#5:42 pm

[buggshotz]

merry christmas! thank you retail workers and may all of your days be filled with joyful whimsy and jolly laughter!!

[lovemehatemex0]

I don’t even know when the last time I came home while the sun was setting was.

[justablah56]

Morning Aether! <3

morning is a strong word for what time it is for me rn but hi icy !!!!! <333

[klaudia2646]

A very overcast day today. It was a nasty cold day. Oh well.

Everyone came in dragging their feet at work. People are cranky and tired. One of my coworkers, Kelly, went to get some coffee and got me a cookie. It was so good and so big and I ate it all 😳 It was sweet of her to get the cookie for me. Then I got really annoyed with another coworker whose office is very closed to me. Every 👏 single 👏 day 👏 when I’m talking to someone she comes, interrupts and start talking to that person about something completely different. Every. Day. Not once or twice. Every. Day. Sometimes more than once a day. Today I got very annoyed and interrupted her and kept talking to the other person. After that I imagine that my face said everything. 5 minutes later she came to me and apologized for interrupting all the time. 🫤 What the hell am I supposed to say.

Today we had a runoff election for a city council candidate, I voted, I lost. 😞

I went to several stores today to finish buying the presents for my family in Texas. They now just need to be wrapped and mailed to them. I’m also ready to set up the village ornaments. Christmas trees are done, I need to buy skirts for the other 2 and find the skirt for the one in the living room. I saw it when I first got all of the decorations out but I have no idea where it is right now.

I had a dream last night that I bought 2 powerball tickets for Little Bit and one won 900k and the other one 2 millions. Then I woke up. It was nice while it lasted 😂

[pnuk-r0ck]

I should probably go 2 bed soon.

[cant-think-of-a-good-one]

really soft dick call that a lenis penis

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[natsaffection]

story idea or little short thing which ever but i personally image Natasha being a bad flirt when she really means it, like for example she ends up liking a woman who doesn't work for the Avengers or like has something simple like a small librarian or something and because it's unexpected she doesn't know how to react to this sudden feeling and tries to flirt with her but suddenly every bit of seduction she learnt and she used to her advantage vanished and she just stares a lot and maybe asks about the woman's interest as a way of flirting cause i don't know what to do, she's such a cutie patootie in my eyes, i can take her seriously but at the end of the day i just see my shayla like that's just babygirl with a big heart🥲

How she smiles. | N.R

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word count: 3,7k

A/N: Some story’s aren’t just story’s.

The clock on Natasha’s nightstand blinked 5:42 am. but she was already awake.

The room was still, a minimal space lit only by the soft morning gray leaking through the window. A single shelf held a few books. Her combat boots were lined up with surgical precision at the door. A black hoodie was folded on the chair. No clutter. Nothing personal.

Natasha didn’t need much. She liked it that way. She sat up slowly, letting the silence stretch. It was the one time of day she didn’t have to perform. No missions. No teammates. No masks. Just the hum of a world that hadn’t quite started turning yet.

The floor was cold against her feet. She liked that, too, the reminder that she was real. That she existed in the world, not just above it.

By 6:10, she was jogging along the perimeter of the compound. Not for training. Not for show. Just because she needed it. The steady rhythm of breath and pavement was something she could control.

By 7:00, she was in the gym, alone. No music. Just the sound of fists hitting pads. Her technique was flawless, fast, efficient, unrelenting. She didn’t spar to fight. She sparred to stay sharp.

At 8:00, she changed into a fresh black turtleneck and tailored pants. Not because anyone told her to, but because discipline was a habit she never broke. Breakfast was a protein bar and a black coffee she brewed herself. No creamer. No sugar. No softness.

By 8:30, she was already scanning mission logs in the ops room when Steve walked in, muttering about debriefs and red tape.

“You’re late.” she said, not looking up.

“It’s 8:30.”

“I said what I said.”

He chuckled under his breath. She smirked. It was a rhythm now, their banter, safe, familiar. Maria arrived fifteen minutes later, sleek and pressed as always. Natasha greeted her with a glance, a tilt of the head, just enough suggestion to keep Hill on her toes.

It wasn’t about flirting. Not really. It was about reading people, playing the part they expected. Sometimes that part had a smirk and a raised brow. Sometimes it had a knife. Most people couldn’t tell the difference.

By midday, the team had mostly scattered. Thor was off-world. Tony was buried in his lab. Clint was… somewhere. Natasha didn’t ask. She walked the compound in silence, boots echoing in empty hallways, her reflection catching in polished glass. The world outside buzzed with movement, but inside, there was stillness.

Natasha was many things. Spy, assassin, avenger. But in between all of that, she was also a woman used to waiting. Watching. Living on the edges of other people’s stories. She didn’t mind. It was easier that way.

When she finally sat down with Bruce in the lab around 4:00 pm, it wasn’t about conversation. He handed her a tablet with new intel. She passed him a small container of protein gummies, a quiet joke from their last mission.

“Thanks.” he said, with a hint of a smile.

“Don’t get emotional.” she replied.

Later, it was one of those rare nights when no one was injured, the world wasn’t on fire, and no one was being hunted across continents. So Tony did what Tony did best, threw a party.

The tower’s penthouse was transformed into something between a lounge and a battlefield of banter. Stark had cleared out half the bar’s premium stock. Music pulsed low. Everyone had a drink in hand, but the air wasn’t loose. It was precise, a show of ease from people trained to kill.

Natasha stood near the window, her silhouette painted in city lights, sipping whiskey straight. Her dress was black, high-necked but sleeveless, with a slit that whispered danger.

She was talking to Maria, a shoulder angled just so. A too-long glance. A slow smile that hinted at something unsaid.

Steve stood across the room with Sam and Clint, observing with a raised brow.

“You’re staring.” Sam said, following his gaze.

“I’m…watching.” Steve replied, slowly.

“Same thing.”

Clint smirked and leaned over. “He’s just surprised. Nat’s usually ten moves ahead, but with Hill? She lingers.”

“She’s not doing anything wrong.” Steve said, but his tone was too thoughtful to be casual.

“She never is.” Clint added. “Not where anyone can prove it.”

Meanwhile, Natasha had leaned in closer to Maria, brushing her hand lightly over her sleeve as she made a point about… something she definitely wasn’t listening to. She was flushed.

“Relax.” she said quietly, “I don’t bite.”

Maria gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s…debatable.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Maybe.”

Suddenly, the music dropped, and Tony clapped his hands dramatically. “Alright, children of chaos, time for the real entertainment. Who’s up for a little game?”

Natasha turned toward him, intrigued. “What kind of game?” she asked, already knowing she’d say yes.

“Truth or shot,” Tony said. “Classy, right?”

Groans and laughter broke out. Natasha smiled, finishing her whiskey. “Let’s make this interesting.” she said, walking over to the circle that had started forming in the lounge. “Winner gets to make someone else do anything.”

Steve frowned. “Define anything.”

“Come on, Roger’s.” Natasha said, arching a brow. “Live a little.” She was in control. This was her world. These were the spaces she navigated with elegance and heat and sharpness under the surface.

The morning after was crisp, the kind that bit at the skin but promised a clearer mind. Natasha had been restless since sunrise, her body tense with leftover adrenaline and the ghost of too many thoughts. Steve had caught on.

“You need fresh air.” he’d said. “Come on. Walk with me.” So they walked.

They cut through lower Manhattan in silence, boots clicking on damp sidewalks, the city just beginning to hum to life. Steve talked here and there, about a sparring session with Sam, a report Maria wanted, something about a diplomatic issue in Wakanda, and Natasha nodded, half-listening. Not because she wasn’t interested. Just…tired.

Then Steve pointed across the street. “That place is new.” he said. “Wanna try it?”

