sleeping with her again, bitch snores." Kk said loudly before flopping on the couch. Sarah rolled her eyes, apparently the only one knowing exactly what kk was doing.

My heart stalled. Paige looked over, one eyebrow raised, a slow smirk creeping in like she knew exactly what kk had just done—without knowing.

“Plenty of room,” Paige said casually, voice rich with something dangerous. “She can take the bed. I’m good on the floor.”

I gave her a look. “That’s not even remotely convincing.”

Paige grinned, tipsy and a little too confident. “Didn’t say I’d stay on the floor.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again, because honestly? I had no idea what I was going to say.

The game was over. But the real one was just beginning.

------

As I followed Paige into her room, the smell of mint and vanilla hit me all at once, and suddenly I was right back at that night again. But this time the memories were softer, an image of the hushed words we shared in between rounds whirled around me.

I laid on my side facing paige, clothes strung everywhere, both of our faces flushed from alcohol and sex. The sheet was pulled over my chest, as Paige laid on her stomach, the sheet rested lowly right above the swell of her ass. I ran my fingers lightly up and down her spine, her head was facing me, hair fanned out on the pillow, lazy grin on her face.

"So.. do you sleep on the left side of the bed too, ya know, since you drive on that side."

"Paige..that doesn't make a single bit of sense?" I said back around a laugh. her grin widened.

"Its a valid question."

"god help me as I enter the American education system that created you."

"Yeah, me, who just had you screaming all of five minutes ago."

I scoffed, flicking her spine with my hand. She laughed, rolling over in a flash to grasp my wrist. And before I knew it she was on me again.

"Rowan", Paige snapped her fingers in front of my face. I jumped backwards, blinking, as my memories faded into nothing again.

"What?" I hummed, looking at her. Paige furrowed her eyebrows at me before repeating herself.

"I asked if you were sure you didn't mind sleeping in the bed with me" She repeated, "I was joking earlier, i will sleep on the floor if you want."

Something deep inside me warmed at the offer, and I shook my head no, "No, it's fine, I mean it's not a big deal." She hummed in response before walking toward her dresser.

She pulled out an old basketball tee first then turned to look at me, "do you sleep in shorts or pants?" she asked.

"Shorts is fine"

She noded, pulling out a pair of boxers to go with the shirt before handing them to me. "Here, you can change in the bathroom if you want."

I nodded and walked to the ensuite bathroom, closing the door behind me. I rested my back against the door and took a deep breath in. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Was I back in the bedroom that got me into this mess? Yes

Was paige outside this door looking ridiculously too attractive for my drunk mind to comprehend? also yes

Would I survive sleeping in a bed with her without fucking up the friendship I have going with my roommate? God send me help.

I changed into her clothes quickly, warmth spreading over my bones as the smell of her embraced me. When I opened the bathroom door Paige was sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through her phone, dressed in a black sports bra and a pair of basketball shorts. She looked up at me and stilled momentarily. Her eyes moved up and down over me slowly.

"Mhm, that's definetly not how I looked when I wore that, but I'm not mad about it." she said, a smirk ever present on her face. I rolled my eyes walking toward the other side of the bed.

"Is flirting your default setting or is it just a me thing?."

"nah, it's just you, London."

I huffed, running my tongue across my teeth to hide my smile. I climbed into the bed and moved the pillows around, and Paige did the same. It wasn't long before we got settled, both lying on our backs looking up at the ceiling.

I let myself lay there, the alcohol still buzzing under my skin, my heartbeat finally began to slow, as the room became enveloped in a quiet hum. The ceiling fan made a clicking noise with every spin. Page's shoulder brushed against mine as she moved around in her spot.

Neither of us spoke.

Maybe it was the way her teasing remarks from earlier still played in a loop in my mind, or the way I could feel the heat of her body beside me, so close but not touching. Or maybe it really was just the alcohol, but the next words fell out of my mouth in a whisper before I could stop them.

"I think about that night... sometimes"

Paige became even more still, if that were possible. It felt like her breathing stopped, but she didnt move, didnt speak.

"try not to, but-" I mumbled, but cut myself off with a sigh. " It doesn't matter". I shook my head, regretting my words instantaneously. But all it took was one sentence from paige for my heart to stop in my chest.

"I remember everything."

I let the words roll through my body, praying to anything above to store that sentence into my bones. To never let this moment, this memory, escape me. The soft sound of her voice, the slight crack in the word 'everything'.

I closed my eyes, gently taking it all in, until my breathing evened out, and sleep overcame me.

------

The next morning I woke up in Paige Bueckers arms for the second time, but this time I didnt panic. I let myself enjoy it for a minute only. Enjoy the way her body fit behind mine like a puzzle peice, the feeling of her nose pressed against the base of my neck, her breaths coming out in soft huffs. Her leg was slotted between mine, making sure our hips were flush together.

Her arm was heavy on my waist, but tight, holding me closer to her like she knew it would be the only time she could. I closed my eyes willing myself to memorize this feeling, before slowly dragging myself out of her hold.

I moved softly and slowly, replacing my body with a pillow for her to hold. And for the second time this month, I left her room dressed in her clothes, with a weighted feeling nagging at my bones. The words of last nights drunken confession wafted through the air, circling around my head.

I pushed them down because it didn't matter; if there was one thing in this world that I could not have, it was Paige Bueckers.

———————————————————————————————

[oh-no-its-bird]

wait I don’t know much about Naruto, what does it mean to be a senju? also im glad ur back hopefully things get better for u!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

!! Hi !! I'm assuming you come from Working For The Knife, in which case: A quick Senju crash-course for you!

Basically, way back in the day, during the Warring States period, before there were any Shinobi villages, there were these two Shinobi clans— The Uchiha, aka the emo fire guys, and the Senju, aka the plant people. And they fucking HATED each other.

I'm talking we-will-murder-and-torture-your-children levels of hatred, like, they had designated "child hunting squads" and everything. And these two clans had been fighting for so long that they didn't even know why they were fighting anymore— this was just all they knew how to do.

And the one day, the young sons of the two clan heads, Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama met and became friends. They both kinda used their context clues and realized the other was an Uchiha/Senju, but decided to pretend that they hadn't realized so they could keep playing together. They became #besties4evr and talked about things like how adults are STUPID and war is BAD and wouldn't it be cool if all the clans lived in one big village together and no child ever had to die in their senseless wars ever again?

And then their dads found them and we're like "god fucking dammit, not this peace shit again." And made them break up the friendship. Rip !!

So time skip and now Madara and Hashirama are adults and the new clan heads, and like every day they go to the battlefield and Hashirama is like "MAAADARAAAAAA IM SORRY I CALLED YOU A PISS BABY WHEN WE WERE 10 CAN WE PRETTY PLEASE MAKE PEACE NOW" and Madara is like "STOP TRYING TO TALK TO ME WHEN IM TRYING TO KILL YOU!!!!" And Hashirama is like "BUT WHAT ABOUT OUR DREAMS OF A SHINOBI VILLAGE :(((" and Madara is like "GO FUCK YOURSELF, LEAVES FOR BRAINS!!!" and everyone else on the battlefield is like "I sure am glad they fight each other bc individually either of them could fucking flatten like, the entire enemy team with their insane OP powers, but also I really wish they'd shut the fuck up sometimes"

So then one day Hashirama's younger brother (aka his only remaining brother bc all the others were killed by child hunting squads) actually manages to kill Madara's younger brother (also his only remaining brother bc all the others were killed by child hunting squads) and Madara like, totally loses his shit about it. I mean, valid crash out tho, but also like, skill issue idk.

And so the Senju end up cornering Madara and it looks like this is FINALLY the end of the Uchiha— only then Hashirama is like "ummm so I knoooww I'm supposed to kill you now,,, but what about,, peace,, instead,," and Madara goes "holy shit KILL YOURSELF 11!!1!1!1!!!!" and then Hashirama actually DOES IT !!!! Or at least he tries to, bc Madara stops him, and is like "woawh. Ur scinserity has proven urself..to me....maybe we will have our peace..."

