#but still it shouldn’t be this big of a deal

[gretavangroupie]

Bluebird Lane - Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Pining, Sexual Themes, Kissing, Touching.

A/N: Six months later... I am so sorry this took so long, and I promise the next chapter will be coming a lot sooner than this one did. Thanks for sticking it out with me! Also, a gigantic, massive thank you to @gretavanmoon and @builtbybrokenbells for endlessly encouraging me with this one and daydreaming with me. Thanks for reading!

JAKE POV

The sound of the neighbor's lawn mower wakes you from your sleep far earlier than you planned. You roll to your side, pushing your hair out of your face as you tap your sound machine to shut off the white noise. The clock reads 7:51AM and the sun is shining through the slats of your blinds, warming the room despite the best efforts of your ceiling fan. You grab your phone from your nightstand, trying to open your eyes wide enough that face ID will work, blinking away the sleep and stretching out your stiff legs. You scroll through your notifications, looking for anything pressing but feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see that there is nothing on the calendar for you today.

You roll out of your bed, tossing the sheets and duvet over the spot you were laying in before, grabbing your sweats and sliding them over your legs. You drag yourself to the bathroom, seeing that her bedroom door is still closed and no sound is coming from behind it. She’s still asleep. Your mind flashes back to last night and the way she tasted on your lips, the softness of her skin, and the sound of her laugh. 

After brushing your teeth you make your way to the kitchen, digging around in the pantry for the coffee beans and filters so that you can start your day. You dump in the pre-grinded beans and press brew, knowing that in a few minutes the house will fill with the aroma of coffee. You settle on the couch with your phone in hand, scrolling through your socials and replying to a few texts as the coffee pot starts to brew. A few minutes later it beeps, pulling your attention away from your phone as it drags you into the kitchen. You pull a mug from the cabinet and pour in the steaming hot coffee, breathing in deeply the rich smell. This mug is from Arizona, clay colored with a turquoise Kokopelli on the front. You remember the struggle of hauling it around with you on that tour so many years ago, but somehow it made the trip and now several moves.

You hear the soft padding of feet in the hallway and a flutter rises in your chest. You turn to look at her, simultaneously pulling a mug down from the cabinet for her. As she rounds the corner you see her, still in her tiny pajamas and with sleepy eyes. She crosses her arms across her chest as she speaks.

“Do I smell coffee?” she squeaks, her voice still waking up for the day. 

“You do,” you answer, nodding her over. You pour the mug full of coffee and extend it to her, instantly wondering if she likes anything in it. “How do you like your coffee?”

She accepts the mug from your hand, grabbing it with both of hers. “Just creamer. I will pick some up at the store later today,” she pauses, “Thank you for this.”

“Of course,” you urge, “Can’t start my day without it.”

She leans her hip into the edge of the counter, sipping from the edge of the mug as silence falls over the two of you. You know it's now or never, so you take a deep breath and clear your throat. 

“Listen,” you start, leaning on the counter to mimic her position. “I’m– Sorry about last night, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me and I feel as though I overstepped a boundary.”

Her face flushes pink as she listens, biting her lips together as her eyes search yours.  “Oh, it’s…It’s no big deal Jake. It’s fine, you don’t need to apologize. It was a tiny kiss, barely anything.”

You swallow harshly as you remember it differently. “It was just the heat of the moment I suppose. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Just wanted to make sure we are okay, I guess,” you continue. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” she says, “No big deal.” You can see her holding back on what she really wants to say, but you don’t want to push. 

“Yeah, okay, yeah. No big deal.” you confirm. You both stand awkwardly looking at each other, the tension in the room growing larger and larger by the second. Her eyes flick over to the clock hanging on the wall, a wave of panic washing over her.

“I have to go get ready for work…” she pauses, “Thank you for the coffee.” 

You suddenly feel guilty about your late night. “I didn’t know you worked today. I shouldn’t have kept you up so late last night.”

She smiles, a small giggle leaving her lips. “You didn’t keep me up, I chose to stay up. And I only have two clients today. Should be a short day.”

You find yourself wishing you were one of them. To lay on her table and feel her hands on you, working away at the tense muscles in your body. Fuck, it sounds good. You shake your head of the thoughts, refocusing on her as she walks down the hallway, shutting her bedroom door behind her. 

Your mind swirls back to last night as you look out the kitchen window. The sun is shining brightly into the backyard, a few birds chirping in the Oak tree as your neighbor finishes up their lawn. Then, part of the conversation settles within you. Her garden. She wants to plant a garden here. And as you watch the bugs fly around outside the window an idea strikes you. Suddenly your free day is now filled with a plan.

—

HER POV

The drive to work is short, but that doesnt keep your mind from racing with the memories of last night. Every moment, big and small, replaying on the ten minute drive. His lips, his eyes, his touch, his laugh. Everything all at once right in the middle of Saturday morning farmers market traffic. Your heart rate picks up as you let the feeling of his lips on yours take center stage, though, the horn honking from the car behind you pulls you from the daydream.

You make the turn into the parking lot, having your choice of parking space today. After a few minutes you’re unlocking the front door and turning on the lights, bathing the small reception area in warm light. As you wait for the computer to power on, you check your phone, seeing a few missed texts that you take mental note of to respond to later. Quiet music begins to play through the speakers of the building as the booking software opens on the computer screen. You confirm your two appointments for the day, seeing that one is a new customer, and one is a return customer. Though, it's the last name of the return customer that has your heart beating out of your chest. 

It couldn’t be. Right?

Before you can confirm, the front door opens and a woman walks in. Older and gray, she hobbles through the small lobby and up to the reception desk. 

“Mrs. Sandborn?” you ask, confirming it’s your first client and not a walk in. 

“Yes, dear,” she smiles kindly. You can tell she is a sweet woman and that this appointment is going to be a breeze. The session is only thirty minutes long and you find she wants special attention paid to her lumbar area. 

Just as you thought the appointment slipped by in the blink of an eye as you got to know the woman and heard a bit of her life story as you worked on her aching back. She thanks you profusely as she leaves, making a return appointment for a few weeks from now. 

You see it’s not long before your second session with your returning client, and once again your pulse starts to race as you realize this client is likely very related to your new roommate. The thought has your palms sweating as you work to sanitize your work room, laying out new linens and checking the clients preferred diffuser scent for his session. 

The bell on the front door alerts you of his presence, and with a deep breath you shake away your nerves, walking into the lobby to meet him. His long dark hair is tied up at his neck as a beaming smile crosses his face. There is no doubt he is related to Jake, you can see it now clear as day and you know this hour long session will be the longest of your life.

“Hi Mr. Kiszka, great to see you again.”

A smirk pulls his smile to the side as he gives you a subtle nod, “You can call me Sam.”

—

Your mind is still racing as you weave through the midday traffic on your way home. You learned quite a few new things about your new roommate, whether you wanted to or not. You didn’t dare tell him that Jake is your roommate, not wanting to cross the line of professionalism, and honestly because you kind of wanted to hear what he had to say while still under the veil of anonymity. The hour seemed to move at a glacial pace as he told you of life on the road, new projects, and upcoming adventures he had planned with his brothers. But now, finally as you drive home you are able to put it past you, ready to spend the rest of the day at home decompressing, alone.

As you pull up to your house though, you notice Jake is actually still around, and working on something on the side of the house. You feel your pulse quicken as you catch a glimpse of him shoveling dirt, his t-shirt soaked through with sweat as the Tennessee sun beats down on him in the heat of the day. His black sunglasses sit low on his nose as he works, shoveling dirt into a wheelbarrow. His hair is twisted into a knot at the back of his head, a few sweaty strands escaping from his exertion.

Curious as to what exactly he is doing, you find yourself stepping out of your car and walking across the grassy lawn. You’re hesitant at first, still feeling a bit unsure about everything after last night, but you swallow down your anxiety as you step up to the side of the wheelbarrow.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you jut your hip out to the side as you finally speak, “What–What exactly are you doing?”

His head snaps up from his shovel, and he flicks his sunglasses up on his head, surprised to see you. 

“Shit, you’re home earlier than I expected.”

“Huh?” you question. 

“Well, I wanted to get it done before you got home, but, I guess…” he pauses, running his glove covered hand over his dirty face. “Surprise, here’s your garden,” he smirks, “Or what will be your garden.”

“Mine?” you ask, genuinely taken aback.

“Figured it’s the least I could do for you before I leave,” he answers, resting his arm on top of the shovel. 

Shock makes its way through your body, and you’re positive that no one has ever done anything this kind, let alone thoughtful, for you. 

A huge grin spreads across his face as he takes in your look of surprise. “So, you know what you want to plant here?”

You swallow quickly, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, “Yeah, I mean– yeah it’s summer, there’s a lot I can plant right now.” you stammer. “But– I don't have any seeds or–”

“I know,” he interrupts, “I thought…I know of this local plant nursery nearby. I could…take you?” He seems nervous to ask, and continues. “It’s kinda over near my office and I'm sure they have seeds and stuff. I pass it every day.”

“Sure,” you answer all too quickly. “It would need to be soon though, so that they have time to root and everything.”

He looks down to the perfect rectangle of tilled dirt as he smiles to himself, “Yeah. Yeah let me get cleaned up a little bit and we can… go now? If you want?”

“Oh, um, s-sure.” you answer, the initial shock now being replaced by the surprise of his forwardness. 

“Cool, give me a minute. I’ll drive.” he smiles, leaning his shovel against the side of the house before sauntering across the yard and through the front door. 

You stand there staring at this patch of dirt, in the perfect spot for a garden. You didn’t know he knew much about gardening, his brother failing to mention that detail during today's session. You mentally go over your list of summer vegetables, trying to decide what would be best for the space. 

Seconds later you hear the front door closing, and see Jake locking the door behind himself. 

“You ready?” he asks, the past ten minutes a whirlwind of events.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile as you head towards his Jeep. He opens the door for you, helping you inside, his hands still a bit dirty from his work. He joins you seconds later, starting the car and pulling away from the curb. 

“How was work?” he asks, so casual for someone you only just met.

“It was good actually, just a short day, but um, your brother Sam was my last client.” you say nervously. 

“What?” he asks, his head snapping over to the side. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen him once before but I didn’t know you then. I saw his name on my schedule today and figured it had to be your brother, but when I saw him I knew for sure.” you admit.

“Wha–what did he say?” he asks, seemingly nervous. “Did he say anything about me, or?”

“Oh uh, nothing really,” I lie, not ready to disclose some of the things I learned in the hour-long session. “There isn’t a whole lot of talking during the appointments.”

He seems satisfied with that answer, dropping it with the shake of his head and a huff of annoyance.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a few minutes, just the sound of the engine and the faint sound of the radio playing. You decide to break the silence, a question eating you alive. 

“How did you know where to dig? That is the best spot in the whole yard.” you ask. “I had no idea you were into gardening.”

“I mean, I’m not. I did a little bit of research after you told me you wanted a garden here.” he answers, peering over at you beneath his dark lenses. 

“That was just last night…How did you–”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you. Only took a little bit of reading.” he grins, turning his attention back to the road. “Was worth it.”