Natasha followed his gaze to a corner café tucked between a bookstore and a florist. It had wide windows, soft wood framing, and a handwritten chalk sign on the sidewalk that read:

Red Velvet Latte is back — dare you.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “Dare accepted.” The bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside, a soft sound against the murmur of the shop’s early patrons and the low jazz playing through the speakers. It smelled like cinnamon and espresso and something warm.

And then, Natasha froze. She hadn’t meant to. It was just a flicker at first, a glance toward the counter, a tilt of her head. But then she saw her.

You.

A young woman behind the espresso machine, long hair tucked perfectly into a clip, sleeves pushed up, a faint smudge of foam on her cheek. She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary, just pouring steamed milk into a mug, but there was something about her. The way the light caught her jawline. The calm on her face. The quiet confidence in the way she moved.

Beautiful.

Not the kind Natasha usually noticed. Not the dangerous, red-lipped kind. This was so much different. And all at once, Natasha Romanoff, assassin, spy, master manipulator, forgot everything. Steve was still talking, saying something about the furniture layout or the smell of nutmeg, but she didn’t hear a word. Her eyes were locked.

She didn’t even realize she’d stopped walking until Steve gently nudged her shoulder. “You good?”

No answer. Then, like the universe wanted to mess with her, the girl looked up..and smiled. It was instinct that brought Natasha to the counter. Not logic. Not curiosity. Just the kind of invisible pull she couldn’t have described even under interrogation.

“Hi there.” The girl said brightly. “What can I get started for you two?”

Her voice was light, smooth, like honey over gravel. And it hit Natasha like a gut punch. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Steve stepped in, amused but polite. “Just a black coffee for me. She’ll have…” He looked at Natasha. “Natasha?”

Natasha blinked. “I- uh…yes. Sorry. Just…”

The girl tilted her head, waiting. Natasha coughed gently, straightening her posture. “Espresso. Double shot. Please.”

The girl smiled again. “Coming right up.”

Natasha tried to mirror the smile, but it felt off. Too wide. She turned to Steve, who was already watching her with a knowing look.

“What?” she asked, too quickly.

He raised both eyebrows. “You’ve interrogated war criminals with more composure.”

“Shut up.”

They moved to a small table by the window, the sunlight catching Natasha’s cheekbone as she stared into the middle distance.

“You gonna tell me what just happened?” Steve asked, lowering himself into the seat.

“Nothing happened.” she muttered, adjusting the sleeves of her jacket. “I’m just tired.”

“Right.” he said, leaning back with a smirk. “Because I’ve definitely seen you speechless before.”

Natasha glared at him, but she didn’t have the energy to deny it. Her heart was still beating oddly fast, her palms still cool with nerves she hadn’t felt since her first mission.

Across the room, the barista worked with ease, laughing softly with a coworker as she pulled another espresso shot. Her voice carried faintly over the counter, low and melodic.

Natasha didn’t even realize she was staring again.

Steve watched her for a long moment, “Well, damn. I think we found your weakness.”

Natasha looked away, eyes narrowed. “She’s not a weakness.” she said, more to herself than to him. But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure she believed it. Not yet.

Their drinks arrived a moment later, and the girl set Natasha’s cup down gently in front of her.

“I hope it’s strong enough.” she said, and for just a moment, her eyes met Natasha’s. It wasn’t flirtatious. Not overt..Just kind.

And it made Natasha’s throat tighten. She barely managed to say “Thank you.” Then the girl turned and walked away, and Natasha watched her go like she’d forgotten how to do anything else.

Two Days later:

Natasha hadn’t meant to come back. At least, that’s what she told herself. She told herself it was just a convenient detour. She happened to be in the area. She just wanted decent espresso. Nothing more.

But as she turned the corner and saw the familiar chalkboard sign outside, Red Velvet Latte is back. You know you want it. She felt something twist in her stomach. It wasn’t nerves, exactly. It was worse. It was anticipation..

She stepped inside. The café was quieter than the day before, a weekday lull, with soft jazz humming through the speakers and the golden morning light catching on the brick walls. There were maybe five other people seated, heads bent over laptops or books.

And then, there you were. Behind the counter again. Your hair was half-up today, a few strands escaping to frame your face. You looked just as natural, just as quietly radiant as before, and maybe it was because Natasha had replayed the moment in her head too many times, but she felt it instantly:

She remembered you.

You turned, spotted Natasha, and smiled. Not politely. Not like you did for every customer. This one was warmer. Real.

“Oh..” you said, walking toward the register. “You’re back.”

Natasha’s mouth felt dry. You didn’t wait for her to speak. You tapped something into the screen and said, “Espresso, right? Double shot.”

Natasha blinked. Normally, she’d have something ready by now, a teasing remark, a flirty comeback, a raised brow and a smile that said you’re fun, but I’m dangerous. It was a routine. A shield. A game she always won.

But now? Now, she stood there like someone had unplugged her brain. “You…remembered?” she managed.

“Of course.” you said with a shrug, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “You don’t forget someone who looks like they walked out of a spy movie.”

It wasn’t flirtatious, not exactly. But it landed. Natasha opened her mouth, say something, say something clever, say literally anything! But her tongue didn’t move the way it was supposed to.

She gave a breath of a laugh, glancing down at the counter like it had answers. “Well…good memory.” That’s all she had..No wink. No comeback. Just a weird little knot in her stomach and a flush creeping under her collar.

You gave her a curious look, not suspicious, just curious. “You want it for here or to go?”

Natasha should have said to go. She had nothing to do here. No reason to stay. But before her brain could catch up, her mouth said,

“For here.”

You nodded. “Take any seat. I’ll bring it to you.”

Natasha nodded and turned away fast, too fast, choosing the corner table by the window, the one that let her sit with her back to the wall. Habit. Safety. Even if she felt completely unsafe in a way she didn’t recognize. She sat there, pretending to scroll her phone, heart beating in this slow, impossible rhythm.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Across the room, you moved like you belonged there, laughing with a coworker, adjusting the cups, brushing hair behind your ear. Everything about you was normal. So normal. And yet it felt like something had shifted in Natasha’s world just from being near you.

A minute later, you appeared beside her with the espresso. “Here you go.” you said, setting it down gently. “Still hot. I pulled it a little slower this time, more flavor that way.”

Natasha looked up, and for a second, she felt breathless again. She nodded. “Thanks.”

You hesitated. “So…spy movie?”

Natasha blinked. “What?”

“You do look like someone out of one.” you said with a grin. “Mysterious. Sharp jawline. Possibly knows forty ways to kill someone with a spoon.”

Natasha stared at you for a heartbeat too long. Normally, she’d laugh. Play along. Maybe lean in, lower her voice, say something like only forty? But her mouth wouldn’t work right, and instead, all she said was:

“I like spoons.”

Silence. You blinked, then gave a soft laugh that made Natasha’s face burn.

“Noted.” you said, lips twitching with amusement. “Well, enjoy your coffee…Spoon Lady.”

And just like that, you turned and walked away, and Natasha let her head fall into her hands with a groan.

She was losing her mind. Spoon lady? Natasha groaned under her breath, dragging a hand over her face.

She’d survived torture. She’d lied her way out of high-security prisons. She’d faced alien armies and bureaucratic meetings with Tony. And somehow, this was her downfall, a coffee shop and a girl with warm eyes and a smudge of cinnamon on her cheek.

The espresso sat in front of her, untouched. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the tiny porcelain cup like it had betrayed her.

Across the room, you were wiping down the counter, smiling at something a coworker said. Occasionally, you glanced toward Natasha, not obvious, but Natasha noticed. She always noticed.

And she hated that it made her stomach flip.

The café had quieted even more, only two other patrons now, both nose-deep in laptops. The music was softer too, some old soul track that felt like honey poured over late morning sunlight.