(In the bg all the Senju are screaming and crying and throwing up btw)

So anyways then they form ✨Konoha✨ aka the village hidden in the leaves and it's THE first Shinobi village ever. And it's like, so cool that soon everyone else is trying to copy them but that's not really the point of this crash-course.

(Years later Madara betrays the village and tries to blow up Hashirama only for Hashirama to kill him, but that's also not really the point of this crash course)

But anyways yeah, the Senju! They are important because they are a founding clan of Konoha, and because the very first Hokage (aka ninja president) was Hashirama. So they have a lot of political pull.

Also their special bloodline limit is this insanely powerful ability to control plants called mokuton, but it only shows up in like. One in a million of them, and Hashirama was the last one to be born with it in generations. (IGNORING the test tube babies growing under Konoha to try and artificially make someone w the power. And also freaky still secretly alive Madara in his little old man freak cave who stole the mokuton via biting?? Hashirama?? And like grafting his flesh to his titty?? Pop off, king, I guess)

In modern day Konoha (aka when the fic is set) there's literally like. One Senju left. Her name is Tsunade and she's actually Hashirama's granddaughter, but she fucking ditched the village bc her boyfriend died and also her brother died and also her teammate turned evil— but to be fair he only turned evil after she left, so, yk, semantics. She's like recognized as the greatest healer in the world but is also scared of blood now bc of her trauma. Skill issue !!!

There are like a handful of characters who are theorized/head cannoned as Senju— be it half, secret bastards, or otherwise —but I'm p sure Tsunade is the only confirmed last living Senju to still have the name. Rip her!!

I don't think we're ever really told what the fuck happened to the rest of the Senju?? But they aren't around anymore, sooo...?? A popular theory I've seen is that Hashirama had them all marry out to help promote village unity— which is actually incredibly concerning and pretty fucked up when you think about it for longer than 20 seconds. But, yk. Naruto !! Everything is incredibly concerning and pretty fucked up when you think about it for longer than 20 seconds in Naruto! I heart my silly ninjas !!!!

But yeah !! Senju crash course !! There's like some other lore stuff, especially when it comes to their history to the Uchiha clan and how Hashirama/Madara are like reincarnations of the ancient brothers who first began the feud between the Senju and Uchiha— but that's like. The main stuff.

Still assuming you're coming from Working for the Knife here, what this means for the fic is that SQH was born the son of a well respected and talented master blacksmiths daughter and the bastard son of their sworn enemy clan. And like, things have gotten a LOT better between the clans, but there's still some bad blood among the elders of the clans— and the fact that he was a bastard was also kinda ehhh to the elders as well. Elders of which Houhua's grandmother was one of, bc she was born in the warring states era (which really wasn't that long ago)

Thank you for the ask and I hope this helps!!!

[petalborn]

okay hear me out steve with a foot fetish or in other words he helps paint your toe nails and realizes he actually likes it a lot

i hear you and i raise you steve being a little obvious about his attraction to your feet

when you found out about it, half of you thought it was a joke. i mean, of course you played into it because really, you’d let steve do just about anything to you. though when it came to this interest of his, there wasn’t much he did.

he’d paint your nails so he could take his time massaging your feet. going to the bathroom shortly after to jerk off about the sighs and moans that slipped from you when he rubbing his thumbs into the arches. he dressed your pretty ankle up in an anklet that carried the initials s.h. so he could kiss over the thin metal chain while he fucked you. sometimes, you’d lay your feet in his lap while the two of you hung out on the couch and you’d feel him start to stir. his hand lazily dragging over your socked feet, cock stiffening in his jeans underneath.

today was one of those days where this seemed to be happening. the two of you laid up in your normal position, except today you didn’t have your usual fuzzy socks on. something about that was driving steve insane. poor guy could hardly focus on whatever was playing on the tv. his cock hardening to the point of discomfort but he didn’t wanna move. wanted to keep you as close to him as possible. wanted to continue to fixate.

steve wasn’t ever stealth about his staring. you were always waiting for him to finally fess up to you that he wanted more than foot massages— but that never seemed to happen. he was more apprehensive about it than you were.

you caught him staring harder than usual, felt the heat of the bulge emanating through the denim that covered him and decided to have a bit of fun. stirring in your position a bit you landed the ball of your foot flat against his covered bulge. the close contact pulling a stifled couch from him as he tried to keep his very poor poker face straight.

“you okay, stevie?” you hummed, still facing the tv, watching him through your peripheral.

“what?” he spoke, thighs flexing under your legs. “oh yeah, im good. are you?”

you only nodded to his question, feigning a great amount of focus on the movie he’d chosen. waiting a few minutes before moving again, this time pressing your foot into the rough denim. he’d started to settle, silently willing his cock to soften but you’d quickly ruined that.

he made a little noise this time—like a broken breath, a hiccup of want. you smirked, turning your face slightly toward him, enough that he’d see the curve of your lips but not the full satisfaction on your face.

“you sure, stevie?” you asked again, your voice honey sweet. “you’re moving a lot for someone who’s good.”

“jesus,” he muttered under his breath, one hand flying up to scrub through his hair, the other gripping your ankle like he was debating whether to shove you away or pull you in. “you’re such a tease.”

“you’ve never complained before.” you bent your knee a little, dragging your foot slowly, deliberately up and down his bulge. he sucked in a sharp breath.

“fuck, okay—stop,” he said suddenly, voice strained.

you paused, brows lifting. “stop?”

“just..” steve closed his eyes, jaw tight. “i’m gonna embarrass myself if you keep doing that.”

you sat up slightly, tilting your head at him. “steve,” you said, and his eyes cracked open. “why don’t you just tell me what you want?”

he looked like he wanted the couch to swallow him whole. “it’s stupid.”

“you’ve literally had your dick pressed against my foot for ten minutes. it’s not stupid. just say it.”

he groaned and let his head fall back against the cushions. “i wanna fuck your feet,” he said, fast, like he was ripping off a band-aid. “jesus. there, i said it.”

your stomach fluttered. “see? not stupid at all.”

he peeked at you, wary. “you’re not freaked out?”

you moved to straddle his hips, keeping your feet tucked up between his thighs as you leaned over him. “stevie,” you said, kissing just below his ear. “you’ve painted my toes. kissed every inch of my feet. bought me anklets like they were lingerie. and now you’re hard as a rock under me ‘cause i touched you with them. why would i be freaked out?”

his hands found your hips, holding you tight. “you’re seriously okay with it?”

“more than okay.” you smirked and slid down his body, settling between his legs, your hands going to his waistband. “now shut up and take your jeans off.”

[saffronish]

I love Destiel cuddles in bed about as much as the next person but I also can't stop thinking about Destiel and bickering in bed... Arguing about whose turn it is to get up and turn off the main light cause they both forgot about it when they first lay down and now they're too lazy to move. elbowing each other to budge over when it gets too hot or tugging at the blankets for one more square inch cause its so cold. "stop hogging all the blankets cas, its freezing over here" "im not hogging them you have a perfectly acceptable amount" "you're literally lying on half of them!" "I am not you're exaggerating" Sniping to each other about the most random thing that happened earlier in the day that either one or the other still hasn't forgotten about. dean trying to eat snacks on the bed but cas not letting him cause he doesn't like it when crumbs are left all over the place. Eventually dean convinces cas that the comfort is worth the effort of cleaning up afterwards but they still bicker over it occasionally. randomly arguing about music preferences. cas waking dean up in the middle of the night to tell him about a dream he had and dean groaning in exhaustion but letting him talk anyway even though he's barely listening, cause cas always sounds so awed and excited when talking about his dreams.

cas keeps bringing his books to bed because he loves reading late into the night (which is why he wakes up so late in the morning) and dean just wants to sleep but he cant cause the light's still on on cas' side. so dean pointedly nudges cas' foot with his own but cas ignores him. "come on cas' we have an early morning tomorrow jus sleep already" "no i'm at the best part stop talking" "caaaass ur killing me from sleep deprivation" "that's ridiculous, dean" dean tries to grab the book from cas' hands but cas immediately turns around to face the other side cause this has happened so many times before that he has started to expect dean's movements. dean's used to this as well tho so all he does is sit up abruptly and pluck the book out of cas' hands, snap it shut and bonk cas on the head with it. cas yelps and tries to get it back by turning back around, leaning over dean and reaching for it but dean's holding it above his head so he can't. cas ends up tryna pull deans arm down and they start playfully insulting each other "you're getting old, old man... cant even reach over me" "shut up, dean. i could push you over the edge if i wanted to" "oh yeah? try it" "is that a challenge?" and then they start fake wrestling and the book ends up on the floor and cas notices so he immediately flops himself over the edge of the bed tryna get it back but dean keeps pulling him back by the torso while muttering expletives under his breath because cas is heavier then he looks. the expletives eventually give way to whining about late nights and health problems and research they have to do in the morning. cas finally gives up and halfheartedly slaps at dean arm which is now pinning him down to keep him from moving. Eventually they fall asleep on their respective sides because now they're both hot and rly tired but they always wake up mashed together in the middle with their limbs all tangled so it doesn't matter in the end.

