#a game has never given me a stomach ache before

[magnoliasandbeardedtooth]

exhausted, nauseous, bleeding out

this is such a good game I am having soooo much fun

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | 10

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 10: Flat Tire

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 6.9k+ (nice)

Tags / Warnings: reader pov, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship, angst, food & eating, blackout, movie references, car problems, alcohol & alcoholism, 12-step programs, lying, conflict avoidance, crying crying crying sorry, internal conflict, monologue, toxic relationships but listen we're tryna get better, journal entries, nightmares, ptsd, flashback

Notes: WHAT UP PARTY PEOPLE?? MAKE SOME NOIIIISE (insert dallas buyers club matthew mcconaughey scream crying in his car). Sorry for being a bummer lol sometimes growth hurts but we're gonna get thru this I swear. Ok thank u let me know what you think!!!

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-----

Blackouts work like magic. 

One second you’re perched on a barstool, trying not to sway or slur your words while ordering another drink, and the next you’re jolted awake by the thud of a door closing. 

Heart pounding in your chest, you sit up and look around, breathing a sigh of relief to see you somehow made it to your bedroom last night. 

You grab your phone off the side table, swiping away the missed calls from Frankie and Leah, then discover that you apparently re-downloaded a dating app in your alcohol-induced fugue state. Judging by the number of reply messages in your inbox, you must have hit up every man in the tri-county area who was “looking for a good time.”

Perfect. Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you? Bad decisions and dick has never ever steered you wrong. 

You read one typo-filled exchange between yourself and Russ K, 34, before deactivating the account and uninstalling the app. 

When you set your phone back on the nightstand, you notice a mason jar filled with ice water and frown. Beside it sits a small plastic container holding four neon orange tablets and two white tablets. A sticky note on the table reads ‘Went to a meeting, be back this afternoon’ in Frankie’s handwriting. 

Alarm trickles through your veins and inspires a wave of nausea you can’t ignore. Clasping your hand over your mouth to hold down the rising bile, you jump out of bed and beeline to the bathroom. 

After emptying the sparse contents of your stomach into the toilet, you lean back against the cool tile wall and search the ceiling for answers. How did you get home last night? Did you say anything to Frankie? 

You think about the ice water and over-the-counter pills left on your nightstand, then think about the note Frankie left. However you got home, he must know you were hammered. Which means you definitely interacted with him while blacked out. Do you even want to know what you said to him? 

Mortification twists your stomach when you imagine the possibilities. You could have tried to fuck him or murder him or anything in between. Given how you feel about him right now, it’s impossible to predict. That fact alone makes your mouth start to sweat again. 

So… no, you don’t want to know what you said to him when you were drunk. You don’t want to know how you got home or why the fuck your hair is damp. All you want is to get through this fucking day without hurling again. Maybe greasy food and a NASCAR nap, too. 

With this new clear goal in mind, you pick yourself up off the bathroom floor and set about making your low-stakes dream a reality. 

—

You wake on the couch to the soothing lull of commentators giving a play-by-play of the Rays versus Yankees game. A thick web of fatigue clings to you, fighting against your efforts to open your eyes and sit upright. 

“Hey.” 

Instinctively, you look towards the noise at the other end of the couch, locking eyes with Frankie. His face droops with this wounded expression that gets under your skin. Diverting your gaze to the TV, you cross your arms and try to keep your demeanor aloof despite the deep ache in your chest. 

“How are you feeling?” 

You choke out a humorless laugh and shake your head, keeping your eyes trained on the screen. A few tense seconds go by before he accepts that you will not be answering his ludicrous question, so he takes an alternative approach. 

“I brought home cubanos from that place you like. For, um… for family dinner. If you still wanted to do that.” 

Home, he says, as if the word meant something to him. As if he didn’t match every brick you laid in the foundation of this relationship with paper mache blocks. As if he didn’t take a wrecking ball to whole fucking thing regardless. 

Maybe to him home is just a place he rests his head at night, not where he anchors his heart. A matter of physical location rather than a feeling. You, on the other hand… never felt quite at home in this house until he started living here. 

Are you crazy for having felt like that? Like home was a space you held with him and him alone? 

Your parents were right. You make too much of things. You’re overdramatic. 

Why would he love you? Why would he choose you over his wife? You knew what you were getting into when this started. 

Stupid girl. 

“I understand if you don’t want to, though.” 

His voice brings you back to yourself. You blink hot tears from your eyes, then wipe them from your cheeks, trying to hold yourself together despite the whisper of ‘stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl’ at the back of your head. 

“Can we… can we at least talk about it?” 

You wince as a fresh batch of tears surges up your throat. Rising to your feet, you shake your head and manage to choke out, “Just forget it,” before fleeing to your bedroom. 

—

I slept most of the day yesterday so it took me forever to fall asleep. Also Frankie was walking around the house all night. At 11ish, I heard him talking on the phone, then I think someone picked him up. I texted him to see where he went because I’m unfortunately still his designated person. He said he was with someone from AA and he’d be back soon, just needed to talk. I couldn’t fall asleep until I heard him come in at 1. He wasn’t stumbling around so I’m guessing he was sober??? Hopefully he was. I don’t want this to get in the way of his recovery. Which I sort of hate. I wish I could delete the feelings I have for him. I wish I didn’t care. But I guess I do, so… I don’t know. This fucking sucks. Leah said I should kick him out, but I don’t want to fuck up his program. Maybe I’ll talk to Ralph today and see what he thinks. The thing is… the more people I talk to, the more I just want to talk to Frankie. Nobody makes me feel like he does. More than the lies, this is what bothers me the most. The fact that I can feel this way and he just doesn’t. I don’t understand how he can’t feel it, too. I thought this was real. But I guess I always do. I guess he’s just a really good liar and I am just a stupid girl. 

Tossing the notebook aside, you sit up to grab your mug off the side table. Wisps of steam rise from the coffee and dissolve into the air. The image blurs as a thick, wretched sensation twists up your throat. 

God fucking damnit. 

Every time you think you have no more tears left to cry, you prove yourself wrong. They just keep coming. Yesterday you waded in and out of these sudden fits where crying was all you could do. It reminds you of all the other times he broke your heart, but especially the last time. 

After Angie caught the two of you fucking, part of you hoped that maybe she would leave him. From what you understand, though, he convinced her to stay. Called you a mistake. An ‘isolated incident’ or whatever. Fucking asshole. 

Anyway. 

Seeing each other became logistically and emotionally difficult. Participating in an affair is much easier when it’s still a secret, for obvious reasons. He tried to see you when he could, which wasn’t nearly as frequent as you wanted. When you did see him, he was drunk. You’d pick him up from the bar, or he’d come over after Angie went to bed, but he was always at least five drinks in and counting. 

You bailed him out of jail twice in those six months. Once for drinking and driving, once for getting in a fight over a fucking pool game, of all things. 

He seemed so walled-off from you, too. Like he detached from his emotions when he saw you. Maybe it was because of the liquor, but a million other reasons are just as likely. After sex, he would leave. The sex was… well, it was still good, but… different. Rougher, impersonal. It felt less like making love and more like fucking. 

You still loved him, though. You still had fantasies of having a real, normal relationship with him. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, you still wanted to believe that he was meant to be with you. 

Stupid girl stupid girl stupid girl

And then, well… 

Your phone starts to ring. It’s Ralph. 

You take a few quick sips of your coffee, then set the mug aside to answer. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, kiddo. Do you have a minute?” 

His tone, less jovial than normal, gives you a small burst of anxious energy.

“Sure, what’s up?” 

“I just got off the phone Mr. Morales and he briefed me on the, ahhh… situation over there.” 

Unsure what to say, you fold an arm over your belly and stare down at your lap. 

“I understand that things are a bit tense due to an incident that occurred on Saturday, is that correct?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, voice wavering, “Yeah, I, um… I overheard him talking to Angie, and… well, basically I found out he’s been lying to me.” 

It sounds so pathetic when you say it out loud. 

“Uh-huh. He lied about the nature of his relationship with Mrs. Morales.” 

“Correct.” 

You prepare for Ralph to tell you it’s not a big deal. Brace yourself for the inevitable scoff, or for him to accuse you of overreacting. 

So he lied to you, so what? You knew who he was. You knew he had a family to keep together. You should have known better than to get involved with him. Stupid girl, why would you put yourself in that position in the first place? 

“And this isn’t the first time he lied to you about this particular matter, am I understanding correctly?” 

“Well…” you frown and shake your head, “No, not really. When we were together before, he was pretty explicit that he wouldn’t leave her. I just… I just thought… I don’t know. It’s dumb. I’m fucking dumb.” 

Ralph doesn’t respond right away, so you add, “Sorry. I’m still in my feelings.” 

“Don’t sweat it, I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down,” he pauses here to clear his throat, then recounts, “Before, he told you leaving her wasn’t a possibility. And despite my warning going into this, the two of you re-established your romantic relationship, he told you that kind of relationship was effectively over with his wife. Which wasn’t true.” 

“Correct.” 

“Ok. Got it. Has Mr. Morales exhibited any unusual or suspicious behavior since the incident on Saturday?”

After thinking about it, you tell him, “I wouldn’t call this suspicious exactly, but yesterday he left a note saying he was going to an AA meeting, which isn’t normal. And late last night someone picked him up. I texted him to check in and he said he was with someone from AA, talking.” 

“Do you believe he was being truthful?” 

“Yeah, I do,” you shrug, “I mean, I’m obviously not the best at detecting his bullshit, but I’ve seen him under the influence more times than I can count and he didn’t seem… like that.” 

“Well, that’s good. And it’s good you checked in with him, I take that as a positive. You are still responsible for him while he’s on parole.” He sighs, “Which brings me to my next question. Are you thinking you want to continue serving as his designated person, or should we start looking for alternatives?” 

A lump rises in your throat. You swallow it down, wincing at the tears that burn behind your eyes, “I, um… I’m not sure yet. Can I have a few days to think it over?” 

“Sure. How about this. Why don’t you take some time, maybe go to one of those Al-Anon meetings I told you about, and I can stop by Saturday to have a sit down with you and Mr. Morales. Does that sound agreeable?” 

“Ok,” you nod, “Yeah, that sounds good. We can do that.”

“Alrighty then. I’ll shoot you an email with some details sometime today and we’ll go from there.” 

“Thanks, Ralph.” 

“Call me if anything comes up, ok kiddo?” 

“Will do.” 

After hanging up, you put in a load of laundry and wander around the house, stopping by the fridge to stare at the cubano Frankie brought home for you yesterday. You roll your eyes with annoyance as you grab it, then you return to the couch and put on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. 

—

By the time Frankie comes home, you’re four feature films deep in your angsty post-breakup movie marathon and feeling indignant enough not to surrender the common space to him. 

His eyebrows do this little surprised jump when your eyes meet his, and he glances at the TV, “Reality Bites?” 

You don’t respond, just curl deeper into the couch and return your attention to Ethan Hawke’s spiteful cover of Add It Up.

He kicks off his work boots and walks into the kitchen, coming back a minute later to ask, “If I make something for dinner, will you eat it?” 

Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food. Without looking at him, you shrug. 

Accepting the non-verbal answer, Frankie returns to the kitchen and starts bumbling around, cussing and grumbling under his breath. Eventually, though, he seems to get the hang of it. 

Just as the end credits of Reality Bites start rolling, he enters the living room holding two plates and sets one on the coffee table for you, then takes a seat at the opposite end of the couch. 

You sit up, crossing your legs as you pull the offering into your lap, and toss the remote control to his side of the dividing cushion. He wordlessly searches for something else to watch while you study the avocado-filled hot dog buns. 

“What is this?” you ask. 

“Completo. Hot dog topped with good shit, basically. Avocado, tomato, onion, condiments.” He selects play on Moulin Rouge, then looks at you and shrugs, “Ma would make it for me when I had a bad day.” 

You stare at him for a moment, then roll your eyes and shake your head as you turn to the TV, “I see what you’re doing.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Kissing my ass.” 

He chuckles, shifting a little, “Yeah, well… yeah.” 

The movie starts to play. You don’t mention that this will be the second time you’ve seen it today because he probably knows that. After taking a bite of the completo, you hum at the mix of flavors and textures as you chew. 

“Good, right?” Frankie says through a mouthful. 

“Mmm,” you nod in agreement. 

He swallows, glancing between you and his food before asking, “Can I ask why you haven’t kicked me out yet?”

When you contemplate how to answer, the reasons all snarl into a tight knot of which you can’t quite make heads or tails. 

“No.” 

“Fair enough,” he murmurs, letting his gaze linger on you, “Do you want me to give you some privacy, or…? Because I can go—” 

“It doesn’t matter, Francisco, just stop talking.” 

“Ok, but—” 

You hold your hand up to him, “Shhhhhh.”

He sighs, but accepts the silence. Tension resides in the air at first, but slowly dissipates as you clear your plates, then settle into the couch. And although your eyes stay trained on the screen, you can’t make yourself pay attention. 

You keep wondering why he lied about being with Angie. He’s never had a problem making that clear in the past, even if it meant breaking your heart. Is it because he lives with you? It’s possible he didn’t want to risk getting kicked out, so he kept it a secret. 

Then why get involved with you again? Did he think this was the best way to stay in your good graces? Has he been manipulating you this whole time? 

It’s possible. It’s also possible you’re another one of his bad habits he can’t kick. A coping mechanism. Disposable, like always. 

You remember the night you asked him to come over so you could talk to him about something important. He promised to be there at eight o’clock, which is when you planted yourself on the front porch swing to wait for him. At nine o’clock, his truck came rumbling down the street and parked in front of the house. 

“What’re you doing out here?” he smirked as he climbed the porch steps. 

“Waiting for you,” you glared at him, observing his fluid movements when he plopped down beside you.

“I went and got a drink, lost track of time.” 

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and drew your stiff body closer to kiss your cheek.

Something hot flared in your chest, and you distinctly remember wishing he would show up sober for once. This wasn’t the scab you wanted to pick, though. 

He tilted your chin up, pressing his lips to yours, breath heavy with whiskey, then pulled back to frown at your lackluster response. His body swayed a little as he studied you, “What?” 

“I need to talk to you.” 

“Ok,” he leaned away from you with a scoff, “Well, I’m here. Talk to me. Tell me how I fucked up this time.” 

You winced, “Don’t do that.” 

Crossing his arms, he stared at you, all fucking wobbly and drunk, irritation folding his facial features. He shrugged, “Do what?” 

“That! You’re being an asshole.” 

“Oh, I’m being an asshole?” he mocked, “How’s that?” 

Rage simmered beneath your skin. You let out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking your head as tears pooled in your eyes. After taking a moment to gather yourself, you spit out, “Do you love me?” 

“Do I—?” he furrowed his brow like he didn’t understand, shifting in his seat, “Do I love you?” 

“Yes, Frankie. Do you fucking love me or not?” 

His indignation melted. Shoulders slumping, gaze going soft. He swallowed hard and looked out at the street as if searching for an escape hatch. Emergency brake. Make it stop. 

“Because I love you. I’ve been in love with you for so long… and-and I still don’t know what the fuck I am to you.” 

He seemed frozen, staring at something a million miles away without sparing a reaction. 

Nine months later, you can still feel the frantic vibration of your bones when you moved closer and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. When his eyes met yours, they were so cold and vacant that you barely recognized him. You tried to get through anyway. 

“I need you right now, Frankie. But I need all of you. I can’t be on the back burner anymore. I need you to be with me or I need to let you go.” 

“You know I can’t do that. I can’t be with you, not like that.” 

“But you could, though. You could. We could do this, we could make it work, start a life together—”

“I won’t leave her,” he shook his head, “I have a family—goddamnit, you knew what this was when it started.”

You sobbed, letting your hands fall away from his face, and his eyelids fluttered with the ghost of an emotion that you didn’t understand. 

He started, “I don’t—” then paused, tapping his clamped lips. His bloodshot eyes flicked around the porch and settled a million miles away again, “I don’t love you.” 

With this declaration, he took his chisel to you, lined it up in just the right spot, and gave it one firm tap. You crumbled at his feet. Shattered into dust. 

He got up and drove off while you were still bawling on the front porch swing. 

Onscreen, Toulouse-Lautrec shouts, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return!” 

It hits you square in the chest. 

With tears brimming your eyelids, you jump up and flee to your bedroom before he can see them. 

—

Terrible nights sleep. Every time I drifted off, I was in the bedroom at my parents house but it wasn’t in my parents house. He was there but he wasn’t there. I don’t know how to explain it. I felt his presence but knew it wasn't him. I kept my eyes closed because I was scared to see, but I could hear him getting closer and closer. When I opened my eyes I woke up. The feeling stuck to me. It took me forever to fall back asleep and when I did it started over. 

Frankie didn’t go to work this morning. I don’t think he slept well either. Heard him walking around all night again. Idk if I should ask him what his deal is. I don’t want to talk to him about it yet and he’ll probably try to do that. Which is weird for him. A year ago I’d give anything for him to open up like he���s been trying to. But it hurts too much right now. It’s so messy. I’m all tangled. I need to straighten myself out before talking about it. 

I think I’m going to an al-anon meeting today and I’m nervous. Not sure what to expect. Keep worrying they’ll tell me I don’t belong there or make me talk about him. I don’t know if I belong there. I don’t know if I belong anywhere. 

Pulling back from your notebook, you stare at the last sentence for a while before closing the cover and setting it on the end table. 

Frankie walks out from his bedroom and rounds the corner to the living room, looking suspiciously formal, wearing slacks and a white dress shirt. His dark curls have been combed into a neat side part. It even looks like he trimmed his facial hair. 

As he peeks through the front window curtains, you blurt, “Are you wearing a fucking tie?” 

He looks surprised to hear you speak, raising his eyebrows as he glances down at himself, then up at you, “Yeah. I have a uhhh… a deposition today.” 

