#davis sofa

[heyoctaneboy]

Dining Room Seattle Combination kitchen and dining room - small modern idea with medium-toned wood floors

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

called the best breenick song and plastic off the sofa answered

[plutoceanic]

Guys i'm not sure if you noticed and i know this might come as a real shock right now but..... I really like Fred Durst. I know, I'm sorry.

[bobbie-robron]

If you wanna hold on to her, go and talk to her. Tell her how you REALLY feel. And the sooner the better. (Part 1)

Robert’s making toast for Victoria and doing her hair, being a good brother while El Capitan keeps him in line. Apparently Katie slept on the sofa and Jack is none too pleased. He makes it clear she should be making an effort with Andy to rebuild her marriage and that does NOT include NOT sleeping with him. Something is off as Len just now notices Robert’s black eye and gives him advice. Katie confides in Chas she needs to get away from the village and Andy.

25-Apr-2004

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

your transfem friend recommended a clinic to get your bottom surgery done at. she says its cheap, not gatekeepery, and the results are good, even if the doctors a little skeevy. youre at the address she gave you and are wondering how exactly your murder will go down. the door is on a third floor landing accessible only from a fire escape out of a back alley in the worst part of town youve ever seen. you knock three times and the door is answered by a ratty-looking woman with a severe slouch smoking something that doesnt smell like nicotine and doesnt smell like marijuana. her wavy blonde hair is unkempt. shes wearing an oversized grey hoodie that hasnt been washed in some time. you can identify blood on the left sleeve and vomit across much of her side, as well as other, more mysterious stains. you cant tell if shes wearing anything underneath the hoodie. the inside of the apartment - because it is, very clearly, her apartment - has a smell that you cant place but, if pressed, would probably call sweat, though you know that description is lacking something.

dr davis, you ask. she smiles wide, and her teeth are shockingly good for the state the rest of her is in. just call me riley, she says. never did get a degree.

she ushers you inside and sits you down on a sofa almost as stained as her hoodie. can i get you a drink she asks. a drink, you repeat, dazed. she says yeah. she says she has diet coke, beer, vodka, and coffee. says she used to keep tea around for a friend of a friend but she hasnt come by in a few years and the leaves are probably losing flavor by now. you say just waters fine. she shrugs and says your funeral. she comes back from the kitchen and sweeps some stuff off the coffee table. you see a stray scalpel, a roll of gauze bandages, a soda cup from taco bell, and various crumpled papers amongst the rubbish that she knocks aside before setting down your glass of water. she has a beer in her own hand and pops the cap off with her teeth, though the motion isnt quite how youre used to seeing people do it. she takes a big gulp before she keeps talking.

so what do you want your pussy to look like, she asks. you splutter a bit. she says you are the one who needed their bits redone right. you flush and say yeah thats me. she nods and says right so what do you want. you struggle to give a good answer and she starts asking questions. depth? width? color? clit size? you give your answers falteringly. she starts asking about labia. oh, you dont want dentata, do you, she says. that costs extra. you say you dont know what that means. she says dont worry about it. hey do you wanna get pregnant? you splutter again. not now she clarifies. well i can get you pregnant now too if you want that. doesnt even have to be human i think i have some horse sperm around here if you want. i just meant like ever in the future. you say you dont know. she says okay shell leave it out for now but come back if you ever want her to put the womb in. youre too stunned to reply.

she says oh do you want to keep your dick, i can do that. you say you thought they needed the tissue from the penis in order to make the vaginal lining. she laughs and takes another gulp from her beer. she says so is that a no. you say you guess you hadnt thought about it. she says she can reschedule if you need to think, no rush. you say no i guess i dont want it anymore. she nods and says come back if you change your mind.

she says ok, i think i can start operating now if youre ready. you say okay and she tells you to lie on your back and strip naked. you follow her instructions. youre still not sure if youre going to die today or not. she pulls on a big pair of rubber gloves. not latex medical gloves, they're yellow dishwashing gloves. she grabs a small jar of what looks like petroleum jelly off a shelf nearby. you cant help but notice that theres also lube, condoms, saran wrap, and a bottle of honey on the same shelf. you dont ask. she starts vigorously rubbing the jelly into your skin from the belly button down. everywhere it touches you instantly go numb. she keeps talking while she works. a lot of it is her telling stories about "her amy." you cant tell if amy is a sister, wife, or pet. she might be all three.

she reaches up to grab an empty syringe off the top shelf. when she stretches you notice shes naked under the hoodie. you look away bashfully. she doesnt seem to notice.

she fills the syringe with liquid from a bucket in the closet. the liquid is neon green. she injects it into your inner upper thigh. you are now certain you're going to die today, but you cannot make a break for it with your legs numbed, so you wait.

she says okay this is the part where a lot of people get squeamish so look away if you think you might get sick. she pulls out a set of knives. some of them look like dentistry tools, some of them are medical scalpels, and some of them are kitchen knives. you look away. she starts humming to herself while she works. the tune is pop goes the weasel.

hey, she calls out to you from between your legs, how many nerves do you want in your clit? you say uh i dont know, whats a normal amount. she says about ten thousand give or take two thousand in either direction. you say ten thousand sounds fine. she doesnt respond, just goes back to humming. its a different tune. shes humming old macdonald now.

she gets up a couple times to grab new drinks. you say should you be drinking during an operation? she says dont worry i know what im doing. besides i never took the hippocratic oath. she laughs at that, the sound somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. you don't think its that funny. she resumes her work.

this time shes humming the alphabet song. you ask how old are you anyway? she says somewhere between 12 and 47. then she laughs again. you decide to stop asking questions.

four beers, two diet cokes, three unidentifiable cigarettes, and five hours later, she stands up and announces shes done. she wipes her brow without taking the glove off, smearing unidentifiable bodily fluids across her forehead. she jabs another syringe into your other thigh and the feeling returns to your lower body. you're a little sore but other than that you feel great. she wheels over a full length mirror and tells you to take a look. its perfect. youre everything youve ever dreamed you would be. you cant describe how euphoric it feels to see a vagina, your vagina, between your legs. you thank her tearfully. she smiles awkwardly. of course, shes saying.

how much do i owe you you ask. she shrugs. iunno, a hundred bucks? im not in it for the money. you pay her the hundred bucks and leave quickly. you barely remember to get dressed again before heading out. you have never seen Riley again.

[writeouswriter]

For real, bring back whatever the 80s had going on with movies (without forcibly bringing back/rebooting 80s movies), like just earnestly genuinely tell me the most ridiculous plot you can and let me be taken on a real journey with it, tell me that delorean is a time machine, tell me there’s treasure hidden on a pirate ship under this town, tell me we’re busting ghosts in NY with particle accelerators strapped to our backs, and we’re grabbing Abe Lincoln and Napoleon and Socrates to party with us so we pass our history class, tell me we’re hunting down vampires because they’re just chilling in California this whole time, tell me that department store mannequin has a curse on it that brings it to life and only one guy can see it and starts dating it, and tell me that Geena Davis is falling in love with the blue fuzzy alien Jeff Goldblum she gave a makeover to after he crash landed in her swimming pool, ate her sofa cushion like it was popcorn, and wooed her with the English phrases he learned solely from watching television, and etc etc, tell me that all with a straight face and own it

[concreteangel92]

Oh my god, this will be the 3rd time I’ve tried to upload this 🙄 stupid app, hasn’t showed up in the tags twice so I pray this works

Thank you for the request! I’m glad you enjoyed part 1 and I hope you enjoy this one as well!

Noah Sebastian x female reader

No warnings

“Oh for fuck sake!”

You turned your head at Noah’s sudden outburst as you both sat on the sofa in your living room.

“What?”

Noah sighed and threw his phone onto the coffee table in front of you.

“That was my manager, apparently our social media is blowing up because the fans have seen pictures of us with our rings on”

You smirked at him slightly.

“So?”

Noah looked frustrated as he turned his body to face you.

“So? I wanted to try and avoid this for as long as possible, we have only been married for 3 weeks and it’s already out there!”

You picked up your phone which has been on silent and saw that your phone had indeed been blowing up with messages, texts, etc all about you two. When you opened the article, you saw a photo of you two smiling with your coffees and walking hand and hand down the street. Clearly a fan had snapped them and both your rings were on full display.

“God that’s an awful picture of me”

You giggled as Noah looked at you in disbelief, “sorry I just don’t see what the big deal is? They were going to find out eventually”

“The big deal is that half of these ‘fans’ are fucking crazy! I don’t want you being exposed to the hate and the drama that these people bring! I know it’s not all but some of these ‘fans’ will pick apart anything I do!”

You gave your husband a small smile and took his hand in yours.

“Being with a famous, talented and extremely handsome frontman of one of the biggest rock bands in the world right now, was always going to have some backlash. This is no different, I don’t take any notice of the ‘crazy fans’ and most are actually very lovely and respectful”

Noah sighed again and looked defeated.

“I know but…you don’t deserve any hate at all and it’s not fair on you to have to put up with it”

“As I said, comes with the territory. Stop worrying and let me deal with the fans, I’m not going anywhere so the haters will have to get used to it won’t they?”

Noah smiled and nodded before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours softly which you returned.

“Besides, they only hate me because they are jealous that I get to have you every night”

“Oh really?”

You smirked and lent in closer.

“Yeah, in fact, I’m really pretty tired right now”

You watched as Noah’s smile grew and he laced his fingers with yours.

“Well then maybe I need to take you up to bed, it’s only what a good husband would do”

“Always looking after his wife”

Noah stood up with you and started leading you out of the room.

“Of course. Now get up those stairs Mrs Davis”

[mrs-stans]

The Graham Norton Show

Release date: 04 October 2024

Episode 2 Series 32 Together on Graham’s sofa tonight: the one and only Hugh Grant, scarily brilliant as the villain in new horror movie Heretic; Hollywood star Sebastian Stan, talking about his remarkable roles in A Different Man and as Donald Trump in The Apprentice; the hilarious Greg Davies, in a new series of The Cleaner; and iconic singer-songwriter Neneh Cherry, who has written about the connections running through her life, relationships and music career in her book, A Thousand Threads.

[zablife]

Maybe Johnny having a long day at work, he's tired and his girl gives him a blowjob

Hi lovely, I like the way your mind works! I took this idea and ran with it bc all I could picture was Johnny coming home after a trip to his cute little housewife and both of them finding comfort in one another. I hope you enjoy this short blurb about that!

Johnny Davis x wife reader

Johnny Davis Masterlist

Friday Night

Summary: You welcome Johnny home after a long week of missing each other.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, needy reader, blowjob, fem masturbation

The time Johnny was on the road was torturous for you, lonely nights spent on the sofa because you couldn't bear to sleep in an empty queen size bed alone. You'd drift off in front of the television set, only to be woken by the hissing static long after the station stopped broadcasting.