Sam can't sleep at night anymore cause of the noise (which he doesn't want to think about the origin of too closely even tho it's usually innocent). He moves to a bedroom further away from dean and cas' after about a week.

[ummitscalledcoping]

regulus dramatically slams open the door to the gryffindor dormitory looking for sirius, only to find a bewildered looking remus sitting in bed with a book.

tears are already welling in his eyes and his lips start trembling as he realizes his big brother isn’t there to comfort him.

he starts to cry and remus quickly hops off his bed and limps over to regulus, foregoing his cane. he pulls the small boy into his chest as full out sobs wrack through his body.

“reggie, what’s wrong?” he asks gently once sobs ease to weak sniffles.

he guides regulus over to his bed and sits on the edge, pivoting his body so he’s sitting cross legged facing the younger boy.

he doesn’t expect regulus to crawl right into his lap, but he wraps him up tight in his arms as he cries some more.

“i—hic—wore a really cute and really slutty outfit yesterday—hic—and nobody said anything about it,” regulus pouts.

remus blanches for a moment, not expecting that, but recovers quickly.

“sweetheart, do you not know how hot you are?”

regulus lifts his head from where it was buried in remus’s chest and stares at him indignantly, tears streaking his ruddy cheeks.

“well obviously i know i’m stupid hot, but i need to make sure everyone else knows it to”

remus gapes, unsure how to respond.

“ugh! you don’t get it,” regulus groans, slumping back against remus’s chest.

he pauses for a moment before lifting a tentative hand to stroke regulus’s curls.

“no, i suppose i don’t. but clearly you’re upset about it. could you help me understand?”

his voice is soft and regulus can’t help but feel warm and fluttery despite wanting to bury himself in existencial anger and moan about how no one understands him.

“it’s just…yeah i’m hot now. i mean i guess i always was pretty—you know, black family genes and all that—but that’s just it. i was a pretty girl. but being pretty didn’t make up for the fact that i was so awkward and different from all the other kids.”

remus could relate to that.

“and then when i started to transition it just made me more different which only made me even more awkward because i never knew how to act to get people to like me.”

he tenses in remus’s arms then pulls away slightly, staring resolutely in his lap as he fidgets with his hands.

“it was too hard. nothing i ever did seemed good enough so i just stopped trying,” he huffed wryly. “and wouldn’t you know, once i stopped trying to fit in and just focused on being myself, that’s when everyone started to like me.”

remus looks him up and down in surprise. he’s never heard regulus be anything but unapologetically confident. he didn’t even think he could feel insecure, but of course he does.

“anyways. i’ve gotten to a point finally where im comfortable with myself and i actually feel good and right in my body. and like, objectively i know i’m hot. but… i don’t know. i feel so egotistical for saying any of this—”

“you’re not.”

“—it’s just… sometimes i feel like im still just that weird girl.”

“oh reg…”

his cold detached mask slips back on so fast it looks jarring against his tear stained cheeks. remus flounders for a second before finding his words.

“you’re not—that. no one sees you like that, and i’m sorry anyone ever did. you’re just—you’re like so hot and so confident all the time—or at least you seem like you are—it’s kind of intimidating. i think people are just afraid to say anything because they’ll think you’ll think they’re weird. or they just assume you already know and probably hear it all the time.”

regulus shrugs, then lets out a suffering sigh.

“yeah, i guess that makes sense. i’m just being stupid about all this.”

“no, reg, you’re not.”

remus grabs his chin gently between his fingers and tilts his head up so regulus will look at him when he says it.

regulus stares back with big watery eyes and remus has to fight the urge to look away.

“do you think i’m hot, remus?”

his eyebrows shoot to his hairline as he fumbles for a response.

“oh, well i—i mean you’re—obviously i think you’re—i’ve never said anything because sirius would kill me and i didn’t want to make you uncomfortable—but i mean, i… yeah. yes. definitely, of course reg, i think you’re…” he sucks in a sharp breath, letting the next word tumble out on the exhale. “beautiful.”

remus watches a deep blush spread across reg’s cheeks and thinks he might combust right there.

“you do?”

“yeah. i do.”

“i think you’re beautiful too.”

the words hit him with such force that he chokes on the air they’ve traveled.

“you what?” he gawked. “ahh you’re just saying that…”

“are you calling me a liar?” regulus narrows his gaze.

“what?! no! i—just don’t understand how you think that.”

“it’s quite easy actually. you should try it sometime.”

remus searched his eyes for any sign of jest or flattery and finds none.

he swallows the lump in his throat.

“yeah, maybe i will…”

[heartofwritiing]

Oh why can’t he just bore me to death?

Summary: In which you and wilbur live in the same apartment building and one day your boyfriend complains that he can’t sleep due to the noise through the thin walls. Reluctantly, you go over to tell them to quiet down. It’s then that you meet wilbur for the first time. Inspired by Maybe I was Boring By Wilbur Soot & Oh Yeah You Gonna Cry? By Lovejoy

parings: musicianbur x fem!reader, fem!reader x boyfriend.

note on text: I have had this idea lying around in my drafts since about December 2022! (I know, it’s been so fucking long) it’s kinda set around when lovejoy first started doing shows, man i miss those days. it was originally going to be a series but I really wanted to write it so i shortened it to one fic. I genuinely love the idea, sorry if it’s kinda fast paced, messy, and long but i really hope you guys like it!

warnings: the reader is in a toxic unhappy relationship, cheating, angst, fluff, flirting, swearing, emotional, kissing, Im like super self projecting with this one so bare with me lol. unedited!

"If that wanker across the hall doesn’t stop I swear-"

Your boyfriend, Jared, complains for what seems like the 100th time this week. Honestly, the noise didn't bother you at all. You had gotten used to it. Living in this apartment building for the past year, you’ve come to realize the neighbor across the hall was in a band, and they would practice three times a week. But the thing was with this old building was that the walls were so thin. Hence the noise.

Having moved in with you just a month ago, your boyfriend wasn't thrilled about it. He needs to wake up early for his accounting job, and sometimes the late-night activities of the neighbors band practice kept him up for hours. You however loved it. It felt like having a personal concert in your own home, and you couldn't complain about that.

Jared sighs exasperatedly next to you in bed, tossing and turning. You were curled up with the book you were currently reading, and you peered at him from the corner of your eye.

"Jare, could you try and relax, please," you ask calmly. "Im sure they will be done soon."

He continues his rant, ignoring your words. Huffing and puffing.

"You should go over there before I do." he grits.

You frown. Knowing that you'll never hear the end of this and being in no mood to argue, you let out a tired sigh. You place your bookmark between the pages of your book and set it on your nightstand. Then, you pull the covers off your body, carefully maneuver out of bed, slip on your slippers, and exit the bedroom.

"Be right back."

Jared just gives a dismissive noise and rolls over.

You walk to your front door, open it, and step out into the fluorescent-lit hallway. Instantly, the sound of guitars mixed with a cajon becomes louder. You pause for a moment to listen. You get lost in the music, but then quickly remember that you were supposed to ask them to quiet down. Leaving your door ajar, you step over to the adjacent door and reluctantly press the doorbell a couple of times so they can hear it. Standing there with your arms crossed over your chest, you wait.