“Is that good or bad?” 

“Not really either. It’s normal, I guess. They’re just asking me questions on the record.” 

Nodding, you study his nervous demeanor, watching him reflexively go to lift his hat, faltering a little before running his fingers through his hair anyway. 

A desire to comfort him trickles through you, extinguishing the glowing embers of contempt inside your chest. 

“How is the case going, do you know?” 

The corner of his mouth pulls back into a kind of grimace. He takes another peek out the window, then steps back and shrugs as he approaches the couch, “The lawyer says they’ll probably offer a plea deal once this is over. We’ll see what that looks like.” He sits down at the other end of the couch, pulling out his phone to keep an eye on the little car on his rideshare app, “He thinks maybe they could agree to a reduced sentence.” 

You pick at your frayed cuticles, holding your tongue for as long as you can before asking, “How are you doing with… everything?” 

When you glance at him, his face is crooked with contemplation. He shifts in his seat and crosses his arms, lips parting with an answer. A notification dings on his phone. 

“My ride’s here,” he murmurs and meets your eyes with an apologetic expression, “We can talk about it later?” 

You give him a non-committal smile, “Good luck at your thing.” 

—

The woman who gave you your new member packet, apparently the leader of the meeting, looks around the room and announces,

“This afternoon, our fearless speaker will be Taylor. Everybody please welcome Taylor.”

From the back row, you sink down in your metal folding chair and glance around at the attendees, joining in when they start to clap for a woman approaching the podium. 

“Hi everyone, my name is Taylor. I’m a member of Al-Anon.” 

The room responds in unison, “Hi Taylor.” 

Taylor smiles and shakes her head, looking down at a small stack of trembling notecards. Her round shoulders raise with a deep breath. She closes her eyes for a moment, exhales, then looks up at the room. 

“If you would’ve told me a year ago I’d be the speaker at an Al-Anon group, there’s no way I’d believe you. But here I am,” she chuckles, “Wow. Thank you everyone for coming in today. I see so many familiar faces and some not so familiar faces and I’m grateful to see all of you. I’m proud of you for coming to this meeting today. 

“One of the biggest preconceived notions I had when I started attending Al-Anon meetings nine months ago is that they would help me support my alcoholic husband. At the time, he was about a month into sobriety and had just started going to AA meetings. He was struggling like hell and a friend of his asked if he wanted to go to an AA meeting with him. So he did. 

“I’ll be honest, when he suggested I go to Al-Anon, I was annoyed. I really was. At that point, we’d been married for five years. He tried quitting, oh, I don’t know… six times in that five years? Three 90-day inpatient rehab stays, two arrests, more sleepless nights than I can count.” 

Taylor pauses and looks down at her notes, then back up at the room as an amused smile spreads across her face. 

“What it always reminded me of was this story my husband told me. Every so often, he goes through these phases where he gets very very interested in a particular subject. It completely takes him over. All he wants to do is read about it and talk about it and… well, you get it. 

“When he was in his Greek mythology era, he told me about Sisyphus, the king of Ephyra. Sisyphus killed people who visited his palace, which angered the gods because they considered it impolite, which is the understatement of the millennium, but that’s neither here nor there. When Sisyphus died, Hades punished him to an eternity rolling a boulder uphill. He would fight his way up this steep hill, pushing the boulder with all his might. The boulder was enchanted, though, and every time the it got near the top, the boulder would roll back down the hill, then he’d have to try again. So he does this over and over and over for eternity. Infinite frustration and exhaustion. 

“Sometimes it felt like that with him. With my alcoholic. Like I was stuck in this loop, fighting like hell to push his dead weight to the top of the hill. Just when I got a scrap of hope, it went tumbling back down. Over and over and over again. I structured my whole life around his relationship to alcohol. Checking in with him constantly, making sure I didn’t say or do anything that might trigger another relapse, putting myself on the back burner to accommodate his needs. So when he suggested I try going to Al-Anon meetings, I expected it to be another chore catering to his sobriety. I thought I would come here and learn all the ways people support the alcoholic in their life the right way. Because I obviously wasn’t doing it the right way. If I was, he would have years of sobriety under his belt. 

“Regardless, I agreed to go, and quickly discovered my preconceived notions about Al-Anon were wrong. Al-Anon doesn’t exist for us to better service the alcoholic or alcoholics in our lives. Sure, we’re all here because of the alcoholic in our lives, but the point is to better service ourselves. I think that distinction is important. 

“When I came home from my first meeting, I went through the new member packet Mario gave me, and found a handout that said: Detachment is neither kind nor unkind,” Taylor nods at the memory and looks around the room, “That struck a chord with me, that phrase. Detachment is neither kind nor unkind. It didn’t make sense to me at first. I thought, how is detachment neither kind nor unkind? It went against my instincts completely. How was I supposed to help my husband if I detached from him? Isn’t love about being attached to someone, sticking together through thick and thin? 

“Attending meetings and working the steps helped me get a better grasp on the concept. I came to understand that, in Al-Anon, detachment can mean two different things. The first is separating the person you love from their alcoholic behaviors. The second is a little harder to define, but it centers around the idea that you are separate from other people, and their actions do not control yours. Let me show you what I mean, though.

“In my relationship with my husband, we were entangled,” Taylor laces her hands together and holds them up for everyone to see. “Wherever he went, I went, too.” She moves her clasped hands back and forth. Spreading her hands apart, she says, “I didn’t want to be apart from him. But what I found with detachment is,” she flattens her hands palm-to-palm, “We can be close without being entangled. That way, if he goes to a dark place,” she moves one hand away from the other and shakes her head, “I don’t have to go with him if I don’t want to.” 

Taylor looks around the room, allowing her words to sink in, then returns her attention to the stack of notecards and flips to the next. 

“When we detach in this way, it both relieves us of our perceived responsibility for their actions and emotions, and grants them autonomy to make their own choices. They deserve dignity and freedom, which is difficult to obtain if we try to manage their lives. 

“So often in our marriage, I thought that loving my alcoholic meant rescuing him from himself. I thought that if I exerted myself hard enough, pushed him up that steep hill long enough, we would get to the top together. But the effort was Sisyphean. It didn’t matter how much time or effort I put into controlling the direction of the boulder. It would always roll downhill, because the boulder was enchanted. Even if I spent an eternity trying, even if I begged and screamed and pleaded with the boulder, it would still be enchanted. And, you know… maybe that’s ok. Maybe he’s not meant to sit at the top of the hill. It’s not his fault, either, and I came to realize that instead of getting frustrated at him for being enchanted, I can meet him where he is and love him anyway. If I don’t like that place, I don’t have to stay there. When I detach with love, I grant myself autonomy as well as him. 

“Putting the metaphor aside, I’ve used this in practice by no longer lying for him. If he’s at an AA meeting and our daughter asks why he’s not home, I tell her the truth. When my family or friends ask how everything is going, I don’t try to make it seem easier than it is so he can save face. I confide in them with sincerity because that is what I need. I’ve stopped giving him advice unless he asks for it, because I’ve learned here that most times people don’t need advice, they just need someone to listen and be present. I’ve stopped trying to take the reins when I think he’s making poor decisions, because he doesn’t need someone to do it for him. He needs to learn to do it himself. Part of learning is making mistakes and growing out from beneath the consequences. 

“Detachment is neither kind nor unkind, it’s a tool we utilize to free ourselves and the alcoholic in our lives. Al-Anon doesn’t exist to teach us how to help the alcoholic in our lives, although the tools it gives us can aid in their recovery as well as ours. This fellowship exists to help us, the families of the alcoholic, so that we may lead more joyful and serene lives. Thank you.” 

Applause erupts from the crowd, and you join in, watching Taylor glow with pride as she steps away from the podium. 

—

Damp, hot air pours in through the rolled-down windows, carrying with it the earthy scent of algae-bloom off East Lake Tohopekaliga. Driving along the slow, steady curve, you pass by sprawling oak trees, their eaves all draped in spanish moss. 

Your hope was that taking the scenic route home would clear your head, but it’s not doing the trick. Something shifted inside you during the meeting. You can’t quite put your finger on exactly what shifted or why it happened, although your circular thoughts give you the sense you’re on the precipice of understanding. 

You keep thinking about the speaker, Taylor, and the lesson she relayed from her podium. Her situation is different from yours, but you know it all the same. You know how it feels to dig your heels into the dirt, struggling like hell to push someone in the direction you think is best. You know how it feels to see him tumble to the bottom time and time again. And for what? It’s not like he’s any better off because of your efforts. It’s not like you are, either. 

How many times have you betrayed yourself for the sake of his favor? How many times have you put your needs aside to tend to his? 

Calm blue-gray water flickers behind the trees you drive past. It looks peaceful. Further up the road, you spot a public access point to the lake and turn into the lot, hitting a bump. When you do, a loud BANG reverberates through the car. The steering wheel shakes as you slow to a jerky, lopsided stop.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you fume, shifting the car into park. Folding forward onto the steering wheel, you pinch your eyes shut and take a deep breath, then exit the vehicle to look at the damage. 

The front driver’s side tire sits flat against the pavement. You stare at it and shake your head, muttering, “God fucking damnit,” before walking to the trunk. 

You open it and pull up the mat to the spare tire well. It’s empty. 

“Fucking of course. Jesus fucking—” 

Cutting yourself off with a furious groan, you pull out your phone and go through your contact list, pointedly scrolling past the F’s to pause at Leah, who’s over an hour away, then Marla, who’s busy enough as it is. You even briefly consider Rory, but the idea makes your stomach lurch. 

You could just do it all yourself. Order a car on one of those rideshare apps. It would take forever, though, and you’ve never changed a tire before. 

Frankie is the logical choice. The first person who came to mind, if you’re being honest. Something hard and stubborn inside your chest throbs when you hover over his name. 

It’s pride, you realize. Maybe a little fear. You don’t want to ask for his help. You don’t want to burden him. You don’t want to be disappointed if he says no. 

All the same, you dial his number. He picks up on the second ring. 

“H—”

“Are you at the house?”  

“I am.” 

“Are you busy?” 

“Nothing I can’t put off ‘til later. Why?” 

“My fucking tire blew out, and my spare is in the garage,” you sigh and throw your head back, propping a hand on your hip, “Is there any way you can bring it out to me?” 

“I, umm… yeah, of course. Where are you?” 

“East Lake Toho.”

He snorts, “Christ, what’re you doing all the way out there?” In the background, you hear the floorboards creaking, mapping his way through the house. Before you can respond, he asks, “Spare tire in the garage, need me to grab anything else?” 

“Uhhhh…” you wrinkle your nose at the trunk, “I don’t know, I have a jack and the tire iron thing.” 

“That should do it. Wanna drop me a pin? I’ll have to get a ride out there.” 

“Yeah. I can pay you back if you need to order a Lyft or whatever.” 

“Just take it off my tab,” he jokes, the back door squeaking open behind his voice, “Hang tight, I’ll be there in a bit.”

You turn around to lean back on the bumper, “Ok, I’ll be here.” 

After hanging up, you share your location with him, then wander down to the dock. It rattles around as you teeter to the end and sit down, letting your feet dangle over the edge. 

Cattails and lily pads have been cleared from the shoreline near the boat landing, giving you a clear view across the lake, broken up here and there by thick swaths of aquatic vegetation. The glassy surface of the water reflects the hazy blue sky, and stagnant air sticks humid to your skin. Insects buzz and birds sing and somewhere far away you hear a boat motor chugging across the lake. 

When you think of serenity, this is what you picture. Stillness and calm. Peace. You inhale the scene, allowing it to stretch out inside you and unfurl your tensed muscles. 

As soon as the unease evaporates from your body, fatigue takes over.  

Lying back on the dock, you stare up at tall, fluffy clouds littering the sky. Your eyelids grow heavy as you watch the slow-moving parade of shifting giants, the warm air lulling you into comfort until you let your eyes drift closed. 

Your awareness fades in and out while you sleep. At one point, a car door shuts, then the car drives off. Vaguely, you know it’s Frankie but can’t lift your limbs, syrupy thick with lethargy. You hear grunts and metallic clattering. Some time later, your trunk slams shut. 

When the dock starts wobbling around beneath you, you blink your eyes open and sit up, scrubbing your hands over your face as a yawn overtakes you. 

“Hey sleepyhead.” 

You glance over your shoulder at Frankie, who comes to sit down beside you with a groan. He’s back to his usual attire, jeans and a t-shirt, baseball cap firmly in place atop his head. 

Still groggy, you yawn, “I couldn’t make myself wake up.” 

“Not sleeping well?” 

“Fucking awful, honestly.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

You frown at him, searching his face until he gives you a little shrug, at which point you mumble, “Oh. I forgot that I, umm… yeah. Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize,” he tells you, squinting up at the sky before dropping his eyes to his hands as he fiddles with his wedding band, “Same here. The—the sleep part, not the nightmares.” 

“Yeah, I know. I hear you pacing around at night.” 

“Oh… sorry, I didn’t realize—”

You push yourself up straighter to watch his legs dangle next to yours, “It’s fine.” 

Quiet settles comfortably between you. Near the dock, you see a cluster of bubbles rise to the surface of the lake and burst. The ripples flatten out and calm returns. 

A question swells in your ribcage. Just a small pocket of air at first, maybe the size of a pebble. The longer you sit and stare at the water, though, it expands. It works its way up your throat, taking up more and more space with each passing second until you can’t contain it any more. 

“So you were lying to me, right? About not being with her?” 

He meets your gaze, dark eyes all remorseful and gooey, then he nods, “Yeah. I was lying. To both of you.” 

Folding your legs up onto the dock, you look away in the hope that he won’t notice the tears starting to come. When he speaks, his voice comes out hoarse and quiet. 

“How much do you want me to tell you?” 

The question replaces the air in your lungs with a vibrating sensation. Another cluster of bubbles dissolve on the surface of the lake. You manage to croak, “I don’t know.” 

He doesn’t respond. You sense that he’s waiting for you to make the next move. 

Your mind wanders to the front porch swing that night you forced him to choose. He felt so far away. Until he told you differently, you were so certain he was in love with you. 

“I don’t know how to trust your words as truth, Frankie. All the way back to the start, I don’t know what was real and what was bullshit and I am fucking—” your voice cracks from the emotion burning up your throat. 

He goes to comfort you, but pulls back before making contact. 

Every cell inside you aches for him to bridge the gap. You follow the instinct, grabbing his shirt to curl into his shoulder. As soon as you do, he wraps his arms tight around you, bringing you in closer. 

A wave of moth-eaten hurt wells up your chest. 

“Why?” you sob, “Why did you do this to me? I don’t understand—”

He starts to rock you in a slow, soothing motion, burying his face in your hair as you cry into the collar of his shirt. In the background, behind your racing thoughts and shattered breaths, you hear him whisper on repeat: I’m sorry, baby… I’m so sorry.

[lookingfts]

Dialogue Game - Prompts #1 and #2

#1 - "Keep it. It's always been yours." (@fitrahgolden)

It feels all wrong as Kate reaches for her finger, the pearl-studded band loosening and sliding off. Her stomach aches and her head pounds and every cell in her body is telling her that this is wrong, that she’s blowing up her whole life over one stupid fight. But Kate is watching the catastrophe from somewhere outside herself, a frozen observer, and so she just keeps moving. “Here,” she says, throat raw and burning as she holds it out to him.

“Keep it,” Anthony says wearily. He sounds resigned, sounds the way she feels – as though they are destined to ruin every good thing the world has ever given them. Maybe they can’t be trusted with happiness. “It’s always been yours.”

Just like her heart has always been his. She’ll never get it back; it’s too late for that.

And maybe it’s that – the idea of a lifetime without her heart, as closed off and numb as she was before she met him – that unfreezes her.

Anthony steps over the threshold, and when she chokes out, “Wait-.”

He stops.

#2 - "I don't hate you. Hate is a feeling and I don't feel anything for you." (@cannedkopi)

“Christ, do you really hate me that much-.”

“I don’t hate you. Hate is a feeling and I don’t feel anything for you-.”

“Oh, please. I’ve never seen you indifferent about anything in your life! There’s not a single thing on earth you don’t have a ridiculous opinion about-.”

“You exaggerate. Why am I not allowed to dislike anything without you labeling me a joyless misanthrope-.”

“You are a joyless misanthrope-.”

“As if you like other people any more than I do-.”

“That’s not the point. Unlike you, I am fully capable of positive emotions-.”

“Like what-?”

“Like! Happiness, and passion, and love. All things you are quite clear that you don’t feel-.”

And then suddenly Kate isn’t saying anything, because she’s pressed against Anthony’s body and his lips are on hers. And oh, that’s his tongue.

The little moan that falls from her throat is embarrassing, but Anthony only growls and tugs her closer, kissing her until she’s utterly breathless.

Finally, they separate, and she’s sure his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes are a perfect mirror of hers.

She opens her mouth, but the words escape her. Mind wiped clean even as her skin tingles.

“Finally!” Daphne shouts from halfway across the field, and Kate nearly dies as she remembers where they are. Specifically, surrounded by all seven of his siblings and their partners. “Can we finish our game now?”

[sukunasun]

can we get crumbs of mma sukuna and that break up fic

here's a sneak peek!

the car ride back to your hotel is tense as you fall into an almost unbearable silence. sukuna keeps his eyes on the road, unblinking. there's traffic built up stretching across an entire city, honking cars and engines whirring loudly but it doesn't do much to drown out the impending conversation you dread. only because you have a feeling it would lead to something worse. a bubble waiting to burst.