“Well, thank you. Truly.” you breathe, letting a kind smile turn your lips. 

“Of course,” he answers, his tone the same as yours. Soft. 

—

“How about zucchini?” you ask, “Do you like zucchini?”

“Love it, one of my favorites,” Jake replies, plucking the seed packet from the wooden stand. He has an entire handful of different seeds, insisting you plant them all.

“We can’t do too many! It will be too crowded!” you laugh, scanning the rack of packets.

He shrugs his shoulders and smiles, as he grabs a few more packets of common herbs. Your eyes wander around the quaint nursery spotting a wire rack of plants on their last legs, brown and withering away for a severely reduced price. When you spot the sad looking tomato plant you tilt your head to the side and wander towards it. 

Your fingers graze its sad, wilted leaves, only one lone and tiny tomato bud on its puny stem. The soil is dry, and you can tell it has been neglected in its short life. You feel Jake walk up behind you, taking in the sight just the same as you. 

“I think I’m gonna save it,” you say, turning to meet his eyes. He looks at you like you’re crazy turning to look back at the entire row of strong and healthy tomato plants just behind the two of you. 

“Why that one? There are about a hundred great ones we could get.” he says, gesturing with his head. 

“No, this one is so sad. It needs its underdog story,” you pause, grabbing the frail plant. “I’m saving him.”

A grin pulls across his lips as he gently shakes his head, “Okay. Whatever you want, as long as I get to eat the tomatoes.”

You smile and nod, “So you think I can do it…” you say cheekily. 

“What?” he questions, walking the two of you towards the hose attachments.

“Save him.” you answer.

“Oh, well, yeah. I guess so.” he grins shyly, plucking a new sprayer nozzle from the shelf. “I think I’m going to enjoy watching you try.”

“Oh, well, I thought you knew…” you continue, watching as he shoots you a confused look. “This is a big commitment, you know, becoming tomato parents. It will take the both of us. Are you sure you’re up for that kind of commitment?” you say playfully.

He pretends to be unsure as he taps his fingers against his lips, “Well, I guess I’m gonna have to be, aren’t I? I can’t let you raise him alone.”

“I think so.” you giggle. 

He smiles at you with a brief pause as he looks at the pitiful plant, and then to you, “Then let's pay for him and get him home.”

—

JAKE POV

“Was that the last of the pack?” you ask, watching as Y/N places the last of the cucumber seeds into the ground. The sun is starting to dip below the trees, your daylight nearly gone. You worked all afternoon planting the seeds in the fresh soil, a smile plastered to your face as you talked and laughed at each other's handiwork throughout the process. Her tomato plant, which you named Heinz, was placed in its new home on the front porch, pruned and watered and ready to begin its journey back to full health. 

“Yep, that’s all of ‘em,” she grins, dusting off her dirty hands on her denim shorts. 

You take that as your cue to try out the new spray nozzle you bought for the hose, wanting it to be as easy as possible to water the garden bed. She starts to gently tap her shoe on the dirt, making sure it's packed down as you turn on the spigot and hear the water start to flow. 

You pull the trigger on the nozzle and a few drizzles of water start to flow through the head. You begin to spray the patch of dirt, watering your newly planted herbs and vegetables for the first time. Y/N steps back, crossing her arms across her chest as she watches you. Just as she looks away you aim the spray at her, hitting her arms with the cold faucet water. 

“Jake!” she squeals, your playful action taking her by surprise. She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head and shakes off her wet arms. 

“What?” you ask, a cheeky grin on your face as you spray her again in a different place.

This time her jaw drops as she starts to walk over to you, ready to turn the tables. You back away, holding the water house out of her reach as she tries to wrestle it away from you. She puts up a valiant fight, but it’s just not enough.

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. That was my bad.” you lie, waiting for her to retreat just enough, and she does, stepping back and turning her attention back to the water that is now flowing onto the ground. 

But you don’t concede that easily. As soon as she feels safe, you spray her again, knocking her sunglasses off of her head. 

“Jacob!” she shouts, this time running at you full force and ripping the nozzle from your hands before you can stop her. Instantly you are soaked with water from the hose, the two of you fighting each other for the upper hand between sprays of cold water. 

You finally regain control of the water hose as the two of you laugh, now completely soaking wet. You let the spray hit her face, and that is her final straw as she tackles you to the ground in order to end this water war. 

“You are terrible!” she laughs, still doing her best to grab the hose from you. But sadly for her, you are stronger and find yourself rolling her to her back on the muddy grass as you hold the hose out of her reach.

You are both dripping wet and mud covered as you hover over her, your smiles a mirror image of each other as you both breathe heavily trying to catch your breath. It’s then that you take her in, in her most raw, vulnerable state as she lays beneath you. You stare at her for a moment, everything silent between the two of you as the hose continues to run. 

Without warning, your hand moves up to swipe away a muddy drip of water from her cheek, softly and probably far too tenderly for a pair of roommates. Before you can pull your hand from her warm, wet skin, you feel her fingers move to grip at the back of your neck, pulling you down to her as she presses her lips to yours. 

You’re instantly transported back to last night. Back to that first sweet kiss shared between the two of you. Her lips ignite the same feeling as they did then, soft and electric, but this time wet. 

It’s her that initiated this kiss. It’s her that wants this, and so you take that as your green flag to descend deeper into it, kissing her back the way you’ve thought about every second since last night. You let your muddy, wet hand cradle her cheek, your thumb balancing on the curve of her chin. 

You feel yourself relax a bit, really feeling the moment of this kiss. You feel a vibration against your lips as she lets the smallest whine leave her mouth and flow into yours, her tongue beginning to part your lips. Her free hand finds its way to your back, her fist gripping your soaked t-shirt, as her other hand tangles into the hair at the base of your neck.

She tastes how you imagined, stronger than she did last night, and you want more. Your hand slides down her neck as you use your thumb to tilt her chin higher. Your left hand is still supporting your weight above her as she lays in the grass below. You want to get closer, but you don’t want to move too quickly. You’re happy with this, and you’re willing to take whatever she will give you. 

You feel her try to pull you closer, her tongue moving further into your mouth as your own groan leaves your lips. Her wet leg slides against your own and you want nothing more than to feel her naked skin against yours. You almost let yourself settle on top of her, but a passing car pulls you both from the heated moment, placing you both back in your front yard. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, pulling away from her quickly as you realize what exactly had happened. She too, sits up quickly, adjusting her wet clothes and wiping her lips of the taste of you. Yet again you have thrown yourself at this woman, and are left in an awkward situation. 

You stand to your feet and adjust your pants, hoping to conceal the fact that you are hard beneath them. You run your hand over your chin as you look at her, feeling terrible for what happened in the heat of the moment. 

“I’m sorry,” you start, a deeper tone taking over your voice, “We shouldn’t be doing this.” It’s the absolute last thing you want to be saying to her, your attraction to her growing tenfold over the course of the day. 

She stares up at you in shock, or maybe embarrassment, you can’t be too sure. But embarrassment is the last thing she should feel. You haven’t been kissed like that in quite some time. She stands quickly, shielding her hard nipples with crossed arms. She nods and doesn’t say much, and for some reason, it makes you feel worse. 

“We should um, go get cleaned up,” you say, hoping to break the tension. “You can grab the first shower, I’ll clean up out here.”

She nods and starts to walk towards the door, stopping quickly as she calls your name. “Jake?”

“Yeah?” you answer hopefully. 

“Thanks for doing all this.” she says quietly, before disappearing into the shared home. 

—

As you make your way back into the house you notice the quiet. Her bedroom door is shut, and you can’t hear a single sound from behind it. You figured she would be in the shower by now. You walk to the kitchen sink, washing the mud from your hands before attempting to touch anything else in the house. The dirt swirls down the drain as you finally hear her bedroom door open, and the quick closing of the bathroom door. 

You take this as your chance to head to your bedroom, finding your phone laying on the bed, where it has been for the last several hours. Truth be told you forgot about its existence until this exact moment. You strip yourself of your muddy clothes before reaching for it, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as the screen lights up in your hands. 

Missed Call: Sam

You bite your lips together as you decide whether or not to call him back, but eventually decide to fill your mind with something other than the girl in the shower. You hit his contact letting the call ring out as you hold it to your ear. He answers on the second ring. 

“Dude, where have you been?” he asks as he answers the call. 

“Sorry, I was doing some stuff in the yard here. What’s up?” you answer. 

“Nothing too much, thought maybe we could get a drink or something later…”

Fuck yeah, thats exactly what you need. 

“You know what? Yeah, I actually need to speak to you dammit.” you growl out, fully planning to interrogate him about his little session with Y/N earlier. 

“About?” he asks, as if not knowing. 

“I think you know. I’ll see you at Rack Em’ in about an hour?” you confirm.

“See you then.” he says, ending the call. 

A few minutes later you hear her coming out of the bathroom, her figure a blur of blue towel and wet hair as she dashes across the hallway. You let out a deep breath as you pull yourself up off your bed and make your way into the bathroom, ready to shower away the mud and sweat from your skin. 

You grab your towel before stepping into the bathroom, the air still steamy and smelling of her sweet body wash as you enter. You feel yourself start to grow hard just from the smell alone. You start the shower with a growl, pissed at yourself for letting her have this effect on you. For consuming your mind this quickly. 

You cannot do this. She is your roommate.

Your really sexy roommate whose lips were on yours mere minutes ago.

As you step beneath the spray you push all the thoughts of her and everything that happened outside to the back of your mind, showering as quickly as possible, desperate to get out of the house and away from her before you make anything worse.

You dress quickly, pulling a few staple items from your closet and sliding into your boots. You run your fingers through your hair and give yourself a spray of cologne as you pocket your phone, keys and wallet. Your eyes flick over to see her bedroom door is still closed. You briefly consider knocking to let her know you’re leaving, but decide to just let things be and really drive home the point that the two of you are roommates and that's it. No matter if it pains you just a little.

You decide to get to the bar early, giving yourself time to sort out your thoughts before Sam arrives. The last thing you need is for him to catch wind of your feelings that have begun to blossom with Y/N. You throw back a shot of tequila, feeling the burn as it travels down your throat and warms your stomach. You can’t seem to shake the thought of the kiss from your mind, though. Or the feeling of her hands gripping your shirt, or the sounds she made. Fuck. You need another shot.

As the bartender slides you another, you see Sam walking through the door and you wave him down to the corner spot at the bar. 

“You started without me?” he laughs, feigning sadness.

“Couldn’t wait on you all night,” you grin, tossing back the clear liquor. 

“Tequila?” he asks, taking the empty seat next to you.

“The one and only,” you answer, nodding at the bartender as you signal for two more. “Now, why don’t you tell me about your little massage this morning, hm?”

He smiles a cheeky smile, “I wondered if she was going to tell you.”

“She mentioned it. Casually.” you say, tossing back another shot. “The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he laughs, taking his own shot, but following with a lime wedge. “Just told her your whole life story and every embarrassing fact about you.”

“Fuck you, no you didn’t,” you warn with a deeper voice. 

“No, calm down.” he says as if exhausted. “Just talked about band stuff. She never even mentioned that she was your roommate, but I will say she has magic hands.”