It was the perfect window.

Natasha picked up her espresso, stood, and walked, with the casual, predator-smooth stride she used in every hallway, every party, every mission, right up to the counter. To smooth over her earlier embarrassment, reclaim a little dignity, maybe throw in a practiced smile, something casual and clever. To prove to herself that she was still her.

But the second you looked up, all that went out the window.

Not because of how you looked, though, God, you did, but because of the way you blinked when your eyes met, as if startled by your own reaction. The way you tucked your hair back too fast. The way you over-corrected your smile like you didn’t trust it to hold.

She’s nervous, Natasha realized. Not scared. Not intimidated. Just…nervous.

It was adorable. And it knocked the breath right out of her.

Natasha had seen it all, seduction, awe, desire, even fear. But this? This quiet fluster of someone trying so hard to play it cool and failing just slightly? It was real in a way she hadn’t touched in years. No performance. No angle. Just a girl with warm hands, pretty eyes, and the worst poker face she’d ever seen.

Natasha leaned a forearm lightly on the wood and took a sip of her drink, stalling, breathing, reminding herself who she was.

“Okay.” she said, softly but clearly. “That was…a terrible first impression.”

You smiled, eyes bright with amusement. “It was kind of charming.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Is that a polite way of saying I sounded like an idiot?”

“Maybe a little..” you teased, laughing. “But in a very mysterious, highly-trained-assassin-who’s-not-great-at-talking-to-baristas kind of way.”

Natasha shook her head, but smiled. Real this time. She exhaled like it let out something she’d been holding for too long.

“I usually do better than that.” she said, eyes fixed gently on you. “I’m…not sure what happened.”

Your expression softened. You wiped your hands on a dish towel and stepped a little closer, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I think you were just surprised.” you said. “Happens more than you’d think.”

Natasha studied your face for a beat, calm, but flushed, a little shy. And the more Natasha noticed it, the worse she got. Because usually, when someone blushed, she’d lean into it, drop her voice, step a little closer, let the silence stretch. She liked the tension. The control.

But with you?

She didn’t want control.

She wanted to know you.

“I’m Natasha.” she said finally, voice quieter now, like she didn’t want anyone else to hear.

You blinked, that kind of blink that meant oh, and then smiled again, slower this time. “I know.”

Natasha tilted her head. “You do?”

“Yeah…” you admitted, cheeks turning pink, “Steve Rogers was with you yesterday. And you…kind of have the presence of someone who doesn’t do boring for a living.”

Natasha laughed, a low, husky sound. “That’s one way of putting it.”

You stuck out your hand over the counter, suddenly brave. “I’m Y/n.”

Natasha looked at your hand, then took it, her fingers brushing yours just a second too long.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n.” she said. And this time, her voice had its usual rhythm again, low, smooth, a little dangerous. But even then, even with every instinct in her clicking back into place, she didn’t push the flirt further. Not yet.

Instead, she asked, “So…how long have you been working here?”

You smiled, still holding Natasha’s gaze like it was easy. Like you weren’t shaking the world off its axis.

“A little over a year.” you said. “Why, are you planning to become a regular?”

And there it was, the invitation, the challenge. Natasha hesitated for half a second. Then she nodded slowly, smirking just a little.

“Maybe I already am.”

You blinked, your smile faltering slightly, not fading, just shifting. Like you felt the change in the air, too.

“Oh?” you asked softly, setting your rag aside. Natasha’s throat went dry. She glanced down at the counter, then back up. Her voice, when it came, was lower than usual.

“I was wondering..” Natasha said, fingers tapping once, nervously, against the wood, “if maybe you’d want to get coffee with me. Somewhere that isn’t here.”

The words hung there, fragile, quiet, terrifying. You didn’t answer right away. Your lips parted slightly, eyes wide. Then you let out a soft breath, a laugh, the kind people make when something inside them exhales.

“Like a date?” you asked, voice breathless.

Natasha nodded once. “Yeah. Like a date.”

You looked down, then back up, your cheeks flushed, but your smile was real and wide and a little stunned.

“You sure you don’t just want more espresso?” you teased, but your voice was trembling in the sweetest way.

Natasha leaned in, just enough. “I think I’ve had enough espresso. I want…something else.”

There it was. Not a line. Not a performance. Just truth. You bit your lip, still smiling. “Okay.” you said quietly. “I’d like that.”

Natasha blinked once, surprised or relieved. Elated in a way she didn’t know how to show.

Then, gently: “After your shift?”

You nodded. “I get off at two.”

Natasha gave a soft smile, and it reached her eyes this time. “I’ll be here.”

She turned to walk away, and for once, didn’t try to control the smile tugging at her lips. Because this..whatever it was, felt like the start of something she didn’t even know she was allowed to want.

And this time? She wanted everything.

[chaoticace2005]

Rules for the Hazbin Hotel, authored by Vaggie:

1. No drugs.

2. No fights.

3. No pranks.

4. No problematic language.

5. No murder (OR TERRITORIAL GENOCIDE WHAT THE FUCK ANGEL)

6. No smuggling in of drugs. Not by sticking them up your ass. Or by hiding them in a pizza box. Or by slingshotting them to the roof. Or getting someone else to. Not at all.

7. No sexual rendezvous with outsiders in the hotel. No SHOWING sexual rendezvous with strangers to people of the hotel either.

8. Make sure the pig/future pets stay in the patron’s room. (This includes eggs!!)

9. No singing Limit singing to once twice per day

10. Stop flirting with the bartender Angel

11. Don’t call Husk “Husker” unless he allows it.

12. No harassing the staff at all. This includes asking who tops.

13. Don’t suggest anything sexual/romantic to Alastor unless you want your head cut off.

14. NO CUTTING OFF PEOPLE’S HEADS

15. NO EATING PEOPLE

16. NO MAKING CHARLIE CRY.

17. Don’t ask me to put my spear “inside you” Angel, what the fuck?

18. Don’t turn the interior of the hotel into a swamp?! Keep it contained in your room if you must!

19. No stabbing staff or residents. No matter how much they look like bugs! (OR IF THEYRE NAME IS ANGEL)

20. Don’t try and stab bugs if they’re within 10 feet of another demon.

21. Don’t call anyone a “bitch” OR TALK ABOUT HOW MY NAME SOUNDS LIKE “VAGINA”

22. Limit Niffty’s access to sharp objects.

23. NO DEALS ALASTOR

24. No drinking. Limit drinking at bar.

25. No mentioning the Stock Market Crash of 1929. For everyone’s benefit.

26. Don’t blow a hole in the wall.

27. Try to keep roast battles OUTSIDE the hotel. (Or stop picking fights?? Please Alastor I swear to God…)

28. No spying on the hotel for outside sources or putting technology that can be used against us.

29. No evil laughing in the middle of the night, what the fuck Alastor?

30. No building weapons/war machines.

31. No eggs! (Fine the eggs can stay.)

32. Someone please keep an eye on Niffty. (And the eggs.)

33. Stop touching people ANGEL.

34. Don’t make other people storm off HUSK.

35. Respect boundaries.

36a. If Angel looks like he’s about to pass out/cry don’t comment. Let him do his thing.

36b. Don’t try to talk to Angel if he’s on the phone with Valentino. Honestly don’t even mention his phone calls with Valentino.