The sounds suddenly cease, and you catch snippets of incoherent chatter from the other side. Footsteps approach the door, and after a moment, it swings open. A man with a thick beard stands before you, his brow furrowed in confusion at the sight of you at the door.

"Are you a neighbour?" he asks, leaning against the threshold.

"I live across the hall," you nod.

He turns back around and shouts for someone, then turns back to you.

"Sorry, I don't live here, Im Joe." he introduces.

Before you can introduce yourself, a tall man with glasses perched on his nose approaches. He glances at you before switching places with Joe. After stepping away from the threshold, he goes back inside and informs the man that you are a neighbor.

"What can I do you for?" The stranger who you assumed was your actual neighbour questions.

He gazes down at you and suddenly, you're very aware you are standing in the middle of the hallway in just your shorts and tank top, and you feel a bit awkward.

"Do you think you could tone the noise down?" you ask politely shrinking into yourself.

God you sound like an old lady.

He crosses his arms with a teasing smile appearing on his lips.

"And why should I do that, darling?" he drawls, leaning against the doorframe.

A warm rush spreads across your cheeks at the name. It lingers in the air, the way it flowed from his lips, wrapped in a charming accent that made your heart race for a fleeting moment. As you blink away the surprise, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself to regain your focus.

"My boyfriend is trying to sleep, and I would really appreciate it if you could," you say.

You see the expression falter on his face for a moment. You try not to think anything of it, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment, so you both stand there in awkward silence.

"Look, I really don't mind it. I've been living here for a year listening to you guys, and I think you sound amazing-"

"You think so?" he implores with a smile.

“yeah,” You nod shyly.

"Well, thank you darling. It's nice to know someone appreciates the music." he says, probably referring to the several noise complaints he most likely gets nightly.

That damn name again.

"-But he's driving me mad with his complaining," you sigh.

Lately, Jared has transformed significantly since he moved in with you, and the shift in your relationship has been stark. In the early days, he was charming and affectionate, and that made your heart feel light. However, over the past month, something has changed; he now exhibits a troubling combination of laziness, indifference, and emotional distance. The vibrant spark that once defined your connection had dimmed. Leaving you feeling confused. You find yourself questioning whether you said or did something to provoke this change in him. Despite your relentless support and deep empathy. You don't see how any of that could change his behavior towards you.

He looks you in the eye, and you can tell the gears are shifting in his brain as he tilts his chin up.

"Well, what's in this for me?" he teases.

You stand there, momentarily speechless, as a whirlwind of thoughts fills your mind. Your heart races, caught in confusion and intrigue. A guilt tugs at you for even finding this stranger attractive, yet there’s an undeniable charm about him that makes it hard to dismiss your feelings. His smile holds a magnetic allure, and the warmth of his brown eyes draws you in despite the nagging thought that it might be wrong. You remind yourself that you have a boyfriend, but the tension between attraction and loyalty leaves you feeling conflicted.

"Couldn't you just do it for the sake of being neighborly?" you wondered, trying to shake your thoughts.

The man hums, like he’s lost in a thought before he peers down at you through the top of his glasses.

"Tell you what, you come to our next gig, and I'll promise to keep practice to a minimum so your boyfriend can get his beauty sleep," he vows.

You flashed a grateful smile at the stranger, a wave of relief flooding through you as you realized you wouldn’t have to engage in a conflict. The tension that had coiled tightly in your chest began to loosen, replaced by a sense of calm.

"Thank you!” You clasped your hands together. "and yeah, I'd love to!"

"Great! Let me give you my number, and I'll text you the details."

He was giving you his phone number. He’s your neighbor and is just being nice. There's no harm in that, right?

Realizing you had left your phone by the bedside, you decided to put your number in his phone instead. You entered your digits into his contacts while feeling his gaze on you with every click of the keyboard. Surprisingly, it wasn’t an unwanted stare; it made you feel a wave of butterflies. Once you finished, you handed the device back to him.

His eyes scanned over the contact name, and you almost swear you see his eyes light up.

"Well, it's lovely to finally meet you, y/n," he says. "Im Wilbur, or Will, you can call me what you like."

"Nice to meet you, Will," you reply.

With that, you both step back into your apartments, still lingering in the air. As you gently close the door behind you, a smile spreads across your face that makes your cheeks hurt. The sound of the latch clicking echoed in the quiet hallway.

As you paced back to your bedroom, thoughts of Jared filled your mind, and you quickly wiped the giddy expression off your face. He was already snoring, sprawled out on the bed. You sighed and climbed back into your side, pulling the covers up around you. Just as you were about to close your eyes, a soft ping sounded from your phone on the nightstand. You picked it up and saw a message from an unknown number, but deep down, you already knew who it was.

Don't let the bed bugs bite.

You giggled and quickly added the contact to your list. With that, you shot a quick next of 'night' you drifted off into sleep.

Two weeks later, after becoming friends with Will across the hall. You both had a habit of running into each other. Whether it was one of you coming home and the other leaving or vice versa. You both ended up chatting more and more.

You were starting to form a little crush on him. You knew it was unacceptable, but he was nice to you compared to the way you had been treated lately. It felt good to have someone who could be considered a friend.

One day, as you were about to enter your apartment after a long day at work, you struggled to find your keys in your purse while juggling two bags of groceries. Just then, Wilbur stepped out of his door and noticed your predicament, greeting you with a warm smile.

“Hey y/n,”

You turn around from scouring inside your bag and smile at the familiar voice.

Noticing his attire you can’t help but think how nice he looks. A navy blue pullover, adored with black pants and Doc Martens, and his round glasses sitting on his nose. His curly hair was a little messy as he ran a hand through it.

“what’s up Will,” you say.

He walks over to you and takes the grocery bag from your arm, noticing that you’re struggling. You thank him while finally retrieving your silly frog keychain attached to your set of keys. You let out a victorious "yes" under your breath, which makes Wilbur chuckle.

“No problem darling,” he murmurs.

You turn the lock and step inside, placing your bag on the kitchen counter. You turn back to take your grocery bag from Wilbur when he asks you a question.

“So I was wondering, if you aren’t busy tonight, would you want to come to the pier with me and the band?”

The question catches you off guard. You weren't expecting an invitation to hang out with your neighbor, whom you had known for only a couple of weeks. You weren't really used to people wanting to spend time with you, but you could tell that Wilbur was a genuine person who wanted to get to know you better. During your many encounters in the hallway, you always sensed that he wanted to say something more, but you weren't sure what that might be.

Even though you wanted to go out, make new friends, and enjoy yourself after a stressful week at work, you had to politely decline. You couldn’t just leave without saying anything to Jared, who would likely be home soon.

“oh, I would really like to but, i’m making dinner for me and Jared tonight.” you said somberly.

Wilbur's smile faded, and for a moment, disappointment showed on his face before he regained his composure and nodded.

“I’m sorry,” you tried.

“It’s alright, well I’ll see you around then,” he waves and trudges down the hall towards the stairs and out of sight.

You sigh and throw your keys on the counter, kicking the door closed. Resting your elbows on the counter, you lean forward with your head in your hands, rubbing your temples.

You regretted declining Wilbur’s offer to hang out. He was being nice, you liked him, and wanted to get to know him more. Who knows what time Jared will be home tonight. He had been at work late all week, leaving you to eat dinner alone until he’d come home in the late hours.

You’d be half asleep when he’d come walking through the door at twelve am, stench of alcohol on his breath and muttering drunkly to himself.

You couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Not when he’d be out all night, not telling you where he had been.

You knew this would just be another night in alone.

Without thinking much, you quickly went to your bedroom and put together an outfit. It was the middle of October and quite cold, so you opted for a cozy sweater, a pair of jeans, and your white high-top Converse. After fixing your hair in the vanity mirror, you grabbed your purse and keys from the kitchen counter, ignoring the groceries left behind, and left your apartment.