“you still mad?” sukuna's the first one to speak. he reaches out for your hand, curling his fingers around and bringing his lips so close to your ear. you feel his breath on your skin along with his desperation too. "don't avoid me, you know how much i hate it." is his best plea.

keeping your eyes out the window, a mask weaves itself over your features, an impenetrable expression. snow starts to pile along the streets of osaka. dusting the surface of rivers and withering branches. you count the flecks of white, if you turned to him now, looking upon his face, it'll only hurt more.

what could you say, where do you even start— yes, you're still mad. and no, you're not avoiding him, nothing's more important than having this conversation right now but the events of the night have yet to even sink in—he'd been engaged to another woman. for a year. maybe two. and she'd been in love with him, probably still is given that she brings it up like it merely happened yesterday. 

"i wore him down," she said proudly. hand coming up to his chest. glamourous and flaunting her body pressed up against his. as if she were his date instead. despite the bile rising up your throat, you have to admit they look the part. two belonging together, physically flawless, exuding a blinding intensity. "i proposed like a million times before he ever agreed, but i couldn't give up, no one loves him like i do." 

"is this about how you look?" sukuna tries again. he's got plenty of questions lined up but it's the first thing that slips from his mouth, not knowing that he won't get to the others because it ticks you off immediately. setting off a fuse within you.

"it's nothing to do with that!" you scoff in disbelief. the warmth of his hand should feel comforting, but touching him now makes you anxious. betrayed that he'd shared the same touch with an ex you didn't know about. one who apparently slipped from his memory too by the looks of it. so you pull away, letting that distance grow. feeling the cool sting after the weight's been let off, the ghost of his hand lingering behind when you realize how bare it feels without him there.

"what's with the attitude?" he's annoyed and growing impatient, jaw and fists clenching. it's the first time you've rejected his touch so blatantly. it stings, it hurts him to the core. gone were the days of your rejection but he's seeing your walls building back up now is enough to get his blood boiling.

"i get mad about other things too, not everything is about how i look," you shoot back. as the quiet pauses lengthen and the seconds tick by, sukuna decides then and there that he will never want it to happen again. the way his heart drops to his stomach is foreign to him, an unexpected ache, an anxious little thing that makes him sweat.

he breathes a frustrated sigh, unaware of what's really wrong here, he hates playing these guessing games with you. "i'm not a fuckin' mind reader, plus you're always like this when i'm around other women," he says, like it were a nuisance he'd grown tired of.

you snap then, exclaiming "she wasn't just some other woman—oh hi, you used to be engaged to my boyfriend, nice to meet you too!" your skin prickles with anger, curse him. he's an expert at pushing your buttons.

rubbing at his temples, your admission barely phases him. "so that's what this is all about?" he has the audacity to laugh, "it didn't mean anything." you don't know what makes it worse, that he doesn't deny it or the way he brushes it off with such nonchalance.

all this before you were ever in the picture of course. you tell yourself it shouldn't matter. it was his past. way before he ever knew you. he had never mentioned wanting to get married, and you had thought—foolishly—that it wasn't the right time, that maybe he wasn't the 'marrying' type. but truths are unveiled and there's no going back from revealing something like that. "did you love her?" you question, although, completely unprepared for the answer.

sukuna's eyebrows furrow, "what kind of question is that?" he seems offended you'd ask, but still, he's not giving you a clear answer. only diverting.

so you dig further. "you loved her enough to marry her—" it's not about the woman, it's more about that voracity in her, being as self-serving as she was, 'no one loves him like i do,' she said with such certainty, in that same way sukuna does, they're not the kind of people who doubt. unlike you, she looks at him like she wants to own him. "—did you ever think you'd marry me? you're just looking for the next girl who'd wear you down?"

"oh so you wanna get married. is that it? would that make you feel better?" he dishes out sarcasm like a blow to the face and you're left with the realisation that he's being mean because he can. he's never liked having a weakness, especially now that he can't manoeuvre his way out of this fight with you. caught in a corner barely standing.

"you know that's not what i mean—"

"what is it then," he clicks his tongue. staring at the side of you. still avoiding his gaze, unable to look him in the eye and yell. get in his face. tear him apart.

you bite your lip. thoughts jumbling and bouncing around. you can't wrap your head around it. how could the sight of an old flame be enough to make you question your relationship and self-worth? he had a past and chose to keep it from you, fine. he'd been young, maybe he didn't consider those memories a part of himself. you don't know.

or maybe you've gone with the flow of his current for so long, that getting swept away felt so exhilarating and he'd made you feel safe. too safe. but somewhere in the midst of it, you've diminished, you've become all the things he didn't sign up for, you're not who he wants anymore, or at least it feels that way, and maybe...he knows it too.

there is no room for selfishness or jealousy where love is concerned. he's not what you expected sure, that little girl in you had only wished for a gentleman who could love you softly. someone who recognized how alone you've felt and that you're strong despite it. you've worked hard to let him in, to trust him, because sukuna is beyond hopes and dreams, he is real, he sits next to you asking, no—demanding that you talk to him about how you feel.

and why bury your feelings when you've never been that way, you were always so sure, could always speak your mind, tell him how you feel. all the times he's had to assure you and you don't know why you ever saw yourself as less than. he chased you. he wanted you. it shouldn't matter that no one else believes it. he's yours. all of him. scars, tattoos, and bloodied flesh. you love him, and yet—

"i think we need a break," you say, feeling your chest rise and fall, breaths coming out harshly. your heart twists, chest constricts, and every fibre in your body screams no. you feel the tears coming, your throat closing up with every exhale, choking and suffocating you.

sukuna clamps his hair under his fingers, pulling at them in frustration, "so you're punishing me," he says flatly. he knows you well, knows you're running away from him. it would be easier if you weren't so rash. if the mere sight of his disappointment didn't weigh down on your heart so overwhelmingly. so close to jumping out of this car, fleeing from it all.

"just some time apart for us to figure things out," you explain, "i can't be around you right now," it should be a relief. it's for the best. he'll never truly belong to you, not completely when everyone wants a piece. "don't tell me, she's the one who taught you about love..." you don't know why you hadn't intervened when she held him so closely, berating, judging. like you had no defenses. like it made perfect sense and it was better for you to accept it. it's all you've ever felt from those around you. coward. where's your fight?

at that moment, you turn to look at him to face the truth but the world comes to a halt after seeing pure hurt spill onto his face. the horror of what you've just said, the long road of stagnant cars ahead, and an even colder silence all leading to an imminent end settling in and sitting there in between two broken hearts.

[skywlker-sluvtt]

✊ and 🍷headcanon with anakin?? 💘💝💞

AHHHHHHH!!!! YESSSS!!!! and thank you for the hearts bb

anakin x afab!reader 18+ below the cut nsfw emoji ask game

✊ masturbation headcanon

✧ currently thinking about anakin who once visited a sex shop in the lower levels and purchased a fleshlight for himself. he walked in blushing and trying to hide his face. he wore civvies so no one knew he was a jedi and was quick to find a pocket pussy and buy it without looking the salesperson in the eye.

✧ as soon as he returned to the temple a pit of regret formed in his stomach. where would he hide this? how's he gonna clean it? what if someone finds it? he was close to throwing it away immediately. throwing it in a trash compactor or something.

✧ but the horny fuck just had to try it once. he unboxed it quickly locked his door and sat on his bed. his dick grew in his pants just looking at the silicone blue pussy. imagining how tight it would feel wrapped around his aching cock.

✧ slipping some lube in it he relaxed slightly pushing the toy against his tip and whimpering at the contact. anakin was already leaking precum as he slipped in further. the cold lube made him shiver before the lovely tightness became warm.

✧ he began using it thrusting in and out of it wildly. the smooth ridges inside attacking his cock in the most wonderful way possible. biting down on his pillow he whimpered and whined imagining it was a woman beneath him. he wondered if this was what a woman would feel like. because if it was any better than this he wouldn't last a second.

✧ anakin squeezed it tighter gasping at how good his cock felt inside of it. throbbing like he never had before. within a minute he was cumming deep inside the toy, sweating and groaning like he was possessed. slowly pulling out he looked at the silicone pussy and sighed now feeling fucking embarrassed he just did that.

✧ it's his new favourite thing in the world now tho until he meets you 😏

🍷 tipsy sex headcanon

✧ it isn't often anakin has the chance to get tipsy. drink one too many and feel a bit woozy.

✧ he and the 501st had been thrown a celebration in their honour off planet, for ending the many battles that were destroying the planet. the queen begged them to stay a day longer to celebrate. and how could anakin say no to such a kind gesture? since you were helping him on the mission he bought you as his date.

✧ he had one too many drinks after fives bought him multiple with the goal of getting his general shit-faced. you had to admit you were careful about the amount you were drinking either. it didn't take long till anakin had his arm slung around your shoulders.

✧ he incoherently whispered into your ear, the only words you could make out were "fuck me" and "find a room" you pulled him up and the two of you stumbled into a bathroom.

✧ "did i mention how kriffing pretty you look?" he slurred now only noticing the effects of those drinks fives gave him. "mmm no tell me more" you grinned pulling your panties down for him.

✧ "look better than anyone, even the queen. y'know you should be the queen" he chuckled gripping your hips firmly for some kind of balance. "come on ani! fuck me" you whine impatiently. he's slowly trying to work himself out of his many layers.

✧ when he finally gets it in you two end up fucking like rabbits over the sink. you both try to dirty talk each other just slurring and giggling incoherently. you could swear these were the best orgasms he'd ever given you, but that could've just been the drinks talking.

✧ while he has you up on the bathroom sink he's whining at you to pull his hair. anakin likes the pain a little too much when he's drunk, but who are you to judge. alcohol also makes him last endlessly, so be prepared for at least three loads 🤭

✧ when he's tipsy he was no control over how loud he is btw. fives and jesse were pissing themselves laughing down the hallway when they realised and were definitely going to bring it up the next morning.

[shouldaspunastory]

Thank you @dreadfutures! @dadrunkwriting

Eshalineva Lavellan (past Solavellan, with mild spoilers based upon Dragon Age: The Veilguard Game Informer article, 307 words)

Neva frowns softly, long, delicate fingers reaching out and trailing over the long table to the place where an empty cup, plate and lone set of utensils sit on one end. She shakes her head, but can do nothing to shake the heaviness she feels in her heart, in the pit of her stomach, the ache in her very soul for the self-imposed solitary exisistance which Solas has led since she last saw him. Not for lack of searching, mind you. She's felt his presence time to time, at the edge of her dreams, but he’d long since stopped coming too close, lest she somehow convinces him to give up these destructive plans.

“Ma Vhenan,” Neva whispers softly, violet eyes watering with unshed tears.

Dying alone. That was the engraving upon his stone in the Fade at Adamant. He had known then, probably long before that such would be his fate, must be, and yet… he had let her in. For a time, she had been real, they had been. It had taken some time, finding a way past the anger, confusion, and hurt, but she's sure now his leaving was never about a lack or loss of love for her. Varric wasn't wrong to think that maybe Solas could be talked down, he simply wasn't the right man to try.

Rook, I understand that something in what happened at Arlathan has given you a unique connection to Solas, an ability to reach and communicate with him in a way that I cannot. I wonder whether you could convey a message to him for me. When you see a suitable opportunity, please remind him that wolves are pack animals and mate for life. Tell him I wait for him. Even now. That I will continue to do so, for as long as it takes. Sincerely, Eshalineva Lavellan

[medusapelagia]

15 AU-gust: Ancient History

Rating: Teen and up Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson WT: implied reference to underage WC: 1066

Being a slave it’s never fun, and Decimus knows it too well. As his name easily reveals, Decimus was the tenth son of a poor Roman family and even if he was really good at playing almost any instrument, their parents sold him when he was five years old. Too skinny to help working the land and good-looking enough to be interesting. The first man he was sold to was a kind man, who helped him study music and bought him to have a playmate for his sick daughter. His name was Vergelius, but his daughter called him Wayne, so Decimus started to do the same. He quickly became like a member of the family and Wayne started to tell anyone that he was his nephew. He cared for him till the day he died and then the moneylenders came taking every possession that he had, Decimus included. After that, he was sold to so many people that he lost count. Some of them needed a servant in the house, and others needed a servant in bed, but Decimus was a slave and he had no word about his future. Years have passed and during all this time his body was beaten, fucked, and used as any of his owners deemed appropriate, and now he is working under the Colosseum helping the gladiators get ready.

There is nothing so scareing as being a fucking gladiator, in Decimus’ opinion. These men get into the arena not knowing if they will face another man, or an animal, or who knows what. Still, every day, they train hard. They even joke with each other, not knowing if, in a few hours, they will have to face each other in the arena. They are not exactly slaves, but they really look like slaves to Decimus. There is a gladiator he is particularly fond of. He has big shoulders and thick skin, and even if every part of his body is scarred, looking at him makes something tingle in Decimus’ stomach. He also has a nickname for Decium: Eddie. None else calls him like that, and when the gladiator, Stephanus, calls him like that, it feels like they are sharing a secret. Decimus, who knows the meaning of Stephanus's name, one time teased him about that “You know that it means crowned, right? And you are the fucking king of these gladiators.” he whispered on his skin while applying some oil on his aching muscles. He laughed but said nothing more. Every time Stephanus is in the arena, Decimus' jaw clenches hard until he sees him again, still standing, with blood all over his body. This time the emperor is going to free from any obligation the gladiator who will win every match and gift him with whatever he wants: money, power, glory. It’s a one-man standing. Some of the gladiators refuse to join the games, but Stephanus do not. “Why? Do you want to get killed?” Decimus asks him, while he is helping him get ready for the fight. “I’m not going to die Eddie,” he replies with a smirk. “How do you know that? It’s a last man standing! Everyone who joined is going to try to kill you.” “As they always do.” “This is different Steve!” Steve. That’s the nickname that Eddie has given him in his mind but never really told him. “Steve, uh?” he asks with a grin, then grabs Eddie's hair and drags him closer to his face “It’s going to be ok, Eddie. We are going to make it. And I will finally get you out of this shit hole! Do you trust me?” “I do…” It’s everything he manages to say before Stephanus kisses him on the lips. It’s not a sweet kiss, it’s hard and their teeth bump and still it’s the best kiss ever, but before Eddie can actually kiss him back someone is calling Stephanus's name and he leaves, without turning back.

The hours feel like days and every time the door on the back opens and a bloody corpse is dragged back in, Eddie runs, looking at the bloody mess, searching for brown hair and a birthmark on the shoulder, and when he sees that’s not him he breathes a big breath of relief. One after another, the bodies of the gladiators get dragged back in, leaving in the arena blood trails and the two stronger ones: Stephanus and Bibulus. One of the other slaves sits near him with an evil smile “Billy is going to kill your pretty king.” Bibulus, Billy. “I don’t care what you think of him. He is going to survive.” it doesn’t matter to Decimus if Stephanus is going to win or not, he just wants him to survive. That’s all he is asking for.

The last fight seems to last hours and hours; the crowd screams and yells, and Eddie is still buried deep down the Colosseum, waiting to know what happened to the man he loves. When he hears the door open once more he doesn’t run to see who won, he stays on his straw bed, unable to even look toward the door. “I need a bath. And a massage.” Eddie turns and he sees Steve. He is hurt, and bleeding, but he is alive, so very alive! He runs to him with such force that they both end up on the floor. “You are alive. You are fucking alive.” “I’m alive, Eddie. And I’m free. And you are free too.” Decimus stops and looks at the boy, confused “What did you say?” “You are free. The emperor asked me what I wanted as my prize, and I told him I want you.” “That… that means that you are my owner?” he asks even more confused. “I would like very much to say that you are mine, but I don’t want to own you. I already signed the papers. You are a free man Eddie. You can go wherever you want. Do whatever you want. Love whoever you want.” Steve’s eyes light up for a moment when he says that. “Can I go home to my family?” Stephanus’ smile falters just for a moment “You are free. You can do whatever you want.” he repeats, trying to convince the other man. Eddie hugs him tight “Will you take me home?” Stephanus smiles, toying with Decimus’ hair “Of course, Eddie. Of course.”

Ps Did I make a little reference to one of the fics I’m obsessed with? Yes I did 😀 Did I do any research about gladiators? Nope! Did I do some research to find suitable names for the period? Yes 🙂

[stolencrownsofplenty]

@foxyfrolic : x

They ignore the nausea and skull-shattering headache, they don’t care that exhaustion drags at their limbs like an anchor on a ship as they struggle against their bone deep fatigue. Now that they’re awake and sobered up from the mind-altering effects of whatever mycological nightmare they were given days prior, the only directive on their mind is to get the hell out of here. Their progress is quickly impeded, however, by a pair of hands, and the sight of their owner makes their stomach turn even worse than before. In a rare show of aggression, their snout wrinkles up into a menacing snarl, ears flattening as they let out a low warning growl at the Emperor. They were through playing this game. They intended to walk out of this compound and never come back, never tease or taunt. Their lesson was learned, and they’d had enough of this lesson in humility.

When they speak, their voice is hoarse and weak from their long sleep, but they do summon their strength to sound as firm as possible. It’s a feeble effort, and likely mostly just bark with little bite as they’re obviously not in any condition to fight their way out of a paper bag, let alone against the Emperor. But still, the effort is there. “I’m leaving. Let me get up, or I’ll bite.”

The moment you’d begun to stir from the hazy darkness of your slumber, the woody stinging smell of pepper slithers into your nose with the bitter taste of cinnamon lingering against your tongue.  Through the sharp throbbing nips of your headache weighing heavily on your thoughts, it takes you a moment to take in the sight of the burning incense lazily twirling about you in your corner vision.  Many standing at attention at the edges of your laid out leafy bedding, the burning sticks being nothing more than lazy witnesses upon standing guard over your sickly form as the shape of the Lamb had been knelt down more centralized at your side.  Although with your vision being limited with focusing more on your looming owner, it would appear you had been resting within the crunchy bedding of the cult’s bushy medical bay; which had looked more like a large bush made of leaves and sticks weaved together as a hastily glued DIY tent with a white medic’s flag stabbed into its very top.   Whilst ignoring the low hanging beads that practically tickled against the puffy furs of your back, the Emperor barely acknowledges your quite insulting snarls as they looked down upon your sorry state with that familiarly irritating smile of theirs.