“Fuck off, Sam.”

“Oh, you sound a little jealous there, brother.” he taunts.

“Not jealous. I just– It’s weird. You being her client. That’s all.” you answer. 

“Mhmm.” he hums, giving you a knowing look.

Of course at that exact moment your phone lights up on the bar top, a message from ‘Girlfriend’ displaying across the screen in big bold letters. You try to grab it before Sam notices, but you’re too late as a smile spreads across his face. 

“Huh, is that right?” he taunts, elbowing your side. 

“No. it’s not what you think. I had to put her in my phone like that– Our landlord thinks–Actually I don’t have to explain this to you. It’s not like that. It’s just a lie we are telling the landlord because she is too nice to tell him otherwise.” you ramble. 

“Yeah, uh huh. Sure sounds like it's like that.” he answers, fully unbelieving of your explanation. 

You do decide to spare a glance at her text, opening it as Sam orders another drink.

Girlfriend

8:56PM: Did you leave?

You

8:59PM: Yeah, be back late.

You keep it short and sweet and as neutral as possible, when truth be told, everything in you wants to tell her that you were just out with your brother for drinks and that you would be home soon. But you felt that was too much information for two people who just shared the same house. She didn’t need to know every detail. Right?

Girlfriend

9:01: Oh, okay. I left cookies for you on the stove.

A shock shoots right through your chest. Cookies? You suddenly find yourself wanting to be home, and in her presence, completely negating every other feeling you’ve had tonight. But no. You can’t. You need to make the line clear. Roommates. That's it.

You make it a point to not think about her for the rest of the night, spending time with your brother and making conversation with anyone who came up to you tonight. Sam continues to question you about her, but you shoot him down every single time. You need him to believe it. You even go as far as to accept attention from a girl that has been eyeing you from across the bar. A leggy blonde in a tight black dress.

That seems to shut him up as the two of you share drinks and your mind becomes hazy. The night has grown later and her jokes have become funnier, a kiss is shared between the two of you and in the back of your mind you know it feels wrong. You know that her kiss doesn't even compare to the kiss you shared with Y/N just hours ago. You let her though. You let this nameless woman kiss you in the bar just to prove a point. 

Truth be told she isn’t even your type, quite the opposite actually, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Sam now fully believes you about Y/N. As Sam makes his exit from the bar, you find yourself in the back of an Uber with this woman, Claire, on your way back to your place. His lips are attached to your neck and her hands are in your hair as the Uber driver sends you judgemental looks through the rearview mirror. 

You couldn’t care less though, tipping him as he pulled up at the curb in front of your house. You fumble with the keys as she continues to kiss you, in a drunken state of her own. As the lock breaks free you both stumble inside to find the house dark. You’re both laughing as you push her down the hallway towards your bedroom. You know you’re being too loud but you don’t really care. It’s not that late is it?

“Stay here,” you say, pressing a kiss to her lips before she falls backwards onto your bed. You slip out of the bedroom and shut the door behind you as you make your way into the kitchen, the clock on the stove reading 1:04AM. Shit, maybe it is late. 

You know you’re going to need another shot if you are going to sleep with this girl. You pull a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and twist the lid. You bring the glass straight to your lips and take a long pull. It burns like hell, but you’re already too gone to care. You place the bottle on the counter as you run your hand over your face, unsure if you really want to proceed with Claire.

It’s on the walk back to your bedroom that you get your answer, though. Standing in her bedroom doorway, is Y/N. She’s in the tiniest little shorts and a tank top you’ve ever seen. Her eyes are tired and you can tell you’ve woken her from her sleep. You wonder how long she’s been asleep and what she did tonight, while you left her alone at the house.

“Is everything okay?” her groggy voice asks, it’s quiet and timid. You feel your heart shatter as you realize she is the one you would rather have waiting in your bed. From the moment you kissed her last night, you’ve wanted nothing more.

You don’t want to let her in on this, so you continue with your cold, short demeanor. “Yeah. All good. Great actually.”

Just then, Claire opens your bedroom door, peeking out, revealing her in just her lace bra. “You comin’ Jake?” she asks, and right then you want to disappear into thin air. Claire isn’t the girl you want to be with tonight, and the girl you do want to be with is watching everything happen a foot away from you.

Your eyes shoot to Y/N, who is looking at her before slowly looking back at you. You can tell she is feeling something, but she will never admit it. It’s a similar look to the one she had this afternoon. Right before she kissed you. Right before your wet bodies gave away your intentions with each other. When her lips kissed yours harder than they did last night. Needier and more wanting. 

You know you can’t sleep with Claire. Not when your mind is so consumed by Y/N.

Y/N quickly nods at you, and quietly closes her bedroom door, twisting the lock and retreating back to her bed. 

As if things could get any worse. 

You look to Claire, and a rush of clarity washes over you. You can end this. You can make the right choice. 

This has to stop. You can’t sleep with this girl.

You push your way back into your bedroom and close the door, Claire instantly trying to attach herself to your neck. All you can think of is Y/N and your kiss earlier, it’s as if that is all your brain can process at the moment. You gently push Claire away, shaking your head as you suddenly start to sober up, despite the whiskey traveling through your veins. You can’t use her like this. You won’t.

You shake your head as you look at a very confused and drunken Claire, “Listen, I’m sorry, Claire. We can’t do this. We aren’t in the right state of mind.” you pause, “I will call you an Uber to take you wherever you need to go.”

“You serious?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips, stepping back a bit. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say you, pulling your phone from your pocket. It takes you two minutes to order an Uber, and instantly you begin to feel better. About everything. 

“I really am sorry. I’ll let you get dressed,” you say, slipping out of your bedroom. You feel guilty for bringing her here, but you know this is for the best.

A few minutes later she joins you in the living room, her attitude drastically different than it was ten minutes ago. You feel guilty for leading her on, then shutting her down so quickly but the minute you saw Y/N you knew you were making a bad choice. 

You watch as Claire walks into the kitchen and leans up against a counter as the two of you wait for the Uber to arrive. She grabs a cookie off of the stove and that's when you remember why they are there in the first place. A heat begins to take over your body as you watch her eat the cookie that Y/N left for you. Despite being upset with you, she made and left you these cookies, and all you did is throw another woman in her face. You’ve fucked up, yet again. 

The Uber arrives and you usher her out the front door with haste, praying you never have to see her again, and in a city like this you likely never will. You lock the front door behind yourself and you head back to the kitchen, grabbing a cookie for yourself as you sit in the dark and enjoy what is probably the best chocolate chip cookie you’ve ever tasted. 

As you brush your teeth you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, trying to figure out how you can fix this. If you can fix this. You briefly consider knocking on her door and telling her that you sent her home, but you realize it doesn’t really matter because truth be told you shouldn’t be with her either, no matter how badly you want to be. 

Once again your mind flashes back to this afternoon. All the laughs you shared and the genuine happiness you felt as you planted the tiny seeds in the garden and brought home the sad tomato plant. She has the prettiest laugh, and the best smile. You could stare at her all day. You don’t want to sleep with random women. That’s not who you are. 

You drag yourself into your bed, staring at the ceiling as you replay the kiss over and over in your mind, torturing yourself as you realize it might have been the last one. In a final act of guilt you reach for your phone, pulling it out of the pocket of your jeans and pulling up her contact. 

You

1:38AM: I’m sorry I woke you. Just thought you should know I sent her home. 

You place your phone on your nightstand, wondering if you’d done the right thing, and as your eyes shut you are surprised to hear it buzz with a response. You snatch it off the nightstand far too quickly.

Girlfriend

1:39AM: Why did you do that?

It takes you a minute to figure out the real answer to the question, and if the real answer is the one you should give her. You decide that you’re done lying to her. All it does is get you into more trouble. So, you tell the truth, unknowing of what the future would hold because of it, and praying you were making the right choice. 

You

1:41AM: Because she's not who I want. 

You

1:41AM: Sweet dreams, Y/N.

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[badathumanemotions]

Good Boy

Spencer Reid x Reader MDNI Masterlist Category: Smut CW: Light Angst, Puppy Play, Sub Spencer, Collars, Dry Humping, Oral Sex (F. rec), Vaginal Sex, Breeding. WC: 6,376 Spencer is being short with you and you put him in his place. (Not Proof Read)

Spencer had been off for the last couple of days. Not just stressed, but moody and unusually snippy, especially with you. It wasn’t like him to be short-tempered, let alone with you, but every little thing seemed to set him off lately.

You’d given him space at first, figuring he needed time to sort through whatever was bothering him. But the attitude hadn’t stopped, and your patience was running thin.

You leaned back in your office chair, the glow of your laptop illuminating the quiet room. The sound of the front door closing signalled Spencer’s return from the grocery store. Without looking up, you called out, “Hey, did you grab the almond milk?”

“Yes,” came Spencer’s curt reply, sharper than necessary.

You frowned, glancing up from your work. His tone hadn’t gone unnoticed, and after two days of his snippiness, your patience was starting to wear thin. “Everything okay out there?” you called, keeping your voice calm.

“Everything’s fine,” he snapped, followed by the sound of a cabinet door shutting harder than it needed to.

You pushed your chair back with a sigh, making your way into the kitchen. Spencer was at the counter, aggressively stacking items on the shelf with an air of irritation that felt entirely unwarranted.

“Fine, huh?” you asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

He glanced at you briefly before returning to the groceries. “Yes. Fine,” he repeated, his words clipped.

“Right.” You watched him for a moment, taking in the way his jaw clenched and his fingers trembled as he shoved a box of crackers into place. His irritation was almost palpable, though it clearly had nothing to do with you—or at least, it shouldn’t have.

“Spencer, talk to me,” you said, your tone soft but steady.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he replied, still not looking at you. “Why does everyone always have to make everything such a big deal?”

Your eyebrows lifted at his choice of words. “Everyone?” you repeated. “Who’s everyone, exactly? Because I don’t recall making anything into a big deal.”

He froze for half a second before continuing with the groceries, clearly realizing his misstep. “Forget I said anything.”

You straightened, no longer leaning against the door frame. “No, I don’t think I will,” you said, stepping into the kitchen. “You’ve been snapping at me for two days now, and I’ve let it slide because I know work’s been rough. But I’m not your punching bag, Spencer. If you’re upset, you need to say so. Otherwise, this little attitude of yours needs to stop.”

He turned to face you then, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and guilt. “I said I’m fine,” he insisted, though the tension in his voice made it clear he wasn’t.

“Spencer,” you said, your voice firm now. “Look at me.”

His eyes darted to yours reluctantly, and you could see the flicker of conflict in his gaze. He was digging in his heels, and it only made your resolve strengthen.

“Last chance,” you said, stepping closer. “Either tell me what’s going on, or we’re going to handle this another way.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening again. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he muttered finally, the stubbornness in his voice enough to push you past your limit.

“Alright,” you said, your tone calm but unmistakably authoritative. “Then we’re done talking. You’ve been brimming with misplaced annoyance, and since you can’t seem to control yourself, I’m going to handle it for you.”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his defiance faltering as your words sank in. His eyes widened slightly, the hint of challenge quickly giving way to submission as he realized where this was going.

