#Like damn. I love Loop but the consequences. Fuck

[torchstelechos]

It must be nice to know what eldritch creature you would turn into if the world was just right and you had no help, like it must be kind of reassuring to know you'd still have your thumbs at least, in this way Siffrin is winning at life in other ways not so much

[almostempty]

The more you suffer

Self Esteem Part 4 | Pairing: fuckboy!Joel x f!reader

Hey y’all, it’s me back with more farm-to-table Joel smut. Took a while to figure this one out, but I hope you’re hungry horny bc it’s lengthy and full o’ fuckin’. Date Night Dave is back by popular demand, and fuckboy Joel finally experiences a consequence??? 

Warnings/tags: fuckboy!Joel, gratuitous smut, pwp, alcohol use, unprotected piv sex (that has no physical consequences bc it’s fiction and I like it that way), oral sex, public blow job, cock warming in a car, reoccuring guest appearance by dom!dave, date night dave inspo from the cartier campaign bc that's rich dave right??? au/ooc dave york is single/rich/mysterious and down to clown, jealous!joel, soft!joel, cuck!joel, jorkin’!joel, some angsty bits, no use of y/n, voyeur/exhibitionistish, light d/s dynamics, light (?) degradation/humiliation, praise kink, AU modern/no outbreak, overall just a lot of sex with some feelings in between, no beta blame all mistakes on me/adhd/insomnia 

Notes: please leave feedback! Tell me all ur thots! 

Thanks: to everyone who has read parts 1-3, that means the world to me 

Dedicated to @gothcsz for the punishment inspo and @auteurdelabre for encouraging my delusions , and @strangergraphics for dividers

WC: 12.1K  AO3: HERE | Masterlist: Here

Part 1: Self Esteem

Part 2: Want You Bad

Part 3: Kick and Scream

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

It’s like it was a curse, not a confession. Joel’s voice plays on a loop in your mind. For days. You hear it when you wake up, against your will. It’s a reflex at this point. You hear it when your mind drifts at work, when Katie blathers on about who knows what on your brunch date, and it gets loudest at night when you can’t sleep. It repeats and repeats and repeats. Taunting you, describing you, mocking you. Leading you on. 

Occasionally, you play the tape all the way through. Finishing the rest of the scene. Starting with 'All I can fuckin’ think about' all the way up to when that coward skipped out the door at the first glimpse of that thread connecting you. The first sign of something laced with vulnerability. 

Every minute that passes since you’ve been cursed with Joel Miller’s enigmatic mid-coitus confession is torture. Slow, painful, agony. Time drags so excruciatingly slowly that you feel like months have passed, but it’s only been three days since you were cursed with this affliction when you get a text. Well, it’s practically a fucking email. A business memo. 

Dave: Hey, I wanted to follow up. I enjoyed our date and would love to see you again. I’m out of town for the next 72 hours, but I’d like to take you out for drinks again when I return. I can pick you up again Thursday night, same time? Or, if you’d rather, I’ll be available earlier in the evening on Friday. If you’d like to do dinner. 

Dave: I’ll be honest, though; I’d prefer to see you sooner than later. 

Holy shit. 

You reread the message at least three times as you sink onto your sofa. Your stomach flips at his second message, before you start trying to pick it apart, anyway.

It’s almost too…formal? Cordial? Maybe you’re just used to only getting cryptic sentence fragments from Joel, who texts like he’s rocking a Nokia 3310. Because it’s also so direct. Dave is not afraid to communicate clearly and express his interest in you. It’s not overtly sexual, but not nonchalant, Goldilocks approves. 

You grin at the phone in your hand, and your gaze veers off until you’re staring at the wall, projecting the replay of your date with Dave like a movie at the drive-in. His mouth grazing your ear as he murmured filthy thoughts to you at the table, his fingers skating up your thigh, the taste of his cock sliding along your tongue, and the sounds that started from deep in his chest before he came down your throat. 

It’s not like Dave wasn’t memorable, but damn, you had been wallowing in your feelings over Joel like it was your full-time job. Fuck that. Dave is a welcome distraction. You agree to drinks and let him know you’re looking forward to seeing him, before swapping to your text thread with Katie. 

You: is it just because the bar is in hell for men, or is it appropriate for my pussy to flood over a man with a plan??? 

Katie: Can it be both? 

Katie: Oh my god

Katie: PLEASE tell me it’s the bathroom blowjob guy

Katie: Is he planning a second date? 

Katie: I told you! Green flags! 

You: maybe 🙃

……..

Knowing you have a date to look forward to eases the sting. The memory of Joel walking out the door. You can still hear his fucking bedroom voice in your ear, but the chokehold loosens slightly. You fill the next couple of days with anything and everything to make the time pass faster. Too busy to have the time to check your phone or, worse, text Joel. 

Dave continues to be everything Joel isn’t. Communicative, confirming your plans the morning of, punctual, pulling up precisely on time, and a gentleman greeting you with a compliment and opening the car door for you. You know you've let the demented demons within you get a little too comfortable when the green flags almost give you the ick. Katie’s voice echoes in your ears, and you suck it up.

It turns out Distraction Dave is just as hot as you remember–even without a jealous Joel-shaped ogre stirring your loins from across the room. He exudes a debonair charm with his tailored, quiet luxury brand look. You feel a wave of insecurity lurch in your chest before you realize he’s got you on his arm like you’re a designer accessory. He’s pleased to be seen with you as he guides you to your table in the dimly lit jazz-style lounge. It puts you at ease when he takes the lead in making decisions. 

The cocktails are strong, but you’ve only had a few sips before. It’s Dave who has you feeling warm in the face. He’s flirty but doesn’t push. He doesn’t assume you will get handsy under the table again. In your twisted brain, that only emboldens you to make a move. He’s still talking, but you aren’t really listening, distracted by his neck and lips and how close you are to each other. 

Close enough that it’s no stretch to slide your hand from your lap to his. You drag your hand slowly, up up up. When the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk, you feel your pulse jump. The atmosphere fades, and the noise blurs as your senses lock onto him. Dave’s brow twitches just before his hand covers yours. 

“There she is,” his smile is devilishly handsome with a dark glint in his eyes, “my dirty girl.” His voice, his words, and the heat of his hand sprinkle horny fairy dust over you. “Thought about you all week,” he confesses. 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

You swallow your intrusive Joel-voiced thought. Flush it away into the sewer. 

“Me?” you ask coyly, batting your lashes. He hums, affirming. His hand squeezes yours, and heat starts to pool between your legs. “What about me?” your eyes have a sparkle in them as you sip your drink. He leans closer to you, nose grazing the soft skin behind your ear, and your eyes flutter shut. 

“Thought about your pretty face,” he tips your chin towards him with his free hand, so close he’s all you can see. “Thought about these lips,” he gently kisses you, retreating before you can escalate the intensity. You pout at the distance when he draws back and smirks at your needy expression. “Thought I might not hear back from you with how distracted you were by your not-ex not-stalking you last time.” 

An ache flares in your heart before you drown it with irritation. Garbled words stick in your throat. Something sharp and defensive tries to slash through, but Dave continues, unbothered before you can get anything out of your mouth. 

“Mostly,” his crisp, rich scent washes over you as he dips into dot kisses up your neck, dissolving your defenses. His warm breath tickles your ear as he husks in a low tone, “I thought about how this greedy throat felt trying to swallow my cock,” his fingers wrap around your neck for emphasis, and he feels your quiet whimper of a response. 

Your cheeks burn. He claims your lips with a hungry kiss that has your moans vibrating in your throat beneath his hand. It’s urgent and needy how your tongues, teeth, and lips collide. When his other hand finally releases yours, and he possessively cups either side of your jaw in his large palms, you’re lost momentarily. Consumed by the sensation of Dave’s tongue sliding against yours and the desire to crawl into his lap and straddle him here in the booth. 

You shove away the thought of Joel that flashes through your mind and double down on your desire for Dave. You bite sharply at his bottom lip, roughly knocking your faces together as you press your body into his, demanding more intensity as you make out.

When you break apart, you feel the crazed expression on your face as you smirk at the man in front of you. “I’ll give you more to think about,” you say more breathlessly than you intended, but the message is still clear. 

You dive back in, licking a hot stripe up his neck and biting at his earlobe. Your hand is back on task, groping for Dave’s thick erection when he stops you again. He tugs your hand away, and you huff. 

Dave laughs, enjoying the frustration on your features as he tucks your hair back behind your ear. He’s rudely composed while you’re on fire. 

“Finish your drink,” he tilts his head towards the antique glass in front of you. You down the rest in an impolite gulp, wiping at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. Dave shakes his head softly, a mix of mild disbelief and something headier. “That’s a good girl,” he acquiesces you for following his direction with gusto. 

His praise drips over you like warm honey, easing the confusion you felt at his rejection of your touch. He answers your unspoken question, “We can stay here, dirty girl, but I’d prefer to take you home so I can get my mouth on you this time.” The close quarters in the booth have you nearly nose to nose. A smirk spreads across his face when your lips part at his proposal. 

“Let’s go,” you respond quickly, it’s an easy decision. 

He takes you to his condo nearby. It’s modern, masculine, and decorated but not very revealing of anything more personal about him. He wastes no time leading you to the bedroom, and you’re just as eager to get him into bed. 

But when your impatient hands start tugging at his clothes, he grips you harshly, fingertips digging into the flesh of your upper arms, pinning them to your sides, essentially immobilizing you as he holds you back. He has this look to him like he knows something that you don’t, and that’s enough to make you pause. 

“She’s hungry, hm?” it’s phrased like a question, but you don’t think he’s expecting a real answer. His eyes rove over you before he relaxes his grip. 

“Sit.” 

You obey without a thought, perching on the edge of the perfectly made bed before him. “That’s a good girl,” his voice has a raw edge to it, and the phrase shoots straight to your core. You fight to keep still, overwhelmed with the sudden need to please him and convinced he wants to see how closely you’ll follow his orders. 

Dave’s eyes are full of lust and something darker as he studies you, his presence looming, commanding, and teasing. “Look at you, ready for more.” His tone is mocking but coated with approval that tingles along your spine. He grabs your chin, lifting your face to meet his gaze again, “You liked the risk last time. Coming on my fingers under the table.” 

You nod, and he grants you a flash of a smile. It’s gorgeous but restrained and tampered back down. 

"And you liked being on your knees for me. You liked taking my cock down your throat, didn’t you?” 

You nod again, but his fingers dig into your cheeks slightly, a silent reprimand. His voice drops to a low growl, “Use your words.” Your eyes widen before you blink away the mixture of shock and thrill. 

"Yes,” you get the word out in a quietly, “I liked it," you manage to add a hint of confidence. 

The corner of his mouth twitches. Satisfaction flickers in his eyes. “Of course you did,” he strokes your cheek gently, “you did such a good job taking care of me last time.” His adoration flutters across your skin, spreading heat. “But it’s my turn now, isn’t it?” 

The wicked smirk on his face makes you feel lightheaded as he lowers himself in front of you. Your knees part reflexively to let him move closer. “That’s a good girl. Spread these legs for me,” he continues as he runs his hands along your smooth legs until he’s bunching up the bottom of your dress.

Without wasting a second, his mouth is on you, kissing the soft crease of your thighs and sucking an open mouth kiss over the damp fabric covering your core. His hands anchor your thighs, thumbs caressing your flesh in a mockery of tenderness as his mouth delivers a sinful symphony sucking at your skin, nipping at you in a way that makes your thighs tense beneath his grip and spewing dirty thoughts. 

“So wet for me,” he mutters as he raises in front of you, pulling you to stand so he can strip you bare. Your arms hang submissively by your sides as his hand moves slowly, down your jaw, wrapped around your throat, down your chest, pausing to marvel at the sight of your tits in his palms and how your mouth parts when he kneads them in his hands. 

You wonder if you should feel vulnerable as he proceeds with his inspection, but the precision of his movements keeps you lulled. Dave’s hand slips between your legs and his fingers trace the slick seam of your cunt. You can’t help the whiny groan you respond with as you strain to remain still for him. 

He snickers at your struggle, then makes it worse. “You’re dripping, you know that?” the mocking tone in his voice does something just right to you, “such a needy slut.” Oh. That has your thighs flexing, tightening around his hand as he continues to torture you, parting the lips of your pussy with his fingers, drawing circles too slowly. 

“Have to stop myself from bending you over now and fucking you hard and fast.” Your body floods with need at the idea, dripping around his fingers and causing your hips to jerk.

“Please,” you whisper. You figure it’s polite enough. 

"Ah, ah," he warns, pulling back. "I know you’d like that, dirty girl.” 

Yes! You consider spinning around and giving him your best tempting display, hoping he’ll give in, but he seems to be a step ahead. “Lay down. You’ll get what you want.” 

Dave has a wicked gleam in his eyes as you spread out across the bed for him. He’s deliberate when he gets between your legs, spreading them wide and skipping the teasing kisses this time. He drags his tongue from your entrance to your throbbing clit before his plush lips wrap around you. The suction and pressure are dizzying, and you fill the room with panting and moaning. 

Your hips chase his mouth as he uses his tongue expertly, alternating between lazy circles and sharp flicks. The pleasure builds as he works at you. His technique gradually becomes indelicate, using everything he’s got in a way that makes you feel wild. His nose nudges at your clit as he dips further down. He allows you to keep rolling your hips gently as you rock against his chin before he pulls back. 

"Look at you, already unraveling for me," he says, voice drenched in amusement. "So desperate. She wants it all, hm?"

“Yes,” you whine, and your moans keep flowing as the pressure coils tighter within you. 

“Good,” he asserts, “come for me.” It’s a demand that has you gasping when he punctuates it with his fingers plunging inside of you. If you weren’t so enraptured by the growing pleasure and his voice, you might nitpick the logistics of coming on command–but he gives you no room for debate. 

Persuasively compelling your orgasm to hit as his fingers fuck into you and he sucks your clit into his furnace of a mouth. He doesn’t relent. The intensity of his mouth and fingers overwhelms you through the violent flash of pleasure and remains consistent as you writhe and contract, coming back down to earth. 

He's working you back up before you can fully recover or process his praise. Coaxing you toward another peak, capitalizing on his command of your mind and body. Every flick of his tongue pushes you higher until you’re gripping at the bed to stay in place. 

The ache for release teeters on unbearable as Dave’s groan buzzes through you. You tremble, sticking to the sheets with the sweat of desperation. You’re not cognizant of how you’re pleading with Dave, “Yes, yes, yes!”

But just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he stops, sitting up. 

“Hey!” you’re on edge and disoriented. 

"On your hands and knees," he orders, rougher now. "I’ve had my fill."

Oh shit. 

You scramble to obey, face hot with frustration and need as you arch in presentation for him. His hands spread your cheeks so he can get a good, long look at the sight of your glossy, swollen cunt. 

"That’s good, dirty girl, so eager," he chuckles, lining himself up against your entrance, teasing you deliciously with the slightest stretch. "You want me to fuck you hard, don’t you?"

"Yes," you breathe, the word spilling out before you form a thought.

"That’s what I thought." He pushes inside you in one smooth, hard thrust, and you gasp as he fills you completely, stretching you wide. He pauses only long enough to feel your walls rippling with contractions around the length of him, confirming his prediction. “Yeah, knew this tight little cunt would take me so well.” 

You can only hum mindlessly in response before he sets a rough pace. Gripping firmly at your hips, he keeps you in place as he drives into you, grunting with the force as his hips smack against your ass, adding more lewd noise to the moans and single-syllable words you cry out. 

You’re slipping away in the feeling of him pounding into you from behind. So mindless as your body bounces off of him that, for a split second, your tortured mind drifts to Joel. Joel’s voice and his filthy mouth, how he always gets you to beg for more.  You tense up, eyes wide, hoping you haven’t said his name in your stupor.  