“Now, now–” you could feel them barely tugging at the back loops of your dumb collar (they had put on you without your say) between their ringed hoof fingers–, “is there any reason to be so hasty when we’re trying to help treat the aches of your head at your request, little fox?  Those menticide mushrooms you ate with the rest of your brethren were a bit strong on your stomach, if your memory has yet to serve you right.”  With the gentle tilt of their head, as the soft chime of their golden chains that hung from their horns moved with them, they cupped their free hand around the bottom of your jaws.  Their palms feeling warm against your chin as they promptly tilted your face to the side with a long squint of their mortal eye gazing upon your flamingo colored features.  The only thing cold about their presence that had seemed to fill you with dread would’ve been the icy stare of their dark crowns, the many colorful eyes of their omnipotent stare remain keen upon taking in your small stature with their unblinking fixation.  To think such lands you found yourself trapped upon would fear the idle fluff of this sheep’s word, to bear the punishment you had stolen from such an unnamed entity?  Who would’ve thought they wore their smile so gently, only to hold your chin in their palm just as tactfully tender?

They brush their thumb against your nose, dusting off a leaf that had stuck itself to the end of your wet pink nose.  “We’d be remiss with grief if we’d let you go out there feeble like this.  Do you not feel how your eyes burn with the dull redness we’re seeing right now?”  They allow themselves that moment to present their companion an unamused frown.  “You’ll need more than proper rest to fight this nature’s sickness off.”

[4lexnilsen]

“how is any of this real?   how do i know this isn’t just a dream?”   thinking out loud,  sheer wonderment written across his features because it all feels so…   perfect.   too good to be true.   still,  his smile only continues to grow every time there’s a little movement beneath his palm.   a flutter or a kick.   it’s such a magical feeling.   how could he ever get enough of it?   “she must be happy to finally meet me.   she’s moving around so much,  dancing in there.”   a laugh escapes him,  but his eyes refuse to dry.   it’s one of the most beautiful moments of his life.   he simply can’t keep his emotions at bay.   “does it hurt when she does that,  though?”   he asks,  a hint of concern lacing his voice as eyes study abilene’s.

“twenty eight?   where has the time gone,  right?”   it feels like just yesterday they were teasing each other before the chariot parade,  poking fun at their pathetic fates,  and sneaking into each other’s quarters to pretend it wasn’t the beginning of the end.   twenty eight weeks.   looking down between their bodies,  he studies the swell of her stomach.   a look of concern eventually overtakes his features,  his hand absently caressing abilene’s olive skin.   god,  she really is small.   he’s not questioning her loyalty,  never would,  but he does worry that she’s only so little because of what they’ve been through.   all the stress and lack of proper nourishment during the games…   “are you sure she’s okay?   are you okay?”   pregnancy isn’t a walk in the park.   growing a new life must be exhausting and abilene hasn’t caught a break in months,  between worrying about him and their future,  taking care of david and the rebellion…   it’s the tap dancing comment that has him laughing involuntarily again.   “oh,  so she’s got a sense of humor,  our tiny dancer,”   he muses,  shaking his head.   “you need to let mommy get some rest,  okay?   let’s practice tap dancing within the standard business hours,  hm?   how about that?”   finger gently tapping abi’s belly,  finding the mere sight of it so captivating and fascinating.   

his expression turns serious again,  heart aching at the soft sniffles that escape the other.   he kisses her forehead,  the spot between her brows,  the tip of her nose,  and finally…   her lips.   it may be nothing but a sweet,  tender peck but it’s filled with an immeasurable amount of affection and devotion.   “you don’t have to be happy all the time,  baby.   just remember i’m always here for you.   you can come and talk to me about anything.   whatever’s bothering you,  you tell me,  okay?”   he softly murmurs,  understanding that she’s going through something very difficult and confusing emotions must be an inseparable part of the beautiful yet terrifying journey,  especially given the circumstances.   “i love you so much.   both of you.   whatever life throws at us,  we’ll get through it.   you’ll never be alone again,  i swear it.”   he can’t help but laugh at the way abi says their baby will need to work on her timing in the future,  his hands moving to rest on her hips.   “yeah,  the timing isn’t ideal,  but hey…   at least,  there’s actual doctors here.   back in twelve,  we barely had midwives.”   he doesn’t want to think about what happened to his mother,  how having access to proper resources could have saved her life,  but his mind goes there anyway.

“oh,  please…”   he chuckles again,  trying to distract his racing mind but with little success.   “that’s my little princess.   i’ll always give her my pudding.   the last slice of chocolate cake,  too.   anything she wants.   anything you want,  abi.”   beaming when she kisses his cheek,  fingers tucking her hair behind her ears,  stroking her dark curls.   god,  he can’t stop touching her.   “we should.   it’s not like we have a lot of time left.   it’ll go by so fast…   any names you particularly like?”   he wonders,  his heart beating so erratically.   a bird trapped in a cage.   “and david…   oh,  david will be over the moon!”   uncle.   alex smiles at the word,  knowing how serious his little brother will be about this new role.   “but promise me something,  abilene?   you can’t leave me,  okay?   promise you won’t leave me.”   it’s childish and unfair to expect such promises,  but he can still see his mother,  so pale and covered in sweat,  the smell of blood and death hanging in the air,  and he can’t have the same thing happen to his wife.

alex was always kind and gentle with abilene . he never took , never pressed . his blue eyes looked at her swollen belly in complete awe and suddenly abilene felt stupid for keeping it a secret for so long . she felt stupid for being so scared to tell him , so scared that this would make her lose him . abilene reached for one of his hands and moved it across her skin a bit lower where she most often felt the baby stretch or kick , and like clockwork there was another movement beneath his palm .

❛ twenty eight weeks , i think . ❜ abilene spoke quietly , her heart swelling until it was pressing against the bones of her ribcage . ❛ she's little . ❜ but there's been no one else but you , so it has to be that long , sat on her tongue , but abilene bit the comment back and painted a smile on her face . ❛ she's excited , she usually saves the tap dancing for my bladder at night . ❜ a short laugh left her lips before her eyes were looking back up at his bashfully .

happy or sad ? ❛ i'm not sure , ❜ abilene sniffled and nuzzled her cheek into alex's hand . a light flush of pink spread across her cheeks when he kissed them like a reflex . he always made her feel special , made her feel loved . ❛ happy now . ❜ she decided . she hadn't really given much thought to how she felt about this . . .

she was anxious , and in the beginning she had been sad thinking about the baby never knowing alex . she had been worried one night and then this odd sense of calm would wash over her and she'd be thinking about how even if alex was dead a piece of him , of them , would live on in the world . then alex was alive , and alex was saved , and he was so very weak but he was there . she sniffled again and opened her eyes to meet alex's . ❛ i'm happy . ❜ she settled on . ❛ though she'll need to work on her timing in the future . ❜ she hoped that her joke would bring out his laugh , the laugh that she loved to dearly , and abilene let out a breath . ❛ i feel a little less alone , now . ❜

abilene laughed , a giggle fluttering from her lips as alex insisted on sharing his pudding . that surely meant that he loved her and he loved their child , because abilene knew how much he coveted his sweets . she kissed his palm when his hands pulled away from her face . ❛ he doesn't just give his pudding away to anyone now , ❜ she spoke to her bump , ❛ so don't go expecting more . ❜ when abilene looked back up his eyes were filling with tears . she didn't have a preference for a boy or a girl , but seeing how his eyes and his face lit up at the thought of having a girl warmed her heart .

❛ the last time i went they kept saying she . . . but i didn't ask . ❜ abilene stretched onto the tips of her toes to press a kiss to alex's cheek , her heart felt like it was swelling to such a large size she wondered if it would burst . ❛ we should come up with a list . both girl names and boys . . . and tell david he's going to be a little uncle soon . ❜

[brooklynislandgirl]

💋 { from music!ben with spiced liquor on his breath, catching Beth’s lip in his teeth, smudging her lipstick. second time they’ve met, first kiss. why yes, he IS incredibly lucky. (doesn’t have to be *canon*) }

Tabhair póg dom, is Éireannach mé || -

The second Beth sees her charge nurse she gets a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. For two days now it's been nothing but banana bags, stitches, and green pee that terrifies people who don't understand the concept of food dye and their uric output. She's already two hours over a regular two hour shift and the odds of getting out any time soon diminished as soon as Caroline glared at her. "Riley." Every instinct Beth has tells her to snap to attention, and assume parade-rest. Whenever the Admiral uses that tone she knows hell is about to open a pit beneath her to swallow her whole but she almost salutes, every. single. time. "Caroline?" The fun game everyone can play. "This complete waste has run us ragged and is demanding to leave AMA. So I want you to take him the papers, help him sign them, remove the IV and make himself someone else's problem before I put him in the morgue myself." Ah, that. Because of course she would be given the order. The floor doesn't call her the Drunk Whisperer for no reason. She's on her fourth set of scrubs tonight, her second sweater, and she'd had to trade her sneakers for her purple, glittery crocks. Mercifully her black knee high compression socks with the shamrocks have survived the various body fluids she's been soaked in, and thankfully she's been able to shower. Not that she needs to look like a runway model for a surly patient but even Beth has some standards. Tiredly, she nods. Papers attached to the clipboard, gloves in her pocket, she marches solemnly to the doom waiting for her in Curtain Three. Despite the dull ache in the small of her back, despite the exhaustion that's depleted her of nearly every mental resource she possesses, Beth takes a moment. A breath for zen she doesn't really feel, a wan smile plastered on softly painted lips and she's ready to make nice with Doe, John- age 3-?, Complaint: dislocated nose, lip laceration {L-tubercles/vermilion zone} periorbital haematoma, BAC-11.5. Mr Dazed, Depressed, and probably really going to regret it in the morning.

Beautiful.

Perfect. "Knock-knock," she says before pulling the curtain back only far enough that she doesn't get tangled in it, just in case this has become a clothing optional situation. "I'm not drunk, Beth." She stills before she can even look up. When she's at work Beth has to wear the tiny little hybrid Cochlear implants as an imperative. She doesn't like them but it does give her a better chance at catching things that might otherwise make her a danger to her patients. Even without them the depth, the timbre, the way his voice slides down every single nerve in her body like black honey encasing her in a peculiar warmth is unmistakable. Ben. She lifts her gaze only to crash into his; the lighting in the room casts them like carved obsidian at least until he looks away. She immediately softens though and puts the clip board on the bed as she tempts fate and steps into his personal space. The backs of her knuckles brush against the razor's edge of his jaw. "What happened?" "Drinking beer. Started a fight. Drank with the guy I got into the fight with." She can't tell if it's a joke or not, the dirge he speaks gives no room for imagination. "They did tell me we had a bad bunny up in here. One who's refusing treatment, which is why they asked me to come." She can't tell if they've reduced the dislocation. Ben's face reminds her of Picasso's self portraits which he'd likely take as an insult but she thinks…she thinks he's beautiful. Unique in the way worshippers of plastic surgery can never attain. The fullness of his lips…that lower one in particular…she can see the deep split. It's going to sting for days and with or without a couple of stitches, it's going to swell. She's a hundred percent sure that his own teeth did the damage. Teeth she'd never even in confession admit to having dreams about. Her hand pets him again, inching toward the slip. "Tell you what I can do. You really don't need all that much work. It's fairly minor and…" She slips on her gloves and carefully opens his mouth. None of his teeth are shattered which means she doesn't have to go fishing for fragments in the cut. It also means she doesn't have to become the living embodiment of the Atlas of Emergency Medicine, and use clinical terms to describe the injury. "I can give you a nerve block and we'll wash it out. If you absolutely don't want me to suture it, I can give you some ointment and some butterfly bandages that you can use at home, but those might leave a scar. As to whether you're drunk or not… you can trust me to take you home safe and sound. How's that sound?" His hands reach out for her. Settle on each indent just above her hips and she will swear on everything good, green, and holy that the tip of his middle finger intentionally ghosts over the three studs hidden beneath her scrubs. The sensation sends a correlating flutter through the same region of anatomy. Beth's never been frightened or disturbed by the smell or sight of blood. Now she can add taste to that list because before she sees it coming, he pulls her in, toward him. Tilts his head just so and with a strangely slow certainty he's kissing her. Her own lips part without any agreement with her brain and his breath ~top-shelf whisky sours rather than beer~ heralds the intent to deepen it. His tongue is heavy. It's nervous in a way she can't imagine Ben ever being. It feels like it should be too big for the space he's invading and she finds herself leaning into his chest. Answering the curiosity dancing on the edge of her thoughts for weeks now. Nitrile-coated fingers slide up into the back of his neck, taking a full if small handful of his hair in her grasp. She hates the fact that she can't quite feel the strands. She hates that she's allowing herself to be so completely unprofessional that she'd fire herself on the spot. But what really she really hates is the fact that she doesn't care, that she isn't not just stopping herself and him, but the fact that she might just have moaned into him, like something out of the movies.

[katelynnwrites]

pairing: Jessie Fleming x f!Reader

warnings: significant injury and mentions of blood

word count: 2178

summary: everything’s changing but you should have trusted and known that you would be safe with jessie. she’d break down all your walls and make a home in your heart

a/n: this one is heavy on the feels, i wrote it and then realised taylor swift’s song, everything has changed fits nicely with it

Everything Has Changed

And your eyes look like comin’ home, all I know is a simple name. Everything has changed.

‘Hey. Can we talk?’ Jessie asks anxiously.

You blink, ���Should I be worried?’

‘No. It’s nothing bad just-’ The small Canadian tugs you into your shared bedroom, waiting until you’re both settled down, sitting cross legged across each other.

She doesn’t let go of your hand, biting her lip hard before asking, ‘Do you ever think about getting married?’

You inhale sharply and Jessie feels her stomach drop.

‘Would you want to get married?’ She whispers, heart cracking when you let go of her hand.

‘I-’

Running your hand through your hair, you sigh.

‘I don’t know Jessie. We’re still young and I love you, I really do but I-’

Your girlfriend swallows hard, trying her best not to show how disappointed she was.

‘It’s okay. I can wait.’

Her words were soft but you can see how much your answer hurt her, even though she tried to hide it.

******

She asks again, a month later but the hesitation in your gaze nearly kills her.

‘Look, we don’t have to get married now or even next year just please think about it.’ Jessie says.

‘Jess I swear I have. I love you more than anything and I can’t give you an answer right now but just know that the problem isn’t with you, it’s with me.’ You tell her, guilt weighing on you.

You would do anything to make your girlfriend happy but you just couldn’t give her what she wanted.

The Chelsea midfielder’s usually bright brown eyes dim but she gives you a tiny smile, all that she could manage at that moment.

‘Okay.’

******

She continues trying, every few months, only to receive an answer she didn’t want. Every two months or so she asks if you had given it more thought.

You had been together for five years and had known each other for seven years. After graduating from UCLA together, you had both signed for Chelsea, making the move from California to London.

You knew she loved you and you loved her with everything you had but you still couldn’t say yes.

Jessie never pushed you, just gently asked if you’d please consider it.

Eventually it becomes less frequent, four months passing before she asks again, a slight pleading edge to her voice.

When she sees the way your body tenses up at her words, she starts to leave the room, barely able to stop the tears from falling.

‘Jessie…’ You reach out to touch her hand in apology but she pulls it back, shaking her head.

‘Please don’t. I respect your answer but I need some time to be alone.’ Your girlfriend whispers shakily and your heart aches as you let her go.

******

It nearly crushed you to give her so much sadness and you thought about her question all the time. You loved her. you really did, more than anyone and anything you’d ever loved before but you had seen the way your parents’ marriage dissolved, seen the way they had taken their unhappiness out on each other and on you. It terrified you that one day you’d end up like them, bitter at each other and the world.

It had been slightly past a year since Jessie had first asked you that oh so important question when you walk out onto the pitch for a game. It was just a pre-season friendly, no pressure at all but it ends awfully.

The other team was three goals down in the seventy eighth minute as both teams line up for a corner in Chelsea’s favour. You see the ball curve towards the goal and everyone jumps up.

There’s a loud yell and a sickening crack as a player collides with another before there’s another louder noise as the first player’s head hits the side of the goal as she goes down.

The player that goes down is Jessie. Your Jessie.

All hell breaks loose the second after, you falling onto your knees beside the small Canadian and frantically trying to stop the bleeding. Magda’s screaming for the medics, several other players in tears at the horrific sight.

******

Jessie is injured badly, the head injury had knocked her unconscious immediately and it bled so much that you had actually wondered if she was going to make it.

At her hospital bed, you hold her hand tightly. You don’t quite remember how you got there, it was a blur, the way you had run off the pitch and followed Jessie into the ambulance. All you could recall was waiting absolutely petrified, while the doctors took her away to be looked over.

‘Please wake up Jess. Please.’ You beg. Your club teammates were in the waiting room outside, wanting to give the two of you some privacy.

******

It’s been hours but you couldn’t sleep, the terrible scene playing over and over every time you close your eyes.

Running your thumb over her knuckles, you kiss them gently.

Resting your head on the edge of her bed, you can’t stop the tears from finally falling.

The Canadian looked even smaller than she usually did, her head wrapped up and her face pale. There were no traces of her trademark blush and that unsettled you far more than you could care to admit.

You’re so focused on the fact that you almost miss her fingers twitch.

‘Jess?’ You breathe hoping that you weren’t imagining it.

Your girlfriend groans weakly and you exhale in relief when her eyes finally flutter open.

‘Oh thank god Jessie.’

Leaning over, you kiss her so gently, with infinite care, crying softly while she insists that she’s okay.

Pulling back, you squeeze her hand tightly as she brings her free hand up to touch the bandage covering most of her head.

She had a deep gash that had to be stitched up and a skull fracture that the doctors had reassured you would heal in time. Jessie had been administered a lot of painkillers and you were certain she would be on them for a while.