37. Please don’t call Lucifer “Daddy”

38. Don’t turn into a 20 foot tall demon-eating creature unless absolutely necessary.

39. Don’t cause angry loan sharks to show up at the front door.

40. NO EXPLOSIONS!

41. Rule #2, “No fights” can be broken if the person you’re fighting is Valentino. Or Adam.

42. Don’t lie to your girlfriend or hide the fact you were secretly an angel.

43. DONT TALK ABOUT PEOPLE’S TITS (or lack of)

44. KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING A BEDROOM ESPECIALLY IF SOMEONE’S HAVING MAKEUP SEX

45. Don’t give people makeovers while they’re sleeping, ANGEL!

46. Don’t pretend to eat someone’s pet, ALASTOR

47. Don’t die.

48. I never want to hear the words “cum-plete” again.

49. STOP HAVING FIGHTS ACROSS THE BUILDING LUCIFER AND ALASTOR!!

50. If Charlie is passed out on the couch LET HER SLEEP

51. No making bombs in the hotel Cherri!

52. Stop breaking rules and then saying it’s “FOR SIR PENTIOUS!”

53. Angel don’t try to shoot someone if they break spaghetti.

54. Don’t break spaghetti. Or “ruin” Italian food. Whatever the fuck that means. This apparently includes pineapple on pizza.

55. Don’t mention Valentino unless Angel brings him up first.

56. Don’t comment on Angel and Husk’s flirting.

57. Only call Angel “Anthony” if things are serious (or if you’re Husk)

58. Don’t use any of the nicknames Husk and Angel use for each other. This includes but is not limited to: “Whiskers”, “Legs”, “Kitty”, “Webs”, “Tony”, “Love”, and “Baby.”

59. It’s better not to question whatever facts Husk gives about his past.

60. Family dinners at 6 pm unless you can’t make it due to prior obligation. Game nights after on Sundays.

61. No hunting people for sport and NO KNIFE MONOPOLY.

62. Don’t attach knives to a roomba so you can have a “boyfriend” Niffty.

63. Keep Niffty away from Roombas.

64. Alastor, treat people with decency. Really, it’s not that hard.

65. No making giant ducks that breathe fire to chase people around the hotel just because they call you short.

66. Therapy. Everyone.

67. DONT HAVE SEX ON THE BAR WHAT THE FUCK GUYS?!

68. If Valentino enters the property you have permission to stab him.

69. “Hell is forever” is bullshit. You guys aren’t. You can do this.

[formulaonecrumbs]

https://www.tumblr.com/formulaonecrumbs/781576571110801408/little-bean

omg you have to continue more of this!!

maybe she is the second oldest and she loves all her siblings but lando has always been her been and just more growing up where she is landos favorite like he clings to her the most

just another one of the gazillion ♾️

Lando Norris x older sister!reader x norris!siblings

summary: a chaotic day at home with the norris’

warnings: they’re silly and cutesy

A/N: i’ve been feeling SO nostalgic recently and i just wish i had a fuck ton of home videos of me and my sibling, cousins, friends. all of them. also i wanna be apart of the norris family BYE. enjooyyyyy 🫶🫶

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

home film #6 (out of a gazillion) – found in a cardboard box labelled ‘memories’

(recorded: norris family home, living room, bristol)

timestamp: 3:42 pm 10-04-2010

the film starts slow, steady. there’s the soft hum of the camcorder kicking in, followed by the warm, familiar voice of cisca behind the camera.

“okay, everyone say hiiii to future us.”

the shot settles on the living room—bathed in golden sunlight. it’s one of those quiet, easy spring afternoons. the windows are open. the curtains flutter. everything feels soft and lived-in.

ollie (16) is cross-legged on the rug, building some sort of ambitious blanket fort with couch cushions and old bedsheets. flo (8) is handing him pegs and trying to direct him like a tiny, very bossy architect.

you (14) are settled nearby with lando (soon to be 11) practically stuck to your side. he’s got his chin resting on your shoulder while you braid little bits of his hair with playful concentration.

“mum, are you filming this?” you asks, not looking up. “i swear if you’re zooming in on my face—“

“i’m just catching the moment,” cisca says calmly. “this is what you’ll miss when you’re all grown up.”

lando grins at the camera but doesn’t move from where he’s leaning on you. he’s totally relaxed, like there’s nowhere else he’d ever want to be.

“we’re building a fort big enough for all of us,” ollie says, lifting a sheet like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “but only if some people stop kicking over the pegs.”

“i didn’t mean to,” cisca (5) says from somewhere offscreen, sounding deeply offended. a moment later, she toddles into frame with a stuffed bear in one hand and her curls flying everywhere. she plops herself down beside you and lando like it’s the most natural thing.

you glance over and gently smooth cisca’s hair with one hand, still braiding with the other.

“you’re next, love,” you says softly.

“what about me?” flo pipes up from across the room. “i want my hair done like yours too!”

“get in line,” lando says, leaning a little closer into your side, clearly not planning on giving up his spot.

“lando’s been attached to your hip all day,” ollie teases, a smile in his voice. “if you ever move out, we’ll have to peel him off the walls.”

you smile and say nothing, just keep braiding gently. lando doesn’t argue. he wraps an arm around your waist and closes his eyes for a second, like he could stay there forever.

“he used to cry every time she left the room,” cisca says fondly from behind the camera. “even when he was three.”

you laugh, low and warm. “you act like he’s stopped.”

lando lets out a soft, dramatic sigh. “you’re just comfy.”

“he means emotionally,” flo says with mock seriousness.

ollie bursts out laughing, tossing a pillow at her.

the camera cuts and starts recording again a few moments later: the fort is finally done. the camcorder pans across it slowly, catching everyone inside—you’re lying on your side with cisca curled up against your chest, flo giggling in a corner, ollie eating crisps like he built a whole castle, and lando curled under the blanket with just his head peeking out beside reader.

“what’s this fort called?” cisca asks from behind the lens.

“camp chaos,” flo says.

“fort norris,” you counter.

“lando-topia,” lando offers sleepily, eyes already starting to close.

you reach down and brush his hair back gently, fingers soft through the braid you made earlier.

“we’re not calling it that,” you whisper with a smile, and he just shrugs.

“we could...”

“we won’t.” ollie chimes in.

the camera lingers a little longer on the pile of siblings in the warm light. there’s quiet music playing in the background now—something soft, something old that cisca must’ve put on.

the fort, the kids, the comfort. it’s one of those afternoons that felt ordinary at the time—but somehow, it stayed.

oh, and mum was right.

this would be one of those things you miss when you’re all grown up.

fade to black.

THE END :>

[lovemehatemex0]

I almost died on route 8 nbd

[simplygojo]

Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Three

author's note ⸺ Hello gang! So happy you guys are liking this series, I love it, and I luv u <3 pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ platonic-bestie!gojo, corporate-worker!reader, slight tension, studying mentioned, modern au, the good-ole-days, reader uses female pronouns, 4.2k, this is an 18+ series - mdni divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

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Sleep came quickly, tugging at the edges of your consciousness.

Then—just as you were about to slip under completely…

Your phone buzzed against the nightstand.

Your eyes cracked open, pulse skipping despite yourself. For a moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t reach for it.

But eventually, you did. 

You turned over swiftly, the sheets rustling as you reached out, fingers fumbling against the smooth surface of your nightstand. 

The cool metal of your phone met your palm, and you pulled it close, the glow of the screen cutting through the dim room as you blinked against the brightness.

Your thumb hovered over the screen for just a second before you swiped to unlock it. The notification stared back at you, crisp and clear against the dark backdrop of your bedroom.

Geto: How’s Friday?

Your breath left you in a slow exhale.

Not a lot of fanfare. No excessive punctuation, no embellishments. Just a simple question, efficient and to the point—exactly like how you remembered him.

Your eyes flicked to the top of the screen, where the time blinked back at you—10:42 PM. Wednesday. 

Two days.

A part of you had half-expected to wait another few days before he got back to you. Maybe the plans would fall through entirely, slipping through the cracks of life’s inevitable distractions. But there he was, responding just hours after you reached out.

You licked your lips, your fingers tapping out a quick reply.

You: Works for me. What time?

The three little dots blinked on the screen almost immediately.