As your bleary eyes stared out toward the golden streetlights streaming in through the picture window, you often thought how different the night would be if Johnny were there to make you feel safe. For a start, you wouldn't have to check the lock on the front door twenty times.

You wouldn’t find yourself wracked by chills either. Once the cool autumn breeze turned to winter gales, you were often tucked beneath several knitted blankets, longing for the warmth and comfort of Johnny’s strong embrace.

When he was home, everything was right with the world. He'd stroll into the kitchen to find you standing at the range, delicious smells wafting from the pan before you'd even served dinner. His raspy voice greeting you as his muscular arms circled your waist, his hips would press into your backside to prove just how much he’d missed you.

After your man was fed, he always helped you with the dishes, though he sometimes got distracted by your sweet, little aprons. You sewed ruffled confections in pinks and yellows, dotted with rosebuds and cherries that barely covered your bosom. The bow at the back always beckoned to Johnny to untie it, freeing you to the touch of his calloused hands. However, he surpassed his desires to help with the dishes, his deep sigh at the last dish a sign of his excitement of things to come.

As you wiped your hands on a cloth, you turned to smirk at him. "Mr. Davis, I think you missed me."

"Damn right I did," he growled, reaching for your hips.

You bit your lower lip as you noticed the flames behind his blue eyes, burning white hot for you. "Is there something in particular you were missin'?" you asked innocently, batting your lashes at him as though you didn't know the effect you were having.

One glance at the tent in his trousers could have told you he was more than ready to have his beautiful wife on her knees before him, but you wanted to hear him say it. There was nothing you loved more than having your husband command you.

Johnny slipped a hand behind your back, unlacing your apron with one deft maneuver. The slip of fabric fell from your neck first, then your waist as Johnny chuckled. "Dinner was real good, baby," he complimented you, patting his stomach with satisfaction. Then leaning forward to place a kiss to your forehead, his voice lowered to a whisper as he added, "My sweet angel keeps my belly full and my balls empty, don't ya?"

You giggled, nodding in agreement. One hand venturing low against the front of his trousers, you squeezed his impressive length as you hummed, "Need me now, don’t ya?”

Johnny nodded slowly, chin grazing the top of your head lightly. “Take care of your old man like a good girl,” he urged, pulling you into the lounge where you could sink your knees into the plush carpet.

Fingers flying to his belt, you pulled the leather from his waist with one quick swoosh, a devilish smile playing on your lips. You undressed him in record time, holding his throbbing length in your hand like a prize.

You always marveled at Johnny's self control in the moment, waiting for you to place his throbbing red tip at your lips. He would never push your head down harshly like other men had done in the past. Your Johnny was a tender lover, always waiting for you to take the lead. It was something you loved most about him. And, if you were honest, it was the reason why you gave so much of yourself to him so freely.

It couldn't be helped, the way your tongue kitten licked the drops of precum. Johnny's hips jerked forward involuntarily and your opposite hand soothed him with a reassuring stroke to his thigh as you murmured, "M gonna take care of you, baby."

And you did, slowly at first, but gaining vigor as you dared to take him deeper into your throat. Even when you gagged, tears pricking along your lash line, you continued lapping along the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft, to prove your devotion.

"Feels so damn good," he hummed in appreciation, which only urged you to continue, fondling his balls for good measure. And when his grunts turned to staccato breaths, you knew he was close to his end. Head tipping back in ecstasy he managed to warn you with a guttural moan, "Swallow f'me, angel."

The salty ropes coated your tongue and you struggled momentarily to contain everything Johnny had to give, hands flying to his hips to anchor yourself. However, you remained in place until he stopped pulsing, your hands rubbing soothing circles against his legs as he came down from his high. It was in that moment that you felt most exultant, basking in the feeling of him towering over you like a god.

You were happy to worship him, cleaning his cock with gentle licks. It was then Johnny held your shoulder, fingers squeezing gently as he slurred, “S’enough, babydoll.” His stormy gray blue eyes opened to look down at you, hand raking through your hair to get a better view of your angelic face, flushed from effort.

As he began to pull his hips back, withdrawing from the hot clasp of your lips, you whined in protest. Fingernails stroking along his thigh in silent plea, you placed featherlight kisses to his shaft so he understood your need.

"Not yet," you whimpered, mouth hovering over him suggestively.

His movements stilled beneath your touch, a soft chuckle tumbling from his lips as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. He could never deny you when you gazed at him with that shining admiration, eyes bright as stars.

He suppressed a shiver as your breath ghosted over him, trying to relax despite his heightened sensitivity. A lazy smile spread across his face as he granted you permission. "Alright, keep me warm til I get hard again," he uttered in that low, gravel filled voice that made your insides turn to jelly. He motioned you toward the sofa and you followed without hesitation, collapsing on top of him with a wide grin plastered to your face.

Delicate fingers guiding him back to your eager mouth, you watched Johnny sink into the sofa cushions with a shaky sigh and the sound made your cunt throb. He was on the verge of overstimulation, hand clenching around a cushion as you laved his velvety skin with your tongue. However, he endured the exquisite torture for you, to listen to your purr of contentment.

This time your movements were painstakingly tender so as not to cause him any discomfort, mostly allowing the weight of him to press against your tongue pleasantly. Being caged between his thighs, the taste and scent of him enveloping your senses, gave you a feeling of security you never wanted to leave.

As your eyes fluttered closed, Johnny's hand threaded into your hair pressing your cheek to rest against his thigh. He gazed down at you lovingly when he felt the slow undulation of your jaw against his leg, heart nearly bursting at the sight of your swollen lips suckling him. When your breathing slowed, he rubbed your back asking, "Tired, angel?"

The question roused you instantly, no intention of sleeping anytime soon. You fumbled with the hem of your dress, raising it to your waist and pushing your underwear aside so Johnny had a good view. Then you began rubbing tight circles over your pulsing bundle, gathering your slick before slipping two fingers inside yourself.

Johnny's eyes went wide with feral desire, cock stirring with each small pulse of your hips into your hand. He urged you toward your peak with rumbled whispers of filthy praise. "Look at ya all filled up. My pretty baby."

You keened at his words, back arching and a little moan caught in your chest as you realized he was getting hard. As his girth swelled in your mouth, you savored the salty remnants of his first orgasm and the beginnings of another. If only he knew how good it felt to have your belly warmed this way, you thought before your mind went cloudy.

As Johnny felt you quiver beneath him, his hand snaked downward groping your breasts and a spark of fire ran down your spine. He delighted at the way your brow began to twitch and how your toes curled at his ankle before you gave into the wave of pleasure cresting within. Suddenly your mouth parted in a muffled cry of pleasure, warm saliva spilling over your chin and dripping onto his balls.

"Oh, fuck, darlin'," he exclaimed as more blood rushed to his cock, the spongy tip pressing against the inside of your cheek insistently. There was hardly any time to recover before he was lifting you up from between his legs to pepper you with kisses, more than ready for round two.

[defnotv11]

| 𐙚 Jonathan Davis x Fem reader dating head canons

warnings: Jealousy, nun else.

Authors note- I figured I’d start posting on tumblr as well, I’m still kinda new to writing and learning a few things but I’d be so grateful if you guys could give me some tips to improve so that you can enjoy my stories a lil better!

𐙚 | Whenever you go shopping with Jon, he always makes it a point to follow you around the store. He pretends to browse different items, but his true motive is to stick close to you. He finds joy in watching you intently as you look at different things and try to make decisions. Whenever you pick up anything that piques your interest, he would make comments like "You want that?” or “That would look pretty on you.”

𐙚 | In public, Jon's hands would constantly find their way onto your body, whether it be gently holding your hand, or placing his hand on your waist. Whenever other men would stare at you or take a quick glance, His grip would tighten, a slight frown on his face as he would pull you a bit closer, as if claiming you as his. The jealousy and insecurity were almost always present, but he would never let you see it. He just loves you so much and wants to protect you.

𐙚 | he absolutely LOVES when you play with his dreads. Whenever you guys would cuddle, He would practically melt when your hands went up to his hair. A small smile playing on his lips as you would twirl his dreads with your fingers. he would lean into your touch, completely content.

𐙚 | Whenever Jon would be sitting on the sofa and writing lyrics in his notes, you would be laying in his lap just keeping him company. He would often find you snoozing in his lap while he was engrossed in writing lyrics in his notes. He would look down at you with a soft smile, his hand gently caressing your hair as he continued to work. He would try not to disturb you, letting you rest as he focused on his lyrics. Sometimes, he would even stop for a moment just to admire your peaceful expression and how cute you look when you sleep. ♡

𐙚 | Or he’d ditch his writing and snuggle with you as you both would end up taking a nap together

𐙚 | After shows backstage, Jon would immediately seek you out, greeting you with a passionate kiss and a tight bear hug. Despite the sweat, you didn't care, just happy to be with him again. You'd shower him with compliments, telling him how amazing he was and how proud you were of him and the band. Jon would blush a bit at your words, his heart swelling with love and appreciation for you.

𐙚 | he would call you his pretty girl, baby, love, sweetheart, honey etc

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 12

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Nothing but fluff, baby.

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

___________

The New England winters tended to hone its inhabitants like an axe against a grindstone, sloughing off the weaker bits until you were left with only the hardest, sharpest edges of the soul. 

The anticipated nor’easter was due to hit sometime in the next few days. Local newscasters said it was likely to be severe. Currently, it was the calm before the storm. The weather was still, like all the substance had been sucked out of the air so the storm could dump it out again once it hit. 

On the ground, gray-stained slush clung to sidewalks and frozen lawns, still leftover from last week’s snowfall. The bitter December air stung at your nostrils and turned the tip of your nose red, and Noah Davis’s hot breath drifted out of his open mouth in billowing clouds as he looked down at you from where he stood in his door frame. 

It was early morning—three days after you’d spoken with Nick. The western edge of town had all but cleared out, having been comprised mostly of students, who had all gone home for the month-long winter break. 

Noah sniffed, blinking down at you and you cleared your throat. 

“I, um…I have your stuff.” 

You held out the clothes he’d let you borrow, freshly washed and folded, stacked neatly in a pile on top of your mittens. 

Noah stepped to the side and gestured for you to enter, which you did, apprehensively. Something about being in his space felt off-limits to you, yet he welcomed you in without hesitation. 

Briefly, you surveyed the space before you. A worn sofa and two overstuffed armchairs surrounded a stained coffee table littered with empty beer cans, paper plates, and ashtrays with the spent butts of cigarettes and, you suspected, joints. 

The mess was contained to the coffee table, however. The rest of the living room was fairly clean. A large-screen TV sat atop a dark glass stand. An array of gaming consoles and controllers decorated the shelves below it. It was off, and you could see a shadow of your reflection in the black glass of the screen. 