‘Are you in pain? Do I need to call the doctor?’ You worriedly ask.

The Canadian slowly shakes her head, bits and pieces fitting together as she realises where she is and what happened.

‘No. I’m alright really.’ She assures you.

Seeing the way you didn’t relax, she smiles at you.

‘I’m fine love, I have you and that’s all I need.’

Your heart stops for a second, emotion choking you. It’s overwhelming and it hits you so hard it practically knocks all the air out of you.

‘Jessie?’

‘What is it?’ The midfielder hums, eyes never leaving you.

‘Will you marry me?’

She freezes.

‘I'm going to need you to say that again.’ She breathes.

‘Will you marry me? Because I don't want to live in a world without you. I don't want to go a day without you by my side. You Jessie Alexandra Fleming are everything to me. I love you so much and I'll never stop. So will you please marry me and never leave me?’

The words fall out of your mouth and you’ve never meant anything more.

‘Yes. Yes of course I will.’ Jessie's sobbing so hard but she’s never been happier. She grips your hand like it’s her lifeline, willing it not to be a dream. She didn’t think she could handle waking up if it was.

Pressing up against the hospital bed, you hold her as close as you could and eventually she sniffles, ‘What changed your mind?’

‘You.’

Your reply is simple, because that’s all it was. Her. She was a far better person than either of your parents and you knew that she would never treat you the way they did. Jessie cared deeply for you, in a way your parents had never done.

She loved you, you saw it everyday and that steadfast love made all your fears, anxieties and worries melt away. You’d never thought marriage was something you would want until you met her.

‘I've always loved you Jessie. You know that. When you first asked me if I wanted to marry you I wanted to say yes. I really did but I couldn't because I kept thinking about my parents and how getting married only ended with them hating each other. I couldn't bear that ever happening to us so I thought if I said no we’d be okay. I saw how much that hurt you but I thought that was better than us ending badly.’

You swallow hard, carefully touching the bandage on her head.

‘But then you got hurt. And I have never been more terrified in my life. You were just lying there and there was blood everywhere and then it honestly seemed like I was going to have to live without you. From the first time we met, I knew I never wanted you to leave my life but I never really realised it until you weren’t moving. You were so still it looked like you were dead Jess.’

You were crying again just thinking about it and Jessie tightens her hold on your hand, giving you the courage to go on.

Taking a deep breath, you continue, ‘Then it all seemed so silly. Everything I thought about before didn’t matter because nothing matters without you. You couldn’t be more different than my parents and I'm sorry it took me so long to understand that you will never hurt me.’

Jessie lets out a small sob, covering her mouth as you take in another deep breath.

‘We’ve been so happy together, all my favourite memories either start or end with you. Being with you has been the best time of my life and I've always been at my happiest with you. I'd like to think I do the same for you.’

‘You do. Everyday I thank my lucky stars for bringing me you.’ She whispers.

‘That’s why I want to marry you Jess. You bring out the best of me and make me constantly strive to be the best version of myself for you. You make life worth living and I can’t imagine living my life without you, I swear I’ll never hurt you again, not the way I’ve done. Jessie, I promise I’ll always put you first and do my best to make you happy.’

‘I'm also sorry I don't have a ring because I didn't plan this at all.’ You laugh a little at the last part and Jessie giggles.

‘Don’t worry about it. I was never big on jewellery anyway.’

Your girlfriend, now fiancee rests her palm over your heart, feeling the steady calming beats while you look at her, finally feeling like you could breathe again.

How had you gotten so lucky with her? What had you done to deserve her?

The small Canadian girl grins, tilting her head up to look at you. It makes your heart lighten and you teasingly say, ‘So it's fine if we don’t get rings?’

Jessie frowns immediately.

‘No. I want to show everyone that you’re mine and I'm yours.’

You giggle and nudge her, ‘Okay Jessie.’

All I know is you held the door. You’ll be mine and I’ll be yours.

The both of you stay silent for a while, taking the moment in and simply enjoying each other’s presence until you break it.

‘I hope you know that it wasn’t easy to keep saying no to you.’

The last thing you wanted her to think was that you didn’t care about the emotional toll it took on her to keep hearing an answer she didn’t like. She had tried to hide it but you had noticed the way it had weighed on her.

‘Of course not, you love me.’ Jessie cheekily says.

You huff a laugh.

‘So much but I don't want you to think I easily said no each time because I thought about it every day. From the very first day you asked me to think about it, it was on my mind all of the time.’

Jessie squeezes your hand in understanding.

‘I believe you.’ she quietly says.

Then she laughs happily, ‘We’re going to get married.’

‘Yes Jessie. We are.’

Kissing the top of her head gently, you touch her ring finger. The finger you had every intention of putting a ring on.

‘Might need you to remind me of that every now and then.’

Her words are light and teasing but it’s tinged with awe. She couldn’t quite believe that she was going to get to marry you, the love of her life.

‘I'll remind you every day if you want Jess.’

You kiss her behind her ear and she laughs again, a bright joyful sound.

‘Well not every day but every now and then will be nice.’

‘That can definitely be arranged.’ You murmur, kissing her once more, this time on her lips.

And all my walls stood tall, painted blue but I’ll take ‘em down, take ‘em down and open up the door for you.

[chiwhorei]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝)

𝐚𝐤𝐚: 𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐑𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬!!

pairing: t. amajiki x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ mdni

word count: ~1.3k

tags: pervy!tamaki, mean!tamaki, dubcon, degradation, voyeurism, masturbation, tentacles in all of readers holes, dacryphilia, choking

a/n: this is my very late contribution to the whorehouse porn compilation, the rest of this questionable browser history can be found here! strap in because this might be the grossest shit i’ve written so far. no plot, porn is the point here friends.

(cross posted to Ao3!)

hymn: gooey by the glass animals

The first time was an accident, genuinely.

He meant to text you he would be home early, ever the courteous roommate, but it truly just slipped his mind. Surprise would be an understatement when he swings the front door open to the high pitched whines coming from your bedroom.

Curiosity piquing, Tamaki lines his shoes up by the door and follows the noise. He can see the outline of light seeping through your open door and hears another round of cries. 

“Hey, are you ok--” His words flop lifelessly on the floor in front of him. Oh.

Oh.

His eyes trail up from the end of your bed. The open laptop propped in between your legs, the bottle of lube sitting next to your knee, your bare thighs and--

“Do you like what you see, Suneater?”

Tamaki flushes, heat starting at the bridge of his nose and spreading across every inch of skin. He should really say something, or better yet, close your fucking door and do the rest of his processing on the other side. 

He can’t seem to do anything but stand and stare at the dripping wet toy still being pumping in and out of your cunt. It seems to have completely hypnotized him, watching the way the silicone disappears in between your slick folds, he swears he can see the quiver.

“What do you think about my toy?” Purple and oblong, you pull it all the way out. Tamaki’s stare burns right into the suction cup ridges and slim, curved tip. You drag it in a wet line up your skin, meeting your lips with a pout. 

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

* * *

First time, shame on you.

That’s what they say, but Tamaki finds himself pressing against your doorframe and peering into your room for the 3rd time this week. His feet pull him here like a nasty habit, the crack in your door is far too welcoming. 

You left it open just for him.

Tamaki’s ears twitch, forehead tacky with sweat as he presses against the frame. Every time he finds himself in this very same position, shame trickles down his spine like poison.

Every inch of your skin is exposed to his stare. Looking upon you is invasive and slimy and wrong but fuck, with every movement of your toy, pumping in tandem with the hand around his painfully hard cock, the more each stolen glance feels intravenous. Tamaki is addicted. 

All he wants to do is touch you. Wrap you in his hold and explore every inch. He wants to know what your skin feels like. 

What does your hair smell like up close? He’s only ever been privy to the occasional carryover of strawberry as you walk by him in the kitchen. How do your moans feel vibrating just above his mouth? Would you cry out for him to stop or to keep going?

He’s never stepped closer than the line between carpet and hardwood, but that's really only a technicality. 

You feel it, foreign but unmistakable. The touch of something crawling up your leg, soft and sticky. It wraps around your leg, crawling upwards in salacious vines. Your voice rings in Tamaki’s ears. He repeats every syllable like prayer, his invitation.

“I picked this one out with you in mind.”

There’s no movement to stop him, you don’t scream or tell him to fuck off. Your body seems to welcome him, back arching as five quirked fingers wrap around your arms and hips. The popping of suction cups trail from your belly button, dragging against your breasts before you feel pressure at your neck. Your skin will be covered in round bruises in the morning. The kindling in Tamaki’s stomach feels more like a wildfire, shy demeanor melting away. The man in front of you isn’t going to waste any more time hesitating.  

“You’re such a little tease. You like fucking with me don’t you, princess?” Tamaki’s question is sneering, his tone cold and unfamiliar.

The tentacle wrapping around your neck squeezes tight enough to make you gasp, he doesn’t waste the opportunity.

He doesn’t really want you to answer him.

As soon as your lips part, your mouth is invaded. The tendril reaches all the way to the back of your throat before it lets up, your jaw already hurting at the stretch. Your vision blurs, the taste of briny-sweet flesh mixes with the salty tears running down your face.

You’re given only a moment to sputter, catching your breath before it’s taken away again, the squeals and cries bubbling in your throat are wasted energy.

“Always leaving your door open, teasing me. I’m not playing your games anymore.” Tamaki’s voice is unwavering, he’s serious.

You wail around the rubbery texture as another tentacle wraps around your breasts, suctioning on the sensitive peaks of your nipples. Tamaki moves closer with each sound he can pull from you, finally breaching the last shreds of privacy and shuffling across the carpet. All five fingers on his right hand are busy probing parts of your pliant body and restraining others. Through the haze you can’t deny how dexterous he is while making a mess of you. 

It would be impressive if you could think straight.

Each arm and leg is caught in the reddish-purple web, writhing against his hold only makes Tamaki’s grip tighter.

“I could do anything to this sweet little body, what could you do to stop me?” His words should scare you, but only one thing runs through your foggy head. 

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

If you could, the scream pressed against your makeshift gag would definitely alert your neighbors to the depravity just a wall away. You feel attention turning to the toy still plugging your weeping hole, a tentacle wrapping around the base and pulling it free with a squelch. From the corner of your eye, you catch the shiny plastic as it’s thrown to the other side of the room, hitting your wall with a hollow thud.

The tip of one tentacle prods at your clit for good measure before poking inside. Fear runs through your blood, cooling when mixed with overwhelming pleasure. Tamaki can reach places you’ve never felt before.

“So tight, so fucking warm.” Tamaki can feel you with each clench of your pussy, sliding in until he can feel tight band of your cervix. He could ruin you if he wanted, he ventures to guess you would let him.

You’re crying in long, fat streaks around the apples of your cheeks. With the help of another set of weaponized fingers, your legs are spread further and pushed to your chest. Tamaki’s cock aches, now ignored in favor of manipulating your body into a new angle so your ass is propped up. Muscles tense as he swipes the tip of his tentacle to trace around your rigid ring of muscle.

“I’ll take every one of these slutty little holes. You’ll feel me on your skin for days.” He promises you, pushing past your resistant muscles, they’re no match.

Your head is swimming now, logic is replaced with the feeling of being so full.

Stimulation assaults your senses from every direction, Tamaki fucking into your body with fatal rhythm. Going farther, deeper, harder. All you’re left with is shaking limbs and muted whines.

It hurts, it feels so good. It’s so disgusting but so hot. You’re meek, bushy roommate has made you little more than a fucktoy with what seems like minimal effort. You’re hurdled to a sloppy wet orgasm faster than ever before. 

Tamaki can tell that you’re close, studying the way your eyes screw up and brows furrow before falling over the edge for weeks from the comfort of your door jam. The consuming bliss overtakes your body, every muscle tensing, shaking from exhaustion as the cord pulls tight and snaps with fury. If you could, you would scream out the name of your captor, all you can manage a garbled sound from deep in your chest.

The next few moments find you in pieces. The feeling of emptiness knocks at your hypersensitive body as you’re flipped to balance weakly on your hands in knees. You’re not left alone for long, Tamaki’s just getting started.

He’s never been one to play with his food, but you’re just too tasty.

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[vitaegratis]

creelsclocks​:

This all feels terribly familiar in a fashion that he isn’t at all fond of. He remembers that conversation he and Nancy had on the roof that late July night. She’d expressed such guilt for things outside of her control that it had made his innards ache— not just his heart, but his lungs and stomach too, the organs heaving and twisting as if they were trying to prompt him to throw them up. To this day, he doesn’t think he was able to get through to her fully. Perhaps enough to distract her from the thoughts for a night or two, but never enough to dispel them completely.

          But you did save me. In the most important way a human can save another.

   ❝ Ed. ❞

It’s both stern and gentle, his knife stilling before he puts down his work altogether. This is more important, and he doesn’t want Eddie to feel as if he’s focused on anything but him. If there was ever a time to give his undivided attention, it was probably now.

   ❝ It’s all about equity in this particular scenario. It can’t be an equality game, because you can’t do the things that I can. Instead, we have to measure intention. I might fight ‘bad guys’, but you shelter me. You give me companionship, and you make sure I don’t go down a dark path. You don’t turn away from me, even when I’m hard to love. These are the things that I need. Do you really think that I’d be the person I am today if I hadn’t run into you and Wayne? ❞

He thinks about it sometimes — the monster he sees himself as in some of his dreams. Nightmares, really. Retellings of his terrible youth, ones in which he never crossed paths with those boys in the woods. He’d wind up consumed by rage, and ultimately bound to a dimension he doesn’t recognise as his own, teeming with hate and wretched intent. Rotting away in a decaying plane that serves only as a cell, festering like an angry, infectious wound below Hawkins’ surface.

   ❝ Make no mistake, the things I have earned in this life are not my weaknesses. They are my strengths. I understand the risk involved with relationships, with a satisfying career, and they make me sharper. Less willing to give them up. You embolden me. It’s like… I’m being charged, like a battery, when I need some extra power and I think of you. You have already given me such priceless things– love, and hope. Can you believe that? Henry Creel has hope now. Absurd. But true. So don’t question your place in my life, alright? You saved me already. ❞

He knows they’re not weaknesses, and he’s thankful that Henry does as well - that he isn’t doing that cliche hero trope of isolating himself ad pushing his loved ones away ‘for their own good’. The support system does help, he knows - he hadn’t meant to downplay it, all they had done for him… did for him. It was just…

Ok, yeah, he’d need that in the days ahead. He’d always need it - but Henry was right. Eddie couldn’t do what he could do - but that didn’t mean there weren’t those that were just as powerful. If not more so. El had the potential, right? She was an ally, family. He wasn’t concerned about her, there was no jealousy or resentment - but it should have been a comforting notion, that Henry wasn’t as alone as he may have once thought. Everything with the Mind Flayer though, the fact that it was…

Nope. No point in spiraling, pondering the worst possible scenarios. It’d only make himself more anxious, and Henry more concerned. “I never thought I’d miss the demogorgon. I’d have complete faith you could handle that, and… it’s not that I don’t have faith in you now. It’s just… don’t get cocky, alright? You’ve always been the measured one, cautious. No matter what happens, promise me that won’t change. That you won’t change. Cause I may not always be here, and like…”

No no no, that was an entirely different conversation - and Eddie knew what would happen if something ever happened - if Nancy, or him, or Wayne ever got caught in the crossfire. All Henry’s composure would go out the window, and… he was a good guy, because he chose to be, but would be able to stop himself? Would he want to? Yeah, they could save that talk for another time.

“…I just need you to be ok, ok?”

[separatist-apologist]

End Game

I wanna be your first string

Summary: Lucien Vanserra has been in love with Elain Archeron for as long as he's known her. With time ticking down before her inevitable engagement to Graysen, Lucien only has one goal: convince her to be his

Note: You asked for We Never Go Out Of Style Elucien, so here you go. Thanks to @lucienvxnserra for the idea about the movie theater.

Read on AO3

It was slow motion, waiting to see if the ball was going to sneak past the goalie. Lucien couldn’t hear the roar of the crowd or even the beat of his own heart. Sweat dripped down his face, lungs aching. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—

The goalie went left, tricked by the way he’d positioned his body. The ball went right. The world returned with the sound of a buzzer and the screaming of his teammates. Five bodies slammed into his own, nearly dragging him to the ground. Lucien was grinning, trapped among sweaty red jersey that reeked of exertion. He’d won on the penalty shoot-out, all but assuring their position in the playoffs, and more importantly, made him look really fucking good in front of those Premire and MLS scouts. 

He turned, scanning the crowd for the only face he wanted to see. There, halfway up and wrapped in a red and gold scarf, was Elain Archeron. She was grinning, waving a little flag beside blonde Arina. He exhaled a breath, relieved she’d seen it, too. Elain was hardly a soccer fan but she was his friend, and on occasion, she’d come and watch him play.

Lucien jogged over to them, still wearing his cleats, when the game was officially over and his team was done slapping his ass. Elain had a jacket wrapped around her body, a smile on her face…and Graysen’s promise ring on her middle finger. Any day now, Graysen Nolan was going to replace it with an actual diamond and it was going to be all over for Lucien. 

“Nice game,” Arina praised, wearing a whole ass blanket to ward off the autumn chill. 

“You did so well,” Elain added, eyes sparkling. Lucien wanted to be like Jurian just off to the side, making out with his girlfriend enthusiastically. Instead he was standing in front of Elain Archeron, well aware he had no claim to her. 

“Thanks girls,” he replied smoothly, hand on his taut stomach in an attempt to control his breathing. Elain was looking at it, likely with distaste given how disgusting he was. He needed to shower if he was going to stand before her, hopeful and foolish as he was.