Mercifully, Dave doesn’t seem to react. He continues at the same pace until his hand slides up your spine, gripping the back of your neck as he knocks your legs wider with his, angling you lower and thrusting even deeper inside of you. It’s a sharp, blinding need to come that possesses you. 

“Don’t stop,” you plead between gasping breaths.  

He gives you a slap for that. The sting has your eyes nearly rolling back like a caricature. Dave is launched closer to his own release because of your desperation, your ass jiggling, and his view of his cock disappearing inside of you over and over in time with your moans. 

He gives you exactly what you need as you shift, letting your weight fall into your shoulders so you can snake your hand back to swirl your fingers over your clit with precision, quickly bringing yourself to the peak. You fall apart around him as he grips your hips forcefully, using you as he needs while waves of pleasure debilitate you. 

He doesn’t slow down, pounding into you until his own release verges on crashing into him, and with a low, strained sound, he pulls out. The wet sounds of his fist are drowned out by the groan you both make as you collapse without his support, and he comes across your ass and lower back.

For a moment, neither of you moves, both panting as you come down from the high. Then, with a satisfied hum, he leans down and presses a soft, almost tender kiss to your shoulder. "Good girl," he murmurs, a soothing balm after the intensity. And, when he returns with a warm washcloth to clean you up, you feel glowy and drunk in his bed. 

Dave drives you home, at your request, and walks you to your door like a gentleman. He repeats that he would be happy to see you again.

 And he does. 

You both get what you want out of the arrangement. Neither of you wants a relationship and has an interest in an emotional connection. Dave isn’t always available, but he’s communicative and arranges to pick you up once or twice a week when he’s free. 

He always offers to take you for drinks or dinner at his favorite spots. Some nights, you just ask him to take you straight to his perfectly made bed. The nights you desperately need him to fuck Joel’s voice out of your head. 

It works, for the most part, as the weeks pass. Katie rolls her eyes at you when you claim you prefer your weekly dick appointments to a real relationship, but her judgment fades when you give her a juicy detail or two about the things Dave says to you in bed. You’re grateful to have an easy out to redirect her because you don’t feel strong enough to let her see the festering wound in your chest, still refusing to let go of Joel. 

Most days, it’s dull enough to manage. It’s more of a cruel joke when you hear Joel’s voice in your head first thing upon waking. When your phone buzzes and your heart stutters, you laugh bitterly at yourself for thinking it could be that stubborn asshole. It’s never him. You don’t hear from him. You don’t reach out. You consider blocking him altogether but can’t bring yourself to do it. You don’t see him on any nights out with Katie. 

You bite your tongue when you see Tommy at another karaoke night. You can’t ask about Joel, nobody knew you had been seeing each other, if that’s what you could even call it. You strategically keep yourself on the opposite end of the table from Tommy, hoping to stay out of earshot if he mentions the man haunting your thoughts. 

But as you drink your feelings one after another, they evolve. Anger swirls as you think of texting Joel and calling him out for being a gutless wonder. You pull out your phone and open your messages, rereading the last text from him. 

Joel: Miss me? 

Out of context, the two words trip you up momentarily. Even though you’ve reread them more times than you’d like to admit. And replayed that night more than you can stand. You don’t type anything to him. Your anger still burns in your gut. 

You attempt to engage with your friends, but it’s all for show. You can’t stop glancing towards Tommy, the door, or your phone. Your anger converts into something you can’t escape. 

After one more drink, your vision keeps getting blurry, not exactly from the booze. 

You try to blink back the tears in your waterline, excusing yourself from the group and dashing for the bathroom. Something messy and hurt and possesses you. Destabilizing you entirely as you feel yourself breaking down.

Weaving between bodies until you’re slamming into a stall and collapsing into a wobbly-limbed mess. Ugly sobs rip through your diaphragm, stirring up the most vulnerable fears and a cruel internal voice. Why are you hung up on someone that treated you like shit? You think it’s what you deserve? You can’t even move on? You still can’t stand up for yourself? 

Someone else enters the bathroom, and you try to hold yourself together, but they catch your sobs and ask if you’re alright. You do your best to assure the stranger that you’re okay. 

“If he makes you feel like that, he ain’t worth it, hon’,” she offers before leaving you with your thoughts in the bathroom. 

You know she meant it to be helpful, but it knocks you deeper into your feelings. You’re upset, and for what? Does he even care? Has he actually thought of you even once? He isn’t worth it. He isn’t worth it, and you still can’t stop the tears pathetically streaming down your face. It hurts even worse to know you shouldn’t care. 

You stand up, and your head spins, not just from the emotional agony but from the alcohol. When you not-so-gracefully emerge and see yourself in the mirror, you nearly lock yourself back in the stall and vow to live here now. You can’t return to the table with your eyes that swollen and red and your mascara rubbed away. 

You don’t want to be seen at all. You want to be left in bed to wrestle with your self-esteem and crippling grief over something that never existed. 

You pull out your phone, only dropping it once before sending off your hail Mary, hoping Dave can pick you up. 

Where?

The response is almost instant. You send off the name of the bar and do your best to make yourself look presentable before marching back towards your friends. You give Katie a quick hug from the side, yell-whispering into her ear that Dave is picking you up and you’ll text her tomorrow, before you slip away as quickly as you can manage. Bouncing off the back of a chair on your mission to get outside. 

You lean against the cool brick wall, eyes closed, taking deep breaths of the crisp fall air as you wait for your ride. You can hear the bass from another club across the street and the laughs and shouts from the gaggle of smokers gathered further up the block. You feel syrupy and wrung out, but you aren’t going to be sick. You just need to get home. 

“You alright?” A smooth voice cuts into your thoughts. You jerk your head more dramatically than you intended, taking in Tommy’s concerned brown eyes with a sigh. Of course. 

“Just waiting for my ride,” you do your best to act sober and emotionally stable. Whatever that looks like. 

“I’ll wait with you,” he decides. 

Your shoulders drop. You must not be very convincing. “Really, I’m fine,” you add, leaning your head against the wall. 

“Right,” he steps back but doesn’t leave. He lights a cigarette and allows you the silence as he smokes alongside you. It’s kind, you suppose, not wanting to leave you alone on the street. But he’s the last person you want to be next to right now. Or maybe second to last, you realize when he laughs and steps forward with a wave, drawing your attention to a scene that stops your heart. 

A familiar truck pulls up to the curb in front of you, and you take back your earlier assessment. You feel like you are gonna be sick. Your stomach lurches, and you feel the panic rising in your throat. 

“What are you doing here?” Tommy shouts, “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, like maybe if you keep them closed, you’ll blend in with the wall. 

“Just giving a friend a ride,” Joel responds gruffly from inside his truck. Your plan immediately fails. His voice compels you to look at him. 

Some unspoken fucking sibling communication happens between the two of them, and then Joel is staring at you. Unreadable. “You getting in?” he hollers at you. 

“No,” you mumble barely audible. You clear your throat, feeling hoarse, and try again. “I’m waiting for my ride.” 

“I think it’s here, darlin’,” Tommy says as he steps towards you to usher you towards Joel’s truck. You shrug him off, pulling out your phone to check your messages. To see how long it’s been since you told Dave your location. 

You didn’t. 

You texted Joel. 

You’re mortified. No, no, no. This cannot be real. You didn’t text this hot nightmare. There’s no way he would’ve responded. 

He did. 

Joel: Where? 

You’re still shaking your head and trying to wrap your head around the situation. You’re the architect of your own worst nightmare now. A disaster asking to be rescued by the guy who knows exactly how to twist the knife in your gut. You’re spiraling inwards. 

Completely unaware of the exchange between Joel and Tommy. Or how gone, you look to them. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters at Tommy as he comes round to help you into the truck. “What’d she have?” 

“Hey,” Tommy defends, “I just came outside, and she said she was waitin’ on her ride. I don’t know shit.” 

“Figures,” he’s still grumbling as he shuts the door. You’re in shock as you sit in the cab of Joel’s truck. The only other time you were inside was the night you met. 

“Shit,” you curse at yourself as Joel gets in and pulls away from the curb. 

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say anything. Just drives in silence. Through every light, all the way across town. 

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, “I didn’t mean to text you.” It hangs in the thick silence. You focus so hard on keeping your breathing steady, tamping down the sobs fighting to break through, that you barely register the tears that stream down your face. 

You hear him sigh before his hand rests on your thigh, “What happened?” he croaks like it hurts to speak.  

You’re reeling at that. Hearing him sigh like you’re a hindrance, like your emotions are a burden like it pains him to ask. You don’t have the clarity of mind to filter yourself. 

“Nothing,” you snap, glaring at his hand. “Don’t pretend like you care,” you dig, refusing to look at him, hot tears still rolling down your cheek. He doesn’t ask again. But he doesn’t pull his hand back, and you don’t move it until he’s shifting into park. 

Against your better judgment, you turn to face him. Your gut twists at the sight of him so close to you. After you’ve been left alone with your thoughts for so long. You can’t read his stoic face or his beautiful dark eyes. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, trying not to linger on how insane you must seem. Asking for a ride, snapping at him, and then thanking him. You cringe at yourself, trying to swipe the tears under your eyes away like that’ll make you seem more put together. 

You hop out of the cab and take a second to steady yourself. Joel’s door slams as he rounds the front of the truck to steady you. 

“Don’t,” you mutter. He puts an arm around you as if it’s natural, and you still. 

“Baby,” he says, low and soothing, “let me help.” 

Baby. It stirs the stupid butterflies in your stomach until your brain catches up. 

“No,” you shove him away. It’s weak, but he steps back.

“C’mon,” he urges you, “let’s just get you inside.” 

“No,” you still don’t move. Afraid you’ll fall apart if you try. You need him to leave before you come apart. If he touches you, you know you’ll beg him to fuck your pain away. 

“I can’t do it again.” You muster your courage, but when you look at his face, a soft sob finally breaks through, and your body shudders, gasping for a breath, “Please.”

His face darkens. His arms hang limply at his sides before his fists tighten. The street is quiet in the dark. “You think I’m here to fuck you?” 

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?” it’s a genuine question, but it rings harsh in the night with your uneven breathing. You fumble, dropping your keys when you finally dig them out of your bag, swearing under your breath. He grabs them before you and offers them to you, dropping them into your hand, avoiding your touch. 

You mumble thanks and stalk towards your door. He stays put, watching until you’re inside before he turns to leave. 

……

You get a text from Katie the following morning. 

Katie: Girl, are you alive?

Katie: You wanna tell me why Dave looked an awful lot like Joel?

You: not really. did Tommy say something?

Katie: No?? I was trying to get a glimpse of your man when I saw you getting into Joel’s truck??

You: I texted the wrong number 

Katie: ….

Katie: Uh, unless you’ve got him in your phone as Daddy Joel (real) I don’t think those letters are that close together babe

Katie: WAIT 

Katie: When did you get Joel’s number? He barely talks to anyone! 

Kate: Don’t answer that, I’m coming over and bribing you with a hangover cure bacon egg n’ cheese and you’re telling me everything 

You: and a cold brew? 

Katie: Duh 

…………..

“Fuck,” Joel grumbles when he hears a knock at his door. He knows exactly what this is. He lets Tommy in without a word and tromps back to his kitchen to get another coffee before his interrogation starts. He sits at the table, and levels the darkest “don’t start with me” glare he can, but his idiot brother has always been immune. 

…………….

“What do you mean?” you whine at Katie from your side of the couch. “There’s no use trying to talk to him; he’s emotionally constipated, and he only wants one thing from me.” 

“Maybe there’s more to him,” she suggests vaguely. 

“You were the one telling me to drop him and move on anyway!” you argue like a child. 

“I didn’t know it was him!”

“How does that change anything?” you glare at her. Katie chews at her lip while you devour the last of your breakfast sandwich. It’s cold. You had been so wrapped up in your recollection of the ups and downs of your non-relatioinship with Joel you forgot to finish eating while it was fresh. It feels like a stupid metaphor about how he forgot to take care of yourself when you were drawn into his toxic cycle. 

You thought confessing would reduce the weight on your chest. You weren’t prepared for Katie to add to your delusion. 

“I don’t think it’s really my place to share his… baggage,” she muses. 

“Since when?” you cut her a nasty look. 

“I just think,” she pauses, and you ball up the foil from your sandwich and throw it at her, earning you a glare, “It’s complicated.” 

“Okay, Avril Lavigne,” you mock. “You’re the worst, and this is not helpful! You’ve gotta give me something. Is he married? Am I the mistress? Is he a felon? A drug dealer?” 

“You think I wouldn’t warn you about any of those?” 

“I don’t know. I never thought you’d be taking his side,” you say in a serious tone. 

“I’m not defending him!” She holds up her hands in surrender. “You deserve better than fuckboy behavior from a grown man.” 

“Thanks.” 

“It’s just,” he considers her words as your eyes narrow, “it seemed like it meant more than that. You were practically glowing half the summer.” 

“And a lifeless zombie the rest of the time?” 

“A cute zombie?” she shrugs. “I’m serious, though. Do you think he’d show up to rescue anyone else–no questions asked? That fast?” her words get softer.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, draping yourself miserably along the end of the couch, trying not to think about the times Joel bent you over the armrest. “I don’t know him at all, really.” 

“Do you want to?” 

Yes! A naive part of you shouts, hopeful and bright, blind to the reality of your situation. Oh, no. Definitely not. You dropkick that idea right to the back of your mind. Ignoring the way it screams until it’s muffled by the dejected, logical thoughts. “I can’t risk it,” you respond weakly. 

Katie hears it. The ever-resilient part of you that tries to stay one step ahead cracks and lets the vulnerability out. You refuse to worsen the abandonment wound, but it’s entangled in your heart. 

Katie doesn’t bring it up again. She spends the rest of the day with you, ordering takeout and putting on your favorite movies, like you’re going through a breakup. It helps.

…………

Life lulls back into the same routine. Except now, when you wake up, it’s Joel’s face–not his voice–that haunts you. The 

Instead of Joel’s voice haunting you when you wake up–it’s his face. The way he looked hurt. The way he dropped your keys into your hand

when you begged him not to come inside. It sinks like a stone in your stomach that you carry all day as you go through the motions. It feels hollow, but you persist. Your friends lighten the dark fog. Dave’s praise soothes the ache, and he fucks you so hard you can forget almost forget. 

But Joel lurks in your walls, in your skin, and you swear you see his headlights sweep over your living room, but it’s never his truck. At least not in the two weeks since karaoke night. You’ll never understand the trickery that makes misery slow time, but every day has felt bloated and stretched. 

Sick of feeling sick, the following week, when Joel’s face pops up, the second you open your eyes, you curse him. Spite simmers in your bones. If he had something to say, he had all the time in the world to show up and say it. Channeling the malaise into something darker, you let your anger renew your energy. 

All I can fuckin’ think about MY ASS. 

You’re itching for the distraction by the time you’re getting ready for your date with Dave this evening. You know you’re going to be a menace, and it’ll turn him on, which already has you smirking to yourself. You’re almost ready when you hear a knock at your door. You frown, checking the time. Dave’s usually precisely on time, not early. Close enough, you figure, slinging your bag over your shoulder and heading for the door. 

You swing it open, ready to see Dave, but your jaw drops when you see Joel. He’s caught off guard by your date night look and hesitates as his eyes sweep over your little black dress. Without a thought you slam the door in his face. 

What the fuck?

He knocks again, loudly, as if you weren’t standing on the other side with your mouth gaping like a fish. But the pounding brings you back to reality. 

You open the door and start before he even has a chance. 