Noah cleared his throat and you spun around to look at him. He regarded you with intention, surveying you up and down, but his face didn’t betray whatever information he gathered from the act.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked. 

“I’m good,” you said, and immediately regretted it because it wasn’t until after you spoke that you realized how dry your throat had become. “Water, actually.” 

He let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, moving to the open-concept kitchen space to fetch a glass out of the cupboard. “Have a seat,” he called over to you without looking. 

You took a seat on the brown tweed couch, shrugging off your coat and removing your mittens, and bundled them into a neat pile on your lap. 

The acrid smell of stale cigarettes stung the inside of your nose and you discreetly nudged the ash tray across the coffee table. 

Noah appeared at the other side of the table, a glass of water clasped in his outstretched arm and you took it gratefully, working hard not to look at him too much. 

Though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him since your one and only sexual experience, it was still a shock to your system. Noah stood in front of you, looking regrettably Jesus-like with his long hair cascading down his shoulders. His clothes were unassuming—gray hoodie and black jeans, but they fit him effortlessly well. 

He took his seat on the armchair to your left, legs about six inches too long to fit comfortably between the chair and the end of the coffee table. He rubbed his shins, friction offering more warmth than the sputtering vents and the furnace that whined in protest. Even your ancient dorm with its concrete brick walls could stay warmer than the drafty rental Noah and the band called home. 

You noticed a distinct absence of sound or movement in the house. 

“Just you today?” you asked. 

“Folio and Ruffilo went home for the holidays,” he said, settling back into his chair and sipping from a mug of black coffee. 

You didn’t need to ask why he wasn’t doing the same—with all the baggage he carried from his family, you’d be surprised if they even exchanged Christmas cards. 

You bounced your knee, knowing there was a conversation to be had, but not wanting to approach it. 

“I’m surprised you’re still in town,” he remarked. 

This time you chanced a look at him. The coffee mug obscured part of his face, but his eyes still held the same intensity they always had. 

“My parents are on a missions trip in Africa,” you said. 

He quirked his head to the side, forehead wrinkling in confusion, and something about the crease between his eyebrows had you looking away again, too overstimulated by your own attraction to him. This was going to be harder than you thought. 

“What’s a mission trip?” he asked. 

“Missions trip,” you corrected. “It’s where groups of people go and build schools and stuff in small towns that don’t have enough resources.” You said this into your glass of water, thankful for something you could anchor your focus on. 

“That’s pretty sick, actually.” 

“Yeah,” you said, taking a sip to quell the tightness in your throat. “Yeah, I mean, it’s all sort of religiously-motivated though. The real reason is to spread Christianity.” 

You almost felt his face twist with displeasure. Glancing over at him confirmed it. He didn’t say anything though. He didn’t need to. You understood what that look was about and you felt the same. 

A few awkward moments passed while you tried to think of anything you could say that wasn’t the one thing you came here to say. 

“How were your finals?” Noah asked, coming to your rescue. 

“Good,” you answered too quickly in a rush of air. You cleared your throat and forced your next words to come out at a more conversational pace. “They were good. I think I passed all of them.” 

If Noah noticed anything off about your energy, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled. “I’m not surprised.” 

You gave him a questioning look. 

“You’re really smart,” he explained, setting his coffee on the table in front of him, sans coaster, “and you seem like the type of person to study hard.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair while he said it, resting his chin on the palm of his other hand. 

You smiled back because he’d clocked you. “Does that make me boring?” you asked, finally relaxing into the usual back-and-forth of your conversations with Noah. 

His smile grew wider, and you were stuck by just how sharp the corners of his mouth were. “I don’t think it does. I mean, if that was all there was to you, it might, but you have more layers than that.” 

“Like an ogre,” you said. 

His face fell and he blinked, waiting for you to explain. 

“From Shrek.” 

“Get out.” 

Your composure cracked, and through the fissure erupted a fit of giggles, surface tension finally breaking into something warm and homey. Noah snickered and at last, the shields were down—both of you disarmed and ready for what lay ahead. 

It took several moments for the energy in the room to settle where it needed to be. When it finally did, you regarded Noah with your full attention for the first time since arriving. 

He looked tired. The light bags that usually hung around just under his eyes had deepened into something sadder. Patchy stubble dotted his chin and upper lip, and his hair looked stringy and unwashed. 

“So,” he began, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. 

“So,” you parroted. 

In the span of a few seconds, the air around you folded in on itself and grew twice as thick—dense with unspoken sentiments and the possibilities for what could come out of this conversation. 

He fixed you with a serious look, assessing your demeanor before speaking again. You’d been on the other end of that look before, but every time it happened, it struck you just how large and intimidating Noah’s presence was. 

“Should we talk about it?” he asked. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning back in your seat. When you opened them again, you were staring at the ceiling. “No….” 

You heard Noah huff a laugh through his nostrils. That was good. At least he was amused by your discomfort. Without lowering your head, you shifted your eyes over in his direction. He smiled at you, and it took the edge off. 

“I promise I won’t make this any harder than it has to be.” You appreciated the gentle tone he took—a nurse soothing his patient before administering a shot. 

You said nothing, but no longer protested. He took it as his cue to go on. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You exhaled deep. “I know,” you replied, unable to look anywhere but your hands. His apology didn’t make you feel any better about what happened. It was more for him. 

“I know you know,” he said. “But I want to explain why.” 

It was already too much. You squeezed your eyes shut and blinked them back open. You hated everything about this situation. “Why you ghosted?” 

“Why I’m sorry,” he said. 

You looked at him with trepidation. He had your attention, but you were still wary and unsure if you wanted to hear what he was about to say. You almost hated yourself for being stupid enough to give him the chance to apologize. 

If he got it wrong it would feel like reopening a wound. 

He took a deep breath. Somewhere behind his eyes, an unnamed heaviness settled in and you had to look away. The last thing you wanted to do was empathize with the man who hurt you.  

“I’m not the best communicator,” he began slowly. 

“Ya’ think?” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm from slipping out. His face went from soft and patient to something more frustrated.  

“Sorry,” you muttered. 

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat before he resumed. “Things like honesty and vulnerability? They were weaknesses in my book for a long time. I could go into detail about why, but that’s not really important.

“What’s important now is that you know that I’m trying. I understand that I fucked up. I hate that I did it. I wish I wasn’t that person, but it’s a shortcoming that I’m learning to deal with.” 

“I also hate that you fucked up,” you said, matter-of-factly. You didn’t say it to hurt him, but it was true, and it was important to you that you no longer filtered your thoughts to protect his feelings. 

Noah, being Noah, saw the humor in your statement and huffed. “Your honesty is refreshing. If not a little cold,” he said. A half-smile painted his face and God, if you didn’t want to slap it off him so that you’d no longer have to look at it. 

Letting his face fall neutral again, he continued. “You’re not the first important person that I’ve hurt because of this,” he said. “But hurting you did force me to pay attention to how that feels, and I don’t like it. I’m tired of being an asshole, and I think, moving forward, I want to be more honest. Not just with you, but with myself. I think I’ve been fooling myself for a long time about what’s important to me, and I’m starting to realize those things don’t make me happy.” 

You resisted the urge to ask him what things he was talking about. You wanted to break out of the habit of giving him more attention than he’d earned. That had always been a problem for you with men, and you suspected it was what got you into this mess in the first place. 

You could see on his face that he almost expected you to ask him more, and when you didn’t, he faltered for a moment. “Good,” you said with a nod. 

He deflated, but ultimately melted into a smile. “Thanks,” he said. You could tell he meant it, and holy bricks, did that have you softening more for him against your will. 

A warmth blossomed between the two of you, slowly at first, but it grew with each passing moment. You could feel it in your bones, and despite your best intentions, you caught yourself smiling. 

You didn’t want Noah to have this pull over you. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved that he’d done a good job with his apology, or resentful because it would have been so much easier to write him off had he failed. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” you asked, ready to be done with the conversation for the time being and beyond grateful it hadn’t stemmed into more intimate territory—you didn’t think you could handle that. 

“How are you?” he asked. “I feel like so much has happened since we last talked.” 

“Ha!” you said. “You could say that again.” 

Noah leaned back in his chair, shifting his weight to make himself more comfortable. “Tell me about it. Do you want to get some food? I’d love to catch up.” 

“Maybe another time,” you said, with only the slightest twinge of regret. It was for the best. “I’ve got laundry to do.” 

It was a lie. You had nothing to do, but as much as you wanted to spend more time with him, your intuition was telling you to go, and you’d promised yourself you’d start listening more. Something inside of you wasn’t ready to be alone with him for much longer. 

“I understand,” he said, voice dipping in enthusiasm, but clearly respectful of your boundaries. “What about tomorrow?” 

You didn’t have an excuse ready—the knee-jerk denial didn’t kick in at the idea. Perhaps that was a sign? 

“I…I can’t commit for sure, but I’ll think about it.” 

He seemed satisfied with your answer, offering a smile that was a little too sincere for you to handle and you had to get out of the room before you lost all sense of self. 

“Okay. See you around,” you said quickly, shuffling to grab your backpack and swing it around onto your shoulder while nearly tripping over the coffee table on your way to the door. 

Noah didn’t chase you—you knew he was going to give you whatever space you needed in order to be ready for him. 

And that might have been what scared you most. 

------------

The tip of Noah’s nose almost touched the mirror with how close he was leaning over the bathroom sink. He’d been dealing with a very stubborn ingrown hair in a painful spot right under his nostrils. It was angry and red, but it hadn’t quite come to a head yet. 

Perfect. Just what he needed. 

He leaned back to get a better macro view of himself. The spot was definitely visible, but he was more than likely fixating on the small flaw. He couldn’t help it though—he was nervous. 

Letting his gaze drift over the rest of his face, he noticed he’d missed a spot while shaving. Fetching his razor from the shelf in his bathroom cabinet, he ran it under water and brought it to his face, moving it slowly around his jaw. 

Fuck! 

He nicked the skin. 

At first there was nothing, but then red began to seep out from the tiny cut and Noah had to grab a tissue and dab at the small drop of blood that had gathered around the wound. 

Steadying himself with a deep breath, he grasped at the porcelain sink with both hands before facing the mirror once again. 

This was stupid. He was stupid. You were just someone he liked. There was no reason for him to be so on edge. This wasn’t even a real date, you were just meeting up for coffee. 

Exhaling slowly through his nostrils, he brought the razor to his face once again, this time successfully removing the hair he missed. He finished up with moisturizer, giving one last menacing look at the angry red zit above his upper lip and recognized that it was a lost cause. There was nothing he could do about it now. 