Geto: I’m assuming you work until 5…does 5:30 work?

You: Yeah, that’s fine. Where where you thinking?

Geto: I’ll send you the location on Friday morning. Looking forward to catching up :)

You stared at the screen for a beat longer than necessary, your fingers hovering over the keyboard before you typed—

You: Sounds good. Me too.

Too much? Maybe. But before you could second-guess it, the message was sent, disappearing into the ether of late-night conversation.

The read receipt popped up almost instantly, followed by one more reply.

Geto: Dream sweet.

Simple. Unassuming. And yet, it left something warm curling in your stomach.

You set your phone down on the nightstand, exhaling as you sank deeper into the pillows. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city beyond your window, but your mind was anything but still.

It had been a long time since you last saw him. Since you last spoke like this, in small, measured words that somehow still felt significant. It was just dinner. 

Just a catch-up between two people with a mutual friend. 

Two friends-of-friends catching up…That’s all.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

Morning came too soon, the alarm slicing through the quiet like a dull blade. 

A sharp inhale, a stretch, the heavy warmth of sleep still clinging to your limbs. 

But before you even shifted beneath the covers, your hand had already reached for your phone, fingers wrapping around its familiar weight.

The screen lit up. No new messages. No last-minute changes. Just the same notification from last night, waiting in silence.

You weren’t sure what you had expected…A follow-up? A confirmation? Something to make the evening ahead feel more real? Whatever it was, it wasn’t there.

The morning routine carried on as always—water rushing against porcelain, steam curling over the bathroom mirror, the muted sound of the city filtering in through the window. 

Everything was the same. Everything should have felt the same. 

But there was something about today, a small hitch in the rhythm, an offbeat in the usual melody of your day.

At work, tasks filled the hours like usual. Emails stacked into neat little rows, keyboards clicked in hurried bursts, voices blurred into the steady hum of office chatter. 

You answered messages, skimmed reports, lost yourself in half-distracted conversations.

And yet—before noon, your hand found your phone again.

A flick of the screen. A glance. Still nothing.

You weren’t sure why you kept checking. It wasn’t like you normally did this.

Your messages weren’t exactly unpredictable.

Gojo texted often, usually in long, chaotic bursts—half-thoughts, inside jokes, dramatized retellings of his latest workplace disaster. 

Your roommate’s texts were more routine—grocery lists, rent reminders, the occasional complaint about your neighbours. A familiar pattern, easy to follow, easy to expect.

But now?

Now, your fingers hovered over the screen for just a second longer than necessary before you locked it again, pressing it face-down against your desk, pressing your fingers into your temples briefly before forcing yourself to refocus.

Lunch came and went in a series of half-heard conversations. The scent of reheated leftovers hung in the air, blending with the ever-present bitterness of burnt office coffee. 

A coworker complained about their weekend plans, and another debated whether they had time to grab a latte before their next meeting. 

You responded when necessary, nodding at the right times, but your mind remained elsewhere—somewhere just outside of reach.

Then—without thinking—you picked up your phone again.

Still nothing.

You exhaled, locking the screen and setting it aside. You didn’t know what you were expecting to happen. It wasn’t as if anything had changed since the last time you checked. 

And yet, the absence of a message felt noticeable in a way that it shouldn’t have.

By mid-afternoon, the habit had settled in.

Your hand moved before you could stop yourself, unlocking the screen with a flick of your thumb. Waiting.

But the screen remained the same—quiet, still, steady.

And yet, despite that silence, tomorrow night loomed closer. Inevitable.

The weight of it settled in long before the day had ended. 

The thought of being alone with him for hours wove itself into the spaces between tasks, filling the pauses in conversation, curling around every absent glance at your phone.

At some point, the screen stayed dark long enough for a sense of finality to creep in. No more checking. No more reaching. It didn’t change anything.

Still, something simmered beneath your skin, restless and unresolved.

The feeling made no sense. 

Geto had never been a source of unease before. 

If anything, he was one of the easiest people to be around—steady, unhurried, a presence that never demanded anything from you. His words always measured, his energy effortless. 

He was a fixture in the periphery, present in the way a familiar song fills the background of a car ride, inextricably linked to something larger.

Gojo.

Geto had always been part of a pair—One half of a whole. 

His presence had been a condition of Gojo’s—the two of them moving through the world like a force of nature, colliding with everything in their path, dragging you along in their wake.

Conversations that turned into debates, nights that stretched too late, laughter that came easy, never isolated, never belonging to just one of them.

Tomorrow would be different.

Tomorrow, there would be no Gojo.

The realization sat heavy, threading unease through the anticipation. This was new. Unfamiliar. 

The rhythm had changed, and you weren’t sure what to do with the space it left behind.

The walk home felt longer than usual. 

The city hummed around you, headlights casting fractured light against wet pavement, snippets of conversations floating past in bursts of sound. A car horn. A ringing phone. The hiss of a bus kneeling at the curb.

Inside your apartment, the quiet stretched. 

The overhead light flickered once before settling. A jacket shrugged off, shoes nudged aside, the soft creak of wood under your steps. The routine unfolded like muscle memory—bag on the counter, fridge open, fridge closed, a glass of water filled and left untouched.

Then—your phone, facedown where you had left it.

Fingers hesitated before reaching. The screen lit up, bright against the dim kitchen. Nothing new.

A slow breath pushed through your chest.

Tomorrow loomed ahead, fixed and inevitable.

A meeting set in place, agreed upon in neutral tones, as casual as a hundred other plans that had come before it. 

But still, something shifted under the surface, unspoken and undefined.

There was no reason for this weight in your stomach. No logic to the way your pulse had started counting down hours before the night had even arrived.

And yet—

Your grip tightened around the phone. The glow of the screen faded to black.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

Friday Morning at 5:45am

The alarm cut through the stillness, its sharp trill pulling you from sleep. A breath, slow and steady, before your hand reached out, silencing it with a practiced swipe.

For a moment, you stayed there—burrowed beneath the blankets, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. The weight of the day settled in, stretching out ahead of you in quiet inevitability.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself up.

The floor was cool beneath your feet as you padded toward the bathroom, the fluorescent light flickering to life above the mirror. Water rushed against porcelain, the steady rhythm filling the quiet as you rinsed sleep from your skin.

Back in your bedroom, the closet door yawned open, revealing rows of neatly hung blouses, slacks folded with precision, dresses lined up like choices waiting to be made.

The usual routine would be easy—something simple, something safe. But today, your fingers lingered a little longer, hovering between options, the usual rhythm disrupted by something almost imperceptible.

It wasn’t like this was anything special. Just another workday. Just dinner after. Nothing to warrant the quiet indecision pressing at the edges of your thoughts.

And yet—your hand skipped past the standard choices, grazing over fabric with absent consideration.

The crisp button-down felt too stiff, the usual sweater too plain. A dress, maybe? No, too much.

Eventually, you settled on something in between—polished but not overdone. Something that fit seamlessly into the workday but still felt…intentional.

The fabric smoothed over your frame as you adjusted the hem, checking the mirror with a glance that lasted a beat too long.

Still, there was no real reason for this hesitation. No reason at all.

And yet—

The thought slipped away as your phone buzzed from the nightstand, breaking the quiet with a sharp vibration.

Your breath stilled.

You hesitated for only a second before walking over to it and picking it up.

Your fingers tightened around your phone before turning the screen toward you.

Geto: Morning. Here’s the place for tonight.

A location link followed, sitting there unassuming, waiting to be pressed.

Your thumb hesitated over the screen before tapping it. The maps app opened, the address pulling up with a smooth flicker. 

A small pin dropped into place, marking a street you didn’t immediately recognize—tucked between taller buildings, almost easy to miss. 

