#and also is the reason I started posting fic

[aurorawritestoescape]

PERFECT || Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel comforts you and helps you to overcome your insecurities, pampering you with praise and love.

Tw: 18+ mdni smut, fluff, hurt/comfort period fic, daddy dom/little girl dynamic, soft!Joel in love, reader’s on her period, emotional trauma bc of an asshole ex, insecure reader, protective Joel, daddy kink, praise kink, pet names- little girl, baby, babygirl, sweetie, dry humping, f!masturbation, mentions of f!oral, m!oral, bulge worship, cum eating, swearing.

Word count: 3,4k

A/n: I missed writing super soft daddy Joel. Also he won in my poll so I’m posting this fic first like a good girl😇 Big thank you to @twiztedlaces for the request 💞 I’m sorry that it took me so long. Hope you’ll like the story. Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing💋 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🌸

MASTERLIST || more daddy Joel

“Daddy, no,”

you whine, reluctantly sliding out of Joel’s embrace, inching away, putting some distance between him and you on the bed. He’s just come from work, still in his dress shirt and slacks, his tie loosened, but his hands are already all over you. It always warms your heart how he hurries to you as soon as he returns, as if he’s finally home only when you’re pressed to his chest. But today everything feels wrong. You feel wrong.

“What is it, baby?” Joel asks with a worried expression on his handsome face. The sunset makes him look ethereal, his features are almost glowing in the golden light. You’d love to kiss every inch of that face but instead you pull your knees to your chest and curl into a ball.

Joel’s honey eyes slide over your body, searching for a reason for your unusual behavior.

“Are you sick?” He sits closer and presses his lips to your forehead.

You mumble a quiet ‘no’ and squirm away, closer to the headboard, further from him. You hate how miserable he looks now, his puppy eyes sad and confused. He plants his hand on the bed and leans towards you, his gaze begging for an explanation.

“I’m sorry. I can’t today. I’m — erm…,” you stumble on words, your cheeks hot, your gaze downcast.

Joel is staring at you for a few seconds, giving you time to continue, not rushing you. He sits up slowly, trying not to spook you. You can feel his nervousness in the air, it sticks to your skin, makes your heart ache with guilt.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong, babygirl. So I could help.”

“It’s —.”

Joel scooches closer to you and tentatively takes your hand in his. His big palm engulfs your little hand completely and the warmth spreads in your belly from his gentle touch. Joel starts speaking, carefully choosing his words, his voice soft,

“If it’s about our setup… I’ll understand if you want to stop or …to make any changes.”

You’ve been together not for long, been living together for a few weeks, but this time has been nothing but wonderful. Joel’s been doting on you, pampering you with love and affection. He was perfect and you hate that now he’s searching for a problem in your relationship.

“I’ve gotten my period,” you blurt out and he widens his eyes at you.

“Period,” he repeats, slowly nodding. “Oh, are you hurting?”

“Yeah, a little. But it’s not that.”

“What is it then, babygirl?”

You sigh, tracing circles on the back of his big hand with a pad of your finger.

“You don’t have to touch me right now. When I’m —like this.”

“What? Have to? No, I want to.”

His brows furrowed, Joel carefully pulls you into his arms, studying your face for any sign of discomfort. You don’t fight it and lean against his broad chest, taking a deep breath of his scent, while your anxiety is leaving your body bit by bit.

His soft husky voice asks above your head,

“Why wouldn’t I want you, little girl? Have I done anything to make you think that? I never meant to.”

You shake your head and wrap your arms tightly around his torso, your nose pressed to his neck.

“No, you’ve never done anything wrong, daddy. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby. I just want to understand.”

“It’s my ex — ,” you pause, hating to call that man anything but a bad word. “He never wanted to touch me when I had my special days. Wouldn’t even hug me. Said it was disgusting.”

“Motherfucker!”

“Daddy!” You gasp, gawking up at him, a little smile curving your lips.

“I’m sorry for cursing, sweetie, but what the hell is wrong with him?”

Joel takes your face in his warm hands, his eyes searching for yours.

“Listen to me. There’s nothing disgusting about you. Never! How could he—?” he pauses, gritting his teeth and glaring away in anger. A vein is bulging on his neck and his protective nature makes your pussy tingle.

As you’re staring up at him with heart eyes, Joel takes a deep breath to calm down, and looks at you again.

“You’re perfect, and I’ll always want you. I’ll be by your side any day of the month, my little girl.”

“Thank you, daddy,” you whisper with a grateful smile, melting under his warm gaze like ice cream under the summer sun.

“Does my baby want to cuddle? I promise to behave,” he adds with a wink and you nod eagerly, butterflies dancing in your belly.

“Give me a second.”

Joel gets up and you watch him discard his office clothes and put on a tee and a pair of grey sweatpants.

When he climbs on the bed and lies down next to you, you find your place under his arm, your head on his shoulder. You breathe out a happy sigh and Joel kisses the top to your head before asking,

“Do you want anything? Food, a drink maybe?”

“No, I’m good. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

You put your bent leg over his thigh and press your whole body close to his. Joel’s chest is rising and falling slowly, his warmth gives you peace and, caged in his arms, you feel loved and wanted.

His hand heavy on your hip, his big body flush against yours, his scent enveloping you — all the sensations stir up a fire deep inside you. You tilt your hips and absentmindedly grind your clothed pussy against his thigh.

Joel hums and you hear a smile in his voice when he asks, “Sure you don’t need anything, babygirl?

Only then your mind realizes what your body has been craving since the moment Joel came home, and you hide your face in his chest, feeling shy. You can’t hide how much you crave him. Your murmur is hardly audible.

“I need you, daddy.”

Joel pinches your chin with two fingers and tilts your head up. You breathe in sharply when his dark eyes meet yours. He leans in and kisses you, his tongue breaches your lips and licks inside your whimpering mouth.

Joel pushes you gently on your back and deepens the kiss. His hand is pressed to your lower belly, sharing his warmth like the best heating pad, until it slides down, and he cups your covered pussy.

“Daddy,” you whine into his mouth and Joel echoes you with a guttural groan.

He parts from your lips, and hovers over your face, visibly trying not to lose control over his growing desire.

“Do you want me to make you feel good, sweetie?”

You feel the anxiety crawl back up your throat and start breathing fast, your eyes filing with panic again.

“I — I don’t know. I…”

“Shh, baby. It’s ok. We don’t have to do anything.”

“No, daddy, I want you,” you whine, your voice shaky, “But I don’t know how we can— if I’m— like this— oh, daddy. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey.” Joel hugs you tightly, keeping you grounded to him, containing your anxiety that threatens to swallow you whole.

After a few moments, he reaches for your face and starts leaving kisses on your nose, your lips, your cheeks, your fluttering eyes.

“Let me help you, please. What that man did to you... Fucker. I wish I could make you feel different. Can I try, babygirl?”

You think for a few seconds and then give Joel a shy nod.

“Tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop, ok? " he coos, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.”

Joel gives you a reassuring smile before his lips press to yours again. His elbow is planted on the bed next to your shoulder, his plush lips are moving against yours. He sucks on your tongue and you moan while your hands are roaming his broad back, his muscular arms. Soon you start squirming under him, the ache between your legs getting too strong to ignore.

As if sensing your impatience, Joel covers your sex with his warm hand and murmurs,

“I’m gonna take your shorts off, ok?”

Your breathey ‘yes’ gives him a green light and he pulls them down and off your legs.

Joel’s hand returns to the apex of your thighs and now only your panties and a pad stand between his hand and your pussy.

He gently massages it and you breathe heavily, relishing the light stimulation but it’s not enough.

“Baby,” Joel rubs your nose with his and whispers, “what if I take your panties off as well? Will you let me?”

“But… the blood..”

“Don’t worry, I’ll put a towel on the bed. What do you say?”

You look into his warm eyes and feel how much you trust him in your soul.

”Ok, daddy.”

Joel gets up to grab a towel and you notice a big bulge, tenting his sweats. You lick your lips, craving a taste.

When Joel returns, he sits on his knees by your side and carefully places the towel under you. Then he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and, after a nod from you, slowly slides them down your legs.

It's your first day so the flow isn't heavy, but embarrassment overtakes you again, and you cover your face with your hands, keeping your legs closed.

For a few seconds you hear nothing except for your booming heart until Joel presses a soft kiss on the back of your hand and you peek at him from between your fingers.

"Can I see your pretty face, baby?"

You lower your hands and shily look up at him. Joel gives you a reassuring smile and commands,

"Now be a good girl and show daddy your sweet pussy."

You bite your lip, a mixture of arousal and fear coursing through your body, but his kindness, the desire in his gaze give you the needed courage and you slowly part your legs.

“Here she is,” Joel coos, lovingly staring at your cunt. “As beautiful as ever. My pretty flower.”

A smile spreads across your face and you breathe out with relief.

Joel leans down and kisses you, still kneeling, as if praying, but instead of gods he praises you, his girl who needs him more than air right now. Needs his adoration, his reassurance, his love.

You’re swept away by the kiss, passion and hunger are woven into every stroke of his lips. Your body lights up when his hand finds your cunt again and his thumb tentatively rubs your swollen clit. All the fears and worries evaporate when he starts caressing your pussy, lust rules over you now, your pleasured moans and whimpers ring loudly in the darkening bedroom.

Joel presses his forehead to yours and watches your face twist in pleasure, while his fingers are twirling your sensitive bud.

“You like it, little girl—?“ he whispers against your lips, “when daddy plays with your pussy like that?”

Your soft moan is the best answer. Joel gives you an adoring smile and his lips start tracing a soft path from your lips, down to your neck, then they reach your chest and he nuzzles it, pushing your top up and out of the way.

Your breasts are freed from the confines of the clothes and Joel latches on your nipple. It pebbles in his hot mouth, under the caress of his tongue.

“Ahhh, yes, daddy,” you sing and Joel growls against your tits.

You’re on cloud nine with his fingers rubbing your wet clit, his tongue swirling around your nipple, then around the other, his facial hair deliciously tickling the delicate skin of your breasts. You run your fingers through his silky curls, his name soft on your lips, but suddenly the pleasure gets too overwhelming and you lightly pull the hair on his nape.

Joel stops his ministrations this very second, his mouth leaves your breasts, and he searches for your eyes, his own gaze concerned and worried.

“Have I hurt you, baby? What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t, daddy, it feels so good but … can I get a kiss?”

Joel beams at you, his smile warms your heart.

“Of course, sweetie.”

He kisses you and you grab onto him as if you’re going to float away. His hand is on your mound, his lips moving sensually against yours.

He parts from you to whisper,

“She’s so wet and warm. Can I kiss her too?”

You know he’s talking about your pussy, beating in his hand, but the insecurities are rooted deep inside you, so you shake your head ‘no’ with a sorry expression.

“It’s fine, babygirl,” Joel comforts you. “Next time. Today daddy’s gonna use only his fingers, yes?”

“Please.”

Joel starts again slowly. Giving you time to adjust to the pleasure, get ready to a bright release, he lightly traces your seam, his pads drawing patterns on your soft folds, and when you whine a weak ‘daddy‘ only then his fingers dive between your pussy lips and start dancing over your clit.

Joel’s face inches from yours, he drinks in every single sign of your pleasure- the way your lips part, soft gasps and moans escaping them again and again, the fluttering of your lashes before your eyes roll back and you bite on your lower lip.

”Damn, wish it was my mouth down there,” Joel gruffs, his obsidian eyes half-lidded. ”My tongue misses your sweet hole, misses you coming on it.”

“Ahhh, daddy, I’m gonna —“

“Yes, let it go. For me, baby, for your perfect pussy.”

His mouth covers your tit again and he sucks on your nipple hard. The combination of his dirty talk, his fingers massaging your clit, his lips wrapped around your bud pushes you over the precipice and you cry out as your body trembles with ecstasy, your pussy pulses against Joel’s hand and you feel wetness slide down from your fluttering hole. Is it cum or blood, you don’t care - an ocean of bliss that Joel is giving you has washed your anxiety away, only euphoria and love fill up your chest and mind.

It feels like your orgasm lasts forever with Joel prolonging it tirelessly, his mouth and fingers playing your body like the most exquisite instrument, and he stops only when you whine with overstimulation.

You’re catching your breath, limbs tingling, eyes closing by themselves, and Joel kisses your forehead and pulls you into his arms.

“Sleep, babygirl, get some rest.”

The bedroom is dark now, illuminated only by the nightstand lamp, and you’re about to drift off but then you feel Joel hard against your thigh and your eyes snap open.

“Daddy! What about you?!”

“What about me, baby?” He chuckles. “Don’t worry your pretty head. I’ll be fine.”

You furrow your brows at him, eyes still droopy but your voice determined.

“No, daddy. I want to make you feel good too.”

You see him open his mouth to protest but you press your finger to his lips and beg,

“Please, daddy. I want him in my mouth.”

Joel growls and kisses your finger on his lips.

“He wants it too, sweetie.”

His words are soft but you hear desire loud in the way his chest rumbles with every word.

Joel leans against the headboard and you settle between his legs, your elbows planted on the bed, the towel under your pussy. You know that eating him will make you unbearably horny again so you bunch up the towel to make it perfect for humping.

A mischievous smile twists your lips and you moan wantonly when you notice a dark stain on his huge bulge.

”See what you’re doing to me, babygirl? How can you be anything but perfect?” Joel breathes out and bucks his hips, not shy about your effect on him. He’s about to pull the sweats down but you stop his hand and lightly shake your head. You press your face against the big lump and nuzzle it gently.

“What are you doing there, little girl?” Joel coos at you, feigning composure, but his voice is strained with need.

You give him a mischievous smile before your mouth opens up and you lick the fabric, tasting the saltiness of Joel’s precum, and then nudge his clothed hard-on with your tongue.

“I love feeling you like this, daddy,” you purr seductively and Joel moans.

“Fuckkkk, naughty girl.” He takes your head between his hands and slowly moves his hips up and down, grinding his stiff bulge against your tongue, your lips and your chin. The dark stain grows bigger now, your drooling mouth and his leaking cock soaking the sweats generously, but soon the edging makes Joel grit his teeth.

“Baby, quit it. Daddy needs his cock sucked.”

He’s been so sweet to you today, so supportive, you decide to be bratty some other day. You look up at him with your innocent doe eyes and breathe out,

“Yes, daddy.”

He impatiently tugs his pants and boxers down and his big gorgeous cock springs free, drops of precum flying everywhere. One lands on your lower lip and you lick it off with a hum before leaning down and tracing the underside of his length with the tip of your tongue. Slowly. Too slowly.

“Baby,” Joel rumbles with a warning and you apologetically bat your lashes at him and give into his desire.

You wrap your lips around his tip and suck on it gently for a few moments, gliding your tongue back and forth over the sensitive slit. Then you take him deeper into the hot cavern of your mouth, careful not to hurt him.

“Oh, baby, oh, yeah.”

Joel’s thumbs are rubbing your temples while his hands are guiding you, setting the rhythm, when you start bobbing your head up and down the stiff rod of his cock.

You love sucking Joel off, seeing him gone with pleasure, but what makes your pussy drip is the sounds he always makes. He doesn’t hide his ecstasy, and now he’s moaning, singing how well you’re blowing him, voice gruff but needy at the same time.

He hums softly when you caress his heavy balls and praises you so much, you wish you could suck his cock forever. Love for him grows in your belly and confidence blooms in your chest. You make him happy, you make this perfect man happy.

Your hips start moving by themselves and your pussy grinds against the soft towel. The fibers gently stimulate your clit while Joel is making love to your mouth and to your soul with his sweet words.

“Oh, yes, baby, yes—jus’ like that— so good to me— my little girl. This mouth is heaven. Ah, yes, right there, sweetie, suckle on it. Good girl. You’re perfect… perfect...”

Joel grunts and his bliss starts filling your mouth. Your own pleasure on hold, you focus on his release. His balls twitch in your hand and you slightly pull away to let his cock spill all the cum directly onto your tongue. You want to savor his taste, feel the weight of his load fully before you swallow it all in small gulps.

When his cock gives you everything to the last drop, Joel closes his eyes and rests his head against the headboard, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips curled into a smile.

“Wow, that was —,” he pants and then looks down at you, sitting on your heels between his legs, licking your lips like a well fed cat.

“C’mere.”

His arms open up and you tentatively climb on his lap.

“But daddy… my pussy..”