“Finish putting those away,” you instructed, your voice low and steady. “Then we’ll deal with your behaviour properly.”

Spencer’s defiance started to crack when you caught his eye. You could tell he was trying to soften you up with that look—the one that always got him out of trouble. His big, doe eyes widened slightly, his lashes fluttering as he looked up at you. It was his signature puppy-dog eyes—and you knew exactly what he was trying to do.

He stepped closer, his voice taking on that quiet, almost childlike quality. “I’m sorry,” he said, his words soft and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to be snippy.”

You stood firm, arms crossed over your chest. “Spencer,” you said, your tone resolute. “This has been going on for two days now. You don’t get to just apologize with those eyes and expect me to let it slide.”

He leaned in a little, his lips pouting just enough to make it clear he was trying to charm his way out of trouble, those puppy-dog eyes fixed on you. “Please,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but you weren’t giving in. “What happened to my good boy?” you asked, your voice dropping into a firm, almost disappointed tone. “This attitude? It’s not like you.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped a little at the words, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more uncertain. The pout deepened, and he dropped his gaze, clearly feeling the weight of your words.

“Good boys don’t act like this, Spencer,” you continued, your voice cool but with a trace of affection. “You’ve been a bad boy, and now you’re going to be punished for it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then his eyes flickered up to yours again, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. The blush wasn’t from embarrassment—it was the warmth of something else, something you knew well. His gaze lingered a little longer, and you could see how hard he was trying to hold himself back, but the arousal in his eyes was undeniable.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter this time, as though he was willing to accept whatever came next.

You nodded, keeping your voice calm but firm. “Good. You know the rules. You’ve earned your punishment.”

Spencer’s blush deepened as he nodded obediently. “Yes, master.”

You took a step closer, giving him a final look. “Finish what you’re doing. When you're done, come find me. We’ll take care of your punishment then.”

Spencer’s hands trembled slightly as he placed the last of the groceries in the cabinet. It was a quiet task, but his mind was far from focused on it. The weight of your words hung heavy in his thoughts, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of anticipation building in his chest.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he finished closing the pantry door, and gave the kitchen one last glance. His stomach twisted in knots as he straightened up, wiping his hands nervously on his pants.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, standing still in the kitchen as his heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t want to disappoint you, but the thought of what was coming next made him feel vulnerable. He didn’t want to be punished, but part of him knew it was exactly what he deserved. He had been snippy, and now he had to face the consequences.

With a shaky exhale, he finally moved toward the study. His footsteps were soft as he crossed the hallway, and as he reached the door, he paused, running a hand through his hair. The sound of his breath felt louder than it should’ve been as he stood on the threshold, his eyes casting a quick glance inside.

You were sitting at the desk, your posture relaxed, but there was an undeniable air of authority around you. Spencer swallowed hard, feeling a rush of both fear and excitement coursing through him. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, but stayed a few feet away, not sure how to approach you.

Spencer softly called out your name, his voice quiet, almost uncertain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes downcast. He didn’t want to look too eager, but his body was already betraying him, the flush of arousal still lingering under the surface.

You didn’t look up from your work, not even acknowledging his presence at first. You let the tension build, letting him stew in his anxiety for a few moments before finally speaking. “Strip,” you said simply, not bothering to look up from the documents in front of you.

Spencer’s pulse quickened at the command, his hands moving almost of their own accord to the buttons of his shirt. He fumbled slightly, his fingers trembling as he began to undo them one by one. The fabric parted, revealing his pale, slender chest.

His eyes remained on the floor as he slipped the shirt off, letting it fall to the ground behind him. His breaths grew shallower as he reached for the waistband of his pants, the anticipation of what was to come making his heart race.

The silence in the room was unnerving, the only sound the rustle of fabric as he undressed. You remained focused on your work, not looking up, as if he wasn’t even there. It was a thrilling kind of power play, one that Spencer knew well, and it never failed to get his blood pumping.

He stepped out of his shoes, socks following suit, and then worked on his belt. His pants pooled around his ankles, and he stepped out of them, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The fabric was tented, a clear indication of his arousal, and he knew you had to be aware of it.

With his heart racing, Spencer took the final step of obedience and pushed his boxers down, letting them fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them, leaving himself completely bare before you. The air was cold against his skin, making his nipples pebble and his cock jut out even more. He was fully exposed, vulnerable and at your mercy.

You finally looked up from your work, your eyes raking over him, taking in every inch of his trembling body. You nodded in approval, then pointed to the floor beside your chair. “Kneel,” you said, your voice still firm but with a hint of warmth.

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He took a step forward and sank to his knees, his hands resting on his thighs as he awaited further instruction. He felt the coolness of the hardwood floor against his knees. His eyes remained downcast, his breath shallow and fast as he awaited for what you had in store for him.

You reached into the drawer of your desk and pulled out the leather collar that signalled his role in your games. It was black and simple, yet held a significant meaning between the two of you. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as you held it up to him, the metal tag jingling slightly as it dangled from the leather strap.

You fastened the collar around his neck, the cold metal of the tag brushing against his skin. The leather was smooth and cool against his throat, a stark contrast to the heat that flushed his cheeks. He felt the weight of the collar settle into place, it was a symbol of his submission, a physical reminder that he belonged to you.

“Good boy,” you murmured, the words sending a shiver down his spine. You returned to your work, not looking up, just letting the anticipation build. Spencer felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. This was a dynamic that played out between the two of you often, one that allowed him to shed his usual layers of intellectual armour and just be.

His cock pulsed in anticipation, the blood rushing to the tip as he waited for your next move. You knew just how to push his buttons—how to make him squirm and crave your attention. The silence stretched out, the air in the room filling with tension, and still, you did not look up from your work.

You felt his eyes on you, his need palpable, and a smug smile curved your lips. This was your favourite part, the moment when you had all the power. Spencer’s breath grew shallower, his chest rising and falling with each shallow inhale and exhale.

Finally, you reached out, your hand coming to rest on his head, stroking his hair gently. Spencer leaned into the touch, his eyes closing briefly as he felt the tension in his body melt away. It was a simple gesture, one that could be interpreted as comforting or patronizing in other contexts, but here, it was a clear assertion of dominance, of care.

You began to pet him, your fingers running through his soft hair, guiding his head downward. Spencer didn’t resist, his body moving instinctively as he felt the urge to be closer to you, to be held and controlled. His forehead came to rest on your thigh, and he let out a soft sigh of relief. The weight of your hand remained on him, grounding him, reminding him of his place.

But as quickly as it had come, you removed your touch. Spencer whined, a soft sound of protest escaping his lips, his eyes flying open to look up at you. The loss of contact was sudden, and it left him feeling needy.

"What's the matter?" you asked, your voice deceptively calm. "Does the little puppy want more?"

Spencer whined again, his eyes pleading. You knew exactly what he needed, but you weren't going to give it to him just yet. "Bad puppies only get what they're given," you reminded him, your voice firm.

With a deep breath, Spencer nodded, his cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and excitement. He knew you weren’t just playing a game; this was his chance to make amends, to show you that he could be the obedient one when it mattered.

You leaned back in your chair, watching him closely. “Good boy,” you murmured, and his cock twitched at the praise. “Now, show me how much you want to be my good boy. Hump my leg, Spencer. And remember, no cumming until I say so.”

You leaned back in your chair, watching him expectantly. Spencer took a moment to compose himself, then, with a soft whine, he leaned forward. His cock was already erect, bobbing slightly as he positioned himself closer to your leg. He pressed his forehead to your thigh, his hands gripping the fabric of your pants for stability.

He began to rub the hot flesh of his cock against your leg, his movements tentative at first. The fabric of your slacks was a barrier, but you could feel the heat of him, the way his cock slid against you with a gentle, needy insistence. The whine grew louder in his throat as he picked up the pace, his hips rocking slightly with each stroke.

The friction was minimal, a mere tease of what he craved, but it was enough to make his body respond. Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed, and his breath grew more ragged as he lost himself in the sensation. It was a simple act of submission, one that never failed to make him feel so alive, so present in the moment.

You watched him with a mix of amusement and desire, the way he moved with such unbridled need against you. His cheeks were flushed, and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps that matched the rhythm of his hips. The sight was undeniably arousing.

You could feel the warmth of his cock through your pants, the gentle pressure increasing with every thrust. He was lost in the moment, his body moving on instinct, driven by a deep craving to please you. His movements grew more frantic, his breaths more desperate. You knew he was close to the edge, but you weren’t ready to let him come just yet.

Reaching down, you placed a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping his movements. Spencer whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, his eyes flying open to meet yours. “Not yet, pup,” you said, your voice a gentle reprimand. “You’re not allowed to cum until I give you permission. Remember?”

He nodded, his eyes wide and desperate. You could see the effort it took for him to hold back, his body trembling with the need to release. The sight made your own desire flare, but you remained in control, stroking his shoulder soothingly.

"Good boy," you said again, your voice a gentle purr that made his cock throb.

Spencer nodded, his breath coming in shallow pants as he leaned into your touch. The fabric of your pants was rough against his skin, but the warmth of your leg beneath it was a comfort. He took a moment to compose himself, then started again, his hips moving in a steady rhythm as he rubbed his cock against you.

You could feel the tension in his body as he held back, his muscles straining with the effort. The whine grew more insistent, his need for release palpable. Each stroke was a silent plea for more, for the sweet release that only you could give him.

You watched him, the sight of his naked body, so vulnerable and eager, making your own pulse race. Your hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, gripping his collar gently but firmly, reminding him of his place. “That’s it, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing. “Just like that. Show me how much you want it, how much you need it from me.”

Spencer’s hips rocked against you, his cock sliding against your leg with a wet sound that filled the room. He was so close, his entire body quivering with the effort to hold back. You could see the muscles in his abdomen contracting with every stroke, the desperation in his movements as he sought the relief he so desperately needed.

You leaned down, your hand moving to grip the base of his cock, holding it firmly in place. “Easy, pup,” you murmured, your voice a gentle reprimand. “Remember the rules. No cumming.”

Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut, and he nodded, his breath hitching. His body was tight, wound up like a spring, and you knew he was just moments away from breaking. You watched him, his face a picture of pure need as he struggled to maintain control.

With a smirk, you decided it was time to give him a little more. You undid the button of your slacks, sliding the zipper down. Spencer’s eyes snapped open at the sound, his gaze dropping to the opening of your pants as you reached inside.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down to give him a glimpse of your damp folds. He licked his lips, his eyes glazed over with lust. You knew he was dying to touch you, to taste you, but he remained obedient, his movements against your leg never faltering.

With a smirk, you began to stroke yourself, your fingers slipping through your wetness with ease. Spencer’s eyes followed every movement, his own breathing growing more ragged with each pass of your hand over your clit. The sound of your wetness filled the room, complimenting the quiet whimpers escaping his lips.

You watched him, enjoying the way his cock bobbed with each stroke he gave it against your leg. It was clear he was desperate to taste you, to feel you, but he remained still, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for permission. The power play was intoxicating, the control you had over him in this moment.