“Want to get dinner?” Elain asked, eyes finding his face again. She’d glanced down at his shins, cut up and bruised from being kicked all night. Lucien really wanted an ice bath and to swallow an entire bottle of ibuprofen. If Elain was offering to spend more time with him, though…

“You two go,” Arina, the goddess, said breezily as she looked down at her phone. “I’ve got an exam at seven am so it’s way past my bedtime.”

“You sure?” Lucien asked her, just so he didn’t seem too obvious and desperate. “Dinners on me.”

She hesitated. “Tempting, but I shouldn’t. Seriously, go without me this time.”

Elain didn’t back out, looking up at him with expectant eyes. “Want to go now?” she asked.

“I ah…I should probably shower—”

“Oh—”

“But we can go now,” he amended hastily. “Just let me change my shoes.”

Lucien almost tripped over his own feet, embarrassing for an athlete hoping to play professionally and yet Elain still had the same effect on him she did when she’d walked into algebra back in high school. He’d never gotten a chance—Graysen Nolan scooped her up on day two while Lucien was trying to figure out what to say to her and hadn’t relinquished his hold.

Lucien couldn’t blame him for that. He wouldn’t have, either. They’d broken up briefly twice, and both times Lucien thought it made him a bastard to try and slide in and immediately take advantage of her. What kind of friend was he?

And that was half the problem. Lucien would take whatever she was offering, and if all Elain ever wanted was friendship, Lucien wanted to be her friend. Friends cared about each other and he loved her. Loved her so stupidly that when Graysen was making her happy, it made him happy. And miserable. And then happy again. 

Elain was still waiting in her thin jacket. Lucien draped his own much warmer, much thicker one over her shoulders before falling into step with her. She slid her arms through the sleeves immediately, turning her face to breathe into his collar. 

“Does it smell like sweat?” he asked, catching how she flushed.

“Nope. You do, though.”

“I tried to shower,” he reminded her, walking beneath the harsh stadium lights for the exit. There was diner just off campus, an easy walk despite Lucien’s aching legs. 

“I like you better this way,” Elain told him, unaware of how tight he suddenly felt.

“Oh? You prefer when I’m disgusting?” he replied, careful to keep his voice light. Still, he couldn’t help the fantasy that popped into his mind—sweaty for an entirely different reason. 

“It reminds me you’re still a real person,” she teased, poking him in the side. Lucien was tempted to shake out his long hair, well aware Elain liked when he wore it down. Not that she’d ever said so, of course, but Lucien paid attention.

He knew everything about her.

Everything but why she stayed with Graysen. He didn’t touch that topic and she very rarely brought Graysen up when he was around. It was both a blessing and a curse. Every morning Lucien woke up and checked his socials, terrified he was going to see Elain engaged. 

He pulled open the glass door of the greasy diner, swallowing his guilt a little. Elain picked a booth at the very end of the joint and he slid across from her though he desperately wanted to sit beside her.

“Is dinner really on you?” she asked, picking up a sticky menu with interest. As if he’d ever made her pay for anything since they’d met. What good was being a Vanserra if he couldn’t pick up her tab? 

“Always,” he agreed nonchalantly, wincing at the way his ass was aching. He’d fallen hard on the turf, likely bruising his tailbone.

“Are you allowed to eat any of this?” she questioned, looking over the menu. She was so pretty—her long, golden brown hair was half pulled off her face with a pretty red ribbon. She had a soft, baby blue sweater dress and even softer looking leggings with black booties that made her seem just a little taller. He wanted to touch her.

Lucien kept his hands to himself. 

“What coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Lucien replied with a wink. “And if I don’t eat something besides chicken and rice I might go insane.”

“I’ll bet your abs look great, though.”

“Want to see?” he couldn’t help but ask. They did look great, though fuck, at what cost? Elain’s eyes lit up, head nodding. Lucien glanced around—the waitress was too busy flirting with a table of firefighters to notice them. He lifted up his jersey and flexed as hard as he could, making him seem like pure, carved muscle. In a way, that was what he was—Lucien lived and died in the gym. If he wasn’t practicing or in class there was an expectation that he would be working out in the gym. Tack that on to this brutal diet and Lucien had never looked better, even if he felt like shit. He was counting the days until the season was done so he could dive face first into a whole loaf of bread and butter without anyone breathing over his shoulders.

Elain bit her bottom lip. “Yeah, you look uh…you look…great, I mean. You look great.”

She shook her head as though to clear it and Lucien’s heart pounded in his throat. He broke his only rule when it came to her as he lowered his shirt.

“How is Graysen?”

Her expression tightened. He shouldn’t have asked.

“Fine.”

Fuck. He went back to his menu, feeling like an asshole. He was going to get a mountain of hashbrowns, he decided. Slather it up in syrup and pancakes and maybe bacon—

“He’s sleeping with someone else,” she told Lucien, interrupting his thoughts about food. Lucien looked up, mouth open to respond.

The waitress, dress in a faux sixties poodle skirt, took that moment to come up and take a drink order. Elain went ahead and ordered an omelet, and Lucien was forced to order half the menu without breaking eye contact. He wanted a plate of bacon and didn’t think she’d understood him when he said it. He was imagining it to be a tower, but suspected he’d get four pathetic slices which would have to hold him over for another two months. 

Elain tucked a loose curl behind her ear when the waitress retreated. Lucien tried again, only to be interrupted yet again by milkshakes and orange juice. Truly a heinous combination but he didn’t care. He wanted it all tonight. 

Finally, they were given a moment of space. Elain wrapped her pink lips around her milkshake straw, one brow arched as he chugged deliciously cold, utterly sugary juice. He’d been dreaming about it. 

“Why do you think that?” he panted, setting his glass back to the table a little too firmly. 

Elain twisted the ring around her finger, face hardening. “Because I saw the video they made.”

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” Lucien voiced his thoughts, unsure what else he could say to that. “What did he say when you told him?”

“I haven’t said anything yet,” Elain replied primly, dragging another thick suck through her straw. “I haven’t figured out how to do it.”

Ah.

“I’m sorry, Elain,” he said. And he was. He didn’t want to see her hurt like this. Elain shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, I’m not. This is the third time. I have to be stupid at this point, thinking he’d changed.”

Third…?

“The other break ups…?

“I never had so much proof,” she told him, placing her hands flat down on the table. “And I guess I was afraid of throwing away so many years. It felt like wasted time. I’m tired though, Lucien.

You have all this time for me and I know you’re so busy but he never does. And I think about that all the time.”

His heart was pounding in his chest. “Of course I have time for you. You’re my best friend.”

Her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just want someone who can make time for me. I don’t think its asking for a lot.”

A heavy pause settled between them as Lucien struggled to figure out what he could say that wasn’t too heavy handed.

“You’ll find it,” he finally told her lamely, just in time for twelve plates of food to be set in front of him. “You’re great, Elain.”

She watched him, eyes wide. 

And it wasn’t until he went to bed that night, all by himself after dropping her off at her sorority, that Lucien wondered if she hadn’t been waiting on him to say something else.

ELAIN:

“Well?” Arina asked the next morning, bursting into their shared bedroom in the sorority house with expectant eyes.

“He’s so stupid!” Elain cried, tossing her curling iron to the vanity. She turned in her chair to look at Arina, her stomach still twisted up in knots. “It was practically a date! I asked to see his abs and he told me I was great. He said I was his best friend.”

“Oh, wow,” Arina breathed. “I was so sure he liked you.”

“Me too,” Elain bemoaned. “I was practically throwing myself at him. I couldn’t have been more obvious. I told him I wanted someone to treat me like he did.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to break up with Gray,” Arina said reasonably, flopping onto the twin at the far end of the room. Elain sighed. Fucking Graysen. What a waste of time he was. It didn’t help that Elain had woken up last summer after a particularly sexy dream about Lucien and realized she had a stupid crush on him. 

Now she was dragging things out unbearably. “I’ll end it today,” Elain decided. As if that would fix her problem.

“Maybe you need to get Lucien some incentive,” Arina suggested, eyebrows raised. “Invite him to the party tonight.”

Elain sighed. “How many slutty outfits can I possibly wear? I need a different tactic.”

“So true. Climb into his lap and start kissing him. He’ll figure it out then.”

“Maybe if he comes to see me at work,” Elain mumbled. She worked down at the old movie theater, affectionately called the Omni. It showed classic black and white films and was kept alive only because it was a heritage landmark and not because anyone came with any regularity. Halloween was one of their more popular nights. They’d swap out the pretentious art nouveau for Rocky Horror and pack the place to the gills. 

Elain looked down at her phone. Ignoring the messages from Graysen, she opened her chat with Lucien and sent Coming to visit today?

His response was immediate.

Can’t. Have to atone for last night's pancakes. Worth it. 

Elain sighed. In the gym again? I’ll bet you look great.

And Lucien, stupid as always, replied. I look disgusting. 

Elain glanced at herself in the mirror, dressed in tight shorts and just a bra. She couldn’t figure out if Lucien only considered her a friend or if he was exceedingly polite. There was, of course, only one way to really figure it out. She went to her closet while Arina fired up her laptop, no longer interested in Elain’s personal drama. Elain flung her hangers to the side until she found the green sweater dress she planned to wear for the day.

Elain peeled out of her clothes, staring at the white lacy bra on her body for a minute. Lucien was always working out and Elain was constantly telling him she ought to join him. An idea was forming in her mind. She stripped out of her bra and panties, replacing them with an obscene black pair she’d once bought thinking Graysen might like and then turned her camera on. She took a full body shot, admiring the way her ass popped from the angle she was posed. Even her breasts—fairly small, by all standards—looked really good pressed against the lace. 

Elain didn’t let herself think about her actions. 

What about me? Should I come join you?

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it and then tossed her phone to the bed so she wouldn’t have to see his response. She got her dress and her leggings on before she heard his buzzing response. 

Not dressed like that. You look amazing. I’ll see you at work today.

She bit back the urge to scream, a smile spreading over her face. That had to be a good sign, right? If he was willing to end things early and visit when he’d said he wouldn’t, all over one really good picture? Elain practically floated across Greek Row to Graysen’s fraternity and when Graysen met her on the lawn, she said nothing at all.

She merely held up the video on her phone and hit play.

“Elain,” he began as she shook her head.

“Dumb as fuck, Gray,” she replied. “This is over.” She pulled the promise ring off her finger and tossed it to the grass.

Good riddance.

“Elain!” he called, practically tripping after her. He was barefooted on the sidewalk, wearing only a pair of loose black basketball pants. She was sure he’d thought she’d come over to crawl in his bed. Why dress up for that? Why put any effort into this relationship at all? 

She hated him.

Elain waved Graysen off without another word, turning her back and stalking down the drive. Let him argue with a fucking wall. She wasn’t interested in how he tripped and fell into another woman’s pussy and somehow accidentally positioned his phone exactly right to get that video, too. 

Even if she had cared to hear him out, Elain knew it didn’t matter. She’d wanted Lucien for the last five months and trying to work things out with Graysen merely got in her way. Elain all but skipped to work, to the kitschy downtown area of her college town that was so obviously a tourist trap. She passed t-shirt shops and placing claiming to make old fashioned fudge, along with haunted museums and one really good western themed restaurant before she reached the Omni.

Peeling white paint and a faded green sign told of better days. Elain pulled out her massive golden key, an absurd relic, and unlocked the Omni. A few tourists might filter into the musty lobby, but no one bought a ticket. Not when they cost $15 each to see a movie no one was interested in.

Elain flipped on the lights and turned on the popcorn machine, though she didn’t start any. She’d have to clean it if she did. Instead, she vacuumed the maroon and blue carpet and sprayed febreeze over everything, trying so hard to get the smell of smoke out of the walls. People had been allowed to smoke in the theater up until the eighties and she swore it lingered like a ghost.

After that, Elain picked a black and white film—a french feature with subtitles—and made her way into the singular theater. The only, fold down chairs had been replaced with squashy chairs and leather loveseats. Someone had donated them, hoping it would bring more people in. All it did was convince teenagers to waste $30 to finger each other, a fact that endlessly annoyed Elain.

She dragged a ivory knit blanket into the dark theater, draped it over her body, and stared at her phone until she was half asleep. She might have fallen all the way asleep had a body not jumped the back of the two person love-seat she was reclined on, sitting their heavy body on her legs.

She yelped and Lucien apologized, scrambling up as she pulled her legs back. Lucien grabbed them, draping them over his lap before pulling her blanket over him, too.

“Sorry it took me so long,” he said, eyes watching the screen with confusion. He looked incredible—his auburn hair was loose around his chiseled face, his body clad in a baby blue sweater and a pair of jeans. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, the corded muscle flexing when he moved and the sweater clung to his muscular torso. Lucien looked over, russet eyes reflecting in the screen light. She wanted to trace the trio of long scars screaming down his eye with her tongue, though she’d never admit that. Full lips quirked upwards into a smile.

“Lucien, it’s eleven thirty,” she replied. “I’m here until eight.”

He shrugged, unaware his casual indifference only made her think he wanted her, too. He ran his hand over her shin, clad in leggings and hidden under the blanket.

“Do you really want to work out with me?” he asked her, dashing all her hopes in a moment. Elain’s lips parted. Surely Lucien couldn’t be that stupid? He spent hours in the gym and Elain was breathless after a thirty minute jog. He looked so hopeful that Elain was forced to respond.

“Yeah,” she lied. “You look great—”

“You do too,” he said, shifting in his seat just a little. Elain swallowed hard. What had Arina said? To just climb in his lap and kiss him? Elain wanted Lucien to make the first move so badly, was terrified he would reject her if she did that. 

And then what? They wouldn’t even be friends. Lucien had been her best friend for almost six years. What would she do if she couldn’t text him every little thing that crossed her mind? It was what kept her in her seat even though every other part of her ached to get closer. 

They watched the movie in relative silence and when it finished, Lucien let Elain get up to change it. They had a favorite, if only because of how long it was. Four hours. It was a western movie about a train—at least, she thought, anyway. Her and Lucien usually ended up in an animated conversation thirty minutes in. It passed the time, all the same, and she wasn’t ready to give him up just yet. She knew he had an afternoon class at one which would send him away and leave her alone and annoyed she couldn’t just make a move.

Lucien winced when she plopped on the couch.

“Sore?” she asked. He always was after a game.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I soaked in ice this morning and I had ibuprofen for breakfast. It’s helping a little.”

“Want me to rub?” she offered. That was hardly unusual and yet the way his eyes widened made her feel like she’d crossed some sort of line. 

“You don’t ah…” he trailed off as she scooted closer. “What are you doing, Elain?”

She was running her hands up his chest. “Rubbing?” she asked, too afraid to look at his face. “Your shoulders, unless you’d rather me do your legs?”

She knew if she knelt before him, she’d unbutton his pants whether he asked her to or not. Swallowing hard, she wondered if maybe that wasn’t just what they needed to do? What could be more obvious than blowing him in the middle of an empty theater. Surely he’d understand then that she wanted more than friendship? 

She ran her hands down his body again, moving to slip towards the floor but Lucien caught her quickly. Fingers curled around her biceps, Lucien looked wild and nervous. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, nostrils flared. “I’m alright, I’m fine. Actually, I should probably uh…I need to get to class. I have a project…it’s…half finished, I think? I’ll see you later?”

Was he leaving her again? Elain’s mouth hung open. “A project?” she asked, well aware she sounded indignant. She’d been about to suck him and he was leaving? Her stomach churned. Maybe it wasn’t Luycien who was stupid, but her. He was trying to be her friend and she was trying to touch him inappropriately 

“Yeah,” he breathed, chest rising and falling rapidly, “I just remembered. I uh…later? We’ll see each other later?”

Did it even matter? She scooted away from him, swallowing her disappointment. 

“Yeah. There’s the party at the house tonight, if you want to still come?” she hoped he didn’t. It would be endless girls throwing themselves at his feet, all with a better shot at him than her.

Lucien nodded, dragging a hand through his hair.

“I’ll be there.”

And then he was gone, jumping over the back of the couch and practically running out of the theater. Elain checked her phone. 

Twelve.

He hadn’t even been there an hour. 

Maybe she ought to give up.

LUCIEN: 

Lucien was losing his mind. The sight of Elain about to drop to her knees between his parted thighs was too much. His cock filled with blood, pushing against his pants thinking she was going to unzip him and take him in her mouth. He didn’t want her to realize he had an erection, so Lucien fled even after he saw the bewildered hurt on her face. Elain was trying to be nice, to be his friend. He felt like a bastard. 

He jerked himself off in the bathroom of his apartment before miserably plodding to class. He sent her a meme, hoping it was a sufficient apology without making things awkward or weird between them and Elain sent one back. All was forgiven. He doubted she understood why he had to go. It was the second time that day he'd had to take himself in his hand. The first was after she'd sent the half naked photo, asking if he thought she should work out. He'd nearly dropped a weight on his foot, had practically run out of the gym to pump himself in his hand before he did something reckless. 

As long as he wasn’t fucking up their friendship. Fuck, she was technically still dating Graysen. She’d need time and space to grieve before he could even think about letting her get her hands and face that close to his cock. Lucien was jumpy and overly worked up and by the time he got to her sorority house for the party, it was like he hadn’t masterbated at all. He was eight seconds from turning around and leaving when the door swung open and Arina ushered him in.

“There you are,” she said with a smile, all but shoving him into the foyer. “I need your help.”

���Oh?”

“Elain is single—”

Ohgodohgodohgodohgod—Lucien tried to turn around and walk right back out the door but Arina was gripping his arm and walking him through the beautifully decorated living room which was packed with people. She was still talking but Lucien wasn’t listening. Not when he’d caught sight of Elain, dressed in a tight pink dress, her back up against the wall while some fratboy hovered over her with hungry eyes. 

“If you could just keep her occupied—” Oh God was Arina still talking? He looked down at hte blonde.

“What?”