Locking the door once again, you thought about quickly shooting a text to Jared to your whereabouts, but fuck him. He was acting like a dick lately and it was time for him to get a taste of his own medicine of giving you anxiety.

You rushed down the stairway in an attempt to catch up with Wilbur. To your relief, he hadn't even made it a block past your apartment building. You called out to him, and he abruptly turned around when he heard his name.

He smiles wide when he realizes it’s you running towards him to catch up. “Change your mind?” he muses.

“yeah sorry, is that okay?” you asked anxiously.

He nods and gestures for you to follow him.

Upon arriving at Brighton Pier, the sun had set and the air grew chilly as you got closer to the ocean. Inhaling the smell of salt, you sniffled as your nose was starting to run. You were glad you put on a sweater before heading out.

Wilbur walked alongside you, making sure to take small strides seeing as he was taller than you, and listening intently. He had asked you about your job, and you were enthusiastically sharing your passion for photography. You explained that you worked for a travel company, where you both edited and took photographs.

You realize you've been rambling too much. Sometimes your thoughts got carried away and you’d have to catch yourself.

"Im sorry, im totally rambling to you, im sure you don't find it that interesting." You apologize.

Wilbur shakes his head, showing that he disagrees at your statement.

"No, no, I’m listening,” he reassures. “I love hearing other people talk about their passions, ramble on," he encouraged.

Your heart fluttered as you continued your speech about what initially sparked your interest in photography. Wilbur listened so attentively that you almost forgot you were supposed to meet his bandmates until someone called out his name interrupting you.

A group of three guys sat on a bench looking out onto the sea and waved at the pair of you. One of them you recognized as Joe, who was just about to put out a cigarette.

“Will you made it!” one of the guys with blonde hair greeted you with a big smile. “Hey nice to meet you, i’m Mark,”

He held out his hand, you took it and shake it in greeting.

“Hi, I’m y/n,” you replied.

A chorus of ‘hey’s’ mix from the trio.

“So this is the famous y/n,” the third man you didn’t know, with longer hair and glasses spoke knowingly. “Wills told us a lot about you.”

You look at Wilbur, eyebrows lifting in surprise, but his eyes go comically wide at the comment. For a second, he looks like a deer in headlights. He glances at you, fast, like he’s trying to wordlessly undo the moment, to silently beg you not to read too much into it. But the damage is already done. Your lips twitch, trying and failing to fight off a grin.

You press your knuckles to your mouth, muffling your laugh at his flustered state.

Wilbur mutters something under his breath a dramatic “oh my god” — before dragging a hand down his face, and you swear you can see the tips of his ears turning red.

“C’mon, Ash, don’t tease the poor lad,” Joe chuckles, elbowing the long-haired one with a grin. He turns to you next. “Don’t worry, it’s all good things. Painfully good, honestly.”

“Joe,” Wilbur groans, somewhere between a warning and a whine. “You’re actually going to kill me.”

“No, no, let’s not kill him. He’s far too entertaining like this,” Ash says with mock-seriousness, pushing his glasses up with a smirk. “It’s rare to see him malfunction.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Malfunction?”

Wilbur shoots you a look — playful, exasperated. “This is why I didn’t want to bring you around them yet.”

“Oh?” you tease, enjoying every second. “Because you knew they’d tell me everything?”

“Because I knew you’d like them too much,” he says, looking at you.

The group laughs, a warm kind of laughter that bubbles into the space. For a moment, it feels like you’ve always belonged here. Into the rhythm of their jokes, and it feels nice.

“Anyway,” Joe says, clapping his hands once like he’s shifting the scene forward, “we’re grabbing drinks. You two coming?”

Wilbur looks to you, still red-cheeked but a little more composed now. He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head slightly, like a quiet invitation.

You nod, smiling. “Lead the way, malfunctioning boy.”

When the others start walking ahead, he hangs back just a little. Just close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. His voice drops into a low tone.

“I swear I didn’t tell them that much.”

You glance up at him. “No?”

“No.” He looks forward, then down at his feet, then cautiously, with that sweet hesitation back at you. “Just… enough.”

You bump into him slightly, just to make him smile. And he does bashfully.

“You look really nice by the way,” he confesses.

Before you can reply, Mark is grabbing his attention and you’re left once again blushing like a teenager.

The pub is warm and alive, packed shoulder to shoulder with voices, music, laughter, clinking glasses, the hum of a guitar from the corner where a band is setting up.

You sit wedged in a booth between Wilbur and the wall, his knee brushing yours every time he shifts. His arm is slung behind you across the booth and you can’t help but want it to be around your shoulders pulling you closer to his side.

Across from you, Joe is halfway through an animated story, using his pint to gesture wildly, while Ash provides sarcastic commentary with impeccable timing.

You’ve already had quite a few to drink and you’re starting to feel floaty. Just enjoying the new company around you.

You’re not entirely sure what the story is about anymore something about Wilbur, a train station, and an unfortunate hat but it hardly matters. You’re laughing, really laughing, enjoying yourself for once and Wilbur keeps sneaking glances like he’s watching you instead of listening to any of it.

At one point Ash asks you something, a teasing “So how do you put up with him?” he says. “being neighbors and running into each other has got to be getting old,” and before you can respond, Wilbur cuts in dryly.

“She doesn’t. She merely tolerates my presence like one might tolerate a recurring rash.”

You snort into your wine. “A tall string bean rash with an accent.”

The boys howl with laughter.

Wilbur clutches his chest dramatically. “You wound me darling. AND in front of my own friends.”

You lean in, smiling behind the rim of your glass. “You love it.”

And he looks at you, really looks at you, a glimmer in his eye and says, “Yeah. Maybe I do.”

Just like that, the noise around you softens, even though nothing actually gets quieter. You feel it in your chest. Something unspoken stirring. The others go back to their stories. Wilbur doesn’t look away.

You think, maybe, neither of you wants this night to end.

It’s nearly midnight by the time you step out into the street, The air settles in when the city starts to sleep and it feels almost haunted. You and Wilbur peel off from the group naturally, saying goodbyes with lazy waves and sleepy grins. The others tease a little more — something about “don’t get lost on the way back” —

The walk is quiet. Peaceful. Comfortable. All night that was how you felt beside Wilbur.

Maybe it was because you were getting to know him more and in just a few mere hours you felt like you’ve known each other since forever. Making jokes and being more comfortable around each other.

Your shoes tap softly against the pavement. A breeze rolls in from the ocean, ruffling Wilbur’s curls and making him tug his coat tighter. You hug your own sleeves around you.

“I’m glad you came,” he says after a beat.

You glance at him. His voice is soft like something he’s not sure he��s allowed to say out loud.

“I’m glad you invited me,” you reply, just as quietly.

He nods, looking ahead. The streetlamps cast long shadows that stretch across the ground.

“They like you, I could tell with the way they welcomed you right away.” he says.

It felt good to be accepted for once. You didn’t have any friends. Jared was the only person you had and you weren’t sure you even had him anymore. Now, with him everything felt disconnected and numb.

“Joes’ known me forever,” he continues. “I’ve only known Ash and Mark for a couple years now but they’ve all seen me through so many versions of myself. Even the really shitty ones.”

You hum gently, urging him to go on.

“I don’t let many people in anymore. Not like that. Not like…” He hesitates. “Not like I want to let you in…”

He doesn’t know what it is about you. But there’s something he can’t shake. Ever since you knocked on his door of the late hours asking him to quiet down. He wants to know you.

Your heart thuds, loud. Like it wants to escape your chest. You stop walking. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the loneliness and unhappiness you had been feeling lately. Something inside of you felt like it wanted to let him in too.

He takes another step before realizing you’re not beside him anymore. When he turns around, his expression is open, unguarded in a way.

You take a breath and exhale, the condensation puffing around your face in the cold air.

“Could we go somewhere?” you ask, your voice barely above the wind.

Wilbur doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Of course.”

The two of you make your way down dimly lit streets until the buildings thin out and the sound of the sea grows louder, like it’s been waiting. His pace matches yours steadily as your steps echo through the streets of brighton.