With a sly smile, you decided to give him a taste of what he wanted. "You've been such a good boy, Spencer," you murmured, your voice dripping with desire. "You've earned a little treat."

Spencer's eyes widened he watched, entranced, as you offered your glistening fingertips to him. "Taste," you said simply, your tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky hand, he reached up and took your fingers into his mouth, his tongue eagerly lapping at your essence. The taste of you was intoxicating, making him even more desperate to please. He sucked gently, savouring the flavour as you watched him with hooded eyes, your own arousal clear in your expression.

Then, without another word, you stood up, pushing your chair back. You stepped out of your shoes, then slowly slid your pants and panties down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles. Spencer’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of you—bare, open, and ready for him.

You sat back down on the chair, spreading your legs wide, giving him full access to your wet, waiting pussy. The leather was cool against your skin, contrasting the heat radiating from your core. Spencer stared for a moment, his eyes dark with lust before shuffling forward knees, his cock bobbing eagerly.

"Eat me out, Spencer," you ordered, your voice a seductive purr that sent a thrill down his spine. "And be a good boy keep humping my leg."

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He leaned in eagerly, his tongue flicking out to trace the folds of your sex. The salty sweetness of your arousal filled his senses as he lapped at your clit, the movements of his hips against your leg becoming more insistent. Each stroke of his cock sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and he could feel the precum leaking onto your skin.

You watched him with hooded eyes, your hand still on his neck, guiding him closer to your heat. His tongue was rough and hungry, exploring you with an intensity that made your toes curl. You could feel yourself growing wetter with each pass of his tongue, your hips lifting slightly off the chair to meet him.

Spencer lapped at you with a fervour that was almost animalistic—like a starving animal ready to feast. Each stroke of his tongue was desperate, eager to taste more of you, to please you in the most primal of ways. He knew his punishment was coming, but for now, he was lost in the task of making you come, of serving you.

Your thighs quivered under his touch, your grip on his neck tightening as his tongue delved deeper. He nuzzled into your folds, his nose pressing against the base of your clit as he licked and sucked with a rhythm that made you gasp. You could feel your orgasm building, a pressure that grew with each flick of his tongue.

Spencer's movements against your leg grew more urgent, his hips jerking as he felt your thigh muscles tense. He knew you were close, and the anticipation was driving him wild. The warmth of your cunt washed over his face, and he breathed you in, the scent of your arousal making him light-headed. His own cock was aching, but the promise of your climax was all that mattered.

As you felt yourself approaching the brink, your grip on his neck tightened, your hips bucking into his mouth. You moaned out, "Good boy," your voice thick with need. The words sent a bolt of pleasure through Spencer, making his cock throb against your leg. He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving with precision, eager to taste your release.

Spencer’s own hips were moving faster now, his cock sliding against your skin in a slick, desperate dance. The sound of your moans grew louder, your breath coming in quick, sharp gasps. He could feel the tension building in your body, the way your thighs tightened around his head. It was intoxicating, the power of knowing that he was the one giving you so much pleasure.

With one final, hard suck on your clit, you shuddered, your body arching as the orgasm crashed over you. Spencer's eyes went wide as he watched you, your face contorted in ecstasy. His own need was almost overwhelming, and he had to grip the base of his cock with a firm hand to keep from spilling his seed on the floor.

The head of his cock was a dark shade of red, the precum slick and plentiful. He could feel his pulse beating in the vein that ran along the underside, the desperate throb of his cock made him whimper. Yet, he held back, his eyes never leaving you as he waited for your command.

Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. You looked down at him, a smug smile playing on your lips. You knew just how much he was fighting the urge to cum, the way his hand tightly gripped the base of his cock, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the effort.

Pride filled your chest at the sight of him, so eager, so obedient. You leaned down, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip. His eyes searched yours, desperate for approval, for a sign that he had done well.

"Such a good boy," you whispered, the words a warm caress that sent a shiver down Spencer's spine. "I'm so proud of you for being such an obedient pup." His cock throbbed against your leg in response, the need to cum almost painfully intense. He had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, and yet, in this moment, with your praise, he felt more loved than ever.

Your kiss was soft at first, a gentle press of your lips to his, a silent praise for his submission. Spencer’s eyes closed, and he melted into the kiss, his body relaxing slightly. But you didn’t let it linger. You pulled away, leaving him panting and needy.

With a single word—“Follow”—you stood, the leather of the chair protesting with a soft squeak. You turned and walked out of the study, your bare ass swaying slightly with each step. Spencer’s eyes followed you, his hand dropping to his cock involuntarily before he caught himself.

He scrambled to his feet, his knees popping as he straightened up. The room spun briefly, a side effect of the intense need that had been building in him. But he didn’t hesitate, his eyes locked on your retreating form as he followed you into the hallway. His cock bobbed with each step, the cool air of the house making him even more sensitive.

When he walked into the bedroom, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. You were completely naked, on your hands and knees in the centre of the bed, your ass in the air. The light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over your skin, highlighting the curve of your back, the swell of your ass, and the wetness glistening between your thighs.

You looked over your shoulder, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you watched him approach. "You were so good for me, pup," you say seductively. "Come claim your reward."

Spencer didn't hesitate for a second. He practically leaped onto the bed, his body moving with a grace that belied his desperation. He positioned himself behind you, his cock brushing against your wet folds. You could feel his breath on your skin, hot and heavy with need.

With a low growl, he slammed into you, the force of his entry making your eyes roll back in your head. He didn't pull out at first, just rutted into you with quick, short thrusts that had you gasping for breath. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your pussy clenching around his shaft, eager to keep him deep inside.

Spencer's hands gripped your hips, his nails digging into your skin as he fucked you with a ferocity that was almost frightening. His teeth were bared, and his eyes had taken on a wild, desperate look as he chased his own release, his hips snapping forward with each punishing thrust.

The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your gasps and his grunts of exertion. Each impact sent shockwaves of sensation through Spencer's body, making him feel more alive than he had in what felt like an eternity.

His balls slapped against your clit with every deep, hard thrust, the rhythmic sting adding to the crescendo of pleasure that was building within you. It was an incredibly satisfying sensation, one that had you pushing back into him, urging him deeper, faster.

Spencer’s breath grew ragged as he claimed you, his hips moving in a steady, punishing rhythm. He could feel your body tightening around him, your muscles clenching in a silent plea for more. He was lost in the heat of the moment, his mind a blur of need and desire.

The idea of breeding filled his thoughts, an animalistic instinct that took hold and consumed him. He could feel the urge to fill you, to mark you as his own, to claim you in the most primal of ways. It was a driving force that went beyond the confines of their usual role play, reaching into the depths of his soul.

“You’re going to breed me, aren’t you, pup?” you panted, pushing back against him. “You’re going to fill me up with your seed and make me yours, aren’t you?”

The words sent a bolt of lust through Spencer’s body, his cock hardening even further. He nodded, his voice a low, animalistic growl. “Yes,” he managed to get out. “I’m going to breed you. I’m going to fill your tight cunt with my cum until you’re overflowing, until you’re begging for more, until you can’t think of anything but me fucking you, breeding you, claiming you as mine!”

You moaned at his words, the idea of it making you wetter than you already were. Your pussy clamped down around his cock, the walls spasming as he fucked you harder. The sound of his voice, so raw and unfiltered, was like a drug, pushing you closer to the edge.

But as much as you loved hearing him talk this way, you knew you had to reestablish your dominance. With a swift move, you pushed yourself up onto your knees, taking hold of his leather collar. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his pupils dilating with anticipation as he felt your grip tighten.

With surprising strength, you yanked him, pushing him onto his back on the bed. The snap back in power dynamics had him panting, his cock slipping out of you with a wet sound. He stared up at you, his chest heaving with the effort to keep his orgasm at bay.

Straddling him, you lined his cock up with your entrance, then slammed down onto it, taking him fully inside you once more. Spencer’s eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure. You began to ride him, setting a pace that was just shy of punishing.

Your hips rolled and bucked, each movement sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. You could feel the head of his cock hit that perfect spot inside you, making your toes curl and your eyes water. Spencer’s hands found your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he met your rhythm, thrusting up into you with a ferocity that had you gasping.

You leaned forward, your breasts swaying with each movement, your nipples brushing against his chest. The smell of sex was filling the air, a heady mix of your arousal and his desperation. You lowered your mouth to his ear, whispering, “You’re going to fill me up, aren’t you, puppy? You’re going to breed me like a good little boy, until I’m leaking your seed all over the bed.”

Spencer’s hips jerked in response. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, the need to cum almost unbearable. You could see the desperation in his eyes, the way his body tensed beneath you.

With a wicked smile, you leaned down, your breasts pressing against his chest as you whispered, “Claim me, Spencer. Make me yours. Fill me up until I’m swollen with your cum. I want to feel you in every part of me, forever marked as your bitch."

The words were like a trigger, and Spencer’s eyes lit up with a fiery need. With a snarl, he bucked his hips upward, slamming into you with a force that had the bed frame groaning in protest. Each thrust was punctuated with a needy grunt.

You could feel your own climax building again, the delicious friction of his cock against your walls driving you wild. Spencer’s eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive as he pounded into you.

"I've been such a good boy, please, can I cum?" he whined, his voice high and needy. The desperation in his tone sent a thrill through your body, making your pussy tighten around his shaft.

"Beg for it," you said, your voice a low, seductive purr. Spencer's eyes widened, and he did as he was told, his voice a desperate wail as he pleaded for his release. "Please, ma'am, I need to fill you up. I need to claim you, to make you mine. Please let me cum."

You smirked at his desperate pleas, feeling the power of your dominance over him in this moment. With a single word command, "Cum," you gave him the permission he so desperately craved.

Spencer’s entire body tensed, his hips jerking up to meet yours as he released his load into you. The sensation of his warm seed filling you up was intense, sending you hurtling over the edge into your own orgasm. Your pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him for every last drop as you both rode out the waves of pleasure together.

Feeling him cum in you only added to your pleasure, the warmth and wetness spreading through your core, mixing with your own juices. You moaned deeply, your head falling back as you basked in the feeling of his possession. Spencer's eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a low growl, his body shaking with the force of his climax.

As the aftershocks of your shared orgasm began to subside, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, your breaths mingling as you both panted. His cock was still twitching inside you, the aftermath of his release sending delicious tremors through your body.

You slid off of him, his cum spilling out of you and onto the bed, a warm, sticky mess that neither of you seemed to mind. You both collapsed onto the mattress, limbs tangled as your bodies cooled down.

The room was quiet now, the glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows on the walls. Spencer lay against you, his head resting on your chest, the collar still snug around his neck—a tangible reminder of the dynamic you shared. His fingers traced aimless patterns on your hip, and while his body was relaxed, there was a faint tension in the way he held himself, like he was still carrying something unsaid.

You combed your fingers gently through his curls, waiting for him to speak. You knew Spencer well enough to know he needed time to gather his thoughts, especially when something was weighing on him.

Finally, he let out a small sigh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

“For what?” you prompted gently, your tone free of judgment but firm enough to encourage honesty.