“It’s been three weeks since I last saw you, Miller, and that was an accident! I don’t know how long it was before that, but now you’re gonna show up and ruin another date? I don’t fucking think so. You’ve got five minutes. Spit it out. What are you doing here?” 

He blinks dumbly for a moment. Taken aback by your words and still breathless at seeing you all dolled up for your date. You cross your arms, unimpressed so far. That’s somehow worse. The irritated look on your face makes him want to fuck the attitude out of you. He takes a deep breath, trying to refocus before he starts. 

“You’re right,” his voice is gentler than you remember–It’s criminal really, “I shouldn’t have waited.” He pauses and swallows thickly. Is he nervous? That’s new. “I’m not great with words, and I haven’t given you any reason to give me the time of day. I’m here to apologize.” 

“Go on then.” 

“It wasn’t right of me to run from you–”

“Which time?” you won’t let him get through this easily. Not now. He lets that sink in. The vulnerability makes his eyes shine. You can sense the charge in the air like he might just run right now. 

“Every time,” he admits. “Didn’t think you’d let me back in every time, but I couldn’t stop myself from trying. Knew you wanted me too.” You scoff at that. Amused at his approach. You see his shoulders tense before he lets your disapproval roll off of him. “Convinced myself, it was fine, or you’d stop answerin’ the door. Thought it’d be easier–” 

“If I did your dirty work for you?” you accuse sharply. “If it was my responsibility to hold you accountable?” 

“Thought it’d be easier if you hated me, I guess,” he runs his hand over the back of his neck. You stop seeing red and take him in. He smells fresh, like some over-fragranced body wash, his nearly dry hair brushed back. You hate how you feel the urge to soften just at the sight of him. “Figured you’d move on,” he rumbles. 

“Didn’t seem like you wanted me to move on when you crashed my date.” 

“It wasn’t my plan,” he mutters. Right. You raise your eyebrows. “You–you just drive me fuckin’ crazy. I don’t know why. But I can’t get you outta my fuckin’ head.”

That makes you smile. His confession willfully given on your front doorstep. In the daylight, without your body seducing his. You drive him crazy. 

Dave’s car pulls up behind Joel’s truck. “Time’s up,” you say, “as much as I really enjoy this 90s romcom-style confession, and I really do, I’ve got a date, and I don’t like to keep my dates waiting.” 

“Right,” Joel takes you in like he might never see you again, “he something serious?” he nods towards Dave’s car. 

“Why, you planning to ask me out?” you’re not afraid to be direct anymore. Nothing to lose. 

“Thought I’d just start with the apology.” 

“Good.” 

“You accept?” 

You laugh loudly, full-chested. It’s a release, but it ends mockingly. “You’re gonna have to try harder than this to show you really mean it.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, turning to leave. A wicked idea flashes through your mind as you watch him turn and look past him towards Dave, who is watching you intently. 

“Wait,” you call out, and Joel spins immediately. “I’ll consider your apology tonight on one condition.” He waits to hear more, and your grin sends a shiver down his spine. He’s in for something, and if it’s anything close to what he deserves, it’s gonna hurt. 

…………

You slide into your favorite corner booth, in between Dave and Joel. You admire them both in the dim light. You haven’t been able to keep the nefarious smirk off your face since you proposed your idea. Dave was an easy sell, just as you knew he would be, with minimal questions and clear on the role you wanted him to play. You weren’t surprised that Joel agreed, but you’re skeptical that he’ll be able to keep his cool. 

“You’re coming with us,” you told him like it was a command, “you’re gonna watch, and you’re gonna prove to me that you can behave.” 

He seems to keep it together through your date. He’s quiet, only accepting a drink when you tell him not to be weird. You know the jealousy is screaming beneath the surface. He does his best to rein it in, but when Dave taunts him with sly comments or touches you so freely, you catch his jaw tensing and his hands balling into tight fists, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Dave exudes confidence and control. He relishes in the power dynamic and more so, in how you’re so turned on by having an audience. Dave’s eyes are sharp, catching all of Joel’s discomfort when you giggle when you share a story when he touches you, but worst of all, when you touch Dave. “Dirty girl,” Dave murmurs close to your ear, “you want to give your guest a show before we take him home?” 

Your eyes are bright and shining when you smile at him. You give Joel a once over. He doesn’t look like he will flip the table or smash his fist through it. He glowers at Dave but softens for you, swallowing down the humiliation and washing it down with another drink. 

“Yeah,” you turn back to Dave, “he can take it. What do you have in mind?” 

“I think I dropped something under the table,” Dave’s low voice drips down your spine, and excitement buzzes in your core, “You think you can help me out?” You smile wide as the Cheshire cat before sinking beneath the table. It’s cramped and dark, but you’ve never been more grateful to Dave for reserving his favorite secluded corner spot. 

You wiggle a bit brushing against Joel as you situate yourself between Dave’s legs. The table muffles more of the sound, blending their voices into the sound of the music. You can tell Dave is trying to continue a casual conversation with Joel, and you can tell Joel doesn’t respond with many words. You find it easy enough to tune them out altogether as you focus on your mission, opening Dave’s belt and working quickly to tug at his pants until you can free his thick cock. 

Before you can get your mouth on it, Dave cups your jaw and grabs your attention, “Good girl,” he husks, matching your hungry gaze. “This what you want?” he asks as he grips the base of his cock and angles it towards you. You nod, wetting your lips in anticipation. “Do you want him to watch?” he asks, tilting his head towards Joel. 

You smile again, “Yes.” 

“Come closer,” he directs Joel, “she wants you to watch.” Joel shuffles over, scooting down the curved bench until he can see your face looking up at him. 

“Shit, baby,” Joel hisses, shifting to adjust himself. You see the mix of emotions flickering across his face. You can’t help yourself from holding eye contact with Joel as you slide your tongue down Dave’s length. You keep your eyes on him as you begin to bob your head, taking his cock deeper into your mouth. 

Having their eyes on you, has you squirming. The attention and the dynamics between the three of you has your heart in your cunt. The blazing jealousy in Joel’s eyes eggs you on, working sloppily to please Dave. You moan below them. 

“Look at her,” Dave speaks calmly to Joel, only a hint of strain in his voice as he maintains his composure. “You think another woman could enjoy your cock this much? You think you could find a mouth better than this?” 

“No,” Joel grits through clenched teeth. 

“You think you deserve her?” Dave asks like it’s as meaningless as asking about the weather. 

“No,” he grits again, his eyes shut tightly, waiting for something to pass, before he can continue watching you. You see the torment taking hold, lighting a fire within you that spurs you on. You break the eye contact to take Dave’s cock even deeper. He groans approvingly above you. 

“That’s it,” Dave encourages you with his hand gently wrapping around the back of your head, “just like that, fuck.” He keeps watching you, but his next words are for Joel. “Tell her,” he says, drunk with pride and lust, “tell her what a good girl she is. Think she more than deserves to hear it.” You know your cunt is dripping between your legs at the intensity of your lewd behavior and the control Dave wields over the both of you so effortlessly. 

You shift to watch Joel. He tempers the storm of his frustration and arousal to make sure it sounds honest. So you know he means it.

“That’s good, baby,” his voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat before continuing, “Such a good girl.” Your eyes nearly roll back. You didn’t think it could hit any harder than when Dave praises you, but hearing the words from Joel sends you to another plane. You melt before your determination is renewed, and you’re on a mission to make Dave come. He knows what you want, and his hips tilt, rocking into you as you swallow around him eagerly until he’s groaning again and pulsing against your tongue as he comes. 

The men shift, and the three of you adjust and fix yourselves, respectively, as you return to your seat between them. You’re pleased with yourself but overtaken with the need throbbing in your cunt. You don’t miss Joel’s attempts to adjust himself and squash his own aching desire. It makes your lips curl with a hungry smile. 

Dave pulls you towards him. You’re buzzing so tensely with anticipation that just his grip around your waist brings a whiny moan out of you. He chuckles darkly at your wrecked response. “So worked up just from that, aren’t you?” Dave teases. You hum in agreement, letting your senses be overwhelmed by the scent of both men and their warm bodies on either side of you. “Already soaked and ready to be filled with a cock, hm?” 

“Yes,” you agree, closing your eyes and smiling dreamily. 

“Tell me,” Dave murmurs with a dangerous edge. 

“So wet,” you purr in agreement, but he laughs again. You open your eyes, confused. 

“Was asking him,” Dave tilts your chin towards Joel. You thought your idea of having Joel watch would be punishment enough, but you weren’t prepared for how Dave’s filthy mind works a step ahead of yours. You pull Joel’s hand between your legs. “Check for me,” he orders. 

Joel obeys. His fingers are quick to find your soaked underwear, and he easily dips them beneath the fabric into the pool of slick at your fluttering entrance. “Fuck,” you both curse at the sensation. It’s overwhelming, and you jerk at the intensity of being touched where your body wants contact the most. 

“Fuckin’ soaked,” Joel confirms like it’s painful to say it, “needs it bad.” You think the latter might apply to both of you. 

“You think you can make it all the way home, dirty girl?” Dave teases. You nod, but the whiny sound that comes from your throat as Joel removes his hand says otherwise. Dave considers your needs. “He’s only here to watch, hm?” he confirms. You nod mindlessly. “You think he’d make a nice seat for your ride home? Keep that empty hole full for you?” 

“Oh, shit,” you feel your face heat at the idea, “yes.” 

Joel’s more conflicted than he’s ever felt in his life. He was prepared to fight off his jealousy and tame his anger. He wasn’t prepared to watch you give Dave head in public or for how fucking hard he would get watching. But the most difficult thing to reckon with is the humiliation. More specifically, how every comment from either one of you that further salted his wound made his skin boil but also sent jolts of excitement through his nerves. 

“You think you can keep it together?” Dave challenges Joel. 

“Yes.” 

………………

Joel regrets agreeing before you leave the parking lot, but you couldn’t pay him to go back in time and change his answer. He thought the worst of it was over once you finally settled on top of him, sinking painfully slowly down his cock until your ass was flush with his hips, but you can’t stay still. You tense and contract around him, nearly blinding Joel with the heat of your velvety soft walls choking his shaft. You lean forward, trying to get comfortable, and when the car bounces over a speed bump on the way out of the parking lot, you both groan with pleasure and frustration. 

“You feel better?” Dave asks you as he navigates swiftly back to yours. 

“So full,” you state, desperately fighting the urge to beg Joel to grab your hips and fuck you. You weren’t exactly exaggerating the last time you had sex with Joel when you said you missed his “big fat cock.” Every bump on the road has you biting back moans, and you squirm, trying to find a comfortable position. 

“Please,” Joel’s low voice is strained and ragged, “quit moving.” 

You should’ve had the foresight to realize this wasn’t a punishment for Joel. This was just going to weaken your resolve. You know the second he gets his hands on you, it’s useless. You’re his through and through. You thought you were still pissed off enough that he couldn’t get to you, that Dave’s presence would keep you on track. 

Well, you didn’t really think about it at all. You just felt your knees go weak when, and your cunt do a flip when Dave made the suggestion. You need to make a mental note to show him just how much you appreciate his dirty mind when you get back home. 

You can feel Joel’s growl rumbling through his chest and his thighs tensing beneath you. It’s a vicious cycle. Every sound he makes is like a call and response with your body. Your cunt denounces your orders to stay still and pulses rhythmically, trying to take Joel’s cock deeper on it’s own accord. His breath hitches, and you adjust. 

“Baby,” he rasps, sounding wrecked, “I can’t–fuck–can’t do this if you’re gonna be a fuckin’ tease. His hands wrap around your hips, fingers digging harshly into your flesh in an attempt to keep you still, but the pressure makes you cry out softly. 

“Is your chair complaining?” Dave mocks, and Joel’s cock tenses inside of you. 

“I’m about to complain,” you try to snark, but it comes out needy instead. 

“What do you need, dirty girl?” He asks sincerely. You know it’s not long to get home, but you can’t think straight with Joel’s cock so deep inside of you. 

“Fuck, I…” you wiggle again, causing Joel to grunt behind you, and the noise makes your pussy flex, “I can’t,” you trail off, digging your nails into your palms, trying to steady yourself. You feel pathetic right now, unable to put together a sentence and barely able to keep yourself still. 

“Hey,” Dave coos gently, seeing the pained expression on your face. “You decide what you want. Your rules. You want him to touch you?” 

“Mmm,” you groan loudly with want, “please, please, please.” 

Joel doesn’t hesitate, hands searching immediately and yanking you closer as he gropes at your body. The freedom to move gives him power over his urges, more control than either of you expected. His breath is hot against your neck before his voice, gravelly and dark, vibrates just behind your ear, “Missed hearing you beg for me.” 

Your head lolls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut and mouth hanging open. You moan in sync as his hands wrap around your body, slipping under the top and bottom of your dress at the same time. You’re pinned, back against his firm chest, as one hand pinches at your hard nipple and the other taps at your clit. Your body struggles in his strong arms, unable to bow at the overstimulation of his touch. All you can manage is to rut your hips into him. 

“You desperate to come on my cock again, baby?” he goads you. Feeling confident now that he’s free to run his filthy mouth again. Feeling drunk on your needy noises and the way you writhe for him. He carries on teasing you in his Joel-specific way with his words and his fingers. It’s maddening, and you feel lit up, skin tingling as you’re at his mercy. You can only see blinding light, like you’re inside of a star, as you get closer and closer. 

You’re too incapacitated to realize you’ve made it home, that the car has stopped moving, that Dave has turned to watch you. Joel continues to rasp filth into your ear, but your body spasms in response when Dave begins to encourage you. “That’s right,” Dave coaxes you, “take what you need.” 

You do. Falling headfirst into the rush, broken, gasping, moans ringing through the car. The scent of sex swirling in the air. Your tension snaps, flooding with endorphins, and riding through the waves as you’re fully supported by Joel’s arms and body. 

“Fuck,” Joel chokes out, biting down into the curve of your neck to stifle himself. Your cunt still weakly tries to milk his cock as your hips twitch and jerk while you ease back down from your orgasm. You can feel the mess you’ve made. Hot and sopping wet, dripping down Joel’s cock and making you slip against his thighs. You’ve never made such a mess before. 

Joel shudders and tenses beneath you. Lifting you off of him with a familiar grunt. It’s his come leaking out of you. Your head swivels, “that wasn’t for you.” His cocky attitude from minutes earlier is gone; shame washes over him. His curls are no longer tamed like they were when he showed up at your door; one sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He breathes deeply, chest rising and falling, as he mouths a barely audible apology. 

It’s twisted that it stirs your need to comfort him. Fuck it. You figure the whole evening has been wild enough so far. Plus, he can take some of the emotional whiplash this time. You’re tired of being the one with that look on your face. You can see the taunt dancing on Dave’s tongue; you know he’s ready to cut Joel with vicious words, but he holds them, waiting for your lead. 

It’s an unbelievable position to be in. You aren’t used to feeling like you’ve got the upper hand in the power dynamic like this. Not with Joel. Not with two men that radiate dominance like it’s in their DNA. You’d like to savor the moment, but now that you’re not burning a horny fever, you realize how incredibly impractical it is to sit on top of such a large man inside of the car. You’re all gonna end up with neck cramps if you’re in here another minute. 

Despite dying to know what Dave’s holding back, you have more mercy than him or Joel. Joel, who currently can’t look you in the eye as he stays uncomfortably rigid beneath you, well, except for his spent cock. The thought makes you snort weakly, amused at your own sense of humor. 

You contort in Joel’s lap to kiss him softly on the cheek. “Chin up, Joel,” you lilt. “You can make it up to me. We’re not done yet,” you nod towards Dave who smirks darkly, “Unless you’ve changed your mind.” You open the door and hop out, leaving both men to watch you walk to the door. For the first time since you opened your door tonight, you’re alone long enough to let some nerves start to get to you. 