He reached for the bottle of spiced oil he usually wore and then thought better of it. This was a special occasion. He had a small sample bottle of designer cologne tucked away in the back of his sock drawer. Normally he wasn’t the type to reach for expensive brand names, but he was nineteen at the time and he liked the way it smelled, so he shoplifted it from an outlet mall that wasn’t smart enough to keep their shit in locked displays.  

Noah smiled bitterly at the memory. He’d done a lot of stupid shit in his youth. He supposed he was still in his youth, because hardly four months had passed since his last petty crime—the one that had led him to meet you. 

He understood why he did it all. But lately the desire to act out wasn’t there, and he didn’t know why. 

Perhaps these days, there was a greater incentive to earn his joy. He no longer needed to steal it. 

Dabbing a small amount of the cologne on his pulse points, he stuffed it back in the drawer and shut it away. He could reflect on his shifting morality later. Right now, he needed to figure out what he was going to wear. 

________

Noah exhaled into his palms, warm breath serving to heat up the red, frozen extremities. It was a short walk to your dorm, but the air was bitingly cold and the snow was already ankle-deep. The storm was due to hit sometime within the next 24 hours, but he still had some time before the sidewalks grew too treacherous to walk. He wore the nicest outerwear he owned—a black pea coat and pair of black leather boots, but they were no match for the harsh December cold. 

He raised his hand and rapped three times on your dorm. 

He heard momentary shuffling on the other side before you opened the door in a flurry. The first thing he noticed was the light dusting of pink across your cheeks and the way your chest heaved with labored breathing. Try as he did to keep his eyes focused on your face, he let them drop for only a moment to take in the sight of you in your plain white top and faded denim jeans. 

You looked clean, comfortable, and unassuming, and for some unknown reason, it did things to Noah. 

“Hi,” you breathed and all at once, the moisture in Noah’s mouth evaporated, leaving a dry, scaly desert in its place. One hundred percent of his brain power was devoted to taking in the sight of you until it was satisfied that it had catalogued every inch of your presence. 

“Hi,” he said once his speech returned. His voice came out softer than intended. 

“You ready?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the back of the door. He tried to peek inside your dorm room—wanted badly to glean any additional knowledge of who you were when you weren’t with him, but you didn’t afford him the chance, stepping out and shutting the door behind you in one swift motion. 

“Yeah,” he replied, and then he didn’t say anything else because he’d apparently never had a single conversation in his life and had no idea how to begin one. 

You and Noah walked in silence, boots leaving two pairs of footprints in the snow. You wrapped your arms around you as you walked, and Noah noticed you wore mittens instead of gloves. He liked it. He liked that you wore mittens instead of gloves and it stuck out to him because he couldn’t remember ever liking any article of clothing worn by a woman that wasn’t about what wasn’t covered.

You observed the surroundings while Noah observed you, every once in a while commenting on a specific tree or building you liked, pointing to it with a mittened hand and Noah briefly wondered if there was a limit to how much time he could observe you being yourself before he got bored. He hoped he’d never reach it.  

“What’s up with you today?” you asked as the two of you rounded the corner that led to the coffee shop. “You’re quiet.” 

“Sorry,” he said casually. “Would you like me to talk more?” 

It wasn’t sarcastic, but a genuine question, asked in the way a server would if they found out their customer didn’t enjoy the meal. Did you want him to bring something more appetizing to the table? 

“No,” you said, looking down at your boots. “I just…want to know what’s on your mind.” 

The only thing on his mind was how physically aware of you he was. To ease the tension that had been pulling on his bones, he took a step closer to you. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch you in some way—grab your hand or throw his arm around you or something—but he refrained.  “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Just vibing.” 

You rolled your eyes, sighing as the two of you reached the entrance to the coffee shop and you pulled on the large brass door handle, gesturing for him to enter first. “Well, I take back what I said earlier then,” you said. “I do want you to talk more. I’m doing all the heavy lifting.” 

Noah smiled, tickled by how unapologetically honest you were. He liked this version of you. Not that he didn’t like every version of you he’s had the privilege of knowing, but something was different. You were less eager to please him. Almost like you wielded the sharper parts of your personality as a weapon, testing to see if its sting would scare him away. 

It wouldn’t. 

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” he asked as the two of you made your way to the counter. 

“Just jumping right in, then? No warmup?” you asked. Noah shrugged. “Grande cinnamon vanilla latte, please.” you said to the barista. 

“Medium black coffee,” said Noah. 

Noah was reminded of the first time the two of you went to this café together. You were wearing the same rubber boots and Noah was doing his best to flirt with you. He smiled to himself and pulled out his card to pay. You let him without protesting. Good. You knew you deserved it. 

“I’m not sure anymore, to be honest,” you said as the two of you slid over to the pickup window. “I used to think I would work at the church my dad owned. Be office personnel or something.” 

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Noah observed. 

You shrugged. “It was the obvious choice at the time. My parents both believe I belong in the ministry in some regard.” 

“Would you be a pastor one day?” Noah asked.

You let out a loud, bitter laugh. “I don’t think our church would ever be ready for female leadership. It’s so old-school.”

Noah frowned. He didn’t like hearing that. In his opinion, you’d make a much better pastor than any other religious person he’s met. You actually practiced what you preached. 

“So what do you think you’ll do instead?” he asked, trying to shift the subject away from religion. He got the feeling that those wounds were still fresh for you. 

You shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t put much thought into it. I know I should, but so much has changed in the last few weeks—I’m still kind of wrapping my head around it.” 

“I get it,” he said, reaching to pick up the drink orders that had arrived. You led the way over to a small two-person table in corner of the otherwise empty café. Noah followed dutifully, trying his best to express with every single movement how completely present he was here with you. He was sure you didn’t notice, but that wasn’t the point. For him, it was about the intention. 

“You do?” you asked, sitting down. Noah sat across from you and indulged in a moment of unapologetic eye contact. 

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “I mean, not that I’m experiencing it or anything, but I know that when it comes to big decisions like that, I need a clear head. If there’s too much stuff going on in my life at one time, I don’t have the headspace to think about it.” 

Some of the tension in your shoulders slackened—not by much, but he was so hyper-aware of you by that point that he couldn’t miss it. He wanted to think it was because of him. 

Rather than responding, you sipped at your latte, closing your eyes and savoring it. He took another indulgent moment—this time, to observe how your face responded to the small moment of pleasure. It was almost sexual, he noticed, the way you tucked your lips between your teeth and smiled. He appreciated that this moment was clearly for you, but that you allowed him to witness it. 

His mind drifted, picturing himself drawing that same response from you with his touch. A hot coil tugged just behind his navel. Saliva pooled on his tongue and his thumb twitched with the urge to reach out and tug your bottom lip away from where it sat tucked under your teeth—until he caught himself. Lusting after you felt forbidden in a way he hadn’t allowed lust to feel since middle school. 

Noah sipped at his coffee, eyes trained on you until you were finished squeezing all the serotonin out of the taste. It was bitter, but in a good way—like he needed a palate cleanser to shock his system after the sickening sweetness of the last few moments. 

“What about you?” you asked eventually. “Are you planning to stay at your job?” 

“No,” he said. “The job is there to pay the bills while I try to find something else.” 

It had become apparent that he’d have to find something else sooner rather than later. As much as the piece work gave him time to think, all of the repetitive motion was taking its toll on his body. He came home at the end of every shift with back pain on his left side and he’d been having to spend more and more time in the gym evening it out. 

“What would something else be?” you asked, eyes trained on him and his neck grew warm under the intense observation. 

“I want my music to take off, if possible,” he said. “I’ve been working on a lot of new stuff. Actually, I’d love to show you sometime if you want.” 

“What kind of stuff?” you asked before taking another slow sip. 

“Different from what I usually write. More experimental. I like it, but I haven’t shown the band, so I’m not sure what they’ll think.” 

You nodded slowly, mulling something over in your head and Noah waited patiently while you found your words. 

“I think…,” you began. “I think I’d be okay with hearing it. If you wanted to share, that is.” 

Noah blinked a few times. “I mean, yeah. I’d love to share it with you, but why the hesitation?” 

You smiled bashfully, full lips still wrapped around the edge of your cup. “It’s hard to explain. And it sounds mean.” 

“Please humor me,” said Noah in earnest. He liked when you were mean. You deserved to be mean. He had a sneaking suspicion that you’d only ever been overly nice in the past and the more you dropped the façade and stopped worrying about being polite, the more he enjoyed your company. 

You licked your lips, staring down into your mug and smiled to yourself again. “I’m trying to be careful with how much attention I’m giving to men these days.” 

“Oh.” The word escaped in a breath from Noah’s parted lips. His eyebrows lifted up towards his hairline and he had to take a minute to digest this bit of information. 

Something that felt a lot like jealousy flared up in his stomach and he had to examine it. He didn’t like it, whatever it was. It felt hot, slimy, and thick, and it sat just below his ribs. 

“Other men too?” He couldn’t help but ask for clarification. Perhaps he was showing his cards by bringing it up, but he didn’t care. 

The way the corner of your mouth lifted in response to his question let him know that you caught on to the implications of his question. “If there were other men, yes.” 

“So there are no other men,” he stated, feeling a flicker of hope rise up in his chest. 

“They’ve all gone home for Christmas break.” The teasing smile never left your lips as you said it. 

Fine. You could play your cards close to the chest if you wanted. He was fine with that. Whatever. 

He liked it though. Underneath the frustration, he liked this version of you: empowered, a little bitchy, tongue like a whip, lashing him in penance for his sins. The sick, masochistic side of him wanted more. Needed more. [4] 

He took a deep breath to help him refocus. “So why the newfound caution? Not that I’m against it, it’s probably a good idea. But why?” 

You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking if he really wanted to get into it, and he did, so he held your gaze until you decided to grace him with the truth. 

“I think I’ve given men a lot of unearned attention. It’s come back to bite me many times over. I’m trying to learn my lesson this time.” 

Noah nodded. He knew he was one of the reasons. He was prepared to hear that. But then… 

“What other times have you done that?” 

You tilted your chin down, narrowing your eyes in skepticism. “You mean aside from you?” you asked. 

He couldn’t help but smile, appreciating how resistant he was growing to the sting of your candor. You weren’t afraid to let him know just how much he’d messed up. 

He nodded. 

Your eyes flicked up to the ceiling while you thought. You sucked on your teeth while your gaze drifted across the room, picturing invisible figures from your past and the moments they’ve wronged you. 

“My dad, for one.” 

He was hoping you’d say that one. 

“How?” Noah scooted forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table between the two of you. Part of him was eager to know how his fuckup had fared in comparison to other men in your life.

“Even just listening to him preach every single Sunday. Sometimes the sermons would be worthwhile, but a lot of them were just him spouting his opinions on how people should behave. I don’t like that he has the platform he has. He doesn’t deserve it.” 