The image loaded, revealing a dark storefront, nothing but a sleek, unmarked door tucked beneath a flickering neon sign.

You swiped through the photos. 

Inside, the space stretched narrow, lined with moody lighting and dark wood, bottles glinting along an illuminated back bar. 

The kind of place that didn’t need to advertise itself—exclusive but not pretentious, refined but comfortable. 

And the food—unexpectedly elaborate for a bar, plated like something out of a fine dining restaurant.

Of course.

Something about it felt so distinctly him—lowkey but effortlessly cool, the kind of place you’d never have found on your own.

Before you could type out a response, another message drew your eyes to the top of your screen.

Geto: If you tell me which station you're at, I can meet you there.

Your breath stalled, pulse knocking against your ribs in a way that made no sense.

The words sat there, simple and unassuming, yet something about them sent a ripple through your chest.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

It was a thoughtful offer—practical, even. 

It would make things easier, and save you from navigating alone, from the awkward shuffle of stepping into a new place by yourself. A small thing.

Still, a strange tension crept into your shoulders.

Geto had always been easygoing, a casual presence that had never demanded anything from you. But that presence had always been conditional—always shadowed by Gojo’s loud energy, balanced by the familiar push-and-pull of their dynamic.

Now, without that buffer—without Gojo filling the space between you—it felt different.

Not bad, not uncomfortable, just… noticeable.

You smoothed your hand over the fabric of your skirt, fingers tracing absent patterns against the hem.

Maybe it was the anticipation humming beneath your skin. The awareness of the hours still stretched between now and tonight, every moment edged with something undefined.

Maybe it was the way Geto’s name looked on your screen—alone, unaccompanied, as if he existed in a separate context now.

Or maybe it was nothing at all.

You exhaled, slow and steady, before typing out a response.

You: It’s okay, I can just meet you there.

The message sent in an instant. Final.

You locked your phone, setting it facedown against the vanity as if that might quiet the small, unspoken weight in your chest.

Then, a breath.

‘Alright tine to get yourself together…’ You thought to yourself

The routine should have unfolded as usual, the same series of motions you could do half-asleep.

But today, each step carried a little more weight.

You reached for your makeup bag, fingers brushing over familiar products. Concealer smoothed over skin, concealer dabbed beneath your eyes—nothing too heavy, just enough. 

A sweep of blush, a touch more than usual. A careful flick of eyeliner, precise and steady, stretching just a little further than the way you usually wore it.

Your reflection stared back at you, almost unchanged—almost.

The brush glided through your hair in slow, deliberate strokes, smoothing flyaways, shaping strands into something more intentional. A little extra effort. Nothing obvious, nothing dramatic, just…more.

The soft chime of a notification pulled you from the mirror. Not Geto—just an email reminder, something about a report due by noon.

A quick glance at the clock on your wall let you know it was time to go.

You grabbed your bag, slipping your phone inside before second-guessing and tucking it into your jacket pocket instead. 

Shoes on, keys in hand, one last look around the apartment before stepping out into the crisp morning air.

The city stretched ahead, unchanged, unaware. 

But as your footsteps carried you down the shiny tiled stairs, something lingered in your chest—light but steady, like a held breath waiting to be released.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

The clock inched toward 5 p.m., the final minutes of the day ticking away slowly, yet with an urgency you could feel in your bones.

It had been one of the busiest Fridays you’d ever had—emails to answer, reports to review, meetings that bled into each other without any real break. The pressure was constant, a low hum beneath your thoughts, and yet… you were grateful for it. 

Grateful that there was no room for your mind to wander, no space for thoughts to spiral. 

If today had been any slower, if you’d had even a moment of quiet, you knew exactly where your thoughts would have gone.

To Geto. To tonight. 

To the pull in your chest that wouldn’t seem to loosen, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

You backed up your things a few minutes early, tucking everything into your bag with methodical precision. It wasn’t until you had everything in place, zipper pulled tight, that you realized you were practically holding your breath.

Five o'clock.

Finally.

You stood up, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear, and made your way to the door. 

The office was quieting down, the buzz of energy that had filled the room all day beginning to dissipate as everyone else filtered out. You left without another glance back, fingers pressing the button for the elevator.

Outside, the city was as busy as always, people rushing by, their faces a blur. You slipped into the flow, a part of it, but somehow still detached. Every step took you closer to the subway, closer to the anticipation that built in your chest.

It wasn’t that you were nervous, exactly. No, that wasn’t quite right. You were just… unsettled. A kind of restlessness that had no real source.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and typed out a quick message to Geto:

You: On my way over.

The text sent, and within seconds, the three dots blinked back at you.

Geto: See you soon.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. It was almost a relief that he replied so quickly—something about it soothed the jittery feeling that hadn’t quite settled.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you descended the stairs to the platform, your feet tapping lightly against the ground in rhythm with the train’s arrival. 

But even as you joined the crowd and boarded the car, your mind drifted to that last time you saw him—the night that felt so far away and yet so close.

It had been just after graduation, the last time you were all together like that.

A night of drinking, good food, and laughter, shared memories of the years behind you, of the moments that had solidified your friendship. 

You leaned back against the cold train window, eyes closed for just a moment as you let the memories sweep over you.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

*1 year and 3 months prior — Graduation Celebration at KBBQ*

Graduation had come quicker than expected–It truly felt like a finish line that once felt distant was now suddenly beneath your feet. 

The ceremony itself had been a blur—flashes of caps in the air, the hum of applause, the stiff feeling of formalwear that barely felt like your own.

But this? This dinner, this night, this group—this was what felt real.

Somewhere between the first introductions and the years spent studying together, these people had become a constant. 

Not just classmates or drinking buddies, but something more—a tangle of friendships built over sleepless nights, library study sessions, and long conversations that stretched past closing hours at your favourite spots.

Gojo had been the first familiar face, but through him, the circle expanded. Geto, quieter but no less magnetic. Shoko, always ready with a sharp remark. Nanami, steady and unwavering. Utahime, initially wary of Gojo’s chaos but undeniably part of the group. Hibara, warm and easygoing, always pulling everyone together.

The group had settled into something comfortable, something natural. 

And tonight, for what might be the last time in a while, everyone was here.

The Korean barbeque restaurant buzzed with the warmth of lively conversations and sizzling grills. 

The sharp scent of spices and grilled meat filled the air as the plates kept coming, steam rising from the center of the table where everyone sat clustered around. 

The group was loud, a mix of voices competing with the hum of the crowd and the crackling sounds of the grill. Gojo's booming laugh punctuated the noise every so often, drawing chuckles from Shoko and Hibara, who were sitting beside from him.

You sat between Utahime and Geto, the cool air from the ceiling fans brushing your skin, just enough to keep the warmth of the meal from becoming too much. 

The grill tables were relatively small, so Geto was close, his knee brushing yours under the table as the group passed plates of food around. 

He didn’t seem to mind, just as you didn’t, the space between you both shrinking with each subtle shift.

Occasionally, Geto would lean in slightly when he spoke to you, his breath almost grazing your ear as he commented on the food or made a quiet remark about something Gojo had said. 

The closeness felt natural—effortless, and yet, in a way, it stood out. 

A part of you noticed how much quieter it felt when his voice dropped to a low hum as if sharing something just between you.

Across the table from you, Gojo made some outrageous comment, his animated gestures nearly knocking over his drink, and everyone burst into laughter. Your gaze met Geto’s in the midst of it all—his eyes holding yours for a fraction longer than anyone else’s. 

It wasn’t an obvious moment, just a quiet beat where his stare lingered, and you couldn’t help but notice the pull, the intensity beneath it, even if you quickly looked away to join in the laughter.

The evening stretched on, the conversation meandering between stories and jokes, but there was always something in Geto’s attention when it turned toward you. 