Your dates don’t follow immediately. They take long enough that you start to spin out in your head. Are you insane for this whole idea? Did you really just crawl under a table to Dave in front of Joel? In public? What the fuck are they talking about without you? You’re impatient now, arms crossed, leaning against the door frame, letting the cool night air stream into your living room. 

Then they’re striding towards you. Hungry eyes glinting. Both are intimidatingly gorgeous in their own ways. Dave exudes a slightly detached, effortless, authoritative swagger. It makes you feel special when he gives you his undivided attention. Joel is raw, slightly untethered like he’s always weary from warring with his own demons, but he still wields lethal power. They stalk towards you swiftly, catching your concern as they usher you towards your bedroom with more coordination than you expected. 

The door closes behind you with a soft click, but the tension in the air is heavy, as if someone had slammed it shut. Your room feels smaller with the weight of the situation about to unfold. Dave’s presence behind you makes your pulse quicken; the head of his body and his signature scent surround you. Joel watches, leaning against the door, arms crossed, jaw set, determined restraint weighing on his features. Despite the distance between you, Joel’s presence feels all-consuming. You’re mesmerized by his figure. His arms look even bigger, crossed in front of him, his broad shoulders, his pouty bottom lip, his strong jaw. You feel possessed with the need to …bite him? But, you don’t move. 

Dave’s fingers trace lightly down your spine as you continue to unabashedly ogle Joel, who stiffens at the sight of Dave’s hands slipping the straps of your dress over your shoulders. He’s unreadable, but the something simmering beneath the forced calm is contextually obvious. Joel’s trying to keep his cool; he doesn’t flinch, but he shifts, unable to remain still while he can only watch. 

Katie always referred to the chair in your room you designated as laundry purgatory as the cuck chair. It was only a joke, but if it isn’t perfect now. You glide across the room, tossing the worn-once sweatshirts and denim into the laundry hamper for future you to sort, offering the seat to Joel. It’s comical how his presence seems so out of place on the thrifted antique parlor chair.

You giggle softly as you spin back toward Dave, eager to find out what his depraved mind is plotting for the rest of the night. Dave’s voice is a low hum as he welcomes you into his arms, “Let’s make sure Joel gets a good look at what he’s missing out on, hm?” You nod, letting Dave arrange you as he pleases. “Pay attention,” he orders Joel, “I’m doing you a favor.” You can hear the devious glee lurking beneath Dave’s controlled tone. Joel’s dark eyes spark with something fierce as they flick to Dave before landing back on you. 

You can feel your pulse beating in your neck—and your cunt—as your chest heaves dramatically as Dave’s hands move over you. His touch is both tender and possessive as he makes a show of removing all of your clothes. It’s exaggerated to eat at Joel, but it works you up just the same. Dave pauses, letting his fingers hover over your nipples, brushing them just enough to make you shiver before kneading your soft tits, making you gasp. 

“You see that?” Dave asks over your shoulder, addressing Joel. “She’s so needy already. All worked up again. How are you going to satisfy her if she needs my cock right after you make her come?” 

You see Joel stiffen, gripping the arms of your chair like he might crush them. He’s still holding on to some semblance of composure, but it’s unraveling. You didn’t expect the dynamic between them to hit you straight in the pussy, but you’re dizzy, humming with anticipation. 

“On the bed, greedy girl,” Dave instructs. You follow without question, crawling onto the mattress, your pulse pounding in your ears. Joel’s eyes are glued to you, devouring every inch of your bare skin. It’s impossible for you to look away from him. His struggle as he works so fucking hard not to show how much he wants you, even though it’s written all over his face, is driving you wild. His fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to touch you, to take. 

With your head still turned, locked onto the sight of Joel, your mouth parts in a soft gasp as Dave’s broad hands spread your legs wide, exposing your heated skin to the cool air in the room. You break away from your staring contest to catch the searing heat in Dave’s eyes before he lowers, pausing just before his lips brush against your swollen clit. He doesn’t ease the ache yet, lifting his head and turning to Joel with a smirk. “Come closer. You might learn something,” he challenges smugly. 

You’d roll your eyes at his arrogance, but then he dives in, tongue sliding against your slick cunt with devastating precision. You can only dig your fingers into your sheets as you arch and moan in response to his expert rhythm. With your eyes squeezed shut and your breath coming in uneven, shallow pants, you relax into the sensation coursing through you. 

“Tell him,” Dave hums into your skin, “Tell Joel how good it feels.” 

Your eyes flutter open, meeting Joel’s gaze. The sight of him has you at a loss for words. His face is expressionless, but as always, his eyes betray him. Sharp, hungry, and barely containing the storm inside of him. “So… feels, fuck, feels so good.” 

Joel’s chest rises and falls heavily. Dave’s taunts don’t hurt Joel’s pride, but watching you fall apart for another man twists his gut harshly. You’re so close he could count the beads of sweat forming on your chest. He can taste you and smell you, and it drives him wild. Like a beast, only held back by his hope to have a chance for more. 

Dave chuckles against you, his breath teasing your clit before he wraps his lips around it, sucking hard. The pleasure slams through you, and you cry out, your hips jerking against his mouth. Every nerve ending alight with sensation. You can’t think, only feel.

“She’s so responsive,” Dave gloats.

Joel doesn’t acknowledge the comment. His composure is cracking, the frustration bubbling to the surface. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes stay glued to the place where Dave’s mouth moves over you with expert ease.

But Dave isn’t done with either of you yet. He pulls back from between your legs, his fingers trailing over your slick skin as he moves to stand. His eyes are alight with that dangerous gleam that makes your heart race. “Let’s show Joel what a dirty girl you are for me.”

You’re eager to obey. “How do you want me?” Your voice is breathy and ragged already. It only crosses your mind now that you’re completely naked while they’re still fully dressed. You sit up, reaching for Dave’s belt before he’s answered you. He takes off his shirt while you work diligently to release his cock. “Look at her, Joel,” Dave taunts, his voice thick with pride and adoration for you. “She just wants to be fucked right.” 

Joel swallows hard. The effort it takes to keep himself in check is wavering. He’s burning with the urge to claim you, to show you the meaning of being fucked right, to make you come so hard you forget Dave’s name. His ears ring, tuning Dave out completely, watching you adjust, lying back on your pillows, welcoming Dave between your legs. 

Joel is transfixed. Watching as Dave positions himself between your legs and slides into you with an agonizingly slow thrust. Distantly, he can hear you moaning loudly; he can hear Dave continuing to goad him about how tight you are and how he gives you what you need or whatever else he thinks matters. All Joel can process is the sight of Dave’s cock disappearing inside of you. Over and over and over again. 

A deep, nauseating wave of embarrassment sinks heavily into Joel’s stomach. You wanted to punish him? Like this? It’s too absurd to be a joke, to be a sick prank. It can’t be some kind of trap. You aren’t cruel like that. Worse. He’s trapped between his anger and arousal. Forced to watch as Dave takes you apart, piece by piece. Tortured by his own cock throbbing painfully in response to everything about you. He looks at your face and feels dismantled by your gaze. Hazy and sweet, you’re staring at him, wet lips parted as you gasp shallowly while Dave keeps up his pace. 

Joel’s composure is slipping, his hands flexing before he gives in, trying to readjust. Hoping to find the slightest relief as he palms himself over his jeans. Your brows wrinkle with pleasure, and a breathy “oh, fuck,” slips out of you. Seeing Joel so turned on just from watching you sends you rolling into a warm, vision-blurring climax. 

“I know,” Dave coos in your ear as you catch your breath, “I know.” He’s still murmuring against your neck, but it’s the silent exchange with Joel that makes you smile lazily. You think he figured it out, the power he has over you with just his expressions. That he’s the one that has you breathless. “Tell her,” Dave growls over you. 

“Good girl,” Joel utters hoarsely, mouth dry. He sees the glow wash over you at his words, and it clicks. Finally. Whatever it is between you affects you just as much. His punishment isn’t watching someone else please you, wondering if they really can make you feel better than he can. Wondering if they’ll treat you better. If you’re better off without Joel at all. No. 

It’s knowing they can’t. Knowing you’ve been just as empty without him as he’s been without you. That it’s been his fault. He’s made it worse. You’re all he can fuckin’ think about, and he’s in your head just the same. 

And right now his punishment is to wait this night out. To be vulnerable and reveal the truth. The desperate desire he has for you. He’s pathetic with it, honestly. He’ll sit here all night, show you how hard you make him, tell you how badly he wants you, describe how perfect you are, anything. It starts to pour out of him as his jealousy and anger recede. “So good, baby, you look beautiful, like a dream,” Joel’s voice is filled with earnest wonder. You beam, your eyelids heavy with lust as Joel continues. “I want you so bad it hurts. You’ve got me losing my fuckin’ mind.” 

“That’s a start,” Dave commends Joel before he shifts, pulling out and flipping you onto your hands and knees. You can hear Joel cursing under his breath as Dave kneads the plush curves of your ass, spreading you wide and showing off your glossy cunt. “You see that? Perfect, right?” He doesn’t wait for Joel to respond, focused on lining himself up and sliding back inside of you as deep as he can. 

Dave groans along with you as he lights up every nerve within you, and your pussy contracts coaxing him deeper. He pauses when his hips meet your ass, filling you to the hilt before he wraps an arm around you to pull your back flush against his chest. “Look at him,” Dave tilts your head to be sure you can take in Joel’s wrecked expression. “You think he deserves to touch himself while I’m fucking you?” Dave asks, shifting his attention back to you, mischief twinkling in his eyes. 

“No,” you reply, resolute. “He doesn’t deserve it. But I want to watch, so he will.” Dave’s grin widens, reveling in your direct nature. He lowers you, and you adjust, resting your cheek on your pillow so you can watch. “Please, Joel, let me see.” Your begging has the exact effect you wanted on Joel when you hear the throaty groan he makes. 

You squirm involuntarily when you finally get a clear view of Joel’s cock, clenching tightly around Dave’s cock. He hums behind you, muttering about how you’re unreal, and he hopes Joel can handle a woman like you as he slowly drags himself almost completely out of you before snapping his hips brutally, slamming back into you. 

You’re bewitched. The head of Joel’s cock glistens, weeping with precome, enticing, and menacing as his fist strokes slowly along his shaft. You’re salivating at the debauched scene and drenching Dave’s cock as he continues to slowly work you back up. The sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the room, mingling with your gasps and moans.

“You see that?” Dave asks you, “Look how desperate he is. You think he wants to come?” 

“Yes,” you reply, “fuck, yes.” 

“Ladies first, though, hm?” Dave muses as he picks up his pace, pushing you closer, finding the perfect angle that makes your mind go blank. The pressure builds inside you, and the louder you get, the more Joel starts to fall apart. Your flip between Joel’s eyes and his fist pumping his cock ravenously. For you. All for you. 

That sends you over the edge, wringing all the pleasure out of you, taking Dave with you as he stills against you, cock pulsing hotly inside of you, as your limbs feel weak and you sink into the mattress. You watch as Joel spills over his knuckles, cursing and grunting as he comes, and it makes you giddy. 

Dave kisses your shoulder tenderly, praising you quietly, just for you, before he gets up and, like clockwork, heads to the bathroom to clean up and get you a warm washcloth. You continue to grin loosely, giggling softly, still amused by how out of place Joel looks. You see the fear flit across his face, and a cold, nasty feeling rips through you as you brace for the worst. Cruel words spring up, ready to protect you, but you hold your tongue. You won’t guilt him into staying. You can’t choose for him. 

It’s a painfully long minute. He doesn’t look at you. You try not to shut down. And then Dave is back, ever the gentleman, with warm washcloths for both of you. He checks in with you softly, “What do you need?”

The words stick in your throat. You sit up and force yourself to get them out. It’s barely above a whisper. “I need to talk to Joel.” He looks at you finally, as if you whispering his name snapped him out of a trance. Dave nods. 

“You want me to stay?” Dave asks. You blink at him curiously. Neither of you do sleepovers. You don’t need a bodyguard. You must have it stamped across your forehead like a holiday package: fragile. 

“No.” 

He takes your word for it, redressing and heading out swiftly. Leaving you alone with Joel. 

Unreadable Joel. With no clues in his eyes or his body language. His head follows you, watching as you cross the room to grab a shirt. You honestly wonder if he could disappear in the half a second your vision is obscured while you pull it over your head, but he’s still there. So, you gather your courage and face him head-on. 

“Can we talk?”

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[princessbrunette]

omg!! the purity ring request??? it’s def one of my new favorite tropes with rafe now (only bc i used to wear a purity ring and long since ditched it lmaoo)

but, going off that anon who requested that, i kinda wonder what it would be like the reader’s first time with rafe. like, we all know he’s a bit rougher n’ stuff, but what would it be like? the build up, the tension, how long did it take for reader to cave and be like “fuck it, i need his dick NEOW, eternal consequences be damned” ofc it’s up to you if you wanna elaborate lol i just love this already!!

-🪐

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

a day spent with rafe where he’s super sweet to you just makes you wanna give it all up for him !

there’s some kind of event hosted by the cameron’s, a fundraiser of some kind, so everyone’s there. rafe knows a sweet little thing like you gets shy, so he takes you around with a hand on your lower back the whole time, being super charming as he chats away to people his dad wants him to network with. maybe you were ovulating or something, but you were practically salivating over him. he was in a good mood, so he was all smiley and gentle, that confident drawl of his making your panties stick to you— a feeling you weren’t used to but definitely wasn’t unwelcome. on top of that he just looked so good, but he always did so this didn’t surprise you.

by the end of the afternoon you’re all warm from the humid weather, comfortable in your sweet little sundress and you’ve made up your mind. your poor pussy was aching, soaked and pulsing in your panties when you lead him up to his bedroom. he’s offhand complaining about some guy at the party who’d made some passive aggressive comment about something. you’re watching him, eyes all wide and watery and a little hazy from the small flute of champagne you’d allowed yourself.

you bring your finger to your lips, slowly pushing it past the parted pillows until your teeth graze the ring, slowly sliding the ring to the tip of your finger. he trails off, his own lips parted too as he watches, intense gaze watching you like hawk. you could practically feel his heart thumping, questioning your actions. you place the ring into your palm and then gently onto his dresser, looking at him hopefully.

“rafe, i want you to have it.” you hum, voice airy and wanting.

“want… you want —” he blinks a bunch, trying to gather his thought as he steps slightly towards you.

“my virginity. i don’t want to be pure anymore. i want to feel you.” you request. when he doesn’t respond, just stares at you dumbly— you begin to hike up your dress slightly, fingers looping around your soft cotton panties and pull them down to your ankles and off, picking them up and holding them shyly in your hands. “look.” you whisper. staring down into the panties face up— the material soaked and sodden with your arousal.

“jesus… baby.” he whispers, walking towards you until he was directly infront of you. he takes the panties from you, looking at them briefly before putting them aside, eyes searching your face. “and you’re sure? you— you know this is something that can’t be undone. don’t want you getting all mad at me…”

“rafe i’m sure… please?” you blink up at him slowly like a relaxed cat and he folds, large hands cupping your cheeks to pull you in for a kiss.

he definitely would fuck you on your back, legs spread either side of him. his back muscles flex as he rolls his hips into you, fucking you deep until every whine and sob echoes through his bedroom. he makes sure you cum, because his pride couldn’t deal with you not doing so, and then when it’s his turn he gets a little rougher, thrusts speeding up, hands pressing under your thighs to bring your knees to your chest, the way he likes it. you don’t complain though, even when the ring on the dresser catches the light.

࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

[kizudnyy]

Aubrey's Sunset 2019 

― You stand before the grave of a young soul, a bittersweet smile spreading across your face as tears slowly spill down your cheeks. Your one true love is gone, and there’s no changing that. 