Your face had morphed into a scowl as you talked. Noah could see the resentment you held for your father and he wished there was something he could do—some word of comfort he could offer, but he knew it wasn’t his place, considering. 

“Isaac, too,” you said, and Noah rejoiced internally. He’d been hoping you’d say that even more.

“What did he do?” Noah asked, training his face and voice to appear calm and unbiased. 

“Oh my god,” you said, setting your cup down in front of you and clasping your hands together with a newfound focus. “I forgot you don’t even know!” 

“Know what?” 

“Isaac donated the proceeds of the showcase to a pro-life organization.” 

Noah had to force himself to swallow the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “What?!” 

You launched into the story, telling him all about how you’d been lured into participating because he’d said he wanted to donate the proceeds to charity, and how he’d been respectful the entire time, despite knowing how you felt about the subject. How he didn’t tell you about it beforehand because he knew you’d protest, so he went and did it behind your back, and how you didn’t find out until right before you were supposed to go on stage and sing. 

“Which I rocked, by the way, and you totally should have been there to see it,” you said, crossing your arm and fixing him with a scowl. 

“Something came up. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow,” he said. He didn’t have the heart to tell you he’d gone, but was too much of a coward to go inside the sanctuary. 

“Yeah, I know. That Something apparently lives in my dorm and had a lot to say.” 

Noah’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?” 

Apparently he’d struck a nerve. Within the span of a second, you were back to being closed off from him, arms folded across your chest and chin jutting out while you stared out the window. He probably deserved that. 

“I forget her name. Madison or whatever,” you said. 

Internally, his body hissed at him. He forgot he’d been trying to use Madison as a distraction. He hated that he’d done it, but at the time it felt necessary. He wasn’t sure how he could explain that to you, though. 

“So yeah,” you said. “I’m done with men for a while,” you said, still staring out the window and bouncing the leg that was crossed over the other. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I should have been there. It was…not my best hour.” 

He could tell you wanted more of an explanation, but weren’t about to beg for one. He’d tell you what really happened eventually…just not yet. 

 “What can I do to earn your favor?” he asked. 

“Be worth my time.” You said it without missing a beat and Noah had to hold back a snort. He was not expecting such a no-holds-barred answer from you and it hit him like a bucket of…not exactly ice water, but something warmer. Kinder. You were giving him the information he needed, unafraid of whether or not it would hurt his feelings. God, there was something about that he couldn’t get enough of. 

“Noted,” he said. “Still, I can’t believe Isaac did that.” 

“Yeah, well…,” you trailed off, mouth still pulled down into a frown. A few beats passed where neither of you said anything, and in the silence, Noah realized what he had to do.

He drained the rest of his coffee, then stood up and collected his things. 

“I should get you home then,” he said. 

Your face morphed into one of surprise. “What?” Noah wished he could take a photo of how you looked right then. Lips parted in bewilderment. Eyebrows pulled together in confusion. It was cute. 

“Your time is precious,” he said. “I don’t want to take up more than I’m worth.” 

“That’s not…are you serious?” you asked, turning to face him. He was already setting his empty mug in the dirty dish bin at the end of the counter. He turned back to face you and nodded to the door, gesturing for you to follow. 

You dumped the remainder of your latte into your mouth and stood, shoving your arms into your coat and hurrying to catch up. “What’s the rush?” you asked. 

“Trying to respect your time,” he said, smiling to himself as you struggled to match his pace. 

“Noah,” you said firmly, grabbing his arm and turning him around to face you. You didn’t say anything else but studied him with your jaw set firm. 

He stared back, face calm, but unyielding. The wind picked up, blowing a few strands of hair across your face. The skin at the back of his neck stood on end in the cold. His nose began to run, and he sniffed it back. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked. In the back of his mind, he registered your hand still wrapped around his arm. 

“I just got back into your good graces,” he admitted. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”  “Overstay? Noah, we’ve only been hanging out for an hour.” 

“I know,” he said, resisting the urge to pull you in closer. “It was an hour I wasn’t sure I’d get.  I’m grateful for that.” 

“Okay,” you said, looking off to the side when the eye contact grew too intense. “So, what’s the problem?” 

Noah searched for the right words, trying to describe what until now had only been a vague emotion that hadn’t quite surfaced. 

“The problem is that I will always want more than I’ve earned,” he said, softly, like he was only just now admitting this to himself. “An hour is already more than I deserve. Any more, and I’d get spoiled. But I would love the opportunity to earn your company again soon.” 

You processed what he said for a few beats and then rolled your eyes, lips stretching into a begrudging smile and if Noah had the ability to freeze time, he’d use it right then and there to study every inch of your face. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you said, sighing and hooking your arm through his. You allowed him to walk you back to your dorm. 

“Maybe,” he said, enjoying the pressure of your elbow against his. “Hopefully a harmless one.” 

“Is this love bombing?” you asked, short legs still struggling to keep up with his long ones. “Are you love bombing me?” 

“I hope not,” he said. “That would be really fucked up if that were the case.” 

“It would make you a terrible person,” you agreed. “You better not be love bombing me.” 

“I’ll watch out for that,” he said, smiling to himself. “What counts as love bombing in your book?” 

You grinned, as if this was a special interest of yours and you’d been waiting for someone to ask you that exact question. 

“Showering me with compliments, for one,” you began. 

“Noted. You look terrible today.” 

“Ha!” you said, nearly skipping with energy and warmth bloomed in Noah’s body at the thought he’d made you happy. 

“To be honest, I don’t exactly know,” you said. “I think people who love bomb have this skill about them–where they can pay close attention to a person, pick up on what they want or need, and then give it to them. But it doesn’t come from a good place, and they can’t sustain that energy. They do it until they get what they want, and then they leave.” 

Noah’s stomach twisted, the warmth that had previously inhabited it sucked away in a vacuum, leaving only tightness. 

He’d done that before. Many times. Fuck. 

As the two of you walked back to your dorm, Noah’s conscious weighed heavy on him. You continued talking about red flags, but Noah’s ability to actively listen was compromised with the weight of his guilt. 

He had a habit of justifying his past actions to himself–if women were naive enough to fall for simple flattery, they deserved it, he told himself. 

His stomach rocked again and he felt like he was going to be sick. 

He couldn’t change his past. He was well-aware he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, but he could change how he was going to act moving forward. 

This time, he was determined to get it right. 

“I guess this is where I leave you,” he said, unhooking his arm from yours. 

You stared at the door longingly, and Noah hoped that meant that you weren’t ready to leave. 

“You want to do this again sometime?” you asked, turning to him. 

Noah nodded, swallowing the sinking feeling in his chest for now. He could process everything when he got back to his apartment. “This or whatever else. Whatever works best for you.” 

“It can’t all be about me, you know,” you said. Your hand rested on the door knob, keys dangling uselessly from your fingers. 

“I know,” he said.  

Your face grew serious as you studied Noah, looking like you were still trying to figure out if he was for real. 

“Why are you doing all this?” you asked. 

Noah didn’t have an answer at the ready for you, so he simply shrugged. “Feel like it.” 

You continued to regard him. He couldn’t help when his eyes dropped to your lips—full and flushed with pink from the cold. He had a feeling he was letting his cards show, but he didn’t have much incentive to keep them hidden from you anyway. 

He brought his eyes back up to meet yours and caught the second your eyes flicked back up from his own lips. When you realized you were caught, you averted your gaze to your shoes. Noah did the same. 

“I, uh. I should get going,” he said, reaching to rub at a spot on the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, side-stepping away to break some of the tension that had been building for the last thirty seconds. You fiddled with your keys, finding the right one and using it to unlock your door, but made no move to enter. 

This was the hardest part. He didn’t want to leave. From what he could pick up, you didn’t want him to. But it was important that he did. He knew it. He wasn’t going to fuck this up by being impatient again. 

Just when he was about to say his final goodbye, you beat him to it. 

“See ya,” you said. And then in one swift motion, you grabbed the lapel of his coat, pulled him down, stood up on your toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

Before he even registered what had happened, you’d unlocked your door and disappeared behind it. 

It took all of Noah’s willpower not to follow you.  _______ All rights reserved to @doomhands-jr, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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@xmads-omensx

@just-randomm-stuff

@somebodyels3

@klutzy-kay24

@themorticians-world

@silentglassbreak

@ashlarz-blog

@noahsebastions

@cyber-tiny

@xxkittenkissesxx

@treacheryinblue

@flowerynerds

@1toreyouapart

@poisongirl616

@alytarg2009

@lobolocaamo

@lilcrazy011

@justeli6

@anything-more-than-human

@xxrainstorm

@traffordonna

@velvetlilacsdaisies

@spookychaosstranger

[ivystoryweaver]

Day 21: Can't Find the Words (Llewyn Davis)

Notes: Llewyn Davis x gn!reader. Llewyn doesn't feel worthy of a home, domestic fluff

Word Count: 522

Three months since you let Llewyn into your bed.

Two months since he wormed his way into your heart.

One month since you let him share your home.

Llewyn was a beautiful, scattered, devoted, intense, tormented disaster.

He was messy. Dishes piled up. Yet he kept his few belongings in one corner of the den, out of your way.

He often paraded around the house in underwear, or sometimes, nothing at all.

You bought him a winter coat last week. He cried, then wrote a song about it.

He would disappear sometimes for a few days and you would cry.

"Don't wanna be a burden," he would halfheartedly explain, gripping his guitar case guardedly.

"You're not...Llewyn, this is your home now." Reaching for his case, you tried to lighten his load in every way possible. "Come on inside."

He tried to cook sometimes but he burned everything. You ate it anyway.

Gave you all the change from his tip jar "for rent".

He waited every night for you to invite him to bed. He seemed to love your cat and your fireplace, but what about you?

"I can get you your own bed, if you need space," you tried to explain. "If you don't want to sleep with me. You can still stay here."

Booted feet shuffled as he raked a gloved hand through his curls. "I can take the couch, it's all right."

You sighed, exasperated, but not angry. "Llewyn, do you have feelings for me? At all?"

"'Course I do, I..." He stroked his thick beard contemplatively. "You just..." Waving his hand around him, he shook his head. "This is all - it's too much."

"What's too much?" You pressed. "Me? I can give you space."

"No. No, it's not that. I just...can't find the words, really."

Reaching for his hand, you relented. "It's okay."

The next night, he came home late, but found you right away. "Sorry. Had a gig. Good tips."

"That's because you're brilliant," you sweetly returned.

He smiled so big it made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

You nodded toward the stove. "Chili?"

"Uh, soon. Got something for you first."

Gently grasping your hand, he led you to the living room, nodding for you to sit on the sofa. Your heart quickened as he reached for his guitar case.

"Wrote you something."