”Shush, babygirl. She’s perfect and I want you both close to me.”

He pulls you down onto his chest and you wrap your arms around his waist, snuggling up to his broadness.

“I love you, daddy,” you whisper with a happy smile, filling your lungs with his scent, your heart with his love. Joel kisses the top of your head and squeezes you lightly in his arms, emphasizing his words,

“I love you too, baby. Always.”

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!

MASTERLIST || more daddy Joel

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ 𝔹𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕊𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕖♡

♡ Pairings: fratboy!jaehyun x chubby!fem!reader, fratboy!johnny x chubby!fem!reader, fratboy!nct members

♡ Genre: college au/angst/fluff/smut

♡ Summary: Jaehyun has made it a habit of playing with your heart. One day he loves you, the next he hates you, with nothing in between. Growing tired of his games, you find your attention drifting somewhere else. Toward his roommate and frat brother Johnny to be exact.

♡ Word Count: 10k-ish

♡ Warnings: jaehyun's a fuckboy, nct frat is full of fuckboys actually, two couples having sex in the same room (not an orgy), unprotected sex, a lil spanking, partying, kissing, drinking, casual/meaningless sex, sexual fantasies, fingering, heartbreak, pet names (baby), mucho crying, & that's all my loves

♡ A/N: I started this fic months ago but I posted a pretty unfinished version of it because I was just not in the best space so I decided to go back and give my lil fic the love that it deserves. If you've read it before, there's new sections thrown in the mix and it now has an ending. If you've never even knew it existed then I hope you enjoy reading. I'm low key considering making this a series ✨NCT frat boy cinematic universe ✨ I've also gotta thank @anyamaris for always being there to read things for me and @tofethee for being the literal reason that I remembered my lil unfinished fic existed xoxoxo

It was exciting at first. 

Weekends at the frat house partying with Jaehyun. No rules. No limitations. Everything a girl could want just waiting to be given to her if she asked. And the sex? The sex was incredible. Jaehyun could be a real asshole sometimes but he always knew how to make you cum so hard your ears were ringing. 

You knew from the start that it’d be delusional to think you were anything more to him than a pretty face and a dependable fuck. Jaehyun’s killer bone structure and gorgeous features make him what one might imagine a fairytale prince to be. All the girls on campus dream of being with him and he knows it. He loves it.

That man has an ego bigger than his cock which is unfortunately rather large. There’s so much of himself floating around in his head that there’s just no room for anyone else. Still he has his endearing moments, ones that make a girl feel special, and that’s what keeps you coming back when you begin to think better of tolerating his bullshit.

That’s why you’re here tonight, knees digging into his mattress, cheek pressed to his pillow, as he fucks you from behind. You feel it, the force of his hips snapping against your ass, his cock pulsing deep in your core. But it feels like nothing. It’s like getting a tooth pulled after the dentist has numbed you up real good. The force of the movement is there but the feeling’s gone.

A few feet away another bed creaks as a girl you’ve only met once or twice rides Jaehyun’s frat brother Johnny like one of those mechanical bulls. This isn’t abnormal. During these parties sex happens any time, anywhere, and that almost always includes being in the same room together. But you can’t help feeling like a pervert for stealing a few glances of the adjacent couple.

Jaehyun never formally introduced you to Johnny. Come to think of it, he's never formally introduced you to anyone. It was Johnny who introduced himself one night when you’d had a few too many drinks for your own good and ended up hunched over the toilet with Jaehyun nowhere to be found. 

Johnny sat with you for hours making sure you were hydrated and feeding you snacks until he was sure you were okay. You can’t for the life of you remember what was said. You can only recall that you felt comfortable and safe with him. It was enough to make you develop the tiniest crush that’s only been made worse by how sweet he’s been to you since.

Jaehyun slaps your ass, interrupting your train of thought. Almost simultaneously Johnny begins to caress the other girl’s hips. There���s so much tenderness in the way he touches her and you envy it. You wish Jaehyun could give you even a fraction of that. Just once. Pulling the girl in for a kiss, Johnny wraps his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. With her head nestled in the side of his neck, he cradles her gently as he lifts into her at a slow, rhythmic pace. 

You imagine that’s you, not being hammered into but actually feeling something, and magically the friction of Jaehyun’s cock rubbing your walls feels good. In fact, far better than it ever has before. You let out a moan, a whisper, “Aah, oh god.” Jaehyun takes notice of it, loving the way you clench too much not to hit that sweet spot again and again. He’s so distracted by the delicious jiggling of your body, his vision curtained by messy dark brown hair, that he can’t see that he isn’t the only one captivated by you.

But you notice. Johnny’s staring back at you now, his eyes glued to yours as he takes in all those pretty faces you make. This isn’t the first time he’s watched you either. He and Jaehyun were roommates long before you came into the picture. Johnny’s seen more than a few girls naked in Jaehyun’s bed but you’re the only one he’s cared to sneak a peek at. The crush you have on him is so mutual. How you never picked up on it he doesn’t know but it’s oh so obvious now.

The longing behind Johnny’s eyes is immense, luring you further into his gaze until he’s all you see. Setting your bodies on autopilot with your respective partners, you begin to quietly explore each other. Your minds indulge in every dirty thought you’ve had about each other. Thoughts you’d suppressed out of fear that you were doing something wrong. You find yourself getting wetter than you’ve been all night, walls dripping twice as much as they hug Jaehyun’s cock.

“Damn, you feel so good, baby” Jaehyun praises, planting kisses down the middle of your back. He shifts to a position he knows will have you trembling and you let out the sexiest moan. So sexy it makes Johnny’s cock twitch inside of the other girl, heat washing over both of your bodies. 

“You’re so fucking cute” Johnny whispers in a way that seems to be for the girl in his arms but is meant for you and only you. His face lights up like the 4th of July at every broken moan or arch of your back. You can tell how badly he wishes the pussy warming his cock right now were yours and you get the filthiest rush out of that.

As the pressure inside of you reaches its peak your legs begin to shake, knees threatening to give out from under you. A faint smile creeps across Johnny’s face and he mouths to you, “Cum.” And you do, as if on command. Burying your face in the pillow, you bite down on the fluffy cotton and let it fill your cheeks. It’s a gag of sorts, a desperately needed one incase you should cry out the wrong name on accident.

You know in your heart that even by frat boy standards you’ve crossed a line. You’ve stumbled into territory there’s no coming back from. But when it feels this good it’s difficult to want to turn back anyway. 

“You’re overreacting. It’s not like you’re my girlfriend.” 

You know this to be true, Jaehyun isn’t your boyfriend, but it hurts all the same to wake up to him texting another girl. Your heart sank when you rolled over this morning, still in his arms, to find him making plans to meet up with her tonight.

It was so blatant, he didn’t even attempt to hide what he was doing, and maybe that’s what hurts most of all. You thought he cared enough about you to at least pretend he wasn’t playing the absolute fuck out of you. It’s clear now that you thought wrong. 

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” you shout, gathering your things from the floor, the sheet from his bed still draped around your naked body. 

A fully dressed Jaehyun casually searches the dresser for his keys, the smile on his face so cocky you want to slap it off. “Right, I’m going to the gym. You know how to see yourself out right?” 

Picking up one of your heels, you channel all your strength into throwing it at his head. “I never wanna see you again!” 

Jaehyun opens the bedroom door in time to take cover behind it, the heel of your shoe leaving a dent where it would’ve hit him. “Ooh, feisty” he teases, cracking the door to throw you a wink, “Save some of that for next time, hmm?”

There’s so much you want to say but none of it will change anything. He walks away from you like it’s nothing and that’s precisely what you feel like. Nothing. Unable to hold back anymore, you burst into tears where you stand, gathering up some of the sheet to sob quietly into. You can’t recall the last time you cried like this. A chest tightening, nose dripping, lip quivering type of cry that makes you want to double over in pain. 

“Hey, come here” a voice whispers, the rasp of sleep still hanging over it.

You feel a tug on the back of the sheet and turn to see Johnny sitting up in bed, one hand rubbing his barely open eyes while the other clings to the sheet around you.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up” you apologize, too embarrassed to make eye contact, “I’ll just get my things and—”

“No, come here” he insists, pulling you closer to his bed, “Come lay with me.”

Something in you says to resist it—you shouldn’t be crawling into bed with Jaehyun’s roommate—but Johnny’s already taking you by the hand, guiding you down into the empty spot beside him. No words are spoken as he pulls the soft blanket over the two of you, tucking it at your side to keep you warm.

His head hits the pillow, heavy lids closing, as he pulls you into his chest. There’s tension at first, on your part only. A hesitance to allow yourself to fully relax into the gentle embrace you’ve been desperately pining for. But the longer he holds you, his palm massaging your lower back in soothing figure eights, the more you soften.

“You don’t deserve this, you know?” he finally says when your tears have subsided and your breathing has evened out enough for you to speak. There’s exhaustion in those words as he says them, giving the impression that this is something he’s wanted to ask you for a long time. 

“Is this gonna be a lecture?” you sniffle, nervously patting the tears from the dips between his muscles, “Because I really don’t need a lecture right now.” 

Johnny laughs, letting out a yawn, “Nah, it’s too early for a lecture. My brain’s not heated up yet.” 

“Not heated up yet? What does that even mean?” you giggle, leaning to look up at him, your nose scrunched in confusion. Johnny opens his eyes, staring back at you with those starry brown orbs, and you’re transported back to the way you felt last night. If you thought his gaze made you want to melt from afar, it’s reducing you to volcanic ash at this distance. 

“Well, it’s like, when you first wake up your brain’s cold. Your thoughts are all jumbled so you’ve gotta wait a little, let it heat up” Johnny explains, the tips of his sable hair kissing your face.  

“You’re, uh…” you stutter, searching for the perfect word, “Really…interesting? Yeah, you’re interesting, Johnny Suh.” 

The most genuine smile takes over that handsome face as he lets out a joyful squeak, sincerely flattered by your comment. “Yeah? Well, so are you. You’re really interesting and cool and cute. I did mean that last night. You are cute.”

You tuck your head, trying to hide a smile of your own, but Johnny caresses your cheek, bringing you right back. “Why do you let him treat you like that?” he asks without the slightest bit of judgment. Your smile fades as you contemplate a question you aren’t even sure you know the answer to. You file through 1001 possibilities before coming to the raw, painful truth. 

“I was trying to prove something, I guess” you confess, feeling an odd sense of relief at admitting this to him and yourself. “I thought if I could attain the unattainable it’d be proof that I was special.”

Johnny scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Jaehyun? Unattainable? I could fuck him if I complemented him enough.” 

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better” you huff, beginning to regret that moment of vulnerability. 

“No, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that he isn’t one of those people that can appreciate when they have something special.” 

You shrug in defeat, letting your fears fall freely from your lips, “Yeah, I don’t know if any guy can at this point.”

“So you think we’re all the same?” he asks, tilting your head to let your lips brush his. His lips are like static, making the little hairs on your arm stand on end. Your heart’s running a marathon and the butterflies in your stomach are throwing fits. This can’t be happening. Only it is.

You swallow hard, inhaling the scent of the fresh morning air meddled with his cologne. “Well, I…I mean no one’s really shown me any different.” 

Johnny presses his lips to yours, lingering there for a moment to savor the warmth of your kiss. “Can you give it some time?” he whispers, fingers charting a course across the curve of your hip to take your hand into his. 

“It or you, Johnny?” you ask, silently begging him not to say a thing if it’s not something he means.

“Hmm,” he hums, bringing your hand up to gently kiss your inner wrist, your palm, your fingertips, “Me.”

Your phone vibrates in your hand, Jaehyun’s name flashing on the screen. 

You’d think it was a bomb by how delicately you’re holding it, careful not to breathe too hard out of fear that it’ll somehow answer the call. It’s the 5th time he’s called today, probably the 9th in the last 24 hours, but you can’t bring yourself to pick up the call. There’s nothing he can say that the dozens of unanswered text messages he’s sent in the last week haven’t already.

He didn’t mean to talk to you that way. The girl he was texting meant nothing to him. He hadn’t even gone to see her that night. He only cares about you. Only wants you. If you just give him the chance he’ll prove it to you. Just pick up the phone. Just let him see you. 

“Block him” your best friend AJ whispers, sneaking up behind you. 

“Fuck!” you scream, nearly jumping out of your skin. You thought that the walk in fridge at work was the perfect place to hide but you only managed a couple of seconds without being caught.

AJ giggles, hugging you from behind, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, girl. I just saw you sneaking off and you know I had to check on you. I mean it though, you really should block him. He’s never gonna change.”

You let out a long, heavy sigh knowing there’s no way to deny the truth. In the past you’ve made excuses for him. You’ve cried in her arms too many times to count. You can’t justify it anymore. Not to her and not to yourself.

You shove your phone down into the pocket of your apron, your mind set on blocking him as soon as your shift’s over. “You’re right. He can be some other girl’s problem. I’m over it.” 

“See, that’s what I like to hear. Now that he’s out of the way, you ready to scope out some new cuties?”

You’re too familiar with the mischievous look on her face. You’ve seen it a million times before and it means trouble every time. “AJ, what are you talking about?”

“Well, these guys just came in looking for you. They asked to be seated in your section and they’re hot, like…” AJ fans herself dramatically, “Hot.”

You roll your eyes, pretending not to be interested, but you both know that you’re faking it. “Which table?”

“That’s my girl!” she cheers, grabbing you by the hand and dragging you out into the chaos of the busy kitchen. 

15 seconds. That’s how long you’d known peace. It seems short but that’s an eternity during dinner rush. Sometimes it gets so hectic here that you hardly have time to catch your breath and it’s shaping up to be one of those nights. 

“Table 7, off you go” AJ hums, ushering you out into the main dining area. 

You turn back to ask her questions. Did they give a name? Did they say what they wanted? Any defining details other than “hot”? But one of her tables is waving her down and she’s already scurrying off to help them. It’s up to you to solve the mystery now and there’s only one way to find out.

Smoothing out your clothes and straightening up your hair, you make your way to table 7 as casually as you can, trying not to seem too eager to greet the patrons that await you. 

“I don’t care about food. I need alcohol” one of the guys whines, flipping through the menu in search of the drink section.

“Who fixes a hangover with more alcohol?” his friend laughs, raking his fingers through his long brown hair. 

“You can fix a beer hangover with wine. I’m pretty sure.”

“I feel like that’s not true” you say as you approach the table, “Actually, no, that’s definitely not true.” 

All conversation halts at the sight of you. AJ was right. They are hot, every single last one of them, but especially the one seated closest to you, his eyes beaming as he stares up at you. 

“Hey” Johnny sighs, his voice light and floaty. 

You feel your cheeks warm, an unexpected shyness overtaking you, “Hi Johnny.”

“Hi Johnny” the guy next to him teases, tucking his hair behind his ear. 

Johnny elbows him in the side, never taking his eyes off of you, “Ignore him. He was dropped on his head as a kid. That’s Jungwoo” He points to the two across from him, “That’s Doyoung. Yuta.”

“Nice to meet you” Doyoung smiles, reaching out to shake your hand, “We’ve heard a lot about you. Johnny won’t shut up about you actually. You know—”

Yuta throws an arm across Doyoung’s shoulder, covering Doyoung's mouth with one hand, “Can we get a couple of waters to start?”

“Uh, sure, no problem. I’ll be right back” you nod, pretending that Doyoung’s little slip up hasn’t left you feeling all fuzzy inside. Johnny talks about you to his friends? Something like that hasn’t happened in so long that you almost forgot what it feels like. 

“Wait, one more thing” Johnny says, jumping up to block your way before you can leave. 

You giggle at the urgency in his movement. You’d think you were going to war in another country instead of just a few feet away to grab some water. “Sure, what’s up?” 

Noticing that he might’ve seemed a bit too excited, Johnny tries to calm down but his cool image is already shattered. He can’t go back. “I just wanted to ask what time you got off work tonight.”

You glance over at the clock hanging from the wall near the entrance, “Hmm, like, another two hours.”

Johnny takes your hand, nervously fidgeting with the delicate silver ring on your finger. “There’s somewhere I wanna take you tonight. Would it be okay if maybe I hung around and waited for you?”

“You’re gonna sit here for two hours and wait for me?”

“Well, yeah, we still have to order our food and I’ll just eat really, really, really, slow,” he says, leaning into you until your lips just barely brush. “Okay?”