When plates of food arrived, he was the first to make sure your plate was full, his hand brushing against yours each time as he slid something onto your side of the grill. 

"Here," Geto said, his voice steady as he slid a piece of cooked meat onto your plate. 

He glanced at you, a quiet certainty in his expression, lips tugging into a small, effortless smile—like he knew something you didn’t.

"Thanks," you replied, your gaze briefly meeting his again before turning back to the others.

His eyes stayed on you for just a second longer than they should have, a quiet intensity hidden behind the casualness of his smile. 

There was no hurry in his movements as he leaned back slightly, his attention still fixed on you as you returned to the conversation.

Gojo, sitting directly across from you, noticed how Geto was looking at you. His eyes gleamed with mischief as a knowing smirk grew upon his lips. His hand tapped the edge of his glass as he made sure his gaze found Geto’s.

Before Gojo could say anything, Utahime cut in, her voice light as she dragged Gojo into her conversation.

"I always thought you were the one who thought you were above all the tests and exams, Gojo," she said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

"But look at you now. Obviously, you weren’t entirely ‘above’ it all, or you wouldn’t have graduated!."

A laugh bubbled up from you, easy and warm, the playful jab aimed at Gojo hitting the right note.

Geto’s eyes flicked toward you instinctively, a slight shift in his posture as he watched you laugh. 

For just a second, his gaze softened, lingering on the way your eyes crinkled and your mouth curved up. 

It was subtle, but the way he looked at you in that moment—unobstructed and full of quiet admiration—was impossible to miss, even if you didn’t notice.

Gojo rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress his own chuckle, clearly unbothered by Utahime’s jab. 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’m the only one keeping this table from sinking into the abyss of academic mediocrity and you all know it."

His words were light, but his gaze flicked over briefly to Geto again, catching something in the way he sat facing you, the way his attention never seemed to stray too far from you—and Gojo noticed, how could he not? 

The night went on, but the unspoken connection between you and Geto never fully slipped away. 

Every now and then, when you caught his eye again, there was something that was undeniably there—a spark that he didn’t try to hide, but never overtly acknowledged. It was quiet, comfortable, and real in a way that felt like it had always been.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

You stepped off the subway car, your shoes clicking softly against the platform as you shook off the last remnants of your thoughts.

The evening air outside felt cooler than you expected, the slight breeze tugging at your sleeves as you ascended the stairs.

 The weight of your bag settled comfortably against your shoulder, and with every step upward, the tension in your chest seemed to loosen just a little, like a knot unwinding slowly.

The train ride had felt long despite the short distance. 

Anticipation had gnawed at you the entire way, but now, with the weight of the day finally behind you, there was a space in your mind where you could let your thoughts breathe.

It was almost calming, knowing that once you stepped out of the subway station, you’d be heading straight to the bar to meet Geto. A casual evening with no expectations. 

Just the two of you.

You reached the top of the stairs, the sound of your footsteps fading into the background as you made your way toward the exit. 

The station was busy with the usual rush of people, but your eyes were focused on the small patch of city street ahead, imagining the two-minute walk to the bar, the dim lighting, the low hum of voices inside.

But as you turned the corner—

There he was.

Your steps faltered.

Standing just beyond the turnstiles, casually leaning against a pillar, one hand in his pocket, the other offering a small, easy wave. 

The half-lit fluorescents cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the familiar, effortless coolness of him, making everything around him fade just slightly.

Geto. Here.

His expression softened as he watched you stumble a bit over your own feet, and his smile grew just a little, as if he were waiting for you to get your bearings, to process the fact that he was standing here, in front of you, instead of across the table at the bar like you had expected.

"Hey," he said, his voice a touch smoother than usual, though it still held that casual tone that you recognized. 

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[wanderingsimsfinds]

1 Simpliciaty Juliana PF (26,286) 2 Shimydim Jasmine Tea* PF (27,876) [Retexture] 3 Zao Ragdoll V2 PF (30,368) 4 Anto Rita PF (29,173) 5 Ade Ryunjin S2 Bangs PF (15,801) 6 Jino Misa With Bows PF (24,392) 7 LeahLillith Abbey PF (21,292) 8 LeahLillith Barbie Doll PF (27,686) [Retexture] 9-10 Newsea N04 Lavender PF (26,148) [Retexture] 11 Anto/Alesso Himiko PF (27,960) [Retexture] 12 SClub Winter Holidays 20203 PF (29,176) 13 Zao 18 PF (39,216) 14 Zauma Stars PF (23,808) 15 Newsea N01 Ashitaba PF (9,204) 16 Newsea N06 Horehound PF (11,148) 17 TSMinhSims Cindy PF (18,396) 18 Nightcrawler Biscuit PF (30,658) 19 Ginko G43 PF (21,660) [Retexture] 20 Jino N09 PF (26,015)

21 LeahLillith Melissa PF (29,136) 22 Nightcrawler Dice Style A PF (17,123) [Retexture] 23 Simpliciaty Emori PF (14,892) 24 Newsea Line of Destiny No Bangs PF (7,610) [Retexture] 25 Jino Hair 03 PF (32,289) [Retexture] 26 LeahLillith New Rules PF (29,757) 27 SClub N45 PF (31,537) 28 LeahLillith Nyane PF (27,201) [Retexture] 29 Newsea Chain Reaction PU (9,506) 30 Newsea Pinocchio PM (11,780) [Retexture] 31 SkySims 05 PM (11,998) 32 Reina 79 Taemni V2 PM (26,619) 33 Cazy Relentless PM (20,270) 34 Ade Jungkook PM (16,789) 35 Wings TZ1209 PM (20,196) [Retexture] 36 Lapiz Lazuli Laplace PM (14,952) 37 Wings ER0705 PM (17,656) [Retexture] 38 Ade Jeonghan PM (16,928) [Retexture] 39 Wings OS0214 PM (14,278) 40 Wings OS0509*** PM (15,435)

41 Anto San PM (21,947) [Retexture] 42 Ginko G17 PU (17,204) [Retexture] 43 LAMZ Hyunjin PU (32,273) [Retexture] 44 Shining Nikki Netga PU (14,988) [Retexture]

Polycounts in ( x ) TSR = *

*** Post says Wings OS0508 but download leads to OS0509

For consistency, I use IfcaSims's textures on all my hairs. Links are either for IfcaSims's direct retextures or the original conversion with an additional link to the retextured version I am using. If you like these hairs but have a different texture preference, you can check out the original 4t3 hairs listed here, check if your favorite hair retexturer has done any of these or search the creator + name + TS3 to find any other versions of a specific hair.

Thanks to the 4t3 converters, age converters, and retexturers : @anzuchansims, @bellakenobi, @carversims, @chazybazzy, @ifcasims, @melsts3cc, @mels-ts3ccfinds, @nemiga-sims-archive, @nightospheresims and @shimydim

[sabrinajenre96]

Title: A Day with the Bradfords

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Detective!Reader (Y/N) Word Count: ~5,000

Warning: none

---

7:04 AM – Bradford Residence

You were halfway into your vest, hair still damp from a rushed shower, when the phone buzzed again on the kitchen counter.

“Y/N,” Tim grumbled from the hallway, “Your phone’s losing its mind.”

“It’s a double homicide,” you said, already moving toward the door. “Nyla’s already en route. They want me on scene with Shay.”

At the sound of his name, the sleek Belgian Malinois padded into the kitchen, alert and ready. Unlike the bulldog mix currently snoring on the couch—Kojo, the mistake Lucy Chen had learned from and Tim had inherited.

“Have I mentioned I hate when you get called in before coffee?” Tim muttered.

You smirked and kissed him. “You’ll live. You’ve got Lilah and Kojo all day.”

Tim groaned. “That’s not comforting.”

