#you have a brain think it through yourself you know?

[rafesheaven]

tutor!reader thigh riding frat!rafe's tatted thigh ༉ೀ

warnings — frat!rafe, rafe has a thigh tattoo, thigh riding, dirty talk, praising, groping, nipple play, finger sucking wc — 1.1k a/n — based on this post i made + ty @rafescvntyclubgf for the mention of the champion shorts and backwards hat

the semester nearing its end meant finals were approaching, and while half the class panicked, you were more than ready. the one thing you weren't prepared for was being asked for help by rafe cameron. your declines seemingly did nothing but fall on deaf ears, merely encouraging his pleas until you gave in, which led to the two of you spending time together for the past few weeks. while you took the study sessions seriously, there were countless times when you had to get onto rafe, who shamelessly flirted with you the entire time, to pay attention. 

your patience started to wear thin, but thankfully, it was your last session before finals. “rafe, knock it off,” you warned as he shot the mini basketball into the hoop attached to his bedroom door for what felt like the millionth time. as he was about to shoot the ball again, you reached over, snatching it from his hands, “are you even paying attention?”

“yeah, ‘course i am, it’s kind of hard not to pay attention to a pretty girl like you,” he hummed, removing his hat to fix his hair before placing it back onto his head. he clasped his hands behind his head, spreading his legs as he sat back in his chair. your eyes darted to his spread legs at the sudden movement, causing his black champion shorts to ride up his thigh. your mouth went dry when you caught sight of the ink etched into his tanned skin. 

you never expected rafe to have a thigh tattoo, let alone a tattoo in general, and you found yourself biting your lip as the thoughts your brain conjured increasingly became filthier the longer you stared at the permanent ink. after what felt like an eternity, you snapped out of it, quickly averting your gaze and clearing your throat. “can you please just focus? finals are next week,” you tried to hide your flushed face, hoping he didn’t catch you practically gawking at him, but he did. 

“i am focused,” he paused, a knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “but i think i’ll focus better with you on my lap.” he watched in amusement as your eyes widened at his suggestion, “i-i don’t think that’s appropriate or a good idea.” 

“come on, i can guarantee that it’ll help me focus while you review the chapter,” rafe grinned, “don’t you want me to focus so i can pass this final?” you nervously chewed at your lip, “are you sure you’ll focus if i do?” you questioned, eyeing him reluctantly, “i promise, and i’ll keep my hands to myself,”  he held his hands up. 

“okay, only if you pay attention and keep your hands to yourself,” you jab a finger into his chest, “has anyone ever told you how bossy you are?” rafe muttered, earning a small smack to the chest. “i’m just messing with you, princess. no need to smack me around,” his hands grabbed your hips to pull you onto him till your legs were on either side of his thigh. 

“s’okay if i put my arms around your waist or are you gonna smack me again?” he rested his chin on your shoulder. “as long as you keep them there,” you turned your head to the side, your breath catching in your throat at how close his face was to yours before turning back around. 

your hand trembles as you skim through the textbook to find where you last left off, your nerves getting the best of you at the close proximity. when you finally found the page, you started reviewing the material, reading aloud to rafe, and asking questions to ensure he understood. 

as you reviewed the chapter, rafe started to bounce his leg up and down, “rafe, stop doing that, you’re distracting me—” your breath hitched when his thigh rubbed against your cunt through your panties. “stop doin’ what? this?” he bounced his leg again, his breath fanning against your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. “i-i’m trying to make sure you pass” you stutter, your nails leaving crescent-shaped marks as they dig into your palms. 

“just trying to help my sweet tutor loosen up. you’ve been so tense during our study sessions,” he promises. “besides, i already know everything for the final. i just wanted an excuse to be around you,” he added, stopping his movements. you whimpered at his confession, your resolve crumbling as your hips subconsciously rutted against his toned thigh, seeking friction. “thought you wanted me to stop?” he teased, his hands sliding from your waist to under your skirt, settling on your hips, “p-please don’t” you whined. 

his grip on your hips tightened, guiding you to drag your cunt against his thigh. your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, muffling your desperate moans to avoid the chances of his fraternity brothers hearing you. “make as much noise as you want, princess. s’just us here,” rafe whispered, burying his face into the side of your neck, “wanna hear all those sweet noises you make.”

his teeth nipped at your flesh, “feel good?” he helped you rock your hips. your arousal soaked through your panties, making a mess on his bare thigh, and you nod pathetically. “yeah? want to make it feel even better?” rafe rasps, pulling you till your back is flush with his chest. “please, rafe,” you begged, feeling his hand slip lower, his fingers hooking inside your panties to tug them aside, leaving you exposed. you desperately rut at his thigh, a moan ripping from your throat when he flexes his thigh. 

“good girl,” rafe coos, “trying to get yourself off on my thigh like the needy little thing you are.” your eyes flutter shut, a small gasp spilling from your lips when his tongue sweeps up the side of your neck to nip at the lobe of your ear, “you’re so close, aren’t you? c’mon, princess, make a mess f’me.” he slides one hand up your torso, pushing your cashmere sweater to sit above your breasts.

rafe dips his hand under your bra, his thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling at your nipple. your brows pinch together at his touch, “rafe!” you squeaked, your jaw going slack. your cries fill the room; your pussy clenching around nothing as you cum, making a mess all over his thigh. 

you pant, your chest heaving as you catch your breath, “shit…look at the mess you made,” rafe groaned. you crane your neck down, your face flushing at the sight of his thigh glistening, “such a messy little thing. maybe i should make you lick it clean, huh?” rafe swiped his fingers across his thigh before prodding them against your lips, moaning softly when you eagerly take his fingers into your mouth.

taglist: @oceandriveab @rafescorpsebride @cameronsprincess @starkeysbabygirl @rafesangelita @nemesyaaa @heartsforvin @sturnioloshacker @rafesbabygirlx @fallbhind @zyafics @fae-of-prey @cybersunnie @whytheylosttheirminds @ilovefiction4lmen @jjslaybank @whinyangel @momoewn @kazanskied @saintlike05 @coco-cinnamon @starkeysbebe @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @starkeysheart @littlelamy @carolineisdelusional @6r4cie @lacydollette

[monsterblogging]

[Image Description] Bluesky thread posted by Kit Whitfield - fantasy author (@kitwhitfield.bsky.social) on January 13, 2025. It reads:

Nice people are struggling over the revelations on Gaiman and something I keep hearing is, 'His work had a big influence on how I shaped my own identity.' So here's something to remember:

You did that. He didn't do it for you.

I was never a deep Gaiman fan, so maybe I can't talk, but I do know how a certain kind of charisma works.

There's a THING people love, and someone is a star at it. Not just into it, but 'make it their own.'

Say: they don't just paint with a lot of blue, they're the Blue Artist.

Do you like blue too? You'll find a lot of it in their work. Maybe you'll develop your love of blue looking at it. Maybe their work is where you first realised how much you love blueness.

Cool.

But they don't own the color blue.

It was your eyes that saw the colour, your brain that interpreted it, your heart that felt its beauty.

You didn't love it because they're the Blue Artist, but because you were always a person who could love the sky.

And if you came across their work when you needed to figure some things out, and you used it to do that?

You put in the work to build yourself.

They don't get to be your identity landlord just because you both see beauty in blue. They are smaller than the sky.

Some artists are very, very good at branding themselves so you might feel like you have to go through them to love the thing you love.

But it's just branding. People can make great use of blue, but nobody IS blue.

You stand under the same rainbow.

So if his stuff helped you figure some things out? Those were things about you, figured out by you.

You love mythology? Comic or dark fantasy? Imagination? Fiction?

So did he.

So just keep loving the stuff you love. It was never his. he just accessed the same things you did.

Sometimes art can be a mirror. Sometimes we need to look at ourselves and think about who we want to see looking back. A mirror can help.

Seems like one thing people are saying helped was reading the authors who influenced Gaiman, so how about we gather some here?

@mayteramarble.bsky.social mentioned Roger Zelazny.

I can't recommend Angela Carter enough.

What else, guys? xx

User Fitzcamel (@fitzcamel.bsky.social) adds: Hope Mirrlees and Lord Dunsany. [End Image Description]

I don't really believe in separating the art from the artist, but I remember how much it hurt when I found out Rowling was an absolutely shit person and so I do worry about the Gaiman fans out there who are in pain because of the article that was dropped today. I hope this helps.

[mariasont]

hi bby, i also have another idea! <3

it’s a song inspired fic with spencer or hotch and bimbo!reader and how they are in the office when they first get together and maybe some moments before they do!!

the song i was thinking of is birds of a feather by billie eilish and you can choose either hotch or spence bcuz i can’t decide, lol

anyway ily and i’m so glad you’re doing better and it’s so lovely to see you here again!! <33

BIRDS OF A FEATHER - S.R

a/n: i just need you to know you are literally the backbone of my fics i swear!!! ur requests are always my favorite <3 but anyway ilysm and i'm so happy to be and so happy to fufill your request, i hope you like it!! :)

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: clingy!reader, dramatic gf calm bf best duo, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, idiots in love

wc: 1k

You'd lost count of how many times you'd checked the clock. Five days without Spencer felt like an eternity. You weren't sure how people survived long-distance relationships. 

You’d tried everything to distract yourself. A true crime documentary had seemed like a good idea—something to make you feel like Spencer was still close, in that nerdy, FBI way of his—but it turned out to be too scary (and okay, a little boring). You’d spent most of it hiding behind a pillow, silently debating whether the narrator’s voice was creepy or just British.

All you could do was scroll on your phone and pout at the clock, wondering if maybe--just maybe--you'd somehow willed time to speed up since the last time you looked. Spoiler: you hadn't.