You’re at work. He can’t be this close to you. It’s unprofessional. Yet you don’t move an inch out of his way. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, your body so flush with heat that you’re on the verge of begging someone to crack a window in here.

“Yeah, okay” you whisper and he presses his lips to yours, unable to resist his intrusive thoughts. Not even this once.

The kiss is quick. Quick enough that not everyone could see—quick enough not to get you in trouble on the clock—but the tingle that it leaves behind lasts the rest of your shift. It’s enough to make you forget all those missed calls and text messages. You’re floating on a cloud, your head so lost in stolen glances and passing contact with Johnny that your shift’s over before you know it and he’s taking you by the hand, leading you across the street to where his car awaits.

“Have fun you two!” Doyoung calls back as the others split in their own direction. 

“And Johnny don’t say anything stupid!” Jungwoo throws in. 

“Yeah, don’t do that thing you do where you like a girl and your palms get all sweaty” Yuta teases. 

Johnny hurries you into the car before his friends can say anything else but you can still hear them taunting him, even as their voices fade down the street. Hopping into the car Johnny lays his head on the steering wheel, letting out a huff of frustration. “I’m going to kill them. Every single last one of them.”

You reach over to rub his knee, putting on your sexiest voice, “I happen to think sweaty palms are very sexy.” 

Johnny turns to look at you, a moment of silence passing before he rewards you with the exact laughter you wanted to shake out of him. “Sexy, huh?” 

“Yes, actually” you swear, batting your eyelashes, “I love a man with good…perspiration.” 

“So you’re cute and you’re funny” he muses, “Guess I’m doomed.”

“Doomed? To what exactly?”

Johnny shrugs, looking you up and down, giving himself time to take you in. He’s always thought you were gorgeous. Any time you came to the frat house all dolled up he couldn’t take his eyes off of you and even now, dressed in your work clothes with not a drop of makeup on, he can’t think of anything more beautiful. Is it even possible? 

Snapping out of it, he clears his throat and sits up straight. “It’s nothing. Forget it. You ready to go?” 

Curious but not wanting to press the issue you just snap on your seatbelt and nod, “Mmhmm.”

You’re even cute when you’re taking safety precautions. It’s sickening. He wants to lean over and kiss you again, maybe for a little longer this time, but he knows if he does he’ll never leave this spot so instead he starts the car, fighting to keep his mind on track. Truly a task when he’s next to you. 

At first the ride’s quiet. Not awkward. Just quiet. Neither of you knows what to do—how to act. You’ve exchanged a few texts here and there since that morning you crawled into his bed. You’d even seen each other in passing on campus, shared a few brief hugs, but you hadn’t been alone together since. Are you really doing this? What is it that you’re doing anyway? It’s a question that you both want to ask but somehow it seems too soon. 

“Only serial killers drive in silence. I need music” you blurt out and Johnny laughs off your comment, happy to finally meet someone as random as he is. 

Digging in his pocket, he pulls out his phone and hands it to you. “Here, it’s connected to the car. Play whatever you want.”

Cradling his phone in your palms like a newborn baby, you stare at him in shock as his lock screen awaits a code. 

“020995” he says, waiting for you to tap in the digits. When you don’t he repeats it, slower this time, “02…09…95.”

“Huh?”

“The password. To my phone.”

The information hits you on a delay, only adding to your shock. “You’re giving me the password to your phone?”

“Yeah, how else will you use it?” he asks, unsure what exactly has you so confused. 

Not wanting to make the moment any more awkward than it already is, you tap the numbers into his phone, navigating his apps until you find the music. The anxiety is nauseating. The last time you looked at a guy’s phone you ended up crying and you never want to feel that way again. But Johnny seems so calm, so totally unbothered by you having his phone, that your worries begin to subside. After all you’ve been through it’s easy to think that every guy has something to hide but maybe, just maybe, this one doesn’t. 

Pushing your insecurities to the back of your mind, you settle into your new job as the resident DJ and find yourself having fun—actual fun—for the first time in a long time. It’s enough being in the car with him, jamming out to your favorite songs, sharing stories about concerts you’ve been to, that you aren’t even concerned about the destination. It isn’t until you’re pulling into a spot off the side of a pitch black road that you begin to wonder where exactly he’s taking you. 

Johnny hops out of the car first, circling around to the trunk for something. You crack your door open, just enough to get a peek at him. “I know I joked about that whole serial killer thing but—”

“Turn the flashlight on” he instructs, ignoring your second implication of him as a killer. 

Flipping on his phone’s flashlight, you shine it in his direction to find him standing there with a blanket. He slams the trunk closed and approaches you, leaning against the back door, “I definitely brought you out here to kill you. Death by a really cozy blanket.”

You slip out of the car, hesitantly scanning your surroundings, “Then what are we out here for, hmm?” 

“Just hold the flashlight straight and trust me for a few minutes” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you through what slowly reveals itself to be a park. 

There’s trees and benches. A few trails leading in each direction. Wooden signs are painted marking which way to go for camping and where to find the small creek you can hear rushing nearby. You’re grateful to have worn sneakers to work. A pair of heels would've never survived the stone pathway you have to traverse to make it deeper into the woods and closer to wherever he’s taking you.

You remain silent for a few minutes, doing your best to trust the process, and just as you’re about to question this plan of his the hard stone beneath your shoes turns soft and grassy. The trees break open into a small clearing where the moon beams down, brightly illuminating the world below. You gaze up at the sky in awe. You’ve never seen the stars this vividly before. They seem so close that you could touch them. 

“It’s so beautiful” you gasp, nearly tripping over the blanket as Johnny begins to lay it out behind you. 

“See, told you I wasn’t trying to kill you” he teases, kissing you on the forehead, “I come out here sometimes when I’m feeling overwhelmed. I figured you might be pretty overwhelmed too lately so I thought it might be nice for you.”

Johnny takes a seat on the blanket and you slip down beside him, your eyes still fixed on the stars. “I didn’t know you were the stargazing type.��

“Surprised?” he asks, gently stroking your cheek.

Without a second thought, you lean into his touch, letting yourself enjoy the sensation of his skin against yours. And just like that you can’t be bothered with the stars anymore. He’s all you can see. All you can feel. “I’m surprised by a lot of things when it comes to you.” 

“Like what?”

You know that you should be careful with your words but you can’t control what comes out of your mouth next. “Like why you’re doing all of this. Why you even care about me?”

Johnny sits with your question, giving it as long as it needs to truly sink in. “Remember that night you came over and got sick?”

You cringe at the thought of it, “Oh god. Unfortunately, yes. Tell me that has nothing to do with this.”

“You weren’t as bad as you think” he swears, “I’ve seen much worse, trust me. I know you might not remember a lot about that night but you were there for me too. I wasn’t in the best headspace then and I didn’t really wanna go to any of the guys about it then I found you and it was, like, comforting to be with you. Once you stopped throwing up.” 

“Johnny, please” you whine, burying your face in your hands out of embarrassment. 

Johnny pulls your hands away, trying to hide his laughter, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Messing with you is fun. But seriously, it felt nice being with you and every time I saw you after that I just kept finding things that I liked about you until I couldn’t avoid the fact that I had to have you even if you were his.”

“I was never his. He never owned me” you make it a point to say, “You could’ve had me whenever you wanted me. You only had to say it.”

Tucking his arms around your waist, he brings you onto his lap, your legs resting on either side of him. His hands find their way to your hips, smoothing over your pleated skirt to feel the softness of your bare thighs. Your breath catches at the pad of his thumb gliding over your inner thigh, inching your skirt up.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, letting yourself be drawn into eyes that reflect the moonlight so gorgeously you might as well be staring right at it. “Johnny…” you gasp, feeling his cock harden between your legs.

The friction between his pants and the moistening silk of your panties has you on the verge of moaning. Thumbing your clit through the fabric, he coaxes that moan right out of you just in time for this tongue to invade the space between your lips. Your fingers find his hair, tangling themselves within it as you raise your hips, giving him all the space he needs to tuck your panties aside.

You were so wet the other night, wet enough that he could hear it, but feeling it himself is beyond his wildest dreams. You’re so slick, so soft, like the petals of a flower after fresh rain. Droplets of your arousal coat his fingertips as he pets your entrance, sinking his fingers into you deeper and deeper with every stroke. Your moans dance off of your tongue and right onto his as you rock back and forth in his lap, mindlessly riding his fingers. 

“Can I keep you?” he whispers, curling his fingers into your sweet spot, hitting it perfectly, “I’ve wanted you for so long and I…I need you to be all mine.” He stares you dead in the eyes, meaning every word that he says. He wants you and he won’t share you. Not with Jaehyun. Not with anyone. 

“You can keep me. I’m yours. I’m—aah” you whimper, your pleasure only heightened by his need, “All yours.”

What are you even saying? What are you doing? Falling onto your back. That’s what. Lying on this blanket with your legs spread and your back arched, watching the night sky twinkle above you as Johnny’s fingers drive into you while you pledge your pussy juice drenched allegiance to him. 

Somewhere in the car, buried in your purse, your phone’s vibrating again. Another missed call from Jaehyun. But you’re too far out of his reach in more ways than one. Further than he could ever imagine. 

You fight. You cry. You get back together again. 

Fight. Cry. Get back together again. That’s the way things have always been between you and Jaehyun. He knows it isn’t healthy but, in his own twisted way, it’s the only way he can trust that you care about him. There’s no justification for it, nothing you did to him in the past that warrants such cruel and unusual punishment.

Jaehyun’s addicted to the rush of getting back together. The desperate, passionate moment when your bodies collide after a week or so apart. Both of you too filled with need to care about what tore you apart in the first place. He can only get that with you, he only wants it with you.

But this time he took it too far, did a bit too much in his attempt to make you jealous, and now you won’t even speak to him. When he knocks on your door your roommate lies and says you aren’t there, refusing to open it more than a crack to shoot him down. Every call goes to voicemail, every text message left undelivered, and on the rare occasion that you run into each other you treat him like a ghost. 

Seated on the sectional couch at the heart of his living room, Jaehyun stares into the void of faceless partiers swarming the frat house. The beer cradled between his fingers has the top popped off but he’s barely been touched. The chattering of his frat brothers scattered across the couch might as well be miles away. 

A girl in a black mini skirt sneaks up behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, “You look sad, baby. Need me to cheer you up?” She licks her lips, planting soft, wet kisses down his neck the way she did a few nights ago when he was in need of some rebound sex that more than failed to satisfy him. 

Jaehyun pats her on the arm, shrugging her off, “Thanks but, uh, no thanks.” 

“Wait, what?” she frowns, arms folded across her chest, “You’re joking right?” 

Scooting closer to Jaehyun, his frat brother Taeyong places a sympathetic hand on hers. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I don’t think he wants to play with you anymore." 

At the other end of the couch their brother Yuta raises his beer, winking at the girl, “But I will. I volunteer!” 

“Fuck you, Jaehyun and your asshole friends!” the girl huffs, storming off into the crowd. 

“Wait! Are you sure?” Yuta calls out after her, “Don’t you know what they say about Japanese guys with long hair? We’re perverts. The best kind!”

“Did she say fuck her in the asshole?” Doyoung asks, his ears turning red from one too many shots. 

“Who’s getting fucked in the asshole?” Mark asks, flopping down beside Yuta on the couch. He’s younger than the other guys, probably shouldn’t be here, but they all have a soft spot for him, especially Yuta, so he gets to stick around. 

Yuta pouts, laying his head on Mark’s shoulder, “No one, sadly.” 

“Can you guys not be pigs for two seconds? Grow up” Jaehyun snaps, chugging down his beer so fast it makes him dizzy. 

“Ooh, someone’s cranky tonight” Taeyong teases, “What’s got you so uptight? You’re usually the worst of us.” 

Doyoung pours himself another shot, taking a quick, adorable sip of it. “She blocked him. On everything. Won’t even talk to him. So sad.” 

Jaehyun’s tempted to throw the empty bottle at Doyoung’s head and, unlike when you threw your shoe at him, there’s no way he could miss the shot. But Mark swoops in, wedging himself between Jaehyun and Taeyong to provide some comfort. “Aww, man, your girl broke your heart? I’m sorry. Hugs?” 

As Mark embraces Jaehyun, Yuta scoffs at the display. “His girl?” Yuta laughs, “Hardly. He fucked her. By that standard mini skirt was his girl too.” 

“Oh and her!” Doyoung adds, pointing to the curly haired girl in the corner.

The others pile on, making a game out of spotting girls Jaehyun’s slept with. Jaehyun snatches free of Mark’s hug, refusing to sit through anymore of this. He’s ready to storm off himself but doubles back to clarify something. “She’s not like them, alright? So respect her or I’ll hit you so hard every meal you have until next semester will need to be through a straw.” 

Taeyong throws his hands up, leading the others in easing up on Jaehyun. “No problem, bro. We were just fucking with you. We’ll respect her—or whatever” 

“Uh, excuse me, am I interrupting something?” you ask, clearing your throat. The sound of your voice makes Jaehyun’s heart skip a beat and when he turns around to find that pretty face staring back at him, his heart all but stops. 

“N…no, we were just, wh…what are you doing here?” he stutters, a glimmer of emotion showing through for the first time in a long time. “I thought you hated me.”

You knew this day would come. It’s going on 3 weeks of evading any form of interaction with him but you knew that one day your luck would run out. You’d have to experience this moment. This conversation. The feelings you had for Jaehyun haven’t subsided easily. It stung to accept that he could never feel for you the way you wished he did but it was easier to let go when you had someone soft and loving to land on. 

Johnny hasn’t been your rebound, he’s been the furthest thing from it. You adore being with him. He does all the things you ever wanted a guy to do. He’s silly in ways you don’t always get but that’s just a part of his charm. He’s thoughtful and patient, never making you question if he has eyes for any girl other than you. You don’t hate Jaehyun. You don’t even have the time to when Johnny exists. 

“Hate you? No but have you—” you begin to whisper, burning under the spotlight of his frat brothers’ gaze. The ones that know already know but it’s clear they haven’t dared to speak up either. “Have you talked to Johnny?” 

Jaehyun’s a statue, rendered immobile by his confusion, “Talked to Johnny about what?”

“Baby!” Johnny cheers, popping out of the crowd to sweep you up into his arms, “What are you doing here? I told you I’d come get you.” 

“I know but my roommate was headed over here so I thought I’d save you a trip.” You try to clue him in that something’s happening but he’s showering you in so many kisses that you ultimately give into it, giggling like the happiest girl in the world. 

“Johnny, people are watching” you finally manage as your feet meet the ground again, Johnny’s arms secure around your waist. 

“Baby, I don’t care about people—” Johnny stops himself short, noticing precisely which people you happen to be referring to. 

The sadness on Jaehyun’s face tells you that he and Johnny haven’t talked about this. Not once. You catch yourself feeling bad for him, knowing the pain he feels oh too well. It’s the same pain that he dished out to you without remorse or reason and the thought of that turns your empathy into satisfaction. Revenge, bittersweet but successfully acquired all the same. 

“Jae, I’m sorry, really” Johnny apologizes, approaching Jaehyun to make peace but peace isn’t of interest and apologies aren’t enough. 

Jaehyun barrels past Johnny, nearly knocking him down in the process, “Fuck it, you can keep her. Have fun.” 

“Wait! I’m really—” Johnny calls after him, torn between chasing down his friend and staying here with you. 

Patting him on the shoulder, you give him a tender peck on the lips, encouraging him to go ahead. “Johnny, I’ll be fine. Just do what you need to do.”

“Are you sure?” If you ask him to stay he will, no questions asked, no second guessing. If chasing after Jaehyun means hurting you he’d never do it in a million years. 

You crack a gentle, reassuring smile, “I’m sure. Now get out of here.” You playfully push him on his way and he kisses you on the back of the hand before letting go, rushing off after his friend. 

Jaehyun deserves a bit of pain for all he’s done to you but in both of their absences it sets in that maybe he isn’t the only one being hurt in all of this. Imagining how hurt Johnny would be at losing a friend, you feel the sudden weight of guilt the likes of none you’ve ever had to bear. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Especially not here in front of everyone.

“Aaah, a good old fashioned love triangle. The tragedy! The heartbreak!” Mark says, head thrown back dramatically.

Taeyong tosses a pillow at Mark, shushing the younger man. Mark catches it, cuddling it in his arms like a plushie. “What? I like love stories. I wonder, how’s it gonna end?”