“For snapping at you earlier,” he admitted, his fingers stilling on your hip. “For the last couple of days, really. I’ve just been… overwhelmed.” He paused, his voice faltering slightly. “And I didn’t know how to handle it, so I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

You tilted his chin up so he could look at you, your gaze steady but warm. “It wasn’t fair,” you agreed, “but I’m glad you’re telling me now.” You ran your thumb along his cheek, offering him a soft smile. “I need you to talk to me when you’re feeling like that, Spencer. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

His eyes flickered with guilt, but also relief. “I know,” he said softly. “It’s just hard sometimes. I don’t want to feel like I’m burdening you with my problems.”

“You’re never a burden,” you said firmly, your hand cupping his face. “We’re a team, remember? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes shining with emotion. “I’ll try to be better about it,” he promised, his voice earnest. “I don’t want to push you away.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But I need you to be open with me, even when it’s hard. Can you do that?”

He swallowed hard, but his nod was resolute. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Good,” you said, your tone softening. “That’s my good boy.”

A faint blush rose to his cheeks at the praise, and he nuzzled against you, his arms tightening around your waist. You continued to stroke his hair, letting the moment settle into something tender and comforting.

“Thank you,” he said after a while, his voice muffled against your skin. “For being patient with me. For… everything.”

“Always,” you replied, your voice filled with quiet affection.

As the last vibrations of pleasure faded away, you reached up to unbuckle the leather collar around Spencer's neck. He flinched slightly at the touch, his body still hypersensitive from his intense climax. You took the collar off gently, setting it aside on the nightstand.

A soft blush rose on his cheeks, and he hid his face against your neck, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t used to being cared for like this, but the way you held him made it feel natural.

“Are you comfortable?” you asked after a few minutes, your hand brushing along his side.

He nodded, his voice muffled. “Yeah. Just… don’t let go yet.”

“Never,” you promised, pulling the blankets up around you both. “I’ve got you.”

Spencer let out a contented hum, relaxing further into your embrace. The weight of the past few days had lifted, replaced by warmth, trust, and the quiet intimacy of the moment.

[letsgobarbs]

The Plant Nanny

Pairing: Javier Peña x Spouse GN!Reader (Modern AU so Javi can have a water tracking app on his phone)

Summary: Javier Peña reminisces about life after quitting the DEA during his struggles with his New Year's Resolution.

A/N: This was written for @beefrobeefcal's New Year, Same Peña January prompt. I wrote this on my laptop and still haven't figured out how to get the little accent on n, best believe I copy-pasted his name everywhere in this fic.

dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Steve is dead. The fucking pendejo died. That little shit. Fuck this.

Javi bit the inside of his lip, there was a strain in his jaw. It shouldn’t affect him like this, he knew that. It was just a plant— and not a real one. Steve the Dandelion was just a virtual creepy little fucker staring up at him with googly eyes constantly whining about being thirsty and emotionally blackmailing him to drink water or he’d die. And now he was dead.

Javier glared down, his eyebrows furrowed, at the little plant with its eyes crossed— still dead. It just wasn’t fair; he had drank water last night, had logged it in to water the little shit too. He braved the cold, and the sleep, leaving the comforting embrace of his partner to go pee a billion fucking times in the night all for Steve, the motherfucking Dandelion, to die on him by morning. 

His sweetheart maintained a sizeable collection of real plants, naming them after their loved ones, believing they could absorb the negativity, misfortune or evil eye for their human namesakes. He looked at Javs, Javi, Javier, Peña and JaviLicious all thriving by the window sill. Their Steve was doing fine too. He disappointedly looked down at virtual Steve. Maybe he should call the real Steve, check in on him and his family, wish them a Happy New Year like the sap he was.

It really wasn’t a big deal. He could just pick another plant in the app, maybe a cactus or a devil’s ivy this time— try again. But something wasn’t settling inside him, there was an odd heaviness in his chest and he must have slept weird last night because there was an ache in his shoulder that was stretching to his neck. And his mouth felt dry even after all the water he had guzzled last night. Most importantly, he felt sad. He hated to disappoint. He had already disappointed so many people in the past— his parents, Lorraine, the women he slept with, his coworkers, and probably a few more people he didn’t even know. He didn’t want to disappoint the love of his life too. 

He had made a commitment to them. A New Year’s Resolution. Javier Peña had never made one of those in his life before. But the second-most embarrassing thing was tying up your spouse in festive red ribbons and rope, like your personal Christmas present, only to then promptly pass out on them, and take the Christmas tree— that they had spent all afternoon decorating together— down with him. The most embarrassing thing, however, had been waking up in the emergency room, with a panicked partner and a worried father by his bed, realising the candy cane flavoured condom was still on his dick and the mintiness of it was stinging him. It had also given him a UTI. 

The doctors had said it was because of dehydration; according to them, he was so dehydrated his body had stopped being able to read the signs and had become less sensitive to water intake. He called bullshit. He had lived years off of booze and cigarettes and he had done just fine. He was doing just fine. He even had excellent skin, as his sweetheart often points out, and dehydrated motherfuckers don’t have that. 

But the incident had scared them— probably because he didn’t wake up immediately. One night they had tearfully told him they wanted to spend a very long, healthy, happy life with him— Javi had giddily reminded them that they were married and that’s what marriage meant. But he had also promised to drink more water as a New Year’s Resolution. He had tried, truly, he had— even when he had to stop, in the middle of thrusting, during sex to go pee. He was mortified, but he kept his word to drink more water. 

“It’s dead, isn’t it.” Javi was startled by the interruption. His sweetheart was leaning against their bedroom entrance looking delightfully mussed in his worn, old green training t-shirt, sleep marks on the side of their face. He knew their skin would be warm and toasty from sleep; Javi wished they would hold him. 

“Yeah… the plant is dead.” And they did hold him, coming up behind him to drape themselves over his back, arms wrapped around him with gentle strokes and soothing pets that told him they knew he was upset about way more than just the plant.

“Hmm… You know they have those drops of life thing in the app that revives the plant?” They gently reminded him. But life didn’t give second chances— there were no drops of life for people who were harmed by his choices. Javi bent his head to ease the ache in his neck, and to also make space for their chin to rest on his shoulder. Instead, his sweetheart started massaging the area that twinged with pain. Always so perceptive.    

“That’s cheating, I’m not a quitter. Gonna do this thing right.” He tells them instead of admitting his thoughts. And Javier Peña wasn’t a quitter. He took quitting as a personal failure and it killed him to do so. It had taken him so long to quit the drug war and Mexico. Sometimes, he still burned with injustice that none of it had made any difference, that his actions had been futile, all those lives lost for nothing. It was the sort of rage and anger he hid behind a mask of apathy, insisting that he was done— that he was through.

But he hadn’t believed himself, and his father hadn’t believed him either. For months, he hadn’t been able to stay at the ranch, unable to stand the sight of those boats transporting drugs across his own backyard. And then he had only felt worse because he was letting his father down with more flighty attitude. 

He would escape to a bigger city under the guise of consulting gigs, interviews, and even for drug education and prevention programs when he was truly desperate— telling kids ‘Don’t do drugs!’ like they would actually listen. Often the words had echoed in his mind, ‘what else is a guy like you gonna do?’ Javier didn’t have an answer, he had never felt so purposeless. 

It was during one of these escapes, he met his cariño at a cafe. They sat at the table next to his, annotating the morning newspaper like they would annotate a book— a big bold ‘DICKHEAD’ over the president’s head with his eyes and mouth crossed out, a heart over some celebrities’ face, another ‘WTF?!?!?! BULLSHIT’ on the margins of some political op-ed. He failed to hold in a chuckle when they had disdainfully clicked their tongue which had caused them to look up at him. Just as he had been poised to apologise, they had abruptly turned to fish out an extra pen, waving it at him in offer along with sliding half of the newspaper closer to him.    

He turns to look at the side profile he had studied and admired for weeks rather than the newspapers— letting the tip of his nose trace their cheekbone up to their temple, smelling their scent mixed with their lotion, soap and shampoo from their shared bath last night. He watched their eyes flutter close, eyelashes gracefully fanning over dark circles that spoke of prolonged exhaustion; eyes still puffy from a lack of sleep. His heart tightened with gratitude and love, he had run his sweetheart ragged this holiday season. He pressed his lips to their skin when he felt his throat had closed around the words he wanted to say, conveying all the love and adoration he felt.  

Those mornings at the cafe had been the brightest part of his day until the shared breakfasts had turned into happy hour drinks and then comforting dinners. It was always easy for him to fall into bed with someone, but it had been so difficult to leave theirs. So Javi simply never left. Which didn’t mean he hadn’t been a colossal idiot at times. The very look in their eyes had terrified him, his sweetheart was not one to hide their feelings and theirs had been apparent very early on, even with him constantly pulling away and drawing boundaries. 

He was always so afraid he would never measure up to that look in their eyes, it filled him with endless anxiety. He had been so sure that they would realise he wasn’t worthy of the love that poured forth from those eyes— eventually, they would stop looking at him that way once they realised what a disappointment he was. He also didn’t believe he could love so openly and wholly. How wrong he had been. 

Javier had waited, and waited, and waited some more for them to finally demand more of him, or throw him out of their life for something better— someone more stable. But the demands and confrontation never came instead they trapped him in the limbo of his own making where they only gave him as much as he gave them. Their shared meals were lighthearted and playful but the conversations always impersonal. And even during the nights when their breaths mingled, hearts sang, and souls danced together, his sweetheart would avoid his eyes and his kisses. For the first time in his life, it wasn’t him out of bed first, refreshed and active, lighting a cigarette or pouring a drink after sex— it was them, getting some water, snacks or taking a shower. 

He hadn’t known what was missing until they had been too dazed from pleasure to avoid a kiss. And that kiss. It had changed him. It had been so tender and desperate, a tantalizing mix of long and slow explorations of each other with sweet and deep forays that had them both panting for air but unwilling to part. The kiss had been warm, passionate and possessive as if the floodgates they had barred closed were cracked open and an immense torrent of love, want and need had surrounded the both of them. It had shaken him and created a sense of awareness— Javier Peña had never been loved this way before. 

So it had been all the more shocking when they had ripped away from that kiss as if burned. His cariño had taken all that love and locked it up again in their eyes, they never allowed it to settle between them again. They had respected the boundaries he had set, and held him to his words as well. The loss had left him bereft— he yearned for what he had tasted only once. And Javier learned just what a greedy man he could be. He had craved more, more more. Everything they were willing to give him and then some. 

He listened to their quiet dulcet tone as they whispered to him about a plant they had lost in the app years ago after it had grown shoots and a smile, and how it had been the tiny thing that triggered a depressive episode. He realised it was an attempt to comfort him and his heart softened further. Javi gently caressed their chin before guiding their face to turn to him until their lips met his in a kiss— their lips always so soft and generous. He wished he could kick the old him for being so stupid for missing out on the chances to kiss the love of his life. He didn’t know why he had been so terrified and uneasy when loving them was so easy. 

He kissed his partner for the sake of kissing them, with relish and wild abandon— feeling the tender arch of their palate, the smooth gummy lining of their cheek, the rough patch on the middle of their tongue. As he sank deeper into their kiss, he allowed the claws of the past to loosen their grip on his mind.