By the time you heard the jingle of keys outside the door, you were practically vibrating with excitement. You shot off the couch so fast you nearly tripped on the blanket you'd be wrapped in all night. 

The lock clicked, and there he was—Spencer, with tired eyes and messy hair, his satchel hanging limply off one shoulder like it weighed more than he did. He looked exhausted but perfect, the way only Spencer could.

"Spencie!" you squealed, launching yourself at him before he could even get through the doorway.

"Hi," he murmured, wrapping his arms around you as you buried your face in his chest. He smelled faintly of coffee and something antiseptic, but underneath it all was that comforting, familiar scent that was just him. "I missed you, too."

You buried your face in his chest for a moment, breathing him in like you could bottle the feeling and save it for later. Then, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, you gripped his jacket tightly. “You better have. I’ve been losing my mind waiting for you.”

Spencer’s lips twitched into a tired smile. “Losing your mind? Sounds serious. Should I be worried?”

"Definitely," you said, nodding earnestly. "I've been so bored, Spence. I started talking to myself--like, full on conversations. And I'm not as smart as you, so they weren't even good conversations."

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing slow, soothing circles against your hip. “I’m sure they were better than you think.”

You stepped back and began tugging his jacket off, shooing him toward the couch. He followed without a word of protest, letting you fuss over him.

“You look so tired, baby,” you said, plucking his satchel off the floor and setting it aside. “Did you eat? You better have. I should’ve made something, but I didn’t know when you’d get here, and I got distracted, and—”

Spencer's hand caught yours, making your mouth snap shut. His fingers were warm, and the way they curled around yours was enough to make your brain go fuzzy for a second. 

"I'm fine. Really."

“You don’t look fine,” you said, wrinkling your nose at him. “You look all…” You waved vaguely at his face. “Work-y.”

“Work-y,” he echoed, his lips twitching into a small, tired smile.

“Exactly,” you said, nodding as you plopped down beside him and immediately curled into his side. Your arms looped around him, holding him tightly, as though he might vanish if you let go.

Spencer let out a soft sigh, leaning into your touch. 

“You’re very clingy tonight,” he teased, though the way his arm came up to pull you closer told you he didn’t mind.

“Obviously,” you replied, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in forever. I missed your face. And your hair. And your nerdy little brain. Especially your nerdy little brain.”

He laughed quietly. “My brain missed you, too.”

“Good,” you said, tilting your head to press a kiss to his jaw. “Because I’m not letting you go anywhere for at least... three days. Maybe four. You’ll just have to solve crimes from here.”

Spencer hummed, his fingers continuing their gentle movement. “I’m not sure the FBI would agree to that.”

“Then they’ll have to fight me for you,” you said with a dramatic huff, crossing your arms. “Honestly, I could probably take Hotch in a fight. He doesn’t look like he’s had a good night’s sleep since, like, 1999. One shove, and he’s done for.”

Spencer laughed, his chest shaking against yours. “You’d shove Hotch? I think that’s a violation of multiple workplace policies.”

You grinned, tilting your head to look up at him. “It’d be worth it. You’re way more important than some dumb policies.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” you said, your grin widening as you leaned forward to nudge his nose with yours. “Now, scoot over. I’m not comfy enough.”

Before he could ask what you meant, you were already moving, shifting to climb into his lap with zero hesitation. Spencer blinked in surprise, but his hands instinctively came up to steady you, one resting on your waist while the other settled on your thigh.

“You could’ve warned me,” he murmured, though his lips quirked into a small smile as you tucked yourself against him like a human blanket.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning your forehead against his. “Besides, I missed you too much to sit all the way over there.”

Spencer let out a soft, breathy laugh, his nose brushing yours as he adjusted to your weight. “You don’t think this is a little excessive?”

“Excessive? No. Necessary? Yes.” You kissed the tip of his nose, grinning when his cheeks flushed a faint pink. “You’re my boyfriend, Spencie. This is part of the job description.”

He shook his head, but the way his arms tightened around you gave him away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” you said smugly, nuzzling closer to him.

“I do,” he admitted. His hand moved to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. “I love you more than I can put into words.”

Spencer let out a long breath, his head resting back against the couch as his hands stayed comfortably on your waist. 

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” you teased, though you didn’t move an inch from where you were nestled against him.

“Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low and a little gravelly.

“Good,” you whispered, your cheek pressed to his. “That means you’re staying right here.”

He didn’t answer, but the way his arms tightened around you was more than enough.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @spiderladyleah @estragos @khxna @spencerssoup @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @cool-light32 @reidfile @i-live-in-spite @sugarbutterbailey @aecd27 @persephonestears @moonyxstars @xxmooxmooxx @spookyysinsanity @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @jungchloee @she-wont-miss

join my taglist here!

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie was wide awake for the fourth night in a row while Steve’s voice streamed through the walls. Every passing second had his pathetic crush on the man dissolving more and more. The last bastion between Steve and Eddie telling him to fuck off. 

It took one last laugh for him to finally snap. He couldn’t take it for another second. He threw the covers back, marching out of his room to start pounding at Steve’s door.

He didn’t have to wait long. He could hear Steve scramble to open the door, tripping over himself before finally getting it open.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked immediately, clearly concerned, “Are you okay?”

The reaction took Eddie aback. He didn’t- how did he not know what he was here for? 

Eddie barrelled right past it, his anger winning over his confusion, “Dude, you gotta shut the fuck up at night.”

Steve frowned at him, “What?”

“You gotta shut the fuck up at night,” Eddie repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. If he wanted to fight with him on this, Eddie was more than ready to play ball, “I can hear every goddamn word and I’m sick of it.”

Steve’s eyes widened, a blush crawling up his neck as he tried to stutter, “I-I-I didn’t-”

Whatever reaction Eddie had been expecting, it wasn’t this. But now that he started, he couldn’t stop. His brain refusing to catch up with the expression on Steve’s face, “And the showers at thee something? That’s gotta stop too. Can you not hear yourself? What’s your problem?”

“I-I didn’t think you could hear me!” Steve stuttered out, “I didn’t- oh god, you could hear everything?”

“Everything,” Eddie confirmed, his anger slowing down at Steve’s panic, “It’s not like I can recite your conversations but it’s enough to make sure I can’t fucking sleep.”

He could see Steve visibly relax at his words. Which was… suspicious. Maybe he should have been listening in at night instead of seething from exhaustion. 

Steve ran a hand through his hair, “I didn’t- I could never hear you! So I thought that you wouldn’t be able to hear me. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Eddie sighed, “What? You’ve never had shitty walls before?”

“Not for this price,” Steve shrugged, cringing at the look Eddie gave him, “Not that I’m complaining! You didn’t design the building.”

He looked sincere but Eddie’s lack of sleep had his filter evaporating. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hating that he was about to go full RA. But this wasn’t going to happen for another night, “So who keeps you up all night anyway?”

“It’s my job!” Steve rushed out to say, “And my best friend. She’s studying in France and we’re obsessed with each other. It’s the only time our schedules line up to talk. I didn’t even realize how loud I was being.” 

Great. Now Eddie was starting to feel bad. But he wasn’t ready to admit it yet, “You really didn’t know how loud the shower is? Don’t you hear that shit in the morning?”

Steve shrugged, “I’m a heavy sleeper.”

“Is your job like, sweat-inducing?” Eddie tried, “Or can a shower wait until before work?”

“The former,” Steve said quietly, shifting foot to foot, “It’s… a lot of movement.”

Eddie squinted at him, confused at what that could mean. Until it hit him. The cash, the late hours, his stupidly pretty face. The question spilled out of Eddie’s mouth before he could stop it, “You’re a stripper?”

Steve cringed at the wording, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m a dancer.”

“At a strip club?”

“At a gay club,” Steve mumbled, clearly getting more uncomfortable by the second. 

Eddie didn’t notice. Too shocked at what he’d heard. He felt like his world had just been flipped on its head. Steve wasn’t supposed to- he wasn’t an option. Right?

“I didn’t think you were the gay for pay type,” Eddie said dumbly, cringing at the glare that earned him. Holy fuck he needed some sleep. Or a muzzle.

Steve stood a little straighter, his embarrassment replaced with an anger Eddie wasn’t prepared for, “First of all, I don’t fuck for money. Secondly, I’m not straight. I didn’t think that was something you’d have a problem with.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Eddie was fucking this up something fierce, gaping at Steve like a fish. He hadn’t been ready for him to turn the tables like this. He was supposed to be the dick here, not the other way around. 

Steve stared at him, clearly unimpressed with his lack of response, “Is that it? Because I’d like this conversation to be over now. Good night.”

from the first chapter of this fic (my holiday exchange fic! To be completed by the 14th deadline but I wanted to start posting whilst in the editing phase!)

also tag list for the official fic link! @faery-god @the-fatal-lozenge @nyeddleblog @my-love-of-books

(btw I only tagged who specifically asked for it because I don't wanna be annoying. But if you implied it and I missed you my bad! I'm just paranoid! Thank you everyone who has had an interest <3)

[lacydollette]

HIS FAVORITE PERSON ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: bsf!rafe x fem!reader

warnings: angst, rafe having a breakdown, mentions of a dead body, trauma, ward, comfort, slight fluff, kissing, cuddling, inspired by season 2 ep 2 of obx

Rafe’s room was a storm of chaos, just like his mind. His chest heaved as he sat on the floor, back pressed against his bed frame, fingers tugging at his hair like he could somehow yank the thoughts out of his head. His palms were clammy, his heart slamming against his ribs. The body, the ocean, his dad’s cold commands—the images were crushing him. He could still hear the splash, still feel the sick churn in his stomach as they drove away from the scene like nothing had happened. Like it was normal.

But it wasn’t.