“Have we met before?” The voice of the dead rang inside your head.  Unable to process everything as reality struck you hard. You have repeated the cycle once more. 

"I…" you begin, your voice trembling as a weary chuckle escapes your lips. "I guess we have, huh?" 

I know the fandom and the whole ordeal itself is dead at this point, but I don’t fucking care cause the hyper fixation just got back to me and – As a writer, it is my DAMN duty to project my thoughts into the archives! To hell with the 2023-2024 problematic shit! 

CHAPTER 1: My deepest regrets, is to never tell you that ‘I love you’ 

The sun was beginning to set, casting a long shadow over the cemetery. The world around you have never felt so eerily still, so numb, and so-so cold. It was as if reality itself has taken a huge disliking to you and you only, letting you suffer such great consequences, and yet despite everything, it had held its breath for the presence of such deep sorrow. You could hardly believe that you were standing here once again, above the soil that had buried someone so important. A grave, a person’s spot that marked a resting place of one person who had meant everything to you. 

'Do you think we will be together in another universe?'

'I hope so.'

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. The memories kept replaying back to your mind. Memories of your time together played in your mind like a film reel, each scene more vivid than the last. His laughter, his smile, the way he always seemed to know how to make you feel better—everything about him was etched into your heart.  

But now, he was gone. And you were left with only the remnants of what once was. 

“Why does it have to always end like this?” You muttered to no one in particular, your voice barely a whisper, making it seem like the question was meant to be answered by you. “Alex, Alex, Alex. Why!” Your voice was already trembling with emotion. The weight of the cycles that you went through, the endless repetition – a curse of finding him at your very lowest, to losing him at his peak. It was becoming too much to bear, too much for your little heart. 

But now, he was gone. And you were left with only the remnants of what once was. 

"Why does it always have to end like this?" you whispered to no one in particular, your voice trembling with emotion. The weight of the cycles you had lived through, the endless repetition of finding him and losing him, was becoming too much to bear. 

You knelt beside the grave, your fingers tracing the letters of his name carved into the stone. It felt cold and distant, a stark contrast to the warmth you had known in his embrace. Tears blurred your vision, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. This moment, this heartache, was all too familiar. 

And then, as if summoned by your grief, his voice echoed in your mind once more. "Have we met before?" 

The question lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of the countless times you had met, loved, and lost him. Each cycle was different, yet the outcome was always the same—his life cut short, leaving you to mourn him over and over again. 

"I…" Your voice cracked as you tried to respond, the words getting caught in your throat. A bitter laugh bubbled up inside you, born of frustration and sadness. "I guess so, huh?" 

You leaned back on your heels, letting the stillness of the evening wash over you. The sky above was a canvas of orange and pink, the colors fading into twilight. It was beautiful, yet the beauty felt hollow in the face of your pain. 

A part of you wanted to give up, to let the cycle break and leave this endless loop behind. But another part, the part that still clung to hope, refused to let go. You knew that as long as there was even the slightest chance of saving him, you would continue to fight. 

The device that had brought you here, that had allowed you to travel through time, was still tucked safely in your pocket. It was both a blessing and a curse—your only means of seeing him again, and the very thing that condemned you to relive this tragedy. 

You pulled the device out, your fingers brushing over its smooth surface. It was small and vintage, yet it held the power to alter the course of history. But no matter how many times you used it, no matter how many variations of the past you lived through, you could never seem to change his fate. 

‘Remember, history isn't meant to be rewritten, even for love. It serves a purpose beyond our understanding.’ 

"One more time," you murmured, your resolve hardening. "Just one more time." 

‘...’ 

With a deep breath, you activated the device. The world around you began to blur, the colors bleeding into one another until everything was a whirl of light and sound. You closed your eyes, focusing on the one person you wanted to see more than anything. 

When you opened them again, you were no longer in the cemetery. The grave was gone, replaced by the familiar surroundings of a bustling town square. People milled about, unaware of the time traveler in their midst. 

And there, in the distance, was the boy you had come to find. He was younger, full of life and energy, completely oblivious to the fate that awaited him. Your heart ached at the sight, knowing what was to come, but you couldn’t stay away. 

You had to try. Even if it meant risking everything. 

As you made your way toward him, the sound of his laughter reached your ears—a sound you had missed more than anything. You swallowed the lump in your throat and called out his name, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and hope. 

He turned, his eyes meeting yours with a look of surprise. For a moment, you saw a flicker of recognition in his gaze, as if some part of him remembered you, even if he couldn’t place it. 

"Have we met before?" he asked, his head tilting slightly to the side. 

You smiled softly, the words tasting bittersweet on your tongue as you replied, "In a way… yes." 

KIZU'S MULTI-FANDOM MASTERLIST

[putellas11]

A/N:  Part 3 of Revenge is Sweet! I want to thank everyone for all love you've given this series. It was an absolute joy to write and I can only hope I was able to do this final part justice.

It's a Deal (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

One kiss.

That’s all it took for your world to be turned upside down.

With a heart heavy with shame, you didn’t get much sleep when you got home that night and you haven’t gotten much since. 

Nights spent tossing and turning with the kiss on a constant loop in your brain. On and on it plays, always accompanied by a tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach. Her fingers in your hair, her hands on your body, her lips. It’s all you can think about.

But whatever pleasure you feel quickly distorts to shame. The tears on her cheeks and the pain in her eyes — pain that you caused. 

“Ugh!”

You bury your face in one of the pillows to muffle your bellow of frustration. You don’t exactly want to forget what happened. Really, your frustration stems from not knowing how to apologize for your actions. But most of all, for not being brave enough to do so.  

Enveloped by darkness, all you hear is tick… tick… tick and you wonder how many seconds will have to go by before it’s morning. Just when you’re about to accept your fate and succumb to yet another restless night, your phone vibrates on the nightstand.

At this time of night, you don’t have to guess as to who just texted you. 

📲: in case you’re still up driving yourself crazy

📲: come join us at sutton

For the first time in what seems like forever, you hesitate to accept the invitation. There’s training in the morning and Alexia will, of course, be there. If you go out, there’s no doubt that you will only upset her even more. If you don’t, you’ll suffer one more miserable night, alone with your thoughts. 

“Just have one drink.” 

Four words that you repeat again and again as you get ready. A promise to yourself that you desperately want to believe you can keep. 

The first drink helps you relax.

It’s the atmosphere. Your friends and their energy. Everything you’ve been missing and depriving yourself of. Little by little you start to feel like yourself again. But you’re still determined to keep your promise.

Just one drink. 

But one drink is not enough to forget Alexia. With every pause in conversation, you think of her. After every dance, you think of her. Your friends can only distract you for so long. Eventually, no matter how much you try and fight it, you think of her. 

So, you go for a second drink. 

You might have broken your promise, but that shame that has kept you up at night no longer weighs so heavy on your heart. You miss feeling like this.

But it only lasts for so long. Just when you think you’re in the clear, you see someone in the crowd that looks just like her.

The third drink.

You expect it to provide you relief, even if it’s just temporary. But you still see her face in the crowd. Everywhere you look, you see her. There’s no escaping Alexia and it frustrates you to no end. 

When you’re offered the fourth drink, you accept. You just want to forget her. At least just for one night. 

Consequences be damned.

___________

A loud thud startles you awake.

Opening your eyes proves to be a challenge. It seems like you didn’t close the blinds like you usually do after a night out. You bring up the blanket to cover your face for protection from the blinding sunlight peeking through. It’s only under the blankets that you dare open your eyes. 

But something is off.

This is not your blanket. It doesn’t look like or smell like any that you own. This can only mean one thing: you didn’t make it home last night. You don’t panic right away. It’s not unusual that you end up sleeping over at a friend's house after a night out.

Under the blanket, you realize you’re not wearing the outfit from last night either. If you can’t even remember getting changed, you must have been really fucked up.

You don’t recognize the shirt you’re wearing. But you do recognize the shorts. You recognize the colors. You recognize the crest. And most importantly, you recognize the number printed on. 

The number 11. 

Your heart begins to pick up its pace. 

It can’t be. 

There’s no way. 

A jumble of scenes starts to replay in your mind. Bits and pieces of the night before. You can’t remember much but you do remember that Alexia never left your mind. No matter how many drinks you had. She remained in your thoughts. 

You hear footsteps. The sound of a coffee machine bubbling away. The last thing you want is to take peek and confirm your suspicions. But you know you must. 

When you finally muster up the courage to do so, you see Alexia with a cup of coffee in her hand. 

“Good morning,” she says. You expect to hear the usual disappointment and anger in her voice, but you detect none. That’s new. 

Confusion is written all over your face, so Alexia gives you a moment to take in your surroundings and make sense of what’s happening. But how can you make sense of something that doesn't make sense?

“How?” is all you can ask. 

Alexia takes a sip of her coffee and sighs. “Your friends dropped you off last night.” 

That doesn’t make much sense either and Alexia seems to realize that. 

“They said you kept asking them to bring you here…” she looks down at the cup, “...to me.” 

Now that makes a little more sense.

You nod, slowly, trying to hide the fear that has begun to creep up on you. Not only can you not remember asking them to take you to Alexia, but you also can’t remember what you said to her — that’s if you were even capable of formulating a sentence. And if you did say anything, you hope it’s nothing that will add to your shame. 

“How bad was I?” 

Alexia looks at you for a few seconds, and surprisingly, you still see no disappointment or anger in her eyes. She takes a seat on the armchair beside you. “You were very, very drunk.”

Her words don’t take you by surprise, but you still bow your head. So much for that promise of just having one drink. 

“Did I say anything I should apologize for?” 

A hint of a smile tugs on her lips and she shakes her head, “actually, all you did last night was apologize.” She takes a sip of her coffee, “but, like I told you then, I don’t want to hear an apology when you’re drunk. What you said last night doesn’t matter. I want to hear what you have to say now.” 

Glancing at the clock on the wall, there’s still time before the two of you have to show up for training. So, clearly, there’s no getting out of this conversation. 

“That night at the party,” you start to say, “I thought it was all fair game. I thought you hated me. I didn’t know you had…” 

“Feelings for you?” she says, finishing your sentence.

You meet her gaze, “yeah.” 

Alexia’s fingers tap against the cup as she takes a moment to think of what to say. “I’ve never hated you,” she finally says. “I hate that you show up to training with ten shots of tequila in you and act like it’s not a big deal.” 

You can’t help but grimace. Never before have you felt the need to apologize for your antics, especially to Alexia. But now, that’s all you want to do.

“I also hate that you’re still able to go out on the pitch and play the game of your life. I hate that that’s the example you set for the younger players.” Alexia stops and looks up at the ceiling, tugging on her bottom lip, “but what I hate the most, is that despite all that, I still can’t bring myself to hate you.”

You can’t explain the feeling that her words evoke in you, at least not yet. But you do know one thing, it’s a feeling you don’t want to run away from. 

Alexia leans back and leaves the ball in your court. You don’t know what you said last night, so there’s no point in putting up a front. You have to be honest. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

When you say that it feels like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

“Every time I close my eyes, all I see is you. I haven’t been able to sleep because that damn kiss keeps replaying in my mind and it’s driving me crazy. You’re driving me crazy which isn’t exactly a new thing…” you let out a soft chuckle, “but it’s not like before. It's different. A good different.” 

Alexia remains silent and you wonder if she heard you say all this last night. 

“I don’t know what I feel. This all just, I don’t know, unexpected?” 

She nods. “So, where do we go from here?” 

Alexia is leaving it all up to you. Unlike you, she’s clear on her feelings. Of course she has her doubts about you and if you're capable of changing — you did just show up drunk at her door in the middle of the night. But, like she said, she still can’t bring herself to hate you. 

“I don’t know, Alexia…” you say with a sigh, “I really don’t know. But I don't want to go back to how we were before.” 

“A fresh start?” 

A small smile tugs on your lips, “a fresh start.” 

For so long you’ve been at each other's throats, maybe because it’s often easier to hate than to love. But now, something has changed. You’re not exactly sure where it will all lead, but you look forward to finding out. 

___________

You try to convince yourself it's only temporary. Showing up a little earlier to training. Declining every invitation for a night out – regardless of whether you have training or a game the next day. You do so because you know that’s what Alexia wants of you, but it’s not easy. You want to go and have fun. But you also want her to forgive you and unfortunately, it’s very clear you won’t be able to have both. 

Still, you can’t deny that you feel much better when you’re on the pitch. You’re more alert, focused, and your performance reflects that. This has not gone unnoticed by your teammates and Jona. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve been asked if everything is alright. You can’t possibly tell them the truth. They wouldn’t even believe it if you did.

“What’s gotten into you?” Jona asked you one day after training. 

“Just trying to be more professional, that’s all” you replied with a shrug. 

Even he couldn’t hide his surprise. “Finally got tired of Ale’s lectures, huh?” 

You had to do everything in your power to suppress a smile, “yeah, something like that.” 

Alexia has also taken notice of the change in your behavior. But unlike the others, she knows the reason why. She knows it’s for her and because of her. Which is why every once in a while, she sends a smile your way whenever she thinks no one will notice. 

So far, that’s all your interactions consist of. Soft smiles and the occasional brush of hands as you walk past each other. You’re taking it slow, first wanting to make sense of the feelings that are stirring inside you.

But with every smile she gives you, those feelings start to make a little more sense. Not to mention the fact that you still haven’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss. The only difference is that instead of it keeping you up at night, now the memory helps you fall asleep with a smile on your face. 

As of now, no one seems to have noticed the shift in your relationship with Alexia. They attribute the lack of fighting to you no longer being up to your usual antics. They hope some sort of peace deal has been struck.

Still, if they were to really pay attention, they would notice the signs. 

Walking in between Patri and Aitana, you see Alexia making her way towards you. There’s not enough space in the hallway for her, so Patri and Aitana scoot over on one side to allow Alexia to pass. 

Alexia takes a step to the left but it’s like the two of you are in sync because you also take a step to the left. 

“Sorry,” you say at the same time. 

And then you both take a step to the right. 

This makes you smile and Alexia rolls her eyes playfully at you. Looking into Alexia’s eyes, Patri and Aitana just disappear into thin air. You only have eyes for her.

The look you share speaks volumes. You can no longer see the hints of disappointment or anger in her eyes. Now, you see hope. In your eyes, there’s no longer any annoyance or frustration. Now, she sees affection. 

Patri clears her throat and you snap back to reality. Without thinking much of it, you place your hands on Alexia’s waist and move her to the left. A little smile and nod are all she dares to give you in the presence of your teammates. But it’s more than enough. 

“What the hell was that?” Aitana asks once Alexia is out of sight. 

“Not sure what you mean.” You brush off her question and just keep on walking.

___________

A few days later you and the rest of the team are gathered for breakfast. There’s excitement in the air as there’s no doubt Barça will play in the Champions League final. All that’s left is the second leg of the semi-finals and you’ll be one step closer to being crowned champion. 

Alexia is the last one to sit down at the table and she takes her place opposite of you. Instantly, you know something is wrong. When you smile at her, she doesn’t give you one in return. In fact, she tries to look at anything and anyone, but you. It’s like you’ve gone back in time and you’re right back to where you started.

You’re so focused on Alexia that you don’t notice Patri who’s sitting next to her, with a mischievous smirk. It’s only when she gives Alexia a playful nudge with her shoulder that you realize she knows something you don't. 

“So…” Patri says, throwing her arm around Alexia, “how was your date last night?” 

And Patri might as well have punched you in the stomach. No wonder Alexia can barely look you in the eye. She wanted to keep this from you.  

Jealousy spreads through you like hot spikes in your chest.

Alexia’s eyes are wide in panic, gesturing to Patri to stop talking. But Patri seems determined to tease her. Of course, she’s not aware of what’s going on between you and Alexia, so she doesn’t realize what she’s instigating. 