"Oh wait, let me get my wallet."

"What?" He chuckled, fixing his guitar strap over his shoulder.

"You don't like to play for free. I'll pay." Your eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I'll play for you anytime, sweetheart."

The song was somehow about home. Lyrics told you how he drifted, how he wandered, but now his heart had a tether. The beautiful tenor of his voice weaved and turned exquisitely over the arpeggios plucked by expert fingers.

Your eyes and cheeks were wet as he strummed the final chord.

"Nobody ever wrote me a song before," you tearfully whispered, reaching out for him as he set his instrument aside and knelt down in front of you.

"Nobody ever felt like home before," he returned, brown eyes adoring you as he pressed his lips to yours.

Angstember Masterlist || Misc. Masterlist || Main Masterlist

[abiiors]

𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚠𝚘 — 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

✧ — 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

✮ a/n: icymi this series takes place a little bit before keep your enemies closer. it's only loosely based on the the actual accurate timeline of events from 2012/13

✮ cw: cheating, being sad and stressed, yelling, fighting

✮ wc: 2k

juliette has always been the muse, max the artist. 

she has her moments, here or there—times when she ‘helps’ max with the songs (which is mostly just him asking what tempo she likes best out of two or three options and her picking one based on vibes alone.) and sure, some of the songs she has liked have gone on to become moderate hits for the band, but juliette secretly suspects max only asks her opinion to include her in things. 

mostly he just leaves her alone to sit in quiet corners of recording studios while he and his band create a ruckus.

juliette is happy though, quietly supporting. she loves max. she imagines she’ll marry him someday. “when the band takes off” is what he always says to her in the quiet moments of the night, traces a ring around her finger. it’s then that her stomach feels funny, maybe it’s the butterflies? she does love him…

sitting quietly in a corner of the studio is exactly what she’s doing when her phone buzzes, rapidly, one text after the other incoming. she frowns; who’s texting her so frantically in the middle of the day? has she accidentally missed her shift at the local hmv? juliette straightens and checks her phone. 

her nose wrinkles in disgust—for one, it’s ethan davies, max’s bandmate whom she rather despises. and also, why the fuck is he texting her when he’s in the next room over? but curiosity takes over her and she swipes the text thread open.

there’s not much in there—just a plain happy birthday message to him from four months ago followed by his ‘ty’. and then there are the messages from today. a series of photo featuring max…

juliette’s heart drops in her stomach. 

it’s max, her max, half-naked on the sofa of some house party with an equally half-naked girl on his lap. his hand is on her waist, his mouth around her boob that’s falling out of her tank top. judging by the dermal bandage on his arm, it had to be exactly two weeks ago when he’d gotten his latest tattoo. 

nausea brews in her gut, but juliette can’t look away. it’s like she’s spellbound and held in a trance, some unknown entity forcing her to swipe onto the next photo.

it’s much of the same really—max with his hands down the girl’s pants, shooting her a smug smile. he looks fucked up, he has to be, she thinks, to fingerbang someone when there are obviously people around him. ethan, for sure, since he seems to have taken these photos. 

she’s sure she’s about to be sick all over the floor. 

a second later, a white-face max bursts into the room, followed by ethan who seems to have a fresh split lip. 

“baby, i—” he starts, chokes, takes a step forward. juliette springs up. 

three years she’s been with him, more than that really if she wants to count the months she’s spent having a crush on him. three years and now when she looks at him, all she sees is a pathetic little man. 

juliette picks up the first thing she sees, a water bottle, and chucks it at max as hard as she can. it hits him square in the stomach and knocks the wind out of him as he falls down to his knees, clutching his middle. she feels a smidge of satisfaction. 

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he yells, still on the floor. ethan simply watches the exchange wide-eyed. 

���with me? oh, that’s rich!”

“they weren’t supposed to be sent to you,” ethan chimes in, and juliette shoots him a glare so dirty that he’d be dead on spot if looks could kill. 

she wishes they could. she wishes she could murder max and ethan in cold blood. 

“babe, please—”

“you’re dead to me,” juliette snaps. 

there are tears spilling down her cheeks, angry tears and sad tears, tears of pure frustration and disgust and everything in between. for all intents and purposes, her voice should be wobbly and weak, and yet it surprises her how determined she sounds. it surprises her how quickly she manages to gather her belongings, how quickly she turns and storms out the door. 

gone within the blink of an eye, just like her three year long relationship.

in the weeks that follow, max sends her a hundred different flowers—sunflowers (that she’s allergic to) and roses (that come with a horrid artificial smell clinging to them). he calls her a dozen times and sends her a dozen pathetic begging messages until she blocks him (and ethan—a wonderful byproduct).

she even considers deleting his number. but there’s a little traitorous part of her brain that has it memorised. in spite of everything. 

in the weeks that follow she moves in with a friend.

carly is a bright ray of sunshine—crazy hair and red nails and brilliantly coloured graphic t-shirts seem to be 90% of her wardrobe. and even in the middle of all the bleakness, she brings some warmth to juliette's life. 

carly’s the first housemate she’s ever had that’s not max. carly also seems to know a thousand different indie musicians that keep coming over or inviting her to their shows. 

juliette doesn’t mind it as much. she’s used to this particular kind of hustle—at least that aspect of familiarity hasn’t been snatched from her. besides, living with carly has kept max away. she suspects carly scares him a little, that’s why he chooses to stay away. 

she's is a good friend to juliette though, she lets her throw herself a pity party in bed for the first few weeks, only forcing her into showers when she starts reeking of sweat. juliette is grateful for her. but even her patience runs thin soon enough.

“alright that’s it,” carly bursts into her room one afternoon while juliette is busy deleting photos of her and max off her phone. “the pity party ends today.”

“but—”

“no!”

juliette huffs at her but sits up in bed. she’s in three day old pyjamas, her hair is a greasy mess from not being washed for at least a week, and frankly she stinks. it’s mortifying. maybe carly is right…

“i’m seeing this guy, adam,” carly smiles wide and juliette feels a pang in her chest. has she ever looked like that while talking about max? “his band has a show tonight—”

“i’m done with band guys.”

“jules!” carly holds up her hand. jules… it startles her, no one’s ever called her that. max only ever called her babe or baby or juliette if they were in a fight. but jules… that’s new. it holds no memories for her. juliette holds it close to her and repeats it to herself until it starts sounding like a real name. 

jules. she could be a jules. 

carly, unaware of this little epiphany, continues talking. “they’re good, jules, trust me! and i’m not saying that just because i’m seeing him, they really are good. you’ll have fun.”

she mulls the thought over in her head. the one thing she remembers fondly from her now ruined relationship with max is the shows. the being backstage and seeing the inner workings of everything. she misses being at the barricade and getting to scream the songs at the top of her lungs. 

“i don’t want to go just to meet someone.” she chews on a hangnail.

“you don’t have to,” carly promises. “it will just be a good time.”

“just a good time,” she mumbles to herself. carly looks at her with hope written all over her face. and she’s been such a good friend to her, juliette doesn’t particularly feel like letting her down. 

“okay,” she says quietly, smiling when carly cheers. 

it’ll be good, she tells herself. she needs to get out of the house sooner or later anyway.

it feels exactly how she remembers it. juliette loves the energy backstage, loves to see the different guitars strewn about carelessly and people hurrying around, loves watching artists shooting the shit and smoking up before shows.

there are occasionally ones that are uptight and nervous about going on stage—she loves watching them especially. how they come alive in front of the crowd and under the stage lights. 

carly lets go of her hand when she spots a guy; adam, juliette guesses. a second later it’s confirmed when carly hugs him tightly and kisses him for a good thirty seconds. juliette looks away, awkward and out of place. 

“i brought a friend,” she announces, pointing to juliette and suddenly everyone’s eyes are on her. 

“hi,” she says, a little shy. adam, to her relief, looks equally shy and quiet. 

“new fans?” a voice makes her head turn. it’s a tall man, taller than adam and twirling drumsticks between his fingers like it’s second nature to him. 

“george,” he turns to her and sticks his hand out. juliette takes it. 

“jules,” she says, her voice a little unsure. jules. it fits better somehow now that she’s said it out loud. 

“are you a fan, jules?” he grins at her, an easy-going smile that instantly puts her at ease too. maybe carly was right. maybe they are good. george certainly feels nothing like max’s friends. 

stop. she scolds herself. she’s not allowed to think of max tonight. 

“are you putting her on the spot, george?” a new voice comes from behind george. her ears perk up instantly. the voice sounds…familiar somehow. 

“hi,” the man appears from behind george, smoking the last dregs of a cigarette. he stops right in front of her. juliette tries not to stare so blatantly, but it’s not easy when he’s so obviously attractive. 

his hair is curly, huge, half-falling in his eyes, eyes that are framed with the longest lashes she’s ever seen (unfair!). he’s also a good couple inches taller than her. juliette refuses to look any lower than his face though. for one, his shirt is entirely unbuttoned. and his jeans are quite low-waist. (not that she hasn’t stolen a couple sneaky glances, especially at the tattoos)

“jules, was it?” he nudges her a little and jules comes back to earth.

“yes, hi!” she says, suddenly chipper. from behind him, carly waggles her brows at her. 

“i’m matty.” he holds out his hand much like george had, and when jules takes it, it feels warm around hers, it sends tingles down her spine. 

“are you seeing us for the first time?” matty asks, still holding her hand, not that jules minds it very much. she nods. 

“we’ll have to make an impression then,” he smiles, just the right amount of cocky. jules almost blushes. 

“i guess you’ll have to,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. “although i don’t think that should be too much work? my friend was raving about you,” she points at carly. matty doesn’t look. 

“is that right?”

jules nods, barely holding back a grin. 

“i’ll be more interested in what you think though.”

this time it’s her turn to lean in a little, turn her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “is that right?”

when had she learned to flirt with someone within minutes of meeting them? especially weeks after her breakup?!

matty’s about to say something when someone interrupts him, tells him they have to go up in five. another man who’s just as tall as george, except he has a buzzcut and a sparse beard. (jesus how tall is everyone?!)

matty winces apologetically and finally lets go of her hand. 

“stay after the show, yeah?” he asks, hope written so clear all over his face. jules smiles.

“only if you impress me.”

matty laughs, a sound that lingers around her, right before he disappears behind a throng of people.

jules scrunches her eyes shut and then makes her way to the wings.

the show is the best thing she’s ever seen, matty is the best thing she’s ever seen—better than max could ever be. he smiles at her so many times too, winks like a proper rockstar and basks in the attention of all the girls at the barricade. jules watches him until she can no longer stand it. 

it’s like watching max. sure matty's infinitely better, but the similarities make it hard to just stand there and enjoy the show and dance like carly is next to her.  

anything to do with max is not something she can stand right now. 

so right before the last song, she hugs carly and makes an excuse. carly’s having too much fun to stop and have a chat, not that jules wants her to. 

she looks at matty one last time, at the way he stomach flexes when he hits a high note. then she turns before the regret can set in, before she can think about the hope on his face when he'd asked her to stay.

no matter how much she wants to, jules doesn’t stay after the show.