“Fuck,” he hissed, slamming a fist into the floor. The pain grounded him for half a second before the panic resurfaced again, boiling over. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t be alone in this house with its suffocating walls and memories of what he’d just done. He couldn’t stay under one roof with Ward right now.

Without thinking, Rafe grabbed his car keys and stumbled out the door, the night swallowing him whole. The only place he could go was yours. You were the only one who could calm the chaos, the only one who made him feel like he wasn’t falling apart.

You were deep in your slumber when you were jolted awake by a loud knock at the door. Tired, you checked the time—2:37 a.m. You frowned, your sleep deprived brain struggling to process who would show up at this hour. Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the door, your favorite oversized t-shirt, one that you stole from Rafe, hanging loosely around your figure. And when you opened the front door, your confusion turned to worry. “Rafe?”

He stood there, his shoulders hunched, his hair a complete mess, and his blue eyes wild with something dark and unhinged. He was pacing on your porch, his breathing uneven, and his hands were shaking. “y/n,” he said, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “Sorry for bugging you this late, I just—I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Rafe, what’s wrong?” You asked, stepping forward. He looked up at you, his expression haunted. “I did something. Something bad. Really bad.” Your heart sank, eyebrows furrowing, “You’re scaring me.” Rafe was always intense—impulsive, reckless—but this was different. He looked broken, like he was barely holding himself together. You reached out, grabbing his arm to steady him.

“Come inside,” you urged, but he shook his head violently. “No. I can’t—I can’t breathe in there. I can’t breathe anywhere.” His voice cracked, and he backed away, running a hand through his hair as he began muttering. “He’s insane, y/n. My dad is insane, and now I’m—I’m just like him. I helped him. I didn’t want to, but I did, and now—”

“Rafe, slow down,” you said firmly, not understanding a single thing before stepping in front of him. “You’re not making any sense. Just talk to me. What happened?” He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto yours. “A body,” he said, his voice barely audible. “We got rid of a body.” Your blood ran cold. “What?”

He let out a hollow laugh, his hands trembling as he pressed them to his temples. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done. I did it. I helped him dump it into the ocean like it was nothing. Like it was trash.” His voice grew louder, more frantic. “And now I can’t stop hearing it. I can’t stop seeing it. It’s everywhere.” You stood there, stunned, mind racing to catch up. Rafe was unraveling in front of you, and you had no idea how to help him. “Rafe—”

“I’m a monster,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “I’m just like him. I didn’t even hesitate, y/n. What kind of person does that? What kind of person—”

“Rafe, stop!” You snapped, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at you. His breathing hitched, his wild eyes meeting your comforting ones. “You are not a monster. You’re—” you faltered, unsure what to say. “You’re you. And whatever this is, whatever happened, we’ll deal with it.“ You nodded, saying it more to yourself than him.

Rafe shook his head, his voice breaking. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what I’ve done.” His whole body was trembling. “Then tell me,” you said, your voice softer now. “Tell me everything.” He stared at you, torn between fear and desperation. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you too.”

Your heart twisted painfully. You’d never seen Rafe like this, so vulnerable and raw. And yet, there was something else—a connection that had always been there, just right beneath the surface of your friendship. You’ve been best friends since forever, sure, but you weren’t just friends. Not with the way you looked at each other, the way you touched and held each other like it was normal.

Without thinking, you closed the gap between you two and kissed him. You’d kissed before—dozens of times, maybe more. It had always been casual, something you would do to calm each other down or just because it felt natural. It was soft and deliberate, a reminder that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere.

When you pulled back, Rafe’s breathing slowed, his hands coming up to rest on your waist like he was grounding himself in you. He leaned forward, stealing another kiss, then another, his lips brushing yours with a quiet desperation while tears fled the corner of his eyes. Trying to shut up the voices in his head, and you didn’t mind. You never did. That’s just how things between you were and neither of you had questioned it before.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.“You don’t need to thank me, Rafe.” you whispered back. “Now come inside.”

In your room, you pulled Rafe onto your bed, wrapping the blankets around the both of you as you settled in. He curled into you, his head resting against your chest, as you tried to give him as much comfort as possible, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his back.

You held him close, your arms wrapped tightly around his body as his breathing finally began to even out. The storm of his panic had calmed, but his weight against you felt heavier than ever, like he was carrying something too big for either of you to handle. You didn’t know what to say—what could you say? His words kept ringing in your ears. A body. Dumped it in the ocean. You shivered, though the room wasn’t cold.

Rafe’s head was tucked under your chin, his breath warm against your collarbone. He was silent now, but his body still trembled faintly. You tightened your hold on him, resting your cheek against the top of his head. You’d always thought of yourself as his anchor, the person who could pull him back when he started spinning out. But tonight felt different. Tonight, it felt like you were trying to piece together an already broken vase.

Your fingers absentmindedly combed through his messy blonde hair. You’d been best friends since kindergarden, your lives so deeply intertwined it was hard to tell where one of you ended and the other began. But your friendship wasn’t normal, and you began to acknowledge that as time passed. Friends didn’t kiss to calm each other down. Friends didn’t fall asleep in each other’s arms, your touches lingering in a way that always felt like it meant more.

You weren’t just friends, you thought, the truth settling heavily in your chest. But whatever you were, figuring it out had to wait. Rafe needed you now, more than ever, and you couldn’t let him down.

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, the faint scent of saltwater and his cologne clinging to him. “You’re going to be okay,” you whispered, trying to convince both of you. You wanted to believe it, but the fear in his eyes earlier had shaken you to your core.

He didn't say anything, but his arms tightened around you, his head pressing harder against your chest. You didn't push him to speak. You just stayed there, holding him, trying to give him the comfort he so clearly needed. But the storm in his head wouldn't stop. He needed more—needed to feel you, to ground himself in you, to find something real in his world that suddenly felt like it was falling apart.

Without thinking, Rafe shifted, pulling you down to him. Before you could process what was happening, his lips were on yours again, and for a moment, he could escape reality. At first, you thought it would be like the kisses you’d shared earlier—soft and grounding, something to pull him out of his head and bring him back to you.

So you started to respond instinctively, heart beating a little faster. But it wasn't enough for Rafe. The panic clawed at his chest, and his kiss grew desperate, frantic, as if he could pour everything he couldn't say into you. Rafe thought maybe this was what he needed. Maybe you were what he needed. Because it had always been you. The only person who saw him, who really knew him.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't deny what it did to you—the way your stomach flipped, the way your hands instinctively gripped his arms as his lips moved against yours. You couldn't ignore how your feelings for Rafe had grown into something far more complicated than friendship. But this wasn't right. Not now. Not when he was like this.

"Rafe," you murmured against his lips, hands coming up to his shoulders to gently push him back. He resisted for a moment, his desperation endless, but then he pulled away, his eyes wide and glassy as they searched yours.

"y/n," he whispered, his voice cracking. For a moment, Rafe just stared at you, your hesitation hitting him like a punch to the gut. You weren’t rejecting him, not really. He could see the worry in your eyes, the care. You were right, but it still shattered something inside him. This wasn't what he needed right now. And it wasn't what you deserved, either.

"You need to rest," you said softly, stroking his cheek with your thumb. "You're not doing fine right now, and that's okay. But this—it's not right like that."

He stared at you, his expression crumbling as the reality of your words sank in. He'd come here hoping to escape the weight of what he'd done, hoping that you could fix him the way you always had. But nothing could fix this. His chest heaved, and then, all at once, he broke.

A raw, heart-wrenching sob tore from his throat, and he dropped his head into his hands, his entire body shaking. Your heart ached at the sound of his sobs, and you reached for him immediately, pulling him into your arms again. He clung to you, burying his face in your shoulder as his cries wracked his body.

“I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice muffled and strained as his chest felt heavy. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have-"

"Stop," you interrupted gently, your hand threading through his dirty blond hair. "Don't apologize. You're allowed to feel, Rafe. I'm here." Rafe tried to believe you, tried to hold onto your words, but the guilt was suffocating. “I shouldn't drag you into this," he said, his voice breaking. "I shouldn't have put this on you.”

"Shh," you whispered, holding him tighter. "You just need to breathe, okay?” Rafe let out a shaky breath, his tears soaking into your shirt as his sobs began to calm.

You kept holding him, your heart breaking for the boy who had always seemed so untouchable, so invincible. You could feel all his shame, his guilt, his fear, and you wished you could take it away, even just for a little while.

Rafe shifted slightly, his arm wrapping around your waist like he was afraid you might disappear. “Don’t leave me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, stroking his back in slow, soothing motions. “I’m scared, y/n,” he admitted finally, sobbing into your chest, “Of what I’ve done. Of what I’ll become. That I’ll be like him.” You shook your head, “You’re not your dad,” you said firmly, your arms tightening around him.

He’s not like Ward. He can’t be. You didn’t care what Rafe had done or how messy his world had become. He wasn’t a monster. He couldn’t be—not the boy who used to sneak you ice cream when you were sad, who called you every time he was having a bad day because he trusted you more than anyone else in the world.

But as much as you wanted to save him, a small, nagging voice in the back of your mind whispered that this might be bigger than both of you, but pushed the thought away, pulling him closer. “We’ll figure this out,” you whispered. “Together.” Rafe didn’t respond, but his grip on you tightened slightly, his breathing slowing as he finally started to relax. He didn't deserve you—your loyalty, your care, your softness. But for now he let himself trust you.

You stared at the ceiling, your mind racing even as your body stayed still. You didn’t know what you were to each other, didn’t know what might happen after this night or what was up with Ward, and maybe you never would. But right now, Rafe was yours to protect, and that was the most important thing.

tags: @gibson-g1rl @beausling @rafesheaven @rafescokewhore @rafespreciosa @rafeysbunny @rafey-baby @rafesangelita @drewspinkbunny @whinyangel @nativegirltapes @cherrygirlfriend @moremaybank @littlelamy @rafesweetie @deansbeer

[endereies]

Giving Matt a blowjob after winning a race

“He’s so going to win.” Smoke blurred your vision as the girls vape was blown out her mouth when she smokes. As much as you told her to stop it, she never did.