From down the hall came the unmistakable sound of your five-year-old daughter stomping in her light-up unicorn slippers and singing off-key about pancakes.

Lilah appeared, clutching a tiara in one hand and dragging a feather boa behind her.

“Morning, Daddy! Kojo and I are going on a super-secret mission after breakfast. He said he’s ready.”

Kojo sneezed. Lilah interpreted that as agreement.

“I love you both. Be strong,” you said dramatically, ruffling Tim’s hair.

By the time the door closed behind you, Tim stared at Lilah and Kojo like a man entering a warzone with no backup.

“Alright, Lilah,” he said, “Let’s make pancakes.”

“Great!” she shouted, clambering onto a chair and grabbing flour. “I’m in charge. Kojo’s our chef. He made eggs last week.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at the dog. “We’ll discuss that later.”

---

8:42 AM – Kitchen, Mostly Flour-Coated

Kojo had white paws now. Not from age, but from the bag of flour Lilah had knocked over during an overly enthusiastic whisking session. The bulldog mix didn’t seem to mind; he licked at the floor and trailed a line of white paw prints across the tile.

“Daddy, the pancakes look like clouds!” Lilah beamed.

“Because you dumped half the box of baking powder in,” he muttered, flipping a lumpy disc of batter.

Kojo barked once.

“No, you don’t get any unless you sit. That goes for you too, Kojo.”

Kojo wagged his tail, did a spin, and promptly leapt onto the bench at the table.

---

10:15 AM – Neighborhood Walk (A.K.A. Disaster Recon)

Lilah insisted on wearing a tutu, fairy wings, and sunglasses. Kojo wore his vest labeled "Security," a gift from Angela that Tim regretted every time Lilah took it literally.

They made it three blocks before the mud puddle incident. Lilah squealed. Kojo launched himself into it.

Tim stood frozen, holding two leashes and questioning every decision he’d made in life.

---

11:30 AM – Bath Time (Again)

He bathed Kojo. Then Lilah. Then himself after Kojo shook off all over him.

He texted Lucy a picture of Kojo in a towel with the caption: "Still think he was better off with you?"

Lucy responded: *"You’re the one who said 'dogs build character.' Enjoy your development."

---

1:03 PM – Living Room Obstacle Course

Lilah had dragged every pillow, blanket, and hula hoop into the living room.

“Kojo needs training! He can’t be in security if he can’t jump over things!”

Kojo was napping.

“Wake him up, Daddy! He has drills!”

“You wake him up. I value my limbs.”

---

3:14 PM – Detective Lilah’s Mystery Mission

Tim was in toy handcuffs. Again.

“You’re under arrest for hiding the last cookie,” she declared. “Kojo saw you do it.”

Kojo woofed.

“Traitor,” Tim muttered.

---

5:45 PM – Dinner & a Truce

Mac and cheese. Apples. A juice box and one tired bulldog.

Lilah was quieter now, cuddled beside Tim with her stuffed unicorn.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, peanut?”

“I love you more than pancakes. Even fluffy ones.”

“I love you too, kiddo.”

---

9:00 PM – Bradford Residence, Peace At Last

You pushed the front door open, kicking off your boots. Shay trotted in beside you, already sniffing out Kojo’s messes.

The house was quiet.

You found them in the living room.

Tim was half-sitting, half-reclining on the couch, TV volume low, a football game playing. Lilah was asleep on his chest, Kojo curled up at their feet.

You smiled, heart full, and snapped a picture with your phone.

“You survived,” you whispered, kissing his cheek.

Tim gave a tired, contented grin. “She broke me. But yeah.”

You sat beside them, one hand on his knee, the other brushing your daughter’s wild curls.

Chaos and all—this was home.

[theskywithin]

Toxic Zodiac Traits: Everyone Else Is Just as Emotionally Unstable, Don’t Worry

( read for Sun and Rising )

Aries

Absolutely incapable of waiting for anything. Will cut you off mid-sentence and mid-relationship. Thinks every inconvenience is a personal attack from the universe. Starts a new project every 3 days and finishes approximately none. If Aries texts “I’m outside,” you have 3.5 seconds before they leave forever. Will argue with a traffic light and still think they won.

Taurus

Would rather eat drywall than change their mind. If they’ve blocked you once, they’ve blocked you in their heart forever. Will act like they don’t care while remembering exactly what you said on May 14th at 4:23 PM. Refuses to compromise unless it involves brunch. Emotionally attached to objects, TV shows, and the one person who gives them nothing.

Gemini

Will tell you every detail of a breakup they had six years ago and forget your birthday. Overthinks nothing, underthinks everything. Can hold five contradictory opinions before breakfast. Ghosts you and then messages you “I had a dream about you” two weeks later. Says “we should talk more” with no intention of ever replying. Flirts for sport.

Cancer

Pretends to be chill but is actually holding a ten-volume emotional encyclopedia on everyone they’ve ever met. Has cried over a memory that wasn’t theirs. Will bring up something you said in 2018 just to watch you squirm. Makes you a playlist, a home-cooked meal, and a passive-aggressive guilt trip all in one sitting. Thinks emotional manipulation is just good communication.

Leo

Can’t walk past a mirror without giving themselves a TED Talk. Will give you a whole therapy session about their unhealed inner child and then forget your name. Thinks “subtle” means wearing sunglasses indoors. Posts thirst traps during existential crises. Believes every compliment is true and every critique is character assassination.

Virgo

Thinks emotions are a puzzle to be solved and you're a cluttered spreadsheet. Hypercritical, hypo-compassionate, and fully convinced their control issues are just "high standards." Say "I’m fine" while internally dying over your misuse of apostrophes. Gives unsolicited feedback with the energy of a disappointed parent. Probably gave their therapist a 3-star Yelp review with grammatical corrections.

Libra

Would rather fake their own death than make a decision. Flirts with the bartender while processing a breakup from 2016. Says “no drama” while actively starring in a love triangle they directed. Needs a mood board to text you back. Believes aesthetics are more important than stability. Could be in love with you. Could also be in love with your sweater.

Scorpio

Has never forgiven anyone, not even their kindergarten teacher. Will emotionally soul-scan you within five minutes of meeting, then vanish for three days to see if you panic. Knows your birth chart, your trauma, and your passwords. Shares nothing but expects full access to your emotional hard drive. Trusts no one but expects loyalty like a blood oath. Falls in love once every five years and never recovers.

Sagittarius

Will disappear mid-conversation to follow a butterfly and call it personal growth. Thinks commitment is a threat to their “freedom journey.” Forgets your birthday but remembers an ancient Mayan prophecy. Thinks monogamy is a government conspiracy. Avoids feelings by going on a spontaneous road trip and posting cryptic captions.

Capricorn

Has three side hustles, a 5-year plan, and no idea how to relax. Thinks rest is a character flaw. Controls their emotions by pretending they don’t have any. Plans your vacation like it’s a military operation. Feels personally insulted by inefficiency. Will judge you for crying at work, including themselves. Emotionally constipated, but will Venmo you for half the toothpaste.

Aquarius

A conspiracy theory in human form. Thinks emotions are “low-vibration.” Invents new relationship dynamics for fun. Disassociates mid-hug. Could write a 42-slide presentation on your attachment style but can’t tell you what they’re feeling. Emotionally invested in your trauma but only if it’s framed as a social experiment. Will text you “thinking thoughts” at 2am and never elaborate. Will befriend your ex for the plot.

Pisces

Says “I don’t care” while sobbing into a vintage sweater. Cries during commercials. Will fall in love with someone they made eye contact with for three seconds at a coffee shop. Romantically unavailable but emotionally entangled with everyone. Forgets to eat but remembers every detail of a dream they had two weeks ago. Constantly oscillating between “I love everyone” and “no one gets me.” Still not over what you almost said in 2019.