When he had finally dislodged his head from his ass all those years ago and confessed to wanting more from their relationship, it was as if his sweetheart had bloomed in front of his eyes with a smile so full of fondness and affection it had taken his breath away. Their love had spurted vines that tenaciously climbed over his walls of self-loathing and doubt, tearing through the bricks he had laid. The process had been so slow he hadn’t even realised when he had started to breathe easier as the walls crumbled around him. 

Some of the rubble and ruins would still sting and prick under his feet— like today. But the wreckage of those walls had allowed for clear air that brought with it the realisation that Javier Peña was just a man. He hadn’t started the war on drugs, nor will it end with him. He had done what he had to do, and his choices, albeit questionable, were true to who he was. It wasn’t his fault he lived and laboured under a system that would have never allowed his efforts to come to any lasting fruition. He had unsuccessfully struggled for justice in a world devoid of it. And ultimately he had made the choice that was good for him.

The acceptance of his past and actions hadn’t been spoon-fed to him like his father and Steve had attempted, it was a realisation he had come to all on his own, which made it stick. He had personally closed the doors on the opportunity with the Houston DEA office with another on-record interview calling out their discriminatory practices in the name of narcotics control. Surprisingly, his vocal critique had paved the path for him to a new job with a local community-based harm reduction organisation. Connie had even helped him certify as a first responder. 

The irony was not lost on him, that despite all those years of his father’s talks, he had ended up just like the old man. Javier had stopped chasing storms; he had found his fulfilment in coming home to fix the fences every time a storm hit because… someone has to. The DEA was not done with him though, they would often pull him in for consultations— the payment was always a nice cushion for their growing family. 

He was miffed at losing his sweetheart’s attention to the dead virtual plant again, but he watched them revive the plant anyway. His inventory of free drops of life dwindling into nothing, giving away just how spectacularly he had failed at his New Year’s Resolution— he had already killed nine plants before Steve the Dandelion. A fact his cariño had also just realised judging by the admonishing glare. But the action still felt so… significant to him— it made his heart soar. That stupid plant wasn’t the only thing his sweetheart had revived. 

He pulled them off his back and around the couch, positioning them between his spread legs so he could nuzzle into the softness of their belly. Javier grazed his fingers up their thighs to lightly tease the hem of his old t-shirt. They had given him more love, affection and devotion than Javier knew existed— more than he knew what to do with other than trade it between them like two children exchanging their spoils in a collectable card game. 

He hadn’t yet figured out exactly what they saw in him, but he hoped they would see it forever. He would often catch them looking at him from the corner of his eyes, or in the reflection of a window. It would always be a look so full of love that a warm glow would ignite in his chest that spreads all the way to his fingers and toes. Even now, he could feel the warm flush rising up his exposed neck. 

“You know they say new habits are built by layering them on the old ones?” They said as their fingers played with the hair at his nape.

“Mhm, how’s that?” He asked as their fingers now played connect-the-dots with the freckles on his throat. It turns out his cariño was feeling frisky again. He cupped a palm-full of ass, playfully squeezing it to draw them closer to him.

“Well, you could take a drink of water before every meal, or after you brush your teeth, or… before every time you kiss me?” They teased. But he reared his head back. 

“Every time? Every time I kiss you? So, I would have to stop kissing you to go pee every time? What if we were making out? What about sex?” He sounded affronted even to his own ears. This was the worst idea. But they kept giggling away at his misery. 

“Alright, cariño, what is your going rate for a kiss?” He demanded.

“Let me think about it… what about a glass of water for a kiss? Two glasses of water for a full makeout sesh… and then a whole litre of water for sex.” They laid down the law. 

“No…” He was aghast, “Baby, if I drank a litre of water before sex then all you would hear is the water sloshing around in my stomach while we make love.” The words served their purpose as his sweetheart burst into peals of laughter. 

“Why don’t I get a discount today because I was sad?” His voice dropped an octave as he tried to seduce and cajole them back to their bedroom— his own eyes dripping with syrupy love to mirror his partner’s. This suited him, he thought. This life. This love. It all suited him. It was good for him and it made him flourish. 

A/N: The Plant Nanny is an app I used several years ago to build a habit of drinking water. It gives you a tiny plant you can name, and every time you drink water you can water your plant as well. When you drink the water you are supposed to, the plant grows. If you don't drink water, it dies and you feel bad it died. But they give you like 10 drops of life to revive a dead plant. Poor Peña has used up all those drops lol.

[starstruckgoateepuppy]

the cut that always bleeds

park jihyo x f!reader

synopsis: jihyo has been grieving over the loss of her sister, as much as you try and help her move on she seems to get more agitated and bitter which causes the biggest argument of your relationship.

warnings: drinking, kinda toxic jihyo, death and anything else i didn’t say

wc: 1.8k (its short im sorry)

a/n’s note: oh my god its been so so so long 🥲🥲 thank you @cry4mina for encouraging me and giving me ideas your soooooo nice and sweet for reaching out to me ☹️🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷x infinity

You and Jihyo have never had many arguments—mostly just bickering. This is largely because you both are understanding and mature with each other. The few disagreements between you aren't serious, and you typically make up quickly. You love Jihyo, and everyone close to you knows it. No one would have thought things would turn out like this.

-

day one

It was just your typical morning routine with Jihyo, and you nevertheless cherished every moment of it. You lived in an average-sized apartment with her, and both of you were very satisfied and content with your living arrangements.

You had been married to her for quite a while, and it was quite obvious that would not change anytime soon.

While at the table, having your hands on the delicious avocado toast that was made by Jihyo, there was suddenly a tense moment as she picked up her phone and answered the call that had been made while she was in the midst of brewing coffee. She was in such distress that you could tell something was very wrong. After a few minutes of giving her time, she put the phone down and mumbled, "My sister... she's not here anymore... she's dead." You looked at her face, her eyes glistening in the light as tears filled her eyes. You just hugged her as she sobbed into your shoulder.

You held each other for what felt like twenty minutes before gently guiding her to sit down. You assured her that everything would be okay and that her sister was in a better place now. Through her tears, she spoke about their close childhood bond and her deep regret about not interacting during the holidays. from the little times you met her sister, it was clear that she was really a nice and kind woman, it also pained you seeing how wretched she was processing all this.

you called out from work and took the next 2 weeks of just to help jihyo and her family out.

-

day 7

it has been a week since the death of your sister in law, who is now 6 feet buried underground. jihyo still hasn’t taken in the fact that she would never be able to see her sister again.

-

day 90

3 months has passed since the tragic loss of jihyos childhood best friend. to say jihyo was still taking it hard was an understatement. jihyo hasn’t been able to do much other then work and go on her phone reminiscing the memories of her sister. every chance you get, you try and get her to go out and spend some time together but she always seems like she’s out of it. as much as you try to help, she pushes it away and ignores it.

-

day 365+

it has been a year since the death of the park sister and jihyo has still yet to move on. although you still insist in trying to help her deal with her feelings and emotions, she becomes more insistent about being able to deal with herself. and you really can’t lie about how aggressive she has been lately and how much it has been frustrating you. you really just care for her and want to know if shes okay, but how could you if shes trying to push you away? you’re her wife and you feel like you should be responsible for her and her emotional needs. now she’s making you feel like you haven’t been caring and doing your responsibilities as a wife.

all of this causes a big change in her attitude towards you. her being more agitated and angry made you feel like you shouldn’t be talking to her as much anymore than you should. it gets to the point that you try to start avoiding her, worried about making her angry.

-

The clock was hitting 1 in the morning and you still weren’t home. The door clicked open, slowly creaking wider. She saw your familiar shoes and flowy silky black hair tip inside the door. The lights were turned off, just her sitting on the sofa staring at the television in front of her. You slipped off your shoes, placing your sweater on the door. you slightly jumped when you saw her figure get up from the sofa walking towards you.

“hyo? baby why are you awake?”

“don’t even think about talking to me in that sweet tone. what have you been doing at this hour? there cannot be an excuse reasonable enough for this!”

“jihyo you know i would never do such a thing! what kind of person do you take me for? its like you dont even know me anymore. you never try to even bring up a conversation with me!” you fired back at her. She was mainly the dominant one in the relationship. You never made statements like this. “i have been through so much this year and you still treat me like this like its nothing!” its like she was made to make people feel in the wrong, like she purposely wanted to make you feel terrible, like how she has been how the pass few months, and you don’t want to deal with it anymore. You didn’t want to feel like that anymore, you wanted to tell her the truth. “I have been doing my best to help you cope and deal with your grief for months and all you have been doing is pushing me away! how do you think i feel jihyo? i have feelings too! i also am devastated that my sister in law passed away! i also had connections with her but i had to care for you too!”

she stays silent for a little while, taken aback by your words. you thought it was done, maybe she started to understand that what she did was wro- “excuse me? are you trying to tell me that me grieving over my dead fucking sister is crazy? i spent my entire childhood with her, you don’t get it! i am her sister, you are her sister in law. its very different from what i know, or what? are you gonna tell me what i know is wrong too? i am never right to you, is that right?” you were left speechless, unable to process what you had just heard. “no way you just had the nerve to tell me that..” she just raised her eyebrow as you both stood there. you decided that you didn’t want to hear her voice anymore so you took your coat, packed up and left, ignoring whatever protests she was doing.

you got in you car, rethinking everything she had done and how much she neglected you. all the effort to make her feel better, all of that pushed down the drain so easily. all of that and she still called you the problem. you didn’t even know what to do and where to go. your mind was still trying to process everything that had happened in the past 15 minutes.

meanwhile, you could say that jihyo was astonished. she never knew you would go this far and leave the apartment, but she definitely knew that she did something terribly wrong. she was probably sitting on the couch, head in her hands in the most distress she has ever been. obviously she still loved you, but the loss of her sister took a toll on her and she started losing her mind not being able to deal with the pain and grief. she was starting to realise how much she messed up and had a pang of guilt hit her. she called and texted you, pleading that you would give her another chance, that she wouldn’t push you away from helping her. whatever she did you just didn’t answer, she was without a doubt starting to get worried.

it has been hours since you left the house and you genuinely didn’t even know where you were anymore. all you knew was that you weren’t ready to go back to where jihyo was. you were afraid that some unintentional words might slip out which would cause an even deeper misunderstanding with her. you hesitated checking your phone, aware that there would be tons and tons of messages and missed call notifications from her who is named as “my loml 🧡”. you needed a place to stay for the meantime, but you didn’t want to stay at her members place.

if you went to a members house they would probably question you (which isn't unreasonable at all because who the hell shows up uninvited at nearly 3 in the morning?) unfortunately you didn’t want to deal with that with how dazed you were. you knew they would very surely take you in without any protests, you just hated the fact that you would have to explain everything and make even more conflicts and problems.

after the hours of driving and reflecting on your situation. your last hope was to sleep in the backseat of your car. fortunately you had some blankets to keep yourself warm. sleeping in the backseat of your car in the parking lot of your apartment complex, something you never thought you would have to do one day.