Yuta grins at you, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, “Yeah, cutie, you’re the one they're gonna kill each other over. You tell us, how’s it gonna end?” 

Wiping your increasingly sweaty palms on your dress, you feel the spotlight on you growing brighter and you can’t stomach it. You take off out into the night, navigating the minefield of passed out partiers to get across the front lawn. Yuta’s words echo in your mind, “You tell us, how’s it gonna end?” Like you have all the power. Like you’re the only one responsible for any of this. How’s it gonna end? You have no clue but you wish that the ending, however bad or good, would come already.

It’s not fair. 

You should be at a movie theater right now cuddled up beside Johnny eating overpriced snacks. Instead you’re standing in the frozen section of a fluorescent lit gas station contemplating which freezer burnt pint of ice cream you’ll drown your sorrows in tonight. The adult thing to do would be to go back to the party and face this problem straight on. Or you could demolish the snacks piled into your arms and drown your issues.

“The second one, for sure” you decide, fumbling with the freezer door handle to retrieve your ice cream of choice. 

“Is there another party going on that I don’t know about?” Jaehyun asks, watching you from the end of the aisle. You groan, abandoning your ice cream mission to get as far away from him as possible. He steps in front of you, blocking your path, “I’m not stalking you. I promise. I just needed some air and I—anyway, let me help you.”

Jaehyun skips over to the ice cream, popping the freezer door open. He pokes out his lip, eyebrows furrowed in as he scans the options. “There we go” he grins, plucking your favorite ice cream from the shelf on the first try. You’ve never explicitly told him which one it was and you try not to be impressed by the fact that he cared to take note of it.

“Come on, I’ll pay for it” he insists, leading the way to the register. It takes him a few steps to realize that you haven’t followed and he spins around on his heels to find you staring at him in disgust. “What I meant to say was, may I pay for your things, my queen?” A group of passing girls giggle as he bows to you with all the elegance of a man who’s in the presence of royalty. 

“Cut it out. You’re embarrassing me” you whine and he responds with a twirl that brings him closer to you, the already defrosting ice cream jumping from hand to hand. 

“Aah but I just want the queen to be happy and I do hear this is her favorite.”

“Oh, I’m a queen now? And what does that make you? My royal court jester?” 

Jaehyun stares into your eyes, his expression turning severe, “If that’s what you want me to be.”

“It’s a little too late to be what I wanted you to be, isn’t it?” you shoot back, your voice trembling more than you’d like it to. 

“I don’t know, is it?” He asks you the question like his whole life depends on your answer.

He’s always been the one who had the upper hand, standing over you, his whimpering prey, with a knife to your throat that could end you at any time. It’s strange to be on the other end of it now but, unlike him, you’re prone to taking mercy on poor, wounded little animals. While you may not have it in you to strike the killing blow, you’re content to let him lie here and bleed out. 

“You know what? Suddenly I've lost my appetite” you say, emptying your snacks into his arms, “I’m sure there’s enough girls in your phone to share that with.”

This isn’t some melodramatic exit where you walk away expecting him to follow you. Running into him in the first place wasn’t the plan. Yet you’re barely out of the gas station parking lot when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand on end and you just know he’s trailing behind you.

“Will you at least let me take you home? You shouldn’t be walking alone. There could be psychopaths out here!”

You pick up speed repeating to yourself, “Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t—”

“I love you!” Jaehyun shouts for the entire block to hear. It’s his voice but those can’t be his words. Fueled by rage, you ignore your own advice and turn to confront him. 

“Take it back!” you demand, refusing to accept his profession of love. Of all the things he’s ever done to manipulate you this has to be the lowest he’s gone. 

“No, if I mean it then why should I?” 

“Because you’re lying! You’re a liar! It’s what you do. It’s what you always do!” you scream, the anger you’ve held in for months overflowing. 

“Okay, I am a liar. A liar and a piece of shit who couldn’t commit to you cause I was too afraid of getting hurt so I hurt you first” he admits, “And that’s not for you to fix. Maybe I need fucking therapy, I don’t know, but I do love you.”

“That’s not enough!”

Jaehyun sees you motion to leave again and grabs your wrists, locking them at your sides. “Then tell me what’s enough and I’ll do it. It can’t be too late for us. I’m falling apart without you.”

Tears run hot down your cheeks and he cradles your face, kissing them away. It feels nicer than you want it to, more calming than repulsive. You were out, done with him forever, and look at you now, standing under the streetlights melting into the palms of his hands. But this time is different from the others and far more dangerous because for once the liar isn’t lying. He loves you and it means it. Why the fuck does he have to mean it? 

“I know this is a lot right now and you don’t have to decide. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me drive you home. Let me take care of you. Please?”

A tragic side effect of being around Jaehyun is the way that you magically find yourself right where he wants you. You know better than to accept his offer. You shouldn’t be anywhere near this man, let alone in his car, but you blink and you’re in the passenger’s seat, his hand on your thigh as he navigates the familiar streets leading back to your dorm.

Snapping back to your senses, you push his hand away, refusing to so much as look at him as you stare out of the window losing yourself in the glow of the street lights. Even when he pulls up to your dorm, you storm off to your room without a word, praying that he’ll just go away.

If you don’t talk to him he can’t say things that mess with your head. If you don’t look at him he can’t pull you in with those eyes…with that gorgeous fucking face. Navigating the halls of your building, you tell yourself not to look back. Just make it to your room and this night will all be over. You’ll be on the other side of that door and you can pretend that this never happened. 

You breathe a sigh of relief when you finally push the door open, flinging yourself into the safety of your room only for your moment of peace to be shattered in an instant by the sound of footsteps following closely behind you.

“I didn’t say you could come in” you snap, stopping Jaehyun before he gets ahead of himself. 

“I just wanted to say hi to my son. I haven’t seen him in weeks” he pouts, hands clasped together, begging for mercy. “Have a heart.”

“Whatever” you groan, too exhausted to argue any more than you already have, “You’ve got one minute then you need to leave.”

Jaehyun gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, slipping past you to get inside. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Slamming the door behind him, you kick your shoes off, counting down the seconds in your head. When you said a minute you meant it. 60 seconds exactly. Paying you no mind, Jaehyun heads straight for the fish tank in the corner of the room where a single, golden fish swims around a tank decorated with coral reefs and shiny glowing pebbles.

He taps at the glass, making kissy faces at the fish inside. “Sup, Mister Bubbles? Long time no see. I missed you.”

It’s sickening and unfortunately adorable how attached Jaehyun is to that little fish. He won him for you at a carnival when you first started dating. You chose to name him Bubbles because of those tiny bubbles he kept blowing on the ride home. Jaehyun had insisted upon adding the “Mister” to make it more official and you let him have his way. 

Jaehyun picks up the container of fish food tucked beside the tank. A special exotic blend he purchased at some upscale pet store. “You got the child support I sent, I see.”

You giggle despite yourself, throwing in a fake cough to cover it up, but it’s too late for you.

“I think I just made your mom smile” he whispers to Mister Bubbles. 

“No, I just had something in my throat” you snap, “Anyway, your minute’s up. Get out.” 

“Strict woman” he sighs, sparing one last incredibly dramatic glance at his legless son. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, yeah?” Mister Bubbles blows a few bubbles which Jaehyun takes as a ‘yes’ so he turns to you next. “And you’ll let me know if you need anything too?”

Joining him by the fish tank, you snatch the food from him, returning it to its rightful place. “We’re good.”

He watches you for a moment, picking apart your expression, your body language. All the things he knows how to read so well when it comes to you. “If you aren’t good, promise you’ll tell me? If he isn’t good to you—”

He reaches out to bring you closer and much to your frustration you don’t pull away. You don’t even flinch. Instead you’re overcome by the same feeling that left you speechless in the parking lot. Your body seems to vibrate where he touches it, longing for more. It…misses him? You miss him?

“Please don’t do this to me” you beg, close enough now that every breath makes your chests meet. “You can just let it go. You can just leave.”

You say that like it’s so easy. Jaehyun’s never been able to do that when it comes to you. That’s what always scared him so much about his feelings for you. No girl has ever had a hold on him this way. He could throw anyone away, replace them like it was nothing, but not you. You’ve always been irreplaceable and the dumbest thing he’s ever done is let you go. He won’t make that mistake again.

 “You’ve always had the cutest cheeks, you know that?” Jaehyun sighs, cupping your cheeks. He leans in closer to get a better look, his gaze dancing across your features, “Your nose too and your lips.” 

His thumb traces the bow of your upper lip and you shiver at the contact. The nearer his lips are to yours, the faster your pulse races, your own body betraying you when you need it most. The chance to stop him passes, the quickest millisecond of your life, and he’s kissing you like it’s the last time he ever will. And maybe it is. Maybe he’ll never get to taste the sweetness of your lips again and all he’ll have left of you is what lingers behind but, if that’s really what this is, he can’t let this go to waste.

When he finally breaks from the kiss you’re left breathless, trying to make sense of the mess of emotions swarming your heart.

“All I ever wanted was for someone to love me” you say, your voice ripe with pain.

Jaehyun can see the damage he’s done to you, it’s written all over your face, and it breaks him in ways he never knew it could. “And you deserve to be loved. I hate myself for ever making you believe that you didn’t but if you give me the chance to fix this I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know how special you are.”

You must admit he has a talent for it. He knows how to string words together and make them sound so pretty a girl could forgive all the tears, all the shouting matches, all the numbers in his phone. But you aren’t so sure you’re that girl anymore. 

“Baby! Are you there?” Johnny shouts, knocking at your door.

Your blood runs cold at the reality of your situation. Johnny’s out there probably worried sick over you having disappeared from the party and here you are in the arms of the man you were supposed to leave behind. 

“I can answer it” Jaehyun offers, Johnny’s sudden appearance clearly triggering something within him. He takes a step back, heading for the door, but you jump in front of him, pushing him back with enough force to nearly knock him over. 

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

In your anger you speak louder than you should’ve, throwing your hands over your mouth at the realization. Any movement out in the hall pauses and you stand still, wishing to gain the power of invisibility just this once. Slowly the knob turns, the door inching open to shine the light of the hall over the shadows of your room. You don’t want to turn around but you have to. Johnny’s standing there, you can feel it, and you can’t just leave him like that. He wouldn’t do it to you. 

Facing him is like a knife through your stomach. You want to drop to your knees and cry. You’ve only ever seen Johnny laugh and smile. All he’s ever done when he glanced in your direction was bubble with joy but “joy” is nowhere near what he watches you with now.

“Johnny…” You reach out to touch him but he pulls back. He’s not in the mood to be touched by you right now and it wouldn’t be fair to blame him. 

“I was coming to check on you to see if you were okay but…” he glances behind you at the space where Jaehyun waits, far too close to you for comfort, “Looks like you’re all good in here, huh?”

“It’s not like that.”

“No? Then what’s it like? You’re too busy to answer my calls but not too busy to be here with him. What’s that like?”

“I get it, you’re pissed, but I can’t let you talk to her like that” Jaehyun says, irritated by Johnny’s tone of voice. 

Johnny laughs, taking a few steps towards Jaehyun, “Let me? You can’t let me do anything. Everyone else might be afraid of you but I’m not. You can’t beat me. We both know that.” 

Jaehyun shrugs, unbothered by the threat, “Why don’t we find out?”

“Shut up! You aren’t helping!” you shout, throwing him an icy glare, “No one’s fighting! We just need to calm down! Everyone calm down!”

“You’re the one that’s yelling right now, baby” he whispers and you swear you could choke the life out of him. 

The sound of Jaehyun calling you baby is enough for Johnny. If he stays any longer he doesn’t know what he’ll do and he doesn’t want to find out. “I hope you two are happy together.”

Jaehyun leans back against your dresser, content to watch Johnny walk out that door. Only you aren’t. You run behind Johnny, throwing your arms around him before he can leave. 

“Johnny, don’t leave” you weep, painting the back of his jacket with tears. You hold him so tightly that your arms dig into his stomach and he can barely breathe. “I mean it, it’s not like that. I don’t want him. I want you.”

You can’t see the shock on Jaehyun’s face but it’s in his voice loud and clear. “You what?” 

Johnny grabs your arms, gently prying them away, “Doesn’t seem like he knows that.” 

“I want to be with Johnny” you say to Jaehyun without hesitation.

“What do you mean? After everything we talked about? After everything we’ve been through? I told you that I loved you. I love you!”

He keeps using that word—love—but you aren’t even sure he knows what it means. In fact, you’re positive there’s no way he ever did. Your heart broke to see Johnny hurt because of you. You instinctively want to protect him—to do anything in your power to make it right because that’s what you do when you love someone. You choose them because the risk of losing them is too unbearable.

“In all the time we were together you never let me have anything, Jaehyun. Just let me have this one.”

Jaehyun wants to ask if that’s really what you want but you’re clinging to Johnny’s hand with such desperation that he knows it’d be a waste of breath to ask. You want one thing, just one, and it isn’t him. 

It’s strange to see him leave. You’re so used to regret pooling in the pit of your stomach each time he walks out of your life that the absence of it is odd but you don’t miss it. It’s freeing and the feeling that takes its place—the longing to be with someone new—is infinitely sweeter. Still, this is no time to celebrate. Even in Jaehyun’s absence, Johnny’s back remains turned to you, his body language cold and tense. 

“Johnny” you whisper, tip-toeing around him, “Say something.” You search his eyes for any sign of warmth for you but it’s like he’s hiding it, too afraid to let it show.

“Do you love him?” he asks plainly, “Please don’t lie to me. I just…I can’t do this if you still love him.”

You think back to when Jaehyun kissed you. It stirred up so many feelings inside of you and every single one of them was for Johnny. “I love someone but it isn’t him.” 

Johnny’s cheeks redden, the warmth you were in search of returning little by little. “Wh-what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that I love you, Johnny Suh. If that’s okay with you” you smile, petting his cheek. 

“I mean, yeah, it’s more than okay. I lo—”

“Ssh” you say, placing a finger over his lips, “You don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready. I just wanted you to know.” 

Johnny swats your hand away, pulling you into him, “I love you too. If that’s okay with you.” 

You just smile, a fluttery sensation invading your body, “Of course it’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.”

Johnny backs you up against the door, locking it tightly as it slams shut behind you. He lulls you into a slow, passionate kiss that slips every broken piece of you quietly back into place.

There’s no confusion. No fear. No wrongs that need forgiving. All you ever wanted was someone to truly love you and now you’ll never have to doubt that you’ve found someone who does. 

[sierrale8ne]

something about you / juju watkins x fem!reader PART OF THE $$$4U COLLECTION ‘ i’m tryna do something explicit. you askin me what i like about you, girl how long you wanna sit in this kitchen? ’

summary a few substances and some conversation has juju realizing that no time apart is gonna stop her from wanting you. warnings sexual content, smoking, fingering from lena “in the morning” yeah yeah i’m a liar we already knew that next 🙄🙄 here’s the first post of my lil collection and my first juju fic because y’all alr know… that’s my lil shit.

The chime of the bell is what causes your attention to shift from your spot behind the counter. You’ve been working at the smoothie bar on campus for quite some time now, any chance to get more money in your pocket and your roommates off your back.

It was a slow day today, luckily for you, the wind of southern California kept majority of your peers bundled up and in their own dorms rather than the commons or in the store.

Until now.

You’re cleaning the counter top, paying attention to every crumb that lands on the floor that you’ll have to sweep— when you see her.

It was hard not to recognize her, the typical baggy jeans and graphic hoodie, her Nike dunks thudding across the floor as she walks in, and a slicked back bun, different than her everyday game bun. Anyone on campus would be able to see her and point her out, the Juju Watkins.

But you recognize her for other reasons, as the only person in the world who knew you like no one else did.

You haven’t seen Juju in a few weeks, all thanks to her efforts in bringing home a national championship. But still, even through all that, she never once made you feel left to the side. You were involved in every moment of her life— texts, calls, FaceTimes— Juju made an effort to show you that she really did like you. That she cared.

She walks towards the counter, one hand gripping her wallet and the other tucked into her pocket.

“What’s up, baby?” She smiles, and it makes you smile at how her eyes scrunch together. Juju’s perfume travels over the expanse of the counter and to your nose, smelling just as good as you remember she did.