“Oh, come on,” Patri says, “I introduced you to her, it’s only fair I get the details!” 

“Do we know her?” Mapi asks, leaning forward in her seat with interest. 

“Of course we know her,” Claudia chimes in, “but really, who is it?” 

Patri by no means is being discreet. Everyone gathered at the table is listening and like Patri, they all want to hear the details. 

You definitely do not. 

Alexia squirms in her seat. She catches your eye for a split second but immediately looks away. You can tell she doesn’t want to say anything about the date, but she knows she has no choice. 

“It was nice,” Alexia finally says, “she was nice.” 

Patri, obviously not satisfied, rolls her eyes at Alexia, “that’s it?” 

You’re relieved that’s all she is willing to share, but deep down you want to know more. You fear she’s only keeping the details of the date a secret just to spare your feelings. That all your efforts to be better were for nothing. And that you lost a chance that maybe, you never really had. 

“Are you going out with her again?” Claudia asks.

Alexia takes a painfully long time to answer and you can’t bear it. There’s only so much you can take. You don’t wait to hear the answer.

With your plate still almost full, you sit up from the chair and throw down the cloth napkin with a little more force than anyone expected. 

You can feel everyone's eyes on your back as you walk away, but you can feel Alexia’s more than anyone else's. It doesn’t matter how far you keep walking, it doesn’t seem to go away.

“You don’t get to be mad at me!” 

Alexia’s voice stops you in your tracks. All you can do is bow your head, close your eyes, and take a breath. She couldn’t just let you walk away. Alexia is not known to ever take it easy on you. 

“I’m not mad at you,” you reply, still with your back to her. 

With each step she takes towards you, your heart skips a beat. Just like it does with every smile. With every look. 

“Sure you’re not” she says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that she doesn’t believe you. 

“I’m not mad,” you say, gathering up a little bit of courage to turn around and face her. “I’m jealous. There’s a difference.” 

Your hands slide down her arms until you catch her hands. You tug her a step closer, until you’re standing just a mere inches apart. You hold your breath, waiting. Will she lean in or away? 

Her hands, trembling slightly, reach up to rest on your chest. Her eyes flutter to close, feeling your heart race, threatening to beat out of your chest and into her hands. 

“Does it feel like this when you’re with her?” you ask, resting your forehead against hers. 

“Not even close.”

You smile because that’s all you really need to know. There’s still a chance.

“So why did you agree on that date?” you pull back, wanting to look her in the eyes.

Alexia shakes her head and sighs, “I was scared of my feelings for you,” she says. Her fingers grip on the fabric of your shirt, “after everything that has happened, I think I like you even more,” She looks at you with a soft, but sad smile. “But it’s scary to feel like this when I know there’s a possibility you might never feel the same.” 

Your feelings for Alexia, albeit new, are strong. Of that, you are now certain. You needed some time to make sense of all these new feelings swirling around inside you. But all you needed was to see her in a new light. To really appreciate the woman standing before you, and truly understand how special it is that she looks at you with love in her eyes. 

“I feel the same,” you whisper, like it’s a secret only she can hear. Reaching up to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, “I feel the same.” 

Alexia wraps her arms around your neck and kisses you, slow and deep. She breathes you in, holding on to you for dear life. All you can do is close your eyes and just feel the cataclysm of emotion that shoots through you.  A mixture of hope, love, and energy mixed with excitement, passion, and a whole lot of need. 

The need to love her and be loved by her. 

___________

The sound of more than 90,000 screaming fans is deafening. It’s the Champions League and the game is tied at the 85th minute. You have made peace with the fact that the game will be going to overtime. 

But Alexia seems to have other plans. She gets the ball from Aitana and dribbles past one, two defenders. She fights as they tug on her shirt, pulling her back, kicking her. She doesn’t stop until they bring her down.

The second the ref blows for the foul, hope swells like a tide within you and you just know, this is her moment. 

You decide to approach her as she is leaning down with the ball in her hands. She moves it a little to the left, a little to the right, finding the perfect placement for the perfect shot.

It’s not exactly the best time to tease her, but there’s no doubt in your mind, and in your heart, that she’ll make it. 

You lean down next to her, one hand for support on your knee and the other covering your lips. “If you miss, you’ll have to run the length of the pitch and back.” 

Alexia’s stoic look and determined stance falters for a split second and she has to cover her lips to hide the smile from the cameras and the opponents. Just a few minutes away from achieving Champions League glory and all she wants to do is kiss you. 

“And if I make it, you’ll have to take me out on a date,” she says, “a real one this time.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

The goalkeeper doesn’t even have a chance to move. It's a straight shot to the upper left corner between the gap left by the defense. A shot only the best in the world can make. 

In an instant Alexia is surrounded, teammates and staff screaming with joy. The stadium starts to chant her name and to you, it’s the most beautiful sound. 

Alexia manages to peek her head out from the pile of bodies and catches your eye. Even still, surrounded by thousands, you only have eyes for each other. 

It’s a celebration. Not only of being crowned champions of Europe, but also a celebration for what’s to come: a date, and a future with each other. 

[chubphoe-linkclick]

I need Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi to talk about the time looping so badly.

I love their relationship and how close they are, so airing out whatever the fuck LG's been up to is something I really need to feel satisfied. I know CXS wouldn't ultimately have any hard feelings about it, but I can't help but feel like it'd be an empowering revelation for him knowing that Mr. Goody Good Shoes was willing to go against his own damn ruleset just for him. Maybe it'd even help CXS embrace the rules since he understands that LG doesn't follow them blindly, but for a damn good reason.

Thanks to events like the boat scene in S2 where CXS tried to prevent LG getting kidnapped, he's learnt even more this season why the rules exist regardless of what LG says. I think that's part of why S2 has really hammered home the deterministic aspect, because now CXS is really learning these rules and coming to accept them without LG forcing them on him. As a consequence, we get to see what is it that makes each character break from their standard attitudes and approaches, we get to see what drives each character fight for something extraordinary.

[number1rizgukgakstan]

FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 18 LIVEBLOG

It's that time again! Spoilers below the cut!

The only CW being underage drinking + drug use is fascinating- I assume that means no one dies? At least, not like Buddy did.

I'm SO excited looking at that set it's so fucking cool. The crackling in the fake clouds? HOLY SHIT the modeling team went OFF I love their work.

I FORGOT JAWBONE'S THERE. AND SO IS EUGENIA. This is so insane I'm so excited.

"Airitime law" God I love you so much Zach you are SO FUNNY

The WHOLE school is here that's so funny. Does this mean the clubs Riz joined are going to come into play?? GERTIE??? GERTIE???? HEY GERTIE???

The divine domain idea is so fascinating but I would like to say- imagine worshiping a god named Porter. I'm crying laughing.

CURSED GOLD PIECE??? FUCK YEAH GO FOR IT FABIAN

RAGH IS HERE??? FUCK YEAH!

Okay we're getting the NPCS set up? Fuck yeah

FIG NO WHY ARE YOU WANDA CHILDA???? THATS SO FUNNY. Gerard Neigh I'm CRYING. I love Armor of Ayda and the Spirit Guardians.

VULTURE KING LIVER + TALON FOR FABIAN In BAD! BABY! MILK!

WHY IS GORGUG SWALLOWING THE HEART LIKE A PILL??? INSANE

EAT THE FEATHER??? FIG YOU DON"T HAVE TO EAT IT ITS JUST WHEN BROKEN [sobs]

"You're wearing an Orangutang mask and the skull of the Vulture King?"

"And I'm speaking Vulture.

"And you're speaking Vulture."

Adaine is so brilliant I love her.

K2 giving Kristen basically a whole extra turn is so funny. We love K2.

They have so many spells prepared I love it. Fabian's party sounds sick as hell. Even the Bad Baby milk sounds fun. Disgusting but fun.

I feel like using the NMK against Kristen is a bad idea but will have terrible consequences for Kristen, who's silly goofyness has been coming back to bite them. IDK we'll see

Fabian faking it till he makes it is SO FUNNY.

Baby and Baby Baby being here's so fucking funny. Let's go Baby and Baby Baby!

Fabian's HOUSE burning down would be devastating but maybe it'd make his mother come home

CANNONS!!! PUT BABY BABY ON THE CANNONS

They have to DO ELECTIONS and RUN THE PARTY WHILE FIGHTING??? BRENNAN LEE MULLIGAN THIS IS INSANE I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

Kristen and K2 helping Riz load the canon is so wholesome. They're such a great team

NOOOO FABIAN HAS THE PACMAN TATTOO [laughing crying] RIP

1/4th of the party voting in one turn is absurd. Fabian's charisma is INSANE i love this man and his conga line

Jawbone once again completely out of the loop and just going with it is great.

I now see why Sprak has his own art.

The music video idea was genuis. Emily Axford is such a quick thinker and her performance as Fig is top-knotch.

Oisin summoning dragons breaks my heart. NOOO you were so cool :( now Adaine has to Furious Fist Mega Punch you to death

This fight is honestly so fucking metal. The music video, Fabian killing a dragon singlehandidly, Riz murdering two with the canons, all the Dex saves, Gorgug's excellent driving, JAWBONE, the voting drive... honestly I'm so proud of the Bad Kids and how far they've come.

ANOTHER GORGUG NAT 20 HOLY SHIT! Zac's really fucking it up right now. 7d12 is absurd

Wanda Childa running the party is so insane and I love it. It's Emily Axford's world and we're just living in it.

Eugenia Shadow is amazing. Best NPC by far.

"Can I bring a vulture to give me the help action?" absurd request. brennan's face was brilliant. Again: ITS EMILY AXFORD'S WORLD AND WE'RE JUST LIVING IN IT.

The fight. Every moment was incredible. They really did slay those god damn dragons. No one had to make a single death save. The party was popping. Fig was constantly being the fucking COOLEST. Fabian telling Gorgug not to crash his parent's boat. Eugenia Shadow telling Riz he's the best student she's ever had. It was brilliant. Excellent.

"Sorry Oisin, shouldn't have been such a douchebag, we're gonna kill your grandma now" BRILLIANT. 10/10. I love it.

AS SOON AS SHE SAID DIVINE INTERVENTION I FUCKING CHEERED. K2 DIES TO SAVE THE WORLD BY SAYING "BLIMEY" NOT FUCKING CLICKBAIT.

Zac doing the dm bit is so funny.

K2 not knowing shit and pulling off a miracle is such pure Kristen its so fucking brilliant. THE UNCERTAINTY OF MAYBE BEING PREGNANT IS INSANE. I love Ally Beardsley.

Brennan's reaction to the pregnancy bit is so fucking funny. They broke this man's spirit in the funniest way possible.

"Haunted Wizard Clone Mini Golf Lightning Extravaganza" is the single funniest string of words imaginable. Brennan Lee Mulligan you are my favorite comedian ever.

"How much of this can we cut out, do you think?" Ally this is your bed, you have to lie in it, I'm so sorry. Funniest roll of all time.

WE ALMOST GOT THE GOLD TORNADO?? NOOOOOO.

Circling back, the flavor of Armor of Ayda is so cute. Ayda's protection is always over Fig no matter where she is.

THEY FUCKING DID IT GANG! Now for the penultimate battle! :]

The previews are making me go insane. RATGRINDERS FIGHT RATGRINDERS FIGHT RATGRINDERS FIGHT!

"I think I have to try" is making me so fucking excited. WHAT ARE YOU TRYING FIG????

LETS FUCKING GO! NEXT WEEK BABYYYYYY

[tauforged]

Are you okay?

in the grand scheme of things? yeah i’m chillin. what happened isn’t Serious serious. it was just weird. like i’ve been iffy about saying anything because i don’t wanna kickstart it into a major ordeal again but it’s just like. a couple weeks ago? at this point? i think? i got upset after someone id been following posted what essentially boils down to rape fic. i was really in my feelings about it in the moment because it honestly triggered the fuck out of me and i definitely lashed out a bit but it was late i was very tired and stressed out and ultimately not really thinking about the consequences of my actions, just ranting about something that really upset me. the blowback i got in response has been INSANE and kinda sobering. 90% of the other wf bloggers i know of and had up until that point been mutuals/friendly with all blocked and cold shouldered me overnight. i had at least one person combing thru my sideblog and alt twitter for dirt on me so they could send anons about how much of a hypocrite i was. i’ve been extremely cagey about posting anything personal at all, even stuff that isn’t at all related to what happened, because im suddenly aware that my blog is being checked up on frequently and anything i post can be taken as a slight and used to justify saying some really cruel and heinous shit about me. so much has happened that i don’t even have the words to explain in a neutral manner right now, and i don’t want to put anyone individually on blast either because i honestly don’t even have it in me to feel spiteful about it anymore. i’m just very tired. a lot of bridges got burned right out from underneath me and now im feeling kind of stuck and isolated.

i don’t post about it often because i’m aware of how easily it could be used against me, but to be entirely frank; i’ve struggled with paranoia around being stalked/surveilled as well as moral ocd and all the baggage that comes with both for a very VERY long time, and this is just all like. the perfect storm to trigger serious episodes. i’ve been really hot and cold lately and stressed beyond belief. i’m convinced there’s someone out there checking up on me and talking about me behind my back, but i can’t do a damn thing about any of it aside from continue trying to mind my own business and hope that everyone who’s stuck around thus far is doing so for the right reasons and not just out to get me. trying to redirect myself onto what usually helps me take my mind off these things isn’t really working because it keeps circling back around to huge reminders and i’m having a harder than usual time escaping those mental loops lately. trying to forcefully will myself into being Okay has been really tiring and i think i’m just gonna have to let myself be. not okay. for a while.

it’s a lot of stress to come out of video game fandom posting on tumblr, yeah, i know, and ultimately none of it matters. but it’s still a really weird situation. feels unsafe and precarious. i’m trying very hard not to completely and totally isolate myself and retreat into a bubble because to be frank i do really need to put myself out there and interact with people more, it’s just been blow after blow lately.

to answer your question - i think im gonna be fine. this whole thing has for sure done a number on my physical and mental health (not that i was a beacon of health and wellness before either) but i can say i’m certainly not going anywhere and i dont want to let this whole thing ruin something i love and that means so much to me. im in a weird place right now and will probably be kinda squirrelly for a while…. but ill be alright. i appreciate your concern 🫂❤️

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

WC ::: Less than 900

A/N ::: I'm so damn loopy right now that I can't even read this as thoroughly as it should be read. Sorry. But I'm sure it's because I'm sick and have a growing fever (have I mentioned that enough? No. No, I don't think so.) Also, the counting being off really threw me for a loop. But I implore you, do not look too far into it. You'll end up on the wrong side of the asylum bars (jk).

MDNI under the cut, please!

C/W ::: hanma x f.reader, um, slight bondage (hanma's hands tied behind his chair), riding crop, smacking him around again because I love doing that ok?, language - you know what to do if there are any disasters.

Thank youuu!!!

You sat on your knees on the hard floor between Hanma's legs, your hand slowly skimming up and down the length of his painfully hard cock. The veins made it feel ribbed against your fingers.

Hanma's breathing was getting more ragged by the second, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when you were stroking him so perfectly. Not when your lips were moving closer and closer to the tip of his cock, your warm breath ghosting over it with each exhale.

He whimpered into the dimly lit room. "Aht! That was awfully close to a word, Shu-ji! You know the rules. No talking." You squeezed the head of his dick in your hand and ran the nails of your left hand down his right thigh. He hissed at that. You didn't know if it felt too good or too bad.

Quite honestly, you didn't give a shit.

"Do I need to punish you? Again?" You stared up at his eyes, the ones you knew you'd never forget. Not in this lifetime or the next. The ones that were just as dangerous as they were curious.