-

at 6am

3 hours of minimal sleep, you drove to the nearest convenience store and got yourself some coffee to keep your mind running while on the verge of breaking down again. you didn’t get yourself any food, you doubt you were gonna eat it anyway and it would go to some pigeons in a park or something. you were trying so hard to prevent yourself from having to return back to your house.

you genuinely wish it could start over. things shouldn’t have been like this. there was no one to blame. no one should be forced to get over it.

-

it hits you. your facing what she faced. your sitting at a graveyard, in front of a tombstone.

there it marks the words.

“here is the forever home of

Park Jihyo“

you cry again and again, begging her to please just come back.

why did it have to end like this? you hated it, you wish you had never left the house. she wouldn’t have to go looking for you. then she wouldn’t have gotten into the car crash.

this whole thing could’ve been avoided. if you just continued giving her the time and she would’ve just allowed you to help her.

you wanted to blame the stupid drunk driver. but who are you to blame when she was driving to look for you? you made her worried? driving all around all alone. you thought losing a sister in law was one of the worst experiences. your sister in law will never know she was a reason her sister died just a year later.

[moonlightdistractions]

I recently re-read a few runedgirl fics, just aglow in nostalgia and how she can really gut a person with *feelings*. I get emotionally compromised. There's one I hadn't read before and it's the only ao3 link; a post Carry On one with an absolutely wrecked Sam sporting a wild man bun!

So here you go, some runedgirl wincest with lots of delicious wanting.

123 Alice Grim Lane - livejournal, 51,700, NC-17, canon before pilot then AU.

Sam Winchester changed his name before he got to Stanford. Samuel Wesson is a rising star at a California law firm. He and Jess have a neon blue hybrid with a bike rack on top, and a cozy red stucco house. Sam Wesson has everything he ever wanted, except for the one thing he knew he shouldn’t. Dean is still a Winchester, still a hunter, still in love with Sam and determined not to admit it. Years of avoiding each other have left Sam and Dean strangers. But when Sam’s luck changes and tragedy finds him, he turns in desperation to the older brother he walked away from years ago, hoping that the bond forged between them in childhood will prove strong enough to bring them back together.

Their Bruises on the Inside - livejournal, 21200 words, NC17, multiple pairings, outsider pov

Sam and Dean through the eyes of the people they meet while Sam is at Stanford – strangers, friends, lovers – as they make their way back to each other. Outsider pov for most of the story.

The Ties that Bind - AO3, 26842 words, that sweet spot between 15x19 and 15x20 to after the Barn Scene and beyond.

"The story of Sam and Dean Winchester doesn’t end that day in the barn. Sam keeps his promise to keep fighting, but with a Winchester twist. He uses the resources left to him by Rowena to become a powerful witch, with one goal"

City of Brotherly Love livejournal, 21400 words, NC17, de-aging spell, first time

No one is more surprised than Sam and Dean Winchester that they’ve managed to survive long enough to settle down. Sort of. Sam is maybe a little more okay with the whole aging thing than Dean, so when Sam is hit with a spell that makes him younger and younger until he’s about 20, Dean doesn’t cope well. When the same spell turns Dean into a twenty-year-old, both of them have to cope with all those forbidden feelings about each other that they never acted on at that age. If the de-aging spell is going to keep going until they don’t exist, which could happen in a matter of days, what’s stopping them from acting on those feelings now – especially when they look like that?

and the one I've reread the most:

The Year of Letting Go livejournal, 37,500 words, NC17, this one keeps building and even gives us a bit of powers!Sam

A hunt gone wrong leaves Dean Winchester barely alive, and helpless for the first time in his life. Can Dean let go of his need to be the big brother and let Sam help him heal, or will the complicated feelings both brothers have been hiding from each other pull them further apart than ever? As Dean’s deal comes due, both Sam and Dean will have to let go of their fears, or face losing each other forever.

livejournal tip: if the chapter link opens a new tab + it won't scroll, edit the url by inserting ?format=light extension after the .html - no spaces

[im-no-jedi]

there’s literally been years of discourse between Hunter stans and Crosshair stans, arguing about who’s in the right and who’s in the wrong, usually with one side actively hating the other character

meanwhile, I, who greatly sympathizes with both characters and can relate to them both, am just standing off to the side like 🧍🏻‍♀️

[ciderjacks]

therapy

[canichangemyblogname]

I’m just… I’m tired.

A group of men making a joke skit about “casting couches” isn’t just tacky, but tone deaf.

Just because something wasn’t done maliciously doesn’t mean it doesn’t do harm.

[j-esbian]

ok here is my hot voltron take in 2024*

it’s all right. it’s not a masterpiece but that’s ok. it holds up and i still think it’s fun

i feel like it suffered from a lot of factors while it was coming out. the rushed production (76 episodes in just 2 years), fandom expectations exploding and exceeding what the show had ever planned to do, the creators running their mouths and people putting more faith in word of god than what made it into the actual show, etc.

it’s not the pinnacle of television. i think a lot of people had high hopes when it came out; i remember a lot of folks talking about how the people who made it had worked on the last airbender, so they were expecting a similar caliber. i think a better analogy would be that this is a mech anime for western audiences where mech animes aren’t really a thing. but it struggled to deliver on that

i do think the biggest thing it suffered from was the production schedule. i still don’t understand why it was divided up the way it was, into a bunch of small, unevenly distributed seasons. there’s a lot of things that could have been executed better, but didn’t get developed in the way they should have. and the final product (for a lot of the character stuff specifically) feels like a line of tropes strung together rather than a coherent narrative, and the plot had very little thought put into it long-term (there’s almost entire seasons that give no screen time to haggar/honerva and like. maybe we could have spent a bit more time showing her pulling the strings and manipulating zarkon/sendak/etc. rather than Only focusing on them, in the seasons where they’re the villains). this is generally something i associate with things that lasted past their expiration date (like supernatural lol). i would have to look more closely into the development of the later seasons, because it really gives the impression they just had to run with their first thoughts and didn’t have time to flesh things out properly, especially in contrast to the seasons with lotor because they were almost cooking with that

for example, they almost sold me that allura had developed feelings for lance, but then in order to make it clear, they started making her all blushy and awkward around him because That’s A Trope People Understand That Means A Girl Likes A Boy, when that was really never who she was. they reached for it as shorthand to signal to the audience but didn’t really think too deeply about Who they were applying it to. the whole thing with shiro’s partner (and ambiguous autoimmune disease that exists only for one scene) would have been nothing if the creators hadn’t hyped it up so much beforehand, and if a little more time had been given and a little more care had gone into the scenes where that mattered, and if there had been literally any indication of it in the previous 6 seasons. they could have thought about how audiences would interpret pidge’s gender fuckery and done something to address that to avoid accusations of queerbaiting. it just added drama to season 1, they made a bathroom joke in season 2, and then forgot it was ever a plot point. whenever keith is on screen he’s the main character. he has the most developed arc out of any of the paladins (finding his family, becoming a leader, learning to not be such a loner) but again, whole swathes of episodes go by without him. and in his absence no one else really takes the spotlight. it just focuses on plot. hunk doesn’t really get anything to do until season 7, and it’s a very good scene where he’s jealous of lance and pidge for having their families back but it also feels like the first time he’s taken seriously in 60+ episodes. et cetera.

*big caveat that i just finished season 7, and season 8 was where i lost interest and never finished. i know The Big Thing that happened in season 8 and i can see where they were coming from. i’m sure they were thinking about doing a Big Damn Sacrifice and making some statement about the loss of the Old World to give birth to the New. i just don’t think they were mindful of 1) who they were sacrificing or 2) the fact that they were telling this story in the real world, where there’s countless other stories about black women being denied happiness in order to further someone else’s story. i don’t think this show Uniquely Hates Women because it has the same level of sexism that’s present pretty much across the board in modern sci-fi. they didn’t need to shoehorn in the romance but they clearly tried to be more mindful than the original (instead of Zero female paladins, there were two for most of the show.) they definitely had huge blind spots and i’m not excusing that but i do think that doesn’t cancel out everything else. it seems to be due to obliviousness rather than active malice. but again, i have yet to watch the final episodes

[livvyofthelake]

millie bobby brown your future in romcoms could be huge if you get out of that damn netflix contract…. no one believes in you more than me babygirl i’ll watch anything you’re in… um except that godzilla movie with so much peace and love of course honey you were barely in that i love your starring roles… millie you’re a star you need to exploit netflix into getting you in a room with shonda rhimes so you can be in her post bridgerton return to film that i’m predicting…

[egregiousderp]

A week’s vacation starts tomorrow. Minus Halloween, of course, because I love working Halloween at the store enough I requested to work it. I’m up to two kids who already are clearly living in their costumes: one in a Sonic Onesie with matching yellow crocs decked in sonic-themed jibbitz, and one Batman with the built-in foam muscles on a maybe…seven year old and five year old respectively? Best part of Halloween for me, honestly, seeing the kids who are going to *be* Spider-Man or whatever until Thanksgiving when their parents finally go TAKE THAT OFF WE HAVE COMPANY COMING.

Got cleared for the Jedi costume as long as I’m bladeless and the saber stays on the belt, so that’s…honestly, easy, but also feels a little weird because it’s like “oh cool what do I do with the time, now?” Like, I debated making a togruta headdress for it but decided not to just in case it’s “scary” for the real little ones.

Car’s still needing to go to the shop because it won’t start and the hood latch is broken, and my sick time from the Week of Mystery Dysentery has come up mysteriously short a hundred bucks from my already not so great paycheck, and car insurance had to be paid.

So it looks like I’m spending a week inside cooking two big meals to make use of the pantry stuff that just got cleared, with MAYBE a third if mom feels like eating chopped liver with me if I make it, and seeing how many paper cranes I can make to contribute to the thousand.

…It’s so weird working so hard to get full time for so many years, and now the benefits are slightly annoying and way less helpful than the guaranteed hours—especially since the home situation is so toxic and I’m trapped, unable to go anywhere.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

“hey so there’s been a bunch of exposures recently but we’re gonna have the volunteer party this week bc it’s outdoors so we’ll be fine. yeah it’s a bunch of people all talking maskless face to face in relatively close proximity but we’re outside so any transmission would of course be impossible” be so fucking for real

[sonofsallyjackson]

Maybe it’s the environmentalist in me that was hit hard by Pan’s death scene, but I’m really interested to see how they handle Grover wanting to search for Pan. They’ve already gotten rid of the Elders debating whether he has earned the right to search since he failed to safely deliver 2 half bloods to camp. (The debate is also unnecessary because the show did not show Percy carrying Grover across the border and Mr D even said that Grover succeeded.) I’m hoping that the reference to his family member at Medusa’s is still left in. Grover’s quest for Pan is central to his character growth and it should come up before we jump into book 2. (Yes I’m delusional and have already assumed we’ll get all 5 seasons) The fact that it hasn’t yet is irrelevant since everything is moving so fast, but I want the slow build to Grover’s destiny.

[pepprs]

im home and already swallowed by despair. can you believe i was in CHICAGO a few hours ago. and now im here. lol

[robertsbarbie]

pity party for like five seconds

[releaseholiday]

.