“What are you doing here, Ju?” You ask. It takes everything in your body to hide the blush growing on your face. By second nature, you start ringing her up for her smoothie— mango and peach with extra vanilla protein.

She shrugs, digging in her wallet for her card. “We ain’t linked up in a minute. I gotta pay my girl a visit, y’know?”

You nod, watching the way the girl never takes her eyes off you, even as she pays for her smoothie. Her card lazily held in the tips of her fingers. “Your girl?”

“Stop playing.” Juju shakes her head.

“Judea. You just tipped me 20 for a six dollar drink.” You groan. She was never shy to make a show of how much she liked you, even if you made it clear that money wasn’t the way to do that. It seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, though.

The only lights left in the store are the ones low ones over the tables and the white light over the blenders, dim, but just enough for you to see the red haze over her eyes. “Maybe it’ll make you work faster so we can get outta here. I just wanna see you tonight.” Juju explains.

“I’m closing tonight, love.”

“Okay? When you finish?” She questions. You ignore her briefly, enough to turn your back and start on the athlete’s smoothie.

It gave Juju the opportunity to run her eyes over you. You wear black leggings that hug the curve of your ass perfectly. Your uniform shirt is cropped just enough to give her a view of your lower back. The bright lime green of your apron is nearly blinding, but also looks beautiful on your skin. She can’t seem to take her eyes off you.

“I get off in 30!” You yell over the sound of the blender, looking over your shoulder to see that nothing you said has registered in her head. “Ju?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. You said what, mama?” Juju blots her lips together, glossy and slightly rosy. They look plump and a part of you wants to jump over the counter and kiss them until all the breath in your lungs gives out.

Her eyes meet yours, and just by the look in them you know she’s not lying about wanting to see you. It’s something, almost a sparkle, that you haven’t seen in so long. She wants you.

“I get off in 30.” You repeat, handing the girl her drink.

“I’ll wait right here then.”

You cradle Deuce in your arms, the dog being quite happy to see you in Juju’s apartment again. Her hoodie is long gone, tossed somewhere on the couch which leaves her in a cropped shirt that puts her abs on display.

The seat of her kitchen counter gives her only a few inches over you as you both talk. That seemed to be what you guys did often, picking each other’s brains apart for any and everything.

“How’s school goin’?” Juju asks in between puffs of smoke. The joint rests lazily in her fingers, teasing her bottom lip. Her eyes are already low, raking over you like you were candy. And the slope of her lashes was not helping you keep your cool.

That’s how it always seemed to be with Juju, she could do nothing— but also doo too much— and you still be completely enamored with her.

“It’s alright. Stressful, but s’nothin’ I can’t handle.” You nod, darting your eyes to the joint she passes off to you. “And you? Though I doubt you’re even focused with all this basketball shit.”

You take a puff, the drug swirling through your lungs and messing with your head before you breathe it out. The slight haze traveling through the yellow light of the kitchen.

“What? I’m focused. Sometimes.” She hums and you let out a laugh.

For as long as you’ve known the athlete she’d claim that school comes first, and then as the season continues it becomes pushed to the back burner. She had one goal— or really two— win a natty, and get the girl. You.

“Just sometimes?”

“Why else do you think I play worse when I see you? You’re the distraction, mama.” Blushed. You’re blushed fucking red. And Juju can’t help but smirk at it, she finds you adorable.

Deuce fights in your arms, and you make quick work of setting him on the floor. “Can I ask you something?” You question her, passing over the joint back.

“Of course.”

Your tongue tingles at the thought of the words about to come out of your mouth. You and Juju liked each other, that was clear— but what wasn’t was why things were still kept under wraps. Why she never asked you out officially and honestly why you didn’t do the same.

“What do you like about me, Ju? ‘Cause you keep sayin’ you do, but we’re not moving anywhere.” You trail off, feeling a little small under all six feet and two inches of her.

She ashes the joint, crossing her arms over her chest before making her way over to you. The tension is thick, almost too thick to even focus on anything other than the warmth that spreads through your body.

“How long do you wanna sit here, baby? I could talk about you for hours. It’s just… something about you, got me hooked from the minute I met you.” She explains. You look at how she plays with her fingers, almost like she was nervous. But you know her, Juju doesn’t get nervous. Especially with you.

“I-I dunno, I just feel like—”

“You don’t think I want you?” She wonders. Juju trails closer, hands pressing to the counter on each side of your thighs. “‘Cause I do. I could show you?”

Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it. The words repeat in your head over and over again. But she’s standing here, smelling like lavender and something else that’s distinctly Juju Watkins. Her eyes are serious, telling you that everything she’s said isn’t a lie. And then you’re thinking about how long it’s been since you’ve even kissed her, weeks, maybe even a full month.

You remember it like it was tattooed in your brain. Just before Valentine’s day. She came to your job with flowers, much to the dismay of your coworkers. You two drove around for hours, Brent Faiyaz and Frank Ocean filling the car until you stopped at the beach. She kissed you with a purpose, so much so that the air left your lungs and all other thoughts left your brain.

You miss it.

“Show me, Ju.” You murmur, widening the gap between your legs for her to stand there.

Juju doesn’t even waste time. She grips your thigh with one hand, snaking her other into the crook of your neck and pulls you in. Your eyes flutter shut and her lips meet yours. Soft and even sweeter than you remembered.

Her lips glide against your own— slow— like she was savoring the moment. And she was, the tournament was approaching and it wasn’t clear the next time she’d be able to have you like this.

She breaks the kiss and you groan in disapproval, chasing after those plump lips before you can even think not to.

“That’s good enough? Or—”

“More.” You sigh, tugging her back to you by her jeans. “I want you, and I want more.” Juju presses her knee closer to your cunt as the kiss grows hungrier. Her mouth opens further, tongue darting out to slide against your own tongue. Like she was begging for more, begging for entry with a small whine. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you dizzy with need.

Juju digs her hands into the band of your leggings, snapping the elastic onto your hip. “Can I?” She mumbles against you.

It’s your turn to break the kiss, licking the saliva string between you both. Her eyes stare into your soul, deep and full of longing. She’s yearning for you, you see it how she grips your clothes, how her legs just slightly buckle.

“Yes. Please.” You whine, spreading your legs further.

The athlete leans into your neck, sniffing the fruity scent that lingers on you from work. Her lips find your sweet spot as she kisses along your skin. “Smell so good, baby. Taste even better.” She smiles against you.

“Ju, I need—” Your plea is cut off by the feel of her fingers inside your pants. She trails them down to your clothed cunt. Copping a feel of your clit through your panties.

“I know. You’re soaked. Just need me so fucking bad, yeah?” Her voice rings in your ear while her middle finger applied the kind of pressure that made your legs shake. You gush almost instantly, more of your slick drenching the fabric.

You nod fast—anything to get her to speed up—but you mean it. “Need you so bad, pretty girl.” Your hand holds the back of her neck, fingers toying with the flyaways of hair that reside there. “Please?”

“I don’t know, baby. I wanna make you my girl first.” She teases. Her fingers don’t stop, still running up and down your covered slit.

“Ask me.” You pant. Your hips buck up in need, free hand clutching the hem of her shirt.

Juju’s face comes back to view, looking down at you with a smirk she can’t hide, not in the slightest. “Y’sure? Here? Like thi—”

“Fucking ask me, Ju.” You stutter, and she doesn’t miss it.

She can’t miss it. How your mouth hangs open and your pants huff into her ears. You’re dying for it, for more. For anything she can give you.

“Will you be my girlfriend, beautiful? Please?” She smiled. Her fingers hook into your panties, tugging them to the side. Enough for the air to make you shiver, but not enough for her to touch you fully. She was leaving you on edge.

“You make your girlfriend feel good?” “You joke.

“Y’know I will, mama.”

“Then yes. Yes, baby, I’ll be your girlfriend.” Juju’s fingertips brush over your clit. Once, twice— and then the third time, she’s slipping her middle finger inside your pussy. Biting her lip as she does so.

“Take your shirt off.” She orders. Her voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, at least when she was with you. So you listen. Dragging your hands off her body and to your work shirt. It hits the floor with a thud that is ultimately drowned out by the sound of your moan.

She’s good. Better than you even imagined. Her finger is long, brushing along your g-spot with nearly every stroke. And when she curls them, God, it makes your eyes water.

“You feel so good.” You whimper, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. Juju relishes in the sounds you give her, not even the moans but your cunt. It’s loud, ringing in her ears as she slips another finger inside.

“Yeah? Who’s makin’ you feel this good, mama.” She asks, holding her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your head falls back, eyes rolling as she speeds up. “Y-you. You, baby. Only you, Ju.” You babble.

“Remember when you used to say you ain’t want me?” She starts, twisting her fingers in and out until your panties are all sloppy and you’re soaking your leggings. “Look at you now, legs shaking. Pussy just screamin’ for me.”

“Juju! Oh, fuck.” You grunt, meeting her halfway with each push of her fingers. Her hand trails up to your chest, squeezing your breast with a haste that makes you want to give her any and everything that she pleases. “I can’t—”

“Can’t take it? Really? ‘Cause I know you’re not a quitter. Ain’t nothing you can’t handle, right?” She hums, pressing her plump lips to your cheek.

You can smell the weed off her breath, the mango of her smoothie. And it’s all overstimulating.

Juju curls her fingers, and she knows she’s hit your spot when you nearly fly into her hold, arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

Your breath hits her ear, alongside the pleas of her name. “I’m so close.” You all but cry.

“Imma make you cum?” The question is rhetorical, she knows the answer. The way your body says all the words you don’t. “Yeahhhh, gonna make it feel good for you, baby. I promise.”

“Fuck, don’t stop! Don’t, Ju.” Your moans nearly make the athlete go blind with arousal. Soaking through her own underwear and they thought of having you finish here. On her kitchen counter.

“Lemme feel it. Cum, mama.”

It takes one more push of her fingers to make you nearly fall off the counter. Your legs tremble and your hands clutch Juju’s shoulders like a fucking life line. She works you through it, leaving kisses along your earlobe until she finally drags her coated fingers out of you.

They travel to her mouth, where she makes a show of licking them clean of you. Your eyes make sure they’re fully open to get the view, you’d rather die than miss it.

“Goddamn you taste good.” Juju groans, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Just something about me, I guess.”

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @d3arapril @wbbgetsmewetter @ryywyd @tndaqlwifwy @ykylalex @ohmybueckers @flipthepaige @janaelalfysblunt @cherryswisherz @courtsidewithlani @vamptizm @bdbueckers @makethemhoesmad @omg-imtumbling @avvwritesstufff

[ssa-dado]

Aaron's Speech

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader Genre: whump, prepare your tissues kind of whump. hurt to comfort? what's comfort anyways? Summary: Aaron was certain he knew what love was - until Haley died. He loves you. But he still loves her, too. Warnings: clear signs of deep depression, PTSD, trauma, self-neglet, survivor's guilt, grief, mentions of 5×01 and 5×09 Please please please do not interact with this fic if you struggle with any of these. Word Count: 3.9k Dado's Corner: I... I don't know. It's a lot. Grab your tissues. This might be the most heart-wrenching thing I've ever written… and honestly, I’m a little scared of my own brain for managing to hallucinate this. I went back and forth on whether to post it because it just felt too much... :)))) I ended up adding a little extra at the end (something fluffy & domestic) just to take the edge off. But it’s still bittersweet. More bitter than sweet.

masterlist(s)

Plato wrote, "I mean to propose that each of us in turn, going left to right, shall make a speech in honor of Love."

Aaron wasn’t sure how to make sense of the fact that the very job that had stripped him down to nothing was also the reason he could still touch you like this.

That the same job that had taken… her, that had nearly taken his son - was also the reason he could still slip under the covers with you and lose himself just enough to relieve the stress of your days.

It wasn’t intimacy, not really.

Not in the way it was meant to be.

It was a release, a fleeting reprieve from the thoughts that never stopped, from the memories that threatened to drown him if he let them sit too long.

Sometimes, it was rough - driven by nothing but the desperate need to feel something, anything. Other times, it was slower, gentler.

But one thing never changed - he always kept his shirt on.

A week ago, it had been long sleeves. The scars were only on his torso, but for a long time, that hadn’t mattered. He had fought the urge to cover everything, to disappear beneath the fabric.

He felt dirty. He was dirty.

Didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want you to see them.

The only times you had were when he had no choice - when he was too weak, too drained to tend to them himself.

Then came the day he finally found the courage to face his reflection in the mirror. When he told you he could handle it now - that he had to - you hadn’t argued. You had only pressed a soft kiss to his lips before watching him disappear into the bathroom. You didn’t say a word. You trusted him. Had to trust him.

And when he came back, you kissed him again.

You still did. Every time.

Even today.

It had become a ritual – an ineffable I’m proud of you, a way to be close without needing to be there physically. Because even if you weren’t, your mind always went there.

You hoped he applied the medication carefully.

Hoped that, in tending to himself, he showed the same meticulous care he gave to you - the way he would sit you in a warm bath, wash your hair, run his hands over your skin with a gentleness so at odds with how he treated himself.

He gave you devotion. You wished he gave himself even half of it.

You hoped that every time you heard the water running, it was only to sterilize his hands - that he wasn’t standing over the sink, letting the antiseptic swirl down the drain, just enough to make it seem used, just enough to fool you. You knew he wasn’t stupid.

You had been more cautious ever since the day he caught you in the bathroom, turning the bottle over in your hands, checking for dents, for any proof that he was actually using it.

He hadn’t been angry. He understood. It wasn’t about distrust - not really.

If the roles were reversed, he knew he would have done the same.

…No, actually, he didn’t even need to imagine reversing them. He had checked. More than once. Because he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself anymore.

Because ever since he started tending to them on his own, he never let you see his scars again.

Maybe some subconscious part of him feared that if you did, you wouldn’t want him anymore.

Or maybe because he didn’t want to remind you - of what had happened to him, of the fear in your eyes, of the way your hands had trembled the first time they traced the edges of his pain.

Or maybe it wasn’t even about you.

Maybe he was afraid that if you saw them again, your mind would go back to the past, to the before, to all the things he lost…

…And, inevitably, to her.

Haley was only a problem because he made her one.

She was never a threat to you. You had never felt the need to compete with her because you understood something he probably never would: that a heart as vast as his had room for both of you.

That was simply part of loving him - even before everything that happened, even when they were just divorced - loving him meant sharing space in his heart with Haley.

And that was enough. More than enough. You never needed or wanted all of it.

He was the one who couldn’t reconcile it.

One true love.

It had been carved into him as a child, a belief so deeply rooted that no amount of logic could ever fully undo it. Sure, he could scoff at it now, call it outdated, tell himself he was too rational to believe in something so absolute.

But some lies told to us as children settle too deep to simply unlearn, and for Aaron, it was this: that love - true love - could only happen once.

And he hated that it had been her.

Not because he regretted loving her, but because it made him feel as though loving you somehow diminished that first love - or worse, that it made you her replacement.

You weren’t.

You were nothing like her. You were only you.

And yet, both of you had looked at him with the same kind of eyes - the kind that saw too much, worried too much.

And sometimes, despite himself, he wondered if that was why he fell in love with you.

Because of those eyes. To keep those eyes in his life.

But just as quickly as the thought came, so did the guilt. Not just because it wasn’t true, but because his mind had dared to go there at all.

…But if it had gone there, it meant some part of him believed it.

And he hated that.

Hated overanalyzing it.

Hated the way his own mind twisted something simple, something pure, into something that needed justification.

Hated that he had to dissect his love for you just to convince himself it was real, when he already knew it was.

Because it was real.

He hadn’t fallen in love with you because of anything you shared with her - he had fallen for you because of everything that made you you. Maybe he had even fallen harder once he realized that.

If Reid could see inside his head, he would have some scientific explanation for all of this. Something about neurochemistry.

He would tell him that guilt was irrational, that love was nothing more than a biological process designed to make humans bond, reproduce, and survive.

But that was what he hated most.

Not the surviving part. Not just the thought of contributing to the same human species that had created the kind of monsters he locked away every day.

Though, on the worst nights… maybe that too.

What he hated was the idea that it all boiled down to a few chemical formulas, a handful of C’s and O’s arranged on a page. That somewhere out there, a person could take one look at the sequence and know him, know the core of who he was.

Bullshit. That couldn't be possible.

Not when he wasn’t even sure he had a core anymore.

What was there to read?