It was hard to contain a smirk after seeing just which car her eyes following. “Conor? Hell no.” Her eyes stared you down as she took another drag from her vape. You had gone nose blind to the blue raspberry.

“Oh c’mon. Don’t kid yourself, angel. His car has been modified beyond belief; you can’t actually think that Matt is gonna win.” You just giggled at her words,

“Matt has only lost once since I’ve been here. I have m’own prize for him if he wins, I think that’s initiative enough to win.”

“The fuck did you tell him?” The look on her face was a sign enough that she knew what you meant. You nudged her with a wink and the pair of you giggled. “Y’know, I’d call you a slut if you weren’t my friend.”

“You’d do the same thing, don’t even.” You taunted her before it went silent again, the smoke brushing your face again.

Suddenly the roars of engines grew closer. Over the span of the conversation, you just had, 5 laps had gone by and the final lap was drawing to a close. The glowing blue was clearly in front, the LED’s blinding close spectators.

“Go celebrate the win, girl. Have funn…” Sultry tones passed through her voice, but you waved it off and pushed yourself off of the wall and towards the finish line.

You hoist your skirt a little bit higher up your hips and pull back the shirt to expose more of your chest. You weren’t hiding any inch of skin. After all, Matt, as earned it. His car slowly drove past the thick crowd, who celebrated his win. His car was tainted with sloppy, sweaty fingerprints. Once the clearing was made, he exited the vehicle. A streak of hair stuck to his forehead as he stood up, his mouth parted slightly. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he saw me approaching. "Well.. look what the cat dragged in"

"Sturniolo, congrats on the win. Conor is pissed." You lean over his shoulder to see a bitter man be confronted by a few girls already. The same would happen to Matt if you weren't there.

"Mm, I had a real good-looking prize to look forward to, didn't I?" Your gaze stayed on him as he inched closer, one foot in front of the other until he was face to face with you. "Speaking of which, you owe me that right about now?"

"Eager, aren't we?" You tried to hold out longer than you did, but you wanted this with Matt as much as he did. After time, away from each other, it was hard not to jump at the opportunity. Your hand naturally slipped into his, and you started to pull him away from his vehicle to a more secluded area. It wasn't much, just a wall behind an old blocked building, yet the pair of you had used it most times since they shut it off. Otherwise, it was his car.

He didn't argue with the way you pulled his body away from the crowd, he knew that feisty attitude would be gone soon regardless. Once alone, Matt let his weight fall to the brick wall behind him, his skin tightening against the cold. Your hand quickly brushed against his crotch and Matt chuckled at the boldness. It wasn't knew for either of you but he never got used to how it differed from most girls he'd been with before.

"You know what to do, don't you angel?" His voice dripped in faux kindness, the expression said it all. It didn't take long for your body to sink itself to its knees, the gravel embedded into your skin. It was hard not to smile at the effect you had on him, his arousal visible through his clothing. "Had me fucking thinking 'bout you throughout the race. Bet you get off on that."

You chuckled at his words, he wasn't wrong. Matt had only lost once since you had joined his equation a few months ago. The thought of you waiting there, dedicated to him in that moment made his brain fuzzy. "mm, you know me so well..."

By now the teasing of your hands drove him crazy, his hips thrusting upwards to indirectly tell you what he wanted. "Does Matt want his reward?" You hummed sweetly at him, he did too until he suddenly dropped any warmth. A hand wrapped into a bundle of your hair, tugging on it slightly.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me now, after all... I earned it." Now he was the confident one, staring down strongly, his way of subtly showing his control. With one hand in your hair, the other shifted to your cheek, cradling the skin. However, you obliged, toying with the fabric of his jeans and unbuckling the belt. Soon, you had hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and dragged them down until they hit the floor.

The sudden cold made Matt hitch but the warmth of your palm dragged a new sound from his lips. You started slow, stroking at the base to get him hard. His head lolled back to meet the wall, a gracious smile upon his face. That was satisfaction enough to keep going. The other hand rested just above the other, twisting as you jerked him upwards and downwards.

Continuing the pattern, you tightened your grip on him slightly. Your mouth came dangerously close to where he really wanted it yet you let a ball of saliva drip off your tongue and onto the centre of his dick. A wet feeling covered the majority of his dick until you slid your hand over the slit for the first time. The precum made your hand move slightly quicker, causing stimulation to run through him.

"Such a fuckin' tease. Shiiiit..." The pace continued, torturously slow. Suddenly, your pace faltered and Matt brough his head back up so he could look at your actions. He barely got a look in before he saw your lips wrapped snugly around the tip of his cock. You sucked it carefully and ran your tongue directly over his slit. He wasn't shy about being vocal, even in public places and now was no exception. A low groan slipped past his lips as you took him in your mouth.

You pulled off, pumping him again in your hand, your fingers over his tip didn't give him the same feeling as your throat, the wet heat of your mouth felt heavenly. He huffed out a laugh, displaying his attitude towards your constant teasing. Before he got the chance to speak up, you took him in your mouth once more, deeper than the last. Both of you knew that you were planning your every move. You had done this far too many time to not know how to toy with him. "Does that feel good."

Matt grumbled at the idiocy of the question. "You just crave the validation don't y-" You cut him of by squeezing his tip with your hand, grinning at his sensitivity. "Fuuuuckk.." Matt's face flickered into one of pleasure, his head reeling at the state he was in.

Once he had regained himself enough, he tugged again on the strands of hair in his grip. "Let's put that pretty mouth to good use, shall we? C'mon, open your mouth - good giirrlll..." You shut up only to obey his words - opening your mouth and letting your tongue lie flat. That's when Matt took the opportunity to thrust half of his dick into your mouth. He moaned softly as he pushed himself further into your mouth, causing a weak gag from your throat.

You bobbed your head, matching his motions. Slowly but surely, you took more and more of him each time until he rammed what was left down your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes, clenching them shut at the air restriction. He held himself there before pulling away again. A sharp intake of air followed while a trail of saliva made its way down your chin. Your head bobbed slowly again, showing Matt you were ready for more. With permission, he jolted his hips deep into your mouth.

Matt was no longer bitching to you - groans and whimpers pushed into the air instead. Sensations enveloped all of him, your lips, swollen and plump with the constant friction against his dick. They were wet with precum and saliva, gathered like a lip-gloss. Your hands between his thighs for stabilization and the base of his dick, rubbing and jerking anything you couldn't fit inside. Finally, your eyes, maintaining such an innocent look to such a sinful activity.

"Feels s'good, taking me s'well." His words of praise slurred into one. M'close... wan' me to cum in that sweet mouth, angel? Would you like that?" You tried your best to nod to him and hummed in approval, moaning around his dick. He laughed quietly, a constant expression of bliss on his face. His thrusts grew deeper again, giving you minimal chances to take a deep breath of air. He knew you'd tap out if you needed it.

He let out a particualary loud moan as you traced your tongue over a prominent vein before sucking his tip relentlessly. He couldn't help the way his pelvis tapped your cheeks, the gagging sound doing no good for his brain.

"M'gonna cum! Shiiit.. you- you ready?" Speech was a weakened skill with his impending release and you could tell by the way he twitched inside of your mouth. By now, you knew just how long it would be until he came. So, about ten seconds later you took all of him, as much as you could. You suppressed the gagging feeling and replaced it with the feeling of his cock deep inside your throat, prodding at the skin.

He came with a low, sustained groan before they morphed into quiet whimpers. The substance was pumped into your mouth and you swallowed it with pride. Removing your mouth, you opened it to prove that every bit was gone. Your hand continued to pump him, milking him dry until he grew overstimulated.

His hand lay in abandon next to his torso, no longer in your hair. His chest heaved in exhaustion and you rose to your feet. Your hand finally pried itself away from his dick and landed on his jaw - pulling him in for a sloppy kiss only so that he could taste himself on your lips. He grinned tiredly into it, his tongue brushing against yours momentarily.

"I bet you really enjoy winning now." You helped him lift up his boxers and jeans, letting him buckle them back up.

"Your prizes are better than any trophy, angel." You nudged his side with your elbow. "Better than the money?"

"Don't push your luck."

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , ONCE UPON A KISS , N.RK !

PAIRING: boyfriend ! riki × girlfriend ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: spending quality time with your boyfriend was good...until he suggested something that you clearly seemed hesitant about. GENRE: suggestive, passing chocolate thru kiss. WORD COUNT: 568. [LIBRARY]

The room was quiet, with only the faint hum of your phone playing some avant-garde foreign film. You both were hardly paying any attention to it. You pointed to the screen, where two actors were performing an overly theatrical kiss, exchanging a cube of chocolate between their lips. “Hmm, do you think that’s dirty?” you quirked an eyebrow at Riki.

You didn't much hope for a reaction-a quick jab, a laugh, or something overly dramatic. Instead, he merely stared at the ceiling for some time in thought.

Then again, his gaze turned to you, brilliant and sharp and eviling-something mischievous. “Don't know,” he said at long last, in a tone that was terribly casual. “Guess I'll have to test the hypothesis.”

Before you opened your mouth to ask him what hypothesis, to remind him he wasn't in science class, he gingerly grabbed a piece of chocolate from the table and gently shoved it into his mouth. You blinked, completely caught between confusion and amusement. “Riki, what-”

But you could hardly finish that because, within one fluid motion, he came worriedly close into your space. His lips met yours-warm, soft-sweet, chocolate-rich came blasting at you as he teasingly flicked his tongue over your lips.