You didn't even know what it was about him that drew you in like a moth to a flame. It could have been the danger. It could have been his charm. It could have been his cock. It could have been the conversation the two of you had the first night you met.

Whatever it was, you couldn't get enough of it. And you didn't want to.

You leaned forward and licked a stripe up the underside of Hanma's dick, eliciting another whine from him. He wanted to beg for more, but he knew the consequences.

And honestly, the thought of being punished again by you was a little exciting.

You moved your hand up and down his cock faster, your grip tightening just enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

Spitting on it, you smeared the clear blob of saliva and precum and made his cock glisten. Your eyes widened in shock and arousal as he throbbed in your hand. It was so pretty.

You could feel yourself getting wet at the sight of Hanma's cock straining against your hand. Like it was trying to break free of your grasp.

Without warning, you took Hanma's cock into your mouth and sucked him down to the base. You didn't know how you were able to take him all in, but you were determined to do it.

His reaction was the most rich sound you've ever heard. He groaned and growled from deep in his gut and it erupted so violently. "FUCK!!! FUCKY/NFUCK!!!"

"Oh, Shu. Now I have to start all over." You gave him a fake little pout and got up to tighten the restraints on his wrists. "Poor baby boy."

He knew he was in trouble now. He'd broken the rules, and you weren't going to let him off easy.

"Shuji, I think you need to be taught a lesson." You walked back over to the bedside table and pulled out a riding crop.

Hanma's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe his bad luck.

"Count for me, baby. Every time I hit you, I want you to count. Start at zero." You smirked, and the look on your face was nothing short of pure evil. "And if you mess up, we start all ... over ... again." You tapped the underside of his chin with the crop to really drive your point home to him.

Hanma nodded in understanding, a grin spreading across his face. You were both going to have fun with this.

The first hit of the crop came down hard on his thighs, leaving a red mark behind. He gasped and counted.

"One."

The second hit landed on his stomach, making him wince. "Did I or did I not tell you to start at zero? Hanma? I think I did, pretty."

"Fff-zee-roh." He exhaled heavily and rolled his head around, stretching his neck.

The third hit was on his nipple, and he nearly buckled under the pain.

"T-two-mmm!"

You leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Good boy. You're doing so well." You placed a soft kiss on his cheek and rubbed your hand up and down his arm. "I'm so proud of you, baby. Keep going."

The fourth hit was on the other nipple, and he almost broke down in tears. But he didn't. He held himself together and kept counting.

"Th-thr-three." Oh he whined so nicely for you after that one.

The fifth hit was on the underside of his dick, and it was enough to make him come right then and there. He didn't, though. He was determined to please you.

"F-fo-er-uh."

The sixth hit was on his balls, and he lost it. He came all over your chest and his thighs, his whole body shaking from the intensity.

"Fi-hi-ive-huh." He sat in the chair, twitching all over from cumming so hard.

You smiled down at him. You leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips, running your fingers through his hair. "That's my good boy. You did so well for me."

Hanma was still panting from his orgasm, but he was still able to whisper out one last thing before he gave up: "Thank you, mommy. I love you."

You couldn't help but smile at that.

Taglist ::: @sugawhaaa (Tysm for the inspo for this with your audio post), @katkitkats @kazutora-kurokawa @arlerts-angel @darkstarlight82 @viburnt

[hubrisbracket]

Hubris Bracket Side A Poll 12: Five Pebbles (Rain World) vs Laerryn Coramar-Seelie (Critical Role: Exandria Unlimited Calamity)

Propaganda below (contains spoilers)

Five Pebbles

in his pride and arrogance he thought he could solve the great problem, he got interrupted during one of his experiments because in the process he was killing one of his neighboring robots (he is a robot btw) and she was asking him to stop, now he blames her because the creature he was making mutated and essentially led to him developing 'the rot' which slowly eats away at his superstructure until it eventually kills him.

hes like a pathetic wet cat to me. guy who tries desperately to break out of his doomed narrative only to doom himself further and drag those he loves down with him. he didn't want this he didn't want any of this but in his rage and arrogance he was blind to the consequences of his actions. and now he stands slowly rotting away while his sister suffers because of his mistakes. he is sooo full of regret and anger and shame i love him

(this one is very long so we have opted to keep its original formatting for reading's sake)

GOD where do i even start with five pebbles…the hubris contained within this bitch…the angst…the regret… for a basic rundown of general rain world stuff, everything in the world is trapped in a looping cycle of life and death. eventually people adjacent things were like "dam this sucks i wanna. kil myslef" and then they dug really deep into the earth and found void fluid which kills you so hard you don't come back. however if youre a bitch or too attached to the earth u turn into a terrifying ghost thing. so the people were like "fuck that lets find a different way to kill ourselves" so they built big supercomputers called iterators then they all killed rhemselves anyways with the kil juice.so you have these godlike teenagers basically locked in bigass boxes just. everywhere every fucking where theres so many.

five pebbles is one of these iterators, and whats special about him is mainly the place and reasons he was built. iterators need a shit fuck ton of water to function (and they exhale a shit fuck ton of water vapor "turning…world, into rain world." -daszombes) so generally iterators aren't placed too close. another iterator named looks to the moon was built very early on, and eventually she couldn't make enough stuff for her people who live on top of her (forgot to mention that) so they fucking. built another iterator RIGHT next to her. pebbles and moon are like siblings, right. hes kind of an angsty guy but i mean his creators literally all killed themselves and left him solving their problem so its ok hes allowed to be. hes like "damn i hate veing trapped in this cycle and shit it sucks" and then there was a very big event that i DO NOT have the time to get into but essentially one of the iterators was like "hey guys i solved the problem" and then she fucking died which is very hard for an iterator to do so everyone had an understandable freakout.

five pebbles was of the opinion that killing herself was the solution so hes like "i have to make them see that killing yourself IS the solution" (killing yourself and/or genetic mpdification are very very taboo topics among iterators) so he goes to one of his close friends and has a real heart to heart about how much he struggles with knowing that his creators CHOSE to leave them all behind and that the iterators are all still here solving their problem even tho they're dead. this friend, in a moment of weakness sends pebbles instructions on how to circumvent the self-destruct taboo (a taboo is like a law coded into every single cell of an iterator) and five pebbles, desperate to prove to himself and others that he isnt just another useless thing that can be abandoned, so he looks at the proper, safe way of doing the procedure and goes "FUCK THAT NOIIIISE" bye running so many parallel processes he consumes five times the amount of water he usually intakes, as well as shutting off all communications. moon, having been dehydrated to the point where he structure is in an awful, awful state, eventually uses a last resort in the form of forced communications, essentially the buggest loudest discord ping of your life. her messages are pleas for pebbles to stop, that he is hurting her, that she WILL die if he continues.

on pebble's end, as he tries to concentrate on his absurd amounts of processes, moon messages crash through his communications network, COMPLETELY shattering his focus. due to the nature of this method, involving genetic modification, what is essentially cancer is allowed to burst free, uncontrolled, from his experiments. they call it the rot. pebbles, having killed his sister and cut off everyone else, desperately tries to cure the illness ravaging his structure, an effort that proves futile.

Laerryn Coramar-Seelie

Laerryn devoted her entire life to making the city of Avalir capable of teleporting to the Upper Planes so that the entire city of mortals would be walking as equals amongst the GODS.

laerryn my beloved. the OG hubris wizard, dead before the story even started & it was her own fault. she used all her city's magic supply to be able to TELEPORT the ENTIRE CITY to a DIFFERENT PLANE because she COULD. because she wanted to prove that SHE COULD. because she thought the gods weren't all that special and wanted mortals to be equal to the GODS THEMSELVES. COME ON. she could have easily made it safe but she was so determined to accomplish this in time that she used way too much magic and put the whole city in danger. she wasn't thinking about safety, she was thinking about what she could accomplish. she also got one of her best friends, who was a husband and a father to a young child, KILLED, due to experimenting on said aforementioned 'attempting to teleport the entire city to a different plane' thing (complete disregard of safety once again). to list her lesser hubris crimes, she neglected her marriage and got divorced bc she was so focused on her work and herself even though she loved her husband dearly and convinced herself she was doing all of this for him, even though this is never something he wanted. also she cast blight on a super important tree that could have saved the world, and destroyed it. and yeah it was because she wanted to protect her friends/out of love/grief BUT she basically set in motion the rest of the events of exu calamity (aka, oh yknow, the DESTRUCTION OF MOST OF THE WORLD) by doing that. by thinking she COULD save her friends by destroying the tree. basically, she thought she knew better when she very much didn't. i'm not saying she caused it (the betrayer gods caused it obvs), but she for sure had a large part to play in the destruction of her own city (and also in saving it, but still). basically i love her. HUBRIS QUEEN.

[what-gs-watching]

“There is only room for one God in this lab and it's not yours."

Welp, my city has decided that it forgot how weather works, and we’re snowed in and there’s a frozen pipe in my goddamn basement and I finished an interview loop for a company last week so I’m just sitting here trapped in my house and waiting desperately for any news on if they might hire me and it’s not going amazing SO, 

It’s time for a FRINGE BINGE. 

I saw a post a week or two ago that Fringe might be leaving Max at the end of the month, and I couldn’t let it go without a rewatch. It’s one of the reasons I started playing “What G’s Watching” with my husband - he’d seen it when it first came out and I thought maybe he’d remember some of it and could understand my rambling, because you need some kind of background to truly grasp what the eff is happening in Fringe. He didn’t. But that didn’t stop me from becoming completely obsessed. 

Even when I’m not rewatching, sometimes I’ll yell “PREVIOUSLY ON FRINGE” when the show I’m actually enjoying does a recap. I don’t know why it’s stuck in my brain, but it doesn’t matter, I love it.

Here’s the thing about Fringe: it’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s like X-Files on acid (or Walter’s Brown Bettty?). The science is ridiculous and honestly it’s difficult to follow the lore sometimes, especially the first time through it. But it’s weirdly captivating and it tugs at your heart strings, which doesn’t make any sense.

Basically, FBI agent Olivia Dunham gets sucked into a special division that investigates weird occurrences that seem to have to do with ‘fringe science’, and she ends up enlisting Peter Bishop and his genius scientist father, Walter Bishop (who’d spent almost twenty years in a mental institution) to help her get to the bottom of what the eff is going on.

AND THEN THINGS GET CRAZY. 

They pump so much backstory into this show. There’s monsters of the week, sure, but every single character has a whole damn room full of skeletons and it was so much fun trying to puzzle all of that shit out the first time. In my rewatch so far, I’m picking up a ton of little random clues and I’m loving it. It’s clear that J. J. Abrams had some IDEAS. 

Also, I’ve never watched Lost, (and I never will, I put my foot down on that)  but I can confidently say this is the better J. J. Abrams show. The ending doesn’t make you ridiculously angry you watched the whole thing. So there’s that. 

Honestly, there’s too much I love about this show. The whole alternate universe plotline for one, which creates some of my favorite moments. But it’s mainly about Peter and Walter. At its core, this stupid show is about their father son relationship, and how far people are willing to go  to protect their family. Which is weird, but also perfect. 

Before the mental institution, Walter was a little bit of a sociopath, pursuing scientific enhancements, consequences be damned. He was a shit person. He ran tests on children, he fucked with the fabric of the universe. No fucks given, that man. But the Walter we get for most of the show is just…oddly charming. Quirky in his brilliance, instead of calculating. And it’s FUNNY and endearing. 

Olivia brings in another agent to help corral Walter in his resurrected lab beneath Harvard, Astrid, and he spends most of the series calling her anything but. “Astro”, “Astrix”, etc. It’s not malicious, he just can’t hold the information, as much as he appreciates the work she does with him. Like, how does that turn out to just be kind of cute? 

Some of my favorite made-up words are from Walter.  “Vagenda”, for one. Which is ‘vagina agenda’ obviously. As in, “Peter fell for her vagenda”, which had me rolling. Even if it came about during a storyline that made me absolutely FURIOUS, but in the best of ways. (There was a lot of time wherein I was yelling at my husband about how much I hated “Fauxlivia” and her vagenda, but honestly I don’t want to spoil it because the twists and turns this show takes are so wonderful, they should be experienced with absolutely no background.)

The whole thing with Walter is that he’s atoning for the sins of his past, even if he doesn’t really realize it at first, and it’s just, really comforting. His entire arc is compelling and satisfying, even if it leaves you a crying mess. 

Also, Peter Bishop is forever my perfect New England boyfriend. At first I’m not sure who they wanted him to be exactly, but eventually he smoothed out into just an earnest, genius, gorgeous man trying to do the right thing and get past all of the hurt Walter caused him. They put him in devastatingly handsome peacoats and he saves the day and he’s sweet to Olivia and I just spend most of the time swooning. That smile, gang.

Is it because I fell in love with Pacey Witter as a young girl during Dawson’s Creek’s heyday? 98% yes. I will always love Joshua Jackson and Pacey was done dirty for a while. And come to think of it, Peter was too. It’s his thing, apparently. 

I do  realize Olivia is supposed to be the main character probably, but she gets me to my two favorite guys so I guess she’s fine. Anna Torv is wonderful, she plays Dunham really well (which I imagine was grueling given some of the storylines) but the Bishops are the stars of the show. I just want to squeeze both of them.

The crazy thing is there are some episodes that will destroy you emotionally. The white tulip? Jesus. That one just came up in my rewatch, and it was still a punch in the face the second time. There’s one where Walter gets lost in Chinatown, I had to literally mute it because it’s gut wrenching. Even with the silliness and the science that makes you roll your eyes, they make you look at things you don’t want to, and it can hurt. I love/hate that so much. 

And look, I understand that the moral of the show is that science and technology can be dangerous and we shouldn’t let it get away from us because it could eventually cause the downfall of everything, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m always here for the relationships. And the ridiculous ways we can get people to die. And the outlandish scifi. If you wanna remind me of things that I don’t want to think about in between that, I guess it’s okay, because it makes no sense, but when I think of Fringe, it just makes me feel warm and fuzzy. It’s not a warm and fuzzy show, but it is for me. 

I started watching it because it was a complete series that had a purposeful ending and I needed something, but it turned into a lot more than that. I’m jealous of people who can see it for the first time. It’s just so…special. In weird and wonderful ways. There will never be another character quite like Walter Bishop. Or a truly realized tv universe as outlandish. They swung for the fences, and it really landed; vagenda, the observers, Walternate, and all. 

Let Walter charm the shit out of you, you won’t be disappointed.

[bittersweetresilience]

Felix timeloop fic where Adrien keeps dying and Felix can’t fix it no matter how hard he tries. Time loops at sunset and Adrien dies just before it, Felix standing over his twin’s dead body, disbelieving, horrified, for only a few moments before he’s back to that morning. Felix spends the whole day trying to find a way to stop it, the consequences to important for him to simply dismiss the whole thing as a dream. Adrien dies again. And again, and again. Felix tries; tries to keep Adrien away from whatever kills him, tries to figure out the loop, looks into the snake and the bunny and whatever other time magic he knows of and nothing works.

One time he stops and does nothing. It loops again. One time he steels himself, knowing it’s worth it, and throws himself in the way of the metaphorical bullet to save Adrien. Death comes shortly before the same damn morning. One time he thinks he’s figured it out. It’s Chat Noir that dies that time, not Adrien, and he’d feel awful if he didn’t feel relieved. Except dawns the day, dawns the seed of a revelation that churns his gut when he finally acknowledges it.

Only after a month and a half of this, watching his twin die over and over again, desperation and grief clawing at his throat each time, does Felix consider using the Peacock. Consider using the rings. He manages to get his hands on them, stands there as the sun paints the sky red and gold, and takes control. Gives his orders. Adrien lives. The sun sets.