Aaron had spent a lifetime believing love was what the poets described - the grand, the eternal, the tragic. Yet only… after everything that happened… had he begun to understand what they truly meant.

The Greek tragedies, the sonnets - some resonated so deeply now they ached, others felt so hollow he wondered how he’d ever admired them… how he had ever believed love could be so naïve.

Maybe, in the end, a few chemical bonds and molecular chains would have been simpler. Maybe they would have told him more about himself than poetry ever could.

How simple it was - that the tears he left on your skin, warm against your sternum as he pressed his face into you, could be reduced by science to nothing more than water and salt.

As if that could explain why he was crying.

As if it could account for the guilt gnawing at him, the shame of being allowed to break against you while your own tears slipped down your cheeks, unseen, as you stared at the ceiling.

As if it could break down the only closeness he could offer now - the desperate act of syncing his unsteady breaths to yours.

He just wanted to be your rock again.

Maybe science had a way to explain the guilt - the shame of falling apart in your arms, of letting you hold him, pull him closer, your fingers threading through strands of hair that hadn’t been this long in three years.

And then, the moment your hands unconsciously drifted too low - past the nape of his neck, following the path they once knew so well, tracing the lines of his back-

It wasn’t you touching him anymore.

But it was you. You were safe. You were here.

And still, his body jerked up.

It wasn’t fair.

No matter how much he wanted to surrender to your touch again, no matter how much he wished he could unlearn the fear, his body still braced for a blade instead of your hands.

Maybe science had a way to explain why.

Maybe it could name the way his body had learned to fear something it once - and still - craved more than anything.

Maybe there was a chemical formula that could define the way you both whispered "sorry" at the same time whenever it happened.

Maybe there was an equation, an angle, a perfect placement for the carbon bonds that could explain why, after flinching, after failing, he reached for your wrist. Why he brought it to his lips, pressed a kiss to the thundering pulse beneath your skin.

The skin was thinner there.

Maybe, if he kissed deep enough, his apology would sink into your bloodstream, carried by the oxygen in your blood, traveling through your veins until it reached your heart - so you’d know.

That he loved you.

He loved you, he loved you, he loved you.

And he needed you.

Needed your hands back on every inch of his skin - even on the places his mind dragged him back to, bleeding out on the carpet of his own living space, where he was assault-

“Aaron.”

“Hmm.”

“I want hot chocolate.” You shifted, sitting up on the bed, stretching your arms above your head. “And I need your help cutting the chocolate. Come on.”

Nothing still.

So you reached over, patted his head, ruffling his hair. “You know I never get the pieces small enough… get up.”

You didn’t even like chocolate that much.

But he did.

Aaron Hotchner, with his unreadable expressions and haunted eyes, had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever known.

It was one of the first things you noticed about him - the way he’d sneak sugar into his coffee when he thought no one was looking, the way he never turned down dessert, the way he’d order an extra pastry under the guise of “Jack will like this” when Jack wasn’t even there.

Hot chocolate was easy.

Because cutting chocolate into tiny, even pieces was something his hands could still do.

The day he finally handled a knife again without flinching, you had seized every possible excuse to make him keep doing it - to ease him back into muscle memory, to give his hands something to focus on. Just like now.

Him, and all of his ghosts, disappearing into the rhythm of slicing through a bar of fondant chocolate.

"See? When you cut it this small, the chocolate doesn’t fray. How do you do that?" You leaned in, watching him work. “Wait, was this your specialty back in SWAT?”

Nothing. Again.

God forbid anyone joke about his very secretive time in an all-men squad of alpha males, big guns, tactical gear, night vision-

“You want me to show you?”

You nodded.

You expected him to explain from where he stood, maybe demonstrate with another piece - but you hadn't expected him to step behind you. Once, maybe, but not now.

And yet, here he was.

Did not expect to feel his warmth again - his body against yours, his chest flush to your back, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his huge hands slipping over yours, guiding them to the handle of the knife.

"It’s in the pressure," he said, curling his fingers around yours, adjusting your grip. "Too much, and it crumbles. Too little, and it slips. You want the blade to do the work."

Damn. It was so intimate, so familiar-

God, this felt like… like one of your first dates. Back when he was still - no.

You swallowed, pushed the thought away, and focused. Followed his movement, feeling the blade glide through the chocolate beneath your fingertips - clean, effortless - perfect.

Just like his.

"There," he murmured. "Like that." And then, a kiss to your hair. "You did good."

So did he. God, he did. And you were so proud of him.

So you picked up one of the pieces he had helped you cut, rolling it between your fingers before holding it out to him.

"Quality check."

You had never fought back tears so hard as when you felt it - the smallest huff of breath against your hair. A sound, barely there, but unmistakable.

The closest thing to a laugh you'd heard from him all day.

You would cut all the chocolate in the world if it meant hearing that sound again.

And maybe you would - because he could have easily taken the piece from your hand himself.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his lips ghosted over your fingertips, his tongue dragging over your skin far too slowly as he caught the chocolate - before his teeth closed down, just sharp enough to be obnoxious.

That stupid bite.

Familiar.

The same bite that always made you swat him away, roll your eyes, mutter his name in exasperation.

The same bite that caught your fingertips every single time you offered him one of your fries, because Aaron Hotchner - who pretended to be far too above it - always ordered a salad as a side, only to spend the whole meal subtly eyeing your plate.

He would never ask for one, of course. God forbid.

So you always caved, sighing as you picked up a fry and held it out toward him, fully intending to place it onto his plate like a normal person.

But he never let you.

Instead, he would catch your fingers midair, biting down - not hard, but enough to make you yelp, enough to make your head snap toward him, enough to make you curse his name loud enough that the people at the next table would turn to look.

And then - as if he hadn’t just eaten out of your damn fingers in public – he’d sit back, napkin in hand, dabbing the corner of his mouth.

“Shh,” he’d say. “We’re at a fancy place. Can’t you see there are no prices on your menu?”

Condescending. Smirking. Like he wasn’t the one causing all the drama.

The same insufferable piece of shit he had always been.

And maybe that’s why you didn’t swat him away this time.

Maybe that’s why you just stood there, breath caught in your throat, only managing to turn around and stare at the glimpse of a ghost you hadn’t expected to see.

You knew it was temporary, just a matter of time before the weight settled back over him. But still- still, for a moment, you just watched.

His kitchen was now so quiet you could hear the crisp snap of chocolate between his teeth, the exaggerated hum of approval he always did just to startle you, always holding eye contact, watching – waiting - like your reaction was more satisfying than the chocolate itself.

“What?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

Under the yellow glow of the kitchen lights, his eyes looked lighter - a softer brown, warm in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long. You could see the few flecks of green – a similar shade of the untouched, steamed bitter greens he always left on his plate at fancy restaurants.

Could you even tell him?

Could you say that, for just a second, he wasn’t trapped in his own head, and that alone made you want to cry?

Of course not.

So you just shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Nothing," you murmured, turning back to the counter. "Just…. don't think you're getting more if you're gonna keep biting me."

“Then maybe you should stop feeding me like a child.” He huffed, leaned against the counter next to you, unbothered… almost – smug?

Hotchner humor. This must be Christmas.

"Oh, forgive me, Your Royal Highness, how would you prefer to be fed?"

"Well, if I had to suggest something…" he drawled, gaze dropping to your lips, "you could be more creative with it."

No way. You couldn’t believe it.

"Creative?"

He nodded. "Mhm."

No way.

You picked up half a piece of chocolate, pressed it between your lips - hesitated.

Maybe this was too much. Maybe the moment would crack, fragile as it was. Maybe you’d gone too far, been too reckless.

But still, you held his gaze, tilting your head ever so slightly, offering.

And waiting.

Before you even realized it, his lips were on yours, closing over the other half of the chocolate, pressing just enough to steal more than you had offered.

Asshole.

But God, did he take his time.

His tongue flickered over the chocolate, then back over you – unhurried - before he finally pulled away, his breath still so close you could almost taste the cocoa all over again. Wow.

“…Creative enough?” you managed.

Aaron slowly ran his tongue over his half-brown bottom lip. "It’s a start."

…A start.

Maybe it was. It felt like one.

Also because Aaron stayed close, studying your face, searching for something in your eyes.

If he found what he was looking for, he didn’t say. He just looked at you a moment longer and gave you one last smile.

A goodbye - not to you, but to your eyes, because in that moment, they looked too much like hers.

And maybe a part of him had always been waiting for this moment - when he could finally look into that gaze, your gaze, and know without hesitation that it wasn’t hers. That it had never been.

So he let go of the thought.

He reached past you, plucking another piece of chocolate from the cutting board and popping it into his mouth like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just left something behind.

"You should finish cutting the rest," he said, unfazed by your exasperated "Aaron."

"Me?"

"You did well enough." He nodded, though you knew him well enough to catch the hint of teasing in his voice. "Besides, I should get the milk on the stove…. can’t have you burning it again."

You scoffed. "That was one time, and only because your stove is way too strong."

"You say that every time you cook here… which, if I’m counting correctly, is once a week."

"You’re exaggerating," you muttered, but you still reached for the knife, rolling your eyes as you started chopping again.

Silence.

Silence until Aaron turned toward you as he poured the milk into the pot.

"…Thank you for what you’re doing for me. I don’t say it enough… not out loud."

You glanced up, smiling. "It’s all you, Aaron. I’m not doing anything."

“Bullshit.” He turned, eyeing the cutting board. “You’re cutting the chocolate.”

Before you could respond, he reached over and plucked a piece from the pile, popping it into his mouth.

"Really?" you deadpanned.

He stole another.

"This one was uneven," he said, completely straight-faced.

And then another.

"Do you even want hot chocolate, or are you just here to rob me blind?"

Aaron smirked - and for once, it would have been so damn nice to just enjoy seeing his dimples - if only he hadn’t, completely unrepentantly, reached for yet another piece.

You swatted his hand before he could grab it. "Oh my God, you really are just here to rob me blind."

Defeated, Aaron turned back to the stove, deciding it was safer to keep his hands occupied. He stirred the milk with far more focus than necessary... so much so that you half-wondered if he was trying to churn it into cream.

Maybe if he just kept moving, he could resist the temptation of another impromptu quality check… hopefully.

Or maybe, it wasn’t about the chocolate at all.

"Do you really think you’re not doing anything?" he asked. His eyes were still on the pot, but the way he had slowed his stirring - no longer overcompensating, no longer distrac-

"You are," he continued, looking at you. "You’re here. You stayed. And that’s… that’s more than I knew how to ask for."

"You can ask, you know," you murmured. "You need to say the words, Aaron."

Someone else had told him the exact same words once.

And still, he hadn’t learned how to listen.

Maybe he never would.

Maybe it was just the way he was - stubborn in his silence, in his inability to believe he was allowed to need something, someone.

But still, he cared.

He cared in the way he stole more chocolate than he should have - not just because of his sweet tooth, but because he knew you didn’t like it that much. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Because he didn’t want the taste to overpower, didn’t want to make it too rich when he knew you’d only take a few sips before pushing your cup toward him, like you always did.

He cared in the way he let the chocolate sit on the stove just a little longer, thickening the way you preferred it.

In the way he never stopped you, even when you added far more cinnamon than he would have chosen for himself.

In the way he didn’t say a word.

Maybe he should. He needed to say the words. Maybe just start with some.

And so his grip tightened around the mug, the heat pressing into his palms, seeping into his skin.

He could feel it, the warmth.

He had never noticed before how much he liked the way it settled in his fingers, how it grounded him, how it made him feel… alive.

Like he was rediscovering - all over again - that if he held on too long, it would burn.

And it did.

Science might explain it as heat conduction - the transfer of thermal energy from the liquid to the ceramic, from the ceramic to his skin, exciting the molecules in his nerve endings until they fired signals to his brain, warning him of the impending risk of tissue damage.

A perfectly rational, biological response.

But not everything he felt could be charted in nerve endings and synapses, reduced to chemical reactions or evolutionary instinct.

Some things defied explanation.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Aaron.”

Good luck to the scientists trying to reduce that to a handful of chemical bonds and neural pathways.

Maybe they could try.

They’d still get it wrong.

Ineffable.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

Phi's Corner: I’m sorry if this made you cry… as an apology, I’m sending each of you a piece of focaccia... let me know if you want it with or without olives.

[djcandiepaws]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ yandere! artist x reader

summary: you have a classmate who is an artist! he wants you to model for him. cw: talk of nudity (its not sexual, but he perceives it that way since its you), stalking, mention of cum. thats pretty much it!

post it notes: might be the longest fic i've ever made

It's after school hours when classes end and clubs start. Recently you've been interested in joining the art club! The art welcomes beginners and pros with open arms. You're a beginning artist, and you could use the help! So you obviously decide to join! Plus, maybe you can make a few friends?

You knock on the art club door, and a familiar face opens it. "Welcome to the art club!" It's your guidance counselor! She's the sweetest; you had no clue she was a co-owner of the art club. "Please, come in! Let me introduce you!" She had introduced you as well as showed you around.

"Forgive me though, one of our owners is running a bit late." She rubs her neck, visibly embarrassed. "Nowadays, he is usually a bit late. I don't understand why, though."

"Don't worry, I understand!" You smile. It's seriously no biggie. Anyways, you go sit down at a desk to start drawing. Lately, you haven't been drawing since you just haven't had the energy or time for it.

Honestly, you scratch your head. You're not sure how to start as you usually need inspiration or a reference to start. You're honestly confused as to how people draw purely based off of imagination. It must be a gift that you must lack. While stuck in your thoughts, the classroom opens.

"Hey! Sorry I'm late, everyone. I had to finish a pass-due essay for English!" He fidgets with the end of his sleeve. It's a bit embarrassing to be late to your own club that you started. He looks around, and his eyes lock onto you. You're right where he wanted you to be.

Truth be told, the only reason he has missing assignments is because he falls asleep in class due to his lack of sleep. He spends his nights stalking outside your house, drawing it, and sneaking glimpses of the inside to study the layout so he knows when the right moment is to break in.

He's not trying to hurt you; he loves you. You're so beautiful; sometimes when you're at lunch, he sits on the floor of the cafeteria to draw you. To him, you possess beauty even Aphrodite would envy.

He walks up to your desk. He strikes up a conversation. "Hey, I know you. You recently transferred, right?" "Oh, yeah. I did. You look a bit familiar; are you in my Algebra class?" His face visibly lights up; do you remember him? Oh, it's so meant to be! "Yeah! I'm surprised you remember my face! I don't necessarily talk much in that class." He chuckles. "To be fair, your chair desk is in the front row of the class. I see you pretty much all the time."

Suddenly, he gets a bright idea. "Hey, you know in this class we draw nude human anatomy, right?" You nod with a small 'mhm' sound coming from you. "Maybe... You can model for the club? I know it might be strange at first, but I was just wondering…" Your face falls from shock. He isn't serious, right? I mean… I don't know. You could, but you just met him. But at the same time, it's just nudity for the sake of studying female anatomy; it's not anything sexual.

"You can always say no! I was just wondering." He suddenly realizes you might be a bit uncomfortable with it. "No, it's a fine question. I was just shocked. I just joined and all, so it's a bit overwhelming." You smile awkwardly.

"You know, if you're considering actually doing it… To make you feel a bit more confident, you could always do it just for me." Honestly, he started sweating. To get you naked, all for himself, under the guise of it being for nude modeling. Oh, he's so excited he honestly might cum in his pants. "Well... I mean, I could, but could we get to know each other a bit more? Just to make me feel a bit more comfortable." Oh my god, he almost squeals from excitement. An excuse to see you naked and to ALSO be your friend? This day can't get any better. "Yeah, sure! Anything to make it more comfortable for you!" He starts to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Honestly, you're a bit flustered! You've never had an offer like this, and to be honest, you don't mind modeling for someone as sweet as him. He doesn't have any weird intentions in mind, or at least you don't think so. Plus, not all nudity is sexual, so it's not that bad, right?

[vir-tanadahl]

Solas and the Blight: A Headcanon for a Lore-Friendly Cure

I don’t think I’ll ever go back to finish The Wolf’s Redemption (my post-DATV fic where Solas and Lavellan go to try to soothe/cure the Blight). There are a number of reasons for that—some unrelated to what happened—but it’s unlikely.

So instead, I’m going to share the little headcanon I had in mind for how Solas might soothe the Blight. I wanted something that felt as lore-friendly as possible.