All the connections within your brain seemed to short-circuit.

Was this even real? Were you sharing chocolate through a kiss, just like some tacky romcom couple? Your hands flew onto his shoulders for, well, probably a push-off, or to make sure he did not pull away before you could properly sort yourself out.

The kiss deepened, chocolate heating up between your mouths into a sweet, gluey warmth. Riki was going all off-the-wall, purposely savouring the moment, taking his time.

It was messy, sure, but it was also intoxicating—the combination of heat, sweetness, and the sheer audacity of the moment. You couldn’t help but grip him tighter as the world outside melted away, leaving only the faint hum of the movie and the wild thrum of your heartbeat.

When he finally pulled back, you both gasped for air, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to steady yourself. His lips were smeared with chocolate, so were yours, but neither of you moved to clean up the evidence of your chaos. Instead, Riki leaned back slightly, his signature cocky grin spreading across his face.

“It’s not dirty,” he declared, his tone brimming with mock seriousness, as if he’d just made the most groundbreaking discovery in human history.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head as a laugh bubbled up from your chest. “Who even thinks to do that?”

“Geniuses,” he replied without hesitation, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie like this was just another Tuesday night activity. Then, with the same unshakable confidence, he added, “Also, that was a 10 out of 10 execution. You’re welcome.”

You groaned, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it. “You’re so annoying!”

He caught the pillow with one hand, still grinning as if you’d just handed him an award. “Annoyingly talented. And, admit it, unbelievably good at this.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your lips still tingled from the kiss betrayed you. Riki’s laugh filled the room, light and carefree, and you couldn’t help but join in despite yourself. In that moment, one thing became very clear: not only did your boyfriend match your freak — he might actually surpass it.

© senascoop | tumblr

[honeyryewhiskey]

crybaby

dean x cupid!reader cw!! just fluff! bc i miss these two 685 words

He didn’t expect the waterworks to start streaming from your big, sad eyes. He should really know better by now, having known you for some time—just how quickly a little cupid can be reduced to tears. 

The slam of the Impala’s door makes Dean wince, irritation prickling at his nerves as he rushes to follow you. His hands find your shoulders, maybe gripping a little harder than he should as he spins you around to face him.

“Hey,” he barks, freezing when he sees your tear-streaked face. For a second, his grip slackens, and his hands drop to his sides. His jaw tightens, fists clenching instinctively as he looks at you with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

He’s still not used to this—not good at dealing with tears, especially yours. Not when your whimpers and that wobbling lip make his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand over his chin. He steps back, throwing a helpless glance at the garage ceiling as if salvation might come from above. “Just great. Why the hell are you crying?” His tone is sharp, annoyed, but it’s obvious he’s not actually mad at you. He just hates seeing you like this—hates the way it makes him feel completely out of his depth.

Your arms cross over your chest, and your bottom lip juts out in a feeble attempt at defiance. “You’ve been mean and grumpy all day. And then you called me ‘feather brains’ for forgetting to lock the trunk.”

Dean’s brows shoot up, incredulous. “Because it flew open! All the crap we just bought is sitting in the middle of the highway right now. Thanks to you!”

The sharpness of his voice makes you take a step back, eyes wide and glassy. “Stop yelling!” you shout, your voice cracking.

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand over his face. His patience, never his strongest suit, is hanging on by a thread. Deep breaths. Count to ten. Think of that stupid article he googled the other night: “How to Deal with an Overly Emotional Person.”

“Fine. Fine,” he grits out, trying to sound calm. “Just stop crying, okay?”

But the tears are still flowing, your cheeks blotchy and your whole spirit looking crushed. It’s not just the crying—it’s how completely deflated you look. Like all that annoying, infectious vibrance of yours has been snuffed out, and it’s his fault.

He exhales sharply through his nose, an idea suddenly hitting him. “Ice cream? Movies? Hugs? What do you want? Name anything, and I’ll get it for you.”

You sniffle, blinking up at him as something faint flickers in your expression, making your head tilt. “Anything?”

Dean hesitates, second-guessing himself. “Yes,” he agrees, though his voice is laced with caution. “Within reason—”

“Up.” You cut him off, arms stretched toward him.

Dean’s glare hardens, his eyes flicking between your wiggling fingers and your pitiful pout. Everything in him wants to argue, to resist. He’s not good at this softness. But you’re looking at him with those sad, hopeful eyes, and as always when it comes to you and your demands—something in him gives.

With a heavy sigh, he closes the space between you, his boots thudding against the concrete floor. His hands slide to your hips, lifting you with ease as you practically fling yourself into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist, your face burying in the crook of his neck as he steadies his hold on you. His arms wrap snugly around your back. His nose is buried in your hair, the sweet scent of something he can’t name, just recognizes as pretty and girly easing the scowl off of his brows. 

“Can I still have the ice cream, too?” you mumble into his shoulder.

Dean huffs out a low laugh. “We’ll see,” he mutters, but his grip on you tightens just a little, and he knows damn well in a moment he’ll be back in the driver’s seat to take you out to get that ice cream.

been writing for angel!reader, who's much more serious than little cupid. so i took a break from the angst to write this cuteness <3 i also want to make some sort of collection post for these bc i have quite a few cupid fics now and there is no organization ugh

[bitchface24-7]

dude i love jayce so much it’s a problem like AHHH i wanna request sum fluff but i literally don’t care what it’s abt i js want him bro. like it can be domestic shit or like whatever LMAO i’m so bad at doing requests but i love how u write

T-T

I LIKE THE BEARD… - JAYCE X READER

synopsis: your lovely boyfriend Jayce has changed his look as he's gotten older. His hair has gotten longer, messier; and he’s grown a wonderful beard. He wants to get rid of it. You say otherwise.

warnings: Jayce is hot, fluff fluffy fluff, appreciating Jayce, Jayce getting flustered, some insecurities mentioned, pre-established relationship, man I don’t know this is fluffy self-indulgence that this anon and myself are craving, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. Y'all don't understand how happy I am that people are requesting things and just talking to me in either my asks or my comment sections in my fics. Keep it up, love ya <3

Dating Jayce is a dream come true. You two have been friends for as long as you can remember. You've had a crush on him since you were both twelve; you're breaching into your thirties now.

He's always been a massive sweetheart, willing to help anyone out, incredibly smart, funny, witty, if a bit naive with a massive tunnel vision when he's inspired.

You love him with all your heart.

This new look has you blushing like a tween again, rather than you being his partner of almost five years.

Jayce isn’t a massive fan of it.

You can see it in the way he runs his fingers through his hair, or scratches his heavily stubbled cheek. You know he's only putting up with it for you. And you greatly appreciate that.

Jayce has always been handsome, but this… this elevated him to a whole new level.

So when you wake up one day, the other side of the bed cold, you know exactly where he is. He's contemplating how he looks in the mirror.

Judging every supposed flaw and imperfection he sees.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You trudge your way over to the ensuite connected to your bedroom. Your hair is a mess, you quickly threw on one of Jayce's massive button downs, and you think your underwear is crooked.

With a light sniff, as you rub one of your eyes, you enter the bathroom and see Jayce; nitpicking his reflection in the mirror. His shaving kit is out. You feel a jolt of energy enter your body as your eyes widen.

“Sweetheart… what’s that?”

Jayce looks at you through the mirror and lightly shrugs, “My shaving kit. Gotta look presentable at the next council meeting.”

Your eyebrows furrow at that, “You were so proud of yourself when you first grew out your beard, then like a switch you didn't like it. What's going on in that big brain of yours?”

A sigh escapes the handsome man and his shoulders drop, “Some of the council members made comments about my new look. Something along the lines of me looking more like a ruffian than the Man of Progress.”

You want to throttle those council members.

You walk up behind Jayce, hugging his back and putting your chin on his shoulder, “Well I think you look even more handsome! You're not in your early twenties anymore Jayce. How you look and style yourself is going to change, it does for everyone! Do I still have the exact same look when I was in my early twenties?”

“No, you've changed a bit over the years.”

You run a hand through Jayce's longer hair and bring it down to his beard; the back of your hand caressing his face, “Your opinion matters most. Do you want to keep this new look, or do you want to shave it?”

Jayce looks into the mirror in a contemplative silence, before smiling at you and putting the shaving kit away.

“I like this look. Those council members can kiss my ass, they're just too lazy to make new posters and cups.”

You laugh at that, throwing your head back before kissing his shoulder. Jayce whirls you around and gives you a passionate kiss, he wraps his arms around you and lightly lifts you into the air. You wrap your arms around his neck.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too.”

“You better, you're stuck with me for all eternity.”

You beam a grin at him, “I wouldn't have it any other way. Now, when's this meeting? Let's dress you up so nicely that those members choke on their own spit and hopefully die.”

“Babe! You can't say that!”

“Oh yes I can, they sure as shit can't hear me. We’re at home. What're they gonna do? Send in a swat team of enforcers and put me in Stillwater because I'm offended they made my wonderful, beautiful, sexy boyfriend upset! I don't think so!”

Jayce boisterously laughs as you drag him back to the bedroom, “The meeting is in about an hour and a half.”

You smirk, “Time to doll you up then.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It honestly doesn't take that long to doll up Jayce. He's always been handsome.

You pull out his killer outfit. It’s an all-black ensemble with red accents. He's always looked so scrumptious when he wears it, and he knows it.

He gets dressed, puts a small bit of pomade in his hair so it loses its frizz, and sprays on some delectable cologne. There's almost fourty minutes left until he needs to leave.

He should've gotten ready a bit later. He's so gorgeous, you're itching to get your hands on him and ruin the work you two just did.

And he knows it.