[bobbie-robron]

Obviously, I can’t ignore you completely but it’s not what I want. (Part 1)

We open with ‘irresistible’ Katie and Robert snogging. It’s another song and dance of them deciding it will never happen again between them - sure. Katie doesn’t want Robert to come to the barbecue (oh, the temptation, yeah?) but that changes when Elaine shows up to make ‘a finger buffet’ so no choice but to go. Robert makes up a story of why no dress for Victoria (since snogging took precedence over shopping for a bridesmaid dress).

01-Dec-2003

[discount-shades]

Contract Spouse Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Interviews

A/N: I have no real knowledge of how the military investigates and prosecutes anything and google only gets you so far.  

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader (nicknamed Pip)

Warning:  Angst, allusions to child abuse

Length: 3000ish

Summary: They are interviewed. 

Previous     Masterlist     Next

When you awoke the first morning next to Jake, he had still been clutching your hand. He placed a featherlight kiss on the inside of your wrist that had made your heart clench before he left the bed. But that was the only time it happened.

He rarely woke you up with his nightmares in the nights that followed, but you knew when he had them. Your internal clock would always wake you before the morning alarm and you could always tell how Jake slept based on his proximity to you. If he was firmly on his side of the bed it meant there had been no nightmares. He would be alert and well rested. The closer he was to you, the worse his sleep was. If he was touching you in any way you knew he had a bad nightmare.

When the alarm rang he would pull away. The hand that slipped under your sleep shirt, and was flattened to the skin of your stomach, would jerk from you like you burned him. The feel of his soft breaths would disappear as he moved his cheek from where it was pressed against your shoulder, and the warmth of his body would be gone as he immediately got up. 

He ignored you on those mornings. He’d go on a longer run and use the excuse that he had to hurry so he wouldn’t be late to avoid your eyes. At this point a mumbled apology for touching you or a bad joke would be preferable. The conscious rejection of the unconscious moments of intimacy hurt worse than if he had never touched you.

– – – 

You had insisted on hiring a lawyer and Jake had agreed. It was during one of the first meetings with the lawyer, Davis, that the second bombshell had dropped. “So you're telling me that in addition to having to prove our marriage is real, Jake is going to be dishonorably discharged over adultery?” You look between Jake and the lawyer incredulously. “Christ! What is this? Puritan England?”

With the interviews coming up you had finally found out who had reported you. A one night stand of Jake’s had been upset that he didn’t want anything serious and had broken into his house and found your marriage certificate in his office. She had reported the marriage and the adultery in revenge.

“Well for the American Military it still is,” Davis says, surveying Jake from behind his desk in his spacious office. “I understand you have a meeting tomorrow with your commander regarding the adultery accusations?” 

You turn to Jake in surprise. “You knew about this?” He nods reluctantly.

“I knew about the law but I only found out about being reported a few days ago. Cyclone is a stickler for rules so I don’t know how it will go.” he says in defeat. “We might not know for a few days.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter pacing the room and the two men ignore you. A tension headache building.

“It is unlikely that they will be able to prove the third clause; that the… relations,” Davis awkwardly clears his throat when he looks at you, “interfered with you in a professional capacity, or the morale of your teammates.”

“Other than the clusterfuck her reporting you out of spite has caused,” you chime in.

“Well yes, other than that.” Davis agrees, “In the event that they can prove the third clause, you are more likely to be docked pay, demoted, or desk duty.” 

You suck air in through your teeth at that and Jake doesn’t react beyond a defeated nod. Your heart sinks for him. Jake loved to fly. It was all he ever talked about, every time he would mention it his eyes would light up and his dimples would appear. You collapse into the sofa in the office and pull your knees to your face. Guilt overwhelming you. What was rule number one when you married Jake? Oh right, never negatively impact his life.

“Well we can’t do anything about that until we know how your commander intends to proceed so today we are going to focus on the questions about your marriage that the investigators will likely ask.” Slowly you rise and join them 

– – – 

“Why didn’t you tell me about the adultery charge?” you ask Jake as he drives you home. 

“I didn’t want you to worry.” He reaches out and takes your hand startling you with the physical contact. He had been avoiding touching you since you started sleeping next to each other. “None of this is your fault. I knew what I was doing the whole time.”

“Then why did you stay married to me, Jake?” you feel like you have asked him this question a million times. 

“I dunno, it was just easier and I liked the money.” He’s given you variations of this answer every time, and this is the first time you don’t believe him.

– – – 

Your interview was to take place in a conference room at Davis’ office. You had not yet been charged with anything and your lawyer described it as more of a fact finding mission than an interrogation. Your bank and phone records had been subpoenaed and according to Davis, the interviews were likely to be the last bit of the investigation. 

Despite all the coaching you fiddle with the pen in front of you. Hands trembling and unable to stay still. Davis leans over and gently pulls it out of your grasp. You are waiting in his office until they call you. Jake still didn’t know what would happen with the adultery case and everything being out of your control was getting to you. 

Jake arrives and sits beside you, giving your hand a quick squeeze. When he goes to pull away you tighten your grip and cling to him. He gives your hand two short squeezes but does not try to pull away again. You revel in the feel of his hand, callus rough and reassuring. When his assistant comes to get you, Davis leads you to the conference room first, the warmth of Jake's touch lingers as you walk out.

The investigators are across the table from you and a recording device sits in the middle of the table. They hit play on the digital recorder and you all state your names for the record before they begin asking you questions. Their names escape your memory. One is in his fifties and balding and one has glasses, so you quickly dub them Glasses and Balding in your mind. 

Most of the questions are ones that were expected but you can't relax. Your jaw clenching and your shoulders tense. 

“Why didn’t you change your name?” asks Balding.

“Personal choice, many women don’t.”

“Why is this the first time you are living with your husband?” This question comes from Glasses.

“At first I was finishing school and I had my cancer treatment, plus Jake was still in flight school, then he had shore tour and I was in university, then he was deployed and it was just easier to be apart. Logistically.”

“What about emotionally?” asks Balding, writing something down.

“It sucked.”

“Why did you only choose to move in with your husband after you were notified of the investigation?” Glasses asks.

“Don’t answer that,” Davis cuts in and your nerves ramp up, you wish you still had that pen to fiddle with. “You are assuming the reason she moved is connected to the investigation.”

“I’ll rephrase: Why did you decide to move when you did?” 

“Jake finally got a more permanent posting and my lease was up a few months later so we decided we could finally make it work living together, the letter was a coincidence.”

“Why not break the lease?” Balding asks.

“I couldn’t do that to my roommate.”

“Aw yes, your best friend is your husband's little sister, did she have an impact on your marriage?” Glasses says.

“She introduced us.” 

“That’s it? She didn’t care that you were barely legal and married her much older brother?”

Davis cuts in and you fight to stay calm, “The age of my clients at the time of their wedding is irrelevant.” 

“You share bank accounts with your husband and yet you never spend more money than you deposit. Why is that?” Balding asks, abruptly switching topics.

You frown at the ridiculousness of this question. “You are suspicious because I am financially responsible? Jake doesn’t spend more than he earns either.” 

“You took out loans, scholarships, and used military spouse benefits to pay for university rather than ask your husband who sends his extra funds to his mother, rather than pay for his wife’s university.” Balding stares at you expectantly.

You wait and when he doesn't continue, you ask, “What's your question?”

He smirks. ���I want to know why?” 

“His father got sick and died, she has lots of medical debt.” You lean forward and clasp your hands in front of you. “I respect his mother greatly and completely support Jake financially helping her.” 

The financial questions continue and the investigators circle back and ask earlier questions with different wording, like they hope you will give a different answer. They ask why you always talk on the phone and rarely text and a few other questions you had been prepared for.

“One final question,” Glasses says and you feel the hairs rise on the back of your neck in nerves at his tone. “Your husband is accused of having an extramarital sexual relationship. When were you told about his infidelity?”

Your stomach turns. Unsure about exactly how to answer the question. You settle for a carefully worded answer. “I was told when we found out who reported our marriage,” you say through gritted teeth. Technically it was true, Jake never told you about the other women, you just knew. 

“Does it bother you that there was probably more than one woman?” 

“Ok, we are done here.” Davis cuts in and you storm out of the room, brushing past Jake as you exit and flee to the end of the hall. 

You stand staring out the window. Ashamed by how upset you are. You knew what your marriage was, and based on how Jake has been avoiding you, all it ever would be. The shame turns to anger. Anger at yourself for loving him and hoping for him to love you back, anger at the Navy, the government, but most of all angry at Jake. Angry he never divorced you. Angry at the fact he never told you about the adultery law. Angry about the other women. Angry that he would never look at you the same way. 

– – – 

Jake watches you brush past him with a mutinous expression and storm down the hall. He glances at Davis and follows you despite the fact the investigators are waiting. He watches you glare out the window for a moment before he softly calls to you. “Pip?”  The look you give him is so full of rage he is taken aback. “Darlin’, are you ok?” Your face shifts to dejection at his words before you clear your throat and straighten your shoulders. 

“I’m fine,” you tell him, nodding toward the conference room, “you should get back there.” Your expression doesn’t change and he can’t figure out why you are looking at him like that, like he hurt you. He curls his hand around your elbow to pull you into his arms and is surprised when you jerk your arm out of his grasp and shove his chest, rocking him back a step with a sharp, “Don’t.”

He stares at you in shock, still able to feel the warmth of your hands hitting his chest, while your face flickers between fear and guilt. “I’m sorry.” you whisper, folding in on yourself and turning away.

Davis appears beside you. “I think we should save this for after they leave,” he says in a harsh whisper. “Jake conference room. Pip, wait in my office.” 

When you abruptly turn to go Jake reaches out and catches your hand, giving it a quick squeeze before you pull your hand out of his as you walk away, eyes fixed on the ground. 

Jake's mind is spinning the whole interview. Answering questions automatically based on the lie you had concocted. Davis stepped in for many of the questions around adultery. 

Your reaction baffled him. You had never rejected him like that, and the anger and despair was a look he had never seen on your face.

Everything had been going smoothly until you had to share his bed. He had been dealing with the nightmares on his own for years, and one night next to you and all his coping skills went out the window. After that first night when you had calmed him he had begun to seek you out when he woke in the middle of the night. On most nights it was enough to hear you breathe, feel the warmth radiating off your soft skin.