Theories on Curing the Blight

When I first started digging into whether it was even possible, I checked Reddit to see what others had theorized. Some suggested blood magic. Others thought dragon blood. (Maric’s sperm lmao). The water that Maric and Fiona had sex in.

I remembered the mabari cure in Dragon Age: Origins. A simple flower, a convenient solution. But if I recall correctly, Gaider once mentioned on the old forums that it was just a game mechanic, nothing more. Those forums are long gone now, so I can’t confirm it. But for the sake of this idea, I’m going with it was a game mechanic.

We know the Blight can be cured. It happened with Grand Enchanter Fiona.  

She was a Grey Warden once, part of an expedition into the Deep Roads with King Maric and other Wardens. Somewhere along the way—after encountering the Architect—she was cured. How? That part remains a mystery.  

My Working Theory

Since DATV, I’ve been leaning toward spirits as part of the answer. There’s no solid evidence that spirits—true spirits, the ones who haven’t taken a physical form—can be tainted. If that holds true, it’s my starting point.

We know the Blight isn’t just a disease—it’s something deeper. It comes from the Titans’ dreams, twisted by fear and rage. That alone suggests a spiritual aspect, something beyond just corruption.  

We also know lyrium veins exist in the Fade (aka the blood of the titans exists in the Fade). We’ve seen them—first in DAO and again (if I remember right) in DA2. That leads to my second assumption: the Titans aren’t just physical beings bound to the earth. They have a connection to the Fade.

Before getting into my third assumption, I want to explain how I got there.  

I think Fiona was cured of the Blight because she became an abomination in The Calling. Duncan describes it—she didn’t just lose herself to possession. She physically changed.  

But then, after escaping the Fade prison, Duncan wakes up to find Fiona… normal. No trace of an abomination. No longer physically transformed into this grotesque monster. And I think this is the start of how she was cured.

(I also like to think that facing her Nightmare played a role in her cure. It wasn’t just about escaping the Fade—it was about confronting something deeper, something tied to fear. If the Blight is rooted in corrupted dreams, then maybe Fiona overcoming hers wasn’t just symbolic. Maybe it was part of what cured her.)

Which brings me to my third assumption: curing the Blight requires some kind of transformation. The Blight is fueled by fear and rage, then maybe confronting those emotions is part of the cure and has to go through some sort of physical transformation. 

Fiona didn’t just survive; she changed. Literally. And that shift might be the key.

(That said, I do think there’s a fourth assumption—one that involves dragon’s blood. I didn’t focus on it when I was first outlining The Wolf’s Redemption. At the time, I was ignoring it, or at least setting it aside. But it’s there. And it might matter.)

The Assumptions

Now, using these thoughts, the way Solas has to go about soothing/curing the blight involves at least these three assumptions

Assumption 1: Spirits and the Blight

There is no evidence that true spirits—those who have not taken physical form—can be tainted by the Blight.

If spirits are immune, they may play a role in cleansing or counteracting the corruption.

Assumption 2: The Titans’ Connection to the Fade

The Blight originates from the Titans’ dreams, which have been twisted by fear and rage, suggesting a spiritual aspect.

Lyrium veins—essentially the blood of the Titans—exist in the Fade, indicating that Titans are not just physical beings but also have a connection to the Fade.

Assumption 3: Transformation as a Cure

Fiona was cured of the Blight after becoming an abomination in The Calling, undergoing a physical transformation.

When she emerged from the Fade prison, she was no longer an abomination—suggesting that transformation may be a key part of the cure.

If the Blight is fueled by fear and rage, then confronting those emotions, possibly through a physical or metaphysical change, might be necessary for a cure.

For Solas to truly cure the Blight (at least how I had it some what planned in my fic), he would need to address all three assumptions—possibly even the fourth, the one involving dragon’s blood. It wouldn’t be a single solution, but a combination of forces working together: spirits, the Titans’ connection to the Fade, and transformation. Only by tackling all of them could he hope to undo the Blight completely.

[erinwantstowrite]

do you have any advice how to get over the fear of posting fanfiction?

idk if you would relate to that but for some reason I just can't publish anything online that isn't my original work, idk if I'm scared that fandoms are going to bully me or that nobody will read it or something else

I know these fears are irrational, but I would love to hear if you had any advice for me

you gotta jump headfirst into it. like this:

when i was 13 years old i wrote a mary sue oc for a marauders fanfiction, named Lana Portland, who could see the future and fell in love with Sirius Black. her one goal was stopping the prophecy and saving everyone, but she died, came back to life at her own funeral, and then disappeared off the face of the earth because she lost her mind. what happened to her? she could only have a sane mind while she was an owl, her animagus form, but no one knew she was an animagus. you'll never believe what owl she was: Hedwig.

if the Erin writing to you right now was the Erin from about six years ago, they would NEVER have admitted that. however, the Erin I am now can. why? because the embarrassment i felt when i turned 15 and hated looking at it has worn off.

Now Erin has finally come to terms with the fact that being "cringe" is a hell of our making. 15 year old Erin was absolutely sure they'd get bullied to hell and back if anyone knew what they had written at 13. they were much more mature than 13 year old Erin, because they wrote Voltron fanfic, not Harry Potter

being scared of what people thought of my writing was a huge obstacle to overcome, and that's because writing is intensely personal

at first, i wrote my Voltron fics with the fandom in mind. i really wanted some validation, but i was miserable and hated writing. eventually, i went back to my roots of just... writing with only myself in mind. and i was happy again, posting with barely any thought to if someone would like the fic. so sure, reading any of my old works would make me want to throw myself into a pit of fire, but there's something freeing about knowing i had posted them. i am where i am now because i hadn't worried about what people thought of it when i was writing it.

over the years, i've found that fics i wrote that were intended to make absolutely everyone happy with me were my worst fics. i didn't enjoy making them, and people still found a way to be dissatisfied with something i've done. the fics where i do absolutely anything i want, even if it ends up making no sense, were the fics i had the most fun writing. and i didn't regret making them

all this to say: treat your fanfic like it's your own original work, have your fun! don't worry about if people tell you "Character would never do that, you are awful." because 1) who cares, and 2) you can block them, and they can block you

now let's say you're no longer scared of getting dunked on for your writing, so you posted it. good job! now you're wanting people to read your work, but you're scared they won't.

this part is complicated because you could do all the "right" things and still get nothing. that can be making sure you're tagging your fic correctly, or making a bunch of posts about your fic and asking people to read, etc. so, before you focus on getting more people to read, you should remind yourself that even if absolutely no one reads your fic, that doesn't mean you should be ashamed of your work. this also ties back into being content with your writing and doing it for yourself first and foremost.

my favorite fic i've written is "Coffee Jelly Disaster." it's only 900 words, it's not nearly my best writing technically, and barely anyone has read it. that last part ate at me when i first posted it because i thought more people would read it. but i still love it! it's so simple and i had fun

when i started writing LoF it was just for me and my friend, and then it got popular because i made a couple of silly tiktoks, which were also for me and my friend. i hadn't expected so many people to tune in when i started, because i had a couple of well read fics before, but nothing like this.

you don't have control over that kind of stuff because there's a lot of different favtors. and it really depends on what fandom you're writing for, too. Saiki K is not nearly as big as Spider-Man and Batman.

so the way i see it, if you post and get two hits and one like, that's still somebody out there who saw your work and wanted you to see they liked it. if you never post it at all, no one will. you gotta take the first step forward to get somewhere, and eventually you'll be running. we end up regretting our inactions the most

[starly-amazing]

ISAT fanfiction for Palestine

I realized I can feed two birds with one scone and motivate myself to write more and help raise money for charity.

Donate $10 HERE or to PCRF and I will finish one of my ISAT fic WIPs ASAP. All of these have been started but have been thrown to the wayside because of burnout.

All you need to do is send me proof of donation through asks or messages & pick which fic(s) and I'll get working right away. Should be done within a few days depending on how many requests I get.

0/3

(Full-game spoilers btw)

The 2nd chapter to my intersex Siffrin Hates Doctors fic. I was originally just going to have it 2 chapters but it might end up being 4 with Sif's interaction with the rest of their family over it + him and Mira dealing with useless doctors.

Alternate Act 5 scene where Isabeau sneaks back after Siffrin rips into him and overhears their conversation with Loop. He manages to talk them down and Loop gets them to tell Isabeau what's really bothering them. ($20 for this one because it's kicking my ass)

Loop is sent back to their own Universe after the 2hats fight right to the moment before they were sent back for the final time. They panic and their friends race them to the infirmary but they can't say more than a few one-word answers. When they finally give them space, Loop calls stardust and begs him to help on what to do now that they're not Siffrin anymore.

A continuation of Kamary's "Loop wins the 2hats fight and takes over Siffrin's body" where Isabeau loops back to right before the fight ends knowing what's going to happen.

Siffrin tries to loop back after Bad Touch Event but Isabeau grabs him and is pulled into the loops. Siffrin now has to face the consequences for his actions and spill the beans. ($20 for this one because it's also kicking my ass)

Post-loop Siffrin for some ~mysterious~ reason gets simultaneously transported back to the moments before he looped in every loop. Will be an anthology of sorts of several-months-free Siffrin's reaction to being back in the blinding building again. ($5 per chapter as they will be short.) Will go over most big events: Dying to the King, dying to a sadness, the rock trap, Loop's hangout, Bad Touch, Tutorial, and other events, getting stuck after wrong turn, something's failing, rotting, etc.

Fic based on my theory that Siffrin was the King's clone during my first playthrough. They figure it out while translating the diary in the Orrery room (which I misremembered as being written in the Forgotten Language) when it continues and reveals Siffrin is the King's clone who got separated when the Island disappeared. They have a breakdown in front of their family who have to fight through confusion to comfort them.

@commissions4aid-international

NSFW WIPS under the cut (Do NOT pick one of these if you are a minor)

Siffrin isn't able to kiss Isabeau in the Bad Touch event, and instead has a little feelings talky-talk and cuddle with him. This leads to them getting down and dirty in the woods and eventually causes Siffrin to let slip their predicament with the loops. AKA Siffrin fucks their way out of the loops.

AFAB Siffrin Bodycrafts a Penis and Isabeau helps test it. Compliment to my "AMAB Siffrin Bodycrafts a Vagina and Isabeau helps"

[mailmango]

Gel-ousy

Pairing: Lucas Ron Thomas x Sanctum Alexander Arroyo (ITLITW OC)

Genre: Fluff

Notes: Jealousy; childhood crushes; misunderstanding trope

Length: 2.8k words, Fic

Synopsis: Lucas always takes forever to do his hair, and Sanctum often takes the opportunity to ogle his handsome boyfriend. Today, though, he'll get to learn why the man picked up hair gel in the first place.

A/N: This is a repost of one of my Choices fics from last year GAHHAHAHA I LOOOVE Lucas and I want the boyo to be happy so I wrote this oekmd vcjbvvjcv ALSO I apologize for the switch up to everyone here because of One-on-One, I'll post more smut soon!! ALSO I RLLY WENT OFF WITH THE OUTFIT DESCRIPTIONS LMAO MY BAD BESTIES

Credits: @/aquazero for the divider and @/whatisreggieshortfor for encouraging me to do Choices stuff <3

I picked this one just for you! I hope it's the sweetest of the bunch...

“You know, with today, you’ve brought the average time you spend doing your hair in the morning to seventeen minutes.” 

Sanctum was on his and Lucas’s shared bed, typing away at his sticker-covered laptop. With confusion and a bit of concern, Lucas stopped tying his blue tie. The fabric still undone in hand, he looked to his boyfriend.

“What? How do you know that?” 

“Data and observations.” 

“You’ve been recording my hair routine time?” 

Lucas felt self-conscious all of a sudden. When Sanctum looked at him, he could see that pang of uncertainty in Lucas’s eyes. He knew it well; it had painted Lucas’s face nearly every day of middle school when he sat down for lunch, having just been teased and ridiculed for whatever reason cruel kids would tease and ridicule him for.

“Yeah… it’s rather difficult to keep my eyes off you, so I figured I may as well be ‘productive.’ I can stop, if you’d like.” 

Sanctum spun his laptop around to reveal a spreadsheet. Lucas pulled on his glasses, noting that his boyfriend had been cataloguing nearly every day since they moved in together a half year ago. A sinking doubt started to weigh in his stomach. 

His words came in a mutter, almost indistinguishable and inaudible. 

“I‘m surprised you’d want to watch me in the mornings that much.” 

Sanctum was taken aback. He closed and set aside his laptop, motioning Lucas to take a seat by him on the bed as he sat up. He held Lucas’s shaking hands, and his thumbs brushed over the man’s knuckles.

Did Lucas really think Sanctum wouldn’t want to look at him? 

“What do you mean by that?” 

With a deep breath, Lucas took his seat by Sanctum’s side. Sanctum’s hands never let go of his, and his eyes never let go of a concerned expression. 

“Well, I figured that without the gel and the clothes you…” 

His voice trailed off as he remembered the day that cemented his daily usage of that drugstore hair gel. 

“You can tell me.” 

Sanctum’s hands found Lucas’s just as their eyes did. With a soft smile, he urged his boyfriend on. 

“It- It started back in high school…”

“Oh, you’re here. Morning, Lucas.”

It was freshman year. Although the friend group of Sanctum, Ava, Lucas, and the others who had met Reddield didn’t communicate much, these three did from time to time. At least, they did back then. 

Lucas remembered that Ava was on the steps of one of the less busy entrances to their school. Having just fully realised her true alternative style, her clothing was a mish-mash of dark leathers, spiked boots, stripped leathers, and a skirt. She had this awkward haircut, with straightened and dyed hair accompanied by some horrendously large bangs. It was so strange, too, because her makeup had yet to, well, exist. She would get her personal style well and cohesive eventually, he thought.

But Lucas couldn’t really judge. He was in an awkward phase in terms of style as well. Blazers and v-necks were being replaced by cotton sweaters and button-ups. His pants, however, lagged behind, with ripped jeans rarely being swapped out for what he would come to wear more often, dress pants. 

The biggest change ongoing, however, was his hair. He had been tired of sideswept hair, envious of seniors with their pushed back and immaculate hair. The cause for all of that jealousy? 

“Hi Lucas!”

Sanctum Alexander Arroyo. 

Sanctum and Lucas had remained the closest amongst the group, save for the former and Ava. Sanctum, in that time, also remained as a permanent and prominent part of Lucas’s heart. 

Sanctum’s awkward phase had just finished by then. Once, he wore plain clothing. Sneakers, baggy pants, and plain shirts he left untucked were all slowly but surely replaced throughout middle school. 

Sanctum’s style was very close to both Lucas and Ava’s, at least, what they would become. Some days, he would wear black mesh and turtlenecks, well-fitted leather pants or studded jeans, and he always had a perfect boot to match. These would often be accompanied by clip-on earring studs, chokers and bracelets with chunky spikes, and necklaces of all sorts. He often claimed that version of him to be the fault of his older sister, who would give him “advice” as to what to wear, which is to say would dress him each morning without his input. He liked it though, and never had many complaints. 

Lucas found that version of Sanctum’s dress attractive. Mesh shirts that showed a bit too much skin, especially for their age, and the specifcially devious smile he would wear left a hormonal, confused Lucas’s head spinning. But what really drew Lucas in was the clothing Sanctum claimed as his ultimate favorite, his truest style.

Sanctum’s style was characterised by curly hair being done in what was essentially a fluffy poof. He wore sweaters that were just smack dab in between something loose and perfectly fitted. His pants were khakis a size or so too big for him, which he kept cuffed and held closed by a leather belt with his initials on the buckle. His socks often matched his sweaters, going stripped and stripped, dots and dots, or any manner of patterning, and his shoes were either his favorite brown boots, one of his hundreds of pairs of colored sneakers, or even dress shoes. 

That day, Sanctum had opted for a deep green sweater and his boots, which Lucas had to admit he loved the most. But Lucas’s eyes never got the chance to flick down to his footwear.

“You want to have lunch later?”

He was far too focused on the way the hazel of Sanctum’s eyes became hypnotizingly vibrant and the way his voice sounded like a long-perfected orchestra.

“Yeah!” 

Little Lucas shouted a bit—okay, a lot—too eager with a blush to his cheeks. 

Ava snorted.

“You were really cute back then.” 

Sanctum tried to lighten the mood as he and his boyfriend stared down at a picture the three had taken that day. The three were smiling—well, Ava was sort of smiling—at their usual lunch spot. 