He just keeps smirking at you, his dimples popping out each time. He lightly licks his lips, he even subtly poses for you. That bitch.

You walk up to him as he appreciates himself in the mirror (as he should) and squeeze yourself in between him and the dresser, you wrap your arms around his neck and fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“Would it be so bad if you were… a little late to the meeting?”

Jayce looks at the clock on the wall, “Nah, we got time.”

Before you know it, he's picked you up and tossed you onto the bed. He quickly follows suit as you unbutton his top as he kisses your cheek and goes down to your neck.

Fuck those councillors who talked shit about your boyfriend. He's the most handsome man in the world, and you'll make sure he knows it everyday.

JAYCE WITH MESSY HAIR, A BEARD, AND THE ALL BLACK OUTFIT WAS MY DOWNFALL IN S2. WHY DID HE ONLY HAVE IT FOR O N E SCENE ISTG WHY DID THEY DO THAT?!?? PAPA ME WANT MORE MOVIE 🫴🫴

[mindless-existence1]

Spencer Reid x Reader- Just a super fluffy short fic about Spencer realizing he wants you to move in because you already practically live in his apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spencer Reid does NOT have a clean apartment. That being said he'd LOVE for you to move in.

He likes the idea of your things being scattered in with his to the point neither of you know whos is whos.

His books litter the apartment and no matter how many times you pick them up they always end up off the shelves. Spencer often has a jumbled brain and his apartment reflects that.

But then your stuff gets thrown in the mix before you even move in. He finds the pajamas you wore during a sleep over a few days ago in his hamper.

He finds the snacks you like in his cupboard. Along with your waterbottle air drying by his sink.

You let some of your shower stuff/skin care stuff in his bathroom and just havent taken them back yet since yku stay over so often.

All of this comes to a peak when he finds the book you were reading last week laying next to his on his coffee table. It makes Spencer's heart swell and the only thing he can think of is he wants all of you to be with all of him.

You had just left your apartment and were on the way to his after picking up some takeout. Spencer eagerly awaited, barley being able to contain himself with the overwhelming feeling of just you.

The sound of his door creaking open made his head snap your way. "Honey I'm home!" You call out jokingly, making yourself laugh at your own joke.

Spencer didn't laugh though because the idea of you being home at his apartment made his chest flutter with something even he couldn't recognize.

Spencer quickly got up from the old couch and went to the kitchen to find you. You were opening the take out containers trying to identify what was what. When you looked up Spencer was just coming into the room.

"Hey babe,"you smile at him warmly. "Move in with me." Spencer rushes out as fast as he can. It takes you a minute to process. By the time you do Spencer realizes how demanding he sounded.

"Wha-" You begin, Spencer cuts you off. "I'm sorry I mean, I'd like for you to move in with me." The desperation evident in his voice makes your heart grow in size it seems.

"Spence I'd love to but are you sure? I mean I practically live here already but I don't want you to regret it." Confusion floods your boyfriends mind. Why would he regret being with you all the time?

His mind ran through every situation he could think of and it all boiled down to 'I want to be with my amazing partner'. "I could never regret it, I just want you to love with me."

The love that drips from his words almost overwhelm you and your only outlet is giving the genius the biggest hug of his life. It knocks him back slightly but he quickly recovers enough to hug back.

"I love you y/n."

"I love you to Spencer."

[cece693]

could you do a percy jackson x child of dionysus reader? either fem or gn?

The Vine and The Sea

pairing: percy jackson x gender neutral reader tags: child of dionysus, your the comedic relief in most situations, percy sees beyond that though, simple concept but really cute

The first time Percy Jackson noticed you, it wasn’t because you were causing chaos—though, as a child of Dionysus, that was often your specialty. It was because you were sitting on the steps of the Big House, twirling a grapevine lazily around your finger while everyone else was busy preparing for the next game of Capture the Flag.

Percy, never one to shy away from meeting new people, approached you with that signature crooked smile. “Not into bloodshed?” he teased, nodding toward the distant sounds of swords clashing in the training arena.

You looked up at him, your expression unreadable. “Oh, I’m all for a little drama,” you replied, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I just prefer mine with less bruising and more theatrics.”

Percy chuckled, plopping down beside you. “I’m Percy. You new here?”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself. “Yeah, just got here. They weren’t too thrilled when I turned the strawberry fields into a wine vineyard, though.”

Percy blinked, unsure if you were joking. “Uh, yeah, Mr. D probably didn’t like that.”

You smirked. “Surprisingly, he didn’t mind. I think he respects the creativity. The strawberries are fine, by the way. I’m not a monster.”

Percy found himself laughing again, drawn to your sharp wit and the way you seemed to carry yourself like the world was one big stage. Over the next few days, he noticed you more and more. You had a knack for turning even the most mundane moments into something theatrical, your Dionysian flair manifesting in spontaneous bursts of laughter, color, and music.

But what really caught Percy’s attention was your ability to calm even the tensest situations. One afternoon, when Clarisse was on the verge of throttling a camper over a sparring match, you stepped in with a simple snap of your fingers. Suddenly, the air filled with the intoxicating scent of wine, and the vines creeping along the fence began to blossom. The tension dissolved into laughter as Clarisse and the camper found themselves wrapped in vines, unable to move without giggling.

“You’ve got a gift,” Percy told you later, as you both sat by the campfire.

“More like a curse,” you replied, your tone softening. “People expect me to be the life of the party, the one who fixes everything with a little magic. But it’s not always that easy.”

Percy frowned, his sea-green eyes meeting yours. “You don’t have to be what everyone expects. Trust me, I get it. Being the son of Poseidon isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either.”

You smiled at him, a genuine warmth breaking through your usual mask of sarcasm. “Thanks, Percy. I guess we’re both trying to figure it out, huh?”

Over time, your bond with Percy deepened. He admired the way you could make him laugh, even on the darkest days, and you appreciated the way he saw through your Dionysian theatrics to the person underneath. You joined him on quests, your powers proving invaluable when diplomacy was needed more than brute force—or when monsters needed to be distracted by a particularly theatrical illusion of a Bacchanalia.

One night, as you sat together by the shoreline, the moonlight dancing on the waves, Percy turned to you, his expression unusually serious. “You know,” he said, “for someone who says they hate being the center of attention, you’ve definitely become the center of mine.”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart skipping a beat. “Is that your way of saying you like me, Seaweed Brain?”

He blushed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

You leaned closer, the scent of salt and sea mixing with the faint aroma of grapes that always seemed to cling to you. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I like you too.”

The kiss you shared was soft and fleeting, but it was enough to cement what had been growing between you for weeks. Together, you were a force to be reckoned with—the sea and the vine, chaos and calm, perfectly intertwined.

[catofgooddecisions]

Hey, I'm going through something not quite the same but similar. I had long COVID and developed severe brain fog during the height of my freelance writing career. I began missing deadlines, dropping communications, getting confused in the middle of writing sentences, and developing migraines from trying to write assignments.

It was devastating, and I've never met someone else who was in a similar position until now. Bucket is right, take time to grieve. I spent years crying and feeling like someone had died. But after that, I slowly began getting back to writing. I agree with everything that's already been said, with some additions and comments.

1. I switched how I communicated with my developers. Instead of email, I learned that Discord was way easier for me because chatting was FAR less strenuous than email-speak. Nowadays, professionalism in general is draining, so maybe something to think about. What KINDS of writing tire you out most?

2. I save my energy for when it matters. If I know I'll be writing today I treat myself extra gently and ask for extra help. That even includes asking someone to help grab snacks for me so I'm not getting up and down as often (mind you, I also have physical limitations).

3. I'm open about my limitations. Feeling like I can not only share my struggles but feel a measure of control in managing expectations helps my anxiety and imposter syndrome a lot.

4. I basically changed everything about my writing process. I use mindmaps and braindumping instead of outlines. I write my first drafts in bullet points. Yes. Bullet points. I type in Google Docs instead of Word. And I spitball my writing ideas out loud with people more often the process.

5. Feed your brain. I only started seeing major improvements after I cut a lot of processed foods out of my diet, drank water as my only drink at home, and worked with doctors to address vitamin deficiencies and mental health.

6. Might not fit your situation, but I also started co-writing with my husband. It's been really fun and effective!

7. This one might be weird, but DON'T push through brain fog or processing issues if you're having a lot of trouble. Step back, rest, try again later. Yes, practice, persistence, and patience are key, but I was hurting myself trying to push against the resistance like I was exercising a muscle. Our situations aren't identical, but the brain is an amazing organ. Take care of it, exercise it with variety instead of intensity, and enrich it. See if that helps.

This past year I was able to enter and complete and writing competition with my husband, and it was really fun! So don't give up trying and be kind to yourself. Let's show the world what we can do! 💙

Hi, this is a really specific situation, but I'm at a loss. I had an accident that left me with lasting brain issues, and my writing has taken a hit. I went from being able to churn out a 3k word chapter in a day to needing an hour to write 50 words. I have so many ideas but can't express them, and I hate writing as a result. I know practice and just pushing through are going to be the main pieces of advice, but do you have any other suggestions or resources for someone who is having to re-learn how to be a writer?

Hey there! First off, I’m so sorry this response took me so long. Your Ask really stuck with me, and I wanted to give it the thought and care it deserves.

I can’t imagine how frustrating and heartbreaking it must be to go through such a big shift in your writing process. Losing that ease and flow—especially when you have so many ideas—is a huge adjustment. It’s a testament to your creativity and drive that you’re still thinking about how to keep writing despite the challenges.

You’re absolutely right that practice and pushing through are often the go-to advice, but I think it’s equally important to give yourself permission to grieve what’s changed. Writing can feel like such a core part of who we are, and when it’s harder than it used to be, it’s natural to feel a sense of loss.