The beach is completely empty. Just a stretch of wet sand mixed with crushed shells and rocks. The moon glows silver reflecting off the water’s surface. The sounds of waves crashing against the shore bring you at ease.

You both kick off your shoes near a rock wall, and without saying anything, you sink down into the sand. Wilbur joins you, you both don’t speak. You sit shoulder to shoulder. Your hands rest between you, just barely touching.

The waves crash in slow rhythm. Wind rushes past your ears. And you don’t look at him when you speak.

“My boyfriend,” the word sits heavy in your mouth. You’re not even sure you’d call him that anymore. “Jared, lately he’s been acting so different.” you begin.

Wilbur doesn’t speak. He just turns slightly, giving you his full attention, like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing than listening to you try and find the right words.

You pick up an almost fully infected shell and roll it between your fingers. “It’s like… he’s still him, technically. He still says the right things sometimes. Still calls me ‘angel’ when he remembers. But it’s like he’s checked out. Like he’s doing an impression of a boyfriend, and I’m the only one still clinging to nothing.”

The words feel thick in your mouth. You’ve been holding onto them for too long.

“I keep asking myself if I’m imagining it. If I’m being too sensitive again. He always says I am. He says I read too far into things.”

Wilbur’s jaw twitches at that, but he stays quiet, letting you lead.

You look down at your lap. “He doesn’t… look at me the way he used to. Not with warmth. It’s more like—like I annoy him. Like I’m a test he’s tired of taking. I feel like I’m always saying sorry for something.”

You breathe in. Out. Trying to regain your emotions.

“And the worst part is that Sometimes I miss him. I miss the way he made me laugh when we first started dating. I miss how he used to bring me little things—like my favorite candy when I was having a bad day, or how it would feel when he’d say nice things…”

Your voice cracks slightly. You hate that it does.

“I miss the version of him I thought was real.”

Your eyes blur with tears. You blink them away, embarrassed.

“Two days ago I brought up the fact that he’d been going out late all night for the past two weeks, He said I was being dramatic about his late night work meetings. But I knew it was much more than that.”

You weren’t expecting to let all of this spill out. To make this big confession-rant to, practically a stranger. But something made you feel comfortable enough to tell him all of this.

“He’s been fucking someone else…”

You barely say it above a whisper. Like if you say it too loud then it’ll be true. You feel sick.

You don’t see it but Wilbur’s other hand balls into a fist at his side until his knuckles are white. Rage fills him, he wishes he could find Jared and punch him so hard that his nose bleeds from the blunt force. But he looks at you tenderly with empathy and feels his heart ache for you.

“And I was so scared that if I let go of him, there’d be no one else. Like I was too messy, too broken. I kept shrinking myself just to make it easier to be around me. So he wouldn’t leave. But he already has.”

You’re shaking now. All the pent up emotions getting the better of you.

“I want to leave him but i’m scared.” you whisper, not even hearing yourself but he hears you.

Wilbur’s hand moves then, not quickly, not dramatically. Just slow and steady, like the tide coming in. He places it gently over yours, warming your fingers where you didn’t even realize they’d gone numb.

“Listen to me y/n, please look at me,” he begs, your eyes meet his through the dark. by they’re genuine and soft as he speaks lowly. “He does not deserve you. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their partner. You’re lovely, kind, caring and beautiful. He’s obviously a fucking dumbass prick who doesn’t know what an amazing person he has.” he continues and peers down at you. “Anyone who makes you feel smaller than you are doesn’t deserve to see you, let alone be close to you.”

Your throat tightens. You look down at your hands trying not to meet his eyes out of fear of possibly bursting into tears right then. His thumb now tracing gently over your knuckles calms you but makes your heart pound in your ears all at once.

A wave crashes louder than the rest. Somewhere, a gull calls out into the night. But here on this patch of cold sand, you finally feel still.

Slowly, wordlessly, you lean your head onto his shoulder.

He doesn’t move, except to rest his cheek lightly against your hair.

Tears flow down your cheeks silently. Thankful for him. Thankful for whoever let you find him.

“I know we don’t know each other that well yet,” he pauses. “but if you ever need a friend or a shoulder to cry on. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you Wilbur.” you sniff.

he doesn’t hesitate with his next word. “Always.”

A beat passes.

“Sooo,” you drag out. “You think I’m beautiful?” you tease, peering up at him, head still resting on his shoulder.

Your voice is playful, but it carries something real beneath it. Like you’re hoping he means it.

Wilbur turns his head just slightly, looking down at you.

“Painfully beautiful,” he breathes, like the words are being pulled from the center of his chest. “Like… it actually hurts to look at you sometimes.”

You blink up at him, the teasing edge melting into something quieter, more stunned.

You both go comfortably quiet again, and the silence doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like safety.

That night Wilbur walked you both back home. Both of you bidding one another goodnight retreated to your respective apartment.

You went to bed with a smile that made your cheeks hurt.

The days leading after that are well, The happiest you’d felt in a while.

You had been avoiding Jared like the plague. When he’d stumble through the door at the late hours of the night you’d already be asleep. The next morning he’d already been gone when you woke up.

He had barely texted during the day, only saying things like ‘gonna be late again tonight angel’ the pet name made you sick to your stomach now.

Now you would spend your time with Wilbur. Nothing was going on. He had become someone you could confide in. That was somthing that you hadn’t had in a long time.

You fall into a rhythm with him without really trying. It starts the morning after that night on the beach. He texts you at 11:03 AM:

You’re required by law to get coffee with me today. Not taking no for answer Sorry, I don’t make the rules. (only if you want to)- will

You can’t help the smile that creeps across your lips that makes your cheeks hurt as you get ready to meet him.

You meet him outside the little café in town. His hair is tucked messily under a beanie, and he’s holding two coffees. He had asked you what your order was, seeing as he was already there. He hands it to you, but not before holding it out of your reach teasing you as you try to reach his tall height. It’s almost like you’re both so familiar with each other already. it’s like second nature. You roll your eyes at his antics but you’re fond of it.

You sit outside, knees bumping under the table, talking about everything and nothing. He tells you about the setlist for the upcoming show. You tease him about the fact that he’ll have a rock star persona once he steps out on stage.

“Everyone has a stage presence,” you say matter of factly. Sipping your hot beverage. “I can’t wait to see Divabur,”

Your days with him are mostly like this now. Quiet, simple, and strangely sacred. The kind of time that slips by unnoticed because it’s so easy, so natural. You hang out, talk, laugh, exist next to each other without needing to impress or perform. It never felt like this with Jared. It was so strange. You’ve become so close in such a short amount of time that the time doesn’t matter anymore. How right it feels.

You sit in his apartment during band practice, curled up on his couch while he runs through melodies and lyrics with the others. You just watch him. How determined and focused he is. The way he talks when he’s passionate about how the song is going, alive in what he loves.

On other days, you walk for hours down by the pier, through the quieter parts of the city. He tells you geography facts like they’re secrets meant just for you, his voice animated as he explains certain architecture in France or why he hates a certain country’s flag design with his whole chest.

And you listen. Not because you care about flags, or France, but because you care about him. Because watching someone light up like that feels like watching a candle catch flame in the dark. And Wilbur listens to you too. He listens like it matters. like you matter. For once you feel it in the way he looks at you. He just sees you and you see him.

Somehow, in the middle of all the walks, the music, the rants, and the laughter. He becomes your safe space.

The night of the show you’re right at the barricade, exactly where Wilbur said he wanted you. Front row, dead center.

The venue hums with anticipation, buzzing with voices and the low throb of the speakers warming up. The lights are dimmed to a moody blue, and the stage glows just enough to make the equipment shimmer.

Now the crowd around you presses closer, the lights drop fully, and cheers erupt as the band walks onstage.

The band come out one by one grabbing their respective instruments and testing the sound.

Wilbur walks out last, he waves to the crowd with a wide silly grin and they all cheer. He slings his guitar over his shoulder and moves to the mic. His lips brushing the metal as he cups his hand over the top.

“How are we doing this evening?” he questions in a low tone, his accent flowing out making butterflies erupt.

The crowed responds so effectively to him. With ease the whole band flows into the first song.