Arina rolled her eyes. “Babysit Elain, please? She’s like blood in the water for these fucking sharks. Why don’t you take her upstairs?” Arina added, wrinkling her nose when the guy said something indistinguishable over the loud music and Elain threw her head back and laughed. Surely he wasn’t that funny. Lucien all but stomped across the room, weaving in and out of people until he reached her. The guy looked over, clearly irked but Lucien wasn’t some fratboy loser. He was a fucking athlete, and a good one at that.

Elain turned her head, eyes assessing him cooly. “Oh. Hey.”

Fuck. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been going for.

“Come have a drink with me,” he said, ignoring the other guy entirely. She looked back to the guy, offering an apology and a promise to be right back. Both Lucien and the loser knew he’d never see her again. Elain pushed off the wall with her back letting him grab her hand.

“Broke up with Graysen, huh?” he asked, walking her towards the massive, polished steps that would take her up to the bedroom she shared with Arina. It was true, though. The ugly little ring that had once been on her finger was now gone. 

“And?” 

He looked down at her, surprised by how angry she sounded. Squeezing her hand, Lucien took the first step upwards. She was suffering and all he could think about were her tits spilling over the top of her dress and how it just barely covered her cute little ass. 

“I’m sorry, Elain,” he murmured as she followed up behind him, heels clicking loudly.

“I’m not,” she insisted, her tone still bratty and sullen. Lucien scowled, pushing open the door that had her name written on it in glittery purple script.

“Then why are you taking it out on me?” he demanded, snapping the door shut behind her. “If you’re so fine? I’m trying to be your friend–”

She crossed her arms over her chest, dragging the hem of the strapless dress down far enough that he could see she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath. His already sore legs shook, nearly giving out. “Maybe I don’t want you to be my friend.”

The air punched out of his lungs. “What?” Anxiety rose in his stomach at her words. She didn’t want to be friends? What did he have, if not her friendship? Lucien blinked, swallowing the urge to beg her to know why. 

She didn’t budge. “I don’t want to be your friend, Lucien.”

Her eyes blazed as she said it. Lucien couldn’t handle it, couldn’t stand to see her anger, to hear her declare she no longer wanted to be his friend. He turned, flinging open the door before she uttered another word, and all but ran out of that house.

“Lucien—” she called from behind him, but he didn’t need to hear it. Not when his heart was cracking, when he thought he might throw up on the floor if she uttered another word. Thundering down the stairs, he nearly bowled into Arina.

“Lucien?” she asked, looking up to where Elain was following, much slower in her heels.

“Lucien!” Elain called but he’d reached the front door, yanked it open, and slammed it behind him. Only then did he let himself suck down a cool breath of autumn air. He didn’t want to be caught on her lawn, didn’t want to have this confrontation out in the open for the whole school to see. Lucien ached, and not from soccer. In his wildest dreams, he’d never once considered that Elain might break up with him, too. 

Was it because he’d left her in the theater? He’d hurt her feelings and she was tired of it? He almost wanted to ask, almost turned around and demanded she explain herself. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, Lucien did the only thing that would silence his thoughts.

He took off running.

His body responded instantly, switching from the pain that was flooding his brain to something duller and single-minded. It didn’t wholly remove the hurt in his chest but for the two miles he raced, it kept him thinking about anything but his pumping legs and keeping his lungs filled with air. 

I don’t want to be your friend, Lucien.

Tears stung against his eyes, banished by sheer will alone. He shoved himself into his apartment, pacing like a caged animal. She didn’t want to be his friend. Didn’t want to be his friend. Lucien pulled off his shirt, throwing it across the room before walking to his bedroom.

“Fuck this,” he shouted, dragging off his jeans, too. He was going to the gym. He’d spend the night there, burn off his feelings, and figure out what to do in the morning.

Lucien had just gotten his shorts over his body, shoes back in hand when a loud pounding on the door dragged him out. He knew who would be waiting on the other end without having to ask. Keyed up and hurt, he flung that door open, not caring he still wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“I don’t take house calls so late from people who aren’t my friend,” he snapped at Elain. Her eyes were glassy, her face streaked with mascara. 

“Oh fuck you, Lucien,” she snapped, shoving him in the chest as she walked into his apartment. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“I’m stupid?” he demanded as she slammed his door shut. “Me?”

“Yeah!” she said, squaring off with him. It was almost laughable given Elain was five feet tall without her heels, over a foot shorter than him and still, with her hateful gaze, he felt like dirt beneath her feet. “You’re fucking stupid!”

“Great. Glad you came all this way to tell me that. Anything else you need to get off your chest?” he asked, swallowing his hurt back into his gut. She was here and for whatever reason, her mere presence was half soothing. He was vibrating with anxiety, wanting to get on his knees and beg her not to leave him. To tell him what he’d done wrong.

He didn’t want to open himself up to any more pain. Lucien turned his back to her, striding into the living room so he could put on his socks and shoes. 

“Do you really not know?” she asked from behind him, stopping him in his tracks. Her anger had slid into fear, her voice wavering. When he turned, he found Elain standing in the hall, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Know what, Elain?” he asked her desperately. Dropping his shoes, Lucien closed the distance between them and pulled her against his body, wishing so badly he’d put on a shirt. She immediately hugged him, hands rubbing up and down his spine. “Tell me what I’m missing. Let me fix this.”

“You can’t,” she said, her breath hot against his skin. “This is my fault.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” he was quick to reply, letting himself tangle his hand in her long, carefully curled hair. “Please, Elain, you know I love you. I’d do anything for you. Tell me why you’re upset.”

She was quiet for a long minute, eyes closed while he stroked her hair. His anxiety was ebbing, his heart steadying. He could fix this. She’d tell him, and Lucien would apologize and they’d sit on the couch and watch a move. 

“Is it Graysen?” Lucien dared to ask. 

She laughed, breath fanning against him. His heart picked up again, anxious for an entirely different reason when she pressed a soft kiss just beneath his pec.

“It’s you,” she said, so quiet he barely heard her. 

“Elain,” Lucien said slowly, piecing together what she’d said earlier.

I don’t want to be your friend.

“You do know I love you, right?” he asked her softly, waiting for her to look up at him. She shook her head back and forth and fuck him he was so stupid. Reaching for her face and cupping it in his hand, Lucien added, “I am in love with you.”

Her breath caught. “But today—”

“I will take whatever you give me,” he admitted. “And if that’s just friendship, I want it. You just ended thing—”

“Because I love you,” she whispered, so softly he thought he was hallucinating. “It took me too long to realize and I just figured…”

He might have laughed, had he not suddenly been so ravenous. Lucien didn’t care what she’d figured or when she’d discovered. As long as they were on the same page right then, it didn’t matter. 

Lucien tilted her head towards him, kissing her like he’d always wanted to. His whole body, still achey and confused, lit up like a firework at the soft touch. Her hands slid back up his chest like she’d done at the movie theater, tangling around his neck and Lucien was gone. He wanted way more than one polite kiss.

Lucien reached beneath her, hands gripping her ass to haul her upwards so there was no height difference between them. Elain half jumped, legs wrapped around his waist, and deepened the kiss before he ever got the chance. Her tongue swept into his mouth, licking against his own. Lucien groaned, nearly stumbling and taking them both to the ground.

Bedroom, get to the bedroom you dumb fuck—

How he ever managed it with his hard cock and his stupid legs, Lucien would never know. One minute he had her in the hall, hands kneading her ass and the next he was dropping her to the bed just long enough to climb up her body and kiss her senseless.

“Lucien,” Elain breathed, arching into his body just like he’d always imagined. This was happening—she was kissing him, was dragging her nails up and down his back. Lucien could not keep his thoughts straight, was practically floating. The only thing grounding him was Elain beneath him, needy and pretty and pliant. 

“I hate this dress,” he told her, pulling at the top.

“I put it on for you,” she admitted. “I wanted you to take it off.”

“All you have to do is ask,” he groaned, fumbling for the zipper at her back. Elain arched, the sight so erotic that his whole body stopped working for a moment.

“Focus, Lucien,” she whispered when she realized why he’d stopped trying to get her out of her clothes. He shook his head, trying to rattle his brain around long enough to please his girl. 

He shimmied her out of the dress, tossing it to the floor without a second glance. All at once, Elain was naked, save for the same black, lacy underwear she’d been in when she’d sent that picture.

“You ruined my whole fucking life this morning,” he told her, nipping her collarbone with his teeth. “I was trying to lift weights when you sent that little picture.”

“Yeah?” she breathed, moaning when one of his hands cupped her entire breast. “I was trying to turn you on.”

“It worked,” he growled, pinching her nipple softly between his fingers. Just enough to elicit a gasp of pleasure. “I’ve been jerking myself off all fucking day, Elain.”

She whined. “I tried to suck your dick in the theater but you took off—”

“You what?!” he demanded, raising his head from between her tits to look back up at her. “You were doing what?”

“Yeah,” she panted, eyes fluttering back open. “What did you think I was trying to do on my knees?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lucien breathed, pressing his forehead against her chest. “I didn’t want you to see how erect I was.”

“I wanted to see it,” she informed him.

“Next time,” he promised, licking the hardened peak of her pretty nipple. That silenced her and gave Lucien a moment to let himself indulge in a fantasy in which he found out the girl of his dreams was into him by unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock.

He’d had a million daydreams just like that. 

This was way better, he decided. She was in his bed and we was between her legs. All Lucien had to do was make this the best night of her life and he’d be calling her Elain Vanserra before they ever graduated. 

“Have you been thinking about me?” he asked, licking down her stomach towards her pussy. Lucien desperately wanted to taste her.

“Yes,” she admitted. 

“Fantasizing?” he pressed, needing to boost his own fragile ego.

“Yes.”

“Do I get to eat you out in those little daydreams?” he asked, pushing her legs wider, until the lips of her cunt were visible through the thin fabric of her underwear. “Because I think about that all the time.”

Lucien hooked his finger over the thin strip hugging her hips and pulled them off her body. They joined her dress on the floor, useless to him in the moment. He was losing his mind at the sight of her bare pussy, spread open and glistening. Awed, Lucien dragged a finger through the wet, letting him use the slickness of her body to lubricate his touch as he swirled over her clit.

Elain’s hips jerked. 

“No one is taking good care of my girl, are they?” he murmured. “Let me fix that, baby.”

“Please,” she whispered, threading her finger through his hair. 

In his own daydreams, he’d always imagined taking his time with her. That he’d be soft and sweet and loving. Certainly, as he licked the length of her, Lucien was passionate. The problem was his passion was edged with wild need he just barely had control of. Lucien was practically fucking the sheets as he began devouring her, licking at her like his life depended on it.

In a way it did. He wanted her to be his wife, and women didn’t marry the guy who was bad or lazy when it came to eating pussy. Elain rolled her hips against his face, thighs shaking against his cheeks. He didn’t have to ask if Graysen had done this or done it well–the very fact that she was so close to coming after he’d barely been down longer than five minutes was answer enough. He could build her out, could tease and torture her another night.

Elain came loud enough his neighbors almost certainly heard. Good. He wanted them to hear, wanted the whole goddamn world to know that Elain was his. He’d fuck her on the balcony, too, so everyone could watch jealously. 

He was back on her the moment he body went limp, yanking off his shorts and trying to kiss her all at once. For someone who boasted being both athletic and coordinated, Lucien was a fumbling disaster trying to free himself. The problem was gorgeous Elain raking her nails down his back and wrapping her legs back around his waist, trying to push him into her before he’d freed himself of his shorts prison. 

“Lucien,” she whined. “Lucien—”

“Greedy,” he panted, kicking them onto the floor. “And needy. How bad do you need to be fucked, Elain?”

She looked up at him with lust fogged eyes. “So bad.”

God he was going to die. Lucien dragged the head of his cock through her sopping wet pussy. “Look at my cock,” he ordered, wanting her to see what he was about to put in her. Elain was already staring at the appendage pressed between her legs.

“Do you want an award, Lucien?” she whispered.

“Are you the prize?” he couldn’t help but ask. Elain dug her heels into his ass and pushed, slamming half his cock into her body before he could catch his breath. He groaned loudly, fisting the sheets and pressing his face into the crook of her neck. She was so wet, so tight and hot. He was certain he’d died in that moment and this was some form of heaven because nothing had ever felt so good in his life.

He dragged himself out and pushed all of his cock back in, slower this time to keep himself from hurting her. Elain rolled into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. He could still feel her heart pounding through the walls of her cunt, her orgasm still pulsating against him. She was a slick second skin and Lucien was gone, utterly wrecked. 

“Fuck, Elain,” he whispered, sucking at her neck. “Your fucking pussy…” he didn’t know where he was going with that.

She merely nodded, dragging his face for a kiss. “I’m so close,” she said into his mouth. 

He could help her with that. Angling his hips so he could reach between them, Lucien stroked her clit like he’d done with his tongue until she came apart again, teeth biting his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. 

Lucien was just behind, pumping his release into her with an absurdly loud groan of pleasure. His hips were jerky, moving of their own accord until he’d come down, too. Even still, Lucien didn’t withdraw, his skin buzzing with arousal.

“Elain,” he breathed. 

“Tell me you love me,” she asked, stroking his face with her fingers.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing each cheek gently. 

Elain sighed, holding him closely. “I love you, Lucien. So damn much.”

ELAIN:

Two years later

Elain was learning to love soccer. She had to, given her brand new husband played professionally for the MLS, dragging the two of them all over the country and if she wanted to see him, some nights she had to drag herself down to the stadium and watch him play. Elain had made friends with the other players wives, sitting in a group and admiring their husbands while pretending what they cared about was the ethics of the game. It was with no small amount of pride that Elain thought her husband was the most handsome of the group.

He was easily the most talented. Elain knew that for a fact, given Lucien was about to move out of MLS entirely over to an english Premier League. He hadn’t told her which one yet, well aware she’d immediately tell Arina, who would tell someone, who would tell someone and ruin the whole thing.

Still, Elain was excited for them both. It was a new beginning and something fun. Lucien wanted to get out of American soccer pretty bad and had played the hell out of his season. He’d earned this. He’d leave at the top of his game and she’d just leave. 

They were in their home city tonight, which meant when Lucien finished, they’d get to go home together instead of to a nice hotel. Time was ticking towards the end and Elain was antsy, trailing Lucien over the field. He had the ball, was dragging it towards the net for an egregious and undeniable win. Elain jumped out of her chair when he succeeded, so absurdly proud of him she might have exploded.

“That’s my husband!” she told the couple beside her for the fourth time that night. She was certain they were tired of her. Elain didn’t care, not when time was up and Lucien was free. He grinned, ear to ear, as she made her way towards him. It was just like every game since they’d started dating—he surged towards the rails, lifting himself up so he could kiss her.

“You were amazing,” she told him. 

High off his win, Lucien looked dumbstruck. “You taste like nachos. Give me thirty and we’ll get out of here?”

She laughed. “Go on, then.”

They met up exactly thirty minutes later. He was half limping, his skin bruised and black and grinning as she met up with him. “I am going to do everything to you tonight,” he warned, grabbing her around the waist and yanking her close. He had his wedding ring on—Lucien only took it off to play, sliding it back on the moment he finished so the whole world knew he was undeniably married. Elain never complained, was always delighted to see the gold band wrapped around his finger.

Lucien had waited a total of nine months before he’d all but begged her to marry him, and had made good on his promise the week after they accepted their diplomas. Elain was his stay at home wife, a pretty good set up in her estimation. She got to travel with him, got to manage their life, and just personally, Elain didn’t want a job. She wanted to be his pretty, cherished wife. 

Elain drove them home while Lucien stretched out his legs, wincing as the adrenaline began to wear off. Every game, Lucien swore he was going to make love to her until the sun came up and every game, Lucien sat in frigid water while eating ibuprofen like it was his job. Tonight would be no different. He stepped inside their little two story with a groan, kicking off his shoes. Elain made her way to the bedroom for his knee brace. She helped him get into the tub in the bathroom attached to the bedroom, taking the moment to ogle his truly lovely body. Lucien was bruised and battered and yet his golden brown skin was still so lovely, his form so chiseled, that she couldn’t stop herself from running her fingers down his broad shoulders.

“If you want, you can sit on my face tonight,” he offered, stretching out his sore legs.

“Is that what you want, Lucien?” she teased. Eyes closed, a sultry smile spread over his face. “Yes. And maybe afterwards you’ll touch my cock?”

“I could probably do more than touch, if you ask really nicely,” she teased.

“Cruel wife,” Lucien replied, reaching for her hand to kiss the back of her skin. “You swore in your vows that you’d take care of me in sickness and health.”

“I didn’t swear to suck your dick, Lucien.”

“Are you sure? Because I seem to recall you swore that very thing in the bathroom thirty minutes before you walked down that aisle.”

“Oh, shut up,” Elain replied, thinking very fondly of how she’d snuck out of her dressing room, met him in the one stall bathroom at their wedding venue, gotten on her knees, and sucked his cock until it was stained red with her lipstick. They’d had a giggly time at the altar afterwards, pretending it was the first time they were seeing each other in their wedding garb. 

“I will never shut up about it,” Lucien replied, turning his head to look at her. “Best day of my goddamn life.”

“The blow job?”

“And fucking you in the back of that limo…and when I put my hand under your dress at—”

“Are all your best memories of us having sex on our wedding day?” she demanded. Lucien shifted in the water, his body on full display. She was so fucking hot it made her whole body tight. 

“No. The best day of my life was when you said I do. No take backs, Elain.”

As if she wanted to. The best day of Elain’s life had been when Lucien had told her he loved her and put her out of her misery. Not that he needed to know that. He was so incandescently happy that it was easy to forget how things began between them. All the waiting and pining and misunderstandings merely felt funny. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, now that I know you’re going to let me eat your pussy. I haven't had a good meal in weeks.”

“You ate it this morning, Lucien.”

He was such a rogue. Grinning, he agreed, “So I did. Silly me.”