Here are a few suggestions that might help as you navigate this:

1. Try Different Mediums: If typing feels like slogging through mud, maybe experiment with dictation software or voice-to-text tools. Speaking your ideas aloud could help you capture more words without the same strain.

2. Focus on Smaller Goals: Instead of trying to write full chapters, set tiny, manageable goals—like jotting down a single image or one sentence that excites you. Those little wins can add up and feel more achievable.

3. Explore New Ways of Outlining: If you’re struggling to get the words out, focus on the ideas instead. Create bullet points, mind maps, or even doodles to capture the essence of your story without the pressure of fully fleshed-out prose.

4. Be Kind to Yourself: This is the hardest one, but it’s so important. Writing isn’t just about the final product; it’s about the joy of creating. Even if the words come slower, every step you take is progress.

And don't forget to give yourself a ton of credit! Re-learning how to write in a way that works for you now is an incredible act of resilience. You’re still a writer, and your stories are still worth telling, even if the path looks different.

Hope this helps!

Bucket

/ / / / / / / / / / /

@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Chapter 5, Drive me crazy

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: This one is a doozy. I was a little stuck and I hope this makes sense. Next chapter will explain a little more about Sylus' life before moving next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

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1 pm and you're just now making your first coffee along with your breakfast/lunch. You're not used to late nights anymore. Not like you were when you were still in school and partying. Well, "partying." Aka movie night with your friends and making stupid drinking games around the movies you were watching. 

Lucky for you, it's Saturday. You've got a whole weekend left to fix your sleeping schedule. Fixing is a big word. Make it so that you've at least had seven hours of sleep before you get to work. 

While lazily reading Tara's dramatic retelling of getting Kieran into bed, you notice a notification. One that usually only pops up when Red Crow, or Sylus, posts but it's Saturday. That's not his usual schedule. Frowning, you check the notification. 

Red Crow liked your comment: "Raw, next question." 

You feel as if you've just shat out your heart. "Cocky," you think to yourself as you tap the notification. It takes you to the comments under the video from last night and that's when you notice it... Your biggest nightmare. 

You were horny on main instead of on your alt account and now he probably knows it was you. But now comes the real big question. Do you leave it there as a testament to your thirst for him, or do you delete it in hopes he hasn't noticed it was you to protect your sanity? You scroll a little through the comments and quickly notice that Sylus never likes any comments. "Shit, he definitely knows." 

Still, you decide to delete the comment. If he saw it when he was drunk yesterday, then maybe there's a chance he doesn't remember or was just fucking around on his phone. The moment the comment disappears from your screen, there's a knock at your door. You're not sure who it could be. Maybe it's Tara. Did she leave anything yesterday? Or Kieran forced by Tara to apologize? But he would go to Sylus’ house for that. 

By the time you're done wrecking you're brain, you're already opening the door and there stands the one and only Sylus. Suddenly there are no more thoughts in your brain, just the picture of Sylus in front of your door wearing grey sweatpants and a black tee that seems a size or two too small. You can see every muscle on his stomach and chest through the shirt. However, that's not even the best part. The best part is that he stretches and moves one hand behind his neck, making his tee rise up and showing the little happy trail that you've salivated over more times than you'd like to admit. 

'Hey, sorry to bother you but I'm out of coffee.' 

'Go to the store,' you grumble and try to close the door again but he pushes against it. 

'Let me try that again,' he says, a playful but subtle grin on his lips, 'I'd like get to know you better over coffee. Preferably at your place.' It seems getting your brain fried is a regular occurrence when Sylus is around and you are suddenly awfully aware of how you look. 

Yes, you showered this morning, but you aren't exactly dressed. You threw on a shirt and a big sweater over top with some absurdly stupid miffy pajama shorts. Your words get stuck in your throat and you only seem to be able to mutter out a weak: 'Why?' 

He chuckles in response, the sound rumbling through his chest. 'You intrigue me. I'm curious what's going on in that pretty little head of yours.' 

"He called me pretty," is the only thought that sticks and you want to hit yourself over the head for only picking up that part, but you remind yourself of the video he had made after meeting you. He must have ulterior motive. 'Nothing else?' A sly smirk appears on his face, like he had been banking on you asking a question like that. Like he had been practicing his response, and it comes out sticky as honey. 

'Only with your willing participation.' You try to keep your bratty attitude but it's hard when he is so damn beautiful and so damn close and so damn hot. Goddamn! 

'In your dreams, big boy,' you sass, 'come in before I change my mind.' 

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There's a tense sort of feeling as you both sit on your couch with coffee in your hands. He keeps watching your movements, almost as if he's studying you or stalking his prey. It makes you feel on edge and at the same time, insanely turned on. To push him off balance, you decide to ask a question that had been hanging in your head for a while now. 

'How'd you get into it?' 

'It?' He's teasing. His lip quirks up into a smirk again. He wants to hear you say it, hear you say what he does, wants to watch your reaction to it. You feel strangely alien in your own space. 

'Porn.' You try to keep a straight face, but you can feel your ears heat up the slightest bit, and he fucking notices. You can tell he fucking notices. He's noticed everything so far. It's so fucking hot and so fucking annoying at the same time. You can only imagine how attentive he would be as a partner. 

'I was doing voice acting for a while and got hired for some smut books,' he explains like it's the most normal thing in the world, like it's the same as any office job, 'and I liked reading those books and the reaction people had to my voice. So, I tried my hand at posting some pictures of myself to see if people liked my voice and my body. After that I kind of rolled into it.' He takes a second to study your reaction and then asks you: 'And what do you do?' 

'Interior decorating.' He nods. 

'So I should've met you before I started decorating my place.' 

'I don't work for free,' you retort. 

'Neither do I,' he says, that damn smirk on his face again, 'but your reaction was more than enough payment for that video.' You're sure you're bright red now. 

'I didn't request your services.' Why did you invite him in? Are you that desperate? He puts his mug on the coffee table and takes yours out of your hands to set it down next to his. Then he leans over you, one arm on top of the backrest of your couch, the other gripping the armrest behind you. Naturally, you lean back a little bit, tilting your head up to look at his face. He doesn't look predatory, nor dangerous. In fact, you feel like if you would say no right now, he would go home in an instant. It's strangely comforting. 

'See it as a free trial.' He is impossibly close, closer than a stranger should be. Then again, you're not really strangers, are you? You are to him, but he's been on your mind for quite some time now. He's toying with you, he seems to want you for some reason. Barely knows you but it feels so familiar, so nice. You feel desired and... sexy. 

'A free trial for what?' You absentmindedly bite your lip. A low groan slips from his lips in response, and he shifts his position on the couch. With one swift motion, his one leg is kneeling on the couch while he pushes your legs onto the couch so you're laid underneath him, your back against the cushions. His lips are next to your ear now. 

'Worship,' he growls and ever so gently takes your earlobe between his teeth. You whimper in surprise. He lets go and moves on to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbones. 'Pleasure.' The hand that was on the armrest moves to your waist, slipping under your shirt and you shiver. 'And sex.' His words sound like a promise. A promise you would offer up your life for. You feel breathless as he leans back a little bit to admire your figure. That damn smirk of his, back on his lips as he sees your lust filled eyes. He definitely knows that comment was yours. 'What do you say?' 

'You don't even know me,' you manage to mutter. 

'I know enough,' he answers and leans down to press a featherlight kiss on the corner of your lips. A strange surge of despair rushes through you and suddenly your hands are behind his neck, entangled in his grey hair, pulling him towards your lips. 'So needy,' he teases, readjusting his knee on the couch to be between your legs, 'I thought you were worried I didn't know you. You wouldn't want to take advantage of me, would you now?' 

His lips are only a breath away from yours, his eyes stare into yours intently. You tell yourself it's just sex, yet there's something soft in the way he looks at you. Something you can't quite place, because he shouldn't be looking at you like that. You've only just met him. 'What are you thinking about?' 

'Why me?' He doesn't have a quick nor sly response to that. You can tell you've caught him off guard. His eyes widen a little and his head moves away the slightest bit, but you can't tell if it's because you've just asked the dumbest question in existence or because he does not know either. 

'There's something about you,' he tells you, his tone no longer teasing but as serious as he can get, 'it's intriguing and I want to find out what it is.' 

'Because I gave you a hard on when we first met?' He cracks. His serious demeanor disappears for a second, as does the sexual tension when he sits up on his heel trying to stifle a laugh. The hand that was under your shirt is now on his face, rubbing his jaw to hide his smile. 

'You've got a dirty mouth on you, sweetie,' he comments, trying to get back into it but you've already propped yourself up on your elbows with the cheekiest of grins on your face. 

'Shouldn't you be used to those kinds of comments by now,' you say, trying to provoke him even more. Truly, you don't know what it is about him that brings your brat out but you don't hate it. It's fun. 

'They're different when you read them on a screen,' he answers, sounding almost sincere. Almost. Only if you hadn't known what he proposed so sweetly just a minute ago. 

'Maybe you take me out some time and I'll try to behave,' you offer, feeling as daring. This is all so new for you but it just flows. There's no good reason for why you feel this way and yet it's fucking exhilarating. You don't want any of it to stop, but your ovaries are running your brain right now and you can't trust them. Not when it comes to men. They've shown that to you before. You need a second to calm down before you engage in anything that could someday become regrettable to you. 

Though you probably wouldn't have minded sleeping with him right here and now. 

Sylus doesn't answer you, he just hands you his unlocked phone. You type in your number, already regretting it when you hand it back to him and see the grin on his face. You've just given him so much power to tease you. Well, you should regret it. You think you should. 

In reality you can't wait for what's to come. 