The show is electric. The crowed is shouting the lyrics right back at Will, they dance around you and you can’t help but just feel the energy around you.

Between verses, between chords, even mid-lyric, his eyes always find you. Sometimes he’ll sing directly to you, the corners of his mouth twitching. He even points at you dramatically during a song with the most absurd dance move you’ve ever seen. You double over with laughter, clutching your stomach.

He’s alive up there. Absolutely burning with an unexplainable energy. You can’t help but admire him as the stage light hits his side profile just right. His eyes are closed in concentration as he sings a line and his curls falls down his forehead. You pull your phone from your back pocket and snap a quick photo. He looks absolutely ethereal.

Like an angel fallen.

You don’t want to fight the thoughts anymore. You can’t help the way you felt about him and you were fine with that.

The set ends with their loudest, most anthemic song. The one with the slow buildup and the chorus that sounds like a drum march. It gets you amped up. Wilbur throws his head back to scream the final line, sweat dripping down his temple, and the crowd screams with him. You cheer as the drum beat kicks in with every guitar note.

It ends with fanfare and then one last note and the lights go out.

The crowed is ramped up as the lights fade back on and the band bows in thanks.

“Thank you so much for coming out, we have been lovejoy!” Wilbur

The band throws out little souvenirs to the audience. Mark throws his drum sticks to either side of the crowd and blows a kiss before he joggs backstage. Joe gives someone in front row on his side the setlist.

Ash spots you in the front row, leans down near the edge of the stage, and extends a hand. Between his fingers sits a pick. You take it and it’s still warm from him playing. He tips his glasses and winks at you before moving back to center stage.

Wilbur watches the whole exchange and shoves Ash’s shoulder playfully with his hands raised like ‘what the fuck man’

Ash sticks his tounge out at Will as they begin to play fight on stage. Making your cheeks hurt from laughing so much.

Wilbur sends one last glance your way and winks before disappearing backstage with the others.

You fist the pick in your palm and your heart feels full.

Ash winked at you like you were in on a joke. Wilbur grinned at you like he was so grateful you were here. Joe waved at you during one of the songs, and Mark pointed at you with his stick after he did a cool flip with it.

And for once, you’re not just watching something from the outside. You feel like you belong in this chaotic group of friends.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this wanted. There’s found-family energy that feels too good to be real. Filled with jokes and chaotic laughter and teasing that never crosses a line. You don’t feel like you’re tolerated or a burden.

You stay at the barricade waiting for Wilbur to get you. The crowed around you slowly disperses and you feel a vibration from your jeans.

You’re still glowing, still riding the warmth of it all. Your hand drifts to your pocket. Your mind is still on Wilbur. On the way he looked at you like the rest of the room disappeared.

A message sits on your lockscreen

Unknown number

Image: 1

You frown. Tap it open.

And there it is.

A photo.

Jared. At a bar. His hands on some girl’s ass, her arms around his neck, his mouth on hers like he’s done it a thousand times.

Your stomach sinks. The weight in your chest feels heavy and your heart pounds in your ears. Tears brim in your eyes and burn.

You aren’t surprised. Knowing this was a long time coming. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. Even if you didn’t want him anymore still, the grief hits you all at once after so long. it still slices clean through you. Your suspension was true. The final nail in the coffin.

You blink at it for too long. Scanning the way he’s pulling her flush against him and the sickly smile on both of their faces. Her perfect blonde hair, legs, body, perfect everything. It boils your blood. The noise around you fades. You don’t even realize that someone is calling your name trying to break you out of the trance.

It’s Wilbur.

You look up fast and he’s jogging toward you. Quickly you whip the tears away and press the phone to your chest, keeping the image out of his sight. Hes changed out of the white button up he wore on stage into a sweater. Curls a mess, face still flushed from screaming his lungs out only a few minutes ago. Then he slows when he sees the look on your face.

He catches the way you clutch your phone, yours eyes red and wet.

“What’s wrong?” he asks tentatively.

“Nothing,” you replied, “let’s go yeah?”

He stops you, placing his hands on your shoulders. It’s not forceful, but soft as he looks you dead in the eyes. You feel his intense worried gaze and you immediately break down.

“Hey, hey—what’s wrong?”

Wilbur catches you as you fall into him, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders, pulling you close like he can shield you from everything. You bury your face in his chest, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head as you sob. You cling onto him like a lifeline. You try and open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but hitched breaths. You hand him your phone and don’t say anything.

He looks at the photo on your screen.

He sees red.

“You’re fucking joking…” his voice is sharp.

His jaw clenches and his knuckles turn white. You feel his throat bob with a swallow. “Is this… now?”

You nod, barely.

“Who sent it?”

You shake your head. “No idea. But… it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” he spites pulling away from you-

“no!” you cry. “don’t leave me, please.”

Wilbur pockets your phone and wraps his arms around you tighter. Burying your face into the fabric of his sweater, breathing in the laundry smell and him. It calmed you immensely.

“it’s not worth it.”

“it’s worth it to me darling,” he says. “that prick deserves to feel nothing but pain after all the shit he’s put you through.”

Wilbur could feel the anger rising in him, sharp and unrelenting. For once, he didn’t care. Jared needed to suffer. He wanted him to feel more than a fraction of the pain he’d caused you. Because in Wilbur’s eyes, you were something rare and good. Something precious. And the thought of someone hurting you, breaking you down piece by piece, made him feel violent in a way he didn’t know he was capable of.

You didn’t deserve that kind of cruelty. Not you. Not someone so full of light.

“I should’ve been less needy, i should’ve- i should’ve-

Wilbur cups your cheeks in his palms looking deeply into your eyes.

“hey- this. is. not. your. fault.” he says every word firmly, trying to burn them into your brain. “okay?this was not your fault.”

he brushes the hair out of your face and catches the flowing tears with his thumbs.

“i’m sorry i ruined the night.” you stress.

“you didn’t ruin anything.” he murmurs. “don’t think that for one second.”

“i’m so stupid.”

“you’re not.”

“i’m so pathetic.”

“you’re not.”

Wilbur holds you like he means it. Like he’s not going anywhere. Like he’d rip apart the whole world if it meant helping you feel whole again.

And when your breathing finally evens out, when your tears slow, he tilts your chin up.

“You deserve so much better.” he says. “You are better than what he gave you.“

Your lips part, like you want to say something. Without even another thought you’re leaning forward and enveloping your lips together. No hesitation, no warning, he doesn’t let go.

It’s soft at first.

It’s not shy.

It’s everything he’s been holding back since the moment he met you. Everything he felt when he first saw you.

His hand slides down and his arm curls firmly around your waist, pulling you closer like he’s trying to erase every inch of space between you.

You kiss him back with just as much passion, if not more.

You grab the fabric of his sweater like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth. His lips are warm and urgent, tasting like adrenaline and heartbreak and something sweeter like hope. Like home.

It’s messy and breathless and real.

When he finally pulls away, it’s only by an inch.

You both gasp quietly, foreheads pressed together, your hands still fisted in his clothes.

You don’t open your eyes. Just speak, voice small and nasally from your tears.

“I’ve wanted to do that since that night on the beach.” you confess.

Then he’s pulling you into another kiss. It’s fierce and makes your skin burn all over. You whine into his mouth as his tongue tangles with yours. Your bodies feel like they’re on auto pilot.

You both pull away agian due to lack of oxygen. Letting out soft broken laughs, and for a second it sounds like relief… Resting your foreheads together his fingers rub slow circles across your skin.

When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. Like the kiss pulled it from the deepest part of him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he says.

You close your eyes, letting your nose nudge his. “Then why didn’t you?”

He pauses. And when he answers, it’s not teasing. It’s honest.

“Because I didn’t want to ruin this. You were already with that asshole and i didn’t want to lose you. When you talked about the things he said, the terrible things he did to you I- I wanted you to realize that you deserved better.” he paused his speech. “That I could treat you the way you deserve.”

Your throat tightens.

“Wilbur…”

His thumb stills on your skin, and he looks at you again really looks at you.