“Cute, sure…” 

Lucas took another deep breath. 

“But do you remember what happened that day?” 

The three were hanging out in one of the back corners of the cafeteria, one with the perfect balance of enough light and little noise. They had been sitting in that spot for the two months of freshman year that they had managed to survive. 

Lucas and Ava were trying to stomach the school lunch: a strangely texture pizza and some indescribable diet coke. Sanctum took pity on them and shared some of his quesadillas, although he fully hogged his bacon and rice. He even gloated a bit.

“Mm- So, Mr. Packed Lunch, how were tryouts?” 

“Tryouts?” 

Lucas swallowed the piece of quesadilla in his mouth. He looked between his two lunchmates, trying to gleam what they were talking about.

“I, uh, tried out for the cheerleading squad.”  

“Really? That’s awesome!” 

“Yeah… it’s just that I-”

All of a sudden, a large hand clapped down onto Sanctum’s shoulder. 

“Did amazing?” 

There, with a hand on Sanctum’s shoulder, was Jason, the student body president and vice captain of the football team. He flashed his pearly whites, taking his seat right beside Sanctum. 

Lucas had to admit, the senior was really, really handsome. He was obviously well-built, dressed in nicely styled but simple clothing, had beautiful emerald green eyes, and had an amazingly styled head of sweptback brown hair.

“You guys have a little prodigy over here! Little ‘Tum did amazing!” 

He smiled and chuckled, an arm coming to hug Sanctum across his shoulders. The boy was speechless, mouth agape and cheeks dusted rosy pink. 

Lucas could feel the jealousy flood his system. He couldn’t bear to watch it, to be frank. Sanctum was being held so close—was it too close? And the way that this handsome, older guy made Sanctum blush without even trying… the way called him “‘Tum”? It was starting to grate on him. 

“That’s… great to hear.” 

His words were steady, but his hands were gripping his knees like they were a lifeline. 

“Hell yeah! ‘Tum here showed up with some of the best freshman gymnastics Kate or I have seen.” 

“Jason, you’re being too kind-”

“I’m just telling the truth!” 

God, Lucas hated the Sanctum blushed when Jason ruffled his hair. He wanted Sanctum to blush for him, not Jason. 

“Best dressed, too. We’ve gotta go shopping sometime, I admire your style.” 

“Th-thank you, Jason! I… think your hair looks really nice!” 

Lucas could feel a spark of anger and an explosion of jealousy inside him. He watched as Jason laughed some more, wishing with every second he had been the one making Sanctum blush that cutely. 

Gah, Sanctum was cute. 

“Babe, you were jealous of Jason?” 

Sanctum and Lucas were closer now, resting their backs on the headboard. Their hands were intertwined, and Sanctum’s head was rested on Lucas’s shoulder. 

“…yeah.” 

“I see… do you want to continue? We can talk more now, if you’d rather not.” 

“I… I’ll finish the story.”

Sanctum waved goodbye to Jason, who had give his own polite niceties to Ava and Lucas. But Lucas didn’t mind that, no, he simply let Jason’s words to Sanctum resonate through him. 

“I’ll see you at practice, ‘Tum.” 

Abruptly, Lucas shot up. As he stood, he knocked his tray, the food swishing to the other side. He couldn’t take it. 

“I’ve got to go to my locker. I’ll see you guys later.” 

He rushed out, his mind a mess. He focused on one step, then the next, and the next again. He was making good progress. Excellent, even. 

Until he realised he forgot to give Sanctum a goodbye hug. 

He was mad, sure. He was brimming with jealousy, sure. But the last person he was upset with was Sanctum, and he didn’t want him to think he was mad at him. It would be the furthest thing from the truth, in fact. He turned on his heel, steps thrice as fast as they were when he was leaving.

He could see their table. Ava and Sanctum were still side-by-side and faced away from him, Ava using her elbow to nudge Sanctum as he laid his head down. 

Lucas was not pleased to hear what Sanctum was whing out. 

“Why?! Ava, tell me, why is Prez so handsome?!” 

Prez? Who’s Prez? Prez… president…

“I dunno. Why is he so handsome, Sanctum?” 

Jason?

Sanctum groaned loudly.

“Because he looks so good in that shirt! And his smile? It was so pretty! And and and his hair- gosh, his hair! I just-”

Lucas was running again, now trying to hold it together as he ran back into the hallway. It was empty, he noticed, and boy was he glad. 

He slowed down, trying to steady his breathing, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. 

And then he walked into a wall, falling back in recoil. Except it wasn’t a wall.

“Woah, Lucas, you okay, little guy?” 

Jason. Lucas pushed himself up, fumbling with his glasses for a moment before slipping them on. Jason was holding out a hand with an apologetic, perfect smile on his immaculate face. 

Lucas wanted to cry, just a bit.

Instead, he took the offer, using the leverage to pull himself up. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m… I’m fine.” 

“Hm. You sure? There’s something going on, I can see it on your face.”

Jason leaned in, a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m telling you, Jason, I’m alright. Thanks for asking.” 

“Oh come on! You don’t gotta tell me what’s wrong, but you could at least let me help cheer you up. Is there anything at all that I can do?” 

Lucas’s mouth fell open. For a second, he wanted to tell Jason to stop being so close with Sanctum. But it felt wrong. It was wrong. Instead… 

“How do you get your hair to look like that?” 

“What? Really? That’s… that’s what you need?”

“Yeah.” 

He was stone faced. Inside, on the other hand, he was waiting with bated breath.

“Gel. I buy it from Marv’s in town. Are you sure that’s all?” 

Lucas was already setting off, eager to get his phone. He had to tell his mom he was going to get something from the store. He needed to do this. 

“Yeah! Thank you!” 

“That’s where you got the idea?” 

Sanctum laughed a bit, and Lucas did as well. He wanted to begin reassuring his boyfriend, but he could see it in the way Lucas’s face returned to a bleak expression. 

“You can keep going, Lucas. I’m here, and I’ll listen.”

The next day, Lucas was running late. Late for Lucas Ron Thomas, at least. 

With an absent Ava, who had gone on a trip with her dad, Sanctum was alone on those steps. When it had reached twenty-two minutes prior to class starting, he sort of lost hope. Lucas was ten minutes later than normal, and he figured he probably had something going on and had forgotten to text Sanctum about it.

Sanctum, crestfallen, stood up. He dusted his pants off, pulled his backpack straps taut, and began to turn on his heel. Lucas, emerging from his car, noticed and began to run with an accompanying cry. 

“Sanctum! Wait!” 

“Lucas?” 

Sanctum turn around mid-step, seeking a slightly-out-of-breath Lucas. Something was different today, something had to have changed. 

“Your hair…” 

His dad had helped him brush and style his hair that morning. Lucas’s hair was brushed back, swishing to the side as it got further and further from the base. It was so, so very new, and as Sanctum noted, it all held in place even as Lucas moved his head. 

“I, ahem, tried gel. For my hair. What do you think?” 

The next few moments were tense for Lucas. 

Lucas’s left hand fiddled with his right hand pointer finger as he gazed at Sanctum with uncertainty. Sanctum had his arms crossed by then while his face was scrunched in a look of scrutiny. His eyes seemed to track the flow of his hair, his weight even shifting in an effort to get another view.

Lucas’s chest let out the tension when he got finally a beaming smile back. 

“You look very handsome, Lucas!”

“I was never handsome to you before that.” 

Sanctum tried. He really, really tried. His darnest, in fact. But he couldn’t hold back his laugh. 

“Lucas, I love you!” 

“What?” 

Lucas looked up as his hands stopped their nervous fidgeting. Sanctum’s smile was so wide Lucas was almost offended. 

“Lucas, do you know who ‘Prez’ is?” 

Lucas winced at the mention of Jason. He could feel his chest tighten with jealousy.

“Jason Rousseau.” 

More laughter. 

“Lucas, my stupid, lovely, handsome genius, you’re ‘Prez’. Have been ever since you were student body president in middle school.” 

It was like a chord being plugged in and a circuit starting. Lucas’s breathing began to steady once more, only for him to break into a chuckle as well. 

“What?” 

“Babe, Ava and I were talking about you that day—we were most days. I was obsessing over how handsome you were in your cute new blue polo.” 

Lucas saw it then: Sanctum’s eyes, wiped clean of laughter tears, were filled with nothing but affection. 

“I remember it, in fact. I was talking about how if you ever came home in a polo like that, I probably wouldn’t be able to stand. Just drop to my knees out of pure joy; your pretty face would be the culprit.” 

“‘Come home’? You were thinking about us moving in by then?” 

“Moving in? No, not just that. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I was imagining our life together, idiot. Do you know how long I’ve liked you?” 

Lucas let out a chuckle of disbelief and relief. His body felt lighter, his heart less sunken, and his cheeks starting to ache from the abrupt and overwhelming amount of smiling he was doing. 

“I bet no longer than me. I’ve been imagining it since fourth grade. Well, I was imagining us holding hands at that age.” 

“...I suppose you’re right. But we’re tied! And I was imagining us dancing by then! So really, I win.” 

He couldn’t help himself from leaning over and pressing a kiss to Sanctum’s cheek. Sanctum huffed and pouted before pulling Lucas in for a proper one. Then another, and another, and another. 

When he finally stopped, he felt obligated to explain something. 

“Lucas, you look handsome with the gel. But you’ve always been handsome to me. Always have been, always will be.”

His hand rested on his boyfriend’s cheek. 

“Always?” 

“Always. Even when you had those chunky Simon glasses.” 

Lucas laughed properly now, letting any tenseness fully melt away. He pecked his boyfriend on the lips yet again. 

“So, if I stop wearing gel tomorrow, I won’t get any less kisses?” 

“Less? Babe, you won’t be able to keep me off you.” 

His smile was wide and his ears were red. 

“I’m throwing my gel away. Immediately.” 

Laughter and kisses kept them occupied that day. So did Sanctum running his hair through his boyfriend’s soft, luscious hair.

THANK YOU to any and all Choices enthusiasts. We are TOO many, but we're here!

@whatisreggieshortfor @darlingminjin @worstwolverinesbf @inhumanshadows @ellxio @starboye @yoursweetdxll @boypied

LMAO TO EVERYONE EXCEPT REGGIE IF YOU DONT WANT TO GET TAGGED IN THESE JUST TELL ME!! Reggie, you can't escape me bestie

[housewifebuck]

I kinda did want all that info but didn't know how to word it correctly. So thank you for sharing.

Ur SO welcome <3

[bowserbowser29]

The Guardian Angel

[encoreverie]

dissection of the heart

it's kinda sketchy and not extremely detailed, more abstract and messy to be honest and im kinda lost how to format and post this kind of art here?? i really need to get more info on it tbh

(full ↓↓↓)

[chrollogy]

[damthosefandoms]

also if anyone is wondering why so many of us have gone insane over tex and also the dally-mark-tex brothers au go read this fic by @your-unfriendlyghost and you’ll get it

[quibbs126]

Something that’s been bothering me, in Cyberverse Season 1 we hear about the Decepticon cause being made because Megatron wanted to fight against and change the corruption on Cybertron

But like, we never actually saw any of that in the flashbacks. Best you can say is Starscream having a high opinion of himself due to being a jet (or at least that’s what I think was going on? It was something about Starscream and being a jet), but you can also assume Starscream’s just being an ass, not that this is a systemic issue on Cybertron. Outside of that, everyone seems to have been doing fine, they got along and everyone was vibing and having fun, going to Cube games and chilling at Maccadam’s, going out to do some racing on a vacation to Velocitron

I do suppose we were limited to only seeing things that Bee witnessed himself, but he was there for other important events before war was declared, we could have seen some more evidence that things were bad on Cybertron before the war and why Megatron and Optimus were so intent on changing things

As it is, it feels more like telling and not showing, and I don’t really understand why the Decepticon cause was needed in the first place. Well I mean I do, but that’s because I know the story in other continuities, not because Cyberverse told me

And if I can pivot slightly, I feel like this is an issue in other shows as well. Earthspark barely went into the backstory of the war at all, only making vague allusions like the “lower-class” remark and Orion Pax getting the Matrix (which honestly I don’t remember why he got at all and if it was related to the war). And yes, Earthspark was about moving forward after the war, but also the show wanted to portray Decepticons in a more neutral light, allowing them their second chances to do better after the war. Not to mention Megatron switching sides due to realizing how far he’d strayed from his original cause. I don’t feel like telling the Terrans the original causes of the war would be out of question, it makes all the sense. Also if we’re trying to portray the Decepticons as not being pure evil, explaining the horrible conditions that drove them to starting it would do wonders. Megatron is here, he can tell the Terrans with all the correct info if the Autobots can’t

Prime also has this problem, but I’m willing to give it a lot more leeway because it was part of the Aligned continuity, which was made up of more than just this one show, and Transformers Exodus I’m told went into this backstory a lot more. So okay, it’s explained somewhere. Though personally, I wish we went into this backstory a bit more in the actual show, because all I know from it was that Megatron was a gladiator fighting for change, Orion Pax met him and agreed, then they proposed their ideas for change to the Senate and it caused them to split. I don’t actually know why they were fighting for change. Again, I know Exodus did and it was around at the same time as the show, but we don’t all have access to Exodus. And honestly it might be the reason the other shows don’t go into it much either, despite it being the only one with an excuse

Like I think this annoys me because it feels like the shows expect you to know the general backstory so we don’t have to go into it. But you’re supposed to tell us this, especially when this isn’t like Batman or Superman’s origins where everyone knows the backstory of the war

I know what the backstory is, but not because these shows told me. It’s because Emperor Kumquat told me in a YouTube video where he was explaining the Aligned backstory from Exodus, while making the point that people who only watched Prime wouldn’t know all of this. How was I supposed to know this information if I hadn’t?

And to go back to Cyberverse, I can make excuses for Prime and Earthspark; both were set long after the war started and Prime especially didn’t have much reason to go into it outside of what it did. But not only did Cyberverse have the means to show us corrupt pre-war Cybertron vis Bumblebee’s flashbacks in Season 1, it had at least a little leaning to making the Decepticons more sympathetic. They are still for the most part antagonistic, but it did make the point that Optimus originally agreed with Megatron, we had bots on both sides getting along during peace talks and Windblade being angry at Slipstream’s killer, had most of the main threats not be Megatron’s forces that had the two sides forced to team up, and by the latter half of Season 3, had Megatron be more heroic, with him saving the day from the Quintessons and wielding his own Matrix of Leadership, and working to stop the other him that he knows is coming to reclaim his Matrix. They aren’t at Earthspark Season 1’s level, but they weren’t making the Decepticons pure evil either. So I feel like we should really see what it is they were fighting for originally

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

The trying to see if he can get Chen Zhongli back and the holding the body hostage thing feels like it comes a bit out of nowhere. If I remember correctly he even talked about how he doubts he survived because of the drowning death. Can you explain a bit of his thought process here? Cuz it feels a bit left field. I love the chapter and I will be going insane about it. But I’m still a bit confused where this thought came from. Zhongli in general here feels… very willing to die though. So I suppose it isn’t too surprising

i think the reason it feels out of left field for you might be because you're remembering that very scene you pointed out wrong

the 'doubts he survived bc of the drowning death' scene isn't like. about czl not surviving. that scene is about how zl is of the belief that czl can't be in his teyvat bc his body explodes upon death, n so there would be no body for czl to go to there specifically if it were a bodyswap scenario. the 'he would just die again bc i drowned' bit was him trying to tell the others how it wouldn't be possible without spilling the beans about there being no body to swap into. he's not lying about czl drowning again if he were to spawn in zl's body while it's at the bottom of the ocean, but the issue here is (and this is what he wanted to omit from the others): that there is no body. at least there isn't supposed to be one.

not to mention that scene was on the scenario were it is indeed a bodyswap situation, which zl is fairly convinced it isn't

genuinely i think i've been p thorough on keeping zl straight on the fact that he doesn't actually know wtf happened to czl (in the terms of like. where his soul is. obv he knows now what happened to him as in how he died lol). please the rest of you correct me if i'm wrong if i ever slipped up n gave that impression, but as far as the story has gotten rn, zl has no idea where czl is. he has no clue. the only things he does know about that issue is that 1) he's not in the body with him and 2) he's not in his body in his teyvat bc. again. no body

so uh yeah