It’s the morning again. And Felix finally breaks.

(One time, they talk. It’s loop 24, only some loops after Chat Noir’s identity stops being a novelty to him. He doesn’t remember how the talk even came to be, too focused as he was on the other details. It must have been Adrien who initiated it, who saw the grief that was getting harder each day to keep in, and decided that it must be shared. They talk, that day, of inconsequential things like theatre and books. Felix doesn’t say what’s truly wrong. Adrien doesn’t ask. They haven’t talked much in a while, and habits are had to break. When Adrien walks to his death that day, Felix wonders if anything would have changed if they did. He forgets about it in the morning.)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!?!??!!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!

WHO SENT ME THIS PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF I JUST WANT TO TALK I'M FRIENDLY I PROMISE

i honestly can't even imagine how torturous the loops must be to drive félix to wield the instrument of his own abuse against his twin. but your imagery 😭😭😭 you're killing me. red like lune rouge, like his mistakes, washing over the gold of his nature... and IT'S STILL THE WRONG CHOICE. no matter what he does he can't save the person whom he loves the most, not in a way that matters. then what can he do? then why is he still here? 😭😭😭😭😭

i imagine félix really would try everything except what he actually needs 😔 from avoiding disaster to preventing it to bringing it on himself... running away together... adrien doesn't understand that félix just wants to keep him safe. would they fight about it? would adrien recognize the desperation, félix's and his the same? i'm sure he'd tell adrien something was going to happen to him. but how many times it had already happened? it's not in his nature to communicate.

GOD YOUR LAST PARAGRAPH YOU'RE ACTUALLY KILLING ME

i think the funniest thing would be if he actually finally did that great healthy time loop ending thing of talking about your problems and learning to accept help from others and it still ended up the same. then, like, two catatonic loops later, it gets fixed without him doing anything and it turns out it was just an akuma or a glitch in the time stream. LMFAO fuck him up why don't we 💘💘💘

[jojotier]

thinking about the idea of the kids having influenced culture on earth c and having to deal with the consequences of being mythological figures in pop culture, like, embedded into the cultural zeitgeist. and it’s like damn. rip all of them, like:

- after Ride the Cyclone hits masses with the line Time eats all his children in the end everyone keeps asking if Dave eats kids as like a joke. He does not. Please for the love of fuck someone help him this meme isn’t funny anymore

- Roxy has to deal with the fact that Ghost Quartet has an entire song where a woman named Rose sings her daughter Roxy to sleep (”Did your mom ever tell you stories?” “My mom wasn’t very nice.” “Oh... I’m so sorry, Mom.”).

- Rose, Rose, Rose Red- will I ever See thee wed? is on loop somewhere after the wedding and Rose is moved to vehicular manslaughter.

like yes none of these things are directly About them but whenever authors are asked they say they’re Inspired by the gods and it’s a constant game of I Would Not Fucking Say That. except for the times in which they Would Fucking Say That, in which case there’s Some kind of crisis imminent

[thehighpriestess1]

I remember thinking about your question “What would August Gojo never to do Y/N” and I really struggled to think of things. He’d never hurt her (physically) but he’s done so much to her 😭 he kidnapped her, couldn’t even break up with her properly and tried to pay her off, lied to her, isolated her from everything and everyone (granted this was for her safety but STILL, that’s mentally draining to a person), forced her to be Utahime’s assistant knowing damn well that must’ve been torture.

He’s done a lot of stuff for Y/N without keeping her in the loop, I can’t blame her for running away without really speaking to Gojo about everything. It was the wrong thing to do, but I can’t fault her for her actions. Both people she loves yet Gojo was the one that fucked her over (to her knowledge). He knew Hiro’s actual identity, why did he not just tell her the truth sooner? Why didn’t he tell her that his job required more “hands on” activities? Y/N is a grown ass woman and deserved the right to make informed decisions, and it’s literally the lack of being uninformed that resulted in her “death”.

THAT BEING SAID: the romantic in me is still hoping for a (happy *wink*) reunion. I remember reading there are about two or three chapters? I’m really holding out for a happy ending, I just need Gojo to fucking communicate with her more. Her life is in danger and she deserves the right to know what the hell is going on 😭 not just when Gojo feels like it.

So sorry for the essay I just have so many thoughts on this story, thank you so much for writing this. I look forward to every update 🥰

But to answer your question… I don’t know if there’s anything August Gojo wouldn’t do when it comes to Y/N (aside from the obvious: violence, f*rcing himself on her, possibly blackmailing her?). He’s pretty fucking intense.

I love essay answers so yes send me all your thoughts! You are on point! Can we really blame y/n? Nope. Nobody told her the entire truth and kept on lying to her and she had to choose for herself. I guess we'll just have to wait and see the consequences of her actions 😉

Yeah there is nothing Gojo wouldn't do to get what he wants! He is intense and insane and insufferable but tbh I kinda live for this Gojo 👀

[thechillsquid]

Exhaustion

Warnings for mentions of sucidical thoughts, depression and anxiety, mental health stuff, dysphoria, neurodivergence, etc. And since I know some folk that know me are lurking, no worries, ain’t gonna hurt myself, but sometimes you need to say a few things to the void

Anyways. Exhaustion, curious concept isn’t it?

Creeps in, steals your time. A few seconds here, a few minutes there, and then you’ve been laying in bed for hours awake and wondering why. It sucks I suppose, espically when you can’t sleep it off, but I guess that tells ya a thing about the types of exhaustion.

Physical, mental, and emotional

And I think I’ve hit every single one, this lovely fusion of the exhaustion of self. The wondering of why, the wondering of what else, the wondering of when does it stop being so damn tiring.

Because physical exhaustion can only be taken so far until you pass out, mental exhaustion can only be taken so far until you break, and emotional exhaustion can only be taken so far before you have a meltdown; but the exhaustion of self?

That’s a lovely new hell. Because even if you fall asleep, your dreams are strained and there’s too much in your head. So even when you wake up, you’re not rested. Because even when you’ve managed to treat yourself kindly for once, your body will ache and you feel like a fraud. Because even when you’ve managed to have a good cry, your face hurts and your nose runs and your mind yells at you.

Because sometimes I’m tired of myself. I’m tired of all the stupid trauma that doesn’t feel like it should be called that. I’m tired of all the stupid emotions I can’t properly express. I’m tired of not being able to do what I want.

It’s like, the bad ending to a good show. You think, oh hey, I’ve built all this. I’ve followed this plot, and I think I know how this ends! I had my major conflict and now I can be better! Right? But well. No one expects it to simply crumble in on itself, or maybe, I always did, and so that was the ending I wanted?

Who knows. I mean, how do I know anything is even under my control? Because that in itself is one sugar coated lie if I’ve ever heard of one. Because shit happens. And even when it seems logical and controllable, you can’t see all the consequences lining up.

But well… if there are consequences, doesn’t that mean the actions meant something? Doesn’t that mean there are things that are manageable?

I don’t know. It all spirals one way or another, looping in on itself without actually being worth a damn.

But fuck. I know people are watching me, observing to see what happens. People talk, and they talk behind your back, and sometimes they lie.

And lying? I never really got it. Like there’s the things of saying ‘Oh yeah, this is good.’ When that bread was too dry and it kinda tasted off but it was made caringly and you still appreciated the effort. There’s the stupid ‘I didn’t do it!’ When we all know you did it. And then the silly ones of ‘I have no clue what you’re talking about’ when they can clearly see you hiding their shit behind your back as you try to crack down on the stupid, giddy grin on your face.

Then, there’s the lies that cut deep. I never got why we tell these ones, I don’t know why I should even make them. But these are the ones that hurt.

‘Of course you’re my friend.’ When they talked behind your back with sharp smiles and amused whispers.

‘That doesn’t matter to me.’ When you can feel their judgement like a hot blade, hearing them whisper how trans people are perverts or how the gays are infiltrating everything.

‘I care about you.’ When they only cared about what you could give them.

I never understood those. Maybe it’s because my mind is heavy enough with tracking the threads of woven lies held in the air and waiting to catch around my throat. Maybe it’s because I can’t stand to have people hide the fact that they’ve hurt me and thus I can’t stand to act like them. Maybe it’s because I find it foolish to pretend.

I always was one of those kids. The ones they talk about when they think you aren’t listening, the one parents stare at with those fucking frowns and sad eyes, the ones they tell you ‘oh. Yeah, well they’re just a little… special.’

I know what it means. I have known. I hate pretending like I don’t. I hate it.

I hate a lot of things.

But I don’t like hating. But well. It seems everyone has to. We hate them because they’re not like us, I hate him because he’s a brat, they hate her because she’s a pervert. Etc etc etc

It’s just. Too much. And I’m so fucking tired.

I’m tired of people hiding behind sweet smiles and fake gestures. I’m tired of people hiding behind ‘I’m doing this for you.’ I’m tired of people deciding I can’t make my own decisions. I’m tired of being stared at and pulled apart. I hate that we actively tear apart the good things. I hate that we are all so paranoid and sad and lonely. I hate it.

I fucking just want to be happy.

But you know. Maybe if I give them an unexpected, horrible ending, it’d make them understand? It’s pretty easy, just a rope or pop the shot. And it’s scary how easy it is. I don’t want it to be that easy. It feels cheap. But sometimes cheap is the only way. But why?

Why does it all have to spiral and wind into each other and crush everything that was known and good and whole?

Why does it feel easier to be dead than to be alive? Why do people hurt each other so deeply? Why do people destroy the world so readily? Why is it all so selfish and cruel?

Why does it hurt so fucking much?

Why does it make me feel bad to acknowledge that it hurts? That I’ve been hurt? That others have been hurt?

Why do I feel guilt for not being able to do enough? Why do I feel guilty for not having the power to do more? Why do I feel guilty for not wanting to live enough?

Why does it all just fall through my fingers like sand pouring down that fucking hourglass?

I just. Am tired.

Everything hurts. My heart hurts, my head hurts, my soul hurts.

And yet. I can’t quite give up just yet, can I? I always was a stubborn bitch I suppose.

And now to let it all fade back into my mind.

And pretend I’m fine once more.

Exhaustion.

How funny.

[tiredassmage]

For character development ask HARD MODE: 4, 7, 19

I exist to bother Tyr, lol, so let's goo!!! This ask game earning it's name, I had to ruminate on one or two of these for an extra while.

4. Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

Sticking a pin in the first meeting with Ardun Kothe. Tyr isn't exactly ever fooling himself about his displeasure with how the Sith run things in the Empire, even as a junior agent freshly minted out of the Academy, but he's also been raised by an officer of the Imperial Military with the good sense to keep his mouth shut around inappropriate company.

Tyr doesn't stand against Jadus because he believes it'll work. Whatever he tells Shara is sheer manufactured Intelligence operative bravado masking the way his mind is churning through turbulence trying to think of a way through this that isn't the longest odds known to man. Tyr stands on the Dominator and chooses to shut down the Eradicators because if this is it, he's at least going to try going out swinging with his morals semi-intact. Whether or not it'll work, knowing how slippery an eel Jadus is? Doesn't know. But he's down for it a helluva lot more than any of the alternatives.

Background established, this is not something he lingers on. And then Ardun Kothe stands in front of him and says, basically, "That really readjusted your chrono, didn't it?" And Tyr knows that's the impression Intelligence wants him to have, but in the back little corner of his mind, he has this moment where he just kind of goes, "Well, shit. When you put it like that." And things don't go very well in the immediate follow up to let him chew that over, but it sticks in the back of his mind to crop back up later.

Between that and Corellia (and I suppose all of Ch2, really), Tyr also develops a strong sense of one bottom line he is extremely unwilling to compromise on: you don't treat operatives as disposable. You don't leave your own people behind. Him and Lana butt heads about this on Rishi because it sticks with him, especially with how Imperial Intelligence ended. Surviving that firestorm leaves him in an odd limbo where he barks and bites a bit more about the status quo of things than he would have earlier in his career. Because the damned least thing they could do for trying to have him killed is listen for half a second, lol, especially if they expect him to stick around. He's still miles away from believing such things are free of consequence, but he grew a lot closer to embracing, for the lack of a better description, fuck around and find out as a method of encouraging change after everything he survived.

Vector is with him through a lot of this and is generally his most trusted ally and confidant - Tyr considers him a friend probably more than an operative on his team. Vector has the most of Tyr's honesty about everything that goes down, whereas he keeps the rest of the crew at some sort of professional distance. Vector's the one person he'd count on to stand with him through anything and everything.

7. Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

Definitely, particularly while he's still active with Imperial Intelligence. I've been toying around with an idea regarding the whole Watcher X in your head scenario with him because he's certainly not someone Tyr ever trusted. There's a reason Tyr shot him, after all. (Good little Cipher, right?)

His relationships with both Watcher Two/Keeper and the Minister are both important to him in their own ways, and they stand out as something that'd really jar him in the whole 'everything is going to shit' train that is Chapter 2. He trusts Shara full stop as far as them doing their jobs. He loves her, truly. But similar to a lot of his dynamics with the crew, he doesn't trust her entirely on the personal level. Ultimately, he realizes that even if he could have brought her into the loop on the Castellan Restraints, he wouldn't have trusted to.

And that's how Tyr ends up analyzing situations in the very methodical, almost detached ways he remembers from Watcher X.

TLDR of that realization, one of the possible dialogue options with Lokin sums this up pretty well.

"Of all the things that go wrong in this job, dying isn't so bad. Failure, though..." Failure doesn't wear well on Ciphers. And Tyr would hate to disappoint any of the few people he actually respects.

A bit heartbreakingly ironic that it's what keeps him up at night, but he'll ultimately still choose to defect to the Republic, even though its exactly the kind of move that'd make those kind of nightmares a reality. It sure wasn't the easy road to choose, but it was the one he felt most ready to live with walking.

19. What is your character's biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

I mentioned in another answer that Tyr, especially after ImpInt, has a hard time completely disconnecting from his role as Cipher Nine. There's often still a part of him that is analyzing situations and relationships with other people from a Cipher's point of view.

Respect and trust are two very different levels for Tyr. He's respected plenty of people - Lokin, for example - without ever completely trusting them. Trusted him enough to do their jobs, sure. Not enough to give him his furthest reaches of honesty.

The curse of being an intelligence operative.

I'd hesitate to say it "destroyed" his relationship with Shara because I purposefully robbed them of ever approaching that level of critical honesty where they'd find things out about one another that would've broken their faith in one another, but, allowed to run a more full course, it very likely would have. I have to believe that, as Keeper, she was aware of Nine's Castellan Restraints, and Tyr would've hesitated to believe she'd understand his reasons for genuinely defecting. Tyr never questions the situation far enough to conclude she must have known (he barely wants to concede that the Minister should be at fault to anyone looking at the situation, let alone the woman he loves), but whatever trust he had for her would likely have been shattered by that conclusion irreparably. And, of course, ultimately, they end up on opposite sides of the conflict, regardless of his efforts to see her out of it.

And as much as Theron Shan has been able to win a level of honesty out of Tyr that few others have, Tyr's potential to be... self-destructive about "finishing the job" that is fighting against the Empire (yeah, that's no small job, buddy) definitely has potential to be a point of friction between the pair of them. They've been through a lot together - Tyr never held Nathema against him. Possibly largely because Tyr knows he would have been willing to do the same.

Just something he's not going to be admitting to Theron any time soon because Theron would likely, at the very least, call him an idiot and, at worst, Tyr's proclivity for keeping things close to his chest would have them all discovering this in a very ungraceful, things have already gone wrong fashion and...

I believe they'd still be able to work through it. Theron doesn't give up on people, especially ones he cares about. And if anybody's going to talk some sense into Tyr, it's probably Theron or Vector. They've always had the best line to who Tyr really is and what he genuinely wants.