“I care about you, y/n,” he says, voice rough with honesty. “I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy. I never want to see you miserable again. I would tear myself apart if it meant you’d never have to feel this way ever again.”

His hand finds yours, firm and steady. His eyes don’t leave your face.

“You deserve the world,” he continues, softer now. “And more. So much more. And if you let me… I want to give that to you.”

You don’t say anything. Breath caught in your throat.

You don’t have to.

Because he already knows.

Your gaze finds his, and your voice comes out quiet—barely more than a breath.

“Take me home.”

He understands.

He knows you don’t mean back to your apartment. That place hasn’t felt like home in a long, long time.

You mean his place.

Safety. Love. The feeling of being wanted without conditions.

You mean him.

And when he squeezes your hand in response, he leads you out of the venue and onto the streets of Bringhton on that cold fall night.

End.

taglist: @lillyspeakz @horny-p0et

[0809sysblings]

Amane, indoctrination, and gaslighting

and why voting Amane innocent would be the best course of action

I've been wanting to write a big post on Amane talking about indoctrination and such. Because I see takes sometimes that make it clear the person doesn't really... Get It.

Most of what I'll be explaining comes from my personal experiences growing up.

Additionally, most of what I say when it comes to outcomes (i.e. "If x happens, Amane will do y") will be based on the assumption that realism, not entertainment, is prioritized in the writing and that there are no major holes in our knowledge of what's going on. Theoretically anything could happen since this is a fictional scenario and we don't know everything when it comes to the world, the cases, and the characters. Not to mention my situation was nowhere near as extreme as hers. So although I probably have a better understanding of it than most people, I definitely can't claim that I know what she's gone through.

Personal anecdotes I add to better support my points will be in the small font (this!) since I don't want them to distract from the main text and so that they can be easily skipped for those who may be worried about being triggered. But if anyone needs plain text descriptions, I'll happily provide them!

!! TW for child abuse, religious abuse, and cults !!

I recommend skipping my personal anecdotes if more detailed discussions about these topics are a trigger for you.

At the heart of "good" (read: successful) indoctrination is gaslighting.

Since gaslighting has been one of the many psychology terms completely watered down and distorted by the internet, I will define it just so we're all on the same page!

Gaslighting is a form of psychological manipulation used to make the victim question their own sanity, sense of reality, or power of reasoning.

Basically, you can't trust yourself. You can't trust your thoughts, your feelings, your interpretations, etc. You become completely reliant on other people (usually specific people who are the ones doing the gaslighting) to figure out what's real/true or not.

Toxic/extremist religious groups like to take gaslighting a step further though. Not only do they make it so you cannot trust yourself to judge what is right or not, they may also teach you that what feels wrong is actually right. You can see where this can start to cause some issues lol.

Anything your gut may tell you that contradicts what the group/cult leaders tell you—"this is wrong!", "this is bad!", "I don't want to do this..."—must be ignored. Because those feelings and thoughts, according to the leaders, are actually the sinful part of you trying to lead the good and faithful part of you astray. They make you question yourself to make sure you never question them.

They will figuratively or literally beat this into you until your first instinct is no longer to listen to your gut and do what it says, but to dismiss it and do what it's telling you not to do. Existing becomes a chronic power struggle between your unconscious mind and your conscious mind. Unfortunately, the fact that you're struggling often then gets used against you as proof that you need to follow their teachings. Because if you're unhappy, then you must be doing something wrong. You just need to have a little more faith, dedicate a little more time to the religion/group, go a little harder into your duties... Only then will you feel better—feel more enlightened.

An integral part in making all this work is isolation. If you don't somehow isolate the members, they may figure out that they're being manipulated and abused.

Now, isolation doesn't always mean purely physical isolation (though Amane is being isolated physically to at least some capacity). Psychological isolation is almost just as powerful. An almost universal psychological isolation tactic used by extremist groups and cults is the "Us vs Them" mentality. We can see this being very prominent with Amane. A lot of things she talks about with regard to the cult involves an Us-vs-Them dynamic. There is "Us", the cult, and "Them", everyone else.

Personally, we were taught that those who weren't believers of our religion were out to get us or will, at the very least, get us hurt/killed somehow. We were told many people wanted us dead just for being believers. You had to be careful and watch out when interacting with non-believers; you couldn't trust them. God was constantly testing you via others, and you had to make sure you stayed faithful.

This in particular is why no matter if you vote guilty or innocent, that itself will not actually do anything to change her beliefs. Voting her guilty will not make her start to feel bad and then question her beliefs. Voting her innocent will not make her listen to us and then question her beliefs. If we make her have any doubt about the cult, that's just proof to her that what we're telling her is wrong and is just another "trial" from God for her to overcome. So, changing her beliefs should not be a factor considered when voting since it's completely irrelevant. Everything can be twisted to support the cult. That's just how it works.

I don't think any amount of punishment will make Amane "come to her senses". I mean... what could we possibly do to her that she hasn't already had to endure? Punishment will likely only escalate things even more. Not to mention that having a bit of a fascination with martyrdom isn't all that uncommon in those who have been religiously abused and indoctrinated. The threat of punishment may only serve to motivate her to double down on her beliefs and behavior. Not to say she wants and likes punishment. It's obvious she's both scared of punishment and wants it to stop. After all, that's most likely the motive behind the murder.

Even prior to Amane's age, I was already fantasizing about being a martyr. A part of me almost wanted to be killed for my religion and community. It was seen as something extremely admirable. The ultimate sacrifice, if you will. We were taught that if given the choice between saving yourself by denying your faith or letting yourself be hurt/killed by standing your ground, you should choose the latter. Of course, I also did not want that to happen at all. It scared me shitless. But we weren't allowed to be scared about that stuff. It was seen as questioning God and the religious authorities, which was completely taboo. So I had no choice but to "want" it.

Isolating Amane is the worst possible thing we could do to her. No one gets better from being isolated, and this goes double for people living in abusive environments. She's been isolated her whole life. The best thing for her would be spending time with the other prisoners without restrictions. The more time she spends around people who have no connection to the cult, the better. Trying to argue with those in cults about why they're wrong and why they are in a cult (because most don't even recognize they're in a cult due to the gaslighting, indoctrination, and stigma) will almost always backfire. The best thing to do is to just be there for them to have someone to interact with who is not a cult member.

The only reason I left the extremist religious community I grew up in was because I made a friend who was not affiliated with it. I don't think I would've been able to see that the conditions I was living in were Not Very Good without that friend. He didn't even really do anything to actively help me. Just learning more about the real world through him was enough to make me start looking closer at my life.

To vote her guilty would be to continue isolating her. Not just physically as the guilty prisoners get restrictions put on them, but it's also an inescapable psychological isolation. Innocent vs Guilty is just another Us vs Them dynamic.

I fear that, if she ends up guilty this trial, she will likely be voted guilty again in trial 3. Her aggression will probably only escalate as she feels herself becoming more and more cornered. And since I know many people are voting her guilty solely to make sure she doesn't hurt Shidou or other prisoners, I can only imagine what the voting will look like for her in trial 3 once she's forced to become even more aggressive to protect herself.

And tbh... I can't imagine that having a prisoner with 3 guilty verdicts will make for all that interesting of a story for them. Not that it would be boring, per se. But having variety would, in my opinion, be the most interesting and entertaining! So, if nothing else I've said has been able to sway those who vote her guilty, then think about the entertainment factor!

Please vote this severely traumatized 12 y/o girl innocent. We can give her so many secret cakes to eat.

[umblrspectrum]

happy solvermas

[qualityrain]

why are they batshit insane

[lemodoe]

along the lines of the 'jonathan sims would not survive in malevolent' post I am here to posit that he would Also not survive in wolf 359. like you dont even understand it would go So Badly. he would be Too Adamant on figuring out the whole conspiracy thing Way Too Soon and would probably end up shot as soon as the si-5 team shows up. he'd just get too involved. eiffel's survivability is still up in the air though.

[itsbrucey]

You think Darryl ever grabbed one of Glenn's horns to make a point and Glenn moaned a little. And they both decided not to deal with it.