He was always going down on her. Sometimes she wondered if he was worried that she might change her mind or think she’d made some terrible mistake. She’d catch him watching her from across the room, eyes intent, his expression awed. Like he couldn’t believe his good luck. Elain felt the exact same way.

“Come on,” she murmured when his lips took on a bluish tinge. She pulled him out and all but dragged him to the bed where Lucien did, indeed, yank her onto his face while she gripped the headboard for dear life. And afterwards, Elain did exactly as she promised, sucking his cock while he writhed and panted and begged. It was always so thrilling to have him in her thrall, to watch him come apart with nothing more than her mouth and tongue and hand. 

He was exhausted by the time they finished, hand on his flat stomach as he gulped down air. “You’re too good at that. It’s why I can never leave you,” he said, letting her nestle against him.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s why you’re sticking around.”

Lucien’s sleepy smile warmed her. “I stick around because I love you. The way you suck dick is merely a very welcome bonus.”

She peppered his shoulder with kisses. “Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying. You’re so pretty and I can’t stop staring.”

“Do your best,” Elain murmured, snuggling deeper beneath the blankets. 

“You’re my best,” he whispered.

“Best what?” she asked.

“Everything,” he replied. “If I’m doing my best, it’s only because I have you. You’re my best.”

Elain smiled.

“You’re my best, too, Lucien.”

[tommybaholland]

when they’re grumpy but their s/o wants attention [1.5k follower special]

featuring: kuroo, kenma, akaashi, nishinoya, and kageyama

thank you for sharing this fun celebration with me! can’t wait to host more :) enjoy! x 

kuroo

he’s not super temperamental but he can develop a short fuse when he’s stressed or overwhelmed 

you’ll try to get him to take a break but he gets stern really quick 

when he doesn’t give in like usual, you take defeat and leave the room

he immediately feels bad that he snapped at you 

he will hug and kiss you until you accept his ample apology 

“oh. hey, beautiful,” your boyfriend greeted after you wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind.

“what are you doing?” you asked, leaning down to look at the screen. 

“just work again.”

“do you wanna take a break and come cuddle with me?” 

“i wish i could, babe, but i need to get this done.”

“but you’ve been working forever. please, tetsu?” you give him your best pouty, puppy dog eyes that he always falls for. 

“not right now,” he replies shortly. 

you start playing with his hair, something you know he can’t resist. 

“babe, seriously. i’ll come cuddle with you later. now, please, i need to finish this. can you just leave me alone for another half hour?”

“fine.” 

“no, baby. wait--” the door slammed behind you before he could finish his sentence. he swears under his breath, knowing that he hurt your feelings. he quickly exits his work and gets up to go find you. 

you’re sitting on the couch, looking at something on your phone. he saunters over and immediately puts his head in your lap. 

“i’m sorry, kitten. i shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. i’ve been stressed with everything lately but that’s no excuse because you don’t deserve that. i’m sorry.”

you sigh and try to get up but he stops you by wrapping his arms around your hips, pressing his face into your midsection. 

“no, baby, please don’t go. i need you and your cuddles. pleeeeaaasssseee,” he pleads, hugging you tighter. he feels your stomach vibrate against his face and he looks up to see you laughing lightly. 

“what’s so funny?” he chuckles with you. 

“nothing,” you reply, putting a hand in his hair. “you’re just so cute.”

“does this mean you forgive me?” he asks, sitting up. 

“i suppose you can be forgiven.”

“i’ll take it. now, c’mere.” he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into him to accept the many kisses he places on your cheek. 

kenma

he gets frustrated or irritated kinda easily 

mostly when he can’t complete a stage in one of his games 

he can displace his anger onto you when you want to snuggle up to him 

he doesn’t realize what he did until later when he finds you sitting by yourself

he has a simple apology but he makes up for the lack of attention he’s given you 

you always knew where to find kenma. in his room, playing a game. if it’s new, you probably won’t see him for a while as he tries to spend all his free time trying to complete it so visits to his house were frequent. 

even if you had an outing planned, he would try to get in some gameplay beforehand. 

“hey, ken,” you greeted as you entered his room.

he doesn’t respond for a few seconds as he vigorously mashes buttons to defeat the battle he was on. he lets out a frustrated grunt as the ‘lose’ screen taunts him before turning to you. 

“oh, hey.” 

“are you ready to go?” 

“yeah. um, let me just try one more time to beat this,” he negotiates. 

“okay,” you reply as you sit close next to him. he restarts the stage and you watch him play until you yawn and start to lean your head on his shoulder. 

“y/n, i can’t do this while you’re-- oh, god. no!” 

he loses again, causing him to harshly nudge you off his shoulder. 

“ugh, i was so close just then. why do you have to lean on me like that?”

“i’m sorry. i was just kinda tired.”

“well, maybe you should get more sleep so you don’t make me lose again,” he snaps. he mutters under his breath before picking the controller back up and starting again. 

he barely even notices you’re gone until he completes the stage on the next round. he gets up and goes to look for you. he finds you sitting outside his house, presumably waiting for him. he frowns, feeling guilty about what he said to you and continued playing instead of apologizing to you. you could’ve been sitting out here forever. 

“y/n?” he says softly, getting your attention. “i’m sorry. i was mad at the game, not you. i didn’t mean it like that. i’m ready to go now if you want.” 

you’re not totally convinced which prompts him to sit down next to you. he leans his head on your shoulder just like you had to him earlier. he slowly reaches his hand over to yours, interlocking your fingers. 

“i really like when you lean on me. please don’t listen to anything i say when i’m playing games.”

you sigh. “it’s okay. i forgive you. let’s go.” 

he nods, standing up with his hand still in yours. 

“can i have a hug?” he asks cutely, his other hand reaching for your elbow. 

you grin and nod, letting him pull you into him. he hugs you tightly, his fingers tickling your back as they brush across. he pulls away, his hands moving to hold either side of your head to kiss the tip of your nose. 

“okay, let’s go.” 

he holds your hand the whole way there. 

akaashi

he’s pretty calm and not quick to yell like kuroo but he can let stress take over easily

he’ll try to take a nap to relieve it but you come over as a surprise 

he doesn’t take it too well and ‘snaps’ at you 

you end up leaving his house completely and now he feels like he can’t just nap this one away

hugs and cuddles you as he apologizes 

he had finally felt the sweet embrace of his bed after the longest day ever. he just wanted to sleep it all away, easing his aching muscles. what felt like seconds later, he heard your voice. 

“keiji,” you roused, rubbing a hand over his back. “are you sleepy, babe?”

he groaned, shifting over to face away from you. 

“i’m trying to nap, baby. what are you doing here?”

“i just wanted to surprise you. you seemed like you were having a bad day,” you explained.

“yeah. i was. and you just woke me up.”

“oh, i’m sorry. i can rub your back if you want.”

“i want to take a nap. alone.”

“oh. i, um-- okay,” you stuttered, getting up quickly and leaving the room without another word. 

he couldn’t go back to sleep after that. you wanted to make him feel better and he only pushed you away. he quickly got out of bed, hoping he could catch up with you. you weren’t very far from his house as he rushed down the street. 

“y/n? please, wait!” 

you stop in your tracks but don’t turn around. his heart is hammering against his chest as he stops behind you, trying to catch his breath.

“i’m...sorry.”

“why are you apologizing? i’m the one who ruined your nap,” you reminded him. 

he walks around to stand in front of you, pretty eyes looking down at your wilted figure.

“no, you didn’t, baby. you didn’t do anything wrong. i was being a jerk and didn’t need to say that to you. i think i need you more than i need a nap. although, you and a nap would be nice, too.” 

your lips perked up slightly in a smile, making him lean down to get a better look at your face.

“is that a smile i see? no, don’t hide it. c’mere, beautiful.”

he takes you in his arms, hugging you tightly. he rocks you from side to side as he leans his head on top of yours. 

“i would love for you to join me for some cuddles. but i’ll probably fall asleep.”

you agree, smiling at him before he gives you a sweet kiss. he leads you back to his house where you go back into his room. you get all comfy under the covers with him lying on top of you, his head on your chest. 

he kisses your cheek a few times before laying down. “thank you, baby.” 

nishinoya 

he’s usually a very bright and happy-go-lucky boy but he can get irritated 

he’ll get way too amped up about something and then get frustrated when it doesn’t play out how he thinks 

he does get loud when he lets it all out on you as you’re trying to comfort him 

you try to hide your tears and leave him alone but he cannot believe he just yelled at you 

he will literally get on his hands and knees as he apologizes 

you liked to meet up with him after his practice so that you could walk home together. seeing him in the gym, you decided to surprise him by placing your hands on his shoulder and using him to brace yourself as you jumped into the air, which is something he would often do to you and his teammates. 

“hey, sweetie,” he greeted after turning around, looking kinda solemn.

“you ready to go?”

“yeah. let’s go.”

you followed him out but he didn’t take your hand like he would whenever you walked home. he could never hide his feelings though.

“ugh, i missed almost every dig today. every one! i’m so pissed, i’m going to do so many push-ups-- what are you doing!?”

he snatched his hand away from you when you tried to hold it. you winced at his sudden outburst. 

“um, i just wanted to hold your hand.”

“are you even listening to me? i’m really pissed off right now, babe.”

“i- i’m sorry,” you apologized. his heart broke when he heard the break in your voice and seeing your eyes become glossy. what was worse, he was the cause of it. 

you tried to push the tears back into your eyes. “i’ll walk by myself.” 

he grabbed your wrist quickly to stop you. “no, wait.”

you couldn’t hold it in and started sobbing. your hands coming up to cover your face. 

“don’t cry, beautiful,” he consoled, wrapping his arms around you. “that was stupid of me to yell at you. i love when you want to hold my hand. my emotions just got the best of me.”

“it’s, it’s okay,” you sobbed, wiping your eyes. 

“no, it’s not!” he declares. “what do i have to do to make it okay? please tell me, sweetheart.”

“oh, i know--”

“that’s okay, noya. you don’t have to--”

he was literally on his hands and knees in the middle of the road asking for your forgiveness. 

“oh, my sweet, beautiful, gorgeous, smart, strong s/o! will you please forgive me and my idiot self for being a bad boyfriend?”

“noya, you’re not a bad boyfriend. please get off the ground.”

“not until you forgive me!” he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing his face into your tummy. 

“okay, okay. i forgive you,” you laughed. 

“yay!” he jumps up and into your arms, kissing you many times on the head. “you are my favorite person and i can’t stand to see you cry.” 

“now will you hold my hand?”

“of course. can i kiss you too?” 

kageyama

he’s known to be habitually grumpy 

he enjoys your presence the most so if he starts getting short with you, you know something’s bothering him 

yells like noya but you’ve heard it before so you’re able to leave him to cool off 

he’ll eventually realize he was being dumb and didn’t need to yell at you

but he’s not the smoothest at apologizing  

kageyama did not like school. he’d rather play volleyball for the rest of his life. he was good at it, he memorized all the plays, and he could understand it. but when he actually does study and still gets a bad grade, you’ll never hear the end of it.

“ugh, this is so stupid. i thought i studied enough!” he vented as you two sat in his room together. 

“it’s alright, tobi. we’ll just try something different next time, that’s all,” you consoled, patting him on the shoulder 

“pft. easy for you to say,” he grumbled.

“excuse me?”

“you get good grades all the time without any effort. it doesn’t make sense.”

“i actually try very hard and i want to help you--”

“well, i don’t need your help!” he blurts out, shifting away from your touch.

your lips draw into a hard line “that’s fine. i just don’t want you to get discouraged about school, that’s all. you know i care about you,” you reasoned. you could tell he was already on a short fuse and were currently trying to defuse him. 

“i just think that you should--”

“look, you’re not my mom! can you just shut up about this now? i’m done talking about it.”

you nod quietly before packing up your things and leaving. it was obvious he needed some time to himself and you weren’t about to be on the receiving end of his aggressions. 

later that night, there was a knock on your door. it was none other than your grumpy boyfriend who looked rather remorseful. 

“uh, hi.”

“what’s up?”

“i, i know you probably don’t want me here right now but i just wanted to say that i’m sorry.”

you simply nodded, the silence allowing him to keep talking. 

“i was being a dumb jerk. i know you care about me and i really, really care about you. i feel like i don’t appreciate you enough for everything that you do for me.” he looks down, ashamed of how unfulfilling his love seems compared to yours. 

“that’s not true, tobi,” you negate, reaching to him. “i know you care about me. you just have a different way of showing it. like coming here late at night with a-- is that a bento box?” 

“it’s some snacks my mom helped me make. she said this is good brain food. i was hoping you could help me with some homework.  also,” he looks away from you once more.

“i can’t go to the tournament if i don’t pass japanese lit. could you please help me?”

you look him up and down for a few moments before grinning. “of course i can.”

you let him into the house. you feel a tugging on your shirt and turn around to see him standing there awkwardly. 

“yes?”

“would you-- can you hug me, please?”

you don’t respond except with a smile and simply wrap your arms around his waist. he hugs you tightly, burying his face in your neck. 

“thank you. love you so much.” 

he has lots to learn, but he’ll get there and one day, it’ll be as easy as volleyball. 

the event is over but more coming soon! send a request in the meantime..

[cyberstole]

𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ( 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕 ) dir. paul thomas anderson  /  feel  free  to  change  pronouns  and  subjects  as  you  see  fit  !

❛ he has made my dreams come true and i have given him what he desires most in return... ❜

❛ yes. maybe he's the most demanding man ... ❜

❛ there's nothing i can say to get your attention aimed back at me, is there? ❜

❛ i cannot begin my day with a confrontation, please. ❜

❛ it's the most lovely thing i've ever seen. ❜

❛ it makes me feel like i have courage. ❜

❛ comforting to think the dead can watch the living. i don't find that spooky at all. ❜

❛ will you remember? ❜

❛ may I take you to dinner? ❜

❛ for the hungry boy, my name is [ … ] ❜

❛ i like to see who i'm talking to. ❜

❛ that's beautiful, your secrets. ❜

❛ your things are so well arranged. ❜

❛ my sister is a terror maybe she'll be a great dictator some day — ❜

❛ if you want to have a staring contest with me you will lose. ❜

❛ you look like a bird to me sometimes — or an alligator. ❜

❛ you're a very handsome man. ❜

❛ why aren't you married? ❜

❛ i am quite certain i was never meant to marry. ❜

❛ marriage would only make me deceitful and i don't ever want that. ❜

❛ you sound so sure about things. ❜

❛ you're just acting strong… for who? not for me, i hope. ❜

❛ it is only the expectations and assumptions of others that cause heart ache… ❜

❛ and who's this lovely creature making the house smell so nice? ❜

❛ i feel as if i've been looking for you for a very long time. ❜

❛ well here i am..  you found me. ❜

❛ whatever you do, do it carefully … ❜

❛ but in his work i become perfect and i feel just right. ❜

❛ you look beautiful, really. very beautiful. you're making me extremely hungry. ❜

❛ my little carnivore. ❜

❛ what are you looking so forlorn about, hm? ❜

❛ maybe one day you'll change your taste, ❜

❛ perhaps i'm looking for trouble. ❜

❛ if that's your wish, i hope it comes true for you. ❜

❛ have you had enough to eat? you seem thirsty. ❜

❛ i think he's being too fussy... ❜

❛ let me drive for you. ❜

❛ when he's like this, he's very tender. ❜

❛ what do you want me to do with that? ❜

❛ accept her invitation. if you can stomach it. ❜

❛ i know you're doing the best you can. ❜

❛ i'm afraid i must insist that you come. ❜

❛ i brought sincerity into his life. ❜

❛ go on, give us a kiss for the cameras. ❜

❛ how beautiful you are. ❜

❛ when you dream about your wedding dress, what is it that you dream? ❜

❛ are you a gold person or a silver person? ❜

❛ i'm trying to surprise him and love him the way that i want to. ❜

❛ i have to know him in my own way, ❜

❛ let me collect myself for a moment. ❜

❛ she's very beautiful, like a sculpture of some kind. ❜

❛ this is meant to be a nice evening. ❜

❛ let me serve you. ❜

❛ usually, you always tell me what you think. ❜

❛ i don't know what i'm doing here. ❜

❛ i wanted time with you. i wanted to have you to myself. ❜

❛ you have me all the time. ❜

❛ is it because you think i don't need you? ❜

❛ are you a special agent sent here to ruin my evening and possibly my entire life? ❜

❛ do you have a gun? you here to kill me? ❜

❛ stop playing this game! ❜

❛ what game? what precisely is the nature of my game? ❜

❛ why don't you just fuck off to back where you came from? ❜

❛ if you're going to make her a ghost, go ahead and do it. ❜

❛ don't let her sit around waiting for you. ❜

❛ don't pick a fight with me, you certainly won't come out alive. ❜

❛ i don't know what the hell came over me. ❜

❛ i've never really felt like this before. ❜

❛ i'll take care of you.❜

❛ i think this is clear. he wants you to fuck off. ❜

❛ i miss you. i think about you all the time. ❜

❛ i hear your voice say my name when i dream. ❜

❛ i just miss you, it's as simple as that. ❜

❛ i want to tell you everything. ❜

❛ i don't ever want to be without you. ❜

❛ there are things nagging at me. things i simply cannot do without you. ❜

❛ a house that doesn't change is a dead house.❜

❛ will you marry me? ❜

❛ i probably owe you an apology of some kind. ❜

❛ how do you know how my life has been? ❜

❛ i want to go dancing. ❜

❛ there is an air of quiet death in this house. ❜

❛ i want you flat on your back. helpless. tender. open. with only me to help. ❜

❛ you're not going to die. you might wish you were going to die, but you're not going to. ❜

❛ kiss me, my girl, before i'm sick. ❜

❛ if he wasn't here tomorrow, no matter. for i know he'd be waiting for me in the afterlife. ❜

❛ i am older and i see things differently, and i finally understand you. ❜