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[orphicmusings]

LOVELOVELOOOVE ur viktor writing . He’s soo boyfriend and i think u capture his character so so well <33 was wondering if you’d consider writing something abt reader experiencing academic burnout (or similar) and him comforting them / convincing them to take a break n rest? :3 if u don’t feel like writing it then no worries !! Take care of urself <33

(kinda apart of my viktor & humanities reader au —)

if there was anyone who would be in the library until it closed, it would be you and viktor. though on opposite sides, in different sections. you always acknowledge each other with a friendly hello if you cross paths, but otherwise you leave him to his studying and he leaves you.

that is, until he sees you slumped against the literary fiction aisle, your eyes closed, head resting on an almost empty shelf. you had an open book held loosely in your hands, your place likely long gone. highlighters and pencils were scattered about your crossed legs, where you sat next to a laptop bag, a notebook and an empty coffee cup. so much for it. he sighed and gently approached you, laying a delicate hand on your shoulder.

“hey.” he tried to keep his voice soft as not to startle you. “i don’t think your neck will be very happy with you.”

you blinked awake, stifling a gasp as your vision adjusted to the dim light of the library, this angle blocking one of the overhead yellow lights, creating a warm halo around the tawny locks of your interruption, making him look more like a savior. oh, no. it’s hot library guy. your cheeks flushed immediately when you realized who was seeing you in this pathetic state. “i…” you cleared your throat, stretching your arms. “thank you.”

“of course.” he chuckled warmly and it made your heart skip a beat. “i…don’t want to state the obvious, but you do know this is not normal, yes?”

your cheeks flushed even more as you let out a sigh. yes, you knew pushing yourself until your brain can’t take it anymore isn’t normal. but how else were you gonna make it through all these tests? “i see you slumped over your books in here, too.” you offered as a hoarse counter.

he tilted his head with a raise of his brow, considering your point. “i don’t fall asleep on the floor.”

you groaned, covering your face in embarrassment. “just…forget you saw me like this.”

“oh, why would i do that?” he chuckled again. “it is quite amusing. proof that caffeine cannot fix everything.” he pointed to your coffee cup. at your tired glare, he relented. “i’m just kidding with you. i’m viktor.” he offered his hand to you. you sighed and took it, pulling you to your feet and introducing yourself. “it is nice to put a name to a face i see so often. now, even though we just met, i feel compelled to walk you home.”

you would have refused, but the sun already went down and you weren’t nearly alert enough to walk home alone. “that…would be nice, thank you.” you smiled thinly, feeling heat flood your face again.

he waited for you to gather your things and hooked his arm in yours. you idly chatted about your majors as you walked to your dorm buildings. for someone majoring in engineering physics, he actually did seem to be interested in your english pursuit. “you know what my favorite book is?” he asked. “a lot of people would assume it is some kind of scientific landmark, a theoretical curiosity, and i wouldn’t deny it.” he chuckled lightly. “but considering this is your area of expertise, i’ll tell you.”

you smiled. “what is it?”

“emma.” he returned the smile. “by jane austen. classic.”

“oh my god.” you giggled. “i wouldn’t expect that from you. but now that you mention it…” you tilted your head. “you do give off knightley vibes.”

pink dusted his cheeks. “that…is a very appreciated compliment.” he returned your energy again, giggling himself. god, you wanted to make him laugh all the time. he dropped you off at your dorm and assured you he was fine to walk back on his own, as his building was right across from yours.

“am i gonna see you at the library tomorrow night?” you asked.

he turned and smiled. “perhaps.”

[bebethsas]

@foundtherightwords lol, he did? when??

"such a boy back then" sir that 'closing-the-shutters' moment in the hotel room has been compared to the Mr.-Darcy-hand-flex moment from the Pride and Prejudice movie in its intensity and ability to make people swoon--don't sell yourself short!!

("such a boy--" he was what, 22, 23 when he shot this?? ...also wow I just remembered that Leonard is canonically 20-21 in this, so Joe was actually in a role that was close to his IRL age for once--I know it's not the only role he's played whose age was close to his age when they filmed, but still)

2nd gif's caption: "what d'you want to have me in there for??"

also: man, I think this is my favorite scene in the entire show. I swear, every second is great;

there's Leonard getting upset--and trying very hard to leave--for multiple reasons: -he thought that Helen and her sister invited him to tea b/c... (...b/c I thought that you liked my company? That you were interested in discussing art with me again? That maybe you liked me (as a person)? He doesn't finish the statement, but the look on his face... only 22, only 22 and already so talented, what am I doing with my life...) ...when they actually just invited him over to warn him about his job most likely going belly-up (cough convince him to leave his position b/c they're convinced that they're right, and that their source for this info--(through gritted teeth) Mr. Wilcox--is infallible cough). -(I suspect that he's also upset b/c now he knows that they're on friendly terms with the Wilcoxes--Mr. Wilcox and his daughter dropped by in the previous scene, and Leonard's polite smile dropped with it--and I'm pretty sure that he knows who Mr. Wilcox is) -he feels like they only invite him 'round b/c...I'm struggling with how to describe this. It's like they don't care about him as a person with a brain, they care about him as a human for them to talk at. He feels like he can't discuss art with them, and he feels like they're judging him based on what he wants to talk about, and they unintentionally dismiss the way he interacts with art as well as his emotions about it; their way of viewing art is the only thing that is discussed, and his way isn't encouraged? I'm trying to explain it...It's like...imagine that they're three children, and they've each brought a toy to their gathering; only the Schlegel sisters' toys are allowed to be played with, while Leonard's toy is purposefully ignored since the sisters aren't interested in it. -they're not interested in his interests and don't want to talk about them, and only want to talk about what they want to talk about (gaaaaah and as a person with ASD I felt that line on a spiritual level)

then there's Helen desperately trying to diffuse the situation--all the while not knowing why there is a situation to diffuse in the first place and becoming visibly distressed

and then Tibby pops up out of nowhere and inadvertantly makes things worse with his blunt way of speaking (and being damn funny the entire time too; he literally enters the scene by suddenly leaning out of a doorway and saying "does anyone actually like [Dostoyevsky]...you can't go a single page without someone collapsing on the floor," in response to something his sister had said in her private conversation with Leonard) (note to self, look into reading Dostoyevsky, it sounds like his work would appeal to my ✨Dramatic✨ taste.) Tibby, literally 2 seconds later with zero tact or intended malice: "I say, are you that poor devil of a clerk they have debates over at the Chelsea Women's Political Club?"

and Annie the maid, popping up twice while trying to look for Leonard's hat, and becoming increasingly more stressed and upset from the stressful situation and Helen's rising stress levels (which she is unintentionally taking out on Annie), which puts more unspoken pressure on her to find that hat.

it's a boatload of tension, mainly between Helen and Leonard, with Annie off camera in another room, and with Tibby on the side (looking rather nonplussed and completely unphased by the thick-and-stressful tension in the air--love that for him 😂).

you can tell that Helen feels bad (and confused) that Leonard's upset and wants to make it right (even as their conversation goes farther and farther downhill as they speak), and Leonard is upset and disappointed and just wants to leave (but he can't because he can't find his hat--and no he can't just leave without it, not just b/c it's not The Proper Thing To Do, but because if he left it behind, that means that he would have to come back and fetch it; and he also can't replace it b/c he and Jackie are already struggling to make ends meet as is, so he's literally stuck standing awkwardly in the hallway with Helen as he waits for Annie to locate and return with his hat, while uncomfortably enduring Helen's questions) and it's just...aaaaaaaauuughhhhh!!! It's great :3

It's a very human scene, and I've lived similar situations before, so it feels VERY realistic.

i pray that linking this doesn't lead to yt finding this vid and deleting it:

(yes I backed up a bit b/c the preceding scene is also good, goddammit, it's so subtle but you can see the minute way his face falls when they tell him that the reason they wrote him was b/c they wanted to warn him about his job. I swear, you can see the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes.)

...literally so talented that when Anne Rice (yes, Lestat's mom) watched the miniseries, she noticed it and tweeted about it.

JOSEPH QUINN as LEONARD BAST in Howard's End

[moonlitrogue]

PACs don't have to be negative or provide a reality check since we never have the full context or grasp of energies. I don't think it's wise to jump into interpretations that defeat the spirit of the querents. I was talking with a friend who showed me a PAC on first time with your partner, etc. It was utterly ridiculous to go through. I personally think energies change so much between someone asking for their first time and the actual experience that we'll never really know. To put out a disheartening description and mislabel it as truthful is a malpractice if you ask me.

I'm also becoming aware of the harmful discourses on future spouses and partners that people are treating the information gleaned from the cards as fatalistic instead of suggestive of current energies. Tarot offers great opportunities to connect with the universe, and build your own language or story but it's been disappointing to see the weight people place on someone else's love rather than developing their own capacity to love. It could be misleading especially to the young ones who are extremely susceptible to external influences and obsession. Unregulated exposure to such ideas on the regular alter our brain chemistry and deteriorate our mental health. It's a form of addiction too, what I'm observing, even if it's unlisted. I would encourage anyone who's read so far, to welcome messages but not develop a fixed mindset regarding the future.

The ideas that need to solidify and crystallize in your mind are those which are beautiful, which bring peace to you, and assure you. Do not make the mistake of assuming fixed attitudes since we're still evolving. Be playful and approach things with curiosity rather than want or desire. Destiny is a beautiful thing we co-create with the Universe by tuning into specific frequencies and making choices that align with our inner truth. Your inner truth needs you to work on yourself, at least to dissolve the things holding you back or creating resistance in your being. What's meant for you will then come to you effortlessly. The goal posts of the Universe keep shifting as you upgrade and the peace you experience as you integrate these ideas will actually leave you content.

Of course, we all have our journeys and those who get it will get it in their own time. If even a single sentence in this post meant something to you, then I hope you think about it and let the clarity guide you.