When it was bad he needed to feel you, feel the rise and fall of your stomach as you took each breath, feel your pulse beat under his fingers, feel the warmth of your skin directly. In the mornings the guilt of bringing you into his world of nightmares and shame would overwhelm him and he would pull away. But at night, with the images of death behind his eyelids, he needed to touch you. To know you were safe and alive and with him.

When the interview ended and he walked back into Davis’ office you were sitting in one of the chairs by the desk, your posture perfect, hands clasped together with no trace of your earlier emotions other than your brow slightly pinched with worry. 

He sits down beside you, eyeing the difference in your demeanor as Davis walks around the desk and takes a seat. “Well it looks like your little fight might have helped your case, I overheard them whispering about a lovers quarrel before I went to separate you.”

“I’ll take whatever we can get,” you say with a tight smile. “What's next?”

“We wait to see if they are pursuing charges,” Davis shrugs, “They will review evidence, and will probably wait for what your commander will do with the adultery accusation. If you get disciplined on that accusation it will actually strengthen your legitimate marriage case.” 

“Best worst case scenario.” Jake sighs and Davies nods.

– – – 

Jake follows you in his truck as you drive home. His mind turns over the swings in your behavior and emotions the last few hours.  First you were nervous clutching his hand, then there was the anger and sadness. But none of that unnerved Jake as much as your calm perfect posture in the office after. 

When he follows you through the door you immediately start tidying up, taking the coat from the back of a chair and putting it in the closet, and stacking shoes neatly. He watches you move into the kitchen and wash your hands before emptying the clean dishwasher. “I’m going to make that stir-fry you like,” your voice is soft. “And saw a trick on TikTok to make extra gooey chocolate chip cookies that I was going to try tonight.” 

“I’m on emptying the dishwasher, and dinner duty,” he says trying to get you to look at him. 

“I just feel like I need to do something," you say with a smile that does not reach your eyes, handing him a beer from the fridge, “I’ll do the dinner dishes too, you get the night off.” You turn to go back to emptying the dishwasher. 

Jake stares at the cold beer in his hand before putting it back in the fridge and sitting at the breakfast bar. “We need to talk about today.” Your muscles tense almost imperceptibly. 

“Oh,” you say with a casual shrug, barely pausing in your task. “I’m not a good liar, and I was so stressed from the interview, I thought if I acted upset about the adultery question where they couldn't really see my face it would sell it. I’m sorry I didn’t warn you that I was going to push you.”

That could have been what you were doing but the look on your face had been so genuinely full of heartbreak, so real, that he wasn’t sure he believed you now. “Well you fooled me.” he answers to see your response. 

Your soft laugh and the way your movements loosen slightly tells him the truth. You are a great liar. You lied your whole childhood and anyone who didn't know you would fall for it every time. But Jake knows you.

He knows your posture isn’t so perfect when you are relaxed, knows you do everything in your power to avoid dishes, and knows you like your cookies crunchy. He is the one who likes them soft.

As he watches you move around the kitchen he realizes what you are doing. “I’m not mad at you, Pip.” 

“Well that's good.” You grin at him with that same smile, it even has laugh lines, but your eyes are hollow. It was killing him to see you ice him out.

“I can cook or do dishes.” Jake searches your face, speaking softly and trying to get you to stop trying to placate him. When you refuse his help again he drags his hands through his hair in frustration. “You are allowed to be upset Pip, you are allowed to be mad, mad at me, at the situation, at everything. I’m not your parents, I won't blame you for your emotions. I’m not going to be mad at you. I won’t hurt you.”

You are frozen in the center of the kitchen clutching a mixing bowl. “I know you won't.” Your posture is the same but there is a flicker of emotion returning to your eyes and Jake sighs with relief. 

“Don’t cook tonight, I’m ordering a pizza.” Jake says with a soft smile trying to coax a real one out of you. “And you should make crunchy cookies.”

[writingsforwhatever]

magnolia (m.s.) part 1

part 2 part 3

summary: reader has a friends with benefits arrangement with matt (what is there to explain?)

genre: ANGST

word count: 1.4k

a/n: suggestive content? You know what to do, ladies. This is fiction.

The abrupt chill in her apartment struck her hard, wrapping around her like an icy shroud. The stark white walls defining the living room while the vibrant green accent wall provided a homey space for her little coffee bar. It wasn't just the cold; it was the haunting silence that can be heard, a clear contrast to the lively college days where laughter filled every corner of the bright, inviting space with friends.

Autumn had passed, and she found herself rummaging through Matt's old university sweaters from the depths of her closet, seeking solace in his familiar scent during these lonely, frigid days in Boston. She longed for his return, yearning for the warmth of his presence to fill the void around her.

Walking on the cold tile floors, her footsteps echoed softly as she wandered through the apartment, her eyes catching sight of the slightly tilted photo frame showcasing her and her friends from high school. It bothered her, yet she couldn't fix it herself. That was a Matthew Sturniolo chore—he knew where her toolbox was and was the only one capable of reaching it. Memories flooded back of him building a cozy nook by her large windows where she loved to read, along with the white wooden bookshelf he'd carefully chosen in some vintage shop in Cambridge, a thoughtful gift from him. She remembered him telling her that he knew she would like it as the sole reason behind his choice.

She sighed, her gaze drifting to the notebook he had left behind months ago. He had texted her about it, asking if she had seen it, and she confirmed its safe place, nestled securely within the confines of her living room's coffee table. Tomorrow's agenda included a visit to her recently married sister's place. Her plan was simple: gather the homemade cookies Matt always loved, just in time for his arrival.

Meanwhile, his absence lingered as he went on a short trip to Canada with his brothers. A friend had called her two nights ago about seeing Matt with a woman in his arms and letting her know that the girl is somewhat familiar. The familiarity of the girl struck a chord; perhaps she was someone from their college before. Despite this revelation, she remained indifferent. The timely presence of her friend during this seemed almost too coincidental. Yet, she made a conscious decision not to confront Matt about it; after all, he was entitled to date or engage in relationships with whoever he wishes.

Their dynamic was crystal clear as the sunny skies that had once bathed the University of Massachusetts where they had agreed that their relationship is nothing more than a remarkably intimate friends with benefits. This is an understanding they had solidified long ago.

Nine hours away from her by land, Matt found himself gazing at the mesmerizing skylines of Toronto, contemplating whether to reach out to her, to check in, or ask if she had followed through with her plan of delivering the freshly planted flora to his mother, just a short 10-minute drive from her place. However, he opted against it, choosing instead to listen to Chris's friends discussion about their new clothing brand.

When he returned home, she was already calling him, asking to pick her up. The beauty of her tone wrapped around his heart, infusing it with a comforting warmth. Confirming she had indeed brought the plants, and now nestled beside their sofa, a gesture his mother had kindly embraced.

She wore a short blue drop-waist dress, a cardigan draped over her arm, her smile radiant under the sun's glow. From his vantage point in the car, Matt watched her take her time descending the small brick steps of her apartment. It had been a week since he last saw her; she had ventured off to Davis, California, to visit an aunt she hadn't seen in ages, just before his trip up north.

"Look at you," he greeted her with a grin, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her entire presence as she entered his freshly cleaned black SUV. "Is that new?"

Matt's thoughtfulness was a trait she adored about him. It was as if he had committed every book and item she owned to memory. She often reminded herself to give him credit for it one of these days. And he wasn't just thoughtful; he was undeniably sweet too. His gestures, both big and small, resonated deeply—like carving out a cute little space for her plants or surprising her with a spatula simply because he knew it would complement her assortment of black kitchenware.

"Do you like it?" Her smile gleamed, greeting him with a subtle kiss on his cheeks.

"I absolutely love it."

"Thank you. Got it from that newly opened shop down the street. A lovely grandmother was selling it—really sweet lady," she shared.

Matt chuckled at her detailed story. His smile never wavering, her perfume engulfing him wholy, the smell of lazy Sunday mornings, soft skin, and fresh linen—just the way he liked it. "You bought it because she seemed sweet?"

"Not exactly. I got it because it's your favorite color," she said casually, making him raise his eyebrows. Glancing briefly at her and then back to the road, his eyes met hers. "Oh, really?" he teased lightly.

Matt sensed her slight withdrawal at his tone, her revelation perhaps making her uncomfortable, yet it was exactly what he wanted, everything he yearned to hear, and more.

"Uh-huh," she replied, shifting her gaze out the window. "Anyway, how was Canada?"

She was good at this game; skilled at cutting the conversation off faster than you can snap your fingers.

"It was okay. Nick and Chris didn't like Tim Hortons," he chuckled at the memory of Nick's expression.

"Expected," she replied, shaking her head. "Did you see Chris's friends? What were their names again?"

"John and Sam. They seemed intrigued by Chris's new releases and ideas, so it's a good sign for him."

"Ah, that sounds promising," she agreed with a nod. Sneaking another glance at him, she ventured, "Did you meet anyone else?"

It was a simple question, yet she felt herself tiptoeing over an invisible line, feeling an odd tug at her heart as she admired him, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the setting sun.

Matt took a moment, eventually settling on a simple "No," choosing not to mention the woman that occupied his bed for a night. He didn't want to risk spoiling the moment; it already felt perfect when he saw her smiling and walking out the door earlier. He knew she would ask more if he said yes, but he also knew how awkward it would become. It would lead to an uncomfortable conversation, especially given her reluctance to delve into his intimate details with other people.

She never wanted to hear about where he learned a new position or style in bed, even though he sensed she was curious and a little bit hurt. He could feel it in the subtle withdrawal of her body between the sheets and the shift in the mood between them. Similarly, he refrained from asking about the oversized shirts, far larger than her size that he spotted one time in her laundry basket while he helped with her chores. It was not his.

They had learned to navigate this arrangement over the years smoothly. Their shenanigans with other people aren’t crazy but they both know it happens.

He missed her so much during his time in Canada, which led him to talk to the brunette at the bar. To his surprise, she was from their old school, a friend of a friend, now living up north. Everything about the encounter seemed hazy, the way that the woman talked and acted reminded him of her. She was all he could think of, day and night, night and day. It felt like ages since they had seen each other, ever since she visited California and him for Toronto.

Matt reached a breaking point with their casual arrangement. It had become too much for him especially when he saw the girl collecting her clothes on the ground that morning. That same day, after he calmed down and talked it out with Nick and Chris, he felt the urge to call her and apologize, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what for—they were not officially together.

As he sat on the plane, heading back to Boston, he made a firm decision. He was determined to put a label on their relationship and ask her to be his girlfriend.

She nodded in response, pushing aside the ache in her heart caused by his lie. Yet, she silently thanked him for his discretion, grateful that he hadn't mentioned it—she preferred not knowing.

"Okay. Where did you say you wanted to take me again?"

~

special mention to my bestie @querenciasturniolo lol thanks for always